But it was plain to see which party had their sympathies. They heard of our approach some time before our arrival. They threw open their doors and spread their boards. Foot-sore, weary and weak with hunger, we entered their village,—they had enough to eat for all. They came out to meet us,—men, women and children; and, in that plain, artless way which tells that the heart speaks and does not deceive, invited us into their houses to eat and to rest. We halted and stacked arms. There was no need of a soldier being without an invitation. He could not walk half way through the town without being asked by a dozen different persons. And if any one should be so unfortunate as not to be noticed, he had but to present himself at a door-step, and what he wanted was known immediately. At least, he would not be long in divining what was wanted of him; for another plate would make its appearance on the table as soon as there was room for it. Then there would be a nod or a motion to him to sit down and eat. Such was the applause with which they greeted us. It needed no display of flags or white handkerchiefs to tell us where their hearts were.
We had not been here long when Colonel Moore arrived with seven or eight hundred men, and bivouacked near the town. This fresh arrival did not discourage the good citizens, but rather increased their hospitable efforts. Before night every man of General Hurlbut's column had received a substantial dinner and supper, and Colonel Moore's men a supper, and many were likewise furnished with lodgings. This was no mock hospitality like that of the Slave aristocracy. There was no pride or pompousness about it,—only a smile of satisfaction at whatever was accepted,—an evidence that it was good done for its own sake. The soldier received the same as the officer. No one stopped to ask him what his rank was. It was sufficient to know that he was a soldier and that he was hungry.
I believe that our behavior towards these people was in all respects creditable. We parted as we had met, friends. They taught us a lesson and gave us something to remember. The recollection is still in our minds; the lesson still in our hearts.
Soon after Colonel Moore's arrival a new plan of operations was determined upon. Smith and Moore were to pursue the enemy who had retreated toward the railroad in the direction of Monroe, while the General with our regiment, Madison's artillery, and such of the Sixteenth as were judged unable to further endure the march, were to proceed directly south and strike the railroad at Shelbina. This plan of course comprehended the idea of abandoning the pursuit as soon as we should reach the railroad; for it was evident we should not overtake Green.
In Smith and Moore General Hurlbut had yoked together two characters directly opposite. Smith was tardy and irresolute; Moore fiery, energetic and hopeful. The one would push ahead with might and main; the other would drag behind. "Come," said Moore to Smith, that night at the hotel, "a big work is before us; and we have no time to lose." Smith replied, with two or three whiffs of his pipe, and Moore dragged him along.
Reveille sounded at an early hour. We breakfasted as we had supped, with the good people of Bethel. About 8 o'clock our column moved in the direction of Shelbyville, county seat of Shelby county. This place, only five miles distant, was reached by ten o'clock, and we halted, and under the luxuriant shade trees of the court house square rested, while General Hurlbut got out another proclamation! I need not say what the officers and men thought of this. If the General did not know, it was not their fault.
About 2 P. M. we again moved. As we were about to march, we received the startling intelligence that a member of our regiment who had straggled ahead had been shot. This proved to be true. Three men had straggled ahead when the column halted, and when about three miles from Shelbyville, had been waylaid by citizens, and one of them shot dead, another slightly wounded, while the third escaped and brought back the report. This accident induced the precaution of throwing out skirmishers while passing through the spaces of timber that lay across our route. This was soon abandoned, it being concluded that the accident was only the work of malicious citizens. We passed the body of our unfortunate comrade as we walked along. It was a visible and solemn lesson to those who were not disposed to respect discipline and obey orders. It was put in a wagon and brought with us. We buried it next morning with the usual honors.
About five o'clock a storm came up from the northwest, and the rain fell in torrents. This only hightened the boys' glee. Our gait was accelerated, and with loud yells and constant peals of laughter, we entered Shelbina. It was quite late before we could draw any rations; and the occurrences of the night at Wilsonsville were repeated, and perhaps in a more aggravated manner.
The next morning broke misty and lowry. But by nine o'clock it had cleared off, and the face of nature again looked cheerful. What was now the situation? Green had crossed the railroad near Monroe and was continuing his retreat. He had a wide field before him; but if all the means by which he could have crossed the Missouri had been seized, and a vigorous pursuit continued, he might have been captured or his band dispersed. At the same time Colonel Williams was in the direction of Paris, returning from an expedition which we will discuss in the next chapter. Nevertheless, we did not stay to support him; but leaving him to the mercy of Green who, there was every reason to believe, would proceed in that direction, we got aboard two trains of cars and moved toward Brookfield. We had proceeded but two or three miles when the train in advance was fired into by a concealed enemy. About thirty shots were fired; but no one was hurt. We halted a short time and made an unsuccessful search for them.