National Tribune, Washington, D.C., August 13, 1896.
Guibor’s Battery:
From Warsaw, Mo., to Greensboro, N. C., with Many a Hard Fight Between
Four six-pounder field pieces, three caissons, and a small amount of ammunition were quietly resting on June 11, 1861, at the United States Arsenal at Liberty, Mo. Sixty young men were at home, more or less quietly earning a living. Capt. Henry Guibor and Lieut. W. P. Barlow were also at home in St. Louis, pretending to be quiet under the mortification of having been captured at Camp Jackson.
The United States Marshal had warrants for Guibor and Barlow, and the latter skipped out of the city on the night of June 11 on horseback, bound westward. About the same time a mob of country boys traveled eastward with the guns and caissons drawn by borrowed mules. The battery was an elephant on their hands, and they knew not what to do with it, but hoped to find someone to teach them.
By that magnetic attraction which draws mischief-makers together, the Governor, the guns, and the raw country boys met at Warsaw, on the retreat from Boonville, June 25, 1861.
By a strange fate two spies had been arrested by the Captain commanding the useless artillery wagons. The spies were recognized by the Governor as the two trained artillerists he was anxiously looking for, and were at once placed in command. In this manner was organized on the march over a broad Missouri prairie, a battery which four years later was to be surrendered by Gen. Joseph E. Johnston at Greensboro, N. C., with the record of 22 battles and over 100 skirmishes; 21 killed in battle, 69 wounded. It is instructive to know what can be done when necessity forces invention. An inspection of the outfit revealed one sponge-staff, a small quantity of fixed ammunition, a lot of loose six-pounder shot, five wagon loads of powder, teams of half-broken mules in plow and wagon harness, and nothing more. Of all the numerous small equipments of a light battery there was nothing. An officer of the old school would at once have thrown up his hands. But here was a mob of as enthusiastic, adventurous men as ever were gathered in the world. Whatever the cause, home and property were believed to be in danger. No one sought office; they only wished to be told what to do.
Capt. Guibor was wise enough to seize the opportunity, and at daylight next morning was manufacturing a sponge staff from a dry fence rail. Barlow followed suit and blistered his hands, and turned to drilling the willing recruits. It was drill on the march, drill in the morning before breaking camp, and drill after reaching camp in the evening. In 10 days those amateur cannoneers thought they had learned the art of war, and were confident. Guibor and Barlow knew better, but kept their own counsel.
When the battery was 10 days old, July 5, 1861, on the retreat southward, near Carthage, Mo., the news came that Sigel was in front. Those green artillerists were spoiling for a fight, and did not know that they were cut off; in fact, did not know that they were retreating. Exultingly the wild mules swung the guns into battery. A fire was kindled from splinters of dry rails to ignite the slow matches made of cotton rope soaked in turpentine. The pieces were loaded and primed from powder canisters, and they looked at Sigel’s uniformed infantry with eight brass guns deploying some 800 yards in front.
Understanding the moral effect of attacking, from his experience in campaigning, Guibor asked Gen. Parsons’s permission to open fire. Barlow carefully pointed the right piece. A man ran up from the blazing fire with his burning cotton rope. Bang went the first gun, and the war was opened.
After winning the battle of Carthage, an insignificant little skirmish, but terrible then, the ammunition was exhausted. Wooden sabots for the shot were turned in a carpenter shop in Carthage. A tin shop supplied the straps and canister. A dry goods merchant donated a bolt of red flannel for cartridge bags.
Fortunately, the next battle, Wilson’s Creek, was fought at such close range that the home-made ammunition was as effective as the best turned our of a United States arsenal. This is the way in which Guibor’s battery was organized.
Another lesson of interest to the student of revolutions is this: During the summer campaign of 1861 in Missouri not an officer or man was mustered into service. They marched three times across the State from the Missouri river to the Arkansas line, and fought four battles without thought of pay or fear of court-martial. Everyone was free to go home at will, yet the writer can recall but one resignation, a cannoneer accepting a situation at the St. Joe Lead Mines to make lead for the army. The discipline was purely voluntary, but was as strict as at any time thereafter during the war. The men were never asked to do anything; orders sometimes very peremptory were given and gladly obeyed. Many fell out from sickness or wounds, but hastened to rejoin at the news of impending battle, and most of the survivors followed Capt. Guibor to the Gulf of Mexico, and nearly reached the Atlantic Ocean.
The battery was reorganized in the Confederate service at Memphis, Tenn., in December, 1861, from the St. Louis boys captured at Camp Jackson and exchanged, and afterwards it was consolidated with the original company, rejoined Gen. Price at Springfield, Mo., marched south into Arkansas, thence east to Corinth, Miss., and from that time its career is a part of the history of the Army of the Tennessee down to the last hour of the struggle. It was captured at Vicksburg and sent to the paroled camp at Demopolis, Ala., as part of Cockrell’s Missouri Brigade.
At Demopolis, it being impossible to recruit, Landis and Wade’s Batteries were consolidated with that of Guibor, the latter retaining command. Then we went to Mobile, Ala.; then with Gen. Joseph E. Johnston through the Georgia campaign to Atlanta, and with Hood to the bloody field of Franklin.
We were with Forrest as part of the rear-guard in the terrible retreat back into Alabama, and these veteran soldiers maintained their organization and marched again through Georgia to the Carolinas, where the bitter end came. They were surrendered by Gen. Johnston to Gen. Sherman at Greensboro, N. C., April 26, 1865, four years and many thousand miles from the retreat from Boonville in 1861.
After the reorganization at Demopolis, as there was a surplus of officers, regular promotions ceased. But an exception was made in favor of Serg’t Sam M. Kennard, from Landis’s Battery, who was appointed Lieutenant for gallantry in action, and continued second in command to the surrender.
On marches and in battle this company always set a good example. Down in Georgia, when daily battle was the regular order of business, an Alabama artillery captain, who had seen little service, said to Capt. Guibor: “I like to fight alongside of you. Your men seem to enjoy it. They go into action so careless like and so cheerfully that it encourages my men.”
John Fee, Waco, Tex.