Coming in the spring of 2006....
To be published by Saga Books
Missouri in Flames
I Rode With Quantrill and Jesse James
© 2005 W.R. Benton, All Rights Reserved
This manuscript may not be reproduced in any form. This manuscript is in draft form and not intended for reproduction at this time. All rights belong to the author and or publisher. All characters are from the imaginations of the author and do not represent any persons living or dead, with the exception of some characters taken from historical records. The author has used literary freedom when using historical characters and as a work of fiction they are used primarily to add a sense action to the book. The author does not intend for historical characters to be accurately portrayed, though in many cases the facts are accurate, but the dialog used is pure fiction. Times, places, and events may not be historically accurate as well and are used solely to make the story flow smoothly. Any similarities between real persons and the characters in this manuscript are coincidental, except where explained above.
CHAPTER 12
This Excerpt may contain rough language, typical for the period.
All night I kept them dandies moving and they groaned and moaned the whole time. Every time I'd glance at Clayton he would give me a big wide grin. He knew his men were getting their first small taste of the war and he understood they had been very lucky. If we'd been in a normal unit, these men would have long been dead or maimed, because they were all as dumb as oxen. They were three men that had never spend the whole night in a saddle and had no idea of the danger behind us. They'd spent most of their lives in great luxury and had known few discomforts during their pampered lives. I suspect that Clayton was actually enjoying their suffering on the trip and I knew he was laughing at the way his men cried as we continued to move. This could very well be all these city men would ever know of the war, so Clayton wanted them to have good memories of how they had save the gold of great state of Arkansas and rode through hell to do the job.
It was late night, or early the next morning, depending on your view, when Clayton rode up beside me and said, “I know of a cave near here we can spend the day. I suggest we travel at night from here on out.”
I cut off a big piece of chewing tobacco and placed it in my mouth before I replied, “Sounds good to me. I been thinking the same thing. This cave, is it off the beaten path a might?”
“A ways, maybe a hundred yards or so. It can't be seen from the road, but I am sure all of the locals know of it.”
“Ok, you move up to Littlefeather and lead him to this cave of yours.”
I watched as the man rode off and realized what a help he'd turned out to be. I swear, if all six of those men had been as strong as Clayton I would have had an easy job of it all. But, as it was I felt like a babysitter most of the time.
An hour later the wagons were hidden back among the big cedar trees and our horses were tied to a picket line right outside the cave. I had Littlefeather try to clean up the tracks from where we entered the woods from the road, but after a while he returned and said the gold was too heavy and the wagon wheels had left deep ruts in the soft soil. He pulled the bent over grasses back up and covered the spot on the road where we'd pulled off, but he and I both knew a good tracker would be able to follow us easily enough.
“Ok, you did the best you could. I want a guard near the road at all times during the day so at least we won't be surprised. We'll leave as soon as it turns full dark.”
Bob went to watch road first, because I didn't trust any of Clayton's men to stay awake. The way they were crying and moaning you'd have thought they'd just force marched a hundred miles, instead of sitting on their asses for a few hours. I had Littlefeather and Barnes cook everyone a quick breakfast and as soon as they had eaten I sent them to get some rest inside the cave.
It must have been close to four that afternoon when Clayton returned from watching the road. He looked at me, gave me a dry grin and said, “We've got company. Near as I could see it is a large group of mounted Confederates.”
“You sure?” I asked because I had no knowledge of others operating in our area.
“Pretty sure, I made out gray and butternut uniforms along with the stars and bars.”
“How far are they?” Bob asked from near the fire where he was putting an edge on his knife.
“Quarter of a mile or maybe a little less.”
“Get these men up and have ‘em line the road. Tell em no shooting unless I fire first.” I spoke to Bob and then turning to Clayton I said, “You come with me. We'll go and see who these fellers are.”
As I watched from beside the road, I noticed uniforms of the South along with our battle flag. Now, as far as I was concerned that made ‘em our men, but it didn't tell me what kind of men they were. After riding with Quantrill, I no longer trusted as I did before. I waited until their forward guard went past me, then I stepped out into the road. At that point, I swear, I must have heard fifty rifle hammers pulled back and locked into position as soon as I was seen.
“Howdy do, I'm Sergeant Jim Light, of the 10 th Arkansas Cavalry.” I spoke and hoped my voice didn't crack, because I was scared shitless.
“Halt! And put those weapons back! Can't you see he's wearing a Confederate uniform?” I saw an old looking colonel order from the right side of the long column. As soon as all of his men stopped, the colonel rode forward, dismounted and pulled his right glove off as he approached me. I estimated, as I looked around, that he had at least fifty men with him.
I could see the old man was tired and his eyes were ringed in red. I knew how he felt, because I felt that way most of the time myself. I snapped to attention and gave the old man my best salute. Unlike Captain Nash, the colonel's salute was every bit the equal of mine.
“What are you doing out heah Sergeant Light? That is the name you said before, right?”
“Yes suh, Sergeant Jim Light, suh.”
“Well, who else is with you and what are you doing out heah?”
“I'm taking some men to Washington from Hot Springs colonel and I only have six men besides myself along.”
“I see, the government is moving south huh? Not good then. I am Colonel David E. Wimms of the 1 st Arkansas Cavalry. How may I assist the great state of Arkansas ?”
“Well,” I started speaking then gave the colonel a big grin as I asked, “how about an escort to Washington , suh?”
“Sergeant Major!” The colonel suddenly screamed.
“Suh!” I heard a man from the column yell out in return.
“Send a dispatch to the general and tell him I am escorting a group of our politicians to Washington to establish a new government. Tell him I will return to my original mission as soon as I have seen these gentlemen to our new capital.”
“Yes suh! Barnes, you heard the colonel, now move your ass to the general and make sure you tell ‘em exactly what the colonel just said. And, Barnes, get back to us with the general's answer as soon as possible.”
“Yes sergeant major!” I heard a man yell and then saw one feller break from the group and start riding like hell back the way he'd come from.
“Now, sergeant, if you'll have the rest of your men in those bushes lower their guns, we can discuss this matter in more detail.” I heard the colonel say and when I looked at him he had a big grin on his face.
I gave a chuckle and realized the colonel was one smart man. Turning toward the brush I yelled out, “It's ok men, lower your guns and come on out. These are our boys and they're taking us to Washington .”
We spent the next two hours loading our gear and discussing our situation with Colonel Wimms. I had pulled Clayton aside at one point and made it clear for him to tell his people not to bring the subject of the gold up. While I suspected the colonel was loyal to the cause, a hundred thousand dollars in gold was a lot of money and more than one man had changed sides for less. I also talked with Littlefeather and Bob as we loaded our gear in the wagons.
“I think he knows.” Littlefeather spoke to me and then added, “He can see the bed of that wagon is low and the ruts in the grass are pretty deep.”
“He might suspect we're carrying something heavy, but I doubt anyone would believe so few of us would have gold. Just say nothing and we'll deal with the question if it comes up.”
As we sat near the fire, I heard gunfire out by the road and quickly stood as I pulled my pistol. The colonel, who had been standing beside our dead campfire, instantly ran toward the roadway. When I got to the road, I saw a long line of Yankee infantry moving toward us, but they were still a hundred yards off at least.
The colonel hurriedly positioned his men, glanced at me and said, “Looks like we'll have to wait and leave as soon as this battle is finished. As you can see we have guests and I always prepare a warm welcome for my Yankee visitors.”
The sun reflected off of the long bayonets on the rifles them Yanks carried and just the thought of that cold steel made me shiver. I didn't mind being shot by a rifle, pistol, or cannon, but I had a deep unnatural fear of a bayonet. Our boys moved up beside the road and took cover behind bushes, logs and trees. They were good troops and waited until them Yankee's were close enough you could see the U.S. markings on their belt buckles. I was just about to fire on my own when I heard the colonel order, “Fire!”
I have no idea how many Yankees had attacked us, but well over a hundred would be my guess even today. I saw a good twenty go down with our first volley and then I heard the colonel yell, “Charge!”
I stood and quickly ran forward with the rest of the men. I took two steps, tripped over a log, and fell right on my rump on the edge of that road. As I was attempting to stand a big Yank with red hair and glasses perched low on his nose ran straight for me with a long bayonet mounted on his rifle. I parried his thrust with my gunstock and then pushed the barrel against his stomach and pulled the trigger. I had reloaded as soon as we'd fired the first volley from the bushes and at that point I was glad I had. The man was blown back and I dropped my rifle, picked his up and moved forward at a run.
A man beside me suddenly seemed to fly apart and bits of blood and bone splattered on my face and uniform. I didn't stop to check on him, there was no reason to, because I knew he was dead. A hand-to-hand battle is a terrible thing to be a part of. Men are shot in the back, clubbed, stabbed, and killed in any manner you can imagine and in some ways you can't. The situation is one of no quarter asked and none given, but unlike with Quantrill, I was in battle against men in uniform and not a bunch of helpless civilians.
A middle-aged captain in a blue uniform suddenly appeared in front of me and raised the sword in his right hand. I pulled the trigger on my new rifle, but it simply snapped loudly on an empty chamber. As the sharp blade moved toward my head, I ducked under the blade at the last second, and brought the long bayonet up in one swift motion, sticking that officer right in the middle of his belly. He dropped the sword; put both of his hands on the barrel of my rifle grasped it, and screamed hideously. I kicked the man hard in the lower chest and watched as he released his grip on my rifle and fell onto his back in the road. I raised the bayonet once more and drove the long blade through the man's chest two more times. His eyes grew large, blood leaked from his mouth, and then he was still.
I heard the Yankees get an order to pull back as I was reloading the rifle I had taken from the dead red headed man. I noticed the Yankee color barer off to my left, lined up my sites and squeezed the trigger. The man and his flag fell in the grass on the far side of the road. I ran to the flag, picked it up and waved it at the retreating Yanks.
“Cease fire! Cease fire, you damned idiots!” I heard the colonel's sergeant major yell in an angry voice from behind me.
“Sergeant, find out the number of our casualties and report back to me immediately. Corporal Wilson, move some men forward in case the Yanks decide to counter attack. Sergeant Finkston, you check these fallen Yankees out real good. I want the dead left where they have fallen, but any injured you find I want you to move ‘em under the shade of a tree.”
“I hate this.” I heard Bob say as he walked up to stand beside me. Like a fool I still held the Yankee flag in my right hand.
“Sergeant Light, you are to be commended sir for your taking of an enemy flag. If you were one of my men I'd promote you to lieutenant on the spot.” I heard the colonel say, but it sounded like he was a ways off at the time. I guess I was still in shock from the battle.
“Thank you suh. Your unit can have this flag, I don't need it.” I spoke but I noticed I was not thinking clearly and everything seemed distant to me.
The colonel walked over and took the blood-splattered flag from my hands, patted me softly on the back and said, “I will send a written recommendation to your commander for this sergeant. I must say, I was deeply impressed by your actions in this battle and I will suggest your immediate promotion to the officer ranks.”
Well, I didn't care if they made me an officer or not. Right then and there I felt lucky just to be alive, and any battle you can walk away from is mostly luck, to my way of thinking. I mean, the man who had been running beside me had his head shot off and I didn't get so much as get a scratch. Some fellers claim it was all skill, but I say bullshit. It was mostly the unlucky that died. Skill meant little when the man on the other side fired a bullet at you.
I must have been still deep in thought when I heard the colonel say, “Sergeant Light, are you alright?”
“Of course suh, just a bit tired is all. We rode all night and then this battle. It's been a rough twenty-four hours is all. And, suh, I do thank you for the commendation.” But as I spoke to the old man I thought, let's get out of here and take your promotion and shove it. If you want to reward me, let me have two days of rest and one good meal.
As I stood by the colonel the sergeant major returned, saluted and gave his report, “We have six dead suh and eight wounded. Of our wounded only one is severe and he's not expected to make it. I counted twenty-six dead Yankees and eighteen injured. As you order earlier suh, Finkston had the wounded Yanks moved under the trees. Anything else suh?”
“Form up the men and let's move while the Yankees are still licking their wounds sergeant major.”
The next two days were slow going and only once did we run into any Yanks and that was a small scouting party. We exchanged a few shots and that was about it, though if you listened to Clayton's men they were the saviors of the state of Arkansas as well as the Confederacy. I said then and I still say now,horse droppings, because other than the big battle by the road that one day, our trip to Washington , Arkansas was a picnic.
