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She was a little frightened after having been lifted off her feet in this way and dangled in the air, and somewhat piqued, too, that I was about to ride away on her sweetheart’s horse, and when I suggested that the horse was not as quiet as he might be and she had better not catch hold of his bridle any more, she called to me as a parting shot, “You horrid old red-leg, you are meaner than Quantrell or Todd or Cole Younger or any of his gang!”
Quantrell and three others were sent out to meet an “underground railroad” train of negroes from Missouri. One of the party did not come back. Between October, 1857, and March, 1858, Pickens’ company lost 13 men. Promotion was rapid. Charley “Hart” was made a lieutenant. No one had recognized in him the boy who had been left for dead two summers before, else Capt.
They were, however, true to my suspicions, a band of the notorious Quantrell gang, the very ones who had made the raid on Lawrence and killed so many people after robbing them. My passenger walked up to the gang and said, "Come on, boys, let's all have a drink before you go."
It was a robbery and murder by one of these bands of Kansas Jayhawkers, that gave to the Civil war Quantrell, the Chief of the Guerrillas. A boy of 20, William Clarke Quantrell, had joined his brother in Kansas in 1855 and they were on their way to California overland when a band of Jayhawkers in command of Capt.
After Lexington, Quantrell went with the command as far as the Osage river, and then, with the consent of his officers, came up the Kansas line again to settle some old scores with the Jayhawkers. I was only seventeen when Col. Mockbee gave a dancing party for his daughter at his home in Harrisonville which was to terminate seriously for some of us who were there.
Then Quantrell opened the door and leaped out. Close behind him were Jarrette, Shepherd, Toler, Little, Hoy and myself, and behind us the revolvers. In less time than it takes to tell it, the rush was over. We had lost five, Hoy being knocked down with a musket and taken prisoner, while they had eighteen killed and twenty-nine wounded.
I was there as a private in the state guard, fighting under Price. Then came Gen. Lyon’s fatal charge at Wilson’s creek, and Gen. Price’s march on Lexington to dislodge Col. Mulligan and his command. Here Quantrell came into the public eye for the first time. His red shirt stood out in the first rank in every advance; he was one of the last when the men fell back.
In reconnoitering the vicinity he took with him Dick Yager, Boone Muir and myself, all of whom had seen service with Capt. Quantrell. It was finally decided to make the attack August 11th. Colonel Hays wanted accurate information about the state of things inside town. “Leave that to me,” said I. Three days remained before the battle.
I had a twin, but he got restless and jumped ship last time we were down. He got left behind at blastoff time." Quantrell nodded understandingly. "Too bad. But I know what he was up against and I envy the lucky so-and-so. I wish I had the guts to just walk out like that. Every day that goes by in this place, I say I'm going over the hill next day. But I never do, somehow.
You must be a real old-timer, Quantrell!" "I was born in 3403. Makes me 473 years old, Earthtime. But I'm actually only seventeen and a half. Right before Aldebaran we made a hop to Capella, and that used up 85 years more in a hurry." "You've got me by 170 years," Alan said. "But I'm only seventeen myself." Quantrell grinned cockily.
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