Bloody Dawn

by Thomas Goodrich

  By now, after all the running back and forth, the horses, especially those of the military—which were closing on their hundredth mile with little feed or rest—were utterly useless; most could barely walk. A survey was taken and eighty animals were found still able to hold a trot. An equal number of regulars and militiamen led by Lieutenant Leland were assigned to take these mounts and push the Rebel rear. They were to fight if possible, but above all they were to hang on Quantrill’s heels and prevent further looting and burning.

  After a mile or so the scouts did overtake the raiders on their equally worn mounts; once again the chase resumed. But as before, the guerrilla rear guard formed a line when the pursuers drew near, fired a volley, then retreated behind the second line, which in turn fired and retreated and on and on, alternating mile after mile as Quantrill and the main column marched unmolested.

  Throughout the afternoon the chase continued in this manner: over the parched and waterless prairie, under the merciless sun, with the bushwhackers in front, the skirmishers in the middle, and Plumb and his burgeoning army always at least one mile in the rear. Four raiders, possibly drunk, whose brains had been boiled to paste in the murderous heat, straggled and were slain without ceremony. Plumb’s mount gave out and collapsed beneath him. Another was taken from a nearby farm and again the major rejoined the pursuit, over a trail littered with dead and dying horses, “strewn with … all descriptions of plunder.” And always near Plumb or ahead, watchful lest something occur that demanded his participation or deft leadership, Lane too remained in the saddle.

  Ahead, the Rebel column slanted southeast, “generally following no roads or paths,” still on line with Osawatomie. A scout sent beyond led the way, watching ravines and brush for ambush and the vast horizon for dust clouds. When hills broke contact between the two forces the guerrillas spurred to a “lope” and nothing more. The plan of wasting all in their path was abandoned now with Kansans close behind, but it was evident that they could not or would not attack again. Mercifully, with each agonizing mile the raiders drew a bit closer to the Missouri woodlands, to sleep and rest.12

  By 1:00 P.M. Thomas Ewing had mounted and armed the three hundred men of the Eleventh Ohio and started south. Upon reaching Leavenworth City the general learned for the first time that the raiders had finally struck. Another source added that the Rebels were driving for the capital, Topeka. Without pause Ewing and the Ohioans galloped south.13

  As word of the raid on Lawrence raced through Leavenworth, everyone rushed into the streets. Stunned citizens gathered in groups and spoke quietly, genuinely concerned for the well-being of fellow Kansans. Some fretfully discussed the fate of friends and relatives. Others were not so altruistic, however, and were quick to grab the advantage.

  Thieves and black-marketeers, idled by martial law, leapt to the fore, screaming aloud that someone was responsible for the disaster. The angered people agreed. And the most likely candidate, they pointed, was the man who had just left—the man who had been bullying their town and arresting good, solid Union men while miles away the cities of Kansas went up in flames. None seized the initiative quicker than did Mayor Dan Anthony. No sooner had Ewing left than the younger brother of Susan B. Anthony issued a blistering proclamation nullifying martial law and ordering the city to arms. Nailed to walls and rushed to press: “The know-nothing, do-nothing policy of the General commanding this District, who has shown his utter incapacity, with five thousand soldiers under his command, in allowing a few hundred guerrillas to get fifty miles into the interior of our State … is ample proof that we must depend upon ourselves for the defense of our city and State.”14 Such was the storm cloud rising as Ewing rode south.

  On into the blazing afternoon the general pushed his column, driving man and beast to their limit. Horses buckled and dropped dead from exhaustion. Four soldiers toppled over from sunstroke. Halts were few and fast, and after a minute or so the order to move was given. For Thomas Ewing, the day that opened so cool, calm, and promising proved in the end a flaming nightmare—one long, mad, furious race to reach the scene of action and patch the damage done to Kansas. Behind, trailing in the thick, blinding dust, his fellow Ohioans kept up as best they could.15

  If Leavenworth, a city of nearly twenty thousand, was “excited” following the news of Lawrence, the smaller towns south of the Kaw were absolutely alive. At Olathe, where citizens had watched the smoke all day, and whose populace had good reason to remember and fear Quantrill, “men ran in all directions” when he was rumored to be retreating their way.16 And at countless other towns and villages the situation was the same. While menfolk flew to their local militias and joined the pursuit, frantic, confused women were left on desolate farms with only crying children to help remove household goods. Some took time to bury valuables, but most simply fled to fields hugging a photograph or keepsake.

  When word reached Paola that Quantrill might be coming, the place sprang to life. Maj. B. F. Simpson, at home recruiting, speedily sought to organize a defense. Only a dozen regulars under Capt. Nicholas Benter were in Paola, but as the day wore on more men and weapons arrived until the town soon resembled an armed camp.17

  By five o’clock Lieutenant Colonel Clark and his company also rode in. After turning north that morning when nearly to Paola, Clark had hit the guerrillas’ trail at Spring Hill and followed it to within a few miles of Gardner. There, to his chagrin, he learned that he was nothing short of a half day behind. Knowing there was a large force in pursuit and assuming Quantrill could not escape Kansas over the same route he entered it by, Clark pivoted and drove south once more—the proximity of the Marais des Cygnes woodlands made Paola a natural line of retreat. Upon reaching the town and finding it already well organized, the colonel sent scouts fanning south and west. As evening approached, more defenders rode in until eventually over five hundred guns faced the setting sun.18

  Shortly before dusk the dreaded news arrived. A scout had spotted the raiders five miles out, advancing south for Paola. Clark immediately ordered Major Simpson to take his men to the west edge of town. There at Bull Creek ford, the main crossing to the Marais des Cygnes and a point Quantrill most likely would pass, Simpson, Benter, and their militia pulled up. The ford itself was dry, as was nearly all the creek. Just above the crossing, however, was a long run of deep water with sloping land on the west side but high-banked and brushy to the east. Well aware of the arid stretch of prairie between Lawrence and Paola, Simpson rightly guessed the condition of any horse crossing it. Upon reaching the creek and smelling water, the thirst-maddened creature would prove uncontrollable and bolt headlong into the pool. That’s when the order to fire would come—when the guerrillas were trapped in deep water on animals that refused to budge. Positioning his men in the woods atop the eastern bank as well as along the ford, the major then sent a squad up the road to give advance warning. With orders to hold their fire until a signal was given, the ambushers settled in to await the Rebel approach.19

  At dusk Quantrill and the main body of raiders passed over the summit of Big Hill, two miles northwest of Paola. Here atop the high ridge the column overtook the scout and halted momentarily. Taking the lead himself, Quantrill then steered down the slope. After only a short distance, however, he ordered another halt, and soon Todd and the rear guard appeared.

  Pressing ahead, Lieutenant Leland and forty militiamen advanced up Big Hill, over which the Rebels had disappeared. Far to the rear came Plumb and the rest of the Union pursuers. When partway up the rise, Leland and his men drew rein. On the opposite side of the hill an eerie sound was heard. As the men stood and listened the noise grew louder and louder until, suddenly, over the top burst Quantrill and two hundred screaming bushwhackers. Instantly, the dark crest of Big Hill flashed with gunfire.

  Reeling back, Leland’s little band fled for their lives as the Rebels charged downward. After a mile the militia paused just long enough to turn, then let fly a wild volley into the night. Again, a little further on another round w
as fired until at length they reached Plumb and the main column. Behind them, all had suddenly become quiet; there was not a guerrilla in sight. Together the Federals rode back cautiously toward Big Hill. Once atop the ridge, however, no Rebels were discovered, and it soon became obvious that Quantrill had used the charge and time created to slip away into the now totally darkened landscape. Thus the only option open to Plumb, as he saw it, was to continue in the same direction the pursuit had followed throughout the day—south to the Marais des Cygnes. Despite the many failures, his force might yet overtake and press the raiders until some other unit could block their retreat.20

  In the quiet along Bull Creek, Simpson and his nervous militia waited. The scouts had been gone an hour and still no word. But then, just when the major began to despair, a scout galloped in reporting that indeed the bushwhackers were on their way and would be at the ford in less than a minute. Quickly, the men took their positions. Soon, unseen in the dark, hundreds of hooves were heard approaching. In a moment, the walk of the horses up the road became a trot, then a run, then a wild stampede, and as riders tried in vain to control their thirsty mounts, shouting and cursing filled the air. At last, when the uproar reached its peak, the unmanageable beasts crashed madly through the brush and plunged headlong into the creek. Simpson readied to give the signal, but just then he yelled for everyone to hold their fire. Above the tumult he heard a voice.

  “Is that you, Plumb?” shouted Simpson over the din.

  “Yes,” came the astonished reply. And with that a bloody calamity was narrowly averted. After watering their horses, the two groups agreed that returning to Paola and handing over control of the pursuit to Lieutenant Colonel Clark was the wisest decision. Thankful a grievous mistake had been avoided, yet disheartened at their inability to box Quantrill, Plumb, Simpson, Lane, and the rest rode away from the ford.21

  Immediately after the fight on Big Hill, under cover of darkness, Quantrill moved east until he came to the banks of Bull Creek. At this point the plan of marching to the Marais des Cygnes and hence crossing Bull Creek somewhere to the south was abandoned. Instead, the raiders broke sharply to the north seeking a ford further up. And after a ride of several miles, the column finally crossed a branch of the stream; here, at eleven o’clock, a camp was made. Pickets were sent out, horses allowed to graze, and in a few minutes most of the men were down and fast asleep.22

  At midnight, Maj. Linn Thacher reached Olathe. There he learned that Quantrill’s march during the day had been on a direct line for Paola. With over one hundred men Thacher rode out, driving due south.23 A few miles away two hundred additional Federals were also pushing for Paola. Near Osawatomie, another company of regulars was pounding north. On the border, Lt. Col. W. King and the Fourth Missouri Militia were marching directly southwest for Paola.24

  Meanwhile, well over a thousand soldiers and militiamen were in Paola, cooking meals on open fires and sleeping in the courthouse square.25 Although it was clear that Quantrill had not gone south over the ford, nor with the many scouts watching had he passed east near the town, and with Plumb to his rear he certainly hadn’t slipped deeper into Kansas, it seemed fairly obvious that he must have escaped north. But from sundown on into the night, the Union force at Paola remained camped and idle.

  Sometime around 1:00 A.M. news arrived that the guerrillas had been located. A squad of militia scouting the forks of Bull Creek had stumbled upon their bivouac. Unfortunately, although there was no exchange of gunfire, the Rebels had grown wary and resumed the retreat.26 At this revelation a stir began anew in the slumbering town. Men, especially the comparatively rested and avid militia, packed food and prepared to saddle. When all was ready Major Simpson and Captain Benter checked in with Clark for further instructions. Instead of being told to mount and strike the trail, however, the stunned officers were ordered to remain in Paola. Major Simpson protested, exclaiming that Quantrill would escape. Clark rebuffed this bit of impudence, stating that the pursuit would begin when he said it would and that the more rational approach was to start first thing in the morning when both man and beast were reasonably fresh.

  Again the two implored Clark. Tough Captain Benter, “the very man to fight Quantrill,” even offered to take his company out alone if necessary. But the colonel was adamant and to the overture again said no! Even as forty fresh regulars arrived from the Trading Post the militiamen were ordered to unsaddle, stack arms, and return to bed. Clark was firm in his decision that neither he nor anyone else would move until dawn. And thus the golden opportunity to throw the weight of the Union army between the guerrillas and the state line was fiddled away and “a great occasion was lost.”27

  The only man who could have rescinded Clark’s order and launched an immediate full-scale pursuit was not there—nor was he anywhere near. Supposing that the commander of the district, after hearing of the raid on Lawrence, would return at once from Leavenworth to his headquarters, Major Plumb had throughout the day sent a host of couriers to Kansas City. In these notes Plumb advised General Ewing to place every available man along the line as the raiders were most certainly coming that way. When the messengers arrived and found the offices at the Pacific House vacant, the news was relayed by telegraph to Leavenworth, the general’s last known whereabouts. But alas, Ewing was at neither place. Instead, he was pacing the banks of the Kaw, thirty miles north of Paola, enduring an “unavoidable delay” of hours, waiting for the DeSoto ferry. Collapsed around him, the Ohio troops slept in the dust.28

  After abandoning their camp the guerrillas struck due east. Quantrill had no intention of halting again until the border was crossed and the woodlands were gained, perhaps by sunup. There was little way of knowing how near the Yankees were, but the Rebel chief responded as if they were just behind—or just ahead.

  A few hours before dawn, vedettes of the Fourth Missouri Militia galloped back to the main column and informed Lieutenant Colonel King that they had just seen the shadows of a large body of eastbound riders. King quickly deployed his skirmishers, then ordered the regiment forward. The militiamen advanced cautiously, feeling in the dark inch by inch, waiting for the flash of gunfire that would signal the fray. But again, a fight was not to be. Sliding smoothly, silently around King’s flank, “aided by the darkness and broken character of the prairie,” Quantrill was far to the rear and on his way to Missouri before the Yankees realized no one was now to their front.29

  At glimmer of dawn on August 22, the bugles were sounded and the command was given in Paola to mount and move. First to leave was the young officer who had ridden further during the thirty-two-hour chase than any other Federal, Charles Coleman. At the head of seventy Kansas regulars and an equal number of militiamen, the sturdy captain rode north until he caught the trail, then raced east. Shortly afterwards, Clark led the remainder from town and struck the trail. Others who had been converging throughout the night were not far behind. Indeed, no sooner had the last of Clark’s men passed east than an additional two hundred troops followed in their tracks. Directly behind this came Linn Thacher’s company, and not far back King’s Missourians fell into line.30

  From this point on the pursuit became a much more lively affair. The rest and feeding of the horses enabled the Federals to move rapidly and appreciably narrow the margin between themselves and the raiders, and in time they would have overtaken them. But time had ceased to be of the essence—distance was. The eight-hour delay in Paola, necessary though it seemed, opened a gap simply too wide to be closed. And as Charles Clark was leading his refreshed command forward at sunrise, William Quantrill was leading his weary column across the line, leaving Kansas at the least likely point—by the very trail over which he had entered it.31

  By break of day Thomas Ewing was already entering his third consecutive hour in the saddle. For most of the night he had stalked the DeSoto landing trying desperately to get his troops over, and even then, impatient, he had struck south leaving a third on the opposite shore. And now, if such was possible, the mad
pace he set was even more terrific than that of the day before, as if he were trying in minutes to recover hours lost at the ferry. Horses stumbled and fell, throwing their riders; men slipped from the saddles and were dragged in the stirrups. And always, even in early morning, there was the heat and suffocating dust cutting visibility in the rear to only a few feet.

  “Riding like maniacs,” thought one private.

  Somewhere along the way it was learned that Quantrill was not advancing west for Topeka but was, on the contrary, retreating east to Missouri. Frustrated by the delays, on the brink of mental and physical exhaustion, Ewing made a quick decision. There was only one way whereby he might yet reach the field in time to take control of the pursuit. Spurring his horse ahead, with only a few men able to keep up, the general rode south alone. The rest were ordered to follow as fast as possible. And as if the race had taken on a mind of its own, the Ohioans did come on. But later the limit was reached and they too finally collapsed by the wayside, many unconscious or unable to move. One young lieutenant dismounted and, far from home or glory, simply pitched over and died from sunstroke.32

  Upon gaining the woods along Grand River, the raiders stopped, dismounted, and began to celebrate. “Home,” they said, and all the troops in Kansas couldn’t get them now. Food was fetched from nearby farms while the business of dividing the loot got under way.

  It was not long, however, before pickets disrupted the party, announcing that thousands of Federals were at hand. Once more the Rebels ran to their horses. At this time one hundred men, mostly farmers, chose to split and follow the river to their homes. Also at this time the Lawrence ambulance driver inched into the brush, unnoticed. Many abandoned their lame mounts and took to the paths on foot. Oblivious to danger, a few simply sought a deserted cabin or barn, a hidden cave or rotting log and promptly fell asleep. Leading the balance of his shrinking command out of the valley, Quantrill pushed northeast toward Pleasant Hill, passing over the same trail he had traveled three days earlier, steadily aiming for the Sni Hills and safety.33