Late in the afternoon such preparations as could be made in the time were
made, and we all set off together. Our company consisted of John Hunter and
his aged companion, and single daughter; his son David’s wife and child; his son
William’s wife and several children; his daughter Nancy Cave, and her lately
orphaned children; his daughter, Mrs. Ousely (whose husband fell in the
Confederate army, and whose oldest son had fallen that morning), and her five
remaining children; Benjamin Potter’s daughter and three of his grandchildren;
also a married daughter of Mrs. Cave (whose husband Jacob Bennett, was in
Ohio), and her two children; myself and six children, besides my widowed
daughter and her three children, and my aged mother.
As we were preparing to leave, a neighboring lady from Johnson County, Mrs.
Fulkerson (who is the sister to our present Senator Cockerell), came along with
a wagon (for ladies drove wagons then), and she took my mother home with her
that night, and sent her to my sister Snow’s the next day, for which act of
kindness, at such a time, my gratitude will live as long as I shall live. We
crossed the county line and left the county of our choice a little before sunset,
and passed the night on the open prairie, southwest of Chapel Hill. My own
reason, as well as the suggestions of friends convinced me that my life was now
in more danger than it had yet been. The country was full of bushwhackers,
some of them the personal friends of the men who had been killed in the
morning; I had been taken with them; my life had been spared because I was a
Union man; theirs had been taken because they were not, and retaliation was
common on each side.
It was plain that I must go as my friends and neighbors did, or not go at all. I
felt assured that if I abandoned them and sought a place of shelter and security,
by taking some other road, my life would pay the forfeit; nor did I wish to
abandon them, so long as I could be of service to those who were now so much
in need of help. I had two sons, one eighteen and one fourteen years old, able to
drive and handle teams, while some of the others had none.
Next day we resumed our journey; passed Chapel Hill and Mount Hope, and
camped at night near William Hall’s, near Little Sni, and where we overtook or
fell in with several of our neighbor acquaintances, who were also encamped
there. Here Mr. Hunter and some of the others concluded to remain in camp a
few days, and look round for shelter. I left them; and with my family and my
daughter’s went on, and crossed the river at Lexington, intending to seek a
home in Ray or Clay County.
During those two or three days I saw much of the incidents and the fruits of
Order No. 11. Before and behind was seen the long, moving train of sorrowing
exiles: wagons and vehicles of every shape and size and of all kinds, drawn by
teams of every sort, except good ones; a cloud of dust rising from the road
almost the whole day, while ever and anon we would meet a neighbor going
back to get a way a few more of the necessaries of life before the 9th of
September should come; and the further we proceeded, the greater became the
moving column of wretched fugitives. On ever road that led eastward from the
county of Jackson came the moving mass of humanity, seeking an asylum they
knew not where; some driving their flocks and herd along with them; others,
again, as I was, with nothing but a makeshift of a wagon and team—some not
even that. Women were seen walking the crowded and dusty road, carrying in a
little bundle their all, or at least all that they could carry. Others, again, driving
or leading a cow or a skeleton horse, with a bundle or pack fastened upon it, or a
pack-horse, on which the feebler members of the family rode by turns.
The ferry-boat at Lexington, a substantial steamer, was kept busy from morning
till night conveying the banished ones to the north of that turbid stream; and
perhaps that ferryman saw more of the exodus than any other one man; and the
owners of that ferry-boat, perhaps, realized a great profit from that Order No. 11
than anybody else, except those persons who appropriated to their own use what
the citizens, for want of transportation, left behind them.
The number which crossed at Lexington—great as that number was—was but a
small part of those who, under the operations of that Order No. 11, were made
homeless, and scattered, as it were, to the four winds. Some crossed above and
some below; some went into Kansas and Nebraska; some stopped in Johnson,
Lafayette, Henry, and other counties further east; some went to Kentucky,
Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, and other States.
Another trouble and difficulty with those fugitives was to get permission to stop
and locate in places of their own choosing. The Federal authorities and the
Union citizens of other counties argued that if the loyal element of Jackson,
Cass, and Bates repaired, as they were permitted to do, to Kansas and to the
military posts, and the disloyal ones, who, it was said, had harbored and aided
bushwhackers, and on whose account the order had been made, repaired in such
numbers to other counties, the same state of things would soon take place
there; and the provost-marshal and the Federal authorities were importuned,
day after day, for permission to stop in Lafayette, Johnson, and other counties.
Those who had certificates of loyalty, as prescribed by the order, had no
difficulty in getting permits, and many other, who could establish a reputation
for honesty, quietness, and good citizenship, were also granted permits to stop;
while others took their chances and stopped without permission, and were
suffered to remain during good behavior.
Of the several families in whose company I left home, old Mr. Hunter and
family, Mrs. Cave and hers, Mrs. Ousley and hers, and Wm. Hunter’s family
stopped in the eastern part of Lafayette. David Hunter’s wife and her father’s
(Mr. Potter’s) family went on to Indiana, and Mrs. Bennett and her children
went to her husband in Ohio, and from there to Wisconsin.
After crossing the river at Lexington, we were met by another discouragement.
Notices or proclamations were posted up by the roadside, forbidding all persons
banished from the counties south of the river, to stop in the county of Ray,
without permission from the military authorities of that county; and I was told
that it was the same in other counties further north.
The hundreds or thousands who crossed the river at Lexington worked their
weary way in different directions on different roads. Some turned westward
into Clay County, some east into Carroll, Chariton, Howard, Boone, and others;
while some took the northern road to Caldwell and Clinton, or still further north.
It has been said that misery loves company. If so the miserable ones had
enough of it then; scarcely any one was so poorly provided with the means of
transportation bu some other would be met or passed who was as poorly
provided, or even worse off than himself.
We crossed the Missouri on Tuesday, the 8th of September; and the next day,
having joined a company with Wm. C. Estes, Moses Bailey, and my brother, E.N.
Rice, all of Cass County, we arrived in Richmond, and repaired to the office of
the post commander, Major King, a son, I think, of Austin A. King, our then
member in Congress. Estes and I had certificates given by Ballinger, and upon
these certificates and our statements as to the character of the other members
of our company, we were all given permission to stop anywhere in Ray or Clay
counties; but the next thing was to find a place of shelter to stop in. The country
was full of refugees seeking shelter and homes, and empty houses were hard to
find. Estes and Bailey had friends and relatives in Clay, and they proceeded on
there. I and my brother parted company with them on the 10th, near Elkhorn,
and proceeded toward Knoxville.
While moving slowing along in quest of a stopping place, I was both vexed and
amused at the way in which I saw we were looked upon by some good people of
Ray. It was something hard to buy feed for our poor team, so fearful were they
of giving aid and comfort to the enemies of the Government. One good man
said he had no corn or cabbage to sell, and if he had, he would not sell to us.
Another said he had corn plenty, and for me to help myself to it; but refused to
set a price, as he said he was not allowed to sell to rebels.
made, and we all set off together. Our company consisted of John Hunter and
his aged companion, and single daughter; his son David’s wife and child; his son
William’s wife and several children; his daughter Nancy Cave, and her lately
orphaned children; his daughter, Mrs. Ousely (whose husband fell in the
Confederate army, and whose oldest son had fallen that morning), and her five
remaining children; Benjamin Potter’s daughter and three of his grandchildren;
also a married daughter of Mrs. Cave (whose husband Jacob Bennett, was in
Ohio), and her two children; myself and six children, besides my widowed
daughter and her three children, and my aged mother.
As we were preparing to leave, a neighboring lady from Johnson County, Mrs.
Fulkerson (who is the sister to our present Senator Cockerell), came along with
a wagon (for ladies drove wagons then), and she took my mother home with her
that night, and sent her to my sister Snow’s the next day, for which act of
kindness, at such a time, my gratitude will live as long as I shall live. We
crossed the county line and left the county of our choice a little before sunset,
and passed the night on the open prairie, southwest of Chapel Hill. My own
reason, as well as the suggestions of friends convinced me that my life was now
in more danger than it had yet been. The country was full of bushwhackers,
some of them the personal friends of the men who had been killed in the
morning; I had been taken with them; my life had been spared because I was a
Union man; theirs had been taken because they were not, and retaliation was
common on each side.
It was plain that I must go as my friends and neighbors did, or not go at all. I
felt assured that if I abandoned them and sought a place of shelter and security,
by taking some other road, my life would pay the forfeit; nor did I wish to
abandon them, so long as I could be of service to those who were now so much
in need of help. I had two sons, one eighteen and one fourteen years old, able to
drive and handle teams, while some of the others had none.
Next day we resumed our journey; passed Chapel Hill and Mount Hope, and
camped at night near William Hall’s, near Little Sni, and where we overtook or
fell in with several of our neighbor acquaintances, who were also encamped
there. Here Mr. Hunter and some of the others concluded to remain in camp a
few days, and look round for shelter. I left them; and with my family and my
daughter’s went on, and crossed the river at Lexington, intending to seek a
home in Ray or Clay County.
During those two or three days I saw much of the incidents and the fruits of
Order No. 11. Before and behind was seen the long, moving train of sorrowing
exiles: wagons and vehicles of every shape and size and of all kinds, drawn by
teams of every sort, except good ones; a cloud of dust rising from the road
almost the whole day, while ever and anon we would meet a neighbor going
back to get a way a few more of the necessaries of life before the 9th of
September should come; and the further we proceeded, the greater became the
moving column of wretched fugitives. On ever road that led eastward from the
county of Jackson came the moving mass of humanity, seeking an asylum they
knew not where; some driving their flocks and herd along with them; others,
again, as I was, with nothing but a makeshift of a wagon and team—some not
even that. Women were seen walking the crowded and dusty road, carrying in a
little bundle their all, or at least all that they could carry. Others, again, driving
or leading a cow or a skeleton horse, with a bundle or pack fastened upon it, or a
pack-horse, on which the feebler members of the family rode by turns.
The ferry-boat at Lexington, a substantial steamer, was kept busy from morning
till night conveying the banished ones to the north of that turbid stream; and
perhaps that ferryman saw more of the exodus than any other one man; and the
owners of that ferry-boat, perhaps, realized a great profit from that Order No. 11
than anybody else, except those persons who appropriated to their own use what
the citizens, for want of transportation, left behind them.
The number which crossed at Lexington—great as that number was—was but a
small part of those who, under the operations of that Order No. 11, were made
homeless, and scattered, as it were, to the four winds. Some crossed above and
some below; some went into Kansas and Nebraska; some stopped in Johnson,
Lafayette, Henry, and other counties further east; some went to Kentucky,
Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, and other States.
Another trouble and difficulty with those fugitives was to get permission to stop
and locate in places of their own choosing. The Federal authorities and the
Union citizens of other counties argued that if the loyal element of Jackson,
Cass, and Bates repaired, as they were permitted to do, to Kansas and to the
military posts, and the disloyal ones, who, it was said, had harbored and aided
bushwhackers, and on whose account the order had been made, repaired in such
numbers to other counties, the same state of things would soon take place
there; and the provost-marshal and the Federal authorities were importuned,
day after day, for permission to stop in Lafayette, Johnson, and other counties.
Those who had certificates of loyalty, as prescribed by the order, had no
difficulty in getting permits, and many other, who could establish a reputation
for honesty, quietness, and good citizenship, were also granted permits to stop;
while others took their chances and stopped without permission, and were
suffered to remain during good behavior.
Of the several families in whose company I left home, old Mr. Hunter and
family, Mrs. Cave and hers, Mrs. Ousley and hers, and Wm. Hunter’s family
stopped in the eastern part of Lafayette. David Hunter’s wife and her father’s
(Mr. Potter’s) family went on to Indiana, and Mrs. Bennett and her children
went to her husband in Ohio, and from there to Wisconsin.
After crossing the river at Lexington, we were met by another discouragement.
Notices or proclamations were posted up by the roadside, forbidding all persons
banished from the counties south of the river, to stop in the county of Ray,
without permission from the military authorities of that county; and I was told
that it was the same in other counties further north.
The hundreds or thousands who crossed the river at Lexington worked their
weary way in different directions on different roads. Some turned westward
into Clay County, some east into Carroll, Chariton, Howard, Boone, and others;
while some took the northern road to Caldwell and Clinton, or still further north.
It has been said that misery loves company. If so the miserable ones had
enough of it then; scarcely any one was so poorly provided with the means of
transportation bu some other would be met or passed who was as poorly
provided, or even worse off than himself.
We crossed the Missouri on Tuesday, the 8th of September; and the next day,
having joined a company with Wm. C. Estes, Moses Bailey, and my brother, E.N.
Rice, all of Cass County, we arrived in Richmond, and repaired to the office of
the post commander, Major King, a son, I think, of Austin A. King, our then
member in Congress. Estes and I had certificates given by Ballinger, and upon
these certificates and our statements as to the character of the other members
of our company, we were all given permission to stop anywhere in Ray or Clay
counties; but the next thing was to find a place of shelter to stop in. The country
was full of refugees seeking shelter and homes, and empty houses were hard to
find. Estes and Bailey had friends and relatives in Clay, and they proceeded on
there. I and my brother parted company with them on the 10th, near Elkhorn,
and proceeded toward Knoxville.
While moving slowing along in quest of a stopping place, I was both vexed and
amused at the way in which I saw we were looked upon by some good people of
Ray. It was something hard to buy feed for our poor team, so fearful were they
of giving aid and comfort to the enemies of the Government. One good man
said he had no corn or cabbage to sell, and if he had, he would not sell to us.
Another said he had corn plenty, and for me to help myself to it; but refused to
set a price, as he said he was not allowed to sell to rebels.
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