Pen and Powder

Chapter I

"\ 7ERY little has been said of the correspondents who accompanied the Western armies during the late war, either as to their numbers, their individuality, or their services. Most of the fame acquired by the army correspondents of the whole country was reaped by the men who were attached to the forces operating in the East. Events in that section were concentrated within a comparatively limited area ; and the men who reported operations were constantly within a small field of vision, where they were under the view of the public. In the West movements included a vast territory, in which individuals were lost sight of, and were as indistinct and undefined as flies scattered over a prairie. Many of the grander efforts of the correspondents escaped notice, often for the reason that they themselves were unaware that they had performed exceptional services, and for the further reason that there were no examples by which they could estimate their labor.

The ride of Alexander Forbes, conveying the news of the killing of the French Prince Impe rial, was suddenly blazoned before the world as a feat of the most extraordinary nature ; and only when this was heralded as an unprece dented performance, did I become aware that I, in company with two other correspondents, had done something which even excelled this famous ride, and had never thought it worthy of special mention. The incident will be reT ferred to more in detail in another place ; it is spoken of at this point to show that many of the correspondents performed grand labors, and were not aware of their value at the time, and hence they escaped notice. On this account the work of the men who covered the vast spaces from Cairo to the Gulf, and from the Alleghanies to Kansas, was not appreciated.

There were then no standards of comparison, and, moreover, the magnitude of the greater acts was dwarfed and lost in the immensity of the field which they were obliged to cover. Some notice of the principal newspaper men of the armies of the West, or at least such of them as I encountered and knew, will recall some names that are unjustly falling into obliv ion, and present afresh the memories of others who at the time attained some distinction. I began business as a " war correspondent " in May, 1861, as the representative of " The Du buque (Iowa) Herald," on a promise of the muni ficent salary of ten dollars a week, — my living expenses, including outsit, transportation, and all the rest of the things necessary, to be furnished by myself out of this income. The late and famous Dennis Mahony was then editor of " The Herald ; " and when one considers how much he was opposed to the war, the salary which he agreed to pay was a stupendous one.

I may state here that Mahony went to the bastile in Washington under a charge of treasonable utter ances, but in reality to prevent his election to Congress, for which position he was nominated by a " copperhead " constituency. The paper passed into other hands, — not those of the present own ers, Messrs. Ham & Carver, — and for three months' service in the field for " The Herald " I never received compensation to the amount of as much as a nickel. The correspondent who goes to the front at a salary of ten dollars per week and " finds " himself, and does his work faithfully and gets not a cent for it, has the right to look on himself as a philanthropist. At the end of the three months my letters were printed by " The Herald" in pamphlet form, and several thousand of them were sold. I have a single copy of them, — sent me by a friend many years after, — which is all in the shape of assets that I ever received for my three months' service and the use and republication of my letters.

It may puzzle many people to know how a correspondent could live, travel, write, and all that without any cash capital. I managed it for a time ; I railroaded all over the West, lived in fairly good style, had a mule for my transporta tion in the field, and during the three months I am certain that I was not the possessor in all of ten dollars. The secret is a simple one in its explanation. The soldiers and officers were all new to the service, as a matter of course. They were about to leave home for the first time in their lives on what promised to be a mission of danger ; they were ambitious, and they were anxious that they should be heard from by the people at home. Hence the correspondent of the home paper was a person of consequence. He had pass keys to every tent in the regiment, was a wel come guest at every mess, was on terms of perfect equality with every officer aud private, calling many of them by their first names, and was privileged to go and come, and do what pleased him most.

Like the troubadour of chiv alrous days, his profession was his passport, and on it was inscribed " Deadhead," in con spicuous letters. The ridiculous extent to which this deference to the newspaper representative was carried, is shown in a trip which I made from Keokuk, where the Iowa regiments were in camp, to Chicago and return. I had less than two dollars, and with this amount made the round trip in good shape. I bore a letter from Colonel Bates, of the First Iowa Regiment, which gave the bearer, " war correspondent of ' The Dubuque Herald,' four days' leave of absence." Armed with this document, I was " passed " on the steamer from Keokuk to Quincy, and thence by rail to Chicago, the conductors of the latter mak ing some slight demur, but not enough to inter fere with the progress of the journey.

I did not then fancy for a moment that there was anything in the least out of the way in this method of living and travelling. The " bold soldier boys " were to the front in the estimation of the people, and the newspaper correspondent was their representative and prophet. Nothing was too good for the soldier, and logically, nothing was too good for the correspondent. I saw a time later when we — volunteers arid correspondents — fell in the way of the regular army officers, and then discovered that we were not the one-thousandth part of as much conse quence as we had supposed. There was something curious in the enlist ment, and the rush of people to arms at the call for three months' men. At this remote distance a few words of review may not be without interest. Months before the storm burst, when it lay low on the horizon, dark, sullen, and menacing, the sentiment of the younger members of the Northern community, as well as that of the South, hoped that it would not subside.

An outbreak was desired. It was not that any one wished for blood ; but there was a quiver of ex citement, an ardent wish for a change which would relieve the monotony and humdrum of every-day life. No death-dealing campaigns were hoped for, nor even dreamed of ; and it is certain that could the fiery young men of that period have suddenly had the veil of the future withdrawn for a single instant, so that they might have caught a glimpse of battle-fields and hospitals, rotting bodies, nameless graves, and the legless and armless wrecks that were thereafter to wan der suffering through life, they would have no more volunteered for the service with such avid ity than the ordinary sane human being will leap adown the cataract of Niagara. They foresaw no war, no carnage, no blood, no weary marches, no wasting hospitals, no death suddenly in the whirlwind of battle.

They only dimly anticipated a change ; some relief from the daily toil and the exactions of ordinary life. I knew the young men who responded to the call, — knew them by hundreds. They were clerks on small salaries ; they were lawyers with insufficient business ; they were young men with no occupation and anxious for employment ; they were farmers' boys disgusted with the drudgery of the soil, and anxious to visit the wonderful world beyond them. To these were added hus bands tired of the bickerings of domestic life, lovers disappointed in their affections, and am bitious elements who saw in the organization of men opportunities for command. Others, differing but little from the last named, scent ed political preferment, and joined the popular movement. Physicians with limited practice were early and numerous in their applications for permission to enter the service ; clergymen with unapprecia tive parishes, small incomes, and unsympathetic social environments, came to the front and prof fered their assistance.

Young men, well to do, with virile physiques, anxious for adventure, with their hot blood thrilling in response to the sullen clamors of the drum and the shrill invocations of the fife, thronged with eagerness the recruit ing stations, and wrote their names in bold characters on the lists. There was not one man in a hundred that believed there would be any . war or fighting. All were unanimous in the conviction that the South would not fight, and that if the North put armies in the field, the terrified secessionists would hasten to seek shelter from the storm they had invoked. It was a picnic, a pleasure-trip, a triumphal jaunt through Dixie, with flying ban ners and beating drums, with all the pleasure of a free excursion, sight-seeing, new faces and places, and pay, food, and clothing during their absence.

Some there were who saw loot as they contemplated the wealth of Southern planta tions ; there were romantic dreamers who caught glimpses in the distance of dark-eyed women with raven hair ; and others, idlers by nature, who enjoyed in anticipation the languid delights of the orange groves, the flowering hedges, the beauty of the magnolia blossoms, and the genial air of the " sunny South." It was in such a mood that we, in May, 1861, moved gayly into camp. Blithely, and with exul tant hearts, we began a movement of which no man then dreamed the outcome. In June, the Iowa troops were ordered into Missouri, and made their first landing at Macon City. The citizens had fled, and abandoned everything, including a newspaper establishment entitled "The Missouri Valley Register." My journalistic instincts were aroused by a sight of the deserted office ; and securing a detail of printers from the regiment, I brought out on June 15, 1861, the first and last number of u Our Whole Union."

More would have been issued, but the order to march came, and the enterprise had to be given up. One of the copies of this issue reached St. Louis, and fell into the hands of an agent of " The New York Times," and by him was 'sent to the head office. Mr. Raymond was pleased with the effort, and sent word to the St. Louis agency to engage the services of the editor of " Our Whole Union." I was soon after, when we had reached Boonville, elated and frightened by receiving a visit from a metropolitan journalist, who informed me of Mr. Raymond's kindly wish in regard to my services. Had the skies fallen, I would have been less surprised than I was at this totally unexpected proposition. My wildest dreams had never reached within a thousand leagues of the height on which a first-class New York daily was located, — for at that time American journalism had its headquarters in New York.

It was with an elation beyond description that I heard the proposal from the august heights of the New York Olympus, and a pride without limit that I found myself engaged as the cor respondent of Mr. Raymond's paper at a com pensation of $7.50 per minion column, aud the payment of my extraordinary expenses. Although I never saw Mr. Raymond, I learned to respect, admire, and esteem him above any other public man whom I knew. He wrote me many letters, — some of instructions and others complimentary to my work. I never wrote a letter which pleased him that was not responded to by return mail, with his thanks and a compli ment. He surely was the most appreciative, kindliest, and most courteous of journalists. Unsolicited, from time to time he raised my salary ; and on one or two occasions, when he thought I had done something of more than average value, he sent valuable money presents to my family, then in Dubuque, accompanying them with words of kindness.

While connected with his newspaper, I wrote over the signature of " Galway," taken from a town in which I had lived before coming West, in Saratoga County, New York. I append an extract or two from the lucky newspaper, " Our Whole Union," which assisted me so opportunely. There was a salutatory and a good-by, all in the same issue. The following are some of its salient features : — "Headquarters First Regiment Iowa Volunteees, Macon City, Mo, June 15, 1861. " Special Order No. 1. " A secession printing-office, press, and materials, having been seized at this place, now, therefore, to aid this department in the promulgation of orders and other purposes, it is ordered that the publica tion of a daily paper be immediately commenced. "P. B. Wilkie, Esq., is appointed editor, Cy. D. Fletcher and E. M. Newcomb foremen, who will be assisted by George H. Ballou, Samuel T. Orr, Emerson 0.

Upham, Thomas J. Marsh, 0. P. Eads, and O. W. Bennett." The issue was a single page, printed on white paper with blue ink. Some extracts are ap pended from the salutatory. "A printing-office has no more right to remain idle than a pretty woman has to remain unmar ried ; and particularly should the press be active when there are wrongs to be righted, information disseminated, truth separated from falsehood, and right issues presented in contradistinction to false ones. Such a necessity exists here ; hence the reason for the starting of this journal. . . . We fear that our predecessor has wandered politically astray, as he has physically, and mayhap has lost himself to his million readers. Fearing this, we determined to place his paper on that 'straight and narrow way which leads to life everlasting ' (politically). . . .

Editors owe to each other a courtesy which differences of political opinion or diverse nationalities cannot destroy. We saw his paper lying idle, himself absent, his business suffering, and as a Brother Quill we rush to his rescue. We do it to preserve the reputation of his sheet, to keep it in circulation, to secure a balance between his business and his absence ; in short, we take his place, conduct his paper during his departure, and thus save so worthy a sheet as ' The Reg ister ' from dying out and being forgotten. To be sure, we have slightly altered the name of his journal, possibly a little its tone, and it may be have interfered with its appearance. Otherwise, it is the same sheet with a different editor." In the news department there appears an account of a flag-raising. A lofty pole was planted, and the First Iowa Regiment marched to the spot.

A large number of the people of Macon were present, among whom were many women. The flag was presented by one of the ladies, and a speech was made in reply by Harry O'Connor, a private soldier in Company A. He was a well-known character in those days, par ticularly as a political orator. The issue con tains a full account of the raising, and in the narration there is the following : — " When his thoughts ran up the stream of remi niscence, and he recalled the days when the glo rious flag waved in triumph everywhere, hated by tyrants and loved by freemen ; when he spoke . of the days when the men of Iowa and those of Mis souri, and all the States North and South stood shoulder to shoulder like brothers iu league against every foe ; when the women of the Revolutionary days gave their all — their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers — to purchase that inheritance which we, their children, are now fighting over ; when he recalled all these in the impassioned manner of one mourning over a great sorrow, the feelings of his audience were wrought up to an extent that found a vent only in floods of tears.

Tears straight from the heart rained in torrents from eyes to which the mists of grief had long been strangers ; and es pecially among the old men who came tottering along with the flag to render one last act of devo tion to their whole country was this emotion visi ble. The bronzed cheeks of the soldiers, too, bore eloquent evidence of how deeply they felt the con dition to which our beloved country is reduced, and saw in anticipation a long vista in the future, gory with rivulets of brothers' blood, strewn with the lifeless bodies of sons of a common mother, and littered with fragments of this once glorious superstructure, — the Union. Alas ! who wonders that strong men wept as they contemplated with vivid imagination a ruin compared to which that which would level the jasper battlements of the Eternal City would scarcely less be deplored !

" There was much other matter, considering the brief period permitted for its preparation. Orders came for the regiment to move on the day of the issue, and the publication ceased with the printing of a single number. The following is the valedictory : — "Johnson, wherever you are, — whether lurking in the recesses of the dim woods, or fleeing, a frightened fugitive, on the open plains under the broad canopy of heaven, — good-by ! We never saw your countenance, never expect to, and never wish to ; but for all that, old fellow, we won't be proud, and so, Johnson, good-by, and take care of yourself ! " We are going to leave you, Johnson ; going to leave you without so much as looking into your honest eyes or clasping your manly hand, and with out giving utterance to your face of so much as a ' God bless you ! ' We 're right sorry, we are, that you did n't stay with us and attend to your domes tic and other affairs, and that you did leave every thing to skulk away and lose yourself, possibly never to return.

Oh, Johnson, why did you, how could you do this ? "Johnson, we leave you to-night, and are going where bullets are thick and mosquitoes are thicker, and we may never return. If we do not, old boy, remember us. We sat at your table ; we stole Latin from your 'Dictionary of Quotations;' we wrote Union articles with your pen, your ink, and on your paper; we priuted them on your press; our boys ' set 'em up ' with your types ; they used your ' gal leys,' your ' shooting-sticks,' your ' chases,' your ' quads,' your ' spaces,' your ' rules,' your every thing. We drank poor whiskey out of your bottle ; and now, Johnson, after doing all for you, you won't forget us, will you ? Keep us in mind ; remember us in your evening prayers, and in your morning prayers, too, when you say them, if you do say them ; and if you put up a petition at mid day, don't forget us; or if you wake up in the solemn stillness of the night and implore a benison on the absent, remember us then !

" Once more, Johnson, — ■ and our heart is pained to speak that sorrowful word, — but once more and forever, Johnson, good-by ! If you come our way, call ! Johnson, adieu ! " The first of the more noted correspondents whom I met was Thomas W. Knox, representative of "The New York Herald." It was at Springfield, Mo., a few weeks before the battle of Wilson's Creek, that I made his acquaintance. He was a large, heavy man, rather clumsy in movement and ungainly in form. He was dark, with small, keen, brown eyes, a large head, and had an expression of great sagacity, with an intermingling of a trace of the sardonic. He drawled a little in his speech, and was given to sarcastic utterances. He had been, I under stood, a teacher somewhere in New England he fore the war. The first time I had occasion to particularly notice him was at a point called Forsyth, — a secession stronghold south of Springfield.

The town is situated at the junction of two streams, across one of which a company of Federal cavalry under Captain Stanley, later a major-general, charged. I had been riding in front of the cavalry, and when the order to trot came, owing to the narrowness of the road, I could not get out of the way, and without any choice in the matter, was compelled to head the movement. As we splashed through the water and up on the peninsula, the Confederates rushed out of the town, crossed the river to the opposite side, and formed in the timber on the bank. Our forces charged across up to the stream, and began firing across at the enemy. Just then I noticed two men in citizens' clothes in the front rank of the cavalry, who were shooting across the river as fast as they could cock their revolvers. One of them I recognized as the bulky Knox, and the other as the correspondent of a St. Louis newspaper, a young fellow named Fish, and who later entered the service.

As their revolvers were of the vest-pocket pattern, not over three inches in length, and the distance of the enemy not less than a hundred yards, and as the foes were well screened by timber, it is not likely that either Knox or Fish were responsible for the shedding of much Southern blood. It was at Forsyth that I made the acquaintance of the then Capt. Thomas Sweeny, who commanded the expedition. He had lost his arm in the service. ' He impressed me as a thoroughly fine fellow and a perfect gentleman. He afterward rose to be a major-general of volunteers, and will be remembered as having left the service temporarily after the war in order to engage in the Fenian movement against Canada. When the expedition moved on its return from Forsyth to Springfield, Knox, Fish, and myself started iu company.

Just outside of the town was a level bit of country, and we under took to test the qualities of our steeds. I happened to have the best mount, and soon left the others far in the rear. Having left them out of sight, I concluded to keep on till I reached Springfield, which I did several hours in ad vance of the column aud the other correspondents. On my way in I made my first personal acquaintance with the bushwhacker. There was a log house on a little eminence, and at the foot of the rise a stream. I rode into it to water my animal. He had just buried his nose up to his eyes in the water, and was taking in great draughts, when the stream at the side of his face was suddenly ploughed into foam, and the same mo ment there came the report of a gun from the direction of the house. I wasted no time in trying to ascertain where the charge of buckshot had come from, but drove in the spurs, went through the stream with a great splash, and fol lowed the road to Springfield.

I tried very hard to get a "scoop" on the other correspondents. I managed to send my letter off by a soldier who was sent on with despatches, who was several hours on the road before the expedition came in. Learning of the despatch of the mail, Knox managed to secure the sending of another courier during the same night, who overtook the other before he reached Rolla.

Chapter II

s SAW a good deal of General Lyon during ■*■ the march to Springfield, and during sub sequent operations up to his death. He was ac cessible and conversational. He was a man of about forty years of age, some five feet, eight inches, in height, and weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds. He was thin and wiry in build, and seemed the incarnation of endurance. His hair was long and thick, his full bearcj bushy and heavy, and both an indescribable " sandy " in hue. His eyes were his most remarkable feat ure, sometimes blue, then gray, often a curious mixture of both; within them there dwelt a species of stormy aspect which was heightened by the wave-like wrinkles about them, giving him a somewhat uneasy and dissatisfied ex pression. His forehead was high, and of even width, suggesting strong intellectual qualities, which were strengthened by the clean-cut lines of his mouth.

When he first looked at one the stormy ex pression would settle into his eyes, and a fierce questioning would light them with a moody gleam ; a moment later, the storm-clouds would roll away as one spoke to him, and would pile up again as he began to reply. He was in tensely loyal and earnest in his views of the war and his hatred of the treason of the people of the South. He savagely denounced the wick edness and treason of secession, and asserted with vehemence that no punishment was too great for that crime. He was a strict dis ciplinarian, and was severe and unsmiling when with the soldiers. I have. seen him dis mount from his horse to kick a soldier who was lugging off some article of property belonging to a citizen, and at the same time would over whelm the offender with opprobrious epithets.

He was known among the regulars as " Daddy ; " and when the cry was passed along, " Daddy is coming!" everything would be quiet as death. He was often seen, when in camp, wandering absently about, plucking his long beard with one hand, apparently noticing nothing, and yet permitting no detail to escape his observation. He was cruel in his enforcement of discipline. I often saw his regulars tied up to a wheel on a cannon, or carrying a heavy piece of wood or a rail, and now and then being lashed with a rope in the hands of an officer. I do not think he knew the meaning of fear, and had he lived, there would have been another name well to the front in the list of the great ones, at the close of the contest. After the defeat and death of Lyon at Wil son's Creek, Knox and myself crossed the country from Springfield to Rolla.

The route lay for a large part of the way through the foot hills of the Ozark Mountains, and was rough travelling for the greater portion of the distance. We started on Sunday morning, and reached a point called Lebanon, which is about seventy miles from the battle-field. We were carrying our accounts of the battle, and of course pushed forward with the greatest possible speed. It was this day's riding, which, at the time not thought to be anything remarkable by the par ticipants, assumes vast dimensions by the side of the world-famous ride made by Forbes in Zulu-land. The battle of Wilson's Creek was fought on Saturday, August 10. On the night of Thursday General Lyon, having learned that the enemy was occupying the ravines of Wilson's Creek, determined to anticipate the attack of the Con federates on Springfield by taking the initiative.

The entire force under his command was moved out near the position of the foe, a distance of some twelve miles. By a mistake as to the time, the preliminary attack on the Confederates was not made, the movement was abandoned, and the Federal force returned to its camp in Springfield. All that day the town was in con fusion, owing to an expected attack from McCul lough ; and in moving about from place to place, I was kept busy the entire day. Friday night General Lyon moved out again, this time in a direction to strike the enemy at a different point in the ravine. There were a couple of hours' uneasy slumber, and then the assault began at dawn Saturday morning. All that day was occupied with the fight, the retreat on Spring field, and in the disposition of the wounded. I spent the night till two o'clock Sunday morning in getting a list of the dead and wounded, and then Knox, another man, and myself started on our ride for Rolla.

Now, from Wednesday morning till the hour of starting on Sunday morning, I had no sleep of any value. We were on the move Thursday night and Friday night ; on Saturday was the battle. In fact, during the seventy-two hours immediately preceding our departure I had no regular sleep whatever, scarcely more than such snatches as could be obtained while moving about from point to point on horseback. A ride of seventy miles on that Sunday, in view of the circumstances preceding it and accompanying it, was at least as great a feat as that of Forbes, if not actually a vastly superior one. At the time neither Knox nor myself regarded it as anything exceptional. It was not even mentioned in the accounts of the battle, nor in any newspaper, so far as I am informed. The physical agonies of that day were something that I shall never forget.