On the 3d of July, the States and territories west of the Mississippi River and east of the Rocky Mountains, including New Mexico, were constituted the Western Department, under the command of Major-General John Charles Fremont.^[43] On the 26th he arrived in our city and took up the vastly important work confided to his hands. All the loyal wished him well. Many of them received him with exultation. He came with prestige. He was a renowned path finder to the Pacific. He had been the standard-bearer of the Republican party in 1856, and though defeated had polled a heavy vote in the most intelligent and progressive States of the Union. No one ever assumed military command under more favorable auspices.

He at once appointed Colonel McNeil commandant of St. Louis,^[44] that he himself, measurably free from local demands, might expend his energies in directing the larger affairs of his department. The best volunteers of the West rapidly and enthusiastically gathered around him. He gave himself without reserve to his great and difficult task. But from the start he appeared to be vainglorious. His headquarters were luxurious. Immediately around him he gathered a body-guard of about three hundred men, some of whom were foreigners with jaw-breaking names. It was later shown that most of them were enlisted not to serve the United States, but simply the general.^[45] He and they, in full uniform, on horseback, often went thundering along our streets, kicking up a cloud of dust, or else making the mud fly. At Fremont’s headquarters were stationed so many sentinels that it was exceedingly difficult to find access to his person. Eminent citizens of St. Louis early began to complain that he ignored both them and the important questions on which they needed his counsel.

Moreover, there was a marked lack of system in all that he undertook to do. He evidently had little talent for details; so everything in the encampments of his volunteer soldiers was in confusion. All this was inauspicious and disheartening. We had expected so much and were getting so little.

The general soon reported to the authorities at Washington that his department was in a critical condition;^[46] that troops of the Southern Confederacy in large numbers were moving northward to aid the disloyal of Missouri; that General Pillow threatened to invade the State from the southeast, General Hardee from the south, and General McCulloch from the southwest; and that while the volunteers gathering at St. Louis to meet the invaders were numerous, many of them were unarmed.

In the meantime, Lyon at Springfield, with a clear view of the whole situation, seeing that by far the most formidable rebel force, under McCulloch and Price, was moving upon him from the southwest, pleaded in vain with Fremont to re-enforce his altogether inadequate army by at least one or two regiments and to pay and clothe his soldiers.^[47] Fremont’s assistant adjutant-general, J. C. Kelton, wrote him at Cairo, August 2d: “General Lyon wants soldiers, soldiers, soldiers. So says Colonel Hammer, who has just arrived from Springfield.”^[48] The same day Fremont wrote General Scott: “Force large in front of General Lyon.” But all was without avail. The Confederates, by a feint at New Madrid, in the southeastern corner of the State, had deceived him. Pillow was reported as being there with eleven thousand men.^[49] He was led to believe that the main invasion of our commonwealth was to be at that point.

So the general called into his service eight river steamboats, loaded them with an abundance of provisions, camp equipage, ammunition and arms, and put on board about five thousand soldiers, infantry and artillery. The Stars and Stripes waved proudly over each boat, while over the “City of Alton,” “the flag steamer,” on which were the general and his staff, waved also the Union Jack and a broad pennon. On August 1st this warlike fleet, to us an unusual and imposing sight, began to move down the Mississippi.^[50] The crowds on the levee cheered, waved handkerchiefs, and threw up hats. But not a few of the more thoughtful, shaking their heads, said, “We believe that Lyon, whose urgent pleadings have been unheeded, and to whom no re-enforcements have been sent, is right in thinking that the main invading rebel force is not at New Madrid, in the southeast, but comes from the southwest to attack him and his brave little army at Springfield.” And “This ostentatious expedition of Fremont,” they added, “is in utter contrast with the silent, swift, effective movements of the neglected Lyon.” Moreover, some of the ablest Union men of the city, half disheartened by the display on the river, exclaimed, “Fuss and feathers!” Their criticism may have been somewhat passionate, and perhaps uncalled for, but the event justified their main contention. There was only a handful of the enemy at New Madrid. But these Confederates had shrewdly played their game. They had diverted the attention of the Union general from McCulloch and Price to themselves, and made it difficult for him now to re-enforce Lyon before he must meet the enemy. Enlightened by experience, Fremont ordered his fleet back to St. Louis. Still, his expedition was not bootless. While he found but a few hundred rebels at New Madrid, and these escaped him unscathed, he laid, as he wisely intended to do, the foundation of a military encampment across the river at Cairo, Illinois, from which later began the great campaign under Grant down the east bank of the Mississippi. Nevertheless the general’s ostentatious and ill-starred movements disgusted many of the loyal of the city. Perhaps they did not fully understand him, but they saw enough to evoke their heated opposition to him; some indeed defended him, for he had true and warm friends, but others sharply condemned him; while the overawed and silenced secessionists, still by thousands among us, looked on with satisfaction.

In the meantime, the clear-sighted, intrepid Lyon at Springfield was left to shift for himself. He concluded that retreat would be hazardous, if not absolutely destructive, in the face of a hostile force nearly three times as great as his own, and unhesitatingly decided to take the initiative instead of simply standing on the defensive. His matured purpose was quickly executed. The army of Price and McCulloch was at Wilson’s Creek, about nine or ten miles south of Springfield. He determined to move upon it in two columns, the first under himself, the second under Colonel Siegel. The advance was to begin about sunset of the 9th; the attack was to be made at daylight the next morning. Having given his orders, he calmly wrote General Fremont the following memorable letter. It was his last.

“I retired to this place, as I before informed you, reaching here on the 5th. The enemy followed to within ten miles of here. He has taken a strong position and is recruiting his supply of horses, mules, and provisions, by forays into the surrounding country: his large force of mounted men enabling him to do this without much annoyance from me. I find my position extremely embarrassing, and am at present unable to determine whether I shall be able to maintain my ground, or be forced to retire. I can resist any attack from the front, but, if the enemy were to surround me, I must retire. I shall hold my ground as long as possible, though I may, without knowing how far, endanger the safety of my entire force, with its valuable material, being induced, by the important considerations involved, to take this step. The enemy showed himself in considerable force yesterday five miles from here, and has doubtless a full purpose of attacking me.”^[51]

It has remained for an officer of the Confederate army, Thomas L. Snead, in his comment on this letter to utter perhaps the most eloquent eulogy pronounced on General Lyon. “Not one word about the desperate battle that he was to fight on the morrow; not one fault-finding utterance; not a breath of complaint! But true to his convictions; true to his flag; true to the Union men of Missouri who confided in and followed him; true to himself; and true to duty, he went out to battle against a force twice as great as his own, with a calmness that was as pathetic as his courage was sublime.”^[52]

The next morning before sunrise, the 10th of August, he vigorously attacked the enemy, who were taken utterly by surprise. It is not within the scope of my purpose to attempt any description of the fierce and bloody battle that followed. It raged for fully six hours. According to the most conservative estimates, Lyon lost of his small army of four or five thousand men more than thirteen hundred in killed, wounded, and missing. The Confederates lost still more. Lyon was twice wounded, and afterwards, while leading a regiment of his troops in a desperate charge, was shot through the heart and instantly killed; but even after his death his plucky little army fought on for a time unflinchingly, and with a large measure of success. Nor did they abandon the well-contested field until the ammunition of a large part of their force was utterly exhausted. Even then they retreated in good order. They had inflicted a blow so terrible and unexpected that the Confederates were unwilling or unable to pursue them. Having rested a few hours at Springfield, they retreated unmolested to Rolla, with all their wagons, provisions, and munitions of war; while McCulloch and Price sat down at Springfield and wrote reports of their great victory at Wilson’s Creek. Some of their subordinate officers in their reports declared with refreshing frankness that Lyon, in his attack on their camp, had completely surprised them.

A few days later came the last act of this sad drama. The body of General Lyon was brought back to us. It was borne through the city and across the Mississippi to the railroad depot. It was escorted by prominent citizens, city officials, regiments of soldiers, infantry, cavalry and artillery, marching with arms reversed. Conspicuous in this martial array was General Fremont, with his staff and body-guard. The bands played plaintive dirges. The bells tolled. The national flags of the city, encampments and Arsenal were draped and at half-mast. A great, sad, silent throng, on either side of the street along which the funeral cortège moved, stood with heads uncovered. The dust of one of the best friends the loyal of St. Louis ever had thus passed on its way to burial in Connecticut, the native State of the dauntless hero, who poured out his heart’s blood at Wilson’s Creek to save our commonwealth and city from secession. But strange as it may seem to the present generation, we were then and there so utterly divided in judgment and feeling that while many mourned, some rejoiced; tears stained some cheeks, smiles rippled across some faces.

And during all this pageant of mourning our hearts bled afresh, as we remembered that the ear of Fremont had been apparently deaf to Lyon when he pleaded for at least one more regiment of troops, and was left unaided to fight, against great odds, a forlorn and desperate battle in which he laid down his life. We knew then, as we know now, that Fremont could have granted the request of his subordinate; that General Pope had in the northern part of the State an army of fully nine thousand men that were not just then imperatively needed there; that Fremont called for and put under his own immediate command a part of that force; that he sent troops at that time into different parts of the State; that two regiments were guarding Rolla, and that one of them, without jeopardizing any important interest, could have been sent to Lyon; but for some occult reason he refused to lift a finger in time to help his capable subordinate, but abandoned him to defeat and death. To be sure, on August 5th, he ordered a regiment of a thousand men at Fort Leavenworth to re-enforce Lyon,^[53] but that was too late. There was no railroad connection. The order had to be sent by express. Before the regiment had gotten half way to Springfield the fate of Lyon was sealed. On the same date, August 5th, he ordered Colonel Stevenson, commanding the Seventh Missouri Volunteers, to report to Lyon with despatch. When the colonel reached Rolla, he found no transportation for his troops. They could not reach their destination in time. The remembrance of this on that funeral march rankled in every loyal heart.

But when our general reported to the War Department the battle of Wilson’s Creek, in just and fitting words he eulogized the slain hero. In a measure that dulled the edge of our resentment towards him, and partially revived our wavering confidence in him. We were still further reconciled to him, when, seeing the anarchy by which we were threatened, and believing that certain inimical movements among us could not be adequately and decisively dealt with by ordinary civil processes, on August 14th, he declared martial law in St. Louis and St. Louis County. At that time, according to the most conservative estimate, there were in our city at least eight thousand pronounced and active secessionists, and seven thousand of them were reported to be armed with weapons of various kinds.^[54] They were prepared, whenever their compatriots in rebellion should attack the city from without, to join hands with them by a vigorous movement from within. So while the necessity of martial law was regretted by all, its proclamation came as a distinct relief and assurance to all the loyal.

Major J. McKinstry of the United States army was appointed provost marshal. He was an able, faithful officer and discharged his delicate and weighty duties with fearlessness and thoughtful discrimination. He at once issued a proclamation, declaring that he should not interfere with the operation of the civil law, except in cases where that law was found inadequate to the maintenance of the public peace and safety.^[55] He followed this considerate and reassuring manifesto with orders forbidding under heavy penalties all persons not in the military service of the United States, or in the regularly constituted police of the city, carrying concealed weapons, and prohibiting the sale of all firearms without a special permit from his office. This was striking at the root of all the dangers that immediately threatened the loyal of the city and county, and we retired that night with a deeper sense of security than we had felt for several months.

On the following day, he suppressed The War Bulletin and The Missourian, papers that, to the detriment of the loyal, had maliciously and shamefully misrepresented the movements of the Federal troops in the State. But under a government like ours, where all enjoy such unbounded freedom of speech, such acts, whether by the direction of civil or military authority, are usually offensive, whatever public necessity may be urged as a justification of them. And both the right and expediency of suppressing even these virulent secession journals were doubted by very many of the Unionists. But, at a later day, we felt that we could approve, if not applaud, much of what the provost marshal wrote to the editor of the Christian Advocate, who had inquired if the rumors were true that the marshal intended to suppress his paper. The suggestive reply was: “Permit me to say that in my judgment, in these times of political excitement, and heated discussion, and civil war, it would be more becoming, as well as more consistent, that a public newspaper, belonging to, and advocating the doctrines and principles of the church of Christ, should abstain from publishing articles of a political character, calculated to inflame the passions of men, and evidently hostile to the government of the country. Let your journal be a religious paper, as it professes to be, and it will never come under the discipline of this department.”

After the suppression of these papers, rigorous measures multiplied. The provost marshal, by a general order, forbade any one to pass beyond the limits of the city and county of St. Louis without a special permit from his office. That those born since the war may know under what stringent regulations all of us lived for many months, see the facsimile of both sides of a pass issued to myself, in October of 1861.

These requirements made and strictly enforced by martial law greatly annoyed many, even among the loyal of the city and county, especially elderly men and women, who had spent most of their lives in unrestrained liberty of movement. To be compelled to solicit in person a permit from the provost marshal to leave or enter the city seemed to them an arrogant and galling invasion of their freedom. And while they bowed to this inexorable demand so necessary to guard the fealty of their city and State to the Union, it was a yoke to which they unwillingly submitted, and under which they chafed.

I well remember meeting at that time a large, venerable man, who by a multitude of people was affectionately called Father Welsh. He was a pioneer Baptist minister. He had long lived in St. Louis County, and had preached not only in churches, schoolhouses, and private residences, but in summer in groves under the canopy of leafy boughs. He was not only generally respected, but sincerely loved by very many who had been blessed through his faithful, sympathetic ministrations. He was loyal to his country. His patriotism was unqualified and ardent, but to him martial law was abhorrent. He complained bitterly that one as old and well known as he was should be compelled to solicit a pass from a United States officer, in order that, unmolested by military sentinels, he might enter and leave the city and county where he had so long proclaimed the gospel. And he evidently represented many of unsullied patriotism, who deeply felt the infringement of their accustomed liberties. But in a border city, we were all compelled to learn by experience the difference between a state of war and a state of peace.

But if martial law was so distasteful even to some of the truly loyal, what was it to the men and women among us, who were aiding and abetting those in rebellion against the Federal government? They could not take the stringent oath printed on the pass, without which it could not be granted to them. If they should undertake to get out of the city or county without a pass, in all probability they would be challenged and arrested by the military sentinels, and, unable to take any oath of allegiance, would be duly landed in durance vile. Rather than run such risks, most of them, muttering their indignant protests, sat down in their homes and sulkily waited for deliverance. But the kind of deliverance that they ardently longed for happily never came.

On the same day that the provost marshal issued his order in reference to passes, General Fremont put the whole State under martial law, and, as many contended, unwarrantably assuming the functions of the general government, proclaimed the freedom of all slaves belonging to those guilty of disloyalty to the United States.^[56] He made good his extraordinary proclamation by explicit act. On September 12th, notwithstanding the President had written him on the 2d, taking exception to this manifesto, he manumitted two slaves, belonging to Thomas L. Snead of St. Louis, and issued their manumission papers over his signature as major-general.^[57] Lincoln kindly called his attention to the fact that he was transcending his authority, and gave him the opportunity to modify his own policy, without any open declaration of dissent on the part of the general government. But in reply, Fremont preferred that the President himself should modify the obnoxious proclamation;^[58] so, reluctantly but firmly, Mr. Lincoln publicly set aside so much of the general’s proclamation of August 30th as pertained to the manumission of slaves belonging to rebels.^[59]

The question on which the President and his general clashed was confessedly delicate and manifestly perplexing to those in administrative circles. At bottom, the duty of the President was clear. Since slavery was a local institution he could not legally interfere with it in any loyal State; and, as a State, Missouri had declared against secession. Just what, however, might be rightly done, according to the laws of war, with the slaves of the disloyal in loyal States was as yet apparently not altogether clear to those in authority at Washington. Still, on grounds of expediency, conservative action was manifestly wisest, in order not unnecessarily to alienate the loyal pro-slavery element of the border States. The problem in all its bearings greatly agitated the Unionists of our city. Upon it they were divided in both judgment and sentiment. Some said: “The enslavement of the negro is the real cause of the war. By law he is declared to be property; and if, as has been done before our eyes, a general may confiscate buildings belonging to the disloyal, and appropriate them to the use of the United States, why can he not treat the slave property of rebels in the same way?” “But,” their opponents replied, “this is what Fremont did not do with the slaves of Mr. Snead; he did not turn them over to the United States to be used in promoting the interests of the Federal government; he simply set them free. He is putting himself forward as an emancipator.” So the ideas of staunch Unionists were in conflict. Evidently the most intelligent and thoughtful unhesitatingly sustained the President in his modification of the general’s manifesto. And without expressing here any opinion as to whether or not their judgment of Fremont was just, it is true that many of them began to feel that in attempting to do what in itself as a matter of merely abstract justice was right, he was quite too impulsive, effusive, and spectacular, and that he had clearly exceeded his authority. In fact he was attempting to do what the general government felt itself debarred from doing by constitutional law and by a late specific act of Congress.

But Fremont’s career, as commander of the Western Department, now drew rapidly to its close. He had gathered an army of twenty-five thousand men; but when the brave Mulligan at Lexington, on the Missouri River, in the western part of the State, was besieged by a rebel force more than four times greater than his own, and yet fought on pluckily for days, Fremont failed to re-enforce him. To be sure, he made what seemed to us a rather belated and languid effort so to do, but the troops ordered by him to Lexington failed to reach their destination before Mulligan was compelled to surrender.^[60] This was a blow so disastrous to the Union cause, that the loyal of our city were filled with disappointment and discontent. Some of them murmured their disapprobation of the commanding general, some openly and bitterly denounced him. The Evening News, a Union journal, in a strong, manly editorial, entitled “The Fall of Lexington,” sharply criticized his failure to re-enforce Mulligan, and for this criticism, the proprietor, Charles G. Ramsay, was arrested by order of the provost marshal, taken to headquarters and there examined by the military authorities. He was sent to prison, and his paper was suppressed. All the manuscript in his office was seized and the building, where his paper was published, was put into the possession of a provost-guard.^[61] With very few dissenting voices, this invasion of the freedom of the press was sharply condemned by Union men. The occurrence added largely to the distrust of the capacity of the general for a command so large and difficult.

The surrender of Mulligan’s small heroic army at Lexington stimulated Fremont to more strenuous effort. He now contemplated marching against the enemy that was so rapidly gaining strength in west and southwest Missouri. But in that event St. Louis would be left quite uncovered; so to provide for the defence of the city in the absence of his army, he proceeded to surround it on the north, west and south with earthworks, in which he placed great guns. These works he intended to man with a few hundred soldiers, who, if any enemy should approach, could with those big guns sweep with grape and canister all the roads that led to the city. Many of us, little acquainted with military affairs, looked on with curiosity mingled with wonder, grateful for the benign care bestowed upon us by our patriotic commander; but I noticed that those who evidently knew more of war viewed these earthworks with ill-concealed contempt. And during many months they remained unmanned, mute reminders of the wisdom or folly of the celebrated Fremont, under whose immediate direction they had been constructed.

He seemed to have a mania for fortifications. He put Jefferson City, the capital of the State, under the command of Brigadier-General Ulysses S. Grant, then unknown to fame, and especially enjoined him to fortify it. To this order Grant replied that he had neither sufficient men nor tools to fortify the place, and added: “Drill and discipline are more important than fortifications.” That pithy, pregnant sentence foreshadowed the hero of Fort Donelson, Vicksburg and Appomattox.

At last, during the closing days of September, Fremont and his army, attended, as it seemed to us, with inextricable confusion and indescribable clatter, left St. Louis for Jefferson City. No armed host ever went forth to battle made up of nobler men. The best blood of the West ran in their veins. They were unusually intelligent and patriotic. Price, apparently always unwilling to risk a doubtful conflict, abandoning his project of destroying the railroads in the northern part of the State, with an army of about twenty thousand men, retreated in orderly fashion towards southwest Missouri. The loyal of our city now took new heart and hope. Our general, unopposed, moved on towards Springfield. On the 25th of October, Zagonyi, with a hundred and fifty of Fremont’s body-guard, made a brilliant dash into that city, dispersing the rebel soldiers stationed there to defend it. Over this we were exultant. The first brush with the enemy had resulted in decisive victory and had added glory to our arms. The people of Springfield, with tumultuous joy, ran up the Stars and Stripes in every part of their city. Fremont’s army was now rapidly concentrated there. The enemy was steadily falling back toward northwestern Arkansas. Victory for our whole army seemed hovering near, ready to perch on our banners. Even if our general had made mistakes, he was about to atone for them all by utterly defeating the enemy; so loyal St. Louis felt.

But while this apparently auspicious campaign was being prosecuted, not a few leading men, headed by Colonel Frank P. Blair, were urging the authorities at Washington to remove Fremont from his command. Mr. Blair was evidently bent on securing this end. He preferred formal charges against the general,^[62] in which he accused him of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, extravagance and waste of the public moneys, despotic and tyrannical conduct, and disobedience of orders. These charges he sustained by many specifications. While Mr. Blair’s onslaught seemed not wholly destitute of heat and partisanship, it contained so much of truth that the authorities at Washington felt that they could not ignore it. It also greatly disturbed the loyal of our city and divided them into opposing parties, some for, some against, the general.

The situation was so grave that the Secretary of War himself came to make an investigation. He evidently found much that he did not approve. He went out into the State to Tipton and had an interview with Fremont, who was then on the march; and when, on October 14th, he was about to return from St. Louis to Washington, he instructed Fremont to correct certain irregularities in his disbursement of military funds, to discontinue the erection of earthworks around our city, as wholly unnecessary, and of barracks near his own headquarters.^[63] He also declared that no payments would be made to officers, other than those of the volunteer forces, who had been commissioned by Fremont without the President’s approval. Such deliverances from the head of the War Department betokened reprehensible, even if it were thoughtless, insubordination, and contained a pretty clear hint of incompetence.^[64] In fact the evidence of his incompetence was startling and cumulative. When at Jefferson City, he ordered his army to march without sufficient means of transportation. He did the same at Tipton. His ammunition was wet; the Belgian rifles that he bought in Europe were nearly useless. In the preceding September, Grant at Cairo, Illinois, learning that the rebels at Columbus, Kentucky, had planned to seize Paducah at the mouth of the Tennessee, saw that he must move without delay if he would thwart their purpose. He at once telegraphed Fremont that he was taking steps to anticipate the enemy in the occupation of that place. He received no reply that day, September 5th. So he telegraphed that he should start for Paducah that night unless he received further orders. Getting no response, he occupied Paducah at daylight the next morning, anticipating the enemy by six or eight hours. After he had garrisoned the town, placed General Smith in command and returned to Cairo, he found a despatch from Fremont authorizing him to take Paducah if he “felt strong enough.”^[65]

It soon leaked out that Fremont had appointed general and staff officers without the authority of the general government; that those constituting his body-guard had been commissioned primarily to serve him personally rather than the United States;^[66] and that often ignoring his adjutant-general, he had sent in bills payable, approved simply by himself.^[67] At a later day, a committee appointed by the House of Representatives, after thoroughly investigating these alleged misdemeanors, in the main confirmed the conclusions reached by the Secretary of War.

When the Secretary arrived at Washington and made his report, the removal of Fremont from his command soon followed. He was apprised of it on November 2d,^[68] and immediately took leave of his army. To most of us, this seemed at the moment a calamity. Not that we could justly find fault with the decision reached by the government, but we keenly felt that the time for promulgating this decision was most inopportune. The general was apparently on the eve of a great battle; his army glowed with enthusiasm; the prospect of complete victory was unusually bright; he had in fact, with the smallest modicum of fighting, nearly driven the rebel army from our State. The strong, instinctive feeling of the great body of loyal men and women of our city was that he ought to have had the chance to finish the campaign so auspiciously begun. But the authorities at Washington had, with apparently abundant justification, decreed otherwise. There was only one thing to be done; that was to submit without murmuring.

By the removal of Fremont his patriotic army was greatly disheartened. Some of them, in the first flush of disappointment, declared that they would not serve under another leader; that when he left they would throw down their arms and return to their homes. But in his farewell address to his troops, Fremont rose above all personal resentment, and in a tender patriotic appeal exhorted them to be as faithful to his successor as they had been to him.^[69] Their sober second thought responded to his manly, unselfish words, and, in spite of their personal attachment to him, sinking all individual preferences, they determined unswervingly to fight on for the Union under any general that might be placed over them. So, as we generally anticipated, the highest motive prevailed.

Fremont returned to St. Louis. The loyal Germans, to whom we and the whole country owed so much, received him with unshaken confidence, and with the warmest expressions of affection. At the time they were firmly convinced that those who had so strenuously urged his removal had treated him with marked injustice. These tokens of personal loyalty and confidence touched his heart. In response to the assurances of his steadfast friends, he complained of the unjust charges that, in his absence, had been “rained on his defenceless head—defenceless because his face was turned to the public enemy.” But, though smarting under what he deemed grievous personal wrong, there was no note of recreancy to his country.

Whatever were his faults, whatever were his mistakes,—and they seemed to be many,—he was a patriot, and laid down the duties of his department with honor. And I am sure that all true Unionists of St. Louis, even those who did not join their German fellow-citizens either in their expressions of confidence in the retiring commander, or in their criticisms of those who thought the highest good of the Republic demanded his retirement, were nevertheless glad that these spontaneous and hearty demonstrations of the loyal Germans came to cheer the heart of Fremont in what evidently was to him a dark and bitter day.

His command was turned over to General Hunter, the oldest officer in his army. But Hunter, perhaps considering himself only a temporary bridge to Fremont’s real successor, refused to continue the campaign, which had been so suddenly arrested by the removal of his chief. In a leisurely and orderly manner he soon began a retrograde movement, for which the onlooking loyalists of our city could discover no reason. No foe immediately confronted him, and if the rebels of that region with all their forces had borne down upon him, he could have easily defeated them. But from no cause patent to us, that splendid army, under his command, was retracing its steps. We viewed the inglorious spectacle with profound disgust.

Price and his army advanced as ours retreated. Before him, dreading his approach, fled a great company of well-to-do Unionists, poor whites and negroes. They were the heralds of his march, and the motley trail of our retreating troops. In a few days the great army was once more encamped at our gates, and the disheartened, footsore, hungry crowd that had followed in its wake thronged our streets and taxed to the uttermost our charities. Thus ended a campaign of brilliant promise. To the sorely tried loyalists of our city it seemed to be such a fiasco that by it they were reminded of the oft quoted words: