Pen Pictures, of Eventful Scenes and Struggles of Life

by B. F. Craig

  SCENE SEVENTH--WAR BETWEEN THE STATES.

  |The late civil war between the States of the American Union was theinevitable result of two civilizations under one government, which nopower on earth could have prevented We place the federal and confederatesoldier in the same scale _per se_, and one will not weigh the otherdown an atom.

  So even will they poise that you may mark the small allowance of theweight of a hair. But place upon the beam the pea of their actions whileupon the stage, _on either side_, an the poise may be up or down.

  More than this, your orator has nothing to say of the war, except itseffect upon the characters we describe.

  The bright blossoms of a May morning were opening to meet the sunlight,while the surrounding foliage was waving in the soft breeze ol spring;on the southern bank of the beautiful Ohio, where the momentous eventsof the future were concealed from the eyes of the preceding generationby the dar veil of the coming revolutions of the globe.

  We see Cousin Cæsar and Cliff Carlo in close counsel, upon the subjectof meeting the expenses of the contest at law over the Simon estate, inthe State of Arkansas.

  Cliff Carlo was rather non-committal. Roxie Daymon was a near relative,and the unsolved problem in the case of compromise and law did not admitof haste on the part of the Carlo family. Compromise was not the forteof Cousin Cæsar, To use his own words, “I have made the cast, and willstand the hazard of the die.”

  But the enterprise, with surrounding circumstances, would have baffled abolder man than Cæsar Simon. The first gun of the war had been fired atFort Sumter, in South Carolina, on the 12th day of April, 1861.

  The President of the United States had called for seventy-five thousandwar-like men to rendezvous at Washington City, and form a _Praetorian_guard, to strengthen the arm of the government. _To arms, to arms!_ wasthe cry both North and South. The last lingering hope of peace betweenthe States had faded from the minds of all men, and the bloody crest ofwar was painted on the horizon of the future. The border slave States,in the hope of peace, had remained inactive all winter. They nowwithdrew from the Union and joined their fortunes with the South,except Kentucky--the _dark and bloody ground_ historic in the annalsof war--showed the _white feather_, and announced to the world that hersoil was the holy ground of peace. This proclamation was _too thin_for Cæsar Simon. Some of the Carlo family had long since immigratedto Missouri. To consult with them on the war affair, and meet with anelement more disposed to defend his prospect of property, CousinCæsar left Kentucky for Missouri. On the fourth day of July, 1861,in obedience to the call of the President, the Congress of the UnitedStates met at Washington City. This Congress called to the contest fivehundred thousand men; “_cried havoc and let slip the dogs of war_,” andMissouri was invaded by federal troops, who were subsequently put underthe command of Gen. Lyon. About the middle of July we see Cousin Cæsarmarching in the army of Gen. Sterling Price--an army composed of allclasses of humanity, who rushed to the conflict without promise ofpay or assistance from the government of the Confederate States ofAmerica--an army without arms or equipment, except such as it gatheredfrom the citizens, double-barreled shot-guns--an army of volunteerswithout the promise of pay or hope of reward; composed of men fromeighteen to seventy years of age, with a uniform of costume varying fromthe walnut colored roundabout to the pigeon-tailed broadcloth coat. Themechanic and the farmer, the professional and the non-professional,’the merchant and the jobber, the speculator and the butcher, the countryschoolmaster and the printer’s devil, the laboring man and the deadbeat, all rushed into Price’s army, seemingly under the influence of thewatchword of the old Jews, “_To your tents, O Israeli_” and it is afact worthy of record that this unarmed and untrained army never lost abattle on Missouri soil in the first year of the war. * Gov. Jacksonhad fled from Jefferson City on the approach of the federal army, andassembled the Legislature at Neosho, in the southwest corner of theState, who were unable to assist Price’s army. The troops went into thefield, thrashed the wheat and milled it for themselves; were often uponhalf rations, and frequently lived upon roasting ears. Except the Indianor border war in Kentucky, fought by a preceding generation, the firstyear of the war in Missouri is unparalleled in the history of waron this continent. Gen. Price managed to subsist an army withoutgovernmental resources. His men were never demoralized for the want offood, pay or clothing, and were always cheerful, and frequently danced‘round their camp-fires, bare-footed and ragged, with a spirit ofmerriment that would put the blush upon the cheek of a circus. Gen.Price wore nothing upon his shoulders but a brown linen duster, and, hiswhite hair streaming in the breeze on the field of battle, was a pictureresembling the _war-god_ of the Romans in ancient fable.

  * The so called battle of Boonville was a rash venture of citizens, not under the command of Gen. Price at the time.

  This army of ragged heroes marched over eight hundred miles on Missourisoil, and seldom passed a week without an engagement of some kind--itwas confined to no particular line of operations, but fought the enemywherever they found him. It had started on the campaign without adollar, without a wagon, without a cartridge, and without a bayonet-gun;and when it was called east of the Mississippi river, it possessed abouteight thousand bayonet-guns, fifty pieces of cannon, and four hundredtents, taken almost exclusively from the Federals, on the hard-foughtfields of battle.

  When this army crossed the Mississippi river the star of its glory hadset never to rise again. The invigorating name of _state rights_ was_merged_ in the Southern Confederacy.

  With this prelude to surrounding circumstances, we will now follow thefortunes of Cousin Cæsar. Enured to hardships in early life, possessinga penetrating mind and a selfish disposition, Cousin Cæsar was everready to float on the stream of prosperity, with triumphant banners, orgo down as _drift wood_.

  And whatever he may have lacked in manhood, he was as brave as a lion onthe battle-field; and the campaign of Gen. Price in Missouri suited noprivate soldier better than Cæsar Simon. Like all soldiers in an activearmy, he thought only of battle and amusement. Consequently, the will,Gov. Morock and the Simon estate occupied but little of Cousin Cæsar’sreflections. One idea had taken possession of him, and that was southernvictory. He enjoyed the triumphs of his fellow soldiers, and ate hisroasting ears with the same invigorating spirit. A sober second thoughtand cool reflections only come with the struggle for his own life, andwith it a self-reproach that always, sooner or later, overtakes thefaithless.

  The battle of Oak Hill, usually called the battle of Springfield, wasone of the hardest battles fought west of the Mississippi river. Thefederal troops, under Gen. Lyon, amounted to nearly ten thousand men.The confederate t oops, under Generals McCulloch, Price, and Pearce,were about eleven thousand men.

  On the ninth of August the Confederates camped at Wilson’s Creek,intending to advance upon the Federals at Springfield. The next morningGeneral Lyon attacked them before sunrise. The battle was fought withrash bravery on both sides. General Lyon, after having been twicewounded, was shot dead while leading a rash charge. Half the loss on theConfederate side was from Price’s army--a sad memorial of the part theytook in the contest. Soon after the fall of General Lyon the Federalsretreated to Springfield, and left the Confederates master of the field.About the closing scene of the last struggle, Cousin Cæsar received amusket ball in the right leg, and fell among the wounded and dying.

  The wound was not necessarily fatal; no bone was broken, but it was verypainful and bleeding profusely. When Cousin Cæsar, after lying along time where he fell, realized the situation, he saw that withoutassistance he must bleed to death; and impatient to wait for some one topick him up, he sought quarters by his own exertions. He had managed tocrawl a quarter of a mile, and gave out at a point where no one wouldthink of looking for the wounded. Weak from the loss of blood, he couldcrawl no farther. The light of day was only discernable in the dimdistance of the West; the Angel of silence had spread her wing overthe bloody battle field. In vai
n Cousin Cæsar pressed his hand upon thewound; the crimson life would ooze out between his fingers, and CousinCæsar lay down to die. It was now dark; no light met his eye, and nosound came to his ear, save the song of two grasshoppers in a cluster ofbushes--one sang “Katie-did!” and the other sang “Katie-didn’t!” CousinCæsar said, mentally, “It will soon be decided with me whether Katie didor whether she didn’t!” In the last moments of hope Cousin Cæsar heardand recognized the sound of a human voice, and gathering all thestrength of his lungs, pronounced the word--“S-t-e-v-e!” In a shorttime he saw two men approaching him. It was Steve Brindle and a CherokeeIndian. As soon as they saw the situation, the Indian darted like a wilddeer to where there had been a camp fire, and returned with his cap fullof ashes which he applied to Cousin Cæsar’s wound. Steve Brindle boundit up and stopped the blood. The two men then carried the wounded man tocamp--to recover and reflect upon the past. Steve Brindle was a private,in the army of General Pearce, from Arkansas, and the Cherokee Indianwas a camp follower belonging to the army of General McCulloch. Theywere looking over the battle field in search of their missing friends,when they accidentally discovered and saved Cousin Cæsar.

  Early in the month of September, Generals McCulloch and Price havingdisagreed on the plan of campaign, General Price announced to hisofficers his intention of moving north, and required a report ofeffective men in his army. A lieutenant, after canvassing the company towhich Cousin Cæsar belonged, went to him as the last man. Cousin Cæsarreported ready for duty. “All right, you are the last man--No. 77,” saidthe lieutenant, hastily, leaving Cousin Cæsar to his reflections. “Thereis that number again; what can it mean? Marching north, perhaps tomeet a large force, is our company to be reduced to seven? One of themd------d figure sevens would fall off and one would be left on the pin.How should it be counted--s-e-v-e-n or half? Set up two guns and takeone away, half would be left; enlist two men, and if one is killed, halfwould be left--yet, with these d------d figures, when you take one youonly have one eleventh part left. Cut by the turn of fortune; cut withshort rations; cut with a musket ball; cut by self-reproach--_ah, that’sthe deepest cut of all!_” said Cousin Cæsar, mentally, as he retired tothe tent.

  Steve Brindle had saved Cousin Cæsar’s life, had been an old comradein many a hard game, had divided his last cent with him in many hardplaces; had given him his family history and opened the door for him tostep into the palace of wealth. Yet, when Cousin Cæsar was surroundedwith wealth and power, when honest employment would, in all humanpossibility, have redeemed his old comrade, Cousin Cæsar, willing toconceal his antecedents, did not know S-t-e-v-e Brindle.

  General Price reached the Missouri river, at Lexington, on the 12th ofSeptember, and on the 20th captured a Federal force intrenched there,under the command of Colonel Mulligan, from whom he obtained fivecannon, two mortars and over three thousand bayonet guns. In fearof large Federal forces north of the Missouri river, General Priceretreated south. Cousin Cæsar was again animated with the spirit ofwar and had dismissed the superstitious fear of 77 from his mind. Hecontinued his amusements round the camp fires in Price’s army, as hesaid, mentally, “Governor Morock will keep things straight, at hisoffice on Strait street, in Chicago.”

  Roxie Daymon had pleasantly passed the summer and fall on the reputationof being _rich_, and was always the toast in the fashionable partiesof the upper-ten in Chicago. During the first year of the war it wasemphatically announced by the government at Washington, that it wouldnever interfere with the slaves of loyal men. Roxie Daymon was loyaland lived in a loyal city. It was war times, and Roxie had received nodividends from the Simon estate.

  In the month of January, 1862, the cold north wind from the lakes sweptthe dust from the streets in Chicago, and seemed to warn the secret,silent thoughts of humanity of the great necessity of m-o-n-e-y.

  The good Angel of observation saw Roxie Daymon, with a richly-trimmedfur cloak upon her shoulders and hands muffed, walking swiftly on Straitstreet, in Chicago, watching the numbers--at No. 77 she disappeared.

  The good Angel opened his ear and has furnished us with the followingconversation;

  “I have heard incidentally that Cæsar Simon is preparing to break thewill of my _esteemed_ friend, Young Simon, of Arkansas,” said Roxie,sadly.

  “Is it p-o-s s-i-b-l-e?” said Governor Morock, affecting astonishment,and then continued, “More work for the lawyers, you know I am alwaysliberal, madam.”

  “But do you think it possible?” said Roxie, inquiringly. “You have moneyenough to fight with, madam, money enough to fight,” said the Governor,decidedly. “I suppose we will have to prove that Simon was in fullpossession of his mental faculties at the time,” said Roxie, with legal_acumen_. “Certainly, certainly madam, money will prove anything; willprove anything, madam,” said the Governor, rubbing his hands. “I believeyou were the only person present at the time,” said Roxie, honestly.

  “I am always liberal, madam, a few thousands will arrange the testimony,madam. Leave that to me, if you please,” and in a softer tone of voicethe Governor continued, “you ought to pick up the _crumbs_, madam, pickup the crumbs.”

  “I would like to do so for I have never spent a cent in the prospect ofthe estate, though my credit is good for thousands in this city.. I wantto see how a dead man’s shoes will fit before I wear them,” said Roxie,sadly.

  “Good philosophy, madam, good philosophy,” said the Governor, andcontinued to explain. “There is cotton on the bank of the river at theSimon plantations. Some arrangement ought to be made, and I thinkI could do it through some officer of the federal army,” said theGovernor, rubbing his hand across his forehead, and continued, “that’swhat I mean by picking up the crumbs, madam.”

  “_How much?_” said Roxie, preparing to leave the office.

  “I m always liberal, madam, always liberal. Let me see; it is attendedwith some difficulty; can’t leave the city; too much business pressing(rubbing his hands); well--well--I will pick up the crumbs for half.Think I can secure two or three hundred bales of cotton, madam,” saidthe Governor, confidentially.

  “How much is a bale of cotton worth?” said Roxie, affecting ignorance.

  “Only four hundred dollars, madam; nothing but a crumb--nothing but acrumb, madam,” said the Governor, in a tone of flattery.

  “Do the best you can,” said Roxie, in a confidential tone, as she leftthe office.

  Governor Morock was enjoying the reputation of the fashionable lawyeramong the upper-ten in Chicago. Roxie Daymon’s good sense condemned him,but she did not feel at liberty to break the line of association.

  Cliff Carlo did nothing but write a letter of inquiry to GovernorMorock, who informed him that the Simon estate was worth more than amillion and a quarter, and that m-o-n-e-y would _break the will_.

  The second year of the war burst the bubble of peace in Kentucky. TheState was invaded on both sides. The clang of arms on the soil where theheroes of a preceding generation slept, called the martial spirits inthe shades of Kentucky to rise and shake off the delusion that peace andplenty breed cowards. Cliff Carlo, and many others of the brave sons ofKentucky, united with the southern armies, and fully redeemed their warlike character, as worthy descendents of the heroes of the _dark andbloody ground_.

  Cliff Carlo passed through the struggles of the war without a sick dayor the pain of a wound. We must, therefore, follow the fate of the lessfortunate Cæsar Simon.

  During the winter of the first year of the war, Price’s army camped onthe southern border of Missouri.

  On the third day of March, 1862, Maj. Gen. Earl Van Dorn, of theConfederate government, assumed the command of the troops under Priceand McCulloch, and on the seventh day of March attacked the Federalforces under Curtis and Sturgis, twenty-five thousand strong, atElkhorn, Van Dorn commanding about twenty thousand men.

  Price’s army constituted the left and center, with McCulloch on theright. The fight was long and uncertain. About two o’clock McCullochfell, and his
forces failed to press the contest.

  The Federals retreated in good order, leaving the Confederates master ofthe situation.

  For some unaccountable decision on the part of Gen. Van Dorn, a retreatof the southern army was ordered, and instead of pursuing the Federals,the wheels of the Southern army were seen rolling south.

  Gen. Van Dorn had ordered the sick and disabled many miles in advance ofthe army. Cousin Cæsar had passed through the conflict safe and sound;it was a camp rumor that Steve Brindle was mortally wounded and sentforward with the sick. The mantle of night hung over Price’s army, andthe camp fires glimmered in the soft breeze of the evening. Silently andalone Cousin Cæsar stole away from the scene on a mission of love andduty. Poor Steve Brindle had ever been faithful to him, and Cousin Cæsarhad suffered self-reproach for his unaccountable neglect of a faithfulfriend. An opportunity now presented itself for Cousin Cæsar to relievehis conscience and possibly smooth the dying pillow of his faithfulfriend, Steve Brindle.

  Bravely and fearlessly on he sped and arrived at the camp of the sick.Worn down with the march, Cousin Cæsar never rested until he had lookedupon the face of the last sick man. Steve was not there.

  Slowly and sadly Cousin Cæsar returned to the army, making inquiry ofevery one he met for Steve Brindle. After a long and fruitless inquiry,an Arkansas soldier handed Cousin Cæsar a card, saying, “I wasrequested by a soldier in our command to hand this card to the man whosename it bears, in Price’s army.” Cousin Cæsar took the card and read,“Cæsar Simon--No. 77 deserted.” Cousin Cæsar threw the card down asthough it was nothings as he said mentally, “What can it mean. There arethose d----d figures again. Steve knew nothing of No. 77 in Chicago. Howam I to understand this? Steve understood my ideas of the mysteriousNo. 77 on the steam carriage. Steve has deserted and takes this planto inform me. _Ah! that is it!_ Steve has couched the information inlanguage that no one can understand but myself. Two of us were on thecarriage and two figure sevens; one would fall off the pin. Steve hasfallen off. He knew I would understand his card when no one else could.But did Steve only wish me to understand that he had left, or did hewish me to follow?” was a problem Cousin Cæsar was unable to decide. Itwas known to Cousin Cæsar that the Cherokee Indian who, in company withSteve, saved his life at Springfield, had, in company with some of hisrace, been brought upon the stage of war by Albert Pike. Deserted! AndCousin Cæsar was left alone, with no bosom friend save the friendshipof one southern soldier for another. And the idea of _desertion_ enteredthe brain of Cæsar Simon for the first time.

  Cæsar Simon was a born soldier, animated by the clang of arms and roarof battle, and although educated in the school of treacherous humanity,he was one of the few who resolved to die in the last ditch, and heconcluded his reflections with the sarcastic remark, “Steve Brindle is acoward.”

  Before Gen. Van Dorn faced the enemy again, he was called east of theMississippi river. Price’s army embarked at Des Arc, on White river, andwhen the last man was on board the boats, there were none more cheerfulthan Cousin Cæsar. He was going to fight on the soil of his nativeState, for it was generally understood the march by water was toMemphis, Tennessee.

  It is said that a portion of Price’s army showed the _white feather_at Iuka. Cousin Cæsar was not in that division of the army. After thatevent he was a camp lecturer, and to him the heroism of the army owesa tribute in memory for the brave hand to hand fight in the streetsof Corinth, where, from house to house and within a stone’s throw ofRosecrans’’ headquarters, Price’s men made the Federals fly. But theFederals were reinforced from their outposts, and Gen. Van Dorn was incommand, and the record says he made a rash attack and a hasty retreat.

  Maj. Gen. T. C. Hindman was the southern commander of what was calledthe district of Arkansas west of the Mississippi river. He was a pettydespot as well as an unsuccessful commander of an army. The countrysuffered unparalleled abuses; crops were ravaged, cotton burned, andthe magnificent palaces of the southern planter licked up by flames. Thetorch was applied frequently by an unknown hand. The Southern commanderburned cotton to prevent its falling into the hands of the enemy.Straggling soldiers belonging to distant commands traversed the country,robbing the people and burning. How much of this useless destructionis chargable to Confederate or Federal commanders, it is impossible todetermine. Much of the waste inflicted upon the country was by the handof lawless guerrillas. Four hundred bales of cotton were burned on theSimon plantation, and the residence on the home plantation, that costS. S. Simon over sixty-five thousand dollars, was nothing but a heap ofashes.

  Governor Morock’s agents never got any _crumbs_, although the Governorhad used nearly all of the thousand dollars obtained from CousinCæsar to pick up the _crumbs_ on the Simon plantations, he never got a_crumb_.

  General Hindman was relieved of his command west of the Mississippi, byPresident Davis. Generals Kirby, Smith, Holmes and Price subsequentlycommanded the Southern troops west of the great river. The federals hadfortified Helena, a point three hundred miles above Vicks burg on thewest bank of the river. They had three forts with a gun-boat lying inthe river, and were about four thousand strong. They were attacked byGeneral Holmes, on the 4th day of July, 1863. General Holmes had underhis command General Price’s division of infantry, about fourteen hundredmen; Fagans brigade of Arkansas, infantry, numbering fifteen hundredmen, and Marmaduke’s division of Arkansas, and Missouri cavalry, abouttwo thousand, making a total of four thousand and nine hundred men.Marmaduke was ordered to attack the northern fort; Fagan was to attackthe southern fort, and General Price the center fort. The onset to besimultaneously and at daylight.

  General Price carried his position. Marmaduke and Fagan failed. Thegun-boat in the river shelled the captured fort. Price’s men shelteredthemselves as best they could, awaiting further orders. The scenewas alarming above description to Price’s men. It was the holiday ofAmerican Independence. The failure of their comrades in arms wouldcompel them to retreat under a deadly fire from the enemy. While thuswaiting, the turn of battle crouched beneath an old stump. Cousin Cæsarsaw in the distance and recognized Steve Brindle, he was a soldier inthe federal army.

  “Oh treacherous humanity! must I live to learn thee still Steve Brindlefights for m-o-n-e-y?” said Cæsar Simon, mentally. The good Angelof observation whispered in his car: “Cæsar Simon fights for land_stripped of its ornaments._” Cousin Cæsar scanned the situation andcontinued to say, mentally: “Life is a sentence of punishment passed bythe court of existence on every _private soldier_.”

  The battle field is the place of execution, and rash commanders areoften the executioners. After repeated efforts General Holmes failed tocarry the other positions. The retreat of Price’s men was ordered;it was accomplished with heavy loss. Cæsar Simon fell, and with himperished the last link in the chain of the Simon family in the maleline.

  We must now let the curtain fall upon the sad events of the war untilthe globe makes nearly two more revolutions ‘round the sun in itsorbit, and then we see the Southern soldiers weary and war-worn--sadlydeficient in numbers--lay down their arms--the war is ended. The Angelof peace has spread her golden wing from Maine to Florida, and fromVirginia to California. The proclamation of freedom, by PresidentLincoln, knocked the dollars and cents out of the flesh and blood ofevery slave on the Simon plantations. Civil courts are in session.The last foot of the Simon land has been sold at sheriff’s sale to payjudgments, just and unjust.=

  ````The goose that laid the golden egg

  ````Has paddled across the river.=

  Governor Morock has retired from the profession, or the professionhas retired from him. He is living on the cheap sale of a badreputation--that is--all who wish dirty work performed at a low priceemploy Governor Morock.

  Roxie Daymon has married a young mechanic, and is happy in a cottagehome. She blots the memory of the past by reading the poem entitled,“The Workman’s Saturday Night.”

  Cliff Carlo is a prosperous farmer in Kentucky and
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