Camp Fire and Cotton Field by Thomas W. Knox

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On the same day two additional arrests were made, of parties concerned
in the outrage. These men were tried by a "Lynch" court, as their
companions had been tried on the previous day. One of them was hanged,
and the other sent to jail.

For some time the civil power had been inadequate to the punishment of
crime. The laws of the State were so loosely framed that offenders had
excellent opportunities to escape their deserts by taking advantage of
technicalities. The people determined to take the law into their own
hands, and give it a thorough execution. For the good of society,
it was necessary to put a stop to the outrages that had been
so frequently committed. Their only course in such cases was to
administer justice without regard to the ordinary forms.

A delegation of the citizens of Atchison visited Leavenworth after the
arrests had been made, to confer with General Blunt, the commander of
the District, on the best means of securing order. They made a full
representation of the state of affairs, and requested that two of
the prisoners, then in jail, should be delivered to the citizens
for trial. They obtained an order to that effect, addressed to the
sheriff, who was holding the prisoners in charge.

On the morning of the day following the reception of the order, people
began to assemble in Atchison from all parts of the county to witness
the trial. As nearly all the outrages had been committed upon
the farmers who lived at distances from each other, the trial was
conducted by the men from the rural districts. The residents of the
city took little part in the affair. About ten o'clock in the forenoon
a meeting was called to order in front of the court-house, where the
following document was read:--

HEAD-QUARTERS DISTRICT OF KANSAS,
FORT LEAVENWORTH, _May_ 22, 1863.

TO THE SHERIFF OF ATCHISON COUNTY:

SIR:--In view of the alarming increase of crime, the insecurity of
life and property within this military district, the inefficiency of
the civil law to punish offenders, and the small number of troops
under my command making it impossible to give such protection to
loyal and law-abiding citizens as I would otherwise desire; you will
therefore deliver the prisoners, Daniel Mooney and Alexander Brewer,
now in your possession, to the citizens of Atchison County, for trial
and punishment by a citizens' court. This course, which in ordinary
times and under different circumstances could not be tolerated, is
rendered necessary for the protection of the property and lives of
honest citizens against the lawless acts of thieves and assassins,
who, of late, have been perpetrating their crimes with fearful
impunity, and to prevent which nothing but the most severe and
summary punishment will suffice. In conducting these irregular
proceedings, it is to be hoped they will be controlled by men of
respectability, and that cool judgment and discretion will
characterize their actions, to the end that the innocent may be
protected and the guilty punished.

Respectfully, your obedient servant,
JAMES G. BLUNT,
_Major-General._

After the reading of the above order, resolutions indorsing and
sustaining the action of General Blunt were passed unanimously. The
following resolutions were passed separately, their reading being
greeted with loud cheers. They are examples of strength rather than of
elegance.

"_Resolved_, That we pledge ourselves not to stop hanging until the
thieves stop thieving.

"_Resolved_, That as this is a citizens' court, we have no use for
lawyers, either for the accused or for the people."

A judge and jury were selected from the assemblage, and embraced some
of the best known and most respected citizens of the county. Their
selection was voted upon, just as if they had been the officers of a
political gathering. As soon as elected, they proceeded to the trial
of the prisoners.

The evidence was direct and conclusive, and the prisoners were
sentenced to death by hanging. The verdict was read to the multitude,
and a vote taken upon its acceptance or rejection. Nineteen-twentieths
of those present voted that the sentence should be carried into
execution.

The prisoners were taken from the court-house to the grove where the
preceding executions had taken place. They were made to stand upon a
high wagon while ropes were placed about their necks and attached to
the limb of a large, spreading elm. When all was ready, the wagon was
suddenly drawn from beneath the prisoners, and their earthly career
was ended.

A half-hour later the crowd had dispersed. The following morning
showed few traces of the excitement of the previous day. The
executions were effectual in restoring quiet to the region which had
been so much disturbed.

The Rebel sympathizers in St. Louis took many occasions to complain
of the tyranny of the National Government. At the outset there was a
delusion that the Government had no rights that should be respected,
while every possible right belonged to the Rebels. General Lyon
removed the arms from the St. Louis arsenal to a place of safety at
Springfield, Illinois. "He had no constitutional right to do that,"
was the outcry of the Secessionists. He commenced the organization of
Union volunteers for the defense of the city. The Constitution made no
provision for this. He captured Camp Jackson, and took his prisoners
to the arsenal. This, they declared, was a most flagrant violation of
constitutional privileges. He moved upon the Rebels in the interior,
and the same defiance of law was alleged. He suppressed the secession
organ in St. Louis, thus trampling upon the liberties of the Rebel
Press.

General Fremont declared the slaves of Rebels were free, and thus
infringed upon the rights of property. Numbers of active, persistent
traitors were arrested and sent to military prisons: a manifest
tyranny on the part of the Government. In one way and another the
unfortunate and long-suffering Rebels were most sadly abused, if their
own stories are to be regarded.

It was forbidden to display Rebel emblems in public: a cruel
restriction of personal right. The wealthy Secessionists of St. Louis
were assessed the sum of ten thousand dollars, for the benefit of the
Union refugees from Arkansas and other points in the Southwest. This
was another outrage. These persons could not understand why they
should be called upon to contribute to the support of Union people who
had been rendered houseless and penniless by Rebels elsewhere. They
made a most earnest protest, but their remonstrances were of no
avail. In default of payment of the sums assessed, their superfluous
furniture was seized and sold at auction. This was a violation of the
laws that exempt household property from seizure.

The auction sale of these goods was largely attended. The bidding was
very spirited. Pianos, ottomans, mirrors, sofas, chairs, and all the
adornments of the homes of affluence, were sold for "cash in United
States Treasury notes." Some of the parties assessed declared they
would pay nothing on the assessment, but they reconsidered their
decisions, and bought their own property at the auction-rooms, without
regard to the prices they paid. In subsequent assessments they found
it better to pay without hesitation whatever sums were demanded of
them. They spoke and labored against the Union until they found such
efforts were of no use. They could never understand why they should
not enjoy the protection of the flag without being called upon to give
it material aid.

In May, 1863, another grievance was added to the list. It became
necessary, for the good of the city, to banish some of the more
prominent Rebel sympathizers.

It was a measure which the Rebels and their friends opposed in the
strongest terms. These persons were anxious to see the Confederacy
established, but could not consent to live in its limits. They
resorted to every device to evade the order, but were not allowed to
remain. Representations of personal and financial inconvenience were
of no avail; go they must.

The first exodus took place on the 13th of May. An immense crowd
thronged the levee as the boat which was to remove the exiles took
its departure. In all there were about thirty persons, half of them
ladies. The men were escorted to the boat on foot, but the ladies were
brought to the landing in carriages, and treated with every possible
courtesy. A strong guard was posted at the landing to preserve order
and allow no insult of any kind to the prisoners.

One of the young women ascended to the hurricane roof of the steamer
and cheered for the "Confederacy." As the boat swung into the stream,
this lady was joined by two others, and the trio united their sweet
voices in singing "Dixie" and the "Bonnie Blue Flag." There was no
cheering or other noisy demonstration at their departure, though there
was a little waving of handkerchiefs, and a few tokens of farewell
were given. This departure was soon followed by others, until St.
Louis was cleared of its most turbulent spirits.

CHAPTER XXVII.

GETTYSBURG.

A Hasty Departure.--At Harrisburg.--_En route_ for the Army of
the Potomac.--The Battle-Field at Gettysburg.--Appearance of
the Cemetery.--Importance of the Position.--The Configuration
of Ground.--Traces of Battle.--Round Hill.--General Meade's
Head-Quarters.--Appearance of the Dead.--Through the Forests along the
Line.--Retreat and Pursuit of Lee.

While in St. Louis, late in June, 1863, I received the following
telegram:--

"HERALD OFFICE,
"NEW YORK, _June_ 28.

"Report at Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, at the earliest possible moment."

Two hours later, I was traveling eastward as fast as an express train
could carry me.

The Rebel army, under General Lee, had crossed the Potomac, and
was moving toward Harrisburg. The Army of the Potomac was in rapid
pursuit. A battle was imminent between Harrisburg and Baltimore.

Waiting a day at Harrisburg, I found the capital of the Keystone State
greatly excited. The people were slow to move in their own behalf.
Earth-works were being thrown up on the south bank of the Susquehanna,
principally by the soldiers from other parts of Pennsylvania and from
New York.

When it was first announced that the enemy was approaching, only
seventeen men volunteered to form a local defense. I saw no such
enthusiasm on the part of the inhabitants as I had witnessed at
Cincinnati during the previous autumn. Pennsylvania sent many
regiments to the field during the war, and her soldiers gained a
fine reputation; but the best friends of the State will doubtless
acknowledge that Harrisburg was slow to act when the Rebels made their
last great invasion.

I was ordered to join the Army of the Potomac wherever I could find
it. As I left Harrisburg, I learned that a battle was in progress.
Before I could reach the field the great combat had taken place. The
two contending armies had made Gettysburg historic.

I joined our army on the day after the battle. I could find no person
of my acquaintance, amid the confusion that followed the termination
of three days' fighting. The army moved in pursuit of Lee, whose
retreat was just commencing. As our long lines stretched away toward
the Potomac, I walked over the ground where the battle had raged,
and studied the picture that was presented. I reproduce, in part, my
letter of that occasion:--

"Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, _July_ 6,1863.

"To-day I have passed along the whole ground where the lines of battle
were drawn. The place bears evidence of a fierce struggle. The shocks
of those two great armies surging and resurging, the one against
the other, could hardly pass without leaving their traces in fearful
characters. At Waterloo, at Wagram, and at Jena the wheat grows more
luxuriantly, and the corn shoots its stalks further toward the sky
than before the great conflicts that rendered those fields famous. The
broad acres of Gettysburg and Antietam will in future years yield the
farmer a richer return than he has hithto received.

"Passing out of Gettysburg by the Baltimore turnpike, we come in a
few steps to the entrance of the cemetery. Little of the inclosure
remains, save the gateway, from which the gates have been torn. The
neat wooden fence, first thrown down to facilitate the movement of our
artillery, was used for fuel, as the soldiers made their camp on the
spot. A few scattered palings are all that remain. The cemetery was
such as we usually find near thrifty towns like Gettysburg. None of
the monuments and adornings were highly expensive, though all were
neat, and a few were elaborate. There was considerable taste displayed
in the care of the grounds, as we can see from the few traces
that remain. The eye is arrested by a notice, prominently posted,
forbidding the destruction or mutilation of any shrub, tree, or stone
about the place, under severe penalties. The defiance that war gives
to the civil law is forcibly apparent as one peruses those warning
lines.

"Monuments and head-stones lie everywhere overturned. Graves, which
loving hands once carefully adorned, have been trampled by horses'
feet until the vestiges of verdure have disappeared. The neat and
well-trained shrubbery has vanished, or is but a broken and withered
mass of tangled brushwood. On one grave lies the body of a horse, fast
decomposing under the July sun. On another lie the torn garments of
some wounded soldier, stained and saturated with blood. Across a small
head-stone, bearing the words, 'To the memory of our beloved child,
Mary,' lie the fragments of a musket shattered by a cannon-shot.

"In the center of a space inclosed by an iron fence, and containing a
half-dozen graves, a few rails are standing where they were erected by
our soldiers to form their shelter in bivouac. A family shaft has been
broken in fragments by a shell. Stone after stone felt the effects of
the _feu d'enfer_ that was poured upon the crest of the hill. Cannon
thundered, and foot and horse soldiers tramped over the resting-place
of the dead. Other dead were added to those who are resting here. Many
a wounded soldier lives to remember the contest above those silent
graves.

"The hill on which this cemetery is located was the center of our line
of battle and the key to our position. Had the Rebels been able to
carry this point, they would have forced us into retreat, and the
battle would have been lost. To pierce our line in this locality was
Lee's great endeavor, and he threw his best brigades against it. Wave
after wave of living valor rolled up that slope, only to roll back
again under the deadly fire of our artillery and infantry. It was on
this hill, a little to the right of the cemetery, where the 'Louisiana
Tigers' made their famous charge. It was their boast that they were
never yet foiled in an attempt to take a battery; but on this
occasion they suffered a defeat, and were nearly annihilated. Sad and
dispirited, they mourn their repulse and their terrible losses in the
assault.

"From the summit of this hill a large portion of the battle-ground
is spread out before the spectator. In front and at his feet lies the
town of Gettysburg, containing, in quiet times, a population of four
or five thousand souls. It is not more than a hundred yards to the
houses in the edge of the village, where the contest with the Rebel
sharp-shooters took place. To the left of the town stretches a long
valley, bounded on each side by a gently-sloping ridge. The crest of
each ridge is distant nearly a mile from the other. It was on these
ridges that the lines of battle on the second and third days were
formed, the Rebel line being on the ridge to the westward. The one
stretching directly from our left hand, and occupied by our own men,
has but little timber upon it, while that held by the rebels can
boast of several groves of greater or less extent. In one of these
the Pennsylvania College is embowered, while in another is seen the
Theological Seminary. Half-way between the ridges are the ruins of a
large brick building burned during the engagement. Dotted about, here
and there, are various brick and frame structures. Two miles at our
left rises a sharp-pointed elevation, known to the inhabitants of the
region as Round Hill. Its sides are wooded, and the forest stretches
from its base across the valley to the crest of the western ridge.

"It must not be supposed that the space between the ridges is an even
plain, shaven with, the scythe and leveled with the roller. It rises
and falls gently, and with little regularity, but in no place is
it steep of ascent. Were it not for its ununiformity and for the
occasional sprinkling of trees over its surface, it could be compared
to a patch of rolling prairie in miniature. To the southwest of the
further ridge is seen the mountain region of Western Maryland, behind
which the Rebels had their line of retreat. It is not a wild, rough
mass of mountains, but a region of hills of the larger and more
inaccessible sort. They are traversed by roads only in a few
localities, and their passage, except through, the gaps, is difficult
for a single team, and impossible for an army.

"The Theological Seminary was the scene of a fierce struggle. It was
beyond it where the First and Eleventh Corps contended with Ewell and
Longstreet on the first day of the engagement. Afterward, finding the
Rebels were too strong for them, they fell back to a new position,
this building being included in the line. The walls of the Seminary
were perforated by shot and shell, and the bricks are indented with
numerous bullet-marks. Its windows show the effects of the musketry,
and but little glass remains to shut out the cold and rain. The
building is now occupied as a hospital by the Rebels. The Pennsylvania
College is similarly occupied, and the instruction of its students is
neglected for the present.

"In passing from the cemetery along the crest of the ridge where our
line of battle stood, I first came upon the position occupied by
some of our batteries. This is shown by the many dead horses lying
unburied, and by the mounds which mark where others have been slightly
covered up. There are additional traces of an artillery fight. Here
is a broken wheel of a gun-carriage, an exploded caisson, a handspike,
and some of the accoutrements of the men. In the fork of a tree I
found a Testament, with the words, 'Charles Durrale, Corporal of
Company G,' written on the fly-leaf. The guns and the gunners, have
disappeared. Some of the latter are now with the column moving in
pursuit of the enemy, others are suffering in the hospitals, and still
others are resting where the bugle's reveille shall never wake them.

"Between the cemetery and the town and at the foot of the ridge where
I stand, runs the road leading to Emmetsburg. It is not a turnpike,
but a common dirt-road, and, as it leaves the main street leading into
town, it makes a diagonal ascent of the hill. On the eastern side,
this road is bordered by a stone wall for a short distance.
Elsewhere on both sides there is only a rail fence. A portion of our
sharp-shooters took position behind this wall, and erected traverses
to protect them from a flanking fire, should the enemy attempt to move
up the road from Gettysburg. These traverses are constructed at right
angles to the wall, by making a 'crib' of fence-rails, two feet high
and the same distance apart, and then filling the crib with dirt.
Further along I find the rails from the western side of the road,
piled against the fence on the east, so as to form a breast-work two
or three feet in height--a few spadesful of dirt serve to fill the
interstices. This defense was thrown up by the Rebels at the time they
were holding the line of the roads.

"Moving to the left, I find still more severe traces of artillery
fighting. Twenty-seven dead horses on a space of little more than one
acre is evidence of heavy work. Here are a few scattered trees, which
were evidently used as a screen for our batteries. These trees did not
escape the storm of shot and shell that was rained in that direction.
Some of them were perforated by cannon-shot, or have been completely
cut off in that peculiar splintering that marks the course of a
projectile through green wood. Near the scene of this fighting is a
large pile of muskets and cartridge-boxes collected from the field.
Considerable work has been done in thus gathering the debris of the
battle, but it is by no means complete. Muskets, bayonets, and sabers
are scattered everywhere.

"My next advance to the left carries me where the ground is thickly
studded with graves. In one group I count a dozen graves of soldiers
belonging to the Twentieth Massachusetts; near them are buried the
dead of the One Hundred and Thirty-seventh New York, and close at hand
an equal number from the Twelfth New Jersey. Care has been taken to
place a head-board at each grave, with a legible inscription thereon,
showing whose remains are resting beneath. On one board the comrades
of the dead soldier had nailed the back of his knapsack, which bore
his name. On another was a brass plate, bearing the soldier's name in
heavily stamped letters.

"Moving still to the left, I found an orchard in which the fighting
appears to have been desperate in the extreme. Artillery shot had
plowed the ground in every direction, and the trees did not escape the
fury of the storm. The long bolts of iron, said by our officers to be
a modification of the Whitworth projectile, were quite numerous. The
Rebels must have been well supplied with this species of ammunition,
and they evidently used it with no sparing hand. At one time I counted
twelve of these bolts lying on a space not fifty feet square. I am
told that many shot and shell passed over the heads of our soldiers
during the action.

"A mile from our central position at the cemetery, was a field of
wheat, and near it a large tract, on which corn had been growing.
The wheat was trampled by the hurrying feet of the dense masses of
infantry, as they changed their positions during the battle. In the
cornfield artillery had been stationed, and moved about as often as
the enemy obtained its range. Hardly a hill of corn is left in its
pristine luxuriance. The little that escaped the hoof or the wheel,
as the guns moved from place to place, was nibbled by hungry horses
during the bivouac subsequent to the battle. Not a stalk of wheat is
upright; not a blade of corn remains uninjured; all has fallen long
before the time of harvest. Another harvest, in which Death was the
reaper, has been gathered above it.

"On our extreme left the pointed summit of a hill, a thousand feet in
elevation, rises toward the sky. Beyond it, the country falls off into
the mountain region that extends to the Potomac and across it into
Virginia. This hill is quite difficult of ascent, and formed a strong
position, on which the left of our line rested. The enemy assaulted
this point with great fury, throwing his divisions, one after the
other, against it. Their efforts were of no avail. Our men defended
their ground against every attack. It was like the dash of the French
at Waterloo against the immovable columns of the English. Stubborn
resistance overcame the valor of the assailants. Again and again they
came to the assault, only to fall back as they had advanced. Our left
held its ground, though it lost heavily.

"On this portion of the line, about midway between the crests of the
ridges, is a neat farm-house. Around this dwelling the battle raged,
as around Hougoumont at Waterloo. At one time it was in the possession
of the Rebels, and was fiercely attacked by our men. The walls were
pierced by shot and shell, many of the latter exploding within,
and making a scene of devastation. The glass was shattered by rifle
bullets on every side, and the wood-work bears testimony to the
struggle. The sharp-shooters were in every room, and added to the
disorder caused by the explosion of shells. The soldiers destroyed
what the missiles spared. The Rebels were driven from the house, and
the position was taken by our own men. They, in turn, were dislodged,
but finally secured a permanent footing in the place.

"Retracing my steps from the extreme left, I return to the center of
our position on Cemetery Hill. I do not follow the path by which I
came, but take a route along the hollow, between the two ridges. It
was across this hollow that the Rebels made their assaults upon our
position. Much blood was poured out between these two swells of land.
Most of the dead were buried where they fell, or gathered in little
clusters beneath some spreading tree or beside clumps of bushes. Some
of the Rebel dead are still unburied. I find one of these as I descend
a low bank to the side of a small spring. The body is lying near the
spring, as if the man had crawled there to obtain a draught of water.
Its hands are outspread upon the earth, and clutching at the little
tufts of grass beneath them. The soldier's haversack and canteen are
still remaining, and his hat is lying not far away.

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