"Quantrell attempted to keep up the Federal imposition, but when the countersign was demanded he could not give it. As a result those in the house fired a volley which broke the right thigh of Lieutenant James Little, and caused the balance of the Guerrillas to dismount speedily and surround the dwelling. Those within side held on well, and Quantrell, to save his own men as much as
possible, called for volunteers to fire the building. Chat Renick, Peyton Long, William Hulse, Frank James, and Andy McGuire sprang forward to do his bidding, covered by the carbines of their watchful comrades. The flames, however, had not made much headway when there was a surrender, and three cavalrymen crept out through a door, carrying each a Spencer rifle. "Where are the balance?" Quantrell sternly demanded. "There are but three of us," was the reply. In the stable I have counted twelve horses; that would be four horses for each of you ; not thus do cavalrymen ride in the country I came from." "There were nine others with us when you came up, men whom we thought were soldiers, but when they saw you dismount they disappeared afoot. By this time, perhaps, they are safe in Hopkinsville."
It was simple truth, the story they told, and Quantrell admitted that for the first time in his life his command had been brought to bay and held some little time in that defensive attitude by three resolute Kentuckians. He went no further that night, nor did he deem it best to advance upon Hopkinsville and attempt to get horses there from the balance of a detachment whose intrepidity he could well understand and appreciate. At daylight the next morning he bade James Little goodbye forever. Mortally wounded, the young Guerrilla lingered for a few days at the house where he had been so grievously hurt, and died as he had lived, a soldier who never knew fear. Little was one among the original number who composed Quantrell's first insignificant band. He had participated equally with his chief in the gloom or the glory of every combat. Things changed all about him, and men, and measures. He kept right onward
towards where he believed the goal to be. He did not expect to survive the war, and he was not disappointed. None were braver than he, none truer to word or comrade, none more pervious to human mercy or affection, none that fought a nobler fight or died a calmer, happier death. He loved the South as a lover does a mistress, and he gave all that he possessed on earth for her -- his life."
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James Little is a cousin of mine and thus is my interest in this event. ~Don