The Courier Of The Ozarks Part 28

McNEIL.

When the order was delivered to Colonel Strachan he raved like a madman.

He had had ten coffins made, and though the heavens fell, they should be filled. Like Shylock, he demanded his pound of flesh.

"For G.o.d's sake!" said Captain Reed to Strachan, "if you must have the tenth victim, take a single man."

Strachan stalked to the prison and glancing over the prisoners called out, "Hiram Smith."

A young man, twenty-two years of age, stepped forward.

"Is your name Hiram Smith?" asked Strachan.

"It is," was the answer.

"You are to be shot this afternoon."

The young man drew himself up, gazed blankly at Strachan for a moment, and then without a word turned and walked across the room to where a bucket of water was standing. Taking a drink he turned around with the remark, "I can die just as easily as I took that drink of water." And this young man knew he had but two hours to live.[13]

[Footnote 13: It was currently reported at the time, and believed for years, that young Smith voluntarily offered himself as a subst.i.tute for Humphrey; and that McNeil accepted him as such, and had him shot, after his performing an act that would have placed him among the world's greatest heroes.

This is what the author believed until in writing this book he wrote to Palmyra for the full facts in the case, which were furnished him by Mr.

Frank H. Sosey, editor of the Palmyra Spectator.

No doubt this belief had much to do in intensifying the feeling against General McNeil].

The time came and amid the groans and sobs of the populace, the ten men were taken to the fair grounds, where seated on their coffins, they bravely faced their executioners.

The firing squad consisted of thirty soldiers, three to a man. A few hundred pale faced spectators looked on. The fatal order was given and the volley rang out.

From the spectators there burst a cry of horror. Strong men turned away, unable to look. Many of the firing squad were nervous and their aim was bad; others had shot high on purpose--they had no heart in the work. Of the ten men, only three had been killed outright. Six lay on the ground, writhing in agony; one sat on his coffin, untouched.

"Take your revolvers and finish the job," thundered Strachan.

Harry, who had witnessed the scene, fled from it in horror, as did most of the spectators. It was a scene that those who lived in Palmyra will never forget. The fair grounds was never again used as such. It was a place accursed.[14]

[Footnote 14: The Palmyra incident has gone into history as one of the most deplorable during the war. Even at this late day it is more often referred to than the horrible ma.s.sacres committed by Anderson and Quantrell.

That General McNeil did not violate the rules of civilized warfare will be generally admitted, also that his provocation was great. But the incident always hung over him like a cloud, and was the means of defeating him for several responsible official positions. The dark blot against McNeil was that he did not bring Strachan to account for disobeying his orders, and that he took no notice of the awful crime of which Strachan was accused in connection with this affair.

As for Strachan, his acts showed him to be a brute, and in connection with this affair a crime was charged against him for which he should have been court-martialed and shot. He was court-martialed a year or two afterwards, but not for the Palmyra affair, and sentenced to a year in military prison, but never served his sentence, as he was pardoned by General Rosecrans. He died in 1866, unwept and unmourned.]

CHAPTER XV

A GIRL OF THE OZARKS

In one of the loveliest valleys in the heart of the Ozarks lived Judge Marion Chittenden. He was the youngest son of a Kentucky pioneer, one who did much in the building up of that commonwealth when it was known as "The Dark and b.l.o.o.d.y Ground."

In his youth, Marion Chittenden--that was not his name then--was wild and wayward, and became involved in numerous brawls and personal encounters. When about twenty years of age, in a drunken brawl he shot and killed one of his best friends. Filled with horror, and knowing the consequences of his crime, he fled. Although a large reward was offered for his apprehension, all efforts to find him proved unavailing. As years pa.s.sed and nothing was heard from him, his relatives breathed sighs of relief and considered him as one dead.

The fact was, he had fled beyond the Mississippi and became lost in the wilds of Missouri. Here he changed his name, and no one ever knew but that he always had been Marion Chittenden.

In the Ozarks he made his living by hunting and fis.h.i.+ng, and for some years lived almost the life of a hermit. In one particular his crime made him a changed man; from the moment he fled he never touched another drop of liquor.

One day while hunting he came across a lovely valley. Through it ran a purling stream, its waters as clear as crystal. Around and about the valley the hills rose to a height of from five to eight hundred feet, clothed to their tops in a forest of living green.

When he first saw the valley it was from the top of one of the hills where he had trailed and shot a bear. As he stood and looked, the scene was so peaceful, so beautiful, that a longing for rest came over him.

The wild and wandering life he had led for years all at once palled upon him. The memory of his childhood came like a flood. His waywardness, his crime, arose before him with startling distinctness. He was naturally a lover of the refinements of civilization, and the rough, lonely life he had led was the result of his crime, not of inclination.

Standing there, he suddenly exclaimed, "Here will I make my home; here will I forget the past; here will I begin a new life."

He descended into the valley, startling a herd of deer that bounded into the forest which clothed the hills. But they need not have been afraid--for the time being he had lost the instinct of a hunter.

He stood by the side of the little river, its clear waters showing the fish darting to and fro, as if in wanton play. A little back was a knoll crowned with n.o.ble trees. "Here," thought he, "will I build my house.

Here will I begin my new life. It is beautiful. The stream is beautiful.

It shall be called La Belle, and this the valley of La Belle." And the valley of La Belle it became.

He went to St. Louis and preempted the land, for he had no fears the rough, bearded hunter would be taken for the immaculate young dandy who had fled from Kentucky.

He built him a home; the range of thousands of acres of land was his, and his flocks grew and flourished. Time pa.s.sed, and other settlers began to invade the seclusion of the Ozarks.

One day there came into the hills a man by the name of Garland. He had seen better days, but had become impoverished and fled to the Ozarks, thinking that in that wilderness he might make a home, and in a measure retrieve his fortune. His family consisted of his wife and one daughter, a young lady about twenty years of age.

Mr. Garland settled some miles from where Chittenden lived his lonely life; but in a wilderness those who live miles away are considered neighbors. Mr. Chittenden visited them, and, though charmed by the beauty of the daughter, he had no thoughts of giving up his bachelor life.

But misfortune seemed to have followed Mr. Garland. He had not been there a year before his wife died, and in a few months he followed her.

Before this Mr. Chittenden had not thought of marriage, but now the helplessness of the girl appealed to him. He proposed and was accepted.

He never had cause to regret his action, for beautiful Grace Garland made a wife of whom any man might be proud.

His marriage also made a great change in Mr. Chittenden. The house was enlarged and beautified. He greatly prospered, and in time became one of the prominent men in his section of the country. He was called Judge, and sent to the Legislature, and was even pressed to run for Congress.

Against this he resolutely set his face. The ghost of the past arose and frightened him. As a congressman his past might be traced.

A couple of years after his marriage a daughter was born and was named Grace, after her mother.

Mr. Chittenden continued to prosper, and in time bought a few slaves.

This put him on a higher plane, for to be a slave-holder was to belong to the aristocracy, and it was a matter of pride among the Ozarks that Mr. Chittenden owned slaves.

Little Grace grew up a true child of the mountains, as wild and free as the birds. When she was about ten years of age her mother died. If it had not been for his daughter, Mr. Chittenden would have lost all interest in life. Now everything centered in her, and she became a part of his very life.

The death of his wife left him without a competent housekeeper, so one day he informed Grace he was going to St. Louis to see if he could not buy a colored woman recommended as a good housekeeper, and that if she liked she might go with him.

The girl was overjoyed, for she had never been away from her lovely valley home. The hills to her had been the boundary of the world, and often as she gazed at them she would wonder and wonder what was beyond.

The birds were her friends, and they seemed to sing of things she did not know. They had wings and could fly and explore that wonderful beyond. She often wished she too had wings, so she might fly with the birds--then she would know too.

Her mother early had taught her to read, and Mr. Chittenden had gathered quite a library. Grace read every book in it with avidity, but they told her of a world she could not understand.