FEDERAL ATROCITY.
No questions were asked them, and no explanations were given. Flanche merely ordered them to walk off a few steps toward a tree, which they did; he then gave the word “fire!” and the whole company fired at them, literally tearing them to pieces!
I would ask the enlightened world if there ever was committed a more diabolical deed? If, in all the annals of cruelty, or in the world‘s wide history, a murder more cold-blooded and cruel could be found?
A citizen who happened to be present ventured to ask in astonishment why this was done; to which Flanche merely replied, as he rode off, “they bees the friends of Sam Hildebrass!”
It was now Capt. Esroger‘s time to commit some deed of atrocity, to place himself on an equality with Capt. Flanche; so after a moment‘s reflection, he concluded that the murder of my uncle, John Roan, would be sufficient to place his brutality beyond all question.
John Roan was a man about fifty years of age, was proverbial for his honesty, always paid his debts, and kept himself entirely aloof from either side during the war, but against his loyalty nothing had ever been produced, or even attempted.
One of his sons was in the Union army, and another was a Rebel.
Being my uncle, and the father of Allen Roan, however, was a sufficient pretext for the display of military brutality.
His house was situated about three miles from St. Joseph Lead Mines and about the same distance from the Hildebrand estate.
On the 10th day of July, Capt. Esroger and his company rode up to his house, and the old man came out onto the porch, with his white locks streaming in the wind, but never once did he dream of treachery. Esroger told him that he “vos one tam prisoner,” and detailed six men to guard him and to march along slowly until they should get behind.