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- Herausgeber: Charles River Editors
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
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Seitenzahl: 231
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
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THREE YEARS WITH QUANTRILL
John McCorkle
CHIOS CLASSICS
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This book is a work of nonfiction and is intended to be factually accurate.
All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.
Copyright © 2015 by John McCorkle
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Three Years with Quantrill
INTRODUCTION.
THREE YEARS WITH QUANTRILL
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
THREE YEARS WITH QUANTRILL
By
John McCorkle
INTRODUCTION.
IN ALL WARS THERE HAVE always been, and always will be a class of men designated as guerillas, but it can be said that the Missouri guerillas are more noted than those of any war in any country for ages. Their deeds of daring, their miraculous escapes, and the physical sufferings that they endured are almost beyond belief. Following the close of the Civil War, a number of highly-colored and melodramatic books, concerning the acts of the guerillas were published, in the majority of which the desire to be sensational defeated any attempts at truthfulness on the part of the authors. Another class of books, written from an intensely partisan standpoint, has given to the world a very imperfect conception of the motives and of the conduct of the Missouri guerrillas. All of these books were published at a time when men were controlled by feelings of prejudice and passion and a number of the inhabitants of Missouri have, for years, endeavored to find someone who knew the facts and would truthfully relate them as they were.
In the summer of 1865, a tall, gaunt, blue-eyed Confederate soldier landed from a steamboat at the town of Glasgow. Howard County, Missouri. He was dressed in a ragged, faded gray uniform and had all of his possessions about him. In the country above Glasgow he had some relatives, connections, both by blood and marriage, of some of the best families in Missouri, and at the home of one of these relatives this young man found employment as a farm laborer and it soon became known that he was John McCorkle, one of Quantrell’s bravest and most trusted soldiers and one of his leading scouts. For some time the neighbors kept a close watch upon the newcomer and viewed him with something of suspicion, fearing that he might follow the alleged example of some of the other of Quantrell’s men and become an outlaw, but they soon found him to be a steady, law-abiding citizen. In 1867, he was married to an estimable lady of Howard County, and soon became one of its leading farmers and one of its best and most trusted citizens, and today no man in the county stands higher in the estimation of his neighbors and acquaintances than does John McCorkle. For years a member of the Baptist church, he is known as a true Christian gentleman of strong character, as tender-hearted and sympathetic as a woman, but as stern and fearless as a lion and the word “fear” has no place in John McCorkle’s vocabulary. And when the time comes, he will, as he has many times in the past, face Old Death with a smile on his face.
Quite a number of his friends, knowing his history and his record with Quantrell, and knowing that from his lips would come naught but the truth, have been trying to persuade him to write a brief story of his life with Quantrell. He has at last consented and have agreed to write the account for him. He has told me the facts and I have written them down; every word in the following pages is true: I have attempted to neither add to, or detract from any of these facts, as related by him; there is no fiction in this account but a true story. Mr. McCorkle has more than lived out his allotted time of three-score years and ten, but his memory is still good and while he may have forgotten a few of the facts after a lapse of half a century, still everything related by him actually occurred. As he would relate his experiences and those of his comrades, I could see that all the sad and awful scenes of these three terrible years were crowding fast upon his memory, and I could not help but notice the changing expression of his eyes, which are of that determined blue, while he was relating these facts to me. At times, while describing some of the battles and some of the outrages committed against the helpless non-combatants of the South, during those four years of civil war in Missouri by unprincipled men who hid their misdeeds under the cloak of a Federal uniform and the Stars and Stripes, I could almost see the fire flash from those eyes and at other times, while telling of the death of some comrade, or the sufferings and hardships of defenceless old men and women of the South, those same eyes would fill with tears and the voice which had so often sent terror to the hearts of Kansas Jayhawkers and militiamen as it gave forth the rebel yell, would sink into a husky whisper. This story is not published in any spirit of malice or hatred, but in order that the truth may be known, that the world may know that Quantrell and his band were justified, in nearly all of their acts and that they were not altogether bad; that they were driven to desperation by brutal outrages committed against them and their friends, and our only desire is that the world shall know the true facts in the case before it is too late, for we all are forced to realize the sad fact that ere long “taps” will sound for the last Confederate soldier on earth. All is forgiven, if not forgotten.
O. S. Barton.
THREE YEARS WITH QUANTRILL
CHAPTER I.
I WAS BORN DECEMBER 12, 1838, two miles east of Savannah, in Andrew County, Missouri, and when I was about eight years of age, my father moved from Andrew County and located on a farm near Westport, in Jackson County, Missouri. I lived with my lather on this farm, attending country school in the winter time, until the year 1858, when I went to the State of Texas and stayed for six months. I then returned to my mother’s farm, my father having died in 1851. I remained on the farm with my mother until April, 1861, when I, with a number of other young men, enlisted in Company A of the Missouri State Guards,’ near Raytown, in Jackson County. Captain Thurston was the first commander of this company. We would meet in Raytown and drill twice a week. In about a month, we were ordered to report at Independence and after remaining in Independence a short time, we were then ordered to Lock Creek and the next evening after we reached Lock Creek, we heard that Col. John P. Crittenden was coming from Kansas City with a regiment to capture us. We were then ordered to move out into the road and to form in platoons of eight. At this time, all of us, who were boys and raw recruits, became very much excited at the prospect of going into a battle and our orderly sergeant, Faulkner, became so excited that he got his saber between his knees, fell down and began to yell that the enemy were right on us. We then learned that two other companies of State Guards had come out from Independence, one called the Blues, under the command of Captain Whitehead and the other called the Grays, under the command of Captain Bob Flournoy. By this time, we had persuaded our orderly sergeant that the enemy were not on us and were ordered to join the Blues and Grays who had formed in line of battle on the hill. Col. Holloway was in command of all the State Guards. Col. Crittenden had entered the mouth of a lane about a quarter of a mile off and Col. Holloway, our commander, rode down and met him. They shook hands and after a few moments’ conversation. Col. Crittenden ordered his regiment to countermarch and they turned and started back toward Kansas City. As the Federal troops marched off. Captain Whitehead, who was in command of the Blues, lost his head and ordered his company to fire and they, being as much excited as their captain, fired into our own men, wounding Col. Holloway and killing Charles Harbaugh. Colonel Holloway died in a few days at Independence from the wound.
We then returned to Independence and the next day were ordered from there to Blue Mills, east of Independence. While we were at Blue Mills, Captain Thurston and Captain Duncan of Clay County had ridden across the Little Blue on a bridge at night and as they were returning across the bridge, someone fired on them, striking Captain Duncan in the neck. He was taken from there to Doctor Twyman’s at Blue Mills, where he died in a few days. After Captain Duncan was shot, Captain Thurston became very much excited, ordered us to strike our arms, disband and go home. The arms we had consisted of Burnsides rifles and sabers which had been shipped to Kansas City by the Federal Government and which we had borrowed one night from a warehouse when there was no one around. After we had gone about two miles from where we disbanded, it dawned on me that we might have further use for some of those arms and I suggested that we had better go back and get them and seven of us returned, got our rifles and sabers and a supply of ammunition and hid them in a bluff on the Little Blue. We stayed around home until after the battle of Springfield and General Price had started back to Lexington. Our company was then ordered together again and securing our guns, we marched and joined General Price at Warrensburg and came with him to Lexington and went into camp at the Fair Grounds. Before the Battle of Lexington, Captain Thurston resigned and the company elected Minor Smith, a Mexican veteran, who is still living at this time. Our company was then placed in the Seventh Missouri Regiment of Cavalry, Raines’ Division and known as Rassieuer’s Regiment and Lieutenant-Colonel Martin was in command. This regiment was placed on the east side of the college where the Federals were fortified, and our regiment was ordered to support the famous Bledsoe battery. For some unknown cause, Col. Rassieuer ordered our regiment to change positions and to go down a ravine and come up through the woods between the college, where the Federals were fortified and Bledsoe’s Battery. General Raines who was in command took us for Federal soldiers and ordered Col. Bledsoe to open fire on us with his battery, and he fired three shots at us with his cannon, the first shot wounding seven men. When this first shot was fired, we all dropped to the ground and Col. Martin, drawing his saber in a very excited manner, ordered us to get up and stand up like men, but when Bledsoe fired the second shot, Col. Martin was the first one to fall flat on his face and John Staulcupe, a private, ran up to the Colonel and kicked him and said, ‘’Damn you, don‘t be a coward; get up and stand up like a man.” We then sent a runner to notify the battery of their mistake and they ceased firing on us. Our Colonel then gave the command to move from there and we marched down the road under a hill where we were protected. While this battle, which lasted for three days, was in progress, one night, Henry Brookins, our First Lieutenant, proposed to me that we go up the hollow and climb a tree and look into the fort. We got permission from our Captain, but he told us positively not to fire a shot into the fort. Brookins and I went over and climbed up into two trees, where we could see into the fort. Then Brookins remarked, “John, we can‘t lose this chance; we must have a shot apiece,’’ and he said ‘’Fire.” We fired and then we immediately proceeded to fall out of the trees, for a perfect hailstorm of bullets from the fort soon warned us that our elevated positions had not only been discovered, but were exceedingly dangerous. Of course, we never reported to our Captain what was the cause of the men in the fort trying to top those trees.
Immediately after the Battle of Lexington and General Mulligan had been paroled, Rassieur’s Regiment was placed on guard around the fortifications, and strict orders were issued to permit no one to enter or go out of the fortifications without a pass. During this time, one of Col. Bledsoe’s gunners, who was drinking very heavily, was inside the fortifications, and putting on a Federal uniform, he started to pass out. He was halted by Jim Howell, a member of my company, who demanded his pass. The gunner replied to Howell in a very insulting manner that he had no pass and was going out anyway. Howell told him what the orders were and told him to go back. The gunner kept advancing and when he started to make a rush, Howell fired and killed him. Howell regretted this fact so much that he soon resigned from the army and never entered the service again.
When General Price left Lexington, my company started South with him, but when we reached Bates County, Ike Brown and I were taken sick and left at the home of Barker Price, near Johnstown and Green Reagan was detailed to remain and take care of us. We were both suffering with what was then known as camp fever, and after remaining at Mr. Price’s house for nine weeks, my younger brother, Jabez McCorkle, came down and took me back to my mother’s home in Jackson County. While Brown and I were in bed at Price’s, Jim Lane, the noted Kansas Redleg and murderer, came out to Mr. Price’s and saw Brown and me and told us that he would be back and kill us and would give us that night to prepare to die, but for some unknown reason he did not return and I suppose the reason he did not return is that he was too busy in burning the town of Osceola and robbing and murdering its citizens. After I had been at my mother’s for about a week, still being very weak from my fever, a Union man, who was a friend of our family, called on me one evening and told me that Jennison the partner and co-laborer in murdering and robbing of Jime Lane, had come within two miles of my mother’s house and had murdered one of our neighbors, a very old and defenseless man, by the name of George House, and if Jennison found out that I was there he would come and murder me, although I was sick. This Union friend advised me to leave at once. That night my sister assisted me to carry my bed to a secluded spot in the woods where I stayed that night, and early the next morning, she accompanied me about eight miles to the home of our friend, John Prewitt, who hid me under a bluff on the banks of the Little Blue, where I remained for a week. His two daughters, Jane and Ellen, bringing me food and water. Remaining there for over a week, I returned to my mother’s at night and there I found my brother, Jabez, who was at that time with Captain Upton Hayes, and who told me that Hayes was going south and the next morning I mounted a mule and went with him. We did not overtake Colonel Hayes and his command until we had reached Clinton in Henry County. I went with Colonel Hayes to Osceola and there I joined my old company. We stayed in camp at Osceola for about a week, and having received the news that General Fremont was attempting to cut General Price off from his march from the South, we were ordered to Springfield on a forced march.
CHAPTER II.
ON THE SECOND MORNING AFTER leaving Osceola when I awoke I found that I was too sick to proceed with the army, who broke camp very early in the morning and was left to follow later. I stayed in the camp alone until about noon, when I realized the danger I was in and, weak as I was, I mounted and started to follow the army. I managed to ride until about dark when I stopped at a farmer’s house and asked if I might stay all night. He told me that he was perfectly willing to keep me, but was afraid that the Federals would capture me and kill me as there were a great many Federal militia in that country. I told him that I would die from weakness if I attempted to go farther that night, and he consented that I might remain. The next morning, I left his house early in the morning and reached Springfield late the next night. It seemed that Fate was against my proceeding south with Price for after being in camp at Springfield for ten days, the measles broke out among the soldiers and I was detailed to take charge of seven of the boys, my brother, Jabez, being among the number, and take them to a house about three miles from Springfield and nurse them through their sickness. I was isolated from the rest of the army and in about a week, some of the boys having grown worse, I saddled my horse with the intention of riding to Springfield to consult with a physician and to procure medicines and provisions for the sick men. I had ridden only a short distance when I met the physician who asked me where I was going, and informed me that there were no more Confederates in Springfield, that they had started South and General Fremont was in possession of the town. The physician advised me to take a flag of truce and go to Springfield and surrender myself and my seven sick men. This I refused to do. He then asked me to accompany him to another house where there were some sick soldiers, where we were detained for about an hour and I left the physician there and started back to see my sick boys. Imagine my consternation when upon reaching the house I found it deserted, a squad of Federals having been there during my absence and taken all the boys back to Springfield as prisoners. I then started south and riding a few miles I stopped at a house, hitched my horse to the stile-blocks and as I started through the yard to the front door, a lady came running out of the side-door and told me that there were some Federal soldiers in the house and unless I wanted to be captured I had better be moving away. Not waiting for any further orders, I wheeled and started on the run and, placing my hands upon the top plank of the fence, I put spurs to my horse and dashed away. I soon came to a little prairie and looking back, I saw a company of Federals coming after me. I immediately increased my speed and reached the woods ahead of them and turned abruptly south until I reached Wilson Creek at a point where there was a water-mill. The mill was running, but no one was there. I noticed a house up on the hill west of the mill and saw three or four men standing in the yard, and as I rode up to them, I noticed that one of the men had an old Mississippi rifle in his hand and I, of course, took them to be some of Price’s men. I asked them to direct me to the road over which Price’s army had gone; one of them directed me, but as I started to ride through the gate, another man caught my horse by the bridle and the man with the Mississippi rifle presented it at my breast, remarking that they would take care of me and take me back to Springfield. My pistol being empty, I immediately obeyed and dismounted. They took me into the house with them, where we had a good supper and, after supper one of them brought out a basket of apples and we all sat around until a late hour discussing the war and its probable end. I was then shown to my room, which was to be occupied with me by the owner of the Mississippi rifle. I still had my pistol buckled around me, and as I went to undress, I threw it on the bed, remarking, “That pistol is empty: if it had been loaded, you might have had a little fun in taking me.” The owner of the rifle broke into a hearty laugh and remarked, “Well, the rifle that I captured you with was empty too.” The next morning, the owner of the place, who had been out somewhere all night, came home, accompanied by two other men, one of them had the longest and largest shot-gun I ever saw. It looked to me as if the barrels were at least ten feet long and I thought they had sent out in the night and procured it for the express purpose of shooting me with. We then started back to Springfield and after we had crossed Wilson Creek near the mill, my captors left the main road, turning up a bridle path through a ravine. I could hardly ride for thinking that they were taking me into the woods to shoot me and I kept my eyes constantly on the gentleman with the big gun; but in a short time, we reached the road that Price had taken in his march south. About this time, we met the entire command of Federals going south, following Price, and I was taken along with them. They had with them sixteen other Confederates, including Colonel Freeman and forage master. After proceeding a short distance, we met a man in citizen’s clothes, who told us that Price was about four miles south of us in camp. The regiment to which I was turned over was the Seventh Missouri Cavalry, and leaving the prisoners with a guard, moved forward after Price. In a short time, we heard four cannon shots, one of the guards remarking, ‘’Just listen to that: they are giving old Price Hell now; they’re going to eat him up.” The cannonading at first sounded like distant thunder, approaching nearer and nearer, and in less than an hour, the federal cavalry came into sight, rushing at break-neck speed through the brush and ordered guards and prisoners to mount and retreat to Springfield on the double quick. Some of our boys then remarked to the guard, “You were mistaken about who was catching hell, wasn‘t you?” While we were riding back toward Springfield, a Federal private rode out of line and coming up to us Confederate prisoners, drawing his revolver, began to flourish it and curse, and said, “You damned rebels I ought to shooe every one of you.’’ Along the road in that section there were a great many abandoned shafts of lead and zinc mines, and just about the time that this gallant and brave soldier had worked himself into a frenzy, he and his horse both suddenly disappeared through a brush pile, having gone into a hidden shaft, but, unfortunately, the man was not much hurt, although his horse was killed; and the next morning he was called before his colonel, who gave him a severe reprimand, took his side-arms away from him and ordered him to report to the infantry, telling him that may be service in infantry would teach him to treat prisoners with respect. We were then taken back to the headquarters of the commander, where a description was taken of us, and our horses taken from us and we were started back to Springfield afoot. The seventeen prisoners were placed under charge of a lieutenant with twenty-seven guards and we started back to walk the twenty-seven miles to Springfield. This lieutenant and his men treated us all with courtesy, the lieutenant going ahead and securing provisions for us, waiting on the roadside with a large basket well filled with provisions. Upon reaching Springfield the prisoners were placed under guard in the third story of a brick building. The next morning, while sitting in this room with the other boys, I noticed a Union soldier who kept watching me very closely. Whenever I would turn my head, he would change his position, so as to see my face, his conduct made me nervous. I got up and went to the window and, leaning out, was looking clown upon the street. He left the room, went down to the street and looked up into my face again. I returned to my seat in the room; he came back, walked up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and remarked, “Is not your name McCorkle?” I replied in the affirmative and he told me that his name was Frank Hoerheimer, that he had known me in Newton County, where I had been at his father’s house and attended a number of dances with him. I was very anxious to go to the hospital to see how my brother and the other sick boys were and Frank went to Colonel Mills, who was in command there, and told the Colonel that if he would let me go to the hospital to see the sick boys, he would go with me and be responsible. We went over and my brother, Jabez and I went out in town and took dinner with Frank. When I first went into the hospital, one of the boys whom I had nursed, George Shue, by name, took me by the hand and said, “John, I am awful sick; I feel very queer. Please tell the doctor to come.” I went upstairs where the physician was and, after some little time, succeeded in finding him and took him down to see Shue, but when we reached George’s cot, the poor fellow had gone to that land where there is no fighting. I then went to Frank Hoerheimer and Lieutenant Baker and made arrangements for his burial and his dust today sleeps in the graveyard at Springfield.
