The Lone Star Defenders 5
One day I came up with one of our teamsters in trouble. He needed an ax
to cut down a sapling, so I galloped back to an Indian’s hut near by,
and as there was no enclosure, rode around to the door. The Indian came
out and I asked him to lend me an ax a few minutes. He shook his head
and said, “Me no intender,” again and again, and this was the only word
I could get out of him until I dismounted and picked up the ax, which
was lying on the ground near the door. He then began, in good English,
to beg me not to take his ax. I carried it to the teamster, however,
but returned it to the Indian in a few minutes.
There are, or were then, people of mixed blood living along the
road in good houses and in good style, where travelers could find
entertainment. Numbers of these had small Confederate flags flying over
the front gateposts—and all seemed to be loyal to our cause. Two young
Choctaws joined one of our companies and went with us, one of them
remaining with us during the war, and an excellent soldier he was, too.
At Boggy Depot the ladies presented us with a beautiful flag, which was
carried until it was many times pierced with bullets, the staff shot in
two, and the flag itself torn into shreds. Arriving at Big Blue River,
we lost one or two horses in crossing, by drowning. But finally we
reached Fort Smith, on a Saturday, remaining there until Monday morning.
While in the Choctaw Nation our men had the opportunity of attending an
Indian war dance, and added to their fitness for soldiers by learning
the warwhoop, which many of them were soon able to give just as real
Indians do.
Fort Smith, a city of no mean proportions, is situated on the south
bank of the Arkansas River, very near the line of the Indian Territory.
Another good town, Van Buren, is situated on the north bank of the
river, five miles below Fort Smith. While we were at Fort Smith orders
came from General McCulloch, then in southwest Missouri, to cut loose
from all incumbrances and hasten to his assistance as rapidly as
possible, as a battle was imminent. Consequently, leaving all trains,
baggage, artillery, all sick and disabled men and horses to follow us
as best they could, we left on Monday morning in the lightest possible
marching order, for a forced march into Missouri. Our road led across
Boston Mountain, through Fayetteville and Cassville, on towards
Springfield. Crossing the river at Van Buren, we began the march over
the long, hot, dry, and fearfully dusty road. As we passed through Van
Buren I heard “Dixie” for the first time, played by a brass band. Some
of the boys obtained the words of the song, and then the singers gave
us “Dixie” morning, noon, and night, and sometimes between meals. This
march taxed my physical endurance to the utmost, and in the evening,
when orders came to break ranks and camp, I sometimes felt as if I
could not march one mile farther. The first or orderly sergeant and
second sergeant having been left behind with the train, the orderly
sergeant’s duties fell upon me, which involved looking after forage and
rations, and other offices, after the day’s march.
On Saturday noon we were at Cassville, Mo. That night we marched nearly
all night, lying down in a stubble field awhile before daylight, where
we slept two or three hours. About ten o’clock Sunday morning, tired,
dusty, hungry, and sleepy, we went into camp in the neighborhood
of General McCulloch’s headquarters, in a grove of timber near a
beautiful, clear, little stream. The first thing we did was to look
after something to eat for ourselves and horses, as we had had no food
since passing Cassville, and only a very light lunch then. The next
thing was to go in bathing, and wash our clothes, as we had had no
change, and then to get some longed-for sleep. In the meantime Colonel
Greer had gone up to General McCulloch’s headquarters to report our
arrival. I was not present at the interview, but I imagine it ran
something like this, as they knew each other well. Colonel Greer would
say “Hello, General! How do you do, sir? Well, I am here to inform you
that I am on the ground, here in the enemy’s country, with my regiment
of Texas cavalry, eleven hundred strong, well mounted and armed to the
teeth with United States holster pistols, a good many chop knives, and
several double-barreled shotguns. Send Lyons word to turn out his Dutch
regulars, Kansas jayhawkers and Missouri home guards, and we’ll clean
’em up and drive ’em from the State of Missouri.”
“Very well, very well, Colonel; go back and order your men to cook up
three days’ rations, get all the ammunition they can scrape up in the
neighborhood, and be in their saddles at eleven o’clock to-night, and I
will have them at Dug Springs at daylight to-morrow morning and turn
them loose on the gentlemen you speak of.”
Any way, whatever the interview was, we had barely stretched out our
weary limbs and folded our arms to sleep when the sergeant-major, that
fellow that so often brings bad news, came tripping along through
the encampment, hurrying from one company’s headquarters to another,
saying: “Captain, it’s General McCulloch’s order that you have your men
cook up three days’ rations, distribute all the ammunition they can get
and be in their saddles, ready to march on the enemy, at eleven o’clock
to-night.”
Sleep? Oh, no! Where’s the man who said he was sleepy? Cook three days’
rations? Oh, my! And not a cooking vessel in the regiment! But never
mind about that, it’s a soldier’s duty to obey orders without asking
questions. I drew and distributed the flour and meat, and left the men
to do the cooking while I looked after the ammunition. Here the men
learned to roll out biscuit dough about the size and shape of a snake,
coil it around a ramrod or a small wooden stick, and bake it before the
fire.
This Sunday afternoon and night, August 4, was a busy time in our camp.
Some were cooking the rations, some writing letters, some one thing,
and some another; all were busy until orders came to saddle up. We were
camped on the main Springfield road, and General Lyon, with his army,
was at Dug Springs, a few miles farther up the same road. We were to
march at eleven o’clock and attack him at daylight Monday morning.
There already had been some skirmishing between our outposts and his
scouts. We had never been in battle, and we were nervous, restless,
sleepless for the remainder of the day and night after receiving the
orders.
Some of the things that occurred during the afternoon and night would
have been ludicrous had not the whole occasion been so serious. In my
efforts to obtain and distribute all the ammunition I could procure I
was around among the men from mess to mess during all this busy time.
Scores of letters were being written by firelight to loved ones at
home, said letters running something like this:
CAMP ——, Mo., Aug. 4, 1861.
MY DEAR ——:
We arrived at General McCulloch’s headquarters about 10 A. M. to-day,
tired, dusty, hungry, and sleepy, after a long, forced march from Fort
Smith, Ark. We are now preparing for our first battle. We are under
orders to march at eleven o’clock to attack General Lyon’s army at
daylight in the morning. All the boys are busy cooking up three days’
rations. I am very well. If I survive to-morrow’s battle I will write
a postscript, giving you the result. Otherwise this will be mailed to
you as it is.
Yours affectionately,
—— ——
Numbers of the boys said to me: “Now, Barron, if I am killed to-morrow
please mail this letter for me.” One said: “Barron, here is my gold
watch. Take it, and if I am killed to-morrow please send it to my
mother.” Another said: “Barron, here is a gold ring. Please take
care of it, and if I am killed to-morrow I want you to send it to my
sister.” Another one said: “Barron, if I am killed to-morrow I want you
to send this back to my father.” At last it became funny to me that
each seemed to believe in the probability of his being killed the next
day, and were making nuncupative wills, naming me as executor in every
case, without seeming to think of the possibility of _my_ being killed.
During the remainder of our four years’ service, with all the fighting
we had to do, I never again witnessed similar preparations for battle.
CHAPTER III
OUR FIRST BATTLE
On the March—Little York Raid—Under Fire—Our First Battle—Oak
Hill (Wilson’s Creek)—Death of General Lyon—Our First Charge—Enemy
Retires—Impressions of First Battle—Death of Young Willie—Horrors of
a Battlefield—Troops Engaged—Casualties.
WELL, eleven o’clock came, we mounted our horses and rode out on the
road to Dug Springs, under orders to move very quietly, and to observe
the strictest silence—and, when necessary, we were not even to talk
above a whisper. The night was dark and we moved very slowly. About
three o’clock in the morning an orderly came down the column carrying a
long sheet of white muslin, tearing off narrow strips, and handing them
to the men, one of which each man was required to tie around his left
arm. From our slow, silent movement I felt as if we were in a funeral
procession, and the white sheet reminded me of a winding sheet for the
dead. As we were not uniformed these strips were intended as a mark of
the Confederate soldiers, so we might avoid killing our own men in the
heat and confusion of battle.
At daylight we were halted and informed that General Lyon’s forces had
withdrawn from Dug Springs. After some little delay our army moved on
in the direction of Springfield, infantry and artillery in the road and
the cavalry on the flank,—that is, we horsemen took the brush and
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