Chapter Nine

Hunter rides with Quantrill and Bloody Bill

(Hospital) “It says here,” Patch folded the newspaper back and read out loud, “The Confederate General ‘Pap’ Price and his Missouri State Guard left Springfield, Missouri and headed northwest with 6,000 poorly trained and under-equipped guardsmen to capture Fort Scott, Kansas.”

“In the meantime former Kansas "Jayhawker" and now senator, Colonel Lane, led a 600-man battalion of Union cavalry from Fort Scott to look for the rumored Confederate force.”

“Opps. Listen to this Peg.” Patch continued, “About 12 miles from the fort the Union cavalry unexpectedly bumped into the Confederates near Big Dry Wood Creek. The Rebel's numerical superiority soon determined the encounter’s outcome. After a sharp two-hour skirmish, the Rebels captured the Union cavalry's supply mules and forced the Yankees to retire back to Fort Scott. After finding the fort heavily fortified, General "Pap" Price turned and moved in the northerly direction toward Lexington, Missouri, recruiting more guardsmen on the way.”

“What’s that battle called?” Peg asked, spitting a stream of brown juice into the brass spittoon and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It looks like the Yankees are calling it the Battle of Dry Wood Creek. But get this,” Patch smiled and added. “Our boys are calling it ‘The Battle of the Mules’.”

“The Yankee’s lost their mules.” Peg slapped his good knee and added. “I wonder what their cavalry rode back to the fort on?”

“Those were supply mules, Peg.” Patch corrected him.

“I know. I know.” Peg sniffed. “I was just making a funny for Hunter. You know the Yankee cavalry riding off into the sun set on mules instead of horses. Geez!”

Patch avoided the misunderstanding and continued reading to himself. “Listen to this.” Patch said, “It seems that while “Pap” Price was preoccupied up north with Lexington, Colonel Lane and his Yankees snuck back into Missouri.” He folded the newspaper again and continued to read, “After crossing the Missouri border at Trading Post, Kansas, Lane began an offensive on Butler, Missouri, Harrisonville, Missouri and Clinton, Missouri, which they burned and looted.”

Patch sucked his teeth for a second and added, “Now get this. The climax of the Yankee’s campaign was in Osceola, where Lane's forces murdered at least nine men who were Southern sympathizers. Then they pillaged, looted, and burned the town. According to this report many of Lane's troops got so drunk on stolen liquor that when it came time to leave they were unable to march or even ride their horses. They had to be loaded into stolen wagons and carriages and hauled out of Osceola. They carried off with them a tremendous load of plunder. Lane's part of the booty included a large quantity of silk dresses and a new piano.”

“I wonder if Old ‘Pap’ is going to stand still for all that?” Peg wondered.

“Well, I can tell you ‘Old Quantrill’ didn’t let it pass unanswered. Listen to this.”

(Dream) Quantrill kicked Hunter in the boot and snarled, “Get up kid. It’s time to ride.”

Hunter got to his feet quickly and sleepily cinched the saddle on his horse. He had been told to keep the saddle and blanket on the horse for fast get-a-ways, and this looked like one, seeing as half of the men were already on their horses ready to go. He quickly finished checking the cinch and jumped on the horse’s back. In the blink of an eye, he was ready to go, too.

“Follow me.” Quantrill shouted to Hunter and the others.

It was still dark but the moon was high and the road to town was fairly easy to see. Quantrill seemed to know every dip and turn in the twisty-turney road and rode faster than the moonlight would normally allow.

Before Hunter was fully awake, they were already riding into Lawrence, shrieking the bone chilling Confederate Rebel yell while shooting their guns and rifles in the air.

Within minutes the whole town was awake. Lights went on in the windows and people could be seen peeking around the curtains to find out what all the ruckus was about.

Some of the riders carried bright fiery torches. Quantrill's ordered them to pitch the smoking sticks of fire through glass windows or up on roofs or balconies of particular buildings.

Many of Quantrill’s men jumped off their horses at his command and smashed into specific houses and businesses. What doors that were not unlocked were summarily kicked in and the panic-stricken human occupants dragged out into the middle of the street screaming and kicking.

In no time, the whole town was lined up out in the middle of the dirt main street surrounded by Quantrill’s taunting and jeering men who were still shooting their pistols and rifles menacingly into the air.

In all the hysteria, Hunter’s horse nudged up against Quantrill’s. Quantrill tossed his rifle to Hunter who caught it clumsily.

“Shoot that man!” Quantrill ordered.

Hunter looked blankly at Quantrill not believing his ears. The man standing in front of them was old with white hair and a beard. He stood shaking in the middle of the street in his nightshirt with a sleeping cap pulled down over his bushy white hair. From fear and panic he had soiled the front of his nightshirt and was shaking so badly, Hunter feared he would topple over any second.

“I said shoot that man!” Quantrill screamed at Hunter this time.

Hunter was frozen with fear. His legs were shaking as badly as the old man standing in front of him.



Without hesitation, Quantrill pulled out his pistol and snarled "Remember Osceola!” shooting the man in the face. The old man collapsed in the middle of the street like a wet dishrag dropped onto the kitchen floor. Hunter’s eyes grew white and round like two huge saucers and air ceased to exist. As if in slow motion, Hunter collapsed out of his saddle and rolled backwards over his horse’s hindquarters. As he did, the loaded rifle exploded in his hand, sending its messenger of destruction harmlessly up into the early morning sky toward the sun trying to peek over the distant horizon.

(Hospital) “Read that again.” Peg requested.

”It says here that the bloody guerrilla fighting along the Kansas-Missouri border had begun with the passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Act in 1854 and only got bloodier with the coming of the Civil War. The Union General Thomas Ewing, who was General Sherman's brother-in-law, was assigned to command the District of the Border, between Kansas and Missouri.” Patch turned the page and continued, “General Ewing was faced with the seemingly impossible task of trying to put a stop to the Confederate raiders, especially the guerrilla band led by the notorious William C. Quantrill.”

“I’ll tell you one thing, Quantrill is one bad dud and no body to mess with.” Peg huffed and adjusted himself in his chair.

“It says here that Ewing began arresting women suspected of aiding Quantrill's men, mostly mothers, sisters, and wives of the guerillas. Ewing jailed some of them in a dilapidated three story building in Kansas City.” Patch was quiet for a moment then added. “Oh. Oh. It says during the night the building collapsed, killing four of the women and seriously injuring or maiming many others.”

“Man, that should really tick off Quantrill and his Bushwhackers.” Peg added.

“It did. Listen. Seeking revenge for Osceola and other Jayhawker misdeeds, Quantrill and 450 of his men set out from their hiding place in Missouri; their target was Lawrence, Kansas, just across the boarder, a known Yankee abolitionist stronghold. At daybreak, they stormed into the town with guns blazing and for three hours they committed an orgy of burning, pillaging, and massacring of its citizens.”

“I knew he would not let the death of those women slip by unanswered.” Peg slapped his good knee. “Revenge is that guy’s middle name.”

“Listen, the victims were shot down in front of their families or burned up in their houses. By 9:00 A.M. the raiders departed, leaving 80 new widows, 250 fatherless children, and a smoldering ruin of a town.” Patch paused and added, “Can you believe this? Fewer than 20 of Quantrill's 150 victims were soldiers.”

“The guy’s as crazy as a sprayed roach.” Peg spit a stream of brown juice into the brass spittoon. “There was no need killing 130 non-combatants, strangers.”

“Wait. Listen. They were not strangers. It seems from this that Quantrill had lived in Lawrence, Kansas for a short time before the war and had created a list of people he would like to see dead.”

“Wow!”

“Right. And it looks like he got them all.”

“Wow!”

“Well, except for the fellow named Jim Lane. The same Jim Lane who had led the raid on Osceola. It seems that Senator Lane had heard Quantrill horses coming and hid in a cornfield in his nightshirt until Quantrill and his men rode off.”

“A 150 dead. Man, that Quantrill’s mean to the bone.”

“Here’s a fascinating fact: four of Quantrill's raiders that morning in Lawrence were the Younger brothers, James, Cole, John, and Robert. Who, from this report, were good friends of Frank and Jesse James.”

“A 150 dead.” Peg said thoughtfully. “I can’t believe it. And only 20 of them were soldiers.” Peg said even more thoughtfully. “Man, 130 civilians, that’s some kind of massacre.”



“That’s what General Ewing called it, the ‘Lawrence Massacre’. It says here that four days after the massacre, Ewing issued his infamous General Order Number 11, which emptied out the four Missouri counties that bordered Kansas, south of the Missouri River: Bates, Cass, Jackson, and Vernon counties.” “Why?” Peg asked thoughtfully.

“It seems that the Union Army felt that Confederate Bushwhackers were coming from or getting support from the friends and relatives living in that section of Missouri.” Patch sucked his teeth absently as he read quietly to himself. “This is interesting. Those who could prove their Union sympathies could stay in the region but had to leave their farms and move to communities near military outposts. However, those who could not prove their sympathies to the North were considered Southern sympathizers and were ordered to leave the area altogether.”

Patch paused for a second and added, “Oh, look, here is an eyewitness report from a famous painter, George Caleb Bingham, who was in Kansas City when Order 11 was carried out. Listen to this. 'Large trains of wagons, extending over the prairies for miles in length, moving toward Kansas, were loaded with every description of household furniture and apparel belonging to the exiled inhabitants. Dense columns of smoke arose in every direction marking the abandoned dwellings, their seared and blackened chimneys standing as melancholy monuments of a ruthless military despotism which spared neither age, sex, character, nor condition.'"

"Wow. It sounds like the famous painter was not too impressed or happy with Ewing’s General Order Number 11." Peg puffed.

"Wait. He goes on, listen, 'It is well known that men were shot down in the very act of obeying the order, and their wagons and effects seized by their murderers. There was neither aid nor protection afforded to the banished inhabitants by the heartless authority, which expelled them from their rightful possessions. They crowded by the hundreds upon the banks of the Missouri River, and were indebted to the charity of benevolent steamboat captains for transportation to places of safety where friendly aid could be extended to them without danger to those who ventured to contribute it.'"

“I wonder if Lincoln was in on this?” Peg asked, spitting a stream of brown juice into the brass spittoon.

“Yep. It says here that General Order Number 11 was approved by Abraham Lincoln who cautioned that the military be careful to avoid permitting vigilante enforcement.”

“Well, it sounds like from our eye witness that the Federal soldiers looked the other way where Southern sympathizing civilians were involved.” Peg vented.

”Yeah.” Patch lamented, “They call it the craziness of war,” He mumbled, looking for something else to read in the newspaper. Finding one, he laughed and added, "I guess it got too hot for Quantrill. It looks like he and his thugs decided to winter in Texas. On the way south, they captured and killed two Union teamsters who were coming from a post called Baxter Springs. Get this, Quantrill decided to attack the post so he divided his force into two columns, one under him and the other commanded by a subordinate, David Poole."

"Poole and his men proceeded down the Texas Road, where they encountered Union soldiers, most of who were colored. They chased and attacked the Union troops. Some of them were killed before they could reached the safety of the earth and log fort. After the Union survivors reached the fort, the Rebels attacked, but the garrison, with the help of a howitzer, fought them off. Quantrill’s column moved on the post from another direction. Here he stumbled onto a Union detachment escorting General Blunt the wagons transporting his personal items from his former headquarters at Fort Scott to his new headquarters at Fort Smith. Most of the detachment, including the band, were murdered, though Blunt and a few mounted men escaped back to Fort Scott."

"It sounds like Blunt and his boys were lucky." Peg muttered.

"Not too lucky." Patch declared. "It says here that among those murdered by Quantrill was Major Henry Z. Curtis, the favorite son of Major General Samuel R. Curtis. The fallout from Quantrill’s raid was that General Blunt was removed from command for failing to protect his column."

"I guess it wasn't such a lucky day for the Yankee General." Peg snickered.

"The paper says that the incident was touted as a massacre by some, however, others say that the Baxter Springs incident was yet another of the events that characterized the vicious Kansas-Missouri border warfare, along with The Pottawatomie Massacre on May 25, 1856, the sacking of Osawatomie on August 30, 1856, the Marais des Cygnes Massacre on May 19, 1858, the Sacking of Osceola on September 23, 1861 and the Palmyra Massacre on October 18, 1862. All this guerrilla warfare was termed by the newspapers as ‘Bleeding Kansas’.”

“‘Bleeding Kansas’?” Peg scratched his head, thoughtfully.

“You know like a doctor will bleed you with leaches to get the bad blood out of your body?”

“Yea?”

“Well, that is what the editor means by ‘Bleeding Kansas’.” Patch offered. “But he means that too many leaches, both good and bad, are sucking out both good and bad blood from Kansas, leaving it decimated.”

“Decimated?” Why did the editor say decimated?” Peg argued.

“Peg, I don’t write’um. I just read’um.”

Peg grumbled and changed the subject. “Bushwhackers and Jayhawkers, Bushwhackers and Jayhawkers, what kind of bird is a Jayhawker?” Peg groused.

Doctor Dudley patted Peg on the back and said, “Peg, the Jayhawk is a mythical bird.” He laughed a little and added. “The name combines two birds-the blue jay, a noisy, quarrelsome thing known to rob nests, and the sparrow hawk, a stealthy hunter.” He took a draw from his pipe and continued. “The message is in the name. It implies: Bushwhacker, don’t turn your back on this bird.”

“So it’s not a real bird?” Peg fretted.

“No, not at all.” Doctor Dudley took another draw from his pipe and said, “Ten years before the Civil War, back during the 1850's, the Kansas Territory was filled with Jayhawks. The area was a battleground between those wanting a ‘Free State’ and those committed to a state where slavery would be legal. The two opposing factions looted, sacked, rustled cattle, and otherwise attacked each other's settlements. For a time, ruffians on both sides of the issue were called Jayhawkers. However, the Civil War has helped the Jayhawker’s ruffian image to give way to a more patriotic symbol. And now the Jayhawkers are synonymous with the impassioned people who want to make Kansas a ‘Free State’ instead of a ‘Slave State’.”

Peg started to say something but the Doc quickly added, “However, like any patriotic group you have zealots.”

“Crazies, you mean.” Peg added.

“I prefer ‘zealots’.” The Doctor Dudley smiled, diplomatically. “Zealots like John Brown, James Montgomery and other Kansas Jayhawkers made devastating raids into Missouri to plunder, murder burn farmhouses and crops and liberate hundreds of slaves.”

“I bet that made the Bushwhackers mad.” Peg said, spitting a stream of brown juice into the brass spittoon and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “What do you know about Bushwhackers?”

"Ah, Bushwhackers," Doctor Dudley said thoughtfully. "The answer is a little more complicated when it comes to Bushwhackers. The simple answer is that Bushwhackers fall into one of two categories: thugs or partisans.” He took a deep thoughtfully puff on his pipe and continued. “Early in the war the Confederate Congress passed the Partisan Ranger Act. The law was intended to stimulate the recruitment of irregulars for service into the Confederate Army. However, the Confederate leadership, like the Union leadership, later opposed the use of irregular warfare, fearing that the lack of discipline within guerrilla groups could spiral out of control.”

“As it has. That’s why we have thugs like Quantrill and Bloody Bill Anderson wandering around the countryside.” Patch said pointing to an article in the newspaper.

(Dream) “Here put this on.” Bloody Bill threw the Union uniform jacket at Hunter. “Hurry up kid. Here comes the train and I want you on the tracks waving it down. You other fellows get around him. Hurry up start waving.” Bloody Bill got down behind them out of sight, as the engineer, with a quizzical look on his face slowly brought the train to a stop.

“What’s wrong boys?” The engineer yelled down. “Is the bridge out again? Them dirty Rebs keep…” But before he could finish his sentence the rest of Bloody Bill’s 80 Bushwhackers fell on the train like ants on a piece of candy on the sidewalk.

Standing around Hunter, the Bushwhackers dressed in stolen Union uniforms, jumped the engineer and dragged him and his helpers out of the train. They were stood along side all the passengers who had been pushed and shoved from the train.

The Bushwhackers were busy moving among the passengers taking their jewelry, watches and money, when Bloody Bill hollered out, “Hold on boys. Pull out the soldiers and line them up over here.”

The Bushwhackers quickly stopped what they were doing. They grabbed and pushed two-dozen men in Union uniforms over to where Bloody Bill was sitting on his horse.

“Take off your uniforms.” Bloody Bill ordered. “Who’s your officer?” He asked, pushing the tip of his rifle into a young soldier’s chest.

“I’m not an officer.” A fellow standing in the middle of the group spoke up. “But I am the highest ranking soldier here.” the Sergeant said.

“Good. Hunter go over and put shackles on him.” As Blood Bill said that, he pulled the trigger of his long black Enfield rifle and shot the young soldier in the middle of his chest.

(Hospital) “Read that again.” Peg insisted.

Patch folded the newspaper back and began to read again, “Bloody Bill Anderson led 80 guerrillas, some dressed in stolen Union Army uniforms, into Centralia Missouri where he blocked the tracks of the North Missouri Railroad. The engineer of the approaching train saw men wearing blue uniforms and stopped the train. The guerrillas quickly swarmed over it. The 125 passengers were divided between civilians and soldiers. A total of 23 Union soldiers, all on leave and headed home to northwest Missouri or southwest Iowa, were aboard.” Patch turned the page and continued reading, “The Union soldiers were ordered at gunpoint to strip off their uniforms. Bloody Bill called for an officer. Sergeant Thomas Goodman bravely stepped forward, expecting to be shot and the rest spared. Instead, Bloody Bill's men ignored Sergeant Goodman and began shooting down all the other soldiers. The guerrillas then set fire to the train and sent it running down the tracks toward Sturgeon, Missouri.”

“They torched the depot and looted the town before riding away.” Patch sucked in his breath, then continued in a lower voice. “Bloody Bill's men came to be known for tying the scalps of slain Unionists to the saddles and the bridles of their horses.”

“Thugs.” Doctor Dudley exclaimed. “There is no trace of Partisan in those guerrillas. They are just pure thugs, praying mercilessly on the weak and taking advantage of this sad moment in the history of our great nation.”

“Listen to this. The paper is calling it the Massacre of Centralia but there was also a Battle of Centralia.” Patch read to himself for a second then out loud, “Later that same afternoon, a Union Major named Johnston, with 155 men of the newly formed 39th Missouri Infantry Regiment, Mounted, rode into Centralia. The excited townspeople advised him that Bloody Bill had at least 80 well-armed men. Major Johnston quickly led his men in pursuit and easily over took the unsuspecting guerrillas. Johnston decided to fight them on foot. He ordered his men to dismount and form a line of battle. He then reportedly called out a challenge. Bloody Bill's men replied by making a mounted charge. The Federal recruits, armed with muzzle loading Enfield rifles, were no match for the guerrillas with their revolvers and carbine rifles. Johnston's first volley killed several guerrillas, but then his men were overrun. Most were shot down as they attempted to flee. According to Frank James, his younger brother Jesse James fired the shot that killed Major Johnston.” Patch in a lower voice concluded, “Of the 155 new recruits in blue, 123 met their death.”

Doctor Dudley wagged his head in disgust. “I said they were bad people. I didn’t say they weren’t good shots.” Doctor Dudley handed Patch a rolled up newspaper. “Here Patch. This copy is not the latest but it’s newer than the copy you are reading from.” As he turned to go, he said, “I’ll see you boys later and take good care of Hunter.”

“We will Doc.” Patch said as he eagerly unrolled the new paper, “And thanks.”

Peg spit a stream of brown tobacco juice into the brass spittoon and muttered to himself, “Quantrill and Bloody Bill Anderson, now there’s a pair of bad apples. And if you throw the James boys onto the table you have a real losing full house.” #