Before Lawrence: August 19, 1861
Fifth chapter of Before Lawrence. Fully committed to rebellion. The town of Osceola agrees to supply the Missouri Guard in its campaign against the Union.
This is the fifth chapter of Before Lawrence. To learn more about the purpose of writing this story, check out the “Forward.” Before Lawrence is part of The Missouri Chronicles. Follow the story by subscribing on Substack, contribute your thoughts, and check out the added resources.
On August 19th, a small band of cavalry slowly proceeded up the road from Springfield. Townspeople looked on in wonder, their first sighting of men dressed in uniform. They proceeded to the courthouse. Before long, runners were sent out to the county officials, most of whom were working their farms or businesses. A couple of the banks were represented. Leading merchants who worked the river port were present. This naturally gathered the attention of the entire village as word got out. The invited officials sequestered in a courtroom in the courthouse, while a growing crowd of onlookers anxiously awaited the news outside in the lawn.
The officer stood up and spoke to the men in the courtroom.
“Gentlemen, I am Captain Edward Stanfield, representing the Missouri State Guard. As you probably already know, we had a resounding victory over the Union forces outside of Springfield. The Union army has returned to St. Louis. Their general, Nathaniel Lyons, was killed in the battle. We are taking the initiative and heading north to retake the state.”
He was interrupted by shouts and applause.
“We want to inform you that the Missouri State Guard is marching soon from Springfield. We expect to be in the area around mid-September. Osceola will be the last major supply depot before we proceed up to the Missouri River. We are asking for your help. We will pay, of course.”
The room was only silent for a moment when a gentleman stood up and declared, “This is the Missouri State Guard, gentlemen. These men are fighting for our state. They are not occupying our town. They are going to pay for the goods and services. I say we permit them to come to Osceola under one condition, that they camp outside of the village.”
An elderly gentleman responded, Judge Joshua Rickman. “Thank you Judge Rice. I think that is the prudent choice.” Smiling, he quipped, “After all, who are we to stop an army of … How many soldiers are in this army?”
The officer replied, “About 10,000.”
“Well, sir, could you insure that the soldiers will remain outside the town?”
“That can be done, sir.”
The owner of the riverport warehouses asked, “And do you have an idea what this army will need?”
“Yes, we have a list here. We will need about every spare sack of grain you have, along with bacon and salt pork. Most importantly, we need mules, wagons and teamsters. And, quite obviously, we could use all the ammunition you have on hand.”
“I suggest you take a walk with me back to the warehouses and see for yourself what we have.”
“That would be fine.”
And so the meeting ended. There was little the town could do to stop the army from coming into the town. They could only hope that General Sterling could maintain discipline in his troops. But left unsaid was their concern about two explosive elements. First, the abundance of whiskey in the warehouses. Selling the whiskey to the army would be most welcome, but only if it was done in an orderly manner. Having thousands of drunken troops wondering through the town would bring only trouble. Secondly, the abundance of pro-Union sympathizers. About one in three of the residents were not in favor of the rebellion.
Yet as the men streamed out of the courthouse, surprised to see a large crowd waiting for them, the townspeople were rather excited about the prospects. Storeowners saw this as a prime opportunity to improve sales. Bankers returned to their offices wondering how in the world General Price was financing the war effort. Wagoneers and teamsters were excited about the adventure and the money. Farmers returned to their homes, counting up the food and livestock they could spare.
Sure, this was exciting news for the wilderness town of Osceola. No one would have ever dreamed of such a thing, an army that was almost the size of St. Louis working its way from a remote corner of Missouri to the river.
The news of the Missouri State Guard coming to their remote settlement stirred unbounded speculation. As the crowd cleared away from the courthouse, some remained in the court chamber. Peter Figgins, the town clerk that saw almost every communication that came to the courthouse, looked at the notes from the meeting and shook his head, “Good Lord. How are we to cope with an army that is three times bigger than our town?”
Judge Uriah Sutherland leaned back in his chair and sighed, “With considerable caution. John, can you post some guards around the warehouses? The last thing we need to happen is for all that whiskey to end up in the hands of armed soldiers.”
John Weidemeyer, the county treasurer, answered, “I suppose that can be done. I am sure General Price will delegate some soldiers to do guard duty, but we can have some of our own for insurance.”
The men each went their own way. For Weidemeyer, it was back to the mercantile. William McClain came by the store shortly thereafter.
“John, I need to have a word with ya.”
John motioned to him to go to his office. He closed the door. He went over to the tall, double-hung window. The upper sash had been pulled down, allowing the hot air to escape. But with the door closed, no cool air was coming through. It was stuffy. Weidemeyer looked up and down the alley behind his shop through the bars that had been secured to the outside. No one was visible.
“All right, Bill, go on.”
“John, this town is in considerable danger. You know about how close James Lane came to Osceola last year. He was stopped in Papinsville.”
“Yes. Remember it well. Also remember the governor telling us to stand down. Well, we really didn’t. Lane knew we would be waiting for him. Penetrating into Missouri as far as Osceola is too dangerous for the Jayhawkers. Osceola. Roscoe. Papinsville. El Dorado Springs. Nevada. There are lot of militias out there, whether officially sanctioned or not.”
McClain sat in silence for a moment. “Tell me, John, what happens when the Missouri Guard marches through our county taking with them every able-bodied man who can shoot straight?”
Weidemeyer said nothing.
“Our sympathies lie with General Price. But we need to consider the risks. I run a bank. What makes this community work is gold – the gold that sits in our banks today. That gold is at risk. What if General Price needs the gold? What do we tell him? What if, by some chance, the Jayhawkers show up in town and rob our banks?
”
“Point well taken.”
“I am calling the board of the Mercantile Bank together this Saturday. We need to consider sending the money to a safer place.”
“What are we talking about here?”
“Possibly a $100,000 in gold and silver coin.”
“Lot of money. A lot of weight.”
“And we will need armed men to guard it. Your men, I am afraid.”
“I understand. I will be there.”
And so it was arranged the following Saturday. August 10th was just another busy Saturday. August 17th was far different, as people began to take sides, mingling closer with people who sympathized with their point of view. Yet on August 24th, as the men gathered for the board meeting of the Mercantile Bank, they knew that their village was now fully committed to the rebellion. Just when the local merchants were excited with the prospect of commerce beyond their wildest dreams, William McClain was popping their bubble.
Local businessmen were almost unanimous in opposition. They had made their point and they reached a compromise. Half would go to St. Louis before the Missouri Sate Guard appeared, leaving adequate currency to do commerce. The rest would be sent on to St. Louis after the Missouri State Guard proceeded north.
Yes – their hearts were with the Confederacy. But their reasoning had not betrayed them. The money was safest, ironically, in the hands of a northern bank.
Tied up to the dock was a shallow draft steamboat. It would be expensive, but the entire craft was chartered. A group of six men boarded the vessel to guard the gold hidden in a safe, mounted on a crate. Due to the shallow river, they could not take on anything more.
Everyone on the board felt uneasy about their money no longer being within sight. As the boat drifted out of sight, Champion Guinn conceded, “Just as well, I suppose. Yes, we are going to feed and supply an army. But beyond that, this bloody war will not be good for business. Who is going to come to this part of Missouri to buy a farm? Who can pay anything to someone who is selling? No need to have the money here.”
© Copyright 2024 to Eric Niewoehner
Previous Chapter: August 12, 1861
Next Chapter: James Lane
Your comments are welcome. Feel free to send a message.