This army of ragged heroes marched over eight hundred miles on Missouri soil, and seldom passed a week without an engagement of some kind—it was confined to no particular line of operations, but fought the enemy wherever they found him. It had started on the campaign without a dollar, without a wagon, without a cartridge, and without a bayonet-gun; and when it was called east of the Mississippi river, it possessed about eight thousand bayonet-guns, fifty pieces of cannon, and four hundred tents, taken almost exclusively from the Federals, on the hard-fought fields of battle.
When this army crossed the Mississippi river the star of its glory had set 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 the fortunes of Cousin Cæsar. Enured to hardships in early life, possessing a penetrating mind and a selfish disposition, Cousin Cæsar was ever ready to float on the stream of prosperity, with triumphant banners, or go down as drift wood.
And whatever he may have lacked in manhood, he was as brave as a lion on the battle-field; and the campaign of Gen. Price in Missouri suited no private soldier better than Cæsar Simon. Like all soldiers in an active army, he thought only of battle and amusement. Consequently, the will, Gov. Morock and the Simon estate occupied but little of Cousin Cæsar's reflections. One idea had taken possession of him, and that was southern victory. He enjoyed the triumphs of his fellow soldiers, and ate his roasting ears with the same invigorating spirit. A sober second thought and cool reflections only come with the struggle for his own life, and with it a self-reproach that always, sooner or later, overtakes the faithless.
The battle of Oak Hill, usually called the battle of Springfield, was one of the hardest battles fought west of the Mississippi river. The federal 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 morning General Lyon attacked them before sunrise. The battle was fought with rash bravery on both sides. General Lyon, after having been twice wounded, was shot dead while leading a rash charge. Half the loss on the Confederate side was from Price's army—a sad memorial of the part they took in the contest. Soon after the fall of General Lyon the Federals retreated to Springfield, and left the Confederates master of the field. About the closing scene of the last struggle, Cousin Cæsar received a musket 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 very painful and bleeding profusely. When Cousin Cæsar, after lying a long time where he fell, realized the situation, he saw that without assistance he must bleed to death; and impatient to wait for some one to pick him up, he sought quarters by his own exertions. He had managed to crawl a quarter of a mile, and gave out at a point where no one would think of looking for the wounded. Weak from the loss of blood, he could crawl no farther. The light of day was only discernable in the dim distance of the West; the Angel of silence had spread her wing over the bloody battle field. In vain Cousin Cæsar pressed his hand upon the wound; the crimson life would ooze out between his fingers, and Cousin Cæsar lay down to die. It was now dark; no light met his eye, and no sound came to his ear, save the song of two grasshoppers in a cluster of bushes—one sang “Katie-did!” and the other sang “Katie-didn't!” Cousin Cæsar said, mentally, “It will soon be decided with me whether Katie did or whether she didn't!” In the last moments of hope Cousin Cæsar heard and recognized the sound of a human voice, and gathering all the strength of his lungs, pronounced the word—“S-t-e-v-e!” In a short time he saw two men approaching him. It was Steve Brindle and a Cherokee Indian. As soon as they saw the situation, the Indian darted like a wild deer to where there had been a camp fire, and returned with his cap full of ashes which he applied to Cousin Cæsar's wound. Steve Brindle bound it up and stopped the blood. The two men then carried the wounded man to camp—to recover and reflect upon the past. Steve Brindle was a private, in the army of General Pearce, from Arkansas, and the Cherokee Indian was a camp follower belonging to the army of General McCulloch. They were 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 having disagreed on the plan of campaign, General Price announced to his officers his intention of moving north, and required a report of effective men in his army. A lieutenant, after canvassing the company to which Cousin Cæsar belonged, went to him as the last man. Cousin Cæsar reported ready for duty. “All right, you are the last man—No. 77,” said the lieutenant, hastily, leaving Cousin Cæsar to his reflections. “There is that number again; what can it mean? Marching north, perhaps to meet a large force, is our company to be reduced to seven? One of them d———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 take one away, half would be left; enlist two men, and if one is killed, half would be left—yet, with these d———d figures, when you take one you only have one eleventh part left. Cut by the turn of fortune; cut with short rations; cut with a musket ball; cut by self-reproach—ah, that's the deepest cut of all!” said Cousin Cæsar, mentally, as he retired to the tent.
Steve Brindle had saved Cousin Cæsar's life, had been an old comrade in many a hard game, had divided his last cent with him in many hard places; had given him his family history and opened the door for him to step into the palace of wealth. Yet, when Cousin Cæsar was surrounded with wealth and power, when honest employment would, in all human possibility, have redeemed his old comrade, Cousin Cæsar, willing to conceal his antecedents, did not know S-t-e-v-e Brindle.
General Price reached the Missouri river, at Lexington, on the 12th of September, and on the 20th captured a Federal force intrenched there, under the command of Colonel Mulligan, from whom he obtained five cannon, two mortars and over three thousand bayonet guns. In fear of large Federal forces north of the Missouri river, General Price retreated south. Cousin Cæsar was again animated with the spirit of war and had dismissed the superstitious fear of 77 from his mind. He continued his amusements round the camp fires in Price's army, as he said, mentally, “Governor Morock will keep things straight, at his office on Strait street, in Chicago.”