We arrived at General McCulloch’s headquarters about 10 A. M. to-day, tired, dusty, hungry, and sleepy, after a long, forced march from Fort Smith, Ark. We are now preparing for our first battle. We are under orders to march at eleven o’clock to attack General Lyon’s army at daylight in the morning. All the boys are busy cooking up three days’ rations. I am very well. If I survive to-morrow’s battle I will write a postscript, giving you the result. Otherwise this will be mailed to you as it is.
Numbers of the boys said to me: “Now, Barron, if I am killed to-morrow please mail this letter for me.” One said: “Barron, here is my gold watch. Take it, and if I am killed to-morrow please send it to my mother.” Another said: “Barron, here is a gold ring. Please take care of it, and if I am killed to-morrow I want you to send it to my sister.” Another one said: “Barron, if I am killed to-morrow I want you to send this back to my father.” At last it became funny to me that each seemed to believe in the probability of his being killed the next day, and were making nuncupative wills, naming me as executor in every case, without seeming to think of the possibility of _my_ being killed.
During the remainder of our four years’ service, with all the fighting we had to do, I never again witnessed similar preparations for battle.
On the March—Little York Raid—Under Fire—Our First Battle—Oak Hill (Wilson’s Creek)—Death of General Lyon—Our First Charge—Enemy Retires—Impressions of First Battle—Death of Young Willie—Horrors of a Battlefield—Troops Engaged—Casualties.
WELL, eleven o’clock came, we mounted our horses and rode out on the road to Dug Springs, under orders to move very quietly, and to observe the strictest silence—and, when necessary, we were not even to talk above a whisper. The night was dark and we moved very slowly. About three o’clock in the morning an orderly came down the column carrying a long sheet of white muslin, tearing off narrow strips, and handing them to the men, one of which each man was required to tie around his left arm. From our slow, silent movement I felt as if we were in a funeral procession, and the white sheet reminded me of a winding sheet for the dead. As we were not uniformed these strips were intended as a mark of the Confederate soldiers, so we might avoid killing our own men in the heat and confusion of battle.