Thomas Jefferson Hampson's Civil War Memoir, "Peace on Earth"



T.J.  Hampson at about 40 years

This week, we are picking up the story of my great grandfather, Thomas Jefferson Hampson and his unpublished Civil War memoir.

After enlisting days after the shelling of Fort Sumter, Hampson was sent first from his home in Covington, Ohio, just outside Cincinnati, to Carlyle Barracks, in Pennsylvania where he was put into the Fourth Cavalry Division and sent to Missouri in the Summer of 1861.  Missouri’s government was pro-southern and the Union strategy was to drive the government out before it could secede from the Union and give the South control of the central part of the Mississippi Valley and the transportation linkages offered by the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers.

By August 10, the effort had been a success, but in the first major battle of the war in the western part of the country, Wilson’s Creek, Union General Nathaniel Lyon, the first general officer killed in the Civil War, was among the 1,000 men who died in the six bloody hours of fighting between 6 AM and noon that day.  The Rebels retained control of southwestern Missouri and held the Greene County town of Springfield.

Hampson was badly wounded that day and was left for dead in a stack of bodies in the basement of the Greene County Courthouse.  When the burial detachment came, he opened his eyes and would spend the next four months a prisoner of war until he and his friend David Davidson escaped and were found by the advancing army of General John C.  Fremont, and sent off in their ridiculous prison clothing to St.  Louis, where they were to report to the Benton Barracks there.  They had no intention of reporting right away because they had become local sensations as escaped and wounded prisoners and could not buy drink or food in those last days of 1861.  For that matter, they couldn't even steal it.  St.  Louis in December of 1861 is where we take up our story, exactly 150 years ago. 

A close call with a fierce looking Dutchman

We strolled up Fourth Street and as we were passing a restaurant, the scent of cooking victuals smote good and hard, and I suggested to Davidson that a breakfast would be the proper thing.  In this he agreed with me and we went in, took our place at the table and a waiter with his eyes bulging out at the sight of such an odd looking pair, came up and took our order.  You can just imagine the size of our appetite after our long ordeal in Springfield.  The amount of grube we stowed away that eventful morning was enormous. 

After the stuffing process, Davidson asked how I intended to pay for the repast and was somewhat fearful of the results when we came to settle up. 

The pay desk was near the front door presided over by a big fierce looking Dutchman, and how to get by him was a question that troubled us not a little.  “Now, David,” said I, “when we get up to the desk, you walk out and I will settle the bill somehow, but how I was to do it I did not have the remotest idea.  However, Davidson did as I instructed him, and I faced the savage looking landlord alone.

“Look here, my friend.  I have no money to pay for this meal, and you will have to charge it to Uncle Sam.” 

With that, I bolted out of the door and the landlord after me.  I did not get far before he had me.  Davidson hurried back to see the outcome of the affair and Mr.  Dutchman escorted us back to the restaurant.  After getting us back inside he opened up on us.

“Now you young rascals, vot you mean by running away like dot after you got your meal – did you think I vud charge you for a meal of victuals – you fellows come mit me.” And he took us up to a room over the restaurant. 

“Now, you youngsters stay as long as you want to, you can get your meals regular and it won’t cost you a cent.” 

I managed to mumble out our thanks when he shuts me up by saying “I want no thanks.  I am a Union man and have a brother in the service.  I do all I can for a soldier.”

He left us advising to wash up, comb our hair, and then come down to the office.  After we had performed the washing and hair combing act, we went down to the office.

The first words he uttered were “How much money you fellows got.”  After explaining our financial conditions, he handed each of us a five dollar bill, saying, “Now, go out and see the sights and be back here by dinner time.” 

The jig is up

We had a jolly time for several days.  One day we were walking along Chestnut Street and a sergeant came up to us and asked our names.  When we told him, he said, “You boys consider yourselves under arrest – come with me.” 

And he marched us up to the Planter’s House where General Halleck, then commanding officer in the department of Missouri, had his headquarters.  It seems that my mother and a very dear friend of mine had written to General Halleck making inquiries about me.  Mrs.  Hoag, the friend, was a very particular friend of the general and she had requested him to do all he could to discover my whereabouts.

The sergeant marched us into the General’s presence and when he and his staff saw us, they simply roared with laughter and Davidson and I both joined in.

After the General regained his composure he said, “well, young men, you are a handsome pair.  What command do you belong to, and who is your tailor?  Why didn’t you report to the Benton Barracks as you were ordered?”

Davidson told him we couldn’t find the barracks, that we hunted all over the city for them.  This explanation caused all of them to laugh again.  Well, we were turned over to the sergeant and taken to the barracks, made to throw away our Mardi Gras suits, and put on uniforms.  Then we were escorted back to headquarters where we received our discharge after an examination by the Army surgeon who reported that we would never be fit for service again. 

We received transportation to Covington.  I told General Halleck that I would be in the service again not withstanding the surgeon’s report, and would report for duty again.

This seemed to please him and he said that if I went into the service again, he would give me a commission, which he did three months later.

When I arrived at home I was looked upon as one arisen from the dead, as I had been reported killed at Wilson’s Creek.  Our family had given up all hope of my ever returning, and my unexpected appearance caused great surprise.  I was reduced to a shadow of my former self, and pulled down the scales at 110 pounds; when I enlisted, my weight was 164 pounds. 

Very few of my old friends recognized me and when I would inform them, they could hardly believe that I was the same big, strong boy who, a few months previous, had marched away, in the strength of youth – strong and vigorous manhood. 

The long road to Peace on Earth

Life at home seemed tame and commonplace, and I longed for the excitement of the tented field, and to be once again with my old comrades; to share in their dangers and rejoice with them in time of victory. 

My mother was very much opposed to my entering the service again, and did all in her power to prevent me.  In order to get away from home without too much friction, I was compelled to use quite a lot of diplomacy, and I am afraid that I was practicing just a little deception.  When I did leave, those at home thought I was to get a position of some kind that would not bring me in contact with active service in the field.

I notified General Halleck that I had fully recovered and was able-bodied and ready for service.  I also reminded him of his promise in regard to the commission, which promise he fulfilled to the letter.

I left Covington bound for Cairo, Illinois.  There I met two companies of the Fourth Cavalry and had quite a reunion.  I reported to General Grant and he ordered me to report to General H.  J.  Smith, at Columbus, Kentucky.  At that place I was attached to Colo.  Baker’s Engineer Corps, in which I served until 1865.

I was with Thomas when he made his notable march through Kentucky, and finally brought up at Nashville, Tennessee.  I was at first and second battles of Nashville, the second fight at Franklin, also Vicksburg and Shiloh.  We took Our Mountain and had many skirmishes too numerous to mention. 

It would be a long story to tell of all my experiences in my second service.  Suffice to say that I was quite willing to take up the life of a civilian again, and no one could have rejoiced more that I did when the war was over and peace spread her white wings over the land.  The sentiment of “Peace on Earth, good will to Men” was welcomed by all.

The memoir does not end there.  It describes Hampson's failed efforts to establish a tugboat business in Pensacola though he loses two boats to the stormy weather of the Florida Panhandle.  All is not lost, however, he meets Alice Knapp and soon they marry.  H and Alice head to Texas to try their luck at farming, but Texas didn't work for them either, so they headed up to Salida, Colorado with little -- what else -- Thomas Jefferson Hampson, my grandfather, in tow.

They would have three other sons and one daughter in Colorado, and also a little success in the silver mines.  He retired to Bonanza, Colorado and contributed occasional pieces to the Salida Record.  

He died in 1930, 59 years after the sweaty horse galloped into the little town of Covington, Kentucky with its rider shouting the news that Fort Sumter had fallen and the great war had begun.   

St. Louis in 1861
How St. Louis was won
Wilson's Creek National Battlefield Site
Battle of Nashville

Fremont and Freedom



Thomas Jefferson Hampson

When last we heard from Thomas Jefferson Hampson, my great grandfather who had been left for dead at the Battle of Wilson’s Creek, August 10, 1861, his chest and leg wounds were healing nicely in the relative comfort of the Greene County courthouse, where the many wounded prisoners of the battle were being held. 

The earlier privations of the courthouse were overcome by some medicine getting through and cots and bedding brought in.  He meets a kindly Union woman who visits the hospital and makes a case for him to come outside the city to her farm.  She could use some help – her husband is on the other side of the Rebel lines, and she takes pity on Hampson.

After a promise not to escape, Hampson spends most of September, getting better and being outfitted with a set of outlandish clothes to replace his that had been stolen in the courthouse.

However, while sitting down to dinner on late summer evening, Rebel troops enter the house and arrest everyone, suspecting that they are part of a scheme to smuggle Union sympathizers past rebel lines.  They send the woman North to where the Union troops are and transport Hampson back to the prison in Springfield, Missouri.  A fairly big man, Hampson weighed 175 pounds when he entered the Army after Fort Sumter.  When he is telling the part of the story that follows, he weighed about half that.

Springfield
Son of the South

The prospect of spending the winter in Rebel hands weighs on Hampson.  Then the prisoners begin hearing word of General John C.  Fremont’s advance toward Southwest Missouri.  An advance party of Fremont’s force, led by Captain Charles Zagonyi, one of many European immigrants who fought in the Union Army, engages in a sharp battle on the outskirts of Springfield.  His rout of the Rebel troops, behind the battle cry "The Union and Fremont" causes the Confederate leadership to believe that the full force of Fremont’s 38,000 troops is just up the road.  They pull back to the more defensible Wilson’s Creek, leaving Springfield undefended, and wait for the big battle to come with Fremont. 

Hampson is an uneven speller and has General Fremont as Freemont.  The Hungarian Zagonyi comes out Zagonia.   When we pick up the story, it is October 22nd or 23rd, 1861.

The joyous thought of being liberated from our hated prison seemed to give us new life.  We eagerly caught up any news regarding Freemont’s advance; we pictured, in our minds, the glorious reunion between ourselves and our deliverers. 

One day there was great excitement among the Rebel Army and we saw that they were making hasty preparations for the evacuation of Springfield; falling back with all of their Army to their old position at Wison’s Creek.  We learned from the conversation of some of our guards that Freemont was within five miles of Springfield, and advancing in force. 

It would be a hard matter for me to describe the feeling of all of us upon receiving this most welcome news.  We started in to raise a little quiet enthusiasm among ourselves, but our guards soon put a stop to it by dealing out a few broken heads and bayonet thrusts. 

About four o’clock that day the town was free of all able bodied Rebels as Price had forced them all to fall back with his army and was preparing to give Freemont a warm reception at Wilson's Creek.  For a time we were free from all restraint, and gave vent to all our happiness as we fully expected to see our gallant boys in blue marching in next morning with Old Glory waiving over them. 

There lived in Springfield a doctor who was a staunch Union man, but was an invalid and unable to do military service; consequently, he had not been pressed into the Rebel ranks.  When the news came that the Union army was near the town, and that Price and his army had fallen back to Wilson Creek, it seemed to infuse new life into the doctor, and he managed to come over to the hospital.  Under his arm, he carried a bundle.  He came up to our ward and, of course, received a warm reception; after shaking hands with all of us. he said, “well, boys, I have something here that you all want to see.”  He then unfolded his bundle and it was a flag eight feet long.  The sight of our dear old flag set us wild again and again.  We gave three cheers for the Union.  The doctor soon explained to us what he wanted. 

The Rebels, when they left, left their flag flying over the court house and the doctor wanted it hauled down and Old Glory put in its place.  Now he exclaimed “Who will do it?”

My particular chum while in the hospital was a young fellow named James Davidson.  As brave and gallant a soldier as ever drew a sword in defense of his country.  He at once stepped forward and said, “I will go for one.”  “And I for another” yelled out yours truly, and the flag was handed over to us.  We were well aware of the fact that our mission was a dangerous one, and if our Army did not come to Springfield, and General Price and his Rebel force should return, the parties guilty of hauling down their flag would stand a splendid chance to stretch hemp. 

Not daunted, however, we had made up our minds that the flag should come down and Old Glory take its place.  David had been shot through both arms, but he had a good pair of legs.  I had a wounded leg but a good pair of arms, so between us, we made one good whole man.  We started for the courthouse, the streets were deserted save a few boys and three or four women – not a man was in sight.  Going into the courthouse, we soon made our way to the roof where about our head waving in defiance floated the flag of the Confederacy.

We hauled it down and soon had our flag floating proudly in its place.  We could hear a rousing cheer from the hospital as we hauled up our flag and when we had torn the Rebel flag into ribbons, we took off our hats and gave three cheers for the Union and its defenders.

The next morning came, but no Union army nor any sign of them.  Our disappointment was a bitter one and all of us were of the unanimous opinion that Freemont, who had the reputation of being a slow coach, deserved the application applied to him. 

That evening came back a part of the Rebel army and again occupied Springfield, much to our disgust and chagrin.  Of course the appearance of our flag and the disappearance of theirs raised a terrible row, and the uppermost thoughts in the minds of the Rebels was to find out who had the audacity to do such a thing; they threatened to hang every one of the prisoners if the guilty ones were not given up.  They came in the hospital in gangs, threatening and abusing us, endeavoring to find our who had hauled down their flag.

Things looked pretty blue for us; they threatened to burn down the hospital and cremate every inmate.  About this time it was discovered by the Rebels that we were seen by a lot of women and boys, and they hastened away to find them and bring them to the hospital to identify the Union boys who had done this deed. 

The doctor took Davidson and myself to one side and ordered us to go up to Ward No. 3 where all the most desperately wounded cases were kept.  Dr.  Melcher soon had us in cots, our legs and arms were done up in splints, our hands bandaged up in such a manner that our best friend would not have known us.  We were not any too soon, either, as the witnesses to our daring act were in the hospital and only too willing to help discover the guilty ones.  They inspected every inmate, us included, but failed to identify any of us as the ones wanted.  Dr.  Melcher told them that immediately after hauling down their flag we had left the hospital and in all probability were trying to make our escape into Freemont’s lines. 

Hampson and Davidson Make a Break For It

At eleven o’clock that night we were ready to make our desperate attempt.  A piece of cornbread was all we had to subsist on during our travel.  After a warm grasp of the hand from the kind doctor, and a tearful “God bless you” we stole quietly away from the hospital. 

We had travelled about a mile down the Rolla road when we heard the clatter of horses feet coming down the road from the direction of town.  They were right on us before we were aware of the fact; hastily throwing ourselves down in a fence corner, they passed without seeing us. 

That dreary night we struggled on and when daylight came we were hungry and fatigued but not disheartened.  Rebel scouts and bushwackers were on every hand, and we knew that we would not dare to travel during the day.  Fortunately for us, the country through which we were travelling was covered with black jack thickets which made an admirable place to secret ourselves.  A few hundred yards from where we found ourselves when daylight came was a dense thicket of Black Jacks and we were soon hidden there, and made our breakfast on cornbread. 

Feast:  Persimmons and Chickens

After eating, Davidson thought he would reconnoiter and try to find water, which would not seem a hard matter as the country was full of springs, and in about half an hour he came back saying that we were in big luck, he had not only found water but a grove of persimmon trees – the ground was covered with them.  I never tasted anything so delicious in all my life and ever since that time persimmons have had a warm place in my heart. 

All at once we came to a clearing in the weeds and about fifty yards further we saw a house, the sight of which about took our breath away.  We crept up near to what looked like a chicken coop and in that new respect our conclusions were correct.  What was even better, there were chickens inside. 

Our hunger overcame our discretion, and we determined to have a chicken supper.  I volunteered to go in and get a couple while Davidson stood guard, and gave warning should he see anything coming.  Soon I had a chicken in each hand.  I had caught them around the throat to prevent their squalling and rest assured I held them with a firm grip, and never let up grasping when I came out of the chicken house.  No one had seen us and we resumed our journey, and our commissary department was richer by two chickens.  They were dead as Hector for I had choked them in my firm grip upon their necks.

Sitting down we soon had them denuded of their feathers and for the first time in our lives we had a feast of raw chicken.  If we had only dared, we would have built a fire and roasted them – what a supper we would have had, but as it was, they tasted awful good.  After a brief rest, we again resumed our journey and made good time until daylight.  We hid in the thicket feeling refreshed and stronger after our chicken supper.  This time we were located so we could see down the road for a mile and watch for our enemies.

Meeting Up With Zagonyi and In Jail Again

Captain Charles Zagonyi
Civil War Virtual Museum

About ten o’clock we saw a group of Cavalry on the road coming toward our hiding place and at their head was a trooper carrying a flag – that flag was the dear old Stars and Stripes – just imagine our joy the minute we recognized that precious emblem of the free.  We fairly screamed for joy and scrambled through the thicket as fast as our crippled condition would allow.  We were soon on the road advancing to them.  They proved to be a body of Freemont’s men and on a scouting expedition.

When we met them they halted, and we were soon surrounded.  We were indeed a queer looking pair and many a rude joke was passed by the men upon our appearance in general.  Well, we could not blame them much, for we were a hard looking outfit, especially myself, with my calico uniform, plug hat, etc.

Captain Zagonia was in command and he gave us a sharp examination as to who we were, where we were going, etc.  The old idiot did not believe a word we said, and ordered two troopers to take us up behind and they would take us back to camp with him.

He had an idea that we were wounded Rebels acting the part of spies.  He imagined he had made an important capture.  But that night we were once more inside of the Union lines, but in the guard house under suspicion.  Of course we were mad all the way through, but knew, when taken before General Freemont, we would come out all right, as his adjutant, Captain Kennedy, was an old friend of our family and knew us in Covington.

Fremont and Freedom



John C. Fremont
Son of the South

The next morning we were brought before Freemont.  He asked us a great many questions.  He had been prejudiced by that fool Zagonia’s report, and did not know whether to believe us or not.  Captain Kennedy was there and kept watching me.  I knew that under the circumstances he would not recognize me.  Finally, I remarked to the General that Captain Kennedy would identify me and when I told the Captain who I was, he jumped up and caught me in his arms, turning to Freemont, told him that he and I were old school mates.  Well, this ended our trouble, and the next day we were sent to Rolla and from there to St. Louis with orders to report to the Commander of Benton Barracks. 

We arrived at St.  Louis on Monday morning, and to say that our appearance on the street created surprise and astonishment would be stating it mildly.  Davidson’s dress was not quite so loud as mine.  Nevertheless, it was certainly an old, odd looking rig; one that was liable to attract public attention.  The pair of us attracted as much attention as a circus parade.  The fact that we were wounded soldiers and escaped prisoners was enough to enlist the sympathies and admiration of all.  We went through the market and everything was free to us.  The attention and curiosity we excited was rather pleasing to us, and as long as that lasted we had no idea of reporting to Benton Barracks.

Post Script

Hampson and Davidson’s meeting with Zagonyi and Fremont came at a momentous time.  Zagonyi’s charge had occurred just a few days before his force was confronted on the road by the hapless looking escapees, chicken blood on the stubble of their faces, and he may well have been on his way for a second incursion into Rebel country that brought he and his boss, General Fremont, into the center of Springfield itself on October 27, 1861.

Their meeting with Fremont was at an even more significant time.  Upon taking command of the western theater of operations, Fremont ordered that all slaves in Missouri be freed, a policy that Lincoln was not ready to adopt, though he would use the same rationale in the Emancipation Proclamation 14 months later. 

Lincoln ordered Fremont to rescind his order.  Fremont replied that it was well within Lincoln’s power to countermand the order and Lincoln fired him on November 2, 1861, about the time our lads are fattening up at the market in downtown St.  Louis.

Final Installment Next:  A good time in St.  Louis and home for Christmas

Thomas Jefferson Hampson, Prisoner of War

Thomas Jefferson Hampson returns this week to recount his experiences as a soldier in the Civil War.  In 1861, he joined the Union Army after the shelling of Fort Sumter and he and his friend were sent to Carlisle Barracks in Pennsylvania to be outfitted and organized into Company A of the 4^th Regular Cavalry. 

His unit was sent West to northern Missouri where it fought its way through the state and, in early August, were camped around Springfield, Missouri, in the southwest corner of the state. 

On August 10, 1861, Hampson and his unit followed Nathaniel Lyons, who would that day become the first general officer to be killed in a Civil War battle, to a place called Wilson's Creek.

The death of Lyons
National Park Service

By eleven o’clock that morning, there were 2500 casualties on both sides and the Union Armies withdrew North and East to a town called Rolla, and the Rebel Army claimed Springfield.

Hampson wrote about the war some fifty years later in Bonanza, Colorado, near where he made a little money mining silver after his tugboat business in Pensacola, Florida had failed.  He did meet Elmira Knapp in Pensacola, and they raised four boys.

His unpublished memoir is a way for us to offer our respect for the hard times and sacrifices that characterized America in the great Civil War.  Hampson’s granddaughter, Mildred, was my Mom. 

We last heard from TJ Hampson when he was in the basement of the Greene County Courthouse with a burial party coming to take away the dead bodies stored there, including, by mistake, his own.  As they went to move him, someone saw him blink and his status improved from that of a dead man to a badly wounded prisoner of war. 

He doesn’t get very specific about his wounds except to say that his ribs were broken and sticking out of the skin on his chest.   He also tells us that the tail of his shirt was cut off to bandage a wound on his leg.  It was in this condition he surveyed a room with no furniture and a floor strewn with dead, dying and seriously injured men.

Springfield, Missouri, 30 days after its capture by Union
forces. 
Son of the South

Unfortunately, the courthouse no longer stands.  Three days after Springfield was re-taken by the Union Army on October 25, 1861, a deranged man who had been imprisoned there set it afire and it burned down. 

Unlike the other episodes I’ve shared, I had to edit this piece some, mainly for length.  But I’ve also edited for redundancy.  Unlike other passages of his memoir, Hampson repeats himself in this section frequently, as if he had to write it down again just so he could believe what happened to him in the summer of 1861. 

Thomas Jefferson Hampson, Prisoner of War in Springfield, Missouri

“I was in a most wretched state”

The hospital was in a court house, a sort of impromptu affair, destitute of beds or cots or any other necessaries.  Our wounded were laying around the floor destitute of any covering and the treatment we received at the hands of those confederates was cruel in the extreme.  All medical stores intended for our wounded had been taken by the Confederates for their use, and many a poor wounded soldier’s life could have been saved with humane treatment and proper care, but the Johnnie Rebels were not troubling themselves about our comfort.

Words are inadequate to describe our suffering.  Rebels were allowed to come in and abuse and insult us in a most brutal and cowardly manner.  How I ever came out of that trying ordeal is one of the mysteries of life.  A hard floor for a bed, a piece of rag carpet for covering, a single garment for a shirt, with an abbreviated tail as some kind and thoughtful friend had used the appendage for a bandage for my leg.  Lying on the hard floor caused bed sores on my hips; only one surgeon was left to attend to the several hundred wounded, and my turn to be examined by that functionary came around about ten days after I was brought to the hospital.

The broken and splintered ribs were protruding through the skin, and taking everything into consideration, I was in a most wretched state.  As we had not ether or chloroform in the hospital, all operations were performed without the aid of those essential pain killers and those who had the misfortune to come under the surgeon’s knife had to grin and bear the pain as best he could. 

About three weeks after the battle, the hospital stores were allowed to come through the lines and after that the wounded fared much better, but to many a poor fellow that had answered the last roll call and lay out in the lovely field used for a burial ground – those medical stores were of no use to him. 

After a month of existence in that living hell, I was able to move around on a pair of crutches that a comrade made me.  My wounds were doing nicely, and I felt as if I would pull through all right. 

“A stylish suit of clothes...a rebel coward”

A lady who lived in Springfield took pity on my situation in the way of clothing and concluded that I could have a suit regardless of looks and general fit.  Her husband was a Union man, and a Captain of our service.  She often visited the hospital and did all in her power to alleviate our sufferings.  She rigged out an old cast-off suit of her husband’s; it was not a handsome or even a stylish suit of clothes, but under the circumstances, it was a welcome gift, and I was proud of it as if it had been made out of broad cloth and cost a hundred dollars.

About this time the government, on hearing of the condition the hospital was in, managed to furnish us with beds and bedding.  After that, we were quite comfortable in the way of sleeping accommodations, but that same favorable change caused a terrible disaster to befall me as I slept in my bed that first night.  I had taken my beloved suit of clothes off and laid them on the foot of my bed, and when I awoke in the morning they had disappeared, vanished!!!

We had no protection from the authorities; anyone was allowed to come in the hospital and say and do as they pleased.  If it suited their fancy to mistreat the helpless prisoner, it was their privilege to do so, and no one to say “nay.”

A big burley Rebel came in to our ward and made all kinds of insulting remarks.  I seemed to attract his attention probably by my utter helpless condition and he came up near and called me a “damned Yankee.”

In return, I called him “a rebel coward.”

Drawing back his foot he gave me a kick in the side making the blood fly from my wounded chest.  Then drawing a huge knife and deliberately drew it across my throat, saying that he had a mind to cut my head off.  There I lay helpless, unable to even raise my hand, and that big cowardly brute taking advantage of my condition.  Even to this day if I should ever meet that miserable cur, I would shoot him as I would a dog.  To hear a sickly sentimentalist talk about forgiving your enemies makes me disgusted with the cant of any denomination.

“A feeling of gladness”

An old lady who lived on a farm five miles from Springfield came into the hospital and hearing about my misfortune, came to my cot, where I was taking an enforced siesta, and had quite a long conversation with me; she offered to take me home with her if the prison authorities would not object.  She was the wife of a Union man who was with our army at Rolla; consequently, she was under the ban of the Confederacy.  They owned a large farm and were quite wealthy.

I explained the ridiculous condition I was in owing to the theft of my clothes.  She said when the Rebels had raided her home, they had taken every stitch of wearing apparel of the male persuasion, but she thought she could find some kind of material to make me a pair of pants and a jacket.

The commanding officer made no objection, except his requirement that I give my word of honor not to attempt to escape, which I gave readily as I was only too glad to get away from the hospital.  All of this occurred in the morning and she informed me that she would come after me in the afternoon.

About three o’clock she drove up to the hospital and rest assured I was all ready for the journey.  I went with the joyous prospect of going out in the country away from the scene of suffering and death, away from the pressure of the brutal rebel soldiers, and overbearing guards.  Out in the quiet and beautiful country where we could hear birds sing their sweetest carols and see the flowers and green grass; away from the busy haunts of man, out into nature’s own domain.  A feeling of gladness came over me as I had never experienced before.

When we arrived we were met by an old negro woman, one of Mrs.  Phelps old servants, who had gone away with the others, but had repented her desertion and returned to stay with “Ole Miss” and when she saw me she exclaimed, “Foh de Gawds sakes, Ole Miss – whar’ you get that poo-ah sta’ved boy?”

After supper, Mrs.  Phelps and Aunt Jane held a consultation on the subject of making me some clothes.  The most important item to be considered was to obtain the necessary material.  It was finally determined to cut up one of Mrs.  Phelps old calico wrappers and make a pair of pants and a jacket out of it. 

Now, Mrs. Phelps was anything but a seamstress when it came to cutting and fitting a pair of pants.  She was at a loss at how to commence.  Aunt Jane had no experience in that line but was full of suggestions, yet could not put them into any practical use.  However, she was to do the measuring act and getting a string, she put one end on my foot and the other half way up under my arm.  I suggested that she was getting them too long.  “If dey’s too long honey, you can roll ‘em up – got plenty of caliker to make ‘em long.”

The next day about supper time the suit was ready for delivery – such a suit as it was.  I don’t know whether I will live a thousand years or not, but if I do, I will never forget that pair of pants and jacket.  The pants were simply two long bags, the coat was a conglomeration of gorem (sic), and with a draw string in lieu of a waist band.  The buttons were a job lot of odds and ends.  They were lined with some kind of white material and looked very much like the remnants of a wrecked white skirt.

As they did not understand the mysteries of putting in pockets, they simply left slits in them like pants for a kid.  Aunt Jane, in explaining the absence of pockets said, “You all got no use for pockets, honey – for if you had anything to put in them, the Rebels would steal it.  We left’ dem slits, honey, so you could scratch yo’self.”

At this time my weight was about eighty-five pounds – almost a skeleton, and anything would fit me. 

Words would fail in their mission should I attempt to describe my happiness while a guest of good Mrs.  Phelps;  she did everything in her power to make me feel comfortable, everyday some little act of kindness placed me in her debt.  My wounds were healing nicely, and I was in clover. 

"Back among my companions in misery"

The weeks passed away pleasantly; on the last day of our stay at the farm, Mrs.  Phelps and myself were just settling down to dinner when we heard the tramp of horses.  Upon going to the door, we discovered a troop of Rebel Cavalry coming up to the house in command of a sergeant who dismounted at the door, walked into the house, walked up to Mrs.  Phelps and told her he had an order from General Price placing her under arrest.

She asked him what the charge was and he told her that it had been reported that she was harboring Union men who were on their way to join the Union Army.  Well, here was trouble indeed.  We were allowed to eat our dinner, then we were all taken to Springfield.  I was placed back into my old quarters; Mrs.  Phelps was sent through the lines and joined her husband at Rolla.  I was back among my companions in misery.

Next:  Escape!

Thomas Jefferson Hampson Goes To War



Thomas Jefferson Hampson

 Today we return to the unpublished Civil War memoir of my great grandfather, Thomas Jefferson Hampson.  In the past two episodes we followed how the news of Fort Sumter exploded through Farmers College, just outside of Cincinnati, and how he and his friend enlisted in the Union Army.  We then followed them to Carlisle Barracks in Pennsylvania where they were outfitted and trained. 

This episode begins the 10th of June, 1861, when Hampson learns that he and his mates in the 4th Cavalry are being sent to Kansas.  He is detoured to Missouri where he will participate in several skirmishes during the summer on the way to the Battle of Wilson's Creek, the first major battle in the West and the place where General Nathaniel Lyon becomes the first hero of the war and the first general officer from the Union to fall in battle. 

Lyon had become an abolitionist after serving at Fort Riley, Kansas, the territory where the Civil War was going on long before Fort Sumter.  The Kansas-Nebraska Act, one of those 'what were they thinking' compromises that litter the pre-war landscape, created the idea of 'Popular Sovereignty', in which the residents of the states would define for themselves whether the state would be free or slave.  In the mid-1850s Lyon observed the resulting slaughter in what became known as "bleeding Kansas."

At his March 4 innaugural, Lincoln said:

National Park Service

"In doing this, there needs to be no bloodshed or violence, and there shall be none unless it be forced upon the national authority.  The power confided to me will be used to hold, occupy, and possess the property and places belonging to the Government and to collect the duties and imposts; but beyond what may be necessary for these objects, there will be no invasion, no using of force against or among the people anywhere."

Lincoln's remarks did not match Lyon's personality.  In May, six weeks after Lincoln's remarks, Lyon's forces took Camp Jackson in St.  Louis, which warehoused gunpowder, ammunition and money.  When a mob formed, Lyons ordered his men to use deadly force against them, and they did. 

In June, he met with the pro-slavery governor, Claiborne Jackson, and the general commanding the state militia, Sterling Price, and responded firmly, to say the least, to their demand to keep troops out of the state and not recruit in Missouri.

"Rather," said he (he was still seated, and spoke deliberately, slowly, and with a peculiar emphasis), "rather than concede to the State of Missouri the right to demand that my Government shall not enlist troops within her limits, or bring troops into the State whenever it pleases, or move its troops at its own will into or out of or through the State; rather than concede to the State of Missouri for one single instant the right to dictate to my Government in any matter, however unimportant, I would (rising as he said this and pointing in turn to everyone in the room) see you, and you, and you, and you, and every man, woman and child in the State, dead and buried."

Gettysburg Museum

During the early summer, General Lyon and the nation's first German general, Franz Sigel, chased the rebels through Boonville and Carthage out of the capital to the south and west where they regrouped and declared, with no effect, that Missouri had seceded and become the 13th Confederate state. 

German immigration had changed the face of Missouri from slave state to free.  Many of these people, like Sigel, were fleeing the failure of revolutions at home during the great revolutionary year of 1848.  Many others came to Missouri because of a book written by Gottfried Duden in 1829.  "Report on a Journey to the Western States of America" was a huge seller in Germany and brought waves of immigrants to Missouri.  They were overwhelmingly anti-slave and joined the Union Army in great numbers as the war started.

Hampson's story has them first entering St.  Joseph, Missouri where the brand new troops encounter a bunch of toughs at the train station.  They move through several battles -- he was clearly at Boonville and Carthage -- and finally, as they get ready to attack the rebels at Wilson's Creek, he recounts an act of espionage where he enters the rebel camp and, with a piece of cane as a crude record, creates an inventoy of the enemy's strength.

An uneven speller, he does pretty well in this section, only missing on Sigel, spelled his way, Siegle.



The Death of General Lyon
National Park Service

Some pages are missing, and you wonder if they represented the really good parts, perhaps a first person account of the death of General Lyon.  In the manuscript, there is no specification of the wounds my great grandfather received.  All we know is that several of his ribs were sticking out. 

His story details catching the rebels completely by surprise, a crucial blunder by Sigel that leads to Lyon's death at 9:30 AM on August 12.  Hampson wakes up the following morning in the courthouse at Springfield when the burial detail comes for him and the other 1200 Union men who died the day before at Wilson's Creek.

Memoir of Thomas Jefferson Hampson, Part Three

The War in Missouri, June 10-August 13, 1861

On the tenth of June an order came Companies A, B, and C to proceed at once to Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas, to fill out the vacancies in five companies of the Fourth Regular Cavalry.

Once we were on the road, and got along all right until we reached St. Joe, Missouri, where a mob of rascals concluded to dispute our passage.  The men were ordered out on the platform and the order came to load and fire at will, which soon caused the mob to take to their heels.   We then proceeded to our destination. 

We lay at that place for several days awaiting our Regiment to come up, which they failed to do.  About that time, General Lyons had organized his command at St.  Louis and was planning a raid through the state of Missouri.  We recruits were like a lot of stray sheep; our regiment not coming up we were organized into Company A and B’s Rifles, and when Lyons command came along, we joined.  We started on our miserable march through Missouri.  That march we had several minor skirmishes, losing quite a number of men. 

Someone had to do some reconnoitering for information, and although it gave one the feeling of going out to get a rope around our necks, it was done.

When we arrived at their lines, we told the guard we were looking for stray horses and asked him if he had seen anything of such animals, giving him a description of the imaginary stock.  This particular time, the fellow happened to be a good natured sort of a fellow with a very limited knowledge of military rules and he answered all of our questions.  After a few minutes of conversation, we asked permission to go into camp and see the soldiers.  He said he guessed it would be all right and let us pass. 

We strolled about the camp acting the part of a couple of green gawks, asking foolish questions, staring with open-eyed wonder at everything we saw.

Having a nice piece of cane in our pockets, and by pressing our finger nails into the cane, it would make dents; one piece was for Infantry companys, one for Cavalry, one for the Artillers, and the other number of wagon trains.  The canes were to be our memorandum book for every battery.  We would make a dent on the Battery side and some for infantry.  Of course, we did not dare keep any information we might gain on paper for in case we were suspected and searched, evidence of that nature found on our person might lead to unpleasant results, such as dancing on thin ------

To avoid a surprise by Lyons army was neglected, and for that reason, we were able to surprise the Rebels and were in their camp before the general alarm was given.  The first intimation they had of our presence was our advancing skirmishers opening fire on them.

All was confusion in the enemy’s camp.  They were just getting breakfast when the sharp crack of the spring rifles drove all thought of eating out of their minds.

General Siegle in attempting to make a movement on our right flank to turn the enemies left, run into an ambush and lost five of his guns, and a number of prisoners.  It was an inexcusable blunder, and a great loss to us, as his guns were twelve pounders and had done excellent work before they were captured.  The worst feature was that the Rebels soon had their own guns playing on us.

General Lyons was cold with rage when he was informed of Siegle’s loss.  Siegle was to blame for he disobeyed orders as he had been ordered to keep his battery in the center; instead of doing so, he made a wide circle leaving a gap between his command and our right flank, which the Rebels were not slow to take advantage of.

(The next several pages of the manuscript missing.)

It was disheartening news as we considered that his presence on the field would ultimately give us victory notwithstanding their superiority in numbers.  General Sturges now became Commander in Chief as he ranked next to General Lyons.

About 1:30 p.m. as of by mutual consent, both armies stopped fencing and both Rebel and Yanks were busily engaged in pickimg up their wounded and burying their dead.

Our wounded were taken to Springfield, and their army fell back to Rolla.  It has always been a question as to who were the victors of that terrible struggle. 

Price could not claim a victory as we had crippled his arms to such and extent that he was unable to follow up our army and inflict further punishment.

We had given him such a hard fight that he was glad to see us retreat, and as far as our side was concerned, they had fighting enough that day to last a long time.  

All the wounded at Springfield fell into the hands of the Confederates and became prisoners of war.

As for myself, I knew but little of what was going on after I was placed in the ambulance and taken to Springfield.  When I came to my senses, I was in a large room, surrounded by stacks of dead comrades who had died in the ambulance on their way to Springfield.  When I was taken out of the ambulance, I was, to all appearances dead, and accordingly was placed in the same room with the dead.  But, when the burial party came in to remove the dead bodies, I had my eyes open.  I heard one of the burial parties exclaim, “hello!  This one goes to the hospital.”

The hospital was in a court house, a sort of impromptu affair, destitute of beds or cots or other necessaries.  Our wounded were laying around the floor destitute of any covering and the treatment we received at the hands of those confederates was cruel in the extreme.  All medical stores intended for our wounded had been taken by the confederates for their use, and many a poor wounded soldier’s life could have been saved with humane treatment and proper care, but the Johnnie Rebels were not troubling themselves about our comfort.

Next installment, September.  Prisoner of War. 

The death and burial of General Nathaniel Lyon

The Kansas Nebraska Act

The Republic Of Death

Civil War Memoir of Thomas Jefferson Hampson, May 1861




Thomas Jefferson Hampson sitting with his family and his

wife Alice Elmira to his left, with little Elmer, "Cot" on  his lap.
This photo coincides with the the time he was writing his 
account, about 1910.  My mom is the little girl on the right. 

We resume today the story of Thomas Jefferson Hampson, my great grandfather, who enlisted in the Union Army after the shelling of Fort Sumter.  In April, we used his unpublished memoir to tell the story how the news of the attack came back to Farmers College in Cincinnati, Ohio and the mad rush across the Ohio River to Cincinnati where he and his good friend Jack enlisted.  The piece concludes with their heady trip by rail through cheering towns to Carlisle Barracks in Pennsylvania. 

Home to today's Army War College, Carlisle is one of the oldest military installations in the United States.  It was founded by the British in 1754 as a garrison to support British troops in the French and Indian War.  General Braddock, supported by Colonel George Washington's Virginia Provincials, would have walked through Carlisle on their way to the humiliating defeat by the indians.  During the revolution, Carlisle was used for many purposes, including housing captured British troops and German merceneries.   

President Washington would return at the beginning of his second term to personally review 14,000 troops assembled to suppress the Whiskey Rebellion.  Washington proposed Carlisle for the new military academy but lost out to property along a bluff above the Hudson, West Point. 

There would have been about 800 new recruits at Carlisle when Hampson and Jack arrived. Training is not quite the operative word for what was happening there.  Just three weeks after arrival, they were outfitted and on their way west to Kansas, then Missouri and some of hardest combat of the war.  That will be our next post the second week in June.  In 1863, Carlilsle was burned to the ground by General JEB Stuart during the Confdederate invasion of the North that ended at Gettysburg. 

Carlisle Barracks became home to the famous Carlisle Indian Industrial School as territorial wars in the west wound down.  Brigadier General Richard Henry Pratt saw the school as an alternative to incarceration and, In 1879, the first class arrived for three years' of study, later extended to five.  The purpose was to move young native men and women through the cultural membrane at Carlisle into American agricultural and industrial society.

Young Tom Terino, Navajo, is shown when he arrived in 1883 and when he left in 1886.


Perhaps the most accomplished athlete in American history went to school at Carlisle.  Jim Thorpe, Sac and Fox, created a legend playing football there, as he ran, largely unimpeded, across the fields of the Ivy League schools the Carlisle Indians played.  He was the decathalon champion in the 1912 Stockholm Olympics.  Lewis Tewamina, Hopi, was another great athlete from Carlisle.  He won silver in Stockholm at 10,000 meters.

Charles "Chief" Bender, Chippewa, Hall of Fame pitcher for the Philadelphia Athletics was another.  My cousin, Tom (Thomas Jefferson Hampson, natch) completed the Carlisle circle when he married into the Bender family.  Over time, the athletes at Carlisle were a source of significant monies to the school's mission.  "Pop" Warner, among other famous sportsmen, coached there.  The school closed in 1918.

The boys from Cincinnati had a tough introduction to Carlisle.  The food was dreadful, their bed a few sticks and loose straps and they promptly get into a fight with the sergeants in charge of their barracks.

Their light punishment for insubordination and fighting tells us they were clearly the kind of recruits the country wanted at the front. 

As before, the spelling and grammar come directly down from Thomas Jefferson Hampson.  There are a couple of good ones.  Unsavoury stands out, anticedent, sargeant, comrads.  How about "conflab?"  And, there is the devil himself, Lucifor. 

By the time he was writing this in Bonanza, Colorado, the semi-colon was losing its allure as a punctuation tool.  The new telegraph and the insistent newspapers of the time favored shorter sentences with the nice, full stop provided by the period. 

Hampson was having none of that.  If it is good enough for Farmers College, it apparently is good enough for Bonanza, Colorado. 

"The Captain"
Thomas Jefferson Hampson

Chapter Three, Carlisle Barracks

Our enlistment dated May 21, 1861.  We were domiciled at Uncle Sams barracks at Carlisle, the general rendezvous for the regular army.  When we arrived at Carlisle, there were, at the time, about eight hundred other recruits, awaiting assignments to their respect regiments.  I must say that they were a motley crew, of every nationality, good, bad and, indifferent; youngsters just out of school, middle aged men.  They came from every walk of life; some refined and genteel.  Others rough, and course, of doubtful pedigree, and had their anticedents been traced, it would have led to unsavoury places. 

We were marched down to our quarters and shown where we were to hang up for the night.  We arrived at 5 o’clock, tired, hungry, and dusty after our long ride in the cars.  When Jack and I inspected the rough, dirty bunks that were to hold our tender bodies during the night, with only two miserable thin blankets to cover us, our minds went back home with a rush, and visions of soft feather beds rose up before us.  All the luxuries of a comfortable and pleasant home danced in dazzling brightness before our eyes, mocking us in our dire extremity.  Jack looked at me, I at him.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Jack.

“Here too!”  said I.

Another blank stare at each other, another silence, broken only by the deep, deep sigh that seemed to come up from our boots.

“Where are the pillows?” asked Jack.

“Damfino!” replied myself.

An old soldier passing at that moment heard Jack’s question about the pillows, and advised him to use his boots as a pillow.

“I would like to use them to kick that lying recruiting sargeant who told us about the fine accommodations we would find at this measly old barracks,” replied Jack, indignation getting the better of his judgement.  He raved and tore around like a mad man.  I guess he was a mad boy.

“Well, Jack,” I said, “maybe they did not know that two such illustrious guests were coming, and failed to prepare suitable apartments.”  For I began to take a philosophical view of the matter and came to the conclusion that in as much as we had run up against a hard proposition, the only thing for us to do was to make the best of the bargain. 

Discovery at the Mess Hall

About this time, the keeper of our ward announced that supper was ready, to go down and fill up, then probably we would feel better.  Accordingly, we went down to the dining room to partake of the feast.  Here another painful surprise awaited us.

Four long tables were set.  The dishes consisted of two tin plates and cups of the same material.  The bill of fare consisted of cold boiled side meat, hard tack, and coffee.  One glance was enough to cause our stomachs to rebel.  Jack turned to a fellow sufferer sitting alongside of him and asked if that was the kind of stuff Uncle Sam proposed the defenders of the nation eat. 

“Well, it is this or nothing,” he replied.

“Well, then, nothing goes, and so do I,” and he got up from the table with a big disgust on.  He started out of the room and I followed.  When we got outside of the building here another staring match occurred.  Silence again held sway – we were too full for utterance.  Not full of grub, but indignation. 

Jack broke the silence at last and came near breaking my heart at the same time by beginning to talk about college and good times there, our home, and mothers…

Then I decided to tease Jack a little asking, “How is your patriotism now, Jack?”

“Oh damn your patriotism!  I wish I was home!”

I could see he was taking his discomfort more to heart than I was, and let him along to struggle with his great trouble.

The next morning we were up quite early with aching bones, the result of sleeping on hard bunks.

Trouble with the Authorities

At nine o’clock we were ordered to report at the surgeon’s office for a medical examination.  The surgeon complimented us by saying that were the best built recruits he ever saw.  After that ordeal had been passed through were marched down to the commissary department to draw our uniforms.  After putting them on, we felt that we were, in fact, U.S.  soldiers.

After putting the uniform on, the sargeant came around distributing to each man a leather collar to be worn around the neck, according to army regulations to keep our head up so that when were marching and drilling, we could not look down at the ground or at the heels of the men marching ahead of us.  The idea of wearing a leather collar like a dog!  We did not propose to have such an indignity thrust upon and refused point blank to put them on.  The sargeant informed us that he would have to report us for insubordination to the commanding officer.

We informed him that we were from a military college and knew how to hold our head up, and could drill as well as he could.  This information seemed to surprise him, and he informed us that if we were good drilled men, we could be excused from wearing the obnoxious collar.  He also informed us that our knowledge of military tactics would take us out of the ranks in short order, and he gave us a squad of men to drill.

We were then marched down to the barracks and turned over to the tender mercies of the Irish sargeant that had charge of our ward.  He was an overbearing brute; making himself as offensive as possible, ordering us around very much the same as an overseer on a southern plantation would a gang of slaves.  In each of our bunks we found a bed tick and a yellow slip which articles the sergeant bade us to take down to the Cavalry stables and fill with straw. 

Jack was somewhat slow in getting his tick out of the bunk when the sergeant told him to hurry up or he would smash his head.  This was more than Jack could take.  He informed the sargeant that it was a game two people could play and whenever he felt like smashing a head to sail in.

To have his authority questioned in this manner aroused the sergeant, and he proceeded to put his threat into execution instantly and making a rush for Jack, he endeavored to land a knockout blow.  Right there was where he made a grievous error.  Jack weighs 175 pounds, strong as an ox, and was well up on the art of self defense.  The way he doubled that Irishman up was a sight worth seeing.

He literally mopped the floor with him and the sergeant lustily called for help.  The sargeant of the next ward came running to his assistance but as I was Jack’s chum, I did not propose to see Jack doublecrossed.  As the other sargeant ran up to Jack, I smashed him in the jaw and laid him out on the floor.  He concluded that he had enough about that time.  Then the guards came on the scene and stopped the fight.  Jack and I were, of course, marched before the commanding officer for an examination.  After hearing both sides of the story, he ordered us back to the barracks, saying in the meantime he would consider whether he would have us court marshaled, hung, or shot…

I detected a merry twinkle in his eye during the examination that made me think he enjoyed the sargeants discomfiture, and felt as if he deserved all he received at the hands of Jack.  Consequently, I did not anticipate any harsh sentence, and subsequent events justified my opinion in that respect. 

After the fracas, Jack and I went down to the straw shack and filled our ticks with visions of a comfortable bed floating before us. 

That afternoon we were assigned to companies.  Jack and I both going into Co.  A to be drilled until such time we would be sent to our regular regiments at the front, where we would see active service. 

One good result of our mix-up with the sargeant was that it established our reputation among our comrads in arms, and that was that we did not propose to be run over; also we were amply able to take our own part, and if anyone was desirous of a scrap we would at any time accommodate them.

We knew, of course, that the affair with the sargeants would call for some sort of punishment, but as to the nature of the punishment we were unable to determine and did not allow ourselves to worry about it!  The only thing we were worrying about that particular time was grub; both of us being accustomed to good living, being blessed with a good able-bodied appetite, it was a hard struggle to come down to army rations.

Getting the Awkward Squad

The next morning we all turned out to the first regular roll call.  Jack and I stood side by side in the ranks.  After that ceremony was over we were held in ranks to hear general orders No.  1, read by the orderly sargeant.  After several had been read, he called my name.  “Punishment for fighting, drilling the awkward squad for five days. “  Jack’s name was called – he was to do police duty for two days.  He gave me a punch and whispered, “What do you think of that, old boy, only two days in the service and promoted already.”  Poor boy!  Little did he or I know what police duty meant in a military sense.  Before the days was over were enlightened in that respect – a rude awakening!

Our drill hours were from 10-12 o’clock.  The Awkward Squad was turned over to me, and I was cautioned to keep them away from the companies drilling on the parade ground.  Well, if ever a squad of men deserved the name given them that one did.  They were the most awkward squad of men I ever saw; it was torture trying to teach them anything, I put them through their paces.  When the bugle sounded the recall, I started them toward the barracks; being up the adventure, I was coming toward a man trundling a wheel barrow.  I thought I recognized Jack and in a few moments we met.  Sure enough the wheel barrow pusher was Jack – Jack was the man between the handles of the barrow.  For the life of me, I could not understand why such an indignity should be put upon a newly appointed police officer.  A guard was with him to see that he did his duty.  “Well,” I thought, “if that is police duty, I don’t want any line of military duty”

That night Jack and I had an indignant conflab.  He did not know that police duty meant going around cleaning up the grounds surrounding the officers quarters, and any other dirty work the guard in charge of the prisoner ordered him to do.

Jack was mad all the way through.  He was proud as Lucifor, of a wealthy family and accustomed to have servants wait on him.  The idea of gathering up the slops from the kitchen of men who in the civil life he would not have recognized as an equal, he was humiliated to the extreme. 

His pride had received a severe shock.  All night he lay awake planning a deep and deadly revenge upon those who were responsible for his humiliation.  He could not make up his mind whether he would murder all the officers, set fire to the barracks, run off by the light of the moon, or desert.  Poor Jack!  He had a hard lesson ahead of him.  Then he was given an awkward squad. 

That squad of men could make more blunders in five minutes that mine could in two hours;  after seeing them drill for five minutes, I was glad I did not take him up on the bet he tried to make.

After all, we had great sport out of our Awkward Squads.  When our five days were up, we were given men to drill who had pride enough to try to learn Military Evolutions. 

In 1861, drilled men were scarce, and anyone who could drill men had a pull.

Jack and I had made up our minds to attend strictly to business and avoid trouble with our comrads.  Then things began to get better – we got along all right.

Postscript

Next installments will include the trip to Kansas and Missouri in June, several skirmishes there culminating with the first major battle in the west, Wilson’s Creek, in August, where Thomas Jefferson Hampson is seriously wounded, left for dead, captured by the confederates and imprisoned in the Greene County Courthouse in Springfield, Missouri.

He will escape, in October, a 19 year old young man weighing just 80 pounds.  He will heal, regain his weight, rejoin the army as an engineer, and serve until the war is over.   

Read more about Thomas Jefferson Hampson
What soldiers ate and how to cook it for your own soldier.
Terrific page about Carlisle Indian Industrial School
Charles Bender's stats