November to December 1862
It was now about the close of November, 1862. Burch and I concluded to make another expedition to Arkansas. We had two objects in view; one of which was the capture of a rebel captain by the name of Mooney and his band; the other was the capture of the Salt-peter caves. This Captain Mooney was an uncle of the brave Lieut. Mooney of our battalion of whom I have spoken.1 This rebel Captain had recently captured some of our Enrolled Militia and had treated them remarkably well. Returning to them their blankets and filling their haversacks with provisions, he escorted them in person beyond his lines, and then said to them: “Go home and tell your friends that this is the way we treat our prisoners.” When I heard of this I said: “Boys, we must go ahead and capture that old Captain and repay him for the magnanimity with which he treated his prisoners.” Unless we were obliged to do so, we did not propose to hurt him. We wished simply to capture him. He lived on our side of the White River. The Salt-peter caves were on the other side not many miles from Yellville, and about 100 miles, the way we had to go, from Ozark. At these caves, the rebels had a considerable force at work manufacturing salt-peter for the Confederate powder factories. It was important that we destroy these salt-peter works.2
Taking about 50 men, we left Ozark in the morning and camped that night at Beaver Station, some 30 miles distant.3 Our force was far too small to openly attack the parties against whom we were marching. As usual, however, we were depending upon surprising our enemies. Next day, we moved on very cautiously through a sparsely settled country. We met with no adventures that I now remember. We had an excellent guide;—a faithful man who had been, for 40 years, a hunter among those very hills. At night, we stopped a few hours to rest and to feed.4 We then moved on, I leading the advance guard. Mooney kept most of his men at his own residence, he having an abundance of room for them. Since most of them belonged in the immediate neighborhood, however, they were wont, in times of supposed security, to scatter off to their own homes, leaving, sometimes, less than a dozen in camp with the Captain. We hoped to find him thus with only a few men enjoying fancied security. And we did so find him. Several miles from his residence, he kept a picket station. On these pickets, he depended for timely notice of the approach of an enemy. Our guide knew the exact location of this picket station. When we approached it we dismounted and, creeping as silently as serpents, surrounded the pickets, covering them at short range with our rifles as they sat between us and their camp fire. There were three of them. They were hopelessly in our power. They were talking and laughing. I called to them in a low voice so as not to be heard by their comrades who were sleeping in a house not far away. They instantly became as silent as death. They did not move. I let them know that the least noise or movement on their part would be instant death to them all. I meant what I said, and they so understood it. A silent surrender was the result. We then silently approached the house. This was a small log structure with only two rooms. We burst in the door with a single blow and sprang inside. The guards, being in bed, had no chance to resist. There were three of these. A large, coarse young woman, however, who was sitting by the nearly burned down fire, caught up an axe and charged upon us with a fury far more wonderful than womanly. Not knowing but that we might have a hand to hand fight in the house, several of us entered with drawn sabers. These we instantly placed at the breast of this formidable Amazon, threatening to run her through at once unless she dropped the ax. She did drop it, but I suspect that we would have fared badly, had we not greatly outnumbered her. I feared that this family would send word ahead of us to Captain Mooney. To prevent this, I called a Sergeant and, in the presence of the family, ordered him to remain with a party of men on the outside of the house, and, if any light was lit, any noise was made, or any door or window was opened before full day light next morning, to fire the house and report to me and I would kill all the prisoners. One of the prisoners was a brother of the fighting young woman. Some of the others were her near friends. I knew that she would not endanger their lives by opening the doors after I left. Of course, all I said was only a ruse. I had no thought of really leaving any guard at the house.
The most difficult part of our present undertaking was now accomplished. The prisoners informed us that Captain Mooney was depending upon them and that he was not likely to have any guards at all at his residence.5 This information proved to be correct. We concluded to defer the attack till day began to dawn. In the meantime, however, an officer, whose name I do not now remember, was sent with a small party to take possession of a ferry across White River and to capture such parties as might come there to cross. In the morning, this officer brought in some 25 prisoners, twice as many as he had of men.6 When morning dawned, we made the attack upon Mooney’s house. Approaching unobserved, we burst in all the doors at once, and sprang inside. Three or four men were taken in their night clothes. No resistance was attempted. Rushing up the stairway, I called out that, if any one upstairs fired a shot, the house would be burned with all of them in it. At the head of the stairs, the Captain himself met me. “I’m here,” he said. From these words, and the tone in which they were spoken, I thought he meant to stay there,—in other words to fight. I brought my big shot-gun to bear upon him, but did not fire. He caught the gun and tried to wrest it from me. He was a powerful man, above my size, and I do not know how the struggle would have terminated had not one of my men, Sergt. Anderson, come to assist me. When Anderson seized him, he cried out: “I surrender! I surrender!” “Why did you not say that a good while ago?” said I. “Because I did not think it necessary,” replied he. Then, in my excitement, to my great shame, I called the old Captain several ugly names. For this, I made due apologies to him afterwards. He gave me a fine revolver, requesting me not to part with it till the close of the war or till he retook it by capturing me.7 I promised to do this, and I kept my promise. I carried it till the close of the war. He said that none but a brave man had ever carried it, and that he did not want it to be ever carried by any but a brave man. He gave his rifle to Burch with the same remarks. He then invited us all to take breakfast with him. This we did, and he entertained us with that noble hospitality for which the planters of the south are so noted. After breakfast, we sent him and the other prisoners off under a sufficient guard to be kept at a designated point until our return.8 The withdrawing of this guard left our party only 36 strong all told. A fearfully weak force with which to attempt the taking of the Salt-peter Caves, at which two companies of rebels were said to be stationed. We very well knew that a fair open fight was entirely out of the question. We were not the men, however, to abandon even a desperate undertaking without making a desperate effort for its achievement. We would trust to chance and skillful management.
Crossing the river, we marched by a circuitous route so as to approach the Salt-peter Caves from the south. By good management, we struck the Yellville road some three miles from the Caves. Here a remarkable chance favored us;—a chance which might have alarmed and disconcerted men less cool and determined than we were. We learned that a rebel force, some 2000 strong, were only a few miles behind us, marching, like ourselves, to the Salt-peter Caves at which place they were expected on that very day.9 At this place, they expected to remain for some time, large quantities of provisions being already prepared for their use. We were now, as the boys expressed it, in a “d——d tight place,” with twice our number of enemies directly in front of us and fifty times our number close behind us. Those in front of us must be removed before we could cross the river and escape from the overwhelming force behind us.10
Never at a loss what to do, we quickly donned a number of Confederate uniforms, bush-whacker suits, &c. of which we usually carried a supply for such emergencies. Having made ourselves sufficiently motley to resemble the rebels of that section, we assumed to be the advance guard of the approaching rebel army. We were challenged by one guard, as a matter of form, but, since he “was expecting” us, we easily satisfied him that we were “all right.” He let us pass. We marched up to the barracks, which faced from us, and filed round on the other side in front of the doors. It was noon, and the men were all in at their dinner. Seeing us at their doors, they came pouring out with pleased looks upon their faces, leaving their guns inside. A few of them carried pistols in their belts. Burch called out: “How are you, boys? Have you any fires for us to warm by, and any thing for us to eat?” “Yes,” replied they, “we have a plenty, dismount and go right in.” About half of our party dismounted and went in, taking possession of all the doors, and cutting these poor deceived rebels off from their guns. When all this was accomplished, Burch, in tones of thunder, called out: “Now, G-d d—n you, give up your arms and fall into line, and be d——d quick about it!” They seemed paralyzed with astonishment. No one moved. I then called out: “We are Federals; if you surrender without firing, you will be treated kindly, as prisoners of war. If a single shot is fired, every man of you dies. Now fall into line quickly.” They did fall into line, but did it in a very surly manner.11 One officer, Captain McNamara, bitterly cursed his own stupidity in suffering himself to be thus entrapped.12 To comfort himself, however, he informed us that, within two hours, he and the other prisoners would be guarding us; that the river was not fordable at any point nearer than six miles, and that we could not possibly cross in time to escape the large force now close at hand. Our guide, however, knew of a ford close to this place.
These barracks and the village surrounding them stood on the top of a bluff bank several hundred feet above the river. The salt-peter works were at the bottom of this bank, near the water, and were reached by long flights of very good steps. Leaving Burch to secure the prisoners, collect the arms, &c. I dismounted and hastened down these steps to see what was going on below. The distance down was far greater than I had supposed it was, and, when I found myself so far separated from the men, I began to regret that I had thus ventured down alone. There might be a large party of the enemy down there. I kept right on, however, hoping that some of the men would soon follow me. Reaching the bottom, I found the works far more extensive and valuable than I had expected. I found but one man, the engineer, present. He did not see me till I was close upon him. When he did see me, he made a motion as if to reach a shot gun that stood at the side of the engine house. Having him covered with my formidable shot gun, I cried out: “Move, and you die! Stand right still!” He stood still. I had asked him only a few questions when Burch appeared followed by a large number of prisoners under guard. The prisoners were put to work with sledge hammers, axes, &c. to break and destroy the kettles and such of the machinery as could not be destroyed by fire. At first Captain McNamara refused to work, declaring that he had worked almost day and night for six months to get the works started, and now, having them in perfect order,—capable of supplying the whole Confederacy with salt-peter for powder—, he’d be d——d if he would help destroy them. I replied that I had been whipped many a time for refusing to do disagreeable things, and that, although this might be disagreeable to him, he’d have it to do. He went to work at last, but cursed bitterly all the time.
Having completed the destruction of some $80000.00 worth of machinery, we fired the buildings, and then hastily reascended the hill.13 We might be a few moments too late. We had not near so many prisoners as we had hoped to capture, many of the rebels being scattered about in the neighborhood. We had only 42 that were fit to carry away,—only 6 more than there were of ourselves. Besides these, there were some half dozen sick men whom we had to leave.14 Most of these requested me to put them on parole so they would not have to serve anymore till they were exchanged. This I did. Leaving myself and one man to fire the barracks and the block-house, which was filled with provisions, Burch and the balance of the men with the prisoners began to slide their horses down the long and steep bank into the river nearly in front of the block-house. It required a good many minutes to make this really hazardous descent, and one man and several horses were hurt in making it. They all reached the bottom at last, however, forded the river, which was quite deep, and disappeared into the dense forest beyond.
While this descent was being made, I was sitting in my saddle, holding the bridle of my comrade’s horse, and watching the road upon which the rebel army was advancing. My comrade soon had the barracks in flames. Many guns that had been overlooked in the search were heard firing in the flames. My comrade was now firing the block house. Many women came and begged me to permit them to save from the flames, for their own use, as much as they could of flour, salt, bacon, &c. I gave them permission, and if ever women worked in earnest they did. My comrade helped them roll out some barrels of salt and some sugar. The flames were now mounting upward in grand style, and at a distance of less than a mile, I could see clouds of dust rising among the trees. I called my comrade and had him descend the hill, I remaining at the top till he was at the bottom. When he was safely down, I began the descent. My horse, being left alone, was impatient and made all the haste he could in such a place. It was well for me that he did. I was growing a little anxious myself. I did not take time to look behind me, but my comrade, who was watching me from the other shore, began to signal for me to make all the haste possible. I had crossed the deepest part of the river and was splashing out through shallow water on the other side when a shower of spent bullets began to patter like hail all around me. Reaching my comrade, we crossed a sandy beach and took shelter among trees where only a very few shots could reach us at all.
Reaching the edges of the forest, we turned about to take a last look at the scene behind us, and that scene was of weird and wonderful grandeur;—one that can never fade from memory. The weather had long been remarkably dry for that season of the year. Now, however, intensely black thunder clouds were darkening the sky. Not a breath of air seemed to be stirring. Before us rolled the clear peaceful waters of the river. Beyond the river was the high hill surmounted by the burning block-house. The flames were rising perpendicularly to a height of 100 feet or more. The smoke arose a mile or more and there reaching a rarer atmosphere spread out like a vast umbrella in all directions, a grand dark canopy under the grander and darker canopy of the thunder clouds. On the brow of the hill, distinctly outlined upon the strange dark background of flames, of smoke, and of clouds, were a hundred or more horsemen drawn up in line. Unmindful of the wonderful grandeur and beauty of the scene of which they constituted an important element, these unappreciative men were trying to reach us with their rifles, and were, indeed, sending some of their naughty bullets uncomfortably near our position. How much I wish I could have made a painting of that wonderfully beautiful picture.
After viewing this scene for a few moments, my comrade and I turned and took the trail of our command[,] overtaking them about two miles farther on. Satisfied that we would have to run for our own lives as well as for our prisoners and our plunder, we now stopped a few minutes to prepare for the race. Wishing to have a few men unencumbered with prisoners, we dismounted about a dozen of the youngest of the prisoners and made them march on foot about the middle of the line. From the horses of the other prisoners, we took off the bridles, the horses being led by the guards. I then warned the prisoners that they must give us no trouble whatever,—that we were in a tight place, as they well knew, running for our lives,—and that their lives would not be worth much, if they attempted to escape or to retard our flight. I told them to each keep his eye to the front, and ordered the guards, within their hearing, to shoot dead every prisoner that looked around, or that tried in any way to communicate with other prisoners. I feared that Captain McNamara who was undoubtedly a man of desperate courage, and who, if any chance had offered, would doubtless have caused us a good deal of trouble. Besides him, we had 7 other commissioned officers, a Captain, four Lieutenants, a Lieut. Colonel, and a quartermaster. Of none of these, however, had I any fear. McNamara was more than all of these put together.
Having completed these arrangements, we pressed on as fast as we could. It would take the enemy some time to descend the hill and cross the river. We would have several miles the start. We could hold out till night, then the darkness would serve us. The prisoners gave us no trouble. Soon the storm of the elements burst upon us. The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain poured down in torrents. We were soon all wet to the skin. We still hurried on. At last darkness was beginning to come on. We left the road and took a shorter way by a dim trail through the forest. The darkness became so dense that we could not see our comrades, our prisoners, or our horses. I feared our prisoners would escape, but they did not. Sometimes our guide would stop and feel for marks on trees,—marks that he had made on former occasions to enable him to follow the trail on dark nights. A new danger now threatened us and made haste necessary. This was the rising of a large creek in advance of us. Should we be unable to cross it, we were still liable to be hemmed in next day and killed or captured. About midnight we reached the creek. It was barely fordable and was rapidly rising. A delay of half an hour would have made us too late. We stopped awhile on the other bank. Our pursuers were too late. The creek was no longer fordable. We had escaped. We were again on the main road. We found an unoccupied cabin with a single room in an old field. In this cabin, we built a fire and placed the prisoners and a few guards. The balance of us lay on the ground outside. The rain still poured down. The water covered the ground around us and under us. Being very weary, however, we drew our blankets over our heads, made pillows of our saddles, and slept. Soon the wind changed to the north and became very cold. The rain changed to sleet, then to snow. The cold increased. Morning came. Our clothes froze stiff upon our bodies and rattled and creaked as we moved about. We soon rejoined our other party with their prisoners, and all made a forced march to Ozark.15 We arrived in the morning, weary, hungry, and almost frozen. As we were entering the town with our long line of prisoners, our load of guns, &c. our friends cheered us on every hand. As we were passing the house in which my family resided, my wife and three little children came out and hurrahed “for our side.” The rebel families gazed upon us in sullen silence.
On this expedition, we had marched a long distance into the enemy’s country, taken more than our own number of prisoners, more than our own number of horses, and more than our own number of guns. Besides this, the rebel property that we had destroyed was about $5000.00 to each man of our party. And all this we had accomplished without the firing of a gun. Major Gen. S. R. Curtis pronounced this one of the most brilliant achievements of the war. He placed an account of it in his battle book and said it should appear in history. Burch and myself became still more popular with the men who had now come to think that they could not be beaten when either of us was in command. And we never undeceived them. In dozens of future engagements, we never suffered them, in a single instance, to be beaten. They did become apparently invincible.
And thus, in honor and glory to ourselves, closed the eventful year of 1862. Recognizing in Captain Mooney one of nature’s true noblemen, I took him into my house and made him my honored guest, until he had to go to be exchanged. After being exchanged, he fought us bravely and honorably, and was promoted to the rank of Major. Toward the close of the war, he was again captured, and never again returned to the rebel services.16
Source: Kelso, “Auto-Biography,” chap. 19, 784–89.
1. Joseph Hale Mooney, Co. C, 8th Missouri Infantry, CSA, enlisted at Elma Springs, Ark.; served as a private from Feb. 4 to Aug. 4, 1862; and then was promoted to captain. 2nd Lt. Reuben P. Mooney, Co. D, 14th MSM Cavalry, enlisted at Springfield, Mo., on March 29, 1862, and was wounded in action on Oct. 17, 1862, but had returned to the field (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH). Joseph Hale Mooney lived in Texas Co., Mo. (History of Laclede … Counties, Missouri, 461). On Captain Mooney, see also Nichols, Guerilla Warfare in Civil War Missouri, 1:118. Reuben (b. 1823 in Tenn.) in 1860 lived in Linden, Christian County, Mo., with his wife and nine children (1860 U.S. Census, Linden Township, Christian County, Missouri, family no. 888).
2. On the Confederate saltpeter mining operation near Yellville and its role in gunpowder production, see James J. Johnston, “Bullets for Johnny Reb: Confederate Nitre and Mining Bureau in Arkansas,” Arkansas Historical Quarterly 49 (Summer 1990): 124–67.
3. Report of Capt. Milton Burch, Dec. 18, 1862, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 159–61: Burch left Ozark with forty men from Cos. D, F, G, and H of the 14th MSM Cavalry on the morning of Dec. 9, 1862, and marched thirty-five miles to Lawrence’s Mill (Beaver Station). They arrived in the night and stayed until noon on the 10th. During that time he consulted with his own officers and others stationed at the fort: “Having received information that a rebel captain by the name of Mooney, with 75 men, were encamped at Tolbert’s Ferry, on the White river, 60 miles from us, I resolved, with the advice of the other officers, to go and capture them” (160). He was reinforced by sixty militiamen from Beaver Station.
4. Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 160: “The march continued on the morning of the 11th, but, instead of keeping the road, I bore eastward, and marched through the wood, under the guidance of an excellent woodman by the name of Willoughby Hall. I arrived within 8 miles of the ferry by dusk, and stopped to feed and rest in the dense forest, near an out of the way corn-field.” According to an oral history recorded by Silas Claiborne Turnbo later in the nineteenth century, Hugh McClure, a southern sympathizer, holding Hall partly responsible for the murder of his son, was with a company of men who shot down Hall. As Hall lay dying, McClure took a knife and scalped him. See Turnbo, The Evil That Men Do: Guerrilla and Civil War Stories of the Ozarks, ed. Bill Dwayne Blevins (Mountain Home, Ark.: Infodatatech.net, 2002), 105.
5. Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 160: “I sent Lieut. John R. Kelso, with 8 men, to capture some rebel pickets that I supposed would be found at the house of a rebel by the name of Brixy. Lieutenant Kelso soon returned, having found and captured 2 rebels, with their guns, and one horse. From these prisoners I learned that Captain Mooney’s men had temporarily disbanded, and were not to assemble again for two days.” Brixy was Pvt. Clark Brixy, Co. F, 34th Regt., Arkansas Infantry, CSA (NPS Soldiers’ Database).
6. Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 160: “I remained here [at Mooney’s] to feed and await the arrival of a party that I had sent out, with orders to meet at this point. They soon came in, bringing several prisoners.”
7. Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 160: “At midnight my little band emerged from the dark wood, where we had been resting, and silently wound along the hills in the direction of Captain Mooney’s. Lieutenant Kelso led the advance, and, by the most excellent management, succeeded in capturing 7 or 8 rebels, who lived near the road, without giving any alarm to the country around. Just before day we captured a rebel recruiting officer by the name of Mings, formerly a lieutenant-colonel. At the break of day we reached Captain Mooney’s residence. We took him, with one other man, together with 15 stand of small arms, most of which we destroyed, not being able to carry them.” A William Mings is listed as a captain in the Missouri State Guard and in Wood’s Regt., Missouri Cavalry (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH; NPS Soldiers’ Database).
8. Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 160: “I then sent Captain [P. T.] Green, of the enrolled militia, back with the prisoners, 17 in number, and 25 men as an escort.”
9. Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 161: “Learning that a party of Burbridge’s command was hourly expected, I thought it better to retire.” Col. John Q. (Jack) Burbridge, Missouri State Guard and 2nd Regt., Infantry Volunteers, CSA, was from Pike County in northeastern Missouri but was at the time leading irregulars in the Ozarks (Nichols, Guerilla Warfare in Civil War Missouri, 1:169, 180–81; “Soldiers’ Records,” MDH; NPS Soldiers’ Database).
10. Burch divided his command of seventy-five remaining men into two divisions, sending one to hide on the other side of the river. So he approached the salt works with about thirty-five to forty men, and faced twenty-three working at the cave (Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 160).
11. Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 160: “It was just before noon when we reached the cave. The rebels were at their dinner, all unconscious of our approach. When at last they discovered us, they mistook us for a company of their own men which they were expecting, and they did not discover their error until we were in half pistol shot of them. I ordered them to surrender, which they did, without firing a gun.” In an oral history recorded later in the nineteenth century by Silas Turnbo, “Mun” or “Mum” Treat, who was working at the caves that day, thought that Burch had attacked with 150 troops (Turnbo, The Evil That Men Do, 90).
12. Capt. Patrick S. McNamara, Nitre and Mining Bureau, War Department, CSA (NPS Soldiers’ Database; see also Johnston, “Bullets for Johnny Reb,” 133, 143).
13. Burch’s report, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 160–61: “I ordered the salt-peter works to be destroyed, which was effectually done. These are gigantic works, having cost the rebel Government $30,000. Captain McNamar[a], who was in command, stated that in three days they could have had $6,000 worth of saltpeter ready for use.” The report of Brig. Gen. Egbert B. Brown to Maj. Gen. Samuel R. Curtis, Dec. 18, 1862, OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 159, praised Burch and his men for “burning and destroying 5 buildings, 1 engine, 26 large kettles, 6 tanks, blacksmiths’ and carpenters’ shops and tools; $6,000 worth of saltpeter, packed, which was to have been moved in two days; capturing 500 barrels of jerked beef, together with a full supply of other provisions for the winter, and returning, without a casualty, with 42 prisoners, their arms, horses, and equipments.”
14. Burch reported twenty-three prisoners taken at the cave with three too sick to travel, but General Brown, apparently working from a separate itemized list, reported forty-two (OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 159, 160).
15. In praising his men, Burch mentioned marching “often without any food, except parched corn, and no shelter from the chilling rains.” He noted the good work of his officers, singling out Kelso: “As to Lieutenant Kelso, his reputation as an intrepid soldier and skillful officer is too well known to require any comment at this time” (OR, ser. 1, vol. 22, part 1, 161).
16. The records list Captain Mooney as having been captured on Feb. 27, 1863, at Tolbert’s Ferry, Ark. (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH).