“Greenville Sun”, Nov 9, 1899
We now held undisputed possession of Bloomfield. After counting the spoils of
war, we found we had 54 Confederate soldiers, including some three or four
commissioned officers, as prisoners of war, together with some 75 horses and two wagon
loads of arms of all description, but mainly double-barreled shot-guns and rifles,- some
horse pistols of the old pattern, some U. S. Army guns, one or two Sharp’s rifles. O, but
wouldn’t we have caught it if they had had thirty minutes’ notice of our coming! We also
destroyed a large pack of freshly salted pork and a large heap of corn meal found in their
commissary house. We held the town until about nine o’clock P. M., when we march out
of Bloomfield, north on the Fredericktown road. The last of the command to leave town
was the patrol guard under command of Sergt. Greenwood. The patrol guard now
became the rear guard of the moving column. Just as we passed through the short right
angle lane north of the town above mentioned, we found the wagons that were loaded
with the captured arms, one stuck in the mud and the other up side down. Sergt.
Greenwood dismounted and as well as he could tell by feeling in the dark, selected halfdozen
of the best shot guns. He gave the writer a fine little twist double barreled shot gun
which he kept until after the war. Sergt. Greenwood then piled fence rails on the wagons
and set fire to them (see note following) remounted and we rode away. We were
afterwards informed by the nearby citizens in hearing that they thought there was another
fight on as the hot gun barrels began to discharge their loads, for the most of them were
loaded when captured.
About 11 P.M., the rear guard came up with the command camped about 11 miles
north of Bloomfield. Here destruction began. The men were nearly froze, as it had
turned bitter cold during the afternoon. They fell to making large fires of railings off a
garden and cypress rails. Next morning at daylight, the writer observed the good old man
of the house as he came out in the yard, bareheaded and his gray locks standing every
way, as he silently looked on while some of the men downed his last chicken that was up
in a shade tree in the yard. His last bee-gum had already been robbed. One of the men
was heartless enough to ask “Ain’t you a Union man?” He replied, “Well, if I wasn’t
one, looks like the like of this wouldn’t make me one.” Well, evidently war means
destruction. Hungry men will eat if they can get it, soldiers especially, and cold men will
warm themselves if they can get an opportunity. Our supply train had not been seen
since we left our camp on Cedar Creek. It was tardy. We now learned that the creeks,
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streams or sloughs ahead of us were swimming. We were water-bound and Mingo
bottom fast filling with water. Col. Kitchens, with some 600 Confederates was camped
not far south of Bloomfield. Of course, the flying Confederates who left Bloomfield as
we went in, had already joined Kitchens. There were only two things to do. One was to
make our way in all possible haste westward back to the ferry where we had crossed the
morning of the 26th, or stay there and whip Kitchens or be gobbled up. We chose to
make the ferry if we could, so we marched in that direction at an early hour. Powers and
his men in advance. We skirted the south side of a lake during the day and reached
Mingo Creek late in the evening, very hungry for something to eat, but our hunger to put
Mingo between us and the enemy was predominant. The creek was now fast overflowing
its high banks with muddy water with a stiff current flowing into the bottom, so up
stream the morning we crossed, on our way down, was now down stream. No time was
wasted as the ferry boat was close by, just west of the piers of the old bridge that had long
ago been destroyed. We begun to cross to the north side of the Mingo in all possible
haste. The writer crossed in about the first boat load, but was ordered to there halt and
take charge of the guard place there, and there they stayed until after sunset., with the
water continually rising around the horses feet. Capt. Mace had charge of the boat,
remaining on the south side of the creek and being very hungry, he sent a man across to a
house nearby on the north side of the creek, with orders for the ”good woman” to bake
him some corn bread by the time be brought over the last boat load. But ah, Comrade
Bish Driver came over and rode up to this house and said “Hello, have you my corn bread
baked?” The good woman replied, “Sir, I have some corn bread cooked for Capt. Mace.”
“Well”, said Comrade Driver, “I’m Capt. Mace.” He got bread, of course. The genuine
Capt. Mace was wrathy when he came over and found that another would-be Capt. Mace
had gobbled all his corn bread. Ever after this, Driver was call “The Colonel”.
At sunset the rest of the men and horses were on the north side of Mingo Creek,
prisoners and captured horses, all without accident, save the horse of one of company
D’s men (J. C. Belmar) in the last boat backed off and got a good ducking and came near
drowning, but by the skillful management of Capt. Mace and his boat crew, the horse was
saved, though he lay for sometime flat on his side after being pulled ashore on the
Bloomfield side on the creek. This delayed us somewhat as the horse was very stubborn
about getting on his feet and on board the boat again. We now began to feel safe from
Col. Kitchens, who we afterwards learned drew up to the south side of Mingo Creek with
some 500 or 600 men just as we passed out of sight of the ferry. By this time the shades
of night were fast approaching and we yet in Mingo bottom with water under us and all
around us. We had to leave the main road and go through the Widow Rubottom’s farm
and some of the lower places we had to swim our horses. We noticed one poor, jaded
horse standing in the water with a halter hanging to his chin. We left him be. It was
getting dark as we passed the Widow Rubottom’s house, where we camped the night of
the 25th on our way down. About midnight, we came up with the command camped at
Uncle Billy Davis’ on Lost Creek. Here the writer and his men found the table set with
good things cooked already for eating. Anything that is to eat, (and somethings that are
not commonly eaten) is pronounced good by a hungry soldier. Here we were
comfortably situated and having little fears of Kitchens before daylight, anyhow, we
rested finely until next morning. Morning came and we headed for Bollinger’s Mill,
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passing up Lost Creek, then crossing over to Bear Creek and up it, then bearing to the
right, passing over the head of Turkey Creek, then by the Camp Grounds of the M. E. S.
Church and across the ridge to Bollinger’s Mill.
Here we found that during our trip to Bloomfield, Lieut. Wilkinson had moved
from Coldwater, with the remainder of Company K and belongings and was now
comfortable quartered at Bollinger’s Mill again and had a line of some four or five tents
brought from Patterson by Company K, which had been left when Gen. Davidson left
Patterson to move south. There were two or three Sibley and one or two Fremont and
one wedge tent, all in nice line along, below and in front of our old board tents,
heretofore described, which were just as we left them when we were ordered to Patterson.
Lieut. Sutton had now recovered from his boils so as to be able to be with the company.
Capt. Powers immediately pushed on to his seat in the Legislature, passing his home on
Cedar Creek, near Coldwater. Here Col. Lindsay rested his men and prisoners, till the
next day, when he marched for Pilot Know, via Fredericktown, taking some ten or twelve
of Company K to assist in guarding the prisoners and to bring back a supply of rations
and ammunition for Company K, which he had left in camp at Bollinger’s Mills”.
All now seemed to go smoothly and the men of families of Company K who were
in Bloomfield scout were permitted to visit their homes for a day and night, - all living
from one to fifteen miles away, mostly north and west of the mill. Some of the horses
were now sheltered in the saw pit under the mill. Lieuts. Sutton and Wilkinson, Sergt.
Wilkinson, Greenwood and Sullivan, Corporals Sullivan, Costner and the writer and
Privates Sullivan, Adams and Vance were quartered in a hill town house some 75 yards
southwest of the tents and 60 yards west of the mill in the bottom. The remainder of the
Non-commissioned officers and privates slept in the tents above mentioned (Sketch of
town omitted).
Soon after dark, the night of Feb. 2, 1863, firing was heard on the ridge a half
mile north of our camp. We fell in, ready for anything small. A patrol was sent in that
direction, and soon learned that it was out boys who had gone to Pilot Knob with Col.
Lindsay just returning with supplies and ammunition and also something in their canteens
besides water, coffee or milk. Their canteens were not exactly full either. Their
commander said they wanted to have a little fun by thus notifying us of their approach, so
we would not be alarmed as they drove into our camps. If the writer remembers
correctly, Mr. Mon. Sitze, who lived on Castor River some two or three miles below our
camp, drove one of the teams which was his own.
The morning of the 3rd of Feb., 1863, the men were excused to visit their homes
till there were only 42 men, rank and file, left in camp. Late in the evening, report came
to camp that a small squad of men, presumably Sam Hildebrand and his men, were going
up Castor River. So, Sergt. Wilkinson was sent with a few men to look after them, but
returned late at night, weary, cold, hungry and sleepy, having not found Hildebrand. The
weather had turned as cold as February could then afford, with about three-fourths of an
inch of snow on a hard frozen ground. The men and officers seemed to relax vigilant
watch, as only two men and one non-commissioned officer composed each relief. It was
so cold that the officer did the camp patrolling and the guardsmen would change every
twenty or thirty minutes, one warming by the log fires in front of the tents while the other
kept watch some two hundred yards down the road east of the camp. The road
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approaching over the ridge from Turkey Creek on the south and the road leading to Bear
Creek and Cedar Creek were left unguarded. Of the men gone to their homes for the
night were Private John W. Adams and Sergt. Samuel Sullivan from the officers mess,
quartered in the mill town house above mentioned. The night closed around the camp
with the moon between full and last quarter, and white clouds flying rapidly from the
northwest. The bright snow glistened in the bright moonshine. Private John Sullivan
came off third relief at Midnight. Corporal Costner called out 1st relief, to-wit: A. G.
McMurtry and Marion Ward, a fresh recruit, and took charge of the camp. He (Corp.
Costner) even ventured to go on duty without his gun. McMurtry took charge of the post
below camp where Sullivan had been standing; Ward was sitting by the log fire warming.
All seemed quiet. In officers quarters the Lieutenants were sleeping in the north room
and a negro woman with a baby and a child some two or three years old were sleeping in
the farther corner of the north room. She was the mill crew cook. In the south room,
Sergt. Wilkinson, Corp. Sullivan and Private Vance were sleeping on the only bed stead
in this room . Sergt. Greenwood was by himself in the corner to the left of the fireplace,
while Private Sullivan and the writer occupied the corner to the right of the fire place. As
stated, Sullivan had just come off post at midnight and was warming by the fire. The
writer roused up and went out to inspect, as was his custom, saw not the enemy, as they
were then deploying in an assaulting line, some 75 to 100 men, way over behind the saw
dust heap and at the mill, from the writer. Becoming satisfied that all was right, or so he
thought, he returned into the house and helped Comrade Sullivan eat a “hard-tack” and to
drink of his bottle of beer that he had brewed in a large bottle by the fire.
Note. (See page seven) After reading my story, old Capt. Powers told me that here I had
committed an error,- that he himself did light the match and set fire to the kindlings. The
writer is indeed sorry that this error occurred, as his wish is ever to state the facts. Capt.
Powers and Sergt. Greenwood have both been “mustered out” and now we are only too
glad to here acknowledge our error. It was very dark that cold night and as we could not
see just who lighted the kindlings, and never hearing the Captain relate it, we were in
error. In honor of Capt. Powers, we will say that no one ever doubted his courage of
loyalty; but outside of his element, he was not not at all a military man. Just such scouts
as we were then engaged in, was Capt. Powers’ element. Whenever the enemy was
found, he, to use his own words, wanted “To pitch into ‘em”. He was a most excellent
commander of such scouts, as this “Bloomfield scout” was.
(Submitted)
“Greenville Sun”, Nov. 16.1899.
They chatted about their “Dear Ducks” (now “best Girls”) awhile and the writer
turned in, as he thought, for the remainder of the night. It was nearly 12:30 o’clock,
loaded horse pistols in their holsters hung on the horn of the saddles, which were our
softest pillows, gun loaded with “buck and ball” stood in the corner in easy reach,
cartridge box buckled with belt hook on top so with a sling behind the back with the right
hand, unhooking then with both hands, it is on in a twinkle, boots close by, cap on
muzzle of carbine, and all other clothing on person, save overcoat. As the writer drew up
the blankets, all nice and good, Sullivan spoke for the last time, as he sat before firing
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began. He said “Lay over there, I’ll be in there pretty soon” “All right!’ was the sleepy
reply. This was the last moment before the firing began, but how different from this
experience on the hill over-looking Bloomfield a few days before, when his heart got all
up in his throat! Blissful ignorance at that awful moment was comparatively pleasant and
full of comfort. At this moment someone gave a yell,-war whoop- and firing begun! The
writer sprang to his feet, putting on cartridge box at the same time, and asked Comrade
Sullivan, who still sat by the fire, if that was a gun fired. Then he snatched his gun from
its place in the corner, but somebody had misplaced his cap, kicked his boots aside- No
time to put boots on now- can fight for his country and the flag bare-headed and in his
worn out rabbit fur sock feet any how;,- “twont last long, I guess!” started for the door
that faced the mill and then remembered his horse pistols and returned for them. Then he
passed out of the door he was preceded by Sergt. Greenwood and followed by Comrade
Sullivan. The firing was now hot. At this moment, the remainder of the men in the
house, including the Lieutenants could be heard dressing and arming for the fray and
speaking excitedly, of course. As we went out, we formed in line. Sergt. Greenwood on
the right, the writer in center and Sullivan on the left. The writer well remembers the
expression of his features as he glanced at Sergt. Greenwood as he paused an instant to
take in the situation before acting. The prospect for victory on our part at that critical
moment was not at all flattering. Be the bright moonshine on the glistening snow, was
revealed to us a body of men, probably 75, about midway between the east end of the
mill, where they formed for the charge, and the tents, now rather enmasse, then in regular
line, rushing for the tents, shooting and yelling as they went. We could see the constant
stream of fire belching forth from their shotguns, rifles and revolvers. Our pause was but
for an instant, yet how remarkable how many things one can see and think of in such an
instant! Sergt. Greenwood then raised his horse pistols and at once opened fire on the
charging mass of Confederates as they presented their left flank to us, if they had any
flank, right or left. The writer then quickly raised his carbine ”buck and ball” (she
bawled), then Comrade Sullivan’s musket belched forth her load of buck and ball, also as
he stood on the writer’s left. Then Sergt. Greenwood gave them his second horse pistol
before drawing his revolvers, as the writer gave one of his horse pistols, but she snapped.
Here came the buckshot, seemingly by the handful- “Se-e-e-e-t” they said, liking
dropping redhot in a pan of water, then we could hear their “pat, pat” as they struck the
wall of the house at our backs. One passed in at the door and played base by itself around
in our room. They meant us! Then the writer raised his second horse pistol and fired
and that instant, “thump’, O a buckshot in my left breast! I’m wounded, I’ll run in the
house and get on the bed. And away I went followed by Sullivan. Passing into the
house, he felt for blood. No blood, “Not wounded to hurt” he thought. Here in the door
he met the mill drew cook with her two children coming out and remembers saying to her
“You had better get away from here”. Well, that is what she was doing, as there was no
back door to the house, she had to come out at this door, and the buck-shot flying like
“Hail Columbia”. She ran up to Joe Snoden’s on the hill. As he threw his horse pistols
on the bed and handled cartridges, he said “Boys, they’ve got the tents!” Comrade
Sullivan’s rammer was then heard clicking as he sent home some more buck and ball.
Now we have both loaded our guns and Lieuts. Sutton and Wilkinson are dressed and
armed, also Sergt. Wilkinson, Corp. Sullivan and Private Vance. “All ready!” we
shouted. (Don’t see why soldiers in so much danger should undress like sleeping at home
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nohow.) Now for our already surrounded tents. As we sprang out of the house, we could
see their dark line, or rather circle, as they had gathered mostly around The “Wray tent.”
Here we go! Six men, rank and file! As we ran, the shrill voice of Sergt. Wilkinson
could be hears to rise above the din of the little battle as he shouted, “Rally, Boys, Rally!”
Poor Thos. Stephens, who was sleeping in the extreme east tent heard his call and started
to him, but passing through the enemy’s line, he was knocked down, disarmed and made
a prisoner. Here we are at their backs. They were not surprised like we were in the
beginning. Right into ‘em we went,-er no, the writer stopped within about 15 feet of their
line, thinking the Lieutenants would halt here and at once open fire, But no, they failed to
heed the writer’s warning before we left our quarters of “Boys, they’ve got the tents!”
and ran right in among them, mistaking them for the men of Company K. Lieut.
Wilkinson pushing his way through their lines asked “Where are the d---d rascals?” (He
didn’t then belong to the church) One of the men he passes said, “I’ll show you where
they are” and fired his revolver at the Lieutenant’s back, taking effect about an inch and a
half to the left of the spine and passed out in front through the soft ends of the ribs on left
side. He was so near the Lieutenant that the fire scorched the Lieutenant’s dresscoat, a
spot about four inches in diameter around the bullet hole. The Lieutenant spoke to Sergt.
Greenwood who was passing near, shooting right and left with his revolver, as he went,
“Jim, I’m badly wounded.” Sergt. Greenwood replied, “Well, I can’t help it”. He then
came near the writer and lay down on the ground and began calling him by name. The
writer mistook him for Corp. Wray as he called- we still hear it,- “Henry, Henry, O
Henry!” Here comes a man dressed in black coat, light butternut pants and white hat! He
said to the writer, “Throw down your arms!” The writer was standing at “recover arms”
as he came near killing one of the Wray brothers as they pushed their way out of the tent
with hands up, saying “I surrender!” and so stepped in between the writer and the
Confederate officer that stood at the tent door ordering them to come out and surrender.
The writer was then in the act of firing at the Confederate officer, so now he stood at
“recover arms”. He then wheeled right oblique and fired at the man with the white hat,
some 15 feet away. The writer saw the man in a crouched position down under the
smoke from his carbine, but for only a glance, as Lieut. Wilkinson called “O Henry!” for
the fourth time, when he recognized his father. He ran to him and raised his head with
his right arm and the Lieutenant handed him his “Navy Six” and said, “Here Henry, take
this and keep it, I’ll be dead in a few minutes”. At this instant Sergt. Wilkinson came
dashing up as he had fired at but missed the man who shot his father. Then he had to
dodge them, some three or four of them turned on him with their revolvers, saying “There
he goes, shoot him, d—n him, shoot him!” The writer then slipped an inverted washpan
under the Lieutenant’s head for a pillow as he said “Don’t let my head down.” Then the
writer rose to face the enemy, angry enough to fight Lee’s whole army, but they had
given away and were forming behind the board tents next to the horses. He left Sergt.
Wilkinson with their badly wounded father and he and Comrade Sullivan ran for them,
passing over the prostrate bodies of Comrade Jas. H. Barker and Corp.Costner. Costner
had a pistol ball in spine between his shoulders and was paralyzed from the wound down
to his feet. It was a mortal wound. Comrade Barker had a pistol ball (which he still
carries) on the outside of his left thigh a short distance below the joint. Barker was not
dead, nor did he then belong to the church either. He said, ‘O Lord, my thigh is broken
all to pieces. D--m it to h--l, are you going to let a man lay here on the ground and freeze
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to death? Give ‘em h--l, boys, pour it into ‘en! “Yes, we’ll rally around the flag, boys,
Rally once again, shouting the battle cry of freedom!’ “is a sample of the brave boy’s
mixture of prayer, swearing and song. It was laughable but it was not then laughing time.
As Comrade Sullivan and the writer passed the line of board tents, striking the enemy’s
right flank, others came to their assistance, and as the guns of the Confederates were now
empty, they at once gave way and their commander shouted “Cut horses loose, boys!’
We yelled and went into them again to save our horses. Then came their last (joyful to
us) command, “Git from here, boys!” and they got, completely routed. We were right at
their heels, shooting, cursing, yelling and cheering as we went. The writer’s last shot was
fired at the last man to pass around the farther left hand corner of the stack of lumber
below the mill. The man hit, but after the firing was over he called and his comrades
came back and took him off the field. We looked around and found that “the field is
ours, boys!”
Well, if a majority of Company K and the Confederates then belonged to the
church, they didn’t work at it much during the fight. If the firing was hot, the swearing
was hotter. As we mingled among the enemy around the tents, they would shout
“Surrender you g-d d---d black Republican!’ “Surrender, h--l! who’d surrender to a pac’l
of G-d d-m h--l fired horse thieves!’ was our defiant reply. Comrade McMurtry, who
was on post below the mill when the fight began, said he had heard swearing done in city
riots, as he had spent most of his life in St. Louis, but he never heard such swearing as we
did after we became mixed with the enemy in the charge.
But what came of Sergt. Greenwood when he and the writer parted at the door of
their quarters where the writer stopped the buckshot? Well, he resoluted himself into a
company, regiment, brigade or army corps, as one might choose to imagine, and at ‘em
he went like a lion. He was here and there and on every part of the field, surrounded
some three or four times, but would turn and shoot his way out, revolver in each hand.
Once he paused long enough to release Lieut. Sutton who had been knocked down with
the butt of a gun and disarmed and made prisoner. The man who held Lieutenant
prisoner, to save his life from Sergt. Greenwood’s fatal revolver, took refuge behind the
Lieutenant and would dodge first one way and then the other, as the Sergeant was trying
to shoot him, but at last he took to his heels and the Sergeant fired at him as he ran, but
not a fatal shot.
Well, the fight ended and the writer became sensible that it was about time to put
on his boots. So he ran back to his quarter for them, loading his carbine as he ran. Boots
and cap now on and arms reloaded, he ran back to assist Lieutenant Sutton to form the
men in line in the millyard, for whatever might happen next. Cold feet and aching fingers
came next. The wounded were now being carried to the officers’ quarters on blankets.
They were as follows: Doc. P. Wray, musket ball through bowels, mortal. He died before
daylight. He and his two brothers were made prisoners and as the enemy fled, they were
made to run with them and Doc was shot down by, as was afterwards supposed, Corp.
Sullivan, mistaking him for one of the fleeing enemy: Corp. Jacob Costner, ball in spine
between shoulders, mortal, died at Gravelton, Feb. 14; Lieut. John M. Wilkinson, shot
through left side, dangerous, but recovered and still lives; Jas. H. Barker, ball in left
thigh, still living; Frank M. Woods, one wound in leg, one in thigh and one in abdomen,
recovered; Joe. H. Hammock, shot in forehead, not fatal, Sergt. R. F. Lowrance, shot in
right shoulder, recovered; Henderson Douglass, shot in calf of leg, not serious; Thos.
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Stephens, blow on head with musket and made prisoner; Sergt. J. A. Greenwood, slight
would on finger and thumb; Corp. H. C. Wilkinson, buckshot would in left breast, slight.
We lost one horse, killed and one rode away by the Confederate soldier. We found one
dead Confederate soldier, Henry Reisinger. He still held his gun in his death grip, which
was with difficulty loosened. Strange to say, he rose from his crouched position when
shot and ran hollowing, “O Lord, I’m shot! I’m killed!” some ten or fifteen steps. He was
buried below the mill and sometime afterwards his wife had him removed to his home in
St. Fracois County. The skeleton of another Confederate was afterwards found on the hill
above our horses, by David Bollinger, the owner of the mill. Evidently his dying groans
were heard by C. B. Wakefield who was placed on guard up there immediately after the
fight, but in the excitement was forgotten.
We lost in prisoners, Pleasant Golden, Wm. Cox, Wm. Morris, and Thos.
Stephens. After traveling as a prisoner some six miles, Comrade Stephen got very bad
off (?) with his head and was paroled and left at a citizen’s house to return to camp in a
day or two. Comrades Golden, Cox and Morris were carried prisoners to Arkansas
before being parolled. F. M. and H. J. Wray and J. C. Driver were made prisoners but
escaped near camp and came back before the fighting was fairly over.
As near as we could learn, there were some 15 or 18 Confederates wounded. Two
or three of the worst wounded were left by their comrades three or four miles south of the
battle ground at a citizen’s house, where they were found and parolled by Lieut. Sutton
the next day. As nearly as we could count, we had fired some 50 shots in the fight, and
the Confederates probably double that number. It looks even now that that fight lasted
thirty minutes, but counting the distance traveled by the write, it could not have lasted
more than five or six minutes.
By night of Feb. 4th, we were re-inforced by Capt. Rice and his “Red Rovers” of
the 3rd M.S.M. Soon after the fight Company K removed to Gravelton and we reinforced
by Capt. Filey and his company. Then we removed to Arcadia and relieved to
return to our homes on April 6th, 1863.