6. Scouting, Recruiting, and the Cavalry

February to May 1862

It was now near the close of February, 1862. Leaving the army about four miles south of Bentonville, I started, early in the morning, due northward toward Missouri. Having no suitable food to carry with me, I carried none at all. I trusted to chance to obtain food somehow upon the way, although I had not a cent of money. My pockets were filled with letters which I was to carry to Springfield. The day was clear and delightful. The early spring birds were twittering about me. The country was beautiful, and it seemed strange that men should be seeking one another’s lives;—men, too, of the same race, the same nationality, the same religion, the same language, the same laws, and the same customs. But so it was; and knowing that almost every man I might meet here would be a deadly enemy, I avoided the roads and the settlements as much as possible, and kept to the hills and forests. During the day, I saw several small parties of men at a distance, but did not directly meet any one. Being fresh from rest, I felt vigorous, and did good walking. I walked all day, and over half the night. After it was dark, I kept the road, leaving it and lying down whenever I heard any body coming. About 2 o’clock, I began to grow weary and my feet were severely blistered. I lay down upon the ground, but soon became too cold to sleep. I must have some kind of shelter. Finding an old empty corn crib, I entered it, and slept a short time upon a small pile of corn shucks that it contained. Even here, however, I soon became too cold to sleep. I waked, but felt too weary to go on. I lay there shivering. Presently, I heard the sound of a large body of horsemen passing upon the road. Not supposing that so large a body of the enemy would be likely to be so close in the rear of our army, I concluded that they must be friends. At any rate, I lay still and let them pass. Soon after the sound of their marching had ceased, another party arrived that left me in no doubt in regard to its being an enemy. It entered the crib, and, finding me there, claimed that I had invaded its premises, and gave me to understand that I must depart at once or take the consequences of refusal to do so. I took the consequences. A battle, short, fierce, and decisive ensued. The consequences came into my face and all over me. The enemy held the battle ground. In a sadly demoralized condition, I fled. My enemy was a pole-cat.

Taking to the road again, I walked on very cautiously. Every few minutes, I stopped to listen. I was very anxious to know the character of the large body of horsemen that had so recently passed. No matter to which side they belonged, they were strong enough to be masters of the situation in that vicinity for the present. If they proved to be friends, I would be comparatively safe in following so closely in their rear. If they proved to be enemies, my danger would be greatly increased. Presently day began to dawn. I was debating whether to leave the road for greater safety, or to keep right on until I came to some house at which I could procure food, when I met a Union soldier. He was bare-head, was without a coat, and wore only one boot. He was a German and spoke English very badly. With his little knowledge of English, however, and my little knowledge of German, he made me understand that he was a teamster belonging to a provision train that had camped, on the preceding night, only one or two miles from where we then were; that, just before day-break, a large body of rebel cavalry had attacked their train; that, when he was only half-dressed, he had been captured and left in the care of a single guard; that, while the guard was watching the fighting that was going on at another point, he had knocked the guard down with a neck-yoke that belonged to his wagon, and had made his escape in the dark. He said that, before he was out of sight, the train was being burned.1 I advised him to leave the road and take to the hills to avoid recapture. He said that he would get lost, if he did this; that he must keep the road, even if he were recaptured.

I now left the road, but kept near enough to it to see any thing that might be upon it. Presently I perceived the smoke of the nearly consumed train. Under cover of a large thicket of under-brush, I approached to within about thirty yards of the nearest portions of the burned train. Not a living being was to be seen. I could see many boxes of goods of some kind that had been removed from the fire. Hoping that they might contain food of some kind, I ventured out and examined them. To my great joy, I did find them filled with food;—butter, sweet butter-crackers, and bologna sausages. Being ravenously hungry, and not knowing when I should have another opportunity to procure food, I supplied myself according to my appetite. Besides filling my haver-sack and all my pockets with butter-crackers, I loosed my blouse above my belt, and, inside if this, around my body stuffed nearly half a bushel more of butter-crackers and oyster cans filled with butter. Being thus, as steam-boat men would express it, “loaded down to the guards,” I began to look about me to see in what direction to “navigate.” Just then, I perceived a party of about fifteen rebel horsemen approaching. They were about three hundred yards off, but they had evidently seen me. I moved quietly toward the brush. At this, they all put spurs to their horses and came dashing after me at full speed, waving their revolvers in the air. I broke to run, then, as fast as I could; but the great weight and bulk of the cargo around my body made it as inconvenient to me in running as Parson Bullen’s great belly was to him when he ran naked out of church to escape from Sut Lovegood’s lizards. I reached the brush, however, a good deal in advance of my pursuers; and, finding two large fallen trees that lay close together, I tumbled in between them and lay down. I soon heard my pursuers tearing through the brush around the end of these trees. In about an hour, they passed back, only one of them coming near me. Knowing that they had given up the chase, I now felt safe enough. While lying here waiting, I had literally crammed myself with sweet butter-crackers. These made me feel as stupid as an anaconda after he has bolted a calf. The sun, too, had arisen, and was now shining down upon me with a warmth so agreeable that an irresistible sleepiness came over me. I concluded, therefore, to lie there and sleep.

When I awaked, the shadows of evening were gathering about me in the silent forest. I left my hiding place, and started on, coming out into the road as soon as darkness came on. My stomach was sick, and I spit up whole mouthfuls of butter, the undigested remains of my over-gorge of butter-crackers in the morning. I have never since liked this kind of cracker. About midnight, I reached Cassville and found the troops there greatly excited over the prospect of an attack by the body of rebel cavalry of whom I have already spoken, and who were still hovering in the neighborhood. In anticipation of this attack, I remained there until the next evening. Then, the enemy having left the neighborhood, I departed, and traveled slowly and cautiously all night. When morning came I was weary, hungry, and sleepy. I therefore sought a country house at which I might warm myself and obtain food. I presently found an old house which seemed to be vacant. The door was closed but the door knob was gone. Wishing to see what might be inside, I gave the door a violent kick or push with the bottom of my foot. The latch gave way, and the door flew open. I entered, holding my revolver in my hand, ready for any danger that might present itself. In a poor bed, on the opposite side of the room, lay a consumptive looking young man and his wife. He jumped out of bed and fell upon his knees, begging me piteously to spare his life; that he was a sick man unable to fight on either side; that he had never hurt any body, &c. &c. His wife, too, rather a pretty woman, joined him in pleading for his life. I felt amused at their fright, and ashamed at the thought of having so rudely broken in upon their virtuous slumbers. I told them to close up their whinings as soon as they conveniently could; that I did not want any body’s life; that I wanted a fire to warm by and some breakfast. In a remarkably short time, these were prepared.

Greatly refreshed, I now started on again. I left the road, however, and turned to the westward several miles to a place called King’s Prairie. Here were a number of Union men who had organized themselves into a kind of independent military company, and who, in their own way, were defending themselves and their homes against the various bands of rebel guerillas that were infesting the whole country.2 The wild deeds of daring performed by some of these independent warriors would furnish good material for a thrilling romance. With these men, I remained three days. During this time, we made one scout, capturing a few prisoners, whom we sent to Springfield, and a few guns and horses, which we kept for our own use. I kept a fine, intelligent, clay-bank horse, which I trained very carefully, and which, on more than one future occasion, saved me from capture if not from death. I named him Hawk Eye. At the end of three days, I left for Springfield which place I reached in two days. I left an appointment, however, at King’s Prairie, to speak on the 15th of March, when I expected to receive most of these independent warriors as recruits.3

While at Springfield, I heard the news of the terrible battle of Pea Ridge, in which most of my comrades were engaged. I greatly regretted not having been present in this engagement. It was fought on the 5th of March, 1882 [sic; March 6–8, 1862]. I made a trip into Christian County and obtained several recruits. Col. S. H. Boyd, who was a great liar, however, had informed me that he had made arrangements to have two companies of mounted scouts attached to his regiment; and that I was to command the first one formed of these companies.⁴ My recruits, therefore, volunteered under the expectation that they were to be mounted men, to be commanded by myself, and to belong to that regiment in which most of them had friends. Under these expectations, recruiting progressed rapidly. I soon had over fifty men enrolled.

On the 15th of March, I filled my appointment at King’s Prairie, in Barry County, and enrolled over thirty recruits. These, added to those I had at Springfield would form my company, and a day was already appointed, near the close of the month, to muster them all in at Springfield. Having a few days to spare before that time arrived, I concluded to go upon a scout with my recruits, who were armed with shot-guns and common old-style rifles. This did not prove to be a very glorious expedition. On the evening of the first day, before we had gained any victories calculated to immortalize our names, we met a forage train from our army which, after the battle of Pea Ridge, though victorious in that engagement, had fallen back into Missouri, and now lay at Keitsville.5 My recruits, being dressed in citizen’s clothes, and armed with citizen’s weapons, could not, of course, be distinguished from the rebel guerillas who were dressed and armed in the same way. As soon, therefore, as the commander of this train saw us, across a large corn-field, he turned his wagons and began a disorderly retreat. Not wishing him to return with empty wagons and to send out troops after us, we unfurled a Union flag which we carried with us. This did no good. I then started across the field alone to where they were. Seeing me coming thus alone, they halted and waited my coming. I explained to them who we were, and handed to the commander some papers that would confirm all I said. He was a lieutenant belonging to the 4th Iowa Infantry. He replied that he did not doubt the truth of all I said, but that he did not then have time to examine my papers, and would be glad if I and my men would go by his camp, which was near at hand, and stop while he examined these papers. To this I agreed. He then said that of course I would have no objection to giving up my arms and having my men give up theirs, for a few minutes, to be all given back just as soon as my papers were examined. I thought that, in this, he was expecting a little too much, but, wishing to avoid all trouble, and not suspecting any treachery on his part, I agreed to this also.

When we reached his camp, I requested him to look over my papers as quickly as possible, as we were on an important scout and did not wish to be delayed. He then very coolly informed me that I could not leave till morning; that my papers might be forged, and that he should not pay any attention to them. In vain, I remonstrated against this vile act of cowardice and treachery. I asked him if he thought that enemies would have come as we had across a large field to surrender to an inferior force which was already in disorderly retreat? I asked him if he did not know that we could have captured his whole train, and that, if we had been enemies, we would have captured it. In reply to these questions, he simply said: “You’ve got to stay.” Being in the treacherous brute’s power, we did have to stay. He promised, however, to give up our guns and let us off in the morning as soon as his train started. This promise, he also broke. Instead of letting us off in the morning, he said we must go to Keitsville; and that, if we did not go peaceably, he would use force. I let him know that I had an appointment that day to meet another lot of recruits, and that, after meeting them, we had to go on to Springfield to be mustered into the U. S. service. I let him know that his taking us to Keitsville would render us unable to meet these appointments, although we would at once be released when we reached that place. All in vain. We had to go. Then I exhausted all the adjectives in Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary. Liar, coward, traitor, thief, son of a _____, were among the mildest epithets I applied to him. His men expressed themselves ashamed of his conduct. I told him, that, if ever we met after I was free, we would settle the matter,—not in words.

When we reached Keitsville, it was evening. The first guard that we passed was a particular friend of mine. I told him that, by the basest of treachery, the cowardly villain by my side had taken us prisoners, and that I wished him to convey word at once to Major Weston of this fact.6 Moving on, we soon found ourselves in the midst of my regiment. The men and officers were out on the parade ground playing ball. Seeing where we were, I assumed command, and ordered a halt, saying that we would go no farther. The men and officers crowded around us, glad to see us. I then commenced explaining the treacherous and cowardly manner in which we had been taken prisoners. I intended, as soon as I had explained these things, to pull the cowardly Lieutenant off his horse and give him a good beating. While I was speaking, he ordered his command to move on to the camp of the Fourth Iowa. I ordered them not to move, and they obeyed me. My friends of the Twenty Fourth Missouri, men and officers, began to run for their arms, saying that, if the Fourth Iowa got us, they would get us after they had destroyed the Twenty Fourth Missouri. Not thinking that he would desert his command, I had not yet seized the cowardly villain at my side. Seeing how affairs stood, however, he did put spurs to his horse and, deserting his command, did make his escape. I have never seen him since. Were I to meet him, even yet, I would punish him. He is doubtless still living. Such men never get killed, and rarely die. When they do die, they always enter heaven,—get in by treachery. This one is doubtless now a member of some church,—such men usually are—, a teacher in some Sunday school, and a member of the Young Men’s Christian Association. Through the influence of these societies, he may even have attained the distinction of a defaulting cashier of a bank, or at least to that of a merchant’s clerk who has robbed the till of his employers. In any event, he has doubtless seduced several weak women, young girls and silly wives, his sisters in the Lord.

Having taken our guns from the wagons, we let our late guards pass on. They expressed a good deal of indignation at the manner in which their commander had acted. I then called upon Major Weston who informed me that they were on short rations, and that he could not furnish either food for ourselves or forage for our horses;—that the best he could do for us was to pass us out, and let us supply ourselves off the country. At the close of my conversation with the major, a musician, who had heard all that passed between us, took me aside and gave me five dollars with which to buy food for my men. He said that he would gladly give me more if he had it. I have never seen him since; but he was a hero. He probably fell in battle or died. Such men do frequently perish thus. He also probably went to hell. Such men do usually go there. In order to enter heaven they have to play the sneak, entering upon a borrowed ticket, and this these men will not do. It was now dark. We left Keitsville, hungry, weary, and ill-tempered. About ten o’clock, we came to the farm of a wealthy old secessionist. Passing ourselves for rebels, we were bountifully provided for. Leaving this place about midnight, we sent a messenger to notify the rest of the recruits, and then moved on to Springfield, at which place we arrived on the next evening.

In all, I now had over a hundred recruits, all first-class men. To my great disappointment, however, I now learned that Boyd had misled me and caused me to mislead these men; that he had not obtained permission to have mounted men joined to his regiment; and that all those who entered that regiment at all, would have to enter as infantry. When the men learned the true state of affairs, they were all greatly disappointed and dissatisfied. About half of them, mostly Christian County men, having friends and relations in the Twenty Fourth Missouri, determined to join that regiment any way. The other half, mostly Barry County men, determined to join none but a cavalry regiment. No matter, then, with which division I remained, I was bound to lose the other division. I fell more under obligation to the Barry County men, because my personal influence had been more used in bringing them out. I wrote to Lieut. Col. James K. Mills, who was then in command of my regiment, asking what to do in the dilemma in which I was placed.7 He replied by directing me to take my cavalry recruits and enter the Fourteenth M. S. M. Cavalry, which was then being formed by Col. John M. Richardson.⁸ I did this, Col. Mills assuring me that he would have me properly discharged from the Twenty Fourth Missouri Infantry. This promise was not kept. My name disappeared from the rolls of that regiment without a word of explanation, leaving several months’ pay still due me.⁹

The M. S. M. Cavalry was a special military organization which never existed anywhere else or on any other occasion. It consisted of 10,000 men that Missouri raised above her quota. These troops were, in all respects, the same as any other U. S. Volunteers, except that being in excess of Missouri’s quota, they were, by special contract between Missouri and the United States, to be retained within Missouri or near her borders for her especial protection.¹⁰ I was now a member of this organization, and had men enough to make me certain of a First Lieutenant’s commission. I was now very glad to be assured of even this office. My family sorely needed the fair pay I would now receive, and my social position would be greatly elevated. I had now learned that a pair of officer’s straps alone outweighed the highest degree of valor, patriotism, intelligence, and moral worth without them. I expected soon, however, to raise enough more recruits to fill my company and to entitle me to a Captain’s commission; but, in this expectation, I was sorely disappointed. I learned that the ten thousand men required for this organization were already enrolled and that I would have to unite my part of a company with about the same number of men raised by my friend Burch of Dallas County. Since I had to unite with some one, I was glad to unite with him. He was an excellent man [in] every way, and most of his men were old friends of mine. When the day came for electing officers, several of my men were sick of measles, and could not attend. Had all been present, I would have been elected Captain by three majority. As it was, Burch was elected by a majority of two. I was, of course, elected First Lieutenant. Amos Norton, one of Burch’s men, of whom I have already spoken, was elected Second Lieutenant. My division was allowed four Sergeants and four Corporals; Burch’s division, one Sergeant and four Corporals. The arrangement was as good as could well have been made. It was now about the last of March, 1862.

When our company was thus organized, we went into training, till about the 20th of April. Then we were ordered to Linn Creek, about eighty miles North of Springfield. Of the march to Linn Creek I remember scarcely any thing at all. I will therefore simply give a part of a letter written from Linn Creek to my wife, who was still in Collinsville, Illinois:

My Dearest Susie:—Seated by the side of the beautiful little stream called Linn Creek, I proceed to inform you why I am here. …11 We left Springfield on Monday. Tuesday night, we spent in Buffalo; and had you been there, I should have considered it one of the happiest occasions of my life. I visited Mr. Norton’s family, and had a very pleasant talk with old Anthony Lindsay. I next called to see Marshall McConnell and Smantha. Next, Mrs. Hovey and family. Eva ran to meet me, and all appeared very glad to see me. I next called to see John McConnell’s wife. She and her little boy were well, but were having a rather lonely time. Smantha will have a lonely time also, as Marshall has enlisted in our company. I next called to see Mr. Lovan and family. Tilman and I stayed over night with them. I next called to see Mrs. Boothe and Mrs. Burch, who are both living at Boothe’s place. Mrs. Burch’s little boy is a fine child. I next visited Augustine and the Humphrey girls. Augustine seemed rejoiced to see me, but said she “was about to count me out” for not coming to see her till the very last. As I passed, I called to see Mrs. Morrow and family. Like all the rest, they greeted me with joy. In fact, the joy that was manifested on every hand at meeting me, made me feel that though my loyalty has lost to me all my kindred, it has filled their places with many devoted friends. Mrs. Hovey is eager to hear from the Doctor. She requested me to say that she and the children were well. I visited Mrs. Langston the night before we left Springfield. She will hardly live long. Aggie, too, is sick. I guess West is responsible for her condition. Ellen was happy to see me. She looks younger and healthier than she did. Mandyvil was there, and you better believe she is pretty. I did not know her at first, but had quite a chat with her when I found her out. She is really an interesting lady. Walter is at home, a more noble man than ever. Annie West was there, and was glad to see me. She has a bouncing big boy for a baby.

Your Loving Husband, John R. Kelso

Linn Creek, Apr. 25th 186212

How long we remained at Linn Creek I do not now remember but I think we returned to Springfield about the 20th of May, having been gone about one month.13 Soon after our return, I think it was, an election was held for the two Majors to which our regiment was entitled. By an almost unanimous vote, I was elected First Major and Captain Stephen A. Julian Second Major.¹⁴ Col. Richardson, however, not wishing these offices filled with honest men, suppressed the returns of this election, and had his son-in-law, J. C. Wilbur, a bold and skillful villain, appointed in my place, and a man of similar character in place of Captain Julian.¹⁵ With such field officers, he expected to make his office of Colonel a very lucrative one. The injustice done to me in this case came very near creating a mutiny among the men.

Of the events that occurred while we were at Linn Creek, and while we were on our return to Springfield, I remember but little. I will, therefore, give another letter which covers a portion, at least of that period, and shows what my feelings then were. This letter was written to my wife from Springfield May 25th 1862.

My Dearest Susie:—Since returning to this place, I found your kind letter of April 20th and concluded to reply, although I had already replied to one of a later date. I went to Linn Creek, after I wrote to you, returned to Buffalo, had another pleasant time visiting, then came to this place. As soon as I arrived, I visited Jack McElhany and family. I found them all well, and all glad to see me. Mabe Anderson was here. He has changed a good deal since I saw him last. He says that your relatives are all well except your father, who has long been lingering on the brink of the grave. I fear that we shall never see him again. I have heard nothing of Matthie’s family on my return. I have seen Walter Langston. He says his mother is still lingering about as she was. Ellen has gone home. She has written to Tilman since she reached home.16 She is strong Union as ever. There has been some skirmishing in the country since I wrote last. On one of these skirmishes, one of our Dallas County Boys was killed. Another, Willoughby Hoover, was severely wounded.¹⁷ A plot, in which some seven or eight rebels were concerned, was formed for the purpose of shooting myself and Captain Burch from the bush. The plot was discovered, however, and no harm happened to us. One of the villains concerned is in prison here now. The rebels have offered a reward for my head. I think, however, that their money is safe. Some of their scalps may not be safe.

A very sad event occurred here a few days ago. A widow lady by the name of Willis fled from Arkansas last fall, on account of the Union sentiments of herself and sons, and settled in this city. Before coming, however, one of her sons was butchered in her own yard, before her eyes, another was murdered in the field where he was at work, and still another scarce escaped, amid a shower of bullets, by running to the bush. This was all done by the rebels, from whom but little better treatment could have been expected. The hardest part of all, however, is that which I commenced to tell. Her house is near some of our camps. Some of the soldiers, having become troublesome, a guard was placed at her door. A Captain Clark and one of his men came to the door drunk, and demanded supper, which Mrs. Willis declared that she was not able to prepare for them. They grew furious, swore that they would come in, and then made an attack upon the guard. The Captain drew his revolver, but was himself shot dead by the guard. The Captain’s comrade then fired, but, missing the guard, shot Miss Mary Willis dead. The guard then shot him, wounding him, I think, mortally. I was well acquainted with Mrs. Willis and her daughter, and esteemed them as friends and as worthy ladies. Some time ago, they showed me the clothes of the two murdered boys, pierced in many places with the instruments of death. My heart bled for the sorrow of those two desolate mourners. But who can speak the woe of the one that now remains! What can earth ever be to her again!18

Whitson is here in prison. Thief Green was taken, but has made his escape.¹⁹ We do not trouble head-quarters much with prisoners. We prefer patronizing the brimstone head-quarters. I understand that I am appointed Quartermaster of our regiment, but I expect to decline accepting that office. I would receive ten dollars more a month, but the place does not, by any means, suit me. It grieves me, Susie, to know that you are in want, and I not able to assist you. I have received only one payment since I entered the service. There is, no doubt, money ready for me in the Lyon Legion (24th Mo. Inf.), but where is that now, and when shall I see it again? We have no idea when we shall receive pay for our present service. I have never spent one dime foolishly. I am not dressed as my rank requires, but still I do not complain. I mean to be such a man as you will be proud of, if you can be proud of one who seems born for misfortune only, and who has, unintentionally, been the cause of so much sorrow and suffering to yourself. O Susie! how much I wish to be worthy of your admiration! Then you would love me with that devotion with which I have so long clung to you. I dreamed of you again last night. I thought we were in a beautiful place, and that I was resting by your side, with your arm for my pillow. As I looked into your eyes, I thought I could read in their depths so deep a love and so great a joy as filled my heart with unspeakable gladness. The only thing that hinders me from coming after you is want of money. I think it will be better to sell the wagon at any price. We can come on the cars to Rolla, and, from that place, Jack McElhany will bring us in his wagon either to Buffalo or to Springfield. Under all these circumstances that surround us, I think it will be better to come here. While the war lasts, it will make but little difference at which place you stop. After the war, however, I could do much better business here than I could in Buffalo. But, notwithstanding all this, I wish you to decide for yourself at which place you will stop. You could get a small school at either place; perhaps a very good one here, if you could manage to teach in one room and to keep house in another. Goods, also, are cheaper here than they are in Buffalo. Just so soon as I get money, I expect to come for you or to send in case I can not come myself. I wish to get you away from that unhealthy place before the sickly season comes on. Prepare your mind, however, to bear even the disappointment of not coming at all. You would hardly find so generous friends here as you find there; and, should any new disappointment fall upon me, you would be better off where you are. You are going to be disappointed, I fear, in regard to visiting your people. I see no prospect now of your being able soon to make that visit. I hope you will be able to bear this disappointment bravely. You have borne all your trials, Susie, with so much of noble philosophy that I admire and love you more than ever. How much I long for the time to come when we shall have even the most humble little home in which we may enjoy each other’s society. Should this ever be our lot, let us not forget to appreciate the blessings we may enjoy. Let us not complain any more; but striving to be noble and good, let us find the true wealth in each other’s love, and in the confidence of those around us. We are passing away, Susie, and it becomes us to prepare the immortal part of our being for those glorious abodes,—“those fields of light, celestial plains,” toward which we are tending.——Your Johny.20

I did not soon get my family away from Collinsville. They remained there during the dreaded sickly season, and our youngest child, our sweet little Ianthus, who still suffered from the exposure of our dreadful retreat from Missouri, fell a victim to the malarial diseases of the place, and there, in an unknown grave, his dust yet reposes.²¹

Besides my desire to have my family nearer me and in a more healthy place, there was another reason, not even hinted at in these letters, why I wished them to leave Collinsville. I wished to get my wife, who was now the idol of my soul, away from the influence of Doctor Hovey, the Chesterfield of whom I have already often spoken. Having sent his family back to Missouri, he was himself still lingering in Collinsville, ostensibly finishing up his business there. Almost blindly unsuspicious, though I am by nature, and never inclined to be jealous, my intuitions, sharpened by my great love, now told me that the indefinite lingering of this fascinating but unscrupulous man near my lovely and unsuspecting young wife, after the departure of his own family, boded no good to my domestic happiness. While his good wife was there, I felt sure that she would be a great protection to my wife against his seductive wiles. Now, that her protecting influence was gone, I suffered a constant agonizing dread of what the consequences might be. And the future proved that my fears were well founded. He did succeed in winning my darling and beautiful wife’s love from me. He did succeed in blighting her life and mine! Whether he ever won more than her love, I never knew and never wished to know. I still try to believe that he did not.

Source: Kelso, “Auto-Biography,” chap. 14, 752–59.

1. On Feb. 25, a detached force of five hundred Texas Rangers attacked the Federals’ supply line near Keetsville, Barry County, Mo., a few miles north of the Arkansas line, “killing 2 men, taking 60 or 70 horses, and burning some 5 sutler wagons” (Gen. Samuel R. Curtis, Report, Feb. 27, 1862, OR, ser. 1, vol. 8, 74; and see 74–76). See also Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 54.

2. King’s Prairie was a township, and then a precinct of McDonald Township, in Barry County, Missouri. An 1888 county history describes a state militia of ninety-two men being formed sometime in 1862 before fall consisting of Unionists who apparently had not been persuaded by Kelso’s spring recruitment effort. See History of Newton, Lawrence, Barry, and McDonald Counties, Missouri (Chicago: Goodspeed, 1888), 639.

3. Many years later, Dr. Beverly A. Barrett recalled meeting Kelso at a farm on Wilson’s Creek, a few miles from Springfield. Barrett (b. 1826) had practiced medicine in Kelso’s Dallas County until 1858, when he moved to Springfield (Holcombe, History of Greene County, 603–4). He was a Confederate sympathizer who was aiding the wounded after the Battle of Pea Ridge. He considered Kelso a “villainous” character with a great amount of “low down cunning.” According to Barrett, Kelso “was in command of a squad of federal troops”—perhaps, rather, his “independent warriors?”—“most of them as unprincipled as their commander. He and his men raided Mr. Sharps’ home, carried away everything eatable from his place, made threats of murder to us and our wounded men, and may have carried [out] his murderous intentions had not a gentlemanly Col. of Gen. Curtis’ [staff] arrived with an escort bringing some prisoners from Pea Ridge to Springfield. Everything became instantly quiet and Kelso and his men left in a hurry. We had no further trouble. … John R. Kelso had mean qualifications[;] during their stay around them that dark night, [he] unscrewed a nut off one wheel of our wagon wheels, which instantly [was] discovered by one of the federal guard, and another supplied by them as soon as could be” (Beverly A. Barrett to unknown, Feb. 22, 1897, typescript, Bradbury Collection).

4. On Boyd, see chap. 2, note 16, above.

5. Gen. Samuel R. Curtis to Capt. N. H. McClean, March 18, 1862: “The enemy again approaching in force. We will have to fall back to near Keetsville; otherwise my supplies will be in danger” (OR, ser. 1, vol. 8, 624). Capt. William P. Black of the 37th Illinois Infantry, in a letter on March 26, 1862, thought that his camp had been changed “for the purpose of getting forage for the teams. The greater part of our army is between us [in northern Arkansas] & Keetsville, but our division still upholds our flag in Arkansas” (Michael E. Banasik, ed., Duty, Honor, and Country: The Civil War Experiences of Captain William P. Black, Thirty-Seventh Illinois Infantry [Iowa City: Camp Pope Bookshop, 2006], 88). This pullback was temporary. Curtis’s army, including the 4th Iowa Infantry, which had had a prominent role in the Battle of Pea Ridge, would soon push further south to Helena, Arkansas.

6. Maj. Eli W. Weston, 24th Regt., Infantry Volunteers (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH).

7. Lt. Col. James K. Mills (1830–74), a lawyer before the war, enlisted first as a private in the 3rd U.S. Reserve Corps. in St. Louis in April 1861. In Aug. 1861, he was appointed lieutenant colonel of the 24th Missouri Infantry. He would serve as post commander at Springfield, provost marshal for southwest Missouri, and colonel of his regiment before resigning for health reasons (tuberculosis) in 1864 (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH; Banasik, ed., Duty, Honor, and Country, 98–99n22).

8. Col. John M. Richardson (1820–89) had been a lawyer, a state representative for Jasper and Newton Counties, a Greene County attorney, a newspaper editor, a prominent politician in the faction of the Missouri Democratic Party led by Thomas Hart Benton, a candidate for Congress, and Missouri’s secretary of state under Gov. Sterling Price (1853–56). He was a strong Unionist and voted for Lincoln in 1860. He enlisted as a captain in Dallas County on Jan. 24, 1862. After the war he became a conservative and supported President Andrew Johnson. See Holcombe, History of Greene County, 217, 248, 252, 257–59, 271–73, 410, 503–6; Malcolm G. McGregor, The Biographical Record of Jasper County, Missouri (Chicago: Lewis, 1901), 67–68; and “Soldiers’ Records,” MDH.

9. On Kelso’s back pay, see chap. 2, note 23, above.

10. U.S. Pension and Record Office, Organization and Status of Missouri Troops, 21: “The Missouri State Militia was a peculiar force, entirely separate and distinct from all other militia organizations in the State, and its status in the service was the subject of considerable controversy during the period of its existence. Its organization was the result of a desire on the part of the officials of the State to place in the field a force of State militia at the expense of the General Government.” Perplexing questions arose as to whether the MSM was a state force under the governor or U.S. troops commanded by the president (see pp. 21–47). Federal district commanders had the authority to move troops in Missouri; when not needed for federal operations they followed a chain of command that led to the state’s governor.

11. Kelso’s ellipses.

12. At the time of the 1860 census, Amos Norton (b. 1822) and his wife, Elizabeth (b. 1823), had five children. “Old” Anthony Lindsay was forty-three and living alone. (Joseph) Marshall McConnell (b. 1839) and John N. McConnell (b. 1837) were born in Tennessee. John’s wife was Sarah London. (John served in the Home Guard and the 24th Missouri Infantry and Marshall in the 14th MSM Cavalry.) Samantha Williams was thirteen in 1860 and lived in the Hovey household. Dr. Hovey’s wife, Caroline, had three small children and two adult daughters in the household as of 1860. William Loven (b. 1810) lived with his six children. Tillman H. Barnes was born in Indiana in 1839. He was in the 8th Regt., MSM Cavalry, and in 1870 would be living with the Kelsos and working as a farmhand. Hannah Booth (b. 1828), the wife of Robert C. Booth (b. 1822), had four children. Milton Burch’s wife, Mary (b. 1836), had three children: William (age three), Robert (one), and Cordelia (seven months). The Humphrey girls—Mary (b. 1839), Ruth (b. 1842), and Catharine (b. 1853)—lived with their parents, John (b. 1805) and Ruth (b. 1807), very near the Hoveys and the Burches. It is not clear to which of three Augustines in Benton Township Kelso was referring. Sarah Morrow (b. 1823) lived with her husband and nine children. Mrs. Merivale Langston (b. 1816) was a widow running a sizeable farm outside of Springfield. Walter is probably Merivale’s son Walter W. Langston (b. 1839). Aggie, Ellen, Mandyvil, and Annie West have not been identified (1860 U.S. Census: Benton Township, Dallas County, Missouri, family nos. 4 [Norton], 240 [Lindsay], 230 [John McConnell], 236 [Loven], 222 [Boothe], 244 [Burch], 1 [Morrow], and 242 [Humphrey]; Campbell Township, Greene County, Missouri, family no. 245 [Walter Langston]; Taylor Township, Greene County, Missouri, family no. 750 [Merivale Langston]; 1870 U.S. Census: Benton Township, Dallas County, Missouri, family no. 188 [Joseph Marshall McConnell]; Campbell Township, Greene County, Missouri, family no. 1086 [Kelso with Barnes]; “Soldiers’ Records,” MDH; NPS Soldiers’ Database).

13. Kelso’s Co. H of the 14th MSM Cavalry was stationed at Linn Creek, May 1–4, 1862; May 5–21, “Marched to Buffalo, to Springfield May 20 and 21”; May 26–27, “Marched to Mount Vernon”; May 28–29, “Marched to Neosho” (Janet B. Hewett, ed., Supplement to the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Part II, Record of Events, vol. 35 [hereafter OR, Supplement] [Wilmington, N.C.: Broadfoot, 1996], 771).

14. Capt. Stephen H. Julian (b. 1822) of the 14th MSM Cavalry had lived before the war in Greene County with his wife, Sarah, and their four children (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH; 1860 U.S. Census, Cass Township, Greene County, Missouri, family no. 606).

15. Maj. John C. Wilbur (or Wilber; b. 1817), Cos. F and S, 14th MSM Cavalry, was promoted from adjutant in July 1862. He was not yet Colonel Richardson’s son-in-law: Wilbur and Kenyon Richardson married in Feb. 1865 (Missouri Marriage Records); they divorced by 1880 (1880 U.S. Census, Carthage Township, Jasper County, Missouri, family no. 131). Wilbur left the army in July 1863. He was practicing law with Richardson by the end of 1863 (see a note about a prison escape on “Richardson & Wilber, Attorneys & Counsellors at Law” letterhead, May 4, 1864, MDH Provost Marshal Papers, reel F1648, file 18940). By 1864 he was acting as an attorney and soldiers’ claims agent (Advertising Card, c. 1864–65, Old State House Museum Collection, Little Rock, Ark.). See also Journal of the Senate of the State of Missouri at the Adjourned Session of the 22nd General Assembly (Jefferson City, Mo.: J. P. Amet, 1863), 335 (his promotion); and “Soldiers’ Records,” MDH.

16. John McElhany (b. 1823 in Tenn.) lived in 1860 in Greene County near Wilson’s Creek with his wife, Margaret, and their nine children (1860 U.S. Census, Wilson Township, Greene County, Missouri, family no. 108). Walter W. Langston (b. 1839) was a son of Merivale (1860 U.S. Census, Campbell Township, Greene County, Missouri, family no. 245, and see chap. 6, note 12, above). Mabe Anderson, Matthie, and Ellen have not been identified.

17. Pvt. James W. Hoover, Co. A, 14th MSM Calvary, was discharged with a disability on July 20, 1862 (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH).

18. Capt. John R. Clark, Co. B of the 5th Kansas Cavalry, was a veteran of the Mexican War and had been Mercer County sheriff and a delegate to the Democratic State Convention in 1856. His companion, Pvt. Andrew J. Rice, Co. B, 5th Kansas Cavalry, eventually died from his wound. The incident was reported in an Ohio newspaper because Clark had lived there until moving to Missouri in 1836; see “Federal Officer and Young Lady Killed,” Columbus, Ohio, The Crisis, June 18, 1862, 165. See also Holcombe, History of Greene County, 417–18, and NPS Soldiers’ Database.

19. B. S. Whitson is on the list of prisoners released on oath and bond, Aug. 4, 1862, MDH Provost Marshal Papers, reel F1587, file 1918. Thief Green has not been identified.

20. “Ye fields of light, celestial plains” is from a Protestant hymn based on Psalm 148 (see Hymns of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States of America [Philadelphia: S. F. Bradford, 1827], 8).

21. On Ianthus, see chap. 8, note 9, below.