It was
just light enough to distinguish the outline of the covered
wooden bridge across the North Fork of the Salt River when
we reached it about four o'clock in the morning of Tuesday,
July 22, after what, had it not been for three stops of
about twenty minutes each, would have been a continuous run
of thirty-three hours. If a single inhabitant of the little
village of Florida, the birthplace of Mark Twain, had ended
his peaceful slumber he made no sign. We passed through
rapidly and noiselessly. The South Fork of Salt River by the
road is about a mile from the North Fork and, like the
latter, was at that day spanned by an old wooden bridge
boarded up on the sides and covered up by a shingled roof.
The village is somewhat nearer the North Fork. In- stead of
crossing the bridge we went to the ford above, watered our
horses and bearing off up the narrow valley a hundred yards,
dismounted for a short encampment.
Colonel Porter sent
Captain Hickerson, the commissary, with a guard of three or
four men back to the village for supplies. It was just
sunrise when the commissary and rear guards met on the
street, and almost immediately they were fired upon by a
detachment of Major Caldwell's battalion of the Third Iowa
Cavalry. Captain Hickerson's horse was wounded slightly and
in the excitement following the surprise young Fowler, of
Captain Stacy's company, was captured. Our men gave a
hurried volley and came down on the run. Colonel Porter
ordered a rapid move on foot against the enemy and directed
Captain Penny to take twenty well mounted men and harrass
their flank and rear.
"Mudd, you have
the best horse in the regiment. Come on."
"Captain, my
horse struck lame about an hour ago, and I find a patch of
skin knocked off his fore ankle."
"Well, you and
Vansel and McAtee fall in with the men on foot."
I had exaggerated the
lameness a trifle. I had never been under fire on horseback
and the idea didn't impress me very pleasantly, but my main
objection was my solicitude for Charlie. I had petted him
from the day he was born. We understood each other so well
and were such good friends. I was afraid I would lose my
patriotism if he were killed. Captain Penny with our
company, less the three, galloped up the main road, and we
took a short cut through the woods on a double quick. Some
man up the line suggested that, "Like as not, Captain
Penny will strike those fellows before we get there."
"Let us see,
then," answered his neighbor, "that he
doesn't."
And
the race began. Our three had lost a little time on account
of Captain Penny's detail and we had to bring up the rear.
The wooded hill was a little heavy, but we soon scaled it
and reaching the flat made a dead run toward the enemy. They
had hastily formed on the far side of a narrow street or
alley, in the edge of the village next to our line of
approach. The head of our column struck their right and our
rear had to run across to take position on their left. Their
fire was a little sharp, but from our point we could not see
that any damage was done.
A
rail fence ran perpendicularly to the line of battle and we
had to cross it to take our place. One or two bounded over
it; the next man jerked off the rider and leaped over,
followed by two or three. Then one tugged at the stake as if
to make a gap for an easy passage, but concluding he hadn't
time, sprang over and on. A man was standing by watching the
maneuvers in a fever of impatience. Judging by his wrinkled
features and the color of his hair and ten days' growth of
beard he was between sixty-five and seventy years old. The
map of Ireland was written all over his face. I had seen him
in camp, but I have forgotten his name if I ever knew it. He
was a good card player, and expert jig dancer; considering
his age, not bad on a song, and his droll wit and unfailing
good humor made him popular with everybody. He had a white
clay pipe in his mouth, the stem not over two inches long
and at which he puffed vigorously. Seeing that the
indecision of the men as to whether they would jump over the
fence or lay down a gap was wasting valuable time, he took
the pipe out of his mouth, emitted a huge expectoration and
blurted out:
"Tear
the fince all to hill."
While
at the fence it was told us that the Federals had called out
to us not to shoot, that they belonged to our command and
then immediately fired a volley into us, killing Captain
Marks, our quartermaster. I was too far away to hear this
from the enemy and after the engagement made considerable
inquiry, but could find nobody who knew the report to be
true. True or false, it caused some demoralization among a
part of our men. At the fence McAtee became separated from
us and went to about the center. He was only a few steps
away from Captain Marks when he was shot. The captain died
instantly, the bullet striking him near the center of the
forehead. He was a good officer and a very estimable
gentleman; quiet, dignified, clean of speech and gentle. I
have forgotten where his home was.
Our
right extended six or eight feet beyond their left and very
near the home of Dr. Johnson, showing that we outnumbered
then slightly. Ben Vansel was the end man and I the next. To
our left was a company of which no member was known to Ben
or myself. Somehow I got the impression that it was from the
Blackfoot country in Boone County, but I had no opportunity
to verify its correctness.[i]
The enemy's fire was fierce, but the men on our left
were not firing and Ben commented on it, wonderingly. Before
he finished speaking, two young ladies ran out of a house
near by that of Dr. Johnson-right into the thickest of the
flying bullets, waving their handkerchiefs and shouted in
enthusiastic excitement:
"Hurrah
for Jeff Davis! Give it to 'em, my brave boys; give it to 'em."
It
was a novel and inspiring sight. Ben and I stopped to enjoy
it a while. The Blackfoot men seemed amused but did not heed
the exhortation.
The
two girls were Miss Lucy Young, the daughter of the Rev.
John F. Young, who lived adjoining Dr. Johnson on the east,
and Miss Sue Johnson, sister of Dr. Johnson. Both have been
dead many years, but Miss Young has a sister, Miss Lizzie
Young, still living in Florida.
A
low rail fence was in front of us. Forty feet distant and a
little obliquely to my left stood the end man of the
Federals. I never knew that I had killed a man. Here was a
chance. The impulse seized me much to my amazement. He had a
rosy face, blue eyes, pleasant countenance, six feet high,
well built and erect. Perhaps he was the favorite or only
son of his parents-perhaps of a widowed mother. I brought up
all these things to drive off the impulse, but it wouldn't
go. I might have driven it away had not that white horn
button, an inch in diameter, holding together the waistband
of his trousers, mocked me. It seemed to laugh at me and
say:
"You
can't."
Grasping
the slender fence stake in my left hand to give a firm rest
to the barrel of my musket, I took a careful sight, saying:
"Ben, watch me drive that fellow's breeches button
clear through him.
Ben's
gun was a carbine. He lowered it and stood watching me. As I
was about to pull trigger the man next me ran up, snatched
my arm from its rest, saying:
"They
are our men."
Loosening
his hold, without saying a word, I quickly recovered my gun
rest and aim. He repeated his maneuver and I mine. He played
his act the third time, asserting more and more vehemently
that they were our men. I became furious. Knocking him
sprawling with my clenched fist, I yelled out:
"I
don't care a damn if they are; they are shooting at us and
I'm going to shoot at them. Don't you see," addressing
his fellows, "that while those men are in their shirt
sleeves every one of them has on pale blue trousers? How
many of our men have on pale blue trousers?"
This
seems to them to be reasonable and a number of them began
firing. A young lady ran out of the house of a Mr. Wilkerson
in our front, and mounting the stile around which our
bullets were raining, shouted: "They are running like
dogs; give it to them, boys." This was Miss Vena A.
Riddle, who taught in the school near by, though she seemed
too young for a teacher. We soon found that she was right
and that the enemy were running. As soon as I could I caught
my aim, but by this time their whole line was in rapid
retreat. I fired at my man and missed him. He and four or
five others ran in the direction of where there were eight
good horses hitched to a fence. The main body had gone
obliquely to our left. I suggested to Ben that we head off
the little squad and get the horses. He readily agreed and
we jumped over the low fence, scaled two high board fences
that marked two right-angle boundaries of the yard of Mr.
Wilkerson's home, and which we could have avoided by bearing
to the left, which course, however, would have thrown us in
the line of a hot fire. When the Federals saw we were
running to intercept them they evidently thought we were the
advance of a larger force and they turned sharply to the
left and quickly joined the flying main body. This left the
field clear for Ben and me, and we thought surely the
Blackfoot men would stop firing, at least in our direction,
but they poured another volley into us and the bullets
whistled uncomfortably close to our ears.
"Ben,
I don't believe I want those horses-at the price."
"I'm
sure I don't."
We
went back faster than we came.
When
we got to our place in line Ben said: "Do you know why
our men fired on us ?"
"No,
do you ?"
"Yes,
it was because you have on that Federal blouse."
"Sure
enough; that comes of being caught with stolen goods. This
blouse and this musket belong to the Memphis militia. The
blouse is more comfortable for hot weather than my coat. I
ought to have pulled it off before coming, as I did at the
fight last Friday, but I forgot it. I shall be more careful
and wear it only in camp or on the march hereafter."
"I
tell you what I think," said Ben. "What ?"
"That there are
a number of girls in this village that would like mighty
well to be boys now. I bet you they'd make the Yankees see
sights."
"Wasn't it fine,
Ben? I saw Mrs. Sharp do the same thing at Wilson's Creek
last year, but I was too; far away
to take it all in. These were young tots beside her,
but they had the spirit all right. I should like to take
each one by the hand and tell them so."
"Of course, a
boy like you would."
"Why not?"
"Mudd, it was
too bad that fellow jerked your arm away. I knew you could
do what you said. When you put your eye down the barrel it
was as still as death."
"Ben, I don't
think I ever missed a target in my life. But now that it's
over, I'm glad that the Blackfoot did pull my arm away. I
don't know him but I'm going to look him up and tell him I'm
glad he did it. I don't wish to know that I have killed a
human being. I can not account for my desire to shoot the
Federal. Had I succeeded, I feel that I should never forgive
myself. Ben, I'm awfully ashamed for losing my temper and
using the language I did. You can count all the oaths I ever
let slip on the fingers of one hand. I think it an
abominable habit. Think, too, of swearing when bullets are
flying around you. I knew a man, the first lieutenant of the
Callaway Guards, Company A of my regiment, at Wilson's Creek
last August, who couldn't speak a sentence without four or
five oaths. He had his right side to the Federals, his right
arm raised over his head grasping his sword, the oaths
rolling off his tongue, when a cannon ball struck him just
below the armpit, cutting him nearly in two.[ii]
It was a fearful sight."
Miss Riddle, now
postmistress at Huntington, Ralls County, writes: "I
was teaching at Florida and boarding at Mr. Wilkerson's.
Very early in the morning I was awakened by Mrs. Wilkerson,
who said there was trouble in town. Mr. Wilkerson had gone
out to ascertain the cause of the alarm. Swift horsemen
seemed to be going up and down the main street. We went into
the garden for a while, but the 'zip, zip' of the minie
balls over our heads convinced us that the house was a
better place. It was all so unexpected so sudden that I do
not think I am capable of giving a correct account; not an
entire one, at least. Two Federals walked through our open
hallway and one fired out eastward. I think it must have
been at our boys, who were trying to get the horses hitched
at the board fence south of Dr. Goodier's place." [Miss
Riddle is mistaken in this. The firing was at Captain
Hickerson's commissary guard The horses were left
undisturbed until the action was over. Ben Vansel and I made
the first attempt to get them and failed.] I tried to take
in the situation. I put my head out of my window but drew it
in when a clothes line a few feet away was cut in two by a
minie ball. Presently I thought I saw signs of the Federals
giving away and Iran out to the stile and told the boys that
the Federals were running. It was said that I used a swear
sword, but that was an exaggeration. It was with me as if we
had escaped a horrible death. We were right between the two
fires. I heard Lieutenant Hartman say, 'Come on, I am your
friend,' and immediately after he fired, and I think he
killed Captain Marks. I think it was the next year that
Hartman came through Florida on some business. He wished to
get his dinner and have his horse fed, but he failed to get
either. Shortly after the battle I saw a man without a coat
and he seemed to be sick. I asked a friend to give him a
coat, but he was afraid of being charged with 'aiding and
abetting rebels,' so I bought the coat and presented it to
the coatless one. Lucy told me that she saw the Yankees
retreating, many of them two on a horse. One of your men
named Baker was shot in the jaw and too badly hurt to
travel, and there was one wounded Federal left on the
ground. We took the two to the church and treated them both
alike, taking delicacies and flowers every day. Baker had to
be fed principally on soup. Uncle Robert Goodier had charge
of them and attended them day and night, but the ladies
visited them several times each day. One day the Federals
came and made Baker take the oath. I asked him if he were
going to keep it. He said, 'Yes, I'm going to keep it. I'm
going to be loyal to the Union until I am able to ride. I
shall then change my allegiance, as the United States laws
recognizes my right to do, swear fealty to the Confederacy
and fight 'em again. Had they paroled me I should have kept
it until exchanged.' The older boys used to teach two little
fellows about four years old, named Dolph Johnson and Brit
Hickman, to climb the fence and cry 'Hurrah for Jess Davis'
whenever the Federal soldiers came through, which was
sometimes daily. Captain Marks and young Fowler were buried
in the graveyard on the Florida hills and my brother thinks
the citizens afterwards placed a monument on the captain's
grave. Lucy Young and I were dear friends and so were Lucy
and Sue Johnson. My parents were natives of Virginia, but I
am proud of my native State-Missouri.
" Miss Lizzie
Young writes: "What you have written about the girls in
the fight here is correct, as that is the way I have always
heard it. I was small at that time, being younger than my
sister, although I remember the morning of the fight quite
well. Captain Marks was killed in my father's orchard; also
one man wounded there, but I have forgotten his name. One
wounded Federal was found in Dr. Goodier's henhouse. The
wounded rebel was taken to our home, but in the afternoon
both men were taken to the church and cared for by the
citizens until able to be moved. Several persons now living
here remember the fight, but they were quite young. Two old
ladies are still here, Mrs. Jane Goss and Mrs. N. J.
Davidson. The younger ones have all married except myself.
They are M. A. Violette, Mrs. Mary B. Vandeventer, Mrs.
Sallie C. Richart and Mrs. B. D. Pollard. The picture of my
sister is a poor copy of one taken eleven years after the
battle. I could not find the original. She was a strong
rebel. She gave Captain Hickerson a small silk rebel flag
when he was taking breakfast at my father's, just after the
battle. The Federals killed young Fowler just beyond the
school house when they began to retreat. He and Captain
Marks are buried here."
One of the captains
inquired of Colonel Porter if the retreating enemy should be
followed.
"No, if we
engaged their whole force I don't care to pursue them;
nothing could be gained by it. If we fought only the
advance, the remainder may come up and if they do they will
find us ready. We couldn't catch them on foot and it would
take too much time to get our horses."
We were ordered to
take position behind the church and the school house and
keep well out of sight of the road by which the Federals
retreated and on which they would be likely to appear in the
event of another attack. Half an hour later pickets were
sent out and we were directed to break ranks and return to
camp. I loitered a little and presently I noticed a crowd
that seemed to be under some excitement. I went into it and
found it was hemming in two Federal prisoners just sent in
by Captain Penny and I soon learned the cause of the
trouble. When young Fowler was captured he was put under our
fire and when the Federals started to retreat a revolver was
rammed into his face and he was shot dead in full sight of
his two brothers. The two Fowlers were in a frenzy of
passion and were demanding that the prisoners be immediately
hung in retaliation. Their friends resolutely joined in the
demand and nearly every one present voiced his approval.
Fate seemed black for the prisoners. One of them, Samuel
Creek, of Company F, vouchsafed not a word. He was the
coolest and apparently the most unconcerned man on the
ground. He was a good looking, well built young man of about
twenty- five years. His eye moved slowly over the crowd of
angry men, but his pulse never quickened and the color in
his face never dimmed. The other prisoner, Robert E. Dunlap,
was Creek's opposite in shape and temperament. Three inches
taller, he weighed less; hatchet face and eagle nose.
Angular and awkward, he was a bundle of nerves. His quick
glance shot here and there with an intensity painful to
witness. He seemed to take in everything done, said and even
thought. He was talking to save his neck. His face, white
with emotion, bespoke intelligence and kindness and when he
turned his handsome blue-gray eye full upon you his earnest
appeal for mercy-not craven but manly-stirred your deepest
sympathy. All in vain. He might as well have tried to stem
the hurricane by whistling against it. Young Fowler was a
model boy; his two brothers were handsome, intelligent,
educated and popular. Stacy's men had one will in this
matter and it was for vengeance. Dunlap's knees shook and
his voice faltered, but with a powerful effort he controlled
his momentary weakness and continued his desperate fight for
his life.
"Men," he
said, "I can't blame you for how you feel in this
matter. I admit you have the right to retaliate. The laws of
war justify it. But is it fair? I tell you, men, it is hard
for us to suffer death for the crime of another man. Neither
of us had anything to do with the murder of the prisoner. I
abhor such a crime. My record in the army has been an
honorable one. I have never done a thing I should be ashamed
for any of you to know. Now, men, put yourselves in our
places: How would you like to suffer a disgraceful death for
something for which you are not responsible? My last appeal
to you is that if you will retaliate on us, shoot us, don't
hang us."
Since then I have
heard the great orators and actors of the country; have
witnessed the most exciting events of the Confederate and
Federal Congresses; listened to the pleas of
famous advocates in notable trials, but I have never
witnessed a more dramatic incident; I never heard a more
forceful appeal. But Dunlap's talk was still the whisper
against the tornado. The growing cry for vengeance was
hushed by the approach of Colonel Porter. Edging his way
into the crowd he asked the cause of the excitement. One of
the Fowlers told him. He turned sharply on Dunlap.
"What is the
name of the man who killed Fowler?
"Lieutenant
Hartman."
"Did you see him
do it?"
"Yes, sir; just
as he gave the command to retreat he drew his revolver and
shot the prisoner."
"What command do
you belong to?"
"The Third Iowa
Cavalry."
"Major
Caldwell's battalion?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where is Major Caldwell?"
"He was at Paris
yesterday."
"I'll find him.
I know Major Caldwell. He is a good soldier and a gentleman.
I'll send him a flag of truce this afternoon and demand of
him the surrender of Lieutenant Hartman. I shall hold you
two men as hostages for the delivery of Hartman. If that is
refused, we will then string you up. But I know Major
Caldwell will do what is right. He is an honorable
man."
That settled it.
Creek's countenance showed the same unconcern. The drawn
lines in Dunlap's face relaxed; his breathing became easy.
The high tension was broken. He spoke not a word, but his
eye told his gratitude. He peered anxiously into many faces
as if searching for sympathy. He got it, but there was no
revelation that he recognized the fact.
There was something
in Colonel Porter's manner which told me the affair was
settled for good. The next morning but one it was reported
that the flag of truce brought back the news that Lieutenant
Hartman had been wounded in the engagement and that he had
died. I learned a little later from fountain head that no
flag of truce had left our command, but I kept the
information to myself.
Lieutenant Cravin
Hartman served until the end of the war, despised and hated
by his own men and brother officers. One of the latter
writes me that "it was reported and generally believed
that Lieutenant Hartman died with his feet about one yard
off of and above the ground, which was quite appropriate,
some place in Arkansas." Another writes to the same
effect. Two or three years after the war I was told by a
Federal Captain who had been my schoolmate and who knew
Hartman in the army, that he was satisfied Hartman was
killed by his own men. He was sure that they would have shot
him in battle if the opportunity had come for it to be done
without detection.
Lieutenant Stidger is
now living in Colorado. Samuel Creek is now a respected
citizen of Fairfield, Iowa. Dunlap died two years ago in
Keosauqua, Iowa. Their names were given-I had forgotten
them-by Captain B. F. Crail, county surveyor, Fairfield,
Iowa, who was a sergeant in the action in Florida. He also
informed me that Sergeant Lewis G. Balding was the name of
the man I drew bead upon-that is, he was "the man who
stood on the extreme left." Sergeant Balding was killed
October 23, 1864, in an engagement at Big Blue, Missouri.
Captain Crail has
given me information concerning this and other affairs that
I could get nowhere else.
Captain Penny finding
that he could accomplish nothing without exposing his men to
our fire, so close were the lines of battle, held off and
waited. When the break came he galloped into the retreating
column. The Federals were getting away rapidly, but they
were not demoralized. Sergeant Crail and his men made
matters interesting for a little while. The horses of Mose
Beck and Bob South were shot. Next to Captain Penny, Bob was
the largest man in the company. His fall shook him up so
that a severe fever set in, which rendered him unfit for
service for a long time. He was much attached to his horse,
a fine animal which he had raised from a colt, and his worry
over its loss probably aggravated his illness.
Of this incident
Captain Crail writes: "You had eight of our men
prisoners the same time you took Creek and Dunlap. I took
six of them from you before you got them into camp. Who was
the captain who took them? He had one of the men on the
horse behind him. The captain caught Kirkpatrick by the left
ankle and threw him off his horse when it was running at
full gallop. There were two of my men on one horse
(Henderson and Bristow) who, when I passed them, stopped
their horse, jumped off him, in place of turning him around,
and ran to the rear. I fol- lowed Creek to within forty feet
of your camp."
The
Federal report is: HEADQUARTERS THIRD IOWA CAVALRY, Paris,
Mo., July 22, 1862,-11 A. M. SIR: At daylight this morning
Joe Porter, with his whole force, three hundred strong, come
into Florida from the north, and encountered fifty of my men
there. After fighting nearly an hour my men retreated. Our
killed, wounded and missing number twenty-six. The enemy's
loss in killed will greatly exceed ours. I can maintain my
position here, but I have not sufficient force to hold the
town and pursue. I cannot tell at this hour whether Porter
will return north, continue south, or remain on Salt River.
I go to Florida at once with one hundred men. I would
suggest that a force three hundred strong be sent out to
Florida at once. Respectfully, H. C. CALDWELL, Major Third
Iowa Cavalry. COL. LEWIS MERRILL, Saint Louis, Mo. JUDGE
HENRY C. CALDWELL Major of Third Iowa Cavalry
This report gives
fifty as the number of the Federal force. Captain Crail in a
letter to me says there were twenty men of his company, F,
and two sergeants under Lieutenant Hart- man, and the same
number of Company G under command of Lieutenant Stidger.
Hartman, being senior officer, was in command. If Major
Caldwell made his report on his own knowledge, the number
must be taken out of controversy: It was fifty. But if his
report was based on information obtained from Lieutenant
Hartman it is entitled to no credence whatever. The veracity
and integrity of Major Caldwell has never been questioned.
The same can be said of Captain Crail. With him, however, it
is a matter of recollection after forty-six years, and my
recollection differs from his. It seems to be as fresh in my
memory as if it were done yesterday that the head of our
column, which became our left, struck the right of the enemy
evenly; that we reached the line of battle by a movement
similar to that of a spoke in a wheel making the one-fourth
of a revolution; that I was the end man but one on our
right, and that our line overlapped theirs less than ten
feet. We had between ninety and ninety-five men engaged on
foot.
The official report
says "our killed, wounded and missing number
twenty-six." Captain Crail says that they had twenty
six men wounded and none killed. Considering the two
missing-captured by us-there is a discrepancy, but that is a
small matter. I am sure the captain is right about the loss
in killed. They could not have had a man killed without the
fact being discovered by us. Our loss was two killed-Captain
John Marks, killed in battle, and Fowler, killed while a
prisoner-and two wounded, not seriously- a man named Baker
and the name of the other not remembered. Had not nearly a
third of our men kept their fire, being mistaken as to the
identity of the Federals, their loss would have been much
heavier.
The Fulton Telegraph
gave this account of the affair:
On Tuesday morning,
July 22, at daybreak, Lieutenants Stidger and Hartman with
fifty men of the Third Iowa Cavalry encountered the
guerrilla Porter and his band, three hundred strong, at
Florida, in Monroe County, and after fighting nearly one
hour were obliged to retire.
Out of Lieutenant
Stidger's squad of twelve men there were three
missing--Henry Grogen, supposed killed; R. Dunlap and Wm.
Miller.
Wounded and brought
in-Joseph Brinnergar, in the arm; David Miller, in the head;
William Clark, in the hip. Of Lieutenant Hartman's squad,
missing--Garnett, Fuller, the two Kirkpatricks, Henderson,
Mineely, Lindsay, Car penter, W. T. Bristow, (formerly
compositor in this office), Long, Fletcher and Creek.
Wounded and brought in-First Sergeant Baldwin, in the arm;
Corporals Jones, Palmer and Hern; McBurney, the two
Orndorffs, severely, and Charles Davis. O
Our men fought
desperately.
[i]
This was a mistake. Hon. C. C. Turner, presiding
justice of the Boone
Court, sends me forty-two names, including his own, as a
partial list of
the Blackfoot Rangers, under command of Captain Frost
and Lieutenant
Bowles, and says they joined Porter "about July
26." Comrade C. H.
Hance, city treasurer of Los Angeles, California, sends
seven names,
including his own, as having gone from the vicinity of
Renick, Randolph
County, to join Frost's company in Boone County. This
list includes one
name in the list of forty-two. He mentions the same
incidents as Judge
Turner, but does not give the date on which the company
joined Porter.
I well remember the date. It was the morning of Sunday,
July 27. Until
the receipt of this information I did not know that the
Blackfoot Rangers
and Captain Frost's company were the same. The names are
given in
Appendix K. So the Blackfoot Rangers were not in the
engagement at
Florida, and I have failed to learn the identity of the
company I thought
was the Blackfoot.
[ii]
The same ball decapitated Isaac Terrill and wounded
three men. Terrill
and I made all the cartridges used by our regiment that
day. Each con-
tained nine bullets. There were issued to each man a
hundred cartridges
and a gallon of bullets, with orders to pour down a
handful after ramming
the cartridge home.
|