Part 2

Quantrell and his men hastily retraced their steps, but they were terribly harassed during the entire return march by the Kansas militia and Federal troops that hurriedly concentrated and went in pursuit of them. This force has been reliably estimated at fully seven thousand, and nothing but hard marching, determined fighting, and an endurance that has never been equalled saved the guerrillas from total destruction. At Black Jack, about fifteen miles from Lawrence, a stand was made and some brisk fighting occurred. The guerrillas took to cover in a large barn which stood at the edge of an orchard. Several assaults were made to dislodge them but in vain. The horses of the guerrillas were suffering severely, however, and realizing that without horses they would be unable to get out of Kansas, the guerrillas made a desperate charge in which thirty-two of the militia were killed and a panic was the result. But the guerrillas did not care to follow up the victory, as every moment was precious. The militia were swarming and closing in upon them rapidly, and it was only by the rarest stroke of fortune that Quantrell and his men ever escaped from Kansas; this rare fortune was due entirely to the unparalleled cowardice of three hundred well armed and mounted men who had been organized into a militia force near Spring Hill, Kansas. These men exhibited remarkable bravery until the enemy appeared in sight, when they immediately retreated and never halted until they were ten miles from the place where they saw Quantrell. Had they engaged the enemy, which was one-third less in number, besides badly fatigued, they could either have beaten Quantrell or held him at bay until enough reinforcements were received to have annihilated every one of the guerrilla band.

It was a continual fight, however, and as Quantrell predicted, many of his followers were left dead and unburied on the hot prairies, where they became the prey of carrion birds. At Shawnee, in the northern part of Johnson county, the last stand was made, but the fight lasted only a few minutes, for the guerrillas, appreciating the critical position they occupied, with nearly five thousand militia gradually surrounding them, in the manner of early settlers who join in general hunts for the destruction of obnoxious wild animals, Quantrell soon ordered a charge and retreat. After breaking through the lines the guerrillas disbanded and each one then considered alone his own safety; this rendered a general pursuit impossible, and with a total loss of twenty-one men the bands reached the coverts of Jackson and Clay counties, where they were comparatively safe.

DESPERATE FIGHTING BY SQUADS.

After spending a month in apparent leisure, during which time Jesse and Frank James were frequent night visitors to their old home, Quantrell again called his command together for the purpose of resuming active hostilities, but he changed his tactics and added new terrors to the border counties of Missouri. The command was divided into squads of twenty and thirty, by which means they could make bold dashes at various points almost simultaneously and so confuse their enemies as to make pursuit futile. Indeed this peculiar and remorseless warfare gave rise to the strange superstition that Quantrell was some spirit of darkness who could transport himself and troops from place to place in the twinkle of an eye. He became no less dreaded by the Federal troops than by Union citizens, and day and night non-combatants as well as armed militiamen fell victims to the terrible guerrillas.

In the early part of October, Jesse James, in charge of a squad of twenty-five men, learning of the movements of a company of Federal cavalry under command of Capt. Ransom, who was marching toward Pleasant Hill, made a rapid detour and flanked the Federals five miles north of Blue Springs. Jesse selected a place near the road which was well screened by a dense thicket; here he stationed his men, and when the Federals came riding leisurely by, unconscious of any lurking danger, suddenly a storm of bullets poured upon them from the thicket and men fell like leaves in an autumn gust. The entire company was immediately thrown into the greatest confusion. The youthful commander of the guerrillas made the most of his advantage and ordered a dash into the confused and stricken ranks of the enemy, which he shot down with as little resistance as is offered by dumb animals. The havoc was terrible, for out of nearly one hundred Federals less than one-third the number escaped, while the loss of the guerrillas was only one killed and three slightly wounded.

On the following day another squad of Quantrell's men ambushed a body of militia who were returning from a forage in Lafayette county, and mercilessly annihilated nearly every one of the unfortunate command. One week later Frank and Jesse James, with fifty men, suddenly appeared in Bourbon county, Kansas, five miles south of Fort Scott, and swooped down upon Capt. Blunt and his company of seventy-five mounted infantry, and with a yell of rage and triumph swept with deathly missiles the astonished Federals, leaving forty of them to bleach in autumn rains.

The next attack was upon Lieut. Nash's command, three miles west of Warrensburg, Missouri, which was surprised by the guerrillas and cut to pieces. Following close upon this came the furious desolation of Camden. This little town was garrisoned by a small company of Federals, who, upon the day in question, were in the midst of bachanalian revels and unable to offer any resistance. This fight was a slaughter, in which the drunken soldiers were shot down without compunction, and the riot of murder was a pastime of sport for the guerrillas. After completing the harvest of death the town was pillaged and fired, and when the guerrillas rode out of the place they left its ruins in charge of the dead.

Another squad, under command of George Todd, suddenly encountered the Second Colorado cavalry, under command of Capt. Wagner, and a desperate fight ensued. The Colorado troops understood guerrilla warfare, and Wagner was as brave a man as ever mustered a company. The guerrillas made a furious charge, but the onslaught was met with such resistance that the opposing forces mingled together in a hand-to-hand contest. The fight was terrible, the rattle of revolvers being at times almost drowned by the clash of sabers. Jesse James fought like a hungry tiger, and his death-dealing pistol made terrible inroads among his foes. Singling out the Captain, who was fighting with wonderful desperation, Jesse rode by him at a furious pace, and, discharging his pistol with remarkable accuracy, he sent a bullet through the brave Captain's heart. This act sent consternation through the ranks of the Colorado troops, and a retreat, in confusion, was soon begun. Those that were wounded received no mercy at the hands of the guerrillas, but were shot or put to the sword and then left unburied.

Every attack made by the guerrillas added new terrors to the neighborhood; there was a concentrating of militia at every available point and a thousand schemes proposed by which to surprise and bring to punishment the desperate band; but the guerrillas were kept thoroughly posted and continued their reckless mode of warfare with varying success.

In the early part of 1864 Frank James was sent out by Bill Anderson to locate and number the Federal force at Harrisonville. The duty was fraught with much peril, but it was danger the James Boys courted as the spice of existence. He rode straight for the town, until within sight of the picket lines. He then hitched his horse in the closest thicket he could find, after which he approached with great care, and at night succeeded in passing the pickets. Very soon after reaching the outskirts of Harrisonville he met a negro from whom he obtained what information he desired and then crept back again through the lines and mounted his horse. At this juncture he was spied by two of the picket guards, who commanded him to halt. The reply came from his pistol, and though the night was without moonshine he sent a bullet through the brain of one, and another shot tore through the body of the other picket. The camp was speedily in arms but Frank rode rapidly out of harm and delivered the information he had gained with such risk to Anderson.

On the second day thereafter the plan of attack on Harrisonville was consummated and a hard fought battle was the consequence, but the guerrillas were forced to retire, and they turned their attention to a company of Federal volunteers who were encamped on Grand river at Flat Rock Ford. These they attacked with determined fierceness, but they were met with equal force and were again compelled to retreat. In this fight Jesse James was badly wounded, a musket ball having passed through his breast, tearing away a large portion of his left lung and knocking him from his horse. Notwithstanding the rain of bullets, Arch Clements and John Jarrette rode back, and gathering up their wounded comrade they bore him to the house of Capt. John M. Rudd, where for several days his death was hourly expected. Careful nursing and the best surgical skill, however, saved his life, and in one month's time he was able to resume the saddle, and in six weeks he again went on active duty.

On the 16th of September, 1864, Jesse James concluded to pay another visit to his mother, but the road thence was beset with a thousand dangers which very few men could be induced to encounter. During the ride he came suddenly upon three uniformed militia, who ordered him to halt, but instead of obeying the summons he whipped out two pistols and in a moment the three men were struggling in the throes of death. Jesse met with no other adventure on the journey, and after spending two days with his mother returned to the camp of the guerrillas. Immediately upon his return he was informed of the plans conceived during his absence, of attacking Fayette, Missouri. On the 20th the attack was made, and charge after charge, with all the force the guerrillas could command, was hurled against the stockades which protected the Federals, but every onslaught was firmly met and left a trail of dead and wounded guerrillas. Lee McMurtry, one of the bravest of Anderson's forces, fell dreadfully wounded directly under the Federal parapets. Jesse James was an intimate comrade of McMurtry and he determined to rescue his friend. What a nature is that which can rush up to the very blazing muzzles of deadly rifles to drag away a wounded friend! But Jesse James seemed to court death without the ability to win it. He braved that lurid stream of fatal fire and drew away the gasping form of his friend, and yet escaped unscathed. This battle also resulted adversely to the guerrillas, and they were driven with great loss from Fayette. Leaving this place they rode west again and went into camp near Wellington.

DIREFUL MASSACRE AT CENTRALIA.

Quantrell continued to direct the movements of the guerrilla bands, but he was rarely engaged in any of the battles; the active service he delegated to the most strategical and unmerciful members of his command. Bill Anderson, a human tiger in disposition, was placed in charge of the full force when it was decided to move upon Centralia, a small town in Boone county, on the Wabash, St. Louis & Pacific Railway. On the 27th of September, one week after the attack on Fayette, the guerrillas, numbering one hundred and fifty men, headed by Anderson and that most ominous of banners, the black flag, with skull and cross-bones, marched upon Centralia, which they took possession of without resistance. After pillaging the place the guerrillas took up their station at the depot and awaited the coming of the train. They had not long to wait, for soon the shrill whistle of the engine, as it came thundering through a cut, drawing five passenger coaches loaded with soldiers and citizen travelers, announced the coming of the prize. The moment the train stopped the dreadful black flag was flung out and with the exchange of a few shots the messengers of death boarded the cars. Everyone on the train was ordered out and made to form in line, after which the thirty-two soldiers were separated from the other passengers and all disarmed. Now the breathless suspense, the terrible forebodings and the anxiety as to the fate that would be meted out to them! Every soldier was shot as unmercifully as if they had been obnoxious beasts or poisonous snakes. The passengers were relieved of whatever valuables they possessed, after which they were permitted to proceed on their journey.

In the afternoon of the same day and before the guerrillas had departed from Centralia, a body of Iowa volunteers, one hundred strong, under the command of Major J. H. Johnson, rode into the town and in the space of a few hours the two forces met and engaged in a terrible conflict. Again Jesse James, who was the best pistol shot in the guerrilla service, made a furious dash at Major Johnson and planted a pistol ball almost in the center of the brave Major's forehead. The guerrillas now rushed upon the terrorized volunteers with such resistless impetuosity that they broke in confusion. The fight became a massacre, and but very few of the brave volunteers escaped to convey to anxious friends the dreadful fate that had befallen their comrades. One of the militiamen had a very remarkable escape. Being badly wounded, in the early part of the fight, he remained unconscious, with the blood streaming from a saber gash in his head, until the foe had departed. When the fight was over the guerrillas went among the wounded and shot them with their revolvers, determined that not a soldier should escape. This single exception to the consummation of guerrilla vengeance was supposed to be dead, and he therefore escaped the crowning feature of that day's massacre. When consciousness was regained he found himself alone, among the dead bodies of his comrades, and his shouts for help brought to his assistance the services of a kind old negro woman who took him to her house and obtained surgical aid, so that in two week's time he was able to return home.

The result of the fight at Centralia was not such as brought great encouragement to the guerrillas; the victory they gained was at the cost of nearly fifty of their number, whom it would be impossible to replace, because men of their bold, reckless and desperate character are rarely to be found. It was therefore determined to again divide up into squads and renew the warfare which they had waged so successfully in the previous year. But the guerrillas never fought again as they had at Fayette and Harrisonville; their courage to meet an armed force seemed to have vanished.

FORTUNE TURNING AGAINST THE GUERRILLAS.

The numerous and desperate deeds of the guerrillas received the earnest condemnation of the Confederate forces and for a time it was seriously considered, by many of the most distinguished Confederate officers, advisable to unite in the effort to rid Missouri of this terrible scourge. But their career was rapidly culminating. In attempting to cross the Missouri river in Howard county, a detachment of the guerrillas, headed by Bill Anderson, was attacked by a force of Federals under Montgomery, and in the fight which ensued Anderson and five of his men were killed, while the others escaped to the hills. They were again surprised while in camp on the Blackwater and several more were killed, and Jesse James was badly wounded in the leg, besides having his horse killed under him. In another fight which followed soon after, on Sugar creek, George Todd, one of the most daring and shrewd of Quantrell's old comrades, was shot to the death, and in the latter part of 1864, in order to save themselves from capture or annihilation, the guerrillas concluded to disband finally. Jesse James joined his fortunes with George Shepherd and went to Texas, while Frank James followed Quantrell to Kentucky.

THE WHIRLWIND OF DESTRUCTION CHANGES.

In January, 1865, Quantrell collected together nearly fifty of his old followers, among whom was Frank James, and started for the hills of Kentucky, where he expected to continue his warfare. Their route lay south-east, and before they got out of Missouri they came very near falling into the hands of Curtis, who pursued them hard almost to the Arkansas line, where the trail was lost. The guerrillas crossed the Mississippi river at Gaine's Landing, nearly twenty miles above Memphis, and made their way through Tennessee, entering Kentucky from the south. At Hartford, in Ohio county, the command met a squad of thirty militia under command of Capt. Barnett, whom they readily deceived into the belief that they were Federal troops searching for guerrillas, and that Quantrell was a Federal captain. Indeed the deception was played so successfully that Barnett was induced to accompany them upon an expedition. Quantrell managed to communicate with each of his men, whom he instructed to ride beside the Federals, and when he should draw his handkerchief and throw it over his shoulder it was the signal for the slaughter. At about five o'clock in the afternoon Frank James rode up beside Capt. Barnett, while Quantrell moved forward, and as his horse stepped into a shallow branch where all his men could see him, he drew the fatal handkerchief, and without looking back he waved it and then threw it over his shoulder. There was a rattle of pistol shots and Capt. Barnett and his men fell dead under their horses.

Near Hopkinsville the guerrillas met twelve Federal cavalrymen who sought the shelter of a barn and gave battle. The fight lasted for more than an hour, and until the barn was fired, when the twelve brave fellows were forced from their defense and were shot as they rushed from the flames. Their horses then became the property of the guerrillas. Frank James stopped one day with an uncle, who lives about fifty miles from Hopkinsville, and thus permitted the command to get so far ahead of him that he did not engage in any more skirmishes in Kentucky; for, two days afterward, Quantrell was driven into a small village called Smiley, where, finding escape impossible, he made his last stand. It was forty against nearly three hundred, and Quantrell knew that it was a fight to the death. Bleeding almost at every pore, the black-bannered bandit fought like the gladiators, until, blinded by his own blood, and with a score of gaping wounds, he fell mortally wounded, with an empty pistol in one hand and a bloody sword in the other. It was thus that the entire force of Quantrell's guerrillas died, excepting Frank James, whose life was spared for darker deeds.

JESSE JAMES' CAREER IN TEXAS.

As previously stated, Jesse James left Missouri in company with George Shepherd and forty or fifty guerrillas, for Texas, where they spent the winter of 1864-5 without special activity, and in the spring it was decided to return to Missouri, although such a decision was pregnant with a renewal of all the dangers from which they had just escaped. Upon reaching Benton county Jesse James, Arch Clements and another comrade proceeded to the farm-house of James Harkness, who was known as an uncompromising Union man. They decoyed him a short distance from his house by requesting him to direct them to a spring which they knew was in the neighborhood. When out of sight of the house Jesse James and his comrade caught Harkness by the arms and held him firmly, while Arch Clements drew a large bowie-knife with which he cut the throat of the defenceless farmer, almost severing his head. Fresh blood being upon their hands, they rode into Johnson county to the house of Allen Duncan, another Union man, and finding him chopping wood in his yard, Jesse James first accosted him and then sent a bullet into his brain.

The guerrilla band, now numbering scarce a score, before getting out of Johnson county were surprised by a company of Federal volunteers and almost annihilated. Jesse James had his horse shot under him and a musket ball went crashing through his lungs. Supposing him dead, the Federals gave pursuit to the fleeing guerrillas and chased the remaining few for nearly fifty miles. The wounded guerrilla lay for two days where he fell, in terrible agony, and would have died except for the kindly ministrations of a farmer who chanced to find him. The care he received, after weeks of suffering, enabled him to again resume the saddle, and he went to Nebraska, where his mother was temporarily living and where he remained until the return of Frank James from Kentucky late in the following summer.

Before Frank left Brandensburg, however, he met with an adventure which nearly cost his life. The vicinity of Brandensburg was infested with horse-thieves, and suspicion was directed against Frank as one of the guilty band. It was determined to arrest him, and for this purpose a posse of six men went to the house where he was stopping, and after charging him with horse-stealing, demanded his arms. The response was most unexpected, for, with an oath, he drew his pistol and shot three of the party, and in return was badly wounded in the thigh. The other three fled, but a large crowd soon collected, to intimidate which Frank backed up against the house and threatened to shoot any one who made the least motion to harm him. A horse was standing hitched conveniently near, and, compelling the crowd to fall back, he drew his suffering body up into the saddle and made his escape. The wound proved a very serious one and kept him confined to his bed at the house of a friend, where he found refuge, nearly seventy-five miles from Brandensburg, for several months.

ROBBERY AND MURDER.

It is a trite old saying that "one crime begets another," and in the life of Jesse and Frank James it is well illustrated. When the war closed and the occupation of the guerrilla, under color of authority, was gone, the James Boys were loth to change the exciting and dangerous vocation to which they had become inured by nearly four years of almost ceaseless activity. Other guerrillas, who had been their comrades in so many desperate struggles, which had made their very names a terror, had surrendered themselves when the bond of national union had been repaired, and returned to peaceful pursuits; but Jesse and Frank James affected to despise the ordinary walks of life and refused to tread other than paths which bristled with danger and anxiety. Both were sorely wounded, and a period of recuperation was necessary; and this respite from the turmoils of bandit life was employed in the conception of bold schemes by which to enlarge the notoriety of their names and to accumulate wealth.

When they had somewhat recovered from their wounds, Mrs. Samuels returned to her old home, in Clay county, while the boys paid her occasional visits as opportunity offered, but generally keeping themselves well hidden in the fastnesses of Jackson county. In the latter part of 1866, Jesse James was attacked with a severe type of malarial fever, which the exposure he had to endure so intensified that he determined to secretly visit his mother and place himself under her immediate care. The record which he had made during the war rendered him amenable to the vengeance of a large number of the residents of Clay and adjoining counties, who had suffered by his desperate acts. Consequently, Jesse knew that eternal vigilance was necessary, but hoped to so conceal his presence at the Samuels' homestead that no one would suspect his location or condition. But in this he was deceived, for only a few days had elapsed after his arrival at home when, by some means unknown to the writer, it was discovered that Jesse had taken up at least a temporary residence with his mother.