THE LOST ARMY

This conversation took place between two boys of Dubuque, Iowa, one pleasant morning early in the year 1861. They were Jack Wilson and Harry Fulton, neither of whom had yet seen his sixteenth birthday. They were the sons of industrious and respectable parents, whose houses stood not far apart on one of the humbler streets of that ambitious city; they had known each other for ten years or more, had gone to school together, played together, and at the time of which we are writing they were working side by side in the same shop.

The war for the destruction of the Union on the one hand and its preservation on the other had just begun. The election of Abraham Lincoln to the presidency had alarmed the Southern states, who regarded it as a menace to their beloved system of negro slavery. In consequence of his election the Southern leaders endeavored to withdraw their states from the Union, and one after another had passed ordinances of secession. South Carolina was the first to secede, her action being taken on the twentieth of December, five weeks after the presidential election. Ten other states followed her example and united with South Carolina in forming the Confederate States of North America, choosing Jefferson Davis as their first president. Then followed the demand for the surrender of the forts and other property of the United States in the region in rebellion. Fort Sumter was taken after a bloodless fight, in which the first gun was fired by the South; other states seceded, and then came the uprising of the North in defense of the Union.

As if by the wand of a magician the whole North was transformed into a vast military camp, where only a few days before nothing was to be seen save the arts and arms of peace and industry. Recruiting offices were opened in every city and almost in every village. Squads were formed into companies, companies into regiments and regiments into brigades, with a celerity that betokened ill for the cause of secession. The North had been taunted over and over again that it was more intent upon moneymaking than anything else, and nothing could provoke it into a fight. It had been patient and long-suffering, but the point of exasperation had been reached, and the men of the Northern states were now about to show of what stuff they were made.

The president issued a call for seventy-five thousand men to serve for three months, and the call was responded to with alacrity. And it was in the recruiting that formed a part of this response that our story opens.

Jack and Harry went to the recruiting office, which was on one of the principal streets of Dubuque and easy to find. Over the doorway an immense flag—the flag of the nation—was waving in the morning breeze, and in front of the door was an excited group of men discussing the prospects for the future, and particularly the chances of war.

“It 'll be over in a month,” said one, “and we 'll all be back here at home before our enlistment time's up.”

“Yes; the South'll be cleaned out in no time,” said another. “Those fellows are good on the brag, but when they look into the muzzles of Northern muskets they 'll turn tail and run.”

“Don't be so sure of that,” said a third. “The South may be wrong in all this business, but they 'll give us all the fighting we want.”

“You'd better go and fight for Jeff Davis,” was the retort which followed. “We don't want any fellows like you around us.”

“That we don't, you bet,” said another, and the sentiment was echoed by fully half the listeners.

“You 're all wrong,” persisted the man who had just spoken. “Don't misunderstand me; I'm just as good a Union man as anybody, and I'm going to fight for the Union, but I don't want anybody to go off half-cocked, and think we're going to lick the South out of its boots in no time; because we can't do it. We 're going to win in this fight; we 're twenty millions and they 're eight, and we've got most of the manufacturing and the men who know how to work with their hands. But the Southerners are Americans like ourselves, and can fight just as well as we can. They think they 're right, and thinking so makes a heap of difference when you go in for war. They 'll do their level best, just as we shall.”

“Perhaps they will,” was the reply, “but we 'll make short work of 'em.”

“All right,” responded the other, “we won't lose our tempers over it; but anybody who thinks the war will be over in three months doesn't appreciate American fighting ability, no matter on which side of the line it is found.”

This mode of putting the argument silenced some of his opponents, particularly when he followed it up by showing how the Southern regiments in the Mexican war covered themselves with glory side by side with the Northern ones. But the loudest of the talkers refused to be silenced, and continued to taunt him with being a sympathizer with the rebellion.

At the outbreak of the war a great deal of this kind of talk was to be heard on both sides; men in the North declaring that the South would be conquered and the war ended in three months, while people at the South boasted of the ability of one Southern man to whip three Northerners. When the armies fairly met in the field and steel clashed against steel all this boasting on both sides was silenced, and North and South learned to respect each other for their soldierly qualities. One of the greatest of military mistakes is to hold your enemy in contempt, and to this mistake is due some of the disasters of the early days of the war.

And the lesson may be carried further. One of the greatest mistakes in the battle of life is to underrate those who oppose you or the hindrances that lie in your path. Always regard your opponent as fully your equal in everything, and then use your best endeavors to overcome him. Do your best at all times, and you have more than an even chance of success in the long run.

Jack and Harry listened a few moments to the debate among the men in front of the recruiting office, and then made their way inside. A man in the uniform of a captain was sitting behind a desk taking the names of those that wanted to enlist, and telling them to wait their turn for examination. In a few moments a man came out from an inner room, and then a name was called and its owner went inside.

“Don't think you 'll get in there, sonny,” said a man, who observed the puzzled look of Jack as he glanced toward the inner door.

“What are they doing in there?” queried Jack encouraged by the friendly way in which he had been addressed.

“They 're putting the recruits through their paces,” was the reply; “examining 'em to see whether they 'll do for service.”

“How do they do it?”

“They strip a man down to his bare skin,” was the reply, “and then they thump him and measure him, to see if his lungs are sound; weigh him and take his height, make him jump, try his eyes, look at his teeth; in fact, they put him through very much as you've seen a horse handled by a dealer who wanted to buy him. They've refused a lot of men here that quite likely they 'll be glad to take a few months from now.”

And so it was. The first call for troops was responded to by far more men than were wanted to fill the quota, and the recruiting officers could afford to be very particular in their selections. Subsequent calls for troops were for three years' service, and, as the number under arms increased, recruiting became a matter of greater difficulty. Men that were refused at the first call were gladly accepted in later ones. Before the end of the first year of the war more than six hundred and sixty-one thousand men were under arms in the North.

Jack and Harry walked up to the desk where the officer sat as soon as they saw he was unoccupied.

“Well, my boys, what can I do for you?” said the captain cheerily.

Jack waited a moment for Harry to speak, and finding he did not do so, broke the ice himself with—

“We want to enlist, General.”

The youth was unfamiliar with the insignia of rank, and thought he would be on the safe side by applying the highest title he knew of. The gilded buttons and shoulder-straps dazzled his eyes, and it is no wonder that he thought a man with so much ornamentation was deserving of the highest title.

“Captain, if you please,” said the officer, smiling; “but I'm afraid you 're too young for us. How old are you?”

“Coming sixteen,” both answered in a breath.

The captain shook his head as he answered that they were altogether too young.

“Could n't we do something else?” queried Harry, eagerly. “We can drive horses and work about the camp.”

“If you ever go for a soldier,” replied the captain, “you 'll find that the men do their own camp work, and don't have servants. Perhaps we can give you a chance at the teams. Here, take this to the quartermaster,” and he scribbled a memorandum, suggesting that the boys might be handy to have about camp and around the horses. They could n't be enlisted, of course, but he liked their looks, and thought they could afford to feed the youths, anyhow.

The boys eagerly hastened to the quartermaster, whom they had some difficulty in finding. He questioned them closely, and finally said they might go with the regiment when it moved. It was not then ready for the field, and he advised the boys to stay at home until the organization was complete and the regiment received orders to march to the seat of war.

The parental permission was obtained with comparatively little difficulty, as the fathers of both the youths were firm believers in the theory of a short war, without any fighting of consequence; they thought the outing would be a pleasant affair of two or three months at farthest. Had they foreseen the result of the call to arms, and especially the perils and privations which were to befall Jack and Harry, it is probable that our heroes would have been obliged to run away in order to carry out their intention of going to the field. And possibly their ardor would have been dampened a little, and they might have thought twice before marching away as they did when the regiment was ordered to the front and the scene of active work in the field.

CHAPTER II. ST. LOUIS AND CAMP JACKSON.

While Jack and Harry are waiting impatiently for the order that will give them a taste of military life, we will leave them for a while and go down the Mississippi river to the great city of St. Louis.

The state of Missouri was one of those known as the “Border States,” as it lay on the border between North and South. It was the most northerly of the slaveholding states west of the Mississippi river, and the system of slavery did not have a strong hold upon her people. Probably the majority of her native-born citizens were in favor of slavery, or only passively opposed to it, but it contained two hundred thousand residents of German birth, and these almost to a man were on the side of freedom. When the question of secession was submitted to the popular vote, the state, by a majority of eighty-thousand votes, refused to secede; but the governor and nearly all the rest of the state authorities were on the side of secession, and determined to take Missouri out of the Union in spite of the will of the people.

Governor Jackson was in full sympathy with the secession movement, and with the reins of power in his hands he made the most of his opportunities. General Sterling Price, who commanded the Missouri state militia, was equally on the side of slavery and its offspring, secession, though at first he opposed the movement for taking the state out of the Union, and was far more moderate in his councils than was the governor and others of the state officials. Earnestly opposed to these men were Francis P. Blair, junior, and other unconditional Union men, most of whom lived in St. Louis, and had for years been fighting the battle of freedom on behalf of the state. They believed and constantly argued that Missouri would be far better off as a free state than a slave one, while the opponents of slavery in the Eastern and extreme Northern states had based their arguments mainly on the ground of justice to the black man. The Free-State men of Missouri gave the rights of the negro a secondary place and sometimes no place at all, but confined themselves to showing that the state would be better off and more prosperous under freedom than under slavery. They had a good knowledge of human nature, similar to that displayed by the author of the old maxim that “Honesty is the best policy.”

“Be honest,” he would say, “because it is the best policy to be so, and let the question of right or wrong take care of itself.”

All through the month of April, 1861, the plotting to take Missouri out of the Union was carried on by the secession party, and at the same time there was counterplotting on the part of the Union men. The secessionists, having the aid and sympathy of the state authorities, had the advantages on their side, and were not slow to use them. They organized forces under the name of minute men, and had them constantly drilling and learning the duties of soldiers. Later, under an order issued by the Governor, they formed a camp of instruction, under command of General D. M. Frost, in the suburbs of St. Louis, with the openly-declared intention of capturing the United States arsenal, which stood on the bank of the river just below the city.

At the same time the Union men were equally active, and, under the leadership of Blair, those who were ready to fight for the preservation of the nation were organized into a military force called the “Home Guards.” While the plotting was going on and matters were progressing toward actual warfare, Captain Nathaniel Lyon, who commanded at the arsenal, caused the garrison to be strengthened, sent away the superfluous arms and ammunition to a place of greater safety, armed the Home Guards, and on the tenth of May surprised the secessionists by marching out in force and capturing Camp Jackson, the camp of instruction already mentioned.

In order to have good reason for making the capture, Captain Lyon visited Camp Jackson in disguise and went through it from one end to the other. What he found in the camp gave him sufficient reason for action. Here it is:

When the state of Louisiana seceded from the Union the United States arsenal at Baton Rouge was seized by the state authorities, who took forcible possession of the arms and munitions of war that they found there. When he was planning to capture the arsenal at St. Louis, Governor Jackson found that he needed some artillery with which to open fire from the hills that command the arsenal, which is on low ground on the bank of the river.

Governor Jackson sent two officers to the Confederate capital, which was then at Montgomery, Alabama, to make an appeal to Jefferson Davis for artillery from the lot taken at Baton Rouge, and explain for what it was wanted. President Davis granted the request, ordered the commandant at Baton Rouge to deliver the artillery and ammunition as desired, and he wrote at the same time to Governor Jackson as follows:

* * * After learning as well as I could from the gentlemen accredited to me what was most needed for the attack on the arsenal, I have directed that Captains Greene and Duke should be furnished with two 12-pound howitzers and two 32-pound guns, with the proper ammunition for each. These, from the commanding hills, will be effective against the garrison and to break the inclosing walls of the place. I concur with you in the great importance of capturing the arsenal and securing its supplies. * * * We look anxiously and hopefully for the day when the star of Missouri shall be added to the constellation of the Confederate States of America.

With the best wishes I am, very respectfully, yours,

Jefferson Davis.

The cannon and ammunition reached St. Louis on the eighth of May, and were immediately sent to Camp Jackson. The negotiations for them had been known to Blair and Lyon, and as soon as they learned of the arrival of the material which would be so useful in capturing the arsenal, they determined to act. Captain Lyon, as before stated, went in disguise through the camp on the ninth, saw with his own eyes the cannon and ammunition, learned that they had come from Baton Rouge, and was told for what purpose they were intended.

Here was the stolen property of the United States in the hands of the enemies of the government, and intended to be used for further thefts by violence. There could be no doubt of his duty in the matter, except in the mind of a secessionist or his sympathizer.

By the secessionists the capture of Camp Jackson was looked upon as a great outrage, for which the Union men had no authority under the Constitution and laws either of the United States or of the state of Missouri. It was a peculiar circumstance of the opening months of the rebellion, and in fact all through it, that the rebels and their sympathizers were constantly invoking the Constitution of the United States wherever it could be brought to bear against the supporters of the government; so much was this the case that in time it came to be almost a certainty that any man who prated about the Constitution was on the side of the rebellion. The men who were ready to violate it were those who constantly sought to shield themselves behind it.

As an illustration of this state of affairs, may be cited the letter of Governor Jackson in reply to the proclamation of President Lincoln calling for seventy-five thousand troops for three months, “to maintain the honor, the integrity and the existence of our National Union, and the perpetuity of popular government; * * * and to repossess the forts, places, and property which have been seized from the Union.”

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Missouri was called upon for four regiments of militia as her quota of the seventy-five thousand. Governor Jackson replied to the president that he considered the requisition “illegal, unconstitutional and revolutionary in its objects, inhuman and diabolical, and cannot be complied with.” At the same time he was going on with preparations for carrying the state out of the Union, contrary to the desires of a majority of its inhabitants, as if they had no rights that he was bound to respect!

As before stated, the arsenal at St. Louis is completely dominated by the range of hills beyond it, and a military force having possession of these hills would have the arsenal in its control. The secession leaders laid their plans to take possession of these hills in order to capture the arsenal. Learning of their intentions, Captain Lyon threw up a line of defensive works in the streets outside the walls of the arsenal, whereupon the secessionists invoked the local laws and endeavored to convince him that he had no right to do anything of the kind. The board of police commissioners ordered him to keep his men inside the walls of the arsenal, but he refused to do so, and for this he was loudly denounced as a violator of the law.

There were about seven hundred men in Camp Jackson, under command of General Frost. Captain Lyon had issued arms to several regiments of the Home Guards of St. Louis, in spite of the protest of the police commissioners, who considered his action in doing so highly improper. These regiments, added to the regular soldiers composing the garrison at the arsenal, gave Captain Lyon a force of six or seven thousand men, with which he marched out on Friday, the tenth of May, surrounded Camp Jackson, and demanded its surrender. Under the circumstances General Frost could do nothing else than surrender, which he did at once. The militia stacked their arms and were marched out on their way to the arsenal. A short distance from the camp they were halted for some time, and during the halt a large crowd of people collected, nearly all of them being friends of the prisoners or sympathizers with secession.

Most of the Home Guards were Germans, and during the halt they were reviled with all the epithets with which the tongues of the secession sympathizers were familiar. These epithets comprised all the profanity and vulgarity known to the English language in its vilest aspects, and added to them was the opprobrious name of “Dutch blackguards,” which was applied in consequence of one of the companies calling itself Die Schwartze Garde. Without orders, some of the soldiers fired on the jeering mob; the fire passed along the line until several companies had emptied their rifles, and twenty-eight people fell, killed or mortally wounded, among them being three prisoners. Then the firing ceased as suddenly as it began, and the prisoners were marched to the arsenal.

On the eleventh all the captured men were liberated on their parole not to bear arms against the United States. One officer, Captain Emmett McDonald, refused to accept release on this condition, and like a true secessionist sought his remedy through the Constitution and the laws of the country. It took a long time to secure it, but eventually he was liberated on a technicality, went South and joined the Southern cause, and was killed in battle not long afterward.

“What has all this to do with Jack and Harry?” the impatient reader asks. We shall very soon find out.

CHAPTER III. SECESSION IDEAS OF NEUTRALITY.

For some days it was rumored in Dubuque that the Iowa troops would soon be ordered to march into the neighboring state of Missouri.

There was great excitement when, on the morning of the eleventh of May, the particulars of occurrences of the day before in St. Louis were published. Jack read about it in the morning paper and then hurried to Harry's house as fast as his young feet could carry him.

“This means business,” said Jack, as he quickly narrated to Harry what he had read.

“So it does,” was the response; “we 'll surely be off before many days. Let's go to camp.”

Away they went, and found, as they expected, that everybody expected to move to the front very shortly.

“We are pretty nearly ready for orders,” said the quartermaster, “and you'd better come here twice a day, if not oftener, to make sure that you don't get left. Watch the newspapers and see what happens in Missouri for the next few days, as it will have a good deal to do with our movements.”

The boys did as they were directed, and, what was more, they went to a tailor and bought suits resembling those worn by the soldiers. They were not entitled to receive uniforms from the quartermaster, as they had not been enlisted or regularly employed, and, therefore, their outfits were paid for out of their own pockets. But the clothes they wanted were not costly, and therefore their outfits did not cost them much.

There was more news of importance the next day, and if the excitement was great in Dubuque, it was nothing to that in St. Louis.

According to the histories of the time, it occurred in this wise:

A regiment of the Home Guards was marching from the arsenal to its barracks, which lay at the other side of the city, and while on its way it encountered a dense multitude which blocked the street. The crowd being almost wholly composed of secessionists, many of whom were armed with pistols, a pistol-shot was fired at the soldiers, whereupon the latter opened fire, killing eight men and wounding several others. Then the regiment continued to its barracks and was not further molested.

A rumor went around among the secessionists that the Germans had threatened to kill everybody who did not agree with them, and a general massacre was seriously feared. The police commissioners and the mayor asked to have the Home Guards sent away from the city, and though General Harney, the commander of the department, promised to comply with their request, he was soon convinced by Blair and Lyon that it could not be done without giving the city into the hands of the secessionists. Then came a rumor that the Home Guards had refused to obey the orders of General Harney, and were about to begin the destruction of the city and the murder of its inhabitants.

A panic followed, and on the twelfth and thirteenth of May thousands of women and children were sent out of the city; the ferry-boats were crowded to their utmost capacity, and extra steamboats were pressed into service to convey the people to places of safety. Quiet was not restored until two companies of regular soldiers were brought into the city and General Harney had issued a proclamation in which he pledged his faith as a soldier to preserve order and protect all unoffending citizens. This brought back nearly all the fugitives, but there were some who never returned, as they feared the terrible “Dutch blackguards” would revolt against their officers and deluge the streets of St. Louis with blood.

Jack and Harry read with great interest the account of these happenings in the neighboring state, and wondered how they would all end. They also read the editorial comments of the newspapers, but could not understand all they found there.

So they strolled down to camp and questioned one of the soldiers, an intelligent printer from one of the newspaper offices.

“One thing we want to know,” said Jack, “is what is meant by 'states-rights'?”

“That 's what the South is going to war about,” was the reply; “or at any rate that is the pretext of the leaders, though I've no doubt it is honestly believed by the great mass of the southern people.”

“What is it, anyway?”

“Well, it is the idea that the general government of the United States has no power to coerce or control a state against the latter's will.”

“Does that mean,” said Harry, “that if a state wants to go out of the Union she has a perfect right to do so, and there's no power or right in the general government to stop her?”

“Yes, that's what it means,” was the reply. “The states-rights argument is that the states that were dissatisfied with the election of President Lincoln had a perfect right to secede or step out of the Union, and the Union had no right to force them to stay in or come back.”

“Thank you,” said Harry; “I think I understand it now. And how is it with the border states, like Missouri, and the state sovereignty they 're talking about?”

“The states-rights men in Missouri claim that the national government has no right or authority to call for troops from Missouri to aid in putting down rebellion in the seceded states; that Governor Jackson did right in refusing such troops when the president called for them; that the national government has no right to enlist troops in Missouri to take part in the war, and that it must not be permitted to march its troops into or across or through any part of the state in order to reach the states in rebellion against the national authority.”

“In other words,” said one of the boys, “they want the state of Missouri to be entirely neutral in the war—to take no part in it either way?”

“That 's what they say,” replied the printer, with a smile.

“But look here,” exclaimed Harry; “have n't I read that the secessionists in Missouri seized the United States arsenal at Liberty, in the western part of the state, and took possession of all the cannon, small-arms and ammunition they found there?”

“Yes.”

“And have n't I read about how they planned to capture the St. Louis arsenal, and Jeff Davis sent them some artillery and ammunition for that purpose, and wrote them a letter saying exactly what the cannon were to be used for, and how they were to be placed on the hills behind the arsenal in order to batter down the walls?”

“Yes, you read that, and it's all true.”

“That 's what they call neutrality, is it? Do they claim that they have a perfect right to do anything they please toward destroying the government, but the government does wrong when it lifts a finger for its own protection?”

“That's exactly what they claim and have said over and over again in their newspapers and through the voices of their speakers, and every secessionist you talk with says the same thing.”

“Well,” exclaimed Harry, after a slight pause, “I don't think much of such neutrality as that. It's as one-sided as the handle of a jug—a sort of 'heads I win, tails you lose,' business. You could respect them and believe them sincere if they said 'hands off from us, and we will keep hands off from you,' and then lived up to what they said.”

Jack agreed with Harry, and both of them wondered till they were tired and even then could not make it out how honest and fair-minded men as many of the southern sympathizers undoubtedly were, could call such action as that by the name of neutrality. Doubtless some of the young people who read this story will wonder too, and possibly they may doubt that such was the case. Their doubts will be dispelled when they consult any of their friends who are familiar with the history of the war of the rebellion.

The events of the tenth and eleventh of May greatly aided Governor Jackson in his efforts to carry the state of Missouri into the war on the side of the South. The legislature met on the second of May, and the governor recommended that the state should be placed in a condition of defense, so that she could resist invasion by the national forces. While it was discussing the subject and making slow progress the tenth of May came, and with it the Camp Jackson affair. In less than fifteen minutes after the news was received both houses of the legislature had passed the so-called military bill providing for arming the state, and it was ready to be signed by the governor and become a law.

Five days later the legislature adjourned, after passing other acts throwing the state on the side of secession, appropriating two million dollars for military purposes, in addition to the school fund and all other money belonging to the state. The greatest alarm prevailed, as the wildest stories were circulated about the bloodthirstiness of the Germans, who composed the greater part of the Home Guards organized for the defense of St. Louis. On a rumor that two regiments of them were approaching the capital a railway bridge over the Gasconade River was partially destroyed, and many people fled from the city.

The president of the United States removed General Harney from the command of the department, and appointed Lyon, who had been promoted to brigadier-general of volunteers in his stead. Troops in Kansas, Iowa and Illinois were ordered to be ready to move into Missouri, and everything indicated that the government was determined to put a stop to the so-called neutrality of the state. The neutrality was well illustrated by the circumstances that in all parts of the state the Union men were the victims of outrages at the hands of their secessionist neighbors.

For no other offense than being in favor of the Union and opposed to Secession men were dragged from their beds at night and ordered to leave the neighborhood within twenty-four hours, their houses and barns were burned, their cattle and horses stolen, work in the fields was suspended, and everything was the reverse of peaceful. By an agreement between General Harney on the Union side and General Price on behalf of the state authorities, the operations of the military bill had been suspended, and the volunteers which it called together were to be sent to their homes. But instead of going there they were gathered into companies and battalions in convenient places, where they were drilled and instructed in the duties of soldiers. Evidently the neutrality that the Missouri rebels wanted was as one-sided as we have already described it.

CHAPTER IV. ON THE ROAD TO GLORY.

The regiment to which our young friends were attached—the First Iowa—received orders to move southward. Everything was bustle and activity in the camp, and the boys made themselves useful in a variety of ways.

As before stated, they were to accompany the wagon-train, and at once proceeded to make friends with everybody connected with that branch of the regiment's service; and they were not only friendly with the men, but with the horses. Some of the animals showed a tendency to be unruly, but by gentle ways and words Jack and Harry secured their confidence, and it was often remarked that the brutes would do more for the boys than for anybody else. One of the teamsters asked Jack how it was, and said he would give a good deal to know their secret of horse-training.

“There's no secret about it,” replied Jack; “at least, none that I know of. My father is very fond of horses, and has often told me that he always treats them kindly, but at the same time firmly. If he sets out to have a horse do anything he makes him do it; if the creature is stubborn he coaxes him and pets him, and keeps on urging him to do what he wants, and after a while the horse does it. When he has once begun he never lets up, and the animal soon knows that the man is master, and at the same time learns that he isn't to be cruelly punished, very often for not understanding what is wanted.”

To show what he could do in the way of equestrian training, Jack took charge of a “balky” horse that frequently stopped short in his tracks and refused to move on in spite of a sound thrashing. All efforts to get him to go ahead were of no use, and altogether the beast (whose name was Billy) was the cause of a great deal of bad language on the part of the teamsters, which even the presence of the chaplain could not restrain.

Jack harnessed Billy into a cart, and after asking those about him to make no interference, and not even to come near him, he started to mount a small hill at the edge of the camp. Before he had ascended ten feet of the sloping road Billy halted, and showed by his position and the roll of his eye that he intended to stay where he was.

Jack dismounted and took the animal by the head; he tugged gently at the bridle three or four times, speaking gently and kindly all the while, but to no purpose. Billy was “set” in his determination, and did not propose to oblige anybody.

“All right,” said Jack; “if you want to stop here I 'll stay too.” And with that he pulled out a dime novel and sat down by the roadside close to Billy's head.

Jack opened his book and began to read, while Billy looked on and meditated. Half an hour passed and then an hour. At the end of that time Jack made another effort to start the horse up the hill, but with the same result as before.

Then he read another hour and then another, stopping once in a while to try and coax the animal to move on. By this time it was noon, and Jack called to Harry to bring him something to eat. Harry came with a slice of cold meat and a piece of bread, and immediately went away, leaving Jack to devour his lunch in silence, which he did. When the meal was concluded he read another chapter or two, and then he took Billy once more by the bridle and in the same gentle tones urged him to proceed.

Evidently the horse had thought the matter over, as he showed a perfect willingness to do as his young master desired. Without the least hesitation he went straight up the hill, and when they were at the top Jack petted and praised him, and after a while took him back to camp. The lesson was repeated again in the afternoon and on the following day, and from that time on Billy was a model of obedience as long as he was kindly treated.

“I believe a horse has to think things over just as we do,” said Jack; “and if you watch him you 'll find out that he can't think fast. What I wanted was to have him understand that he had got to stay there all day and all night if necessary, until he did what I wanted him to do. When he saw me reading that book and sitting so quiet by the roadside, and particularly when he saw me eat my dinner and sit down to wait just as I had waited before, he made up his mind that't was n't any use to hold out. Horses have good memories. Hereafter when he 's inclined to be balky he 'll think of that long wait and give in without any fuss.”

The regiment went by steamboat down the Mississippi river to the frontier of Missouri, and there waited orders to advance into the interior of the would-be neutral state, and while it waited there was a rapid progress of events in St. Louis, to which we will now turn.

General Lyon had positive information that the rebels were preparing to bring troops from Arkansas and the Indian Territory to assist the Missouri state guard in keeping out the “Dutch and Yankees.” Of course this was quite in keeping with the neutrality about which they had so much to say, and if allowed to go on it was very evident that the whole of the interior of the state might soon be in their control. Accordingly he asked for further authority to enlist troops in the state, and requested that the governors of the neighboring states should be directed to furnish him with several regiments that were in readiness. His request was granted, and within less than a month from the capture of Camp Jackson General Lyon had a military force aggregating ten thousand men in St. Louis, and as many more in Kansas, Iowa and Illinois waiting orders to move wherever he wanted them to go.

Besides these troops there were several thousands of Home Guards in different parts of the state; many of these men were Germans, who had seen military service in the old country, and were excellent material for an army. Opposed to them the governor had a few thousand state troops, many of them poorly armed, but they greatly made up in activity what they lacked in numbers or equipment, so far as keeping the country in a perpetual turmoil was concerned.

It was very evident that the state troops could not hold out against General Lyon's disciplined army, and consequently the governor made ready to abandon Jefferson City, the capital, whenever General Lyon moved against it. All the state property that could be moved was sent away, and the governor and other officials prepared to follow whenever hostilities began.

Through the efforts of several gentlemen who still hoped for a peaceful solution of the troubles of Missouri, a conference was held at St. Louis on the eleventh of June between Governor Jackson and General Price on behalf of the state authorities, and General Lyon and Colonel Blair on the other. General Lyon had guaranteed that if Jackson and Price would come to St. Louis for the purposes of the conference they should have “safe conduct” both ways and not be molested while in the city.

The meeting was a historic one. General Lyon, on being notified of the arrival of Jackson and Price in the city, asked them to meet him at the United States arsenal. The wily governor did not consider himself altogether safe in venturing there, in spite of the safe-conduct that he held, and suggested that the conference must be held at the Planters' House, a well-known hotel of St. Louis, and at that time the principal one. Accordingly the general went there with Colonel Blair, and after a few polite phrases the negotiations began. Present, but not taking part in the debate, were Major Conant, of General Lyon's staff, and Colonel Snead, the private secretary of Governor Jackson.

Four or five hours were consumed in the discussion, which was an animated one throughout. The governor demanded that the United States troops should be withdrawn from the state, and that no recruiting for the union cause should be permitted anywhere in Missouri. 'When the troops were withdrawn he would disband the state militia, and thus the state would be kept entirely neutral. General Lyon insisted that the government had the right to send its troops where it pleased within the boundaries of the United States, and he would listen to nothing else. No progress was made by either side, as neither would yield a point. Finally General Lyon brought the conference to an end by telling Governor Jackson it was useless to talk longer, and that in one hour an officer would call to escort them out of the city.

Lyon and Blair went at once to the arsenal to give orders for the movement of troops, and within an hour from the end of the conference Jackson and Price were on their way to Jefferson City as fast as the railway train could carry them. On the way they ordered the bridges over the Osage and Gasconade rivers to be burned, in order to prevent pursuit.

Early the next morning the governor issued a proclamation calling the people of the state to arms, for the purpose, as he said, of repelling invasion and protecting the lives and property of the citizens of the state. He also asked the Confederate government to send a co-operating force into Missouri as soon as possible, and gave orders for General Price to take the field at once with all the troops he could muster.

General Lyon ordered three regiments with two batteries of artillery, under General Sweeney, to occupy the southwestern part of the state, and by the thirteenth they were on their way to Springfield by way of Rolla, which was then the terminus of the railroad in that direction. The object of this movement was to stop the advance of any Confederate force coming from Arkansas to help the Missourians, and also to head off Jackson and Price in case they marched in that direction. At the same time General Lyon, with two regiments of infantry and a battery of artillery, together with about five hundred regular infantry, went up the Missouri river to Jefferson City, which they captured on the fifteenth without opposition, the rebels having left on the day that General Lyon started from St. Louis.

At the same time that he gave orders for the movements from St. Louis, General Lyon telegraphed to the commander of the Iowa regiment to which Jack and Harry were attached, to advance into Missouri in the direction of Booneville, a flourishing town on the south bank of the Missouri, and the spot selected by General Price as the rallying point of the state troops. There was a considerable amount of war material stored there belonging to the state, and by orders of the governor an arsenal had been started at Booneville for the manufacture of cannon and small-arms. Most of the inhabitants sympathized with the secession movement, which was not the case with the population of Jefferson City, largely composed of Germans.

Jack and Harry fairly danced with delight when they found they were to march into the enemy's country. They regretted that their duties kept them with the wagon-train, which is not usually supposed to take part in battle, and wondered if there was not some way by which they could change places with two of the soldiers and have a share in the fighting. During their first night on the soil of Missouri they lost a fair amount of blood; it was drawn not by the bullets or the sabers of the enemy, but by the mosquitos with which that region is abundantly supplied. Jack thought he had spilled at least a pint of gore in feeding the Missouri mosquitos, and wondered if he could be fairly charged with treason or giving “aid and comfort to the enemy.”

CHAPTER V. ON THE MARCH—CAPTURING A REBEL FLAG.

It was a new life for Jack and Harry, and they greatly enjoyed it. Both declared that they slept more comfortably on the ground than they had formerly slept in bed, and as for the distance accomplished in a day's march it was nothing to them. They cheerfully gave up their places in the wagons to some of the footsore soldiers, and trudged along behind the vehicles as merry as larks.

There was very little danger to be apprehended on the march, although they were technically in the enemy's country. In the part of Missouri north of the river of the same name, there were a few straggling bands of state troops under the command of General John B. Clark, but nothing like a disciplined force that could offer resistance to a well-equipped regiment like the First Iowa. Whenever the regiment approached a town or village, most of the secessionists fled in dismay, after spreading terrible stories of the atrocities that the invaders would be sure to commit as soon as they arrived. Those that remained were no doubt greatly surprised at the good order that prevailed and the perfect respect shown to private property. Everything required for the use of the soldiers was fully paid for, and instead of bewailing the visit of the invaders, many of the citizens, even those whose sympathies were not with the Union, hoped they would come again. Later in the war things changed a good deal in this respect, as we shall see further on in our story.

One town through which the regiment passed, and where it halted for one day and a part of another to wait orders for further movements, was reputed to be one of the worst nests of secession in that part of the state.

There was a hotel in the town, and its owner had recently, so Jack learned from a boy of about his age with whom he established friendly relations, given it the name of the Davis House, in honor of the President of the Southern Confederacy. Jack informed the soldiers of this discovery, and an examination of the front of the building showed that the former name of the hotel had been painted out to make a place for the new one.

Immediately a pot of white paint and one of black were procured, a rough staging was erected, the word “Davis” was painted out, and “Union” took its place. The proprietor protested, but his protest was of no use. He was told that the Union House would be much more popular than the Davis House could be by any possibility, and when they came around again they expected to find the new name retained. The proprietor said his neighbors would burn the building over his head if he allowed it to remain as it was, and as soon as the regiment had gone he set about changing the obnoxious appellation. But he showed some worldly wisdom in giving it a new name altogether instead of restoring what might have brought him into trouble with future visitors of the kind he had just had. He avoided both “Davis” and “Union,” and called the establishment the “Missouri Hotel,” a name at which neither side could take offense.

The boy who told Jack about the hotel also informed him where a rebel flag was concealed. It had been made by several young women whose sympathies were with the southern cause, and was intended for presentation to the captain of a company which would soon leave the county to fight on the southern side.

Jack hastened to Captain Herron, one of the officers of the regiment, and told what he had heard. The captain sent a detail of soldiers, under the guidance of Jack, who led the way to the house of one of the principal inhabitants of the place.

The sergeant in command of the squad of soldiers rapped at the door, which was opened by a servant. He asked for the lady of the house, and very soon a comely matron of forty or more stood before him.

“We beg your pardon for disturbing you,” said the sergeant; “but we want a rebel flag that we are told has been made here recently.”

“You shan't come into my house,” was the angry reply; “and we've no flag for you Yankees.”

She was about to close the door in the sergeant's face, but the latter stopped her from so doing by stepping forward and holding it open. Then he ordered his men to follow him, which they did, accompanied by Jack.

“Be kind enough to show us through the house,” said the sergeant; “we don't want to trouble you, but we must have that flag.”

“If you are after a flag you won't find any,” she answered; “and as for showing a lot of Yankees through the house, I won't.”

The sergeant ordered one man to stay at the front door and another at the rear, “and permit nobody to leave the house.” Then he called the servant, a negro woman, who had opened the door, and ordered her to show the way through the rooms. Accustomed to obedience, the woman did as she was told, her mistress being so overcome with rage that she did not endeavor to exercise her authority over the servant.

Jack had told the sergeant that the flag was hidden between the sheets of a bed in the first sleeping-room at the head of the stairs; consequently that was the room which the sergeant intimated he would like to see first.

The room was found and so was the bed, but no flag. The bed showed signs of very recent disturbance, as though something had been withdrawn from it. Evidently the flag had been taken away during the parley at the door. The room was searched in every part, but no sign of the flag was found; then other rooms were examined, but with the same result.

The soldiers went through the entire house, the sergeant giving them strict orders to search everywhere, but at the same time to injure nothing. Just as they were about to give up the enterprise as a bad job, a brilliant thought occurred to Jack.

He mounted the stairs again and went straight to the bed which had first been the object of their examination. Pulling down the bed-clothes, which had been left in a disordered condition after the investigation of the soldiers, he found the desired flag and bore it in triumph to the sergeant.

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Then the sergeant withdrew his men, after again apologizing to the mistress of the house, who was so angry that she could not, or would not, speak. On the way back to camp the sergeant asked Jack how it was he knew the flag was where he found it.

“I sort o' guessed it,” replied Jack. “I noticed that the woman and her two daughters did n't stay with us while we were rummaging the house, but kept going in and out of the rooms, leaving the servant to show us around.

“I thought they were up to something, especially as one of the daughters did n't show up at all while we were talking at the door before we went in.

“Now, I figured out that while we were talking with the old gal the young one we did n't see was taking the flag out of the bed and hiding it somewhere else. When they saw us at the door they knew what we'd come for, and probably guessed we 'd been told where the flag was.

“Well, after we'd looked through that bed and all the room without finding anything, we went on to the next room. They knew we 'd hunt high and low for the flag, and go through every part of the house. Now, if you'd a-been in their place what would you have done, when you knew you could n't get out of the house without being seen?”

“I see it now,” said the sergeant, “though I did n't before. I'd have watched my chance by going round through the halls, and put the flag in one of the places that had been searched, and there would n't have been any better place than the bed where we first went for it.”

“That's just what I thought,” said Jack in reply; “and when I saw the old gal give a wink to the young one and the young one winked back again, it just occurred to me to go to the bed and have another look.”

“You'd make a good detective,” said the sergeant approvingly, and then the conversation turned to the flag they had captured and the probable use that would be made of it.

“That's for the captain to say,” replied the sergeant in reply to Jack's query.

The sergeant turned the flag over to the captain and the latter duly admired it and praised Jack for his acuteness. The secession emblem was a fine one, being made of the best bunting procurable in St. Louis, whence the material was specially ordered. It was the regular secession flag, the “Stars and Bars,” and was intended to be displayed on the battlefield, where the rebels confidently hoped to put the defenders of the Union to flight at the first fire. Along the center of the flag the following couplet had been deftly embroidered by the fingers of the young ladies by whom the banner was made, and the lines were said to have been the composition of the maiden who so signally failed in concealing the precious standard from the search of the invaders:

“Federals from thee shall flee,
Gallant sons of Liberty!”

Jack suggested that they should have added the following quotation from Robert Burns, as a suitable intimation of thee possibilities in the case:

“The best laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley”

CHAPTER VI. MARCHING AND CAMPING IN THE RAIN—FIRST SHOTS AT THE ENEMY.

When the march across Missouri began the weather was fine, and our young friends, as before stated, were delighted with campaigning life; but the fair weather did n't last.

When they were on the road again, after the affair of the rebel flag, they found a change of situation. A storm arose, and they had the disagreeable experience of marching and camping in the rain. Old soldiers think nothing of rain, though of course they prefer fine weather, but for new campaigners the first rain-storm is a serious affair. So it was with Jack and Harry.

They had provided themselves with waterproof coats, which protected their shoulders, in fact, kept them fairly dry above the knees, but could not prevent the mud from forming on the ground nor protect the feet of the boys as they marched along. It was a weary tramp through the mud, and any one who has traveled in Missouri knows that the mud there is of a very sticky quality; in fact, in most of the western states the soil has a consistency that is unknown in many parts of the east. When dry it is hard, and forms an excellent road, though it is apt to give off a good deal of dust in specially dry and windy times. When there is much traveling over a road, and no rain falls for some time, the dust is a great deal more than perceptible.

But it is in the wet season that the soil of the west puts in its fine work. The mud has the stickiness of glue with the solidity of putty. Each time the foot goes down it picks up a small quantity, very small it may be; but as continual dropping will wear away stone, so will continual stepping convert the foot into a shapeless mass of mud. Five or ten pounds of mud may thus be gathered upon each foot of a pedestrian, and it does not require a vivid imagination to increase the five pounds to fifty. Horses “ball up” in the same way, and there are many localities where, under certain conditions of weather, this balling up is so rapid, and withal so dangerous, as to make travel next to impossible.

The regiment went into camp that night pretty well tired out, and it is safe to say that some of the soldiers wished themselves home again. But if they did so wish they kept their thoughts to themselves, and each one pretended to his comrades that it was just what he liked.

To pitch tents on wet ground is the reverse of agreeable, and to lie down on the ground and try to sleep there is worse than the mere work of putting a tent in place. But both of these things must be done, except where there is no tent to pitch and one must sleep without any shelter other than the sky. When our armies took the field in the early part of the war there was a good supply of tents, so that the soldiers were well protected against the weather; but this condition of affairs did not last long. In the early days there was an allowance of two wagons to a company, or twenty wagons to a regiment, without counting the wagons of the field officers and staff. Later on the wagon allowance was greatly reduced, and during the closing campaigns of the war the luxuries of the early days were practically unknown. The army with the smallest wagon-train can make the most rapid progress, as a train is a great hindrance in military movements.

Jack and Harry slept beneath one of the wagons, or rather they tried to sleep, during the steady rain that continued through the night. In the morning Jack thought Harry resembled a butterfly that had been run through a sausage-machine, while the latter retorted that his comrade looked as if he had been fished out of a millpond and hung up to dry. Both were a good deal bedraggled and limp, but they would not admit it, and each danced about as though a little more and a great deal wetter rain was just what he wanted.

“Tell you what, Harry,” said Jack, “it was n't being wet that bothered me so much as getting wet. I found a reasonably dry place, and thought I was all right, but just as I was getting asleep I felt the tiniest little drop of water soaking through on the side I was lying on. I tried to shrivel up so as to get away from it, but the water followed me, and the more I shrunk the more it spread.

“Then I thought it would be better if I turned over, but in turning I let in more water, or rather I suppose I made a hollow in the soft ground, and that was just old pie for the water. When I turned I exposed my neck and got a touch of it there, and so it went on; at every move I got more and more of it. By the end of an hour or so, which seemed all night, I was fairly wet through, and then I did n't care half so much about it. I went to sleep and slept pretty well till morning, and don't believe I've got a bit of a cold.”

“I had about the same sort of a time with the rain,” said Harry, “and agree with you that the worst part of it is the feeling you have while the rain is getting its way through your clothes and you're trying to keep it out; and all the time you know you can't do it, and really might just as well give in at once.”

“Never mind now,” said Jack; “what we want is hot coffee and something to eat.”

They had taken the precaution to lay away some sticks of dry wood in one of the wagons before the rain began, and therefore there was no difficulty in starting a fire. All the wood that lay around the camp was soaked with water, but by careful searching and by equally careful manipulating of the sticks the soldiers and teamsters managed to get up a creditable blaze by using their dry wood to start it with.

Hot coffee all around served to put everybody in good humor, and some hard bread and bacon from the commissary wagons made the solid portion of the breakfast. Harry had secured some slices of cold beef the day before, and these, which he shared with Jack, made a meal fit for a king when added to the regular rations that had been served out. The rain stopped soon after sunrise, the sun came out and in a few hours the roads were dry enough to justify the order to move on. Meantime everybody was busy drying whatever could be dried, and by noon the discomforts of the first night in the rain had been pretty well forgotten.

An hour or two after the column started on the road there was an alarm from the front that threw everybody into a state of excitement. Rumors were passed from man to man, and as they grew with each repetition, they became very formidable by the time they reached the rear-guard. There was a large force of the enemy blocking the way—a whole army, with cannon enough to blow them all out of existence, and possibly to take the offensive and march straight to the capital of Iowa.

Every soldier got his rifle in readiness, the wagons were driven closely up, the rear-guard prepared to meet an assault that might possibly come in their direction, and there was all the “pomp, pride and circumstance of glorious war” with the hand of untried warriors, few of whom had ever smelt gunpowder in a warlike way.

The excitement grew to fever heat when some shots were heard, and evidently indicated the beginning of the battle. Jack and Harry wanted to rush to the front of the column and take a hand in the affair, but they were stopped by the quartermaster, who said they would only be in the way, and had better wait a while until the colonel sent for them. He ended his suggestion with a peremptory order that they should not leave the wagons without permission.

This was a disappointment, but they bore it as patiently as they could. They were learning the lesson of military life, that the soldier must obey his officer and each officer must obey the word of his own superior, no matter what it may be. As a consolation to them, and also as an illustration of what they must expect in the army, the quartermaster told a story about a volunteer officer during the Mexican war.

This officer had been ordered to do something that he thought highly injudicious. General Scott was standing near, and Captain X———, as we will call him, appealed to the general to know what he should do.

“Obey the order,” was the brief answer of the general.

“But it's absurd,” replied the captain. “Certainly no one should obey an order like that.”

“Always obey your superior officer,” responded the general.

“But suppose my superior officer orders me to jump out of a fourth-story window,” interposed the captain, “must I do it?”

“Certainly,” the general answered; “your superior's duty is to have a feather-bed there to receive you, and you can be sure he 'll have it. That's a part of his business you have nothing to do with.”

This may sound like exaggeration to the young reader who has no knowledge of the ways of military life, but let me assure him that it is nothing of the kind. It is a principle of army discipline that a soldier or officer should unhesitatingly obey the orders he receives without asking for explanations. On the battlefield, regiments, brigades, divisions, are sent as the commander desires for the purposes of carrying out his combinations and plans. It can readily be seen that all discipline would be gone and the combinations and plans could not be carried out if each subordinate commander required an explanation of the reason why he was dispatched in a particular direction or ordered to do a certain thing. Now and then there is an opportunity which an officer embraces for acting on his own hook without orders, but the experienced officer always hesitates lest he lays himself open to censure, and possibly court-martial and punishment, as he surely would if subsequent events showed his action to have been injudicious or disastrous.

The battle turned out to be no battle at all—only a skirmish with some bushwhackers, in which a dozen shots or so were exchanged and nobody was hurt. The advance of the column had come upon a group of men, some mounted and others on foot, near a bend in the road where a small stream was crossed. The sight of the soldiers had disturbed the group; those who had horses rode away as fast as they could go, while the fellows on foot made the best of their way into the bushes, where they sought concealment. They did not obey the order to halt, whereupon a few shots were fired at them, which they returned.

The shots only served to quicken their pace, and in a very short time nothing was to be seen of the fugitives. The quartermaster explained to the youths that the term “bushwhacker” was applied to the men who were straggling about the country with arms in their hands, and did not appear to belong to any regularly-organized body of soldiery.

“Missouri,” said he, “is full of bushwhackers, and there 'll be more of 'em as the war goes on. They 're not to be feared by a regularly-organized force, but can make the roads quite unsafe for ordinary travel. The trouble is, a man may be a peaceful farmer one day, a bushwhacker the next, and a peaceful farmer again on the third. The rebels encourage this sort of fighting, as it will compel us to maintain a large force to keep the roads open as we advance into the south.”

CHAPTER VII. FROM JEFFERSON TO BOONEVILLE—FIRST BATTLE IN MISSOURI.

Let us now return to General Lyon, whom we left at Jefferson City, which he had occupied without opposition. The union men gave him a hearty welcome, while the secessionists received him with many a frown.

Major Conant, of General Lyon's staff, visited the penitentiary, which was full of convicts, who cheered heartily as he entered. They had hoped to be liberated when the rebels left town, and no doubt would have been willing to enter the service as a condition of getting outside the stone walls that surrounded them. They had been secession in sentiment, but finding the rebels had gone without them they suddenly changed their politics and shouted lustily for the Union when the officer representing the authority of the United States came among them. A few only held out and cheered for Jeff Davis and Governor Jackson, probably for the reason that they believed in secession, and especially in secession from where they were. There was gloom all around when they found that General Lyon had no intention of setting them free, and that the sole object of the visit of Major Conant was to see that the prison was properly guarded, and ascertain that no work on behalf of the rebels was being carried on there.

The editor of the Examiner, a newspaper which had been advocating secession in the most violent manner, called upon General Lyon, and said he had been a union man always, and was in favor of keeping the state in the Union, though he had thought differently only a short time before. There were several cases of equally sudden conversion, but the general did not consider these professions-of patriotism anything more than skin deep. Missouri was full of men of this sort—men who were in favor of the rebellion at heart, but in presence of the Union flag were the most profound unionists that the country ever saw.

As soon as it was positively known that the fleeing rebels had decided to make a stand at Booneville, which was about forty miles from Jefferson City, General Lyon started in pursuit of them. Loading his troops on three steamboats, with the exception of three companies of infantry, which were left to hold possession of Jefferson City, he started up the Missouri early on the afternoon of Sunday, June sixteenth, and by sunset reached a point ten or twelve miles below Booneville, where it was decided to tie up for the night. Bright and early the next morning the steamers moved on, and were brought to the bank of the river six or seven miles below Booneville.

The rebels had formed a camp, known as Camp Vest, about half-way between this landing-place and the town, and as they had several cannon there, it was not deemed advisable to move the steamboats within their range until the infantry or artillery of the land forces had made a demonstration.

In the gray of the morning the troops were landed, and the bank of the river presented a scene to which it was quite unaccustomed. Officers were hurrying about here and there; companies were endeavoring to assemble, as they had become a good deal scattered in the hurry of getting on shore; the artillery was dragged up the steep slope of the bank with a vast deal of shouting on the part of the drivers, including a liberal amount of language that is not usually found in theological works; the saddle-horses of the officers danced around in endeavoring to show their satisfaction at getting on land again, and some of them escaped from the orderlies who were holding them and were retaken with difficulty. Altogether it was a picture long to be remembered by those who saw it.

There was no cavalry in the expedition, with the exception of General Lyon's body-guard of eight or ten Germans who had been specially enlisted for this purpose. These men, previous to their enlistment, had been employed in a butchering establishment in St. Louis. The story got abroad that German butchers had been enlisted for the Union army, and, as usual, it was magnified with each repetition until it seemed that every man who wore the national uniform was a professional spiller of blood. Out of this circumstance grew the most terrific predictions as to what the butchers would do when they got possession of a place or marched through any part of the state, and it was for this reason, among others, that so many people fled in terror when they heard that the Union army was coming. General Lyon's butchers were as well behaved as the most fastidious commander could desire; they were good soldiers, obedient to their commander, and would not harm a fly except in the performance of their legitimate duty.

Before seven o'clock in the morning the column was in motion, the cavalry squad in advance and skirmishers thrown out for half a mile or soon either side. Very soon after leaving the landing-place the road ascended a series of undulating hills or ridges, and the advance had not gone far on this road before the pickets of the enemy were driven in. Then one of the cavalrymen rode hastily back and said that the whole force of the state troops were drawn up on one of the ridges only a few hundred yards away. The battle was about to begin!

The regular soldiers and the First Missouri were ordered forward, the rest of the volunteer regiments were held in reserve, and the battery commanded by Captain Totten took position in the middle of the road on one of the ridges in full view of the enemy on the other side of a wheat-field that filled the greater part of the hollow from ridge to ridge. On the ridge held by the enemy the road was filled with horsemen, while the men on foot were deployed to right and left, slightly protected by fences that divided the fields.

Captain Totten unlimbered a twelve-pounder gun and sent a shell right in the midst of the group of horsemen in the road.

To say that the shell kicked up a great dust is to describe the result very mildly. It not only kicked up a dust but it set all the horses to kicking up, and though it did not kill anybody, as far as was afterwards ascertained, it emptied a dozen saddles by the rearing and plunging of the steeds. None of them had ever seen anything of the kind before. It takes a hardened old horse to stand an exploding shell, and even then there's some doubt as to whether he will be quiet under such trying circumstances.

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The opening shot of the artillery was rapidly followed by others, and then the small-arms added their noise to the firing. Of course the rebels by this time were doing their best, and the bullets flew thickly, but as is always the case in battle, most of them were aimed too high. Here and there a man was wounded, but as General Lyon had ordered all who were not actually engaged to keep out of range no harm was done outside the fighting line, and even there the bloodshed was slight.

In twenty minutes from the time the first shot was fired the rebels were in full retreat and the unionists were following them. Not only were the rebels in retreat, but they were scattered and a good deal demoralized. In justice to them it should be said that no commander ever yet existed who could keep his men completely together in time of flight under an enemy's fire. Of course veterans will act better than green troops, but even the hardiest of veterans will straggle under such circumstances.

The fugitives made no stand until they reached their camp, and even there they did not tarry long. A few rounds of bullets and some shots from the artillery set them again in flight, which was considerably aided by one of the steamboats that had moved up from the landing-place and fired two or three rounds from a howitzer just as it reached a point opposite the camp. “Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them,” as the Light Brigade had at Balaklava, was too much for the rebel troops to stand.

There was something ludicrous in the appearance of the camp, as it bore evidence of a very hasty departure on the part of its late occupants. Meat was in the frying-pans on the fire, half-baked beans filled the camp-ovens, and pots of unboiled coffee were standing ready for the attention of the cook. On the ground lay a ham with a slice half severed and a knife still sticking in the meat. The camp-chest of some of the officers was all spread for breakfast, but those who had expected to take their morning meal there were now in rapid flight for safety.

A cooked breakfast should not be wasted, so some of our fellows thought, and they set about devouring what the fugitives had left. Tents were standing, piles of provisions were heaped up, a good many rifles and other weapons were scattered on the ground, and altogether the captors made a satisfactory seizure. One of the officers found several hundred dollars in a trunk in one of the tents and thoughtfully put the money in his pocket, in order, as he said, to hand it to the owner in case he should ever meet and recognize him.

CHAPTER VIII. THE CAPTURED CAMP—A CHAPLAIN'S EXPLOIT.

There were no horses in camp, but there were many saddles, an indication that the camp was evacuated so hastily that there was not time to put the accouterments on the steeds, where they belonged. The saddles came handy to the civilian attachés of the expedition, and so did the blankets and a good many other things that had been left behind. A company of infantry was left in charge of the camp, and then the rest of the column pressed on in pursuit.

Outside the town there was another brief halt, caused by the presence of a small company of mounted men, who evidently acted as a rear-guard, and with whom a few shots were exchanged. Some of the dignitaries of Boone-ville came out to surrender the place and beg that private property should be respected, and while they were parleying with General Lyon and Colonel Blair two steamboats left the landing in front of Booneville and steamed up the river. They carried the greater part of the fleeing rebels, the remainder making their escape by land along the river road.

And so ended the battle of Booneville. The losses on the Union side were three killed and ten wounded; on the rebel side the number of casualties was never positively known, owing to the fact that many of the state troops fled directly to their homes and stayed there, or at all events were not heard from again. Eight or ten were known to have been killed, and about twenty wounded.

A year or two later an affair of this sort would have been regarded merely as a roadside skirmish, but at that time it was an occurrence of great moment. From one end of the country to the other the account of it was published, and it has become known to history as an important battle. Politically it was of great consequence, as it was the first battle fought in Missouri, if we leave out of consideration the incidents of Camp Jackson and the day after, which cannot be regarded as battles in any sense. It was the first trial of strength between the state authorities of Missouri and the national government, and as a trial of strength it showed the power of the United States and the resources and abilities of the government better than could have been done by a whole volume of proclamations.

Disciplined troops were brought face to face with raw recruits who had not received even the rudiments of military instruction. Many of them were not even organized into companies, but had come together hastily at the call of the governor, and on the day of the battle were trying to fight “on their own hook.” And they learned the lesson which is generally taught under such circumstances—that such a hook is a very poor one to fight on.

The greenness of the men is shown by some of the incidents of the day. Reverend William A. Pile, the chaplain of the First Missouri, was a muscular Christian, who showed such a fondness for fighting that he afterward went into the service and gained the rank of brigadier-general before the war was over. At Booneville he was assigned to look after the wounded, and for this purpose was given command of four soldiers, two of them from the mounted escort of General Lyon, and two infantrymen from the First Missouri.

While looking about the field after the rebels had been put to flight, the chaplain came suddenly upon a group of men who seemed uncertain what to do. Most of them had rifles and shotguns, and might have made it very uncomfortable for the man of religion.

He hesitated not a moment, but drew his revolver. He was mounted on a good horse, one of the steeds taken in the early part of the battle, and had all the dignity of a captain of cavalry.

Ordering his two cavalrymen to accompany him, and telling the infantry column—of two men—to follow as fast as they could, he dashed up to the group and presented his pistol as though about to fire.

“Throw down your arms and surrender!” the chaplain commanded, in a voice like the roaring of a young bull.

The men dropped their arms to the ground, and stood in that dazed attitude with which a cow looks at a railway train.

“About face, march!” shouted the chaplain, anxious to get the fellows away from their weapons before they had time to collect their senses and make it uncomfortable for their would-be captors.

Mechanically the men obeyed, and when they were at a good distance from the guns that had been left on the ground he halted them to give his infantry a chance to come up and help surround the prisoners.

The infantry came up, and the prisoners, twenty-four in all, were duly “surrounded” and marched into camp, where they were placed among others of their late comrades-in-arms. Twenty-four armed men surrounded and captured by four soldiers and a chaplain is an occurrence not often known in war. The prisoners were mostly beardless youths, who had little appreciation of what war was or is. Only the rawest of soldiers could be captured in this way and brought safely into the lines, and it required all the audacity of which the chaplain was capable to carry out his enterprise.

Booneville was entered in triumph, and there was great excitement among the inhabitants, many of whom expected to be murdered in cold blood after witnessing the pillaging of their houses and the destruction of everything that the “Yankee thieves” did not desire to carry away. The poorer part of the population was generally loyal, while the wealthier inhabitants were nearly all in favor of secession. There were some rich people who were stanch supporters of the Union, but they had a hard time of it among their more numerous secession neighbors.

A considerable quantity of rebel stores and arms were taken at Booneville and in the neighborhood, and altogether the forces that were arrayed under the secession banner suffered a heavy loss in things that were valuable to them. The hiding-places of these valuables were pointed out by union men, who in some instances desired their identity concealed for fear of the vengeance that would be visited upon them after the national troops should go away. They complained that they had been very badly treated, and several of them had been given a certain number of days in which to close up their affairs and leave town. Their time of probation had not ended when the battle and its result rendered their departure a matter which the rebels were not exactly able to control.

General Lyon issued a proclamation, in which he briefly recited the events of the past week and warned the people not to take up arms against the government. He advised all who had been in arms to go to their homes, and promised that all who would do so and remain quietly attending to their own business, should not be disturbed for past offenses. The proclamation had a good effect, and the number recently under arms who went home and stayed there was by no means small. Unhappily it was more than offset by those who responded to the summons of the governor and went to follow the fortunes of the army that he was organizing.

Preparations were now made for an advance into the southwest part of the state, as it was understood that the rebels would attempt to make a stand there, where they would be assisted by the troops that the Confederate government was sending to help in getting Missouri out of the Union.

General Sweeney was ordered to march from Rolla to Springfield, and at the same time General Lyon would move from Booneville toward the same point. Simultaneously a column under Major Sturgis was to advance from Leavenworth, Kansas, through the western part of Missouri, and the three columns were to unite near Springfield and endeavor to cut off and disperse the rebels that were concentrating with a view to taking the offensive. This was the plan, but owing to the absence of railways it could not be carried out in a hurry.

The First Iowa reached Booneville shortly after the battle, and most of its officers and soldiers were greatly disappointed to think they could not have had a hand in the fight.

Jack and Harry had their first view of the Missouri river from the bank opposite Booneville, and were greatly interested in studying the mighty stream as the ferryboat carried them across.

As he looked at the yellow flood pouring along with the rapidity which is one of its characteristics, Jack remarked:

The Lost Army

THE LOST ARMY

By Thomas W. Knox

The Werner CompanyNew York1899

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CHAPTER I. HARRY AND JACK—OUTBREAK OF THE WAR—TRYING TO ENLIST.

CHAPTER II. ST. LOUIS AND CAMP JACKSON.

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CHAPTER III. SECESSION IDEAS OF NEUTRALITY.

CHAPTER IV. ON THE ROAD TO GLORY.

CHAPTER V. ON THE MARCH—CAPTURING A REBEL FLAG.

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CHAPTER VI. MARCHING AND CAMPING IN THE RAIN—FIRST SHOTS AT THE ENEMY.

CHAPTER VII. FROM JEFFERSON TO BOONEVILLE—FIRST BATTLE IN MISSOURI.

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CHAPTER VIII. THE CAPTURED CAMP—A CHAPLAIN'S EXPLOIT.

The Werner Company
New York
1899