Ride to Oblivion: The Sterling Price Raid into Missouri, 1864

By Kendall Gott

The lands along the Kansas-Missouri border saw hostilities and violence years before the Civil War officially erupted in April of 1861. People had to choose a side as neutrality was not tolerated by either belligerent. Those who tried to stay out of the fight were swept away. After the Camp Jackson affair in St. Louis, a young merchant decides it is time to cast his lot with the secessionists to defend his home and business. Carried away from his mercantile by war, he finds the brief conflict he expected was not to be. The months become years of battles, deadly political intrigue, and a journey of thousands of miles. Suffering great loss in body and spirit, his search for retribution becomes something else entirely. This story is a historically true account of the South's waning years and Sterling Price's raid through Missouri in 1864. The battles and all the locations were real ones, as well as the characters with proper names.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646702060

Book preview

The Trail Thus Far Ridden

For those of us who lived in Western Missouri, the war was long in coming. When Kansas was opened for settlement in 1854, hundreds, and then thousands, of people streamed into the territory seeking land and opportunity. As a purveyor of dry goods and assorted sundries, this was particularly good news for me. Located in Nevada City, Missouri, on property bought from the Moore family, my mercantile store was ideally located to serve settlers crossing the state line to settle in Central and Southeastern Kansas. Well, it wasn’t exactly my store. My brother-in-law Lemuel was my partner. Business was good though, very good. But the political situation was bad, often explosive. Pro- and antislavery factions violently vied for power across the way in Kansas. Their raids caused destruction and even cold-blooded murder. By the time of Lincoln’s election and Southern secession, dozens were already killed in Kansas. Along the border, each side of the slavery issue festered into deeply bitter hatred and bitterness. Those ill feelings spread across the state of Missouri and the nation.

After secession in early 1861, both sides quickly realized that possession of Missouri was key to controlling the Mississippi River, which was vital to the economy to the Midwest. Control of the state also meant obtaining resources such as iron, lead, and nitrates, as well as agricultural products, horses, and manpower for its armies. A Confederate Missouri could theoretically threaten incursions into Illinois, Iowa, and Kansas. Federal troops would thus be needed to cordon off Missouri or to occupy it, troops sorely needed elsewhere.

My town of Nevada City, Missouri, was founded in 1855 and is the seat of Vernon County. The name made little sense, but our founder, DeWitt Hunter, chose the name to honor his grand old time spent in Nevada City, California, during the Gold Rush of ’49. In five short years, the town now had over four hundred and fifty people, not including any of the slaves. Here were only a few dozen or so about town. With Kansas and all its troubles just a few miles down the road, Nevada City become a notorious center of pro–Southern bushwhacker activity since the passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Act. Gangs from both sides of the border organized to conduct their violent mischief of raiding and sometimes killing one another. As a proprietor of dry goods and assorted sundries, my brother-in-law partner and I were quite pleased they all used our quality goods with aplomb. The Kansans though found them much harder to get and a bit more expensive. Our store was conveniently located on the west side of town, and we would open up for customers after dark.

Our best single customer by far though was William Old Man Gabbert, leader of his own bushwhacker band located a few miles north of town on his farm. He always brought along at least one family member during supply runs, and often I was able to acquaint with his oldest child, Eliza Ann. At twenty-seven, she was far too old for marriage, but she sure was feisty. It was too bad about those smallpox scars, and her thin frame was no help either. She was proof that women with a little meat on them are more likely to be healthier and not prone to sickness.

Indeed, the dry goods business was just fine, and outfitting new settlers and guerillas was our specialty. My brother-in-law Lemuel and I made frequent trips up the Military Road to either Westport or further to City of Kansas for our latest shipments while my sister tended the store. Most people though call it Kansas City as it rolls off the tongue more easily. They will probably formally change the name someday. We had little to fear of deprivations and theft as the local militia company protected the town. If any ruffian attempted a molestation of the store in our absence, they would find that my sister was quite handy with the shotgun and pistol. With a little more practice, she could be an excellent marksman with a rifle. Whenever we returned with our freight wagon filled with merchandise, our store was still standing. Within a few days of such trips, we were making plans on another supply run. Life was good. My sister, Lemuel, and I gave thanks at church each Sunday.

Although Missouri was a slave state, there was a sizable portion of its population that did not support a break from the Union. During the election of 1860, it was the sole state that gave its electoral votes to Stephen A. Douglas, who ran on a conciliatory platform. Vernon County residents did not cast one vote in favor of Abraham Lincoln. One old man tried to vote for him but was turned away from the polls. I do not know who it was, but I have a few guesses. Missouri’s new governor, Claiborne Jackson, ran as a Douglas Democrat, but he soon began working toward Missouri’s secession as soon as he took office. He schemed to arm state militias and to seize the United States arsenal at Benton Barracks in St. Louis to bring this about. Governor Jackson called up the state militia in April 1861 and named Brigadier General Daniel M. Frost to organize and conduct drills in Camp Jackson, just outside St. Louis. The new troops drilled there and waited for an opportune moment to strike. Out in Nevada City, we read about the events in the newspapers with great interest; but so far, our life had not changed much.

But the events were in swift motion to change our lives in ways we could not yet imagine. The organization of the pro–Southern militia in St. Louis caused the federal government to send troops under the command of Captain Nathaniel Lyon to the city to secure the arsenal. On May 10, Lyon surrounded and captured the pro-secessionist camp, then paraded the captives down the streets. Many citizens rioted over the outrage, and Lyon’s men fired their weapons into the crowd, killing at least thirty and wounding over one hundred. The state’s general assembly responded to the affair at Camp Jackson by forming the Missouri State Guard and tasked it to repel invasions from either side, by force if necessary. Missouri was trying to establish a condition of neutrality, hoping to avoid becoming a battleground between the North and the newly created Confederate States of America. The man placed in command of the Missouri State Guard was none other than Sterling Price himself, with the rank of major general.

Sterling Price was the embodiment of the state of Missouri. At a height of over six feet, Price was every inch the Virginia-Missouri gentleman. He was a handsome man of healthy girth and was impeccably neat in appearance, and he was a bit fond of display. Educated as a lawyer, he had served two terms in the legislature and one in the United States Congress. During the Mexican War, Price raised and commanded the Second Missouri Mounted Volunteer Regiment. His service was such that he was brevetted to the rank of brigadier general. Although Price was a lifelong Democrat, he was popular enough with the Whigs to be elected as governor in 1852. To many folks, Sterling Price was a man that combined sound politics and military capability. Not many men possessed both. Like Governor Jackson, he was also a supporter of Stephen A. Douglas and did not back secession from the Union. Price even supported Captain Lyon’s attack actions at Camp Jackson, which struck me and others as rather odd. To most everyone I knew, the Camp Jackson affair was a call to arms.

Oh no. I have seen that look before. Are you fixing on joining? We have a business to run.

Lemuel, we won’t have one for long if we get overrun by those Dutchmen in St. Louis. I wish they would go back to that German Confederation the had come from. Besides, it would be good for business showing the flag for the cause. I am surely going to think about it.

In early June, Governor Jackson and Major General Sterling Price journeyed to St. Louis to discuss the volatile situation with Lyon, including the limits of state sovereignty and federal authority. The meeting at the Planter House quickly deadlocked over the raising of units of the Missouri State Guard across the entire state. The Missouri State Guard was not only attempting to contain the federal presence to just St. Louis; it also planned to disband any remaining pro–Union militia forces across Missouri. Tempers flared, and the conference ended with threats by both sides. Governor Jackson ended up fleeing to Jefferson City, and then he moved state government to a safer location in Boonville. Newly promoted Brigadier General Lyon promptly assembled a mobile force, steamed up the Missouri River, and occupied the capital two days later. It is difficult to describe the shock of these events, but we took great umbrage to how our governor was treated by that upstart Lyon.

After the disastrous meeting in St. Louis, we heard the call to arms from Old Pap, the nickname the people lovingly bestowed on Sterling Price. On the fifteenth of May, Governor Jackson disbanded the old Missouri Volunteer Militia and formally established the Missouri State Guard to resist any invasion of Missouri from the North or South. The state was divided into nine districts and made men ages eighteen to forty-five years declared eligible for service.

That scoundrel Lyon continued his pursuit of our elected governor to Boonville. There, on June 17, the disparate units of the Missouri State Guard were easily routed. Our forces briefly engaged the enemy but were repulsed and routed. It was most shameful. Governor Jackson fled with the government to the southwest corner of the Missouri and lost effective control of the state. With the secessionists on the run, the Missouri State Convention reconvened in Jefferson City and voted against secession. The convention also declared the governor’s office vacant, and a fellow named Hamilton Rowan Gamble was appointed provisional governor. Of course, Governor Jackson did not recognize this action; and in response, he proclaimed Missouri a free republic and met with Confederate president Jefferson Davis in a hope to secure official recognition by the Confederate government. Missouri was admitted into the Confederacy, but there was no tangible support from Richmond. With no military assistance, Claiborne Jackson was now essentially a governor-in-exile.

It was time to cast my lot with one side or the other. I had no issue with slavery and hoped one day to own a few to put to work in the business. My family had once owned a few, but I never had much to do with them while growing up. Owning a slave or two projected the image of success. So far, the institution of slavery in Missouri seemed secure. But the treatment toward our elected governor by the folks of Union sympathies was dastardly. Our clientele certainly thought so. When Sterling Price announced his change of heart and support of secession, I knew what side I supported. Lemuel, my brother-in-law and partner in business, was not yet animated enough to sign up with either side and would remain in Nevada City and watch over the mercantile. It was a difficult decision, but none of us expected the crisis to last more than a few more months, calculating it would be concluded one way another soon. If the worse came to pass, the plan was to vacate Nevada City and rejoin in Springfield, some one hundred miles to the southeast.

Lemuel, what sort of revolvers do we have in stock? I want you to keep the pair of Colt Navies here for yourselves. Those Unionists in Kansas City won’t sell any more firearms to us to replace them.

We’re pretty much cleaned out. There is an old Paterson. I believe the power flask and tools are with it. I believe your first task is to find a replacement at the earliest opportunity. Are you joining the infantry or cavalry?

The infantry. We can’t afford to spare one of the horses, and all they have ever done is pull wagons. Can’t picture either one in the cavalry.

It’s still better than walking all over tarnation.

It takes a heap of work to take care of a horse. My feet may get sore, but I can get to rest right away at night without the fuss of a horse.

So I joined the Missouri State Guard. It was said Vernon County sent more men to the Southern armies than any other in Missouri, proportional to its population. Because of my ability to read and write and my general business acumen, I was elected to lieutenant. My election actually had more to more to do with our mercantile sponsoring the unit with some of the kit we carried. My infantry company missed out on the early battles, and that was probably for the best. Those first fights, such as Boonville, went badly. We organized in time to be part of the victory at Carthage in early July though. We fought as well as anyone else and under the banner of General Sterling Price for the first time.

After our victory at the Battle of Carthage, General Price used the breather to begin instruction on formal drill and organizing new recruits. We marched back and across the fields of Cowskin Prairie, a former livestock auction site in Southwest Missouri. Our adjutant general Colonel Lewis Henry Little was a graduate of that West Point place, a higher school of learning for army officers. He oversaw the instruction of drill and marching. We thought we got pretty good at it, but he never said we did.

We fought in several engagements during the summer of 1861. We were part of a combined Confederate Army of over twelve thousand that clashed with Union forces near Springfield on August 10. The Battle of Wilson’s Creek was another wonderful victory for us, and I retrieved from the battlefield a splendid Starr double-action navy revolver. It was a .36 caliber model, and the former owner had procured an extra cylinder for it. I also found a handsome sword. I gave away my old Paterson to a man without any weapon at all. With the Yankees on the run, General Price took us northward, and we found new victories at Independence and again at Lone Jack. We were disappointed though that the men of Missouri did not rally to our cause in great enough numbers to hold the state. Too many opted to stay out of the war altogether, and others inexplicably decided to fight for the Union.

We spent weeks gathering what men, arms, and supplies we could and looked for ways to strike the Union forces and reclaim the state. General Price’s army in the field was a collection of local militia and volunteers, hastily organized and indifferently armed, trained, and equipped. We could all see and feel the deficiency of our arms. Discipline was generally poor. Although we didn’t realize it at the time, the lax discipline would plague Missouri State Guard units throughout the war. The men fought when they were told to, but if they thought an order was foolish, they would refuse to carry it out, particularly in camp. As we were not getting paid in any regularity or amount, we were lucky that any man remained in the ranks. Harsh military discipline would surely send the men packing for home.

The men from Vernon and the surrounding counties fell under the Eighth District, which was called the Eighth Division when it took the field. James Spencer Raines was a respectable forty-three-year-old and was made our commander as a brigadier general. He was our unsuccessful candidate for Congress in 1860, and his popularity made him an excellent recruiter. We all quickly found out he was wanting in military aptitude. While some of us officers passed around a copy of Winfield Scott’s Infantry Tactics to read, Mr. Raines took no efforts to learn the drill or discipline the men. Camp thus was a carefree experience, but it did not prepare us at all for future battles. He spent most of his time with the cavalry, and it earned the derisive moniker Rains’ Blackberry Cavalry. Its many routs and retreats were dubbed Rains’ scares. I was glad to have joined the infantry.

Fortunately for us, our Union counterparts at the time generally suffered from the same defects. But it was to our misfortune that the North was able to raise and arm men faster and hold on to the capital at Jefferson City and to St. Louis. Although away from home, I was able to correspond with the family left behind. The mail was slow and sporadic, but letters did get through for the most part. Lemuel wrote and said raiders from Kansas were becoming bolder and more numerous, and plans were afoot to move my sister and business to Springfield where he had family. Hopefully my sister and the business would be safer there.

After four months of service, I once almost made it home. In September, our forces battled with a gang of Kansas Jayhawkers at a crossing of Big Dry Wood Creek just a few miles west of Nevada City. There was no time to visit home, but a small group of townspeople rode out and waved at us from a distance. I could not see specifically who from the distance.

We fought many more battles that would later be called skirmishes. Skirmish or not, when a man is killed in one, he was just as dead. As a lieutenant, I was told to stand at the end of the line to help the captain control the company. Since most of the Dutch Yankees fired toward the flag, the center of the line usually had more casualties. The dead usually looked like a mess with flesh blown apart and copious amounts of blood. For the wounded, it was worse. They were quite a mess too but still alive after a hit, if even for a short time. Those who lived long enough to reach the hospitals faced more pain and horror as the surgeons went to work on them. I did not want to get hit at all, but if I did, I made a wish to be killed outright. The thought of living without limbs or half a face was too much to bear.

Snap out of it, Lieutenant. Form the men in columns of two. We will march momentarily.

Yes, Captain.

Our final hope to retake Missouri easily ended in March of 1862. At the two-day battle at Elkhorn Tavern—or Pea Ridge, as some call it—our generals threw away a great victory and retreated across the border in Arkansas. During this battle, our captain was killed, and I was elected as his replacement. Although I considered resigning and going home, my new responsibilities prevented me from honorably doing so. General Raines was wounded and left the service. Discipline in camp and on the battlefield improved somewhat with his replacement.

We wallowed in camp for several weeks and then received word that the Army of the West, the unified force west of the Mississippi River under General Earl Van Dorn, was to cross over the river and fight in the East. None of us took the news well as we enlisted to defend our home states, not leave them at the mercy of the enemy and go off and defend someone else’s. Many of the men were on the verge of mutiny, but Sterling Price rode into all the camps and urged us all to comply. He said that it was only temporary and that we would return as soon as the emergency subsided. More popular than ever, we believed what Old Pap said was the truth as he knew it, but we were reluctant to place full faith in far-flung Richmond honoring its promises. Those of us willing to fight on the other side of the river enlisted in the Confederate Army and followed Old Pap. We received full pay and a fifty-dollar bonus for enlisting into Confederate service.

We were marched across Arkansas to the town of Des Arc, then were ferried over to Memphis by steamboat. We caught sight of the vaunted river gunboat fleet and hoped they were up to the task of taking on the growing ironclad fleet of the enemy. Once ashore, we were placed on trains and deposited in Corinth, Mississippi. We had become part of General P. G. T. Beauregard’s Army of Northern Mississippi and assigned to the entrenchments on the right flank. Many of the soldiers already here had been in that awful scrap up at Shiloh. We were thankful that we of Missouri State Guard remained largely intact as a brigade and not split up when brought into Confederate service. While Union general Henry Halleck inched his way toward Corinth in order to attack, we used the time to improve the defenses and think about home. With so many soldiers pulled across the river, there was no hope of regaining Missouri any time soon. It seemed clear to us that Richmond was sacrificing everything west of the river by bringing our brigade here. This would have been more palatable if we felt the Confederacy fully accepted Missouri. With no effort to regain the state in sight, we were but convenient cannon fodder.

We were told Corinth was a strategic point as it was the junction of two vital railroad lines: the Mobile and Ohio Railroad and the Memphis and Charleston Railroad. That was just fine and dandy, but if rumors were true, our fifty thousand was outnumbered by twice its number. While we waited in our trenches, other units fought a series of delaying actions. Not wanting to get caught in a trap by such superior numbers, General Beauregard decided to slip out of town. On the morning of May 29, our artillery fired as if to support an attack, but the order never came. Instead, that night, we were instructed to keep our campfires lit and quietly report to the train depot. Once there, we were told to cheer when a train arrived and to remain quiet when we departed. We reckoned the plan was to make the Yankees across the way believe reinforcements were arriving. It apparently worked as we evacuated Corinth without another shot fired. We Missourians were a frustrated lot.

We Missourians felt another blow to our morale with the news of the death of Governor Jackson in August. The lieutenant governor, Thomas C. Reynolds, proclaimed himself to be the rightful governor of Missouri. Reynolds was a lawyer experienced in politics and had a fiery and vindictive spirit. He considered his eventual return to Jefferson City as a holy crusade. We cheerfully recognized him as our new governor, but we all knew he would be just as powerless as Jackson had been.

In troubling times, people often turn to the church. Since the war, there has been a Christian revival of sorts with everyone praying and invoking the name of the Lord. The men of the regiment were no exception. It was quite understandable that men facing death or wounding would do so. I did so too without shame. Our regimental chaplain was a sergeant in the line and schooled in the Methodist theology. He was well received by all when the time came for praying and the Sabbath services. As always, he prayed for victory.

However rigorous the task that awaits us, may we fulfill our duty with courage. May we be the instrument of Your will and grant us the victory over our foes.

Naturally, I caught the spirit in the beginning, but it didn’t last. That downfall began weeks ago during my second battle fought at Lexington. That may sound strange since Lexington was such an amateurish affair, and only a handful of men were hit. The battle at Wilson’s Creek was different. There I truly saw the results of our labors—the killed and maimed, the countryside plundered. Even more of that Holy Spirit was lost at Pea Ridge. If all that praying brought only death, desolation, and defeat, then maybe something was amiss. Was God not answering our prayers? Was he just testing us? Could he be even on the forsaken Yankees’ side? It sure looked like it.

Our next offensive was a march on Iuka, Mississippi, where the cursed Yanks had established at supply depot on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad. We had been encamped at Tupelo, some twenty miles distant, and captured the depot rather easily on September 14. The captured arms were most welcome and helped replace the menagerie of weapons the men had carried from the start. Four days later, it became known to us that we were in danger of being surrounded by a larger force under General Grant. We had a sharp fight against General Rosecrans moving up from the southwest then slipped out of the trap by using the Fulton Road to the southeast. We lost a good number of wagons loaded with loot, but it could not be avoided. Wagons hauling our supplies and baggage were vital, but they slowed us down. At any distance away from a railroad, an army can move only as fast as its wagons.

General Price marched us to Ripley, and on September 28, General Van Dorn’s army joined us to prepare an attack on Corinth. We were excited to be on the offensive again, but we remembered well the stout entrenchments we built while we were there. We would have to assault them in all probability, and our twenty-two thousand men may not be enough to do the job. We marched northward to Pocahontas in order to attack Corinth from the northwest. We reached our assault position the evening of October 2.

While we waited for the signal to attack, the regimental chaplain put down his musket and prayed for all of us. In his hand was the new booklet Prayers and Other Devotions for the Use of Soldiers of the Army of the Confederate States. For once, he did not pray for victory but for our protection.

Dear Lord, during this terrible day, be kind enough to protect us. If death should overtake us on this field, grant that we should die in the state of grace. Forgive us all our sins, those we have forgotten and those we recall now. Stir up Thy strength, O Lord, and come and help us. Thou wouldst be a defense unto us against the face of the enemy. Make it appear that Thou art our Savior and mighty Deliverer, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

We began our attack at ten o’clock the next morning with all the men yelling like Indians. We had learned this unnerved our opponents greatly.