Captain John Ballinger, of the 1st Regiment of the Missouri State Militia, was
commanding the post, and to him was assigned the duty of taking proof of loyalty
and granting certificates; but he had not yet been furnished with instructions
from Gen. Ewing as to the manner or mode of proceeding, and after waiting till
late in the afternoon, we returned home, a day of valuable time lost. I that day
made up my mind to move to the post at Pleasant Hill and run the risk of getting
permission afterward. My brother and I, having the promise of a house in the
suburbs of the town, agreed to occupy it together with our families; and the next
morning I started with a load of household articles to that place. About half way I
was overtaken by a messenger sent by my family to apprise me that my brother
had changed his purpose, and was going to Clay County; and further, that it
would not be safe for me to attempt moving to Pleasant Hill, as the
bushwhackers would not permit me to do so. I accordingly turned back, and the
same evening took my load to Wm. F. Snow’s, a brother –in-law, in Johnson
County; and the next day hauled another load into Lafayette, as also did my
neighbors, John Cave, David Hunter, and Thomas Bradley; which articles we
stored away in the house, the bar, and the yard of a Mr. Galloway, near the
present town of Odessa. During the whole of this week my neighbors and the
citizens generally were removing necessary articles out of the county to places
where they would be in some degree safe, until they could find a temporary home
to which they could be removed. Having moved out two loads, I loaned my
wagon and oxen to a brother-in-law and son-in-law to get a load each of their
goods away from the ill-fated county.
On Saturday, September 5th, I repaired again to Pleasant Hill, and had no
difficulty in getting a certificate of loyalty, which would authorize me to go to any
part of the country, outside the three counties of Jackson, Cass, and Bates. I also
assisted some others in getting certificates of like character, and returned home
in better spirits than I had enjoyed for several days, and had a better night’s sleep
than I had had for a week before, not even dreaming of what was in store for me,
and the sorrow and suffering I was to witness and to bear the next day.
I had resolved now to cross over the line into Johnson County and stop in the
vicinity of Basin Knob, about five or six miles from home, from which place I
could occasionally see to my farm and what was left upon it, and removed things
at my leisure. But it was not to be. Most of my neighbors were gone, or were
going that day, as I also intended to do. I had but one wagon and one yoke oxen
with which to move my own family, my son-in-law, Wm. C. Tate, and his, and
such bedding and clothing as we could carry with that one team.
On the morning of the 6th of September, as we were making arrangements to
leave, a squad of soldiers of the Kansas 9th Regiment came suddenly upon us,
making prisoners of me, my son Isaac, and my son-in-law informing us that we
must go with them to where Col. Clark was stopping, on the Roupe farm, a mile
or more away. They also had taken David Hunter, my near neighbor, and brought
him along. We set out, hoping that under the circumstances we would not be
detained long. As we neared the residence of old Mr. Hunter, his grandson,
Andrew Ousely, a youth of 17, rode up to see about the arrangement for moving,
and he, too, was taken into custody. The old gentleman, about 75 years of age,
was not molested. A very short distance further, at the house of John S. Cave, he
and his brother-in-law, Wm. Hunter, were added to the number; and a hundred
yards further on, Benjamin Potter, 75 years of age, was met and also taken in
charge. Eight of us now were marched on three-quarters of a mile to the place of
encampment. Here Col. Clark, who had been scouting the country ever since the
Lawrence massacre, met us and took down the name of each prisoner, and then
retired into the underbrush near by, where some of his men were stationed and
we were permitted to sit down by the fence.
When first taken, I had shown the captain the certificate that Captain Ballinger
had given me the day before; none of the others had any.
In a short time the colonel returned, and asked me which of the other persons
was my son; and seeing that one of his young men had appropriated my son’s hat
to his own use, in a menacing manner he bade him restore it. He retired again;
and Barney Dempsy, an acquaintance of all, who was acting as pilot to the
company, came and spoke a few friendly words, and left. During all this time,
neither the officers nor any of the men spoke a harsh or menacing word to any of
us. Captain Coleman who had first taken us prisoners, then came to me and said:
“You will take your son and travel.” These words but more particularly the
manner in which they were spoken, gave me the first alarm as to any real danger
to any of the party. We immediately left as commanded, leaving our friends and
neighbors behind, never to see them in life again; for in a very short time after
reaching home, the report of several guns in quick succession alarmed us still
more. I, however, persuaded myself, and tried to persuade the alarmed and
distressed families, that it might be the soldiers shooting fowls on the Roupe
farm for their breakfast. They would not, however, be so persuaded, and Miss
Jane Cave heroically repaired to the spot, and found the company gone and the
six prisoners all dead, some of them pierced with many balls.
About the time that this sad word was brought to us, another regiment, I believe
the 11th Missouri, passed on its way to Kansas City, bringing to more of
disappointment and distress. I had made arrangement with my sister in Johnson
County, and her husband, Wm. F. Snow, if I left the country, for them to receive
my aged mother into their family, and they were expected to send after that day.
But the regiment had him along as a prisoner.
Though a strong Union man, some of their scouts, by representing themselves
and bushwhackers, had so alarmed him that, like many others, to escape them he
had said something that condemned him in the eyes of the Union soldiers, and
they came very near taking his life, and carried him to Kansas City, where he
remained for several months. Of neighbors left in the county, there were none
that I knew of, except the families of he men who had just been killed. Nobody
was left to bury them but me and my son and my old neighbor, Mr. Hunter.
As soon as the last body of soldiers were gone, we repaired to the scene of death,
to perform as well as we could the sad rites of sepulture. We found them on or
near the spot where I had left them. Two of them appeared to have been shot as I
left them, sitting by the fence, and the others but a few feet away. It was a sad
and hurried burial, such as I hope never to see again.
It was the desire to get away before another night should close on us. A grave
was dug, and the fallen friends were laid side by side, in their bloody clothes;
blankets spread over them and covered with earth.
I had witnessed many burials, but this, I thought, was the saddest of them all.
My aged friend and neighbor, at the age of three score and fifteen, helping me
with his own hands to lay his two sons, his only sons, his grandson and son-in-
law, with two other relatives (one of whom was my son-in-law), in the rude and
shallow grave that our own hands had dug for them.
It may, perhaps, be asked why or for what cause this bloody tragedy was enacted;
why it was that these men were killed, and that I was spared. They were all quiet
peaceable citizens; note of them had borne arms against the Government, except
David Hunter a few days at the very first, at Camp Holloway, and he had
afterwards done duty in the enrolled militia. True, they were all Southern men
and Southern sympathizers; and some of them had sons in the Southern army. I
thought then, and still think, the principal cause was that Quantrell and his
raider, on their way to Lawrence, stopped and ate supper on the Potter farm, and
that some of these men visited them while they were getting that supper.
The burial over, with heavy hearts we left the spot—a spot I can never visit
without the saddest reflections; and on which the friends have erected a plain
marble shaft, that tells a part of the tale that I have been telling. {See pictures of
grave and monument} We left the hastily buried friends, to make a hasty
preparation for leaving them in their lonely sleep. Even while we were burying
the dead, the women and children were loading up and making ready to leave.
The events of the morning had disarranged all our plans, rendering it impossible
to drive off any of our live stock with us. Cattle, sheep, and hogs were left behind,
besides many other things abandoned to go to waste and destruction. The
growing crop of corn, corn in the crib, wheat in the granary and in the stack—all
left behind. The soldiers, in passing, had thrown down the fence, and rode
through the orchard, helping themselves to apples and peaches, and we had no
time or inclination to put the fences up, knowing that it would not remain up.
commanding the post, and to him was assigned the duty of taking proof of loyalty
and granting certificates; but he had not yet been furnished with instructions
from Gen. Ewing as to the manner or mode of proceeding, and after waiting till
late in the afternoon, we returned home, a day of valuable time lost. I that day
made up my mind to move to the post at Pleasant Hill and run the risk of getting
permission afterward. My brother and I, having the promise of a house in the
suburbs of the town, agreed to occupy it together with our families; and the next
morning I started with a load of household articles to that place. About half way I
was overtaken by a messenger sent by my family to apprise me that my brother
had changed his purpose, and was going to Clay County; and further, that it
would not be safe for me to attempt moving to Pleasant Hill, as the
bushwhackers would not permit me to do so. I accordingly turned back, and the
same evening took my load to Wm. F. Snow’s, a brother –in-law, in Johnson
County; and the next day hauled another load into Lafayette, as also did my
neighbors, John Cave, David Hunter, and Thomas Bradley; which articles we
stored away in the house, the bar, and the yard of a Mr. Galloway, near the
present town of Odessa. During the whole of this week my neighbors and the
citizens generally were removing necessary articles out of the county to places
where they would be in some degree safe, until they could find a temporary home
to which they could be removed. Having moved out two loads, I loaned my
wagon and oxen to a brother-in-law and son-in-law to get a load each of their
goods away from the ill-fated county.
On Saturday, September 5th, I repaired again to Pleasant Hill, and had no
difficulty in getting a certificate of loyalty, which would authorize me to go to any
part of the country, outside the three counties of Jackson, Cass, and Bates. I also
assisted some others in getting certificates of like character, and returned home
in better spirits than I had enjoyed for several days, and had a better night’s sleep
than I had had for a week before, not even dreaming of what was in store for me,
and the sorrow and suffering I was to witness and to bear the next day.
I had resolved now to cross over the line into Johnson County and stop in the
vicinity of Basin Knob, about five or six miles from home, from which place I
could occasionally see to my farm and what was left upon it, and removed things
at my leisure. But it was not to be. Most of my neighbors were gone, or were
going that day, as I also intended to do. I had but one wagon and one yoke oxen
with which to move my own family, my son-in-law, Wm. C. Tate, and his, and
such bedding and clothing as we could carry with that one team.
On the morning of the 6th of September, as we were making arrangements to
leave, a squad of soldiers of the Kansas 9th Regiment came suddenly upon us,
making prisoners of me, my son Isaac, and my son-in-law informing us that we
must go with them to where Col. Clark was stopping, on the Roupe farm, a mile
or more away. They also had taken David Hunter, my near neighbor, and brought
him along. We set out, hoping that under the circumstances we would not be
detained long. As we neared the residence of old Mr. Hunter, his grandson,
Andrew Ousely, a youth of 17, rode up to see about the arrangement for moving,
and he, too, was taken into custody. The old gentleman, about 75 years of age,
was not molested. A very short distance further, at the house of John S. Cave, he
and his brother-in-law, Wm. Hunter, were added to the number; and a hundred
yards further on, Benjamin Potter, 75 years of age, was met and also taken in
charge. Eight of us now were marched on three-quarters of a mile to the place of
encampment. Here Col. Clark, who had been scouting the country ever since the
Lawrence massacre, met us and took down the name of each prisoner, and then
retired into the underbrush near by, where some of his men were stationed and
we were permitted to sit down by the fence.
When first taken, I had shown the captain the certificate that Captain Ballinger
had given me the day before; none of the others had any.
In a short time the colonel returned, and asked me which of the other persons
was my son; and seeing that one of his young men had appropriated my son’s hat
to his own use, in a menacing manner he bade him restore it. He retired again;
and Barney Dempsy, an acquaintance of all, who was acting as pilot to the
company, came and spoke a few friendly words, and left. During all this time,
neither the officers nor any of the men spoke a harsh or menacing word to any of
us. Captain Coleman who had first taken us prisoners, then came to me and said:
“You will take your son and travel.” These words but more particularly the
manner in which they were spoken, gave me the first alarm as to any real danger
to any of the party. We immediately left as commanded, leaving our friends and
neighbors behind, never to see them in life again; for in a very short time after
reaching home, the report of several guns in quick succession alarmed us still
more. I, however, persuaded myself, and tried to persuade the alarmed and
distressed families, that it might be the soldiers shooting fowls on the Roupe
farm for their breakfast. They would not, however, be so persuaded, and Miss
Jane Cave heroically repaired to the spot, and found the company gone and the
six prisoners all dead, some of them pierced with many balls.
About the time that this sad word was brought to us, another regiment, I believe
the 11th Missouri, passed on its way to Kansas City, bringing to more of
disappointment and distress. I had made arrangement with my sister in Johnson
County, and her husband, Wm. F. Snow, if I left the country, for them to receive
my aged mother into their family, and they were expected to send after that day.
But the regiment had him along as a prisoner.
Though a strong Union man, some of their scouts, by representing themselves
and bushwhackers, had so alarmed him that, like many others, to escape them he
had said something that condemned him in the eyes of the Union soldiers, and
they came very near taking his life, and carried him to Kansas City, where he
remained for several months. Of neighbors left in the county, there were none
that I knew of, except the families of he men who had just been killed. Nobody
was left to bury them but me and my son and my old neighbor, Mr. Hunter.
As soon as the last body of soldiers were gone, we repaired to the scene of death,
to perform as well as we could the sad rites of sepulture. We found them on or
near the spot where I had left them. Two of them appeared to have been shot as I
left them, sitting by the fence, and the others but a few feet away. It was a sad
and hurried burial, such as I hope never to see again.
It was the desire to get away before another night should close on us. A grave
was dug, and the fallen friends were laid side by side, in their bloody clothes;
blankets spread over them and covered with earth.
I had witnessed many burials, but this, I thought, was the saddest of them all.
My aged friend and neighbor, at the age of three score and fifteen, helping me
with his own hands to lay his two sons, his only sons, his grandson and son-in-
law, with two other relatives (one of whom was my son-in-law), in the rude and
shallow grave that our own hands had dug for them.
It may, perhaps, be asked why or for what cause this bloody tragedy was enacted;
why it was that these men were killed, and that I was spared. They were all quiet
peaceable citizens; note of them had borne arms against the Government, except
David Hunter a few days at the very first, at Camp Holloway, and he had
afterwards done duty in the enrolled militia. True, they were all Southern men
and Southern sympathizers; and some of them had sons in the Southern army. I
thought then, and still think, the principal cause was that Quantrell and his
raider, on their way to Lawrence, stopped and ate supper on the Potter farm, and
that some of these men visited them while they were getting that supper.
The burial over, with heavy hearts we left the spot—a spot I can never visit
without the saddest reflections; and on which the friends have erected a plain
marble shaft, that tells a part of the tale that I have been telling. {See pictures of
grave and monument} We left the hastily buried friends, to make a hasty
preparation for leaving them in their lonely sleep. Even while we were burying
the dead, the women and children were loading up and making ready to leave.
The events of the morning had disarranged all our plans, rendering it impossible
to drive off any of our live stock with us. Cattle, sheep, and hogs were left behind,
besides many other things abandoned to go to waste and destruction. The
growing crop of corn, corn in the crib, wheat in the granary and in the stack—all
left behind. The soldiers, in passing, had thrown down the fence, and rode
through the orchard, helping themselves to apples and peaches, and we had no
time or inclination to put the fences up, knowing that it would not remain up.
 |
| |
 |
| Page 2 |
 | |  | |  | |  | |  |