- 20 Aug 2021 13:11
#15186431
August 21, Friday
At dawn, Quantrill’s raiders pause on a hill just short of their destination. Even now, some of the men want to turn back; the townsfolk of Lawrence, they insist, must surely have been warned by now of their approach. “You can do as you please,” says Quantrill, “I am going to Lawrence.” Then, drawing one of the four revolvers he carries in his belt, he spurs his horse shouting, “Charge!” Into the town and down its streets they thunder. The first victim to be shot down is a preacher named Snyder, who topples under the cow he has been milking in his yard. Near the center of town, a detachment of 22 Union Army recruits is encamped; the mounted bushwhackers, yelling their vengeful cry “Osceola!” surge over the drowsy soldiers, shooting some and trampling others beneath the pounding hooves of their horses. In all, seventeen Federals are slaughtered; the other five escape. Then, while Quantrill eats a hearty breakfast in a Lawrence hotel, the bushwhackers carry out his orders to “kill every man big enough to carry a gun.” Most are shot in cold blood as they stand in their doorways; some are burned to death when a torch is put to buildings in which they are hiding; the town’s mayor is suffocated by smoke in the bottom of a well where he has sought safety. For four hours the killing continues. Finally, about 9 am, the bushwhackers get word that Union troops are approaching, so they head at a gallop back to Missouri—leaving behind them a ruined town where dozens of fires lick at the buildings and where the bodies of at least 150 men lie strewn about. (Women, by Quantrill’s order, have been spared, although several have been robbed of their wedding rings.) Among the Kansans who survive—to Quantrill’s great chagrin—is Jim Lane, whom the Bushwhackers meant to take alive and carry back to Missouri for execution, either by public hanging or by burning at the stake. Instead, Lane, awakened from his slumbers, had leaped from bed, cagily removed a metal nameplate from his house (which is soon burned), and, in his nightshirt, scurried into hiding in a nearby cornfield. Throughout this terrible morning, the bushwhackers suffer only one casualty. On their departure, a former Baptist preacher named Larkin Skaggs is left behind, too drunk to ride. Skaggs is shot to death by a local Amerind. His body is dragged through the streets behind a horse, then ripped apart by the enraged survivors of the Lawrence massacre.
While the besieging Federals have been digging their zigzag trenches and moving their big guns ever closer to Fort Wagner, they have established in the marshes between Morris and James islands, off to the left and about 8,000 yards from downtown Charleston, an 8-inch Parrott rifle—promptly dubbed the “Swamp Angel” by the engineers that have been sweating and floundering in the salty mud to place the big gun on its platform. Its purpose is to heave its 200-pound shells, specially filled for the occasion with liquid and solidified Greek Fire, into Charleston’s streets and houses. Today the monster weapon is reported ready, and General Gillmore sends a note across the lines demanding the immediate evacuation of Morris Island and Fort Sumter; if not, or if no reply is received within four hours, he warns, he will open fire “from batteries already established within easy and effective range of the heart of the city.” General Beauregard is away inspecting Charleston’s fortifications when the demand arrives at his headquarters, and no answer will be returned within the allotted time.
Today is one of those days President Davis occasionally sets aside for prayer and fasting throughout the Confederacy, and in Chattanooga civilians and soldiers alike flock to the churches. The roads to the city are barely guarded; no one suspects that there are Federals nearby. Suddenly, at 9 am, from the main ferry station on the north bank of the Tennessee River, Wilder’s battery under Eli Lilly opens fire on the town across the river with stunning effect; Henry Campbell, bugler of the 18th Indiana Artillery, will report that the worshippers at one church “poured out like bees from a hive.” Civilians begin to flee the town. A boat at the unguarded ferry slip on the south bank is sunk by the artillery fire, and a number of shells explode inside Confederate fortifications, which are clearly visible from the opposite bank. Although Hazen’s forces aren’t strong enough to storm the town, for almost three weeks they will stay in the vicinity, harassing its defenders. At night, fires are lit along the roads near the town to make it appear that a large body of men is gathering. It is Rosecrans’ favorite ploy; he used it before at Stones River. The Federals also clap boards together, pound barrels, and throw wood scraps into the river to give the impression that boats are being constructed for a crossing.
By now, General Bragg knows from scouting reports that the bulk of the Federal army is moving toward him, but he has no idea where the main force is. His army, plagued by illness and desertions, now totals only 30,000 men. Bragg pleads with Richmond for reinforcements and is promised 20,000 men—some from Johnston in Mississippi, and more from Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia.
Skirmishing occurs at Maysville, Alabama, and Shallmound, Tennessee, as Rosecrans draws nearer the strategic city. In West Virginia there is a skirmish near Glenville.
About 1 am, a Confederate steam torpedo boat moves speedily out of Charleston Harbor to attack New Ironsides. However, the torpedo’s detonating device fails, and the Confederate vessel retreats under heavy fire.
Society cannot exist, unless a controlling power upon will and appetite be placed somewhere; and the less of it there is within, the more there must be without.
—Edmund Burke