Friday's Letter to Home

[moconfed]

2 Oct 1864
My Dear Sarah,

The trip to Gray Summit, although long and tiring, was uneventful, and I arrived in the late afternoon of the 2nd. I found the town as attractive as always, with the many quite prosperous businesses, and the homes and town well maintained. It would be difficult to find a finer town west of the Mississippi.

I was allowed to pen my sheep in the barn and bed down in the loft. Some of the finer residents were appalled that I would accept those accommodations, but they are a generation removed from the days that Missouri was a frontier and have become quite soft from living in town.

The valley was beginning to show the changing of the seasons as the trees in the hills where starting to paint their annual canvas with yellow, orange and red. The gardens were nearing the end of their productivity, as well as the grape arbor leading up to the Inn. Captain Smith’s Inn is as fine as any restaurant as I have visited in Saint Louis. The meals were of excellent quality with more than sufficient portions.

I hate to trouble you with news of the war, but Gray Summit has not escaped it’s wrath. Recent activities in the area have kept the residents cautious of strangers which have overrun the town. Some believe that these strangers are either stragglers or deserters of Price’s army, as he moved through the area in recent weeks. They are a sorry looking bunch of men, who you cannot but have sympathy. They are welcomed, but like a stray dog, you fear to befriend them because you rather have them move on.

I will sleep lightly tonight and will pull my ladder into the loft and sleep with a pistol under my pillow, for fear of what the strangers may do. I will write more tomorrow, but as I am exhausted from the trip, I will retire for now to my loft.

As always, your devoted and loving husband.
Grieves



AKA: Dan Hill
New Madrid Guards

[moconfed]

Saturday's Letter Home

3 Oct 1864
Mrs. Smith’s rooster awaken me long before sunrise. If it were my rooster he would have already made a fine soup. It is a strange life in town. I had already tended to my sheep at sunrise, but nary a villager could be found who had already awaken. Even coffee at the Inn was not available until the sun had cleared the eastern ridge.

New strangers arrived in town overnight with those previously there already moved on. This group is even a more desperate one than the others. One man, in a black hat with a star and crescent, I fear more than others. He has the look about him of someone up to no good.

Following breakfast at the Inn we could hear the sounds of a distant drum. The Sheriff asked the men to gather their firearms and to see that the women and children were secured safely in their homes. Within minutes a skirmish line of blue coats appeared to the east. They were soon followed by an entire company of union soldiers. The sheriff and a few of the town’s men, bravely went to meet them. They were disarmed and escorted under guard back into town.

The union soldiers went from building to building and forced all of the residents out of their dwellings. The union captain was quite arrogant and had no respect for the elected officials or the residents of the town. All our hunting guns and side arms were taken away and we were forced into the church. For some strange reason the Widow Siddall rang the church bell as she was being forced into the building, which sent the Union Captain into a tizzy. Pastor Cope, a minister riding his circuit, tried to calm our fears but was rudely interrupted by the disrespectful union captain. The captain declared martial law, which in my understanding, meant we no longer had the rights guaranteed to us by our founding fathers.

Oh Sarah, you would not believe how these soldiers talked to and treated the women of the town. They must be northern boys for sure, because no southern mother would had brought a child up with so much disrespect. If our guns had not been taken away I’m sure the men would have risen up against the whole union army to defend their honor.

At least the women and children were released from the church and allowed to return to their homes. The men were taken out into the church yard and herded around like a bunch of cattle. The Captain in charge must have been new because he could never seem to make up his mind and had very little control of his troops. Some even went so far as to shoot at the dove over the church tower. Can’t say I ever saw them hit it. We could have all just run away and probably never taken a bullet in our escape.

After an hour of waiting the men were finally moved to the grist mill and “detained” as they called it, for most of the day. After several hours they begin taking us one by one to be questioned by the Lieutenant. I was one of the last to go and after five hours of “detainment” was not in the mood to sign their oath. Perhaps if they had required it of me while we were in the church, but after seeing the grand Union army in action, I did not have as favorable a view. I recalled a passage in Matthew where the Lord commanded us not to swear an oath to anything on earth, and the Lieutenant, who I assumed to be a devout man, released me without me signing.

These Union soldiers are a curious lot. While some were arrogant and disrespectful, others were more caring and compassionate. One even shared his meager slice of beef with those of us being held captive. Some even offered drinks from their canteens, since we had been detained so long. Of course, I refused to accept anything from those who were imprisoning us.
After all had been released, things in town seemed to slowly return to normal, even though everything we did was under the watchful eye of the union army camped on the town’s green. I even had the opportunity to have my likeness taken by one of the visiting photographers. It was such an amazing process to see my likeness appear on a piece of metal under some strange liquids.

Saturday night all of the townsfolk and a few of the union soldiers were entertained with a fine Minstrel show. I dare say that no finer performers could be found in New York, London or even Paris. It was such a joyful evening and I felt such a closeness with the residents of Gray Summit that I had never felt before. It was a sense of belonging that I hope to share with you when you are able to make the trip.

During the show we could hear gunfire on the outskirts of town. But we paid it no attention and continued to enjoy the show, knowing that our fate from the bushwhackers and guerillas could be no worse than what we had received from the grand army of the union. I was even welcoming the idea of them avenging the mistreatment we all had suffered.

Following the show, many enjoyed music and dance. I on the other hand, with two left feet, retired to my loft where I am writing this prior to preparing for good night’s sleep.

As ever your devoted and loving husband,
Grieves

[moconfed]

Sunday's Letter to Home

4 Oct 1864
My Dear Sarah,
I have very little time to complete this letter and so much to say. I awoke after sunrise Sunday morning following a blissful night’s sleep. Just knowing the union soldiers in town, provided some comfort, although I did once again sleep with my sidearm.

It was such a beautiful morning and the townsfolk were chattering about how they enjoyed the Minstrels and dance. We were also excited about the opportunity to hear a message from Pastor Cope. Rarely do we get the chance to hear the message from one so well educated.

Even though church was well attended, there was plenty of space for the union solders although few showed up. Sarah, you should of heard the inspiring message delivered by the pastor. During service I was quite concerned as armed soldiers marched to and fro around the church. When I saw one light a torch I knew it was time to do something. I ran outside and the Sheriff was already there with his shotgun, set on killing anyone who tried to burn the church. You should have seen him, one man standing up to a group of 8 or 10 soldiers. He said he was ready to die but he was going to take at least two of them with him. Then out came Mrs. Warren and then the union Lieutenant yelling something about the pastor’s sermon and Jefferson Davis. I saw this as an opportunity to go back to the barn and get my sidearm and shotgun.

On my return, that arrogant union Captain ordered me to halt but I just ignored him and took my stand next to the Sheriff. The captain was such a “Nancy boy” when he got in my face and yelled that I had to obey him. It was all I could do not to stick my revolver in his belly but I knew a lot of innocent townsfolk would eventually have to pay the price for my actions. Other men from the town then started appearing with weapons and stood beside us vowing not to let the grand union army burn the church.

The pastor bravely went with the soldiers, to spare his flock, to the back of the grist mill. We then heard a couple of shots and the deacon came back carry the pastor’s hat. Such action was uncalled for and may those soldiers, especially the one they called Craven, burn in hell for his actions.

There commenced to be a commotion West of town and a lot of shooting taking place. Then a detail of union soldiers came running across the greens with their tails tucked between their legs. The captain hurriedly called his men together and they skedaddled out of town. We let out a cheer that we had been liberated from the union suppression.

The Sheriff, I, Mr. Smith and widow Siddall’s son Cuffie started walking toward the bushwhackers to welcome them back into town and thank them for our liberation. Before they came out of the brush they had us lay down our firearms and put our hands up. The leader, an old rebel they called Tom, was in an awful ugly mood. He didn’t want to listen to reason and had us all tied up and marched into town.

He marched us to the grist mill, which by now seemed like my home, and fretted over what he was going to do to us. One of the bushwhackers claimed that the Sheriff had insulted him when he had been in town and ol Tom gave him permission to do with him whatever he wanted. That was of concern to me since the Sheriff and I were bound together. They threw a noose over the gears of the mill and I thought for sure they were going to lynch the Sheriff. After further thought they released the Sheriff and the town drunk. I begged with ol Tom to at least release Cuffie, who is only 15, to enjoy the many years he has ahead of him. He would have none of that and has decided to have us all killed and burned in the mill.

So my darling Sarah, it seems my fate is sealed. I’ve asked the Sheriff to see that you get these letters so you may know what became of me and nine other fine men of Gray Summit. May we someday walk hand in hand on the streets of Glory.

With my final breath I will be speaking your name,
Grieves

[moconfed]

Re: Friday's Letter to Home

Thank you for taking a moment to read my AAR. Lost Tribes was a great event and everyone should be commended for their quality "First Person" and staying in them for the weekend. I've done mainstream for many years and find it difficult to do first person because others around me don't take it seriously. Not so this weekend, making it a memorable event. Huzzah to Star of the West Society, Lindenwood College, Grady, Hollar and everyone else responsible for putting this together. May's event has a lot to live up to. It will be interesting to go to it just to see how it all comes together.