Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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The Battle of Wil son ' s Creek WHEN I read in my history about some fearful battle, where great numbers of brave soldiers are killed, it seems very dreadful for the time, but it is so soon forgotten. As soon as grandmother tells me about the things she actually saw, it is so much more real and exciting. When the war was raging in Missouri between the North and the South, great bands of men, not really belonging to the Southern army, but who were on the Confederate side, carried on constant Guerilla warfare. These lawless bands of men were also called Bush-whackers, by the Federalists. They were a constant source of terror and danger to all Northern sympathizers. Any family who lived m Missouri and was known to favor the anti-slavery cause was marked by them for death. A gam and again they terrorized tow ns and villages by means of frequent raids and surprises. There were many of them in Missouri and the other border states, especially on the Confederate side. The Guerillas had a curious way of signaling to their own men. All through Missouri the sumac grows wild along the roads. It is a bush with a dark leaf — the under side of the leaf is almost white. The Guerillas, as they drove along the paths, would break two branches of sumac and cross them so that the white side of the leaf would show. This was the signal that some member or band had passed by, and pointed the way to anyone following. Night after night, my grandmother says she has heard the frightful cry, or war whoop that these men would give, and the hideous sound would echo from one high hill, where some of these Guerillas would be, to another group on another hill far away. They plundered stores, stole horses, burned houses, and never hesitated to kill a Northern man on sight. My great grandfather was well known as a Northern sympathizer. Because of the training he had had in England as a doctor and surgeon, he was called repeatedly to care for the wounded. There wasn ' t a night, however, that he was safe. His life was constantly in danger. The family owned a large dog called W atch. He was the de- voted friend and playmate of all the children. One dreadful night, when the wild war whoops were continually heard, poor Watch was killed by a band of Guerillas. He ran under the house and howled all night before he died. No one could go to him because it meant certain death to do so. The very night that Watch was killed, the Guerillas drove to the house and demanded that my gr eat grandmother tell where great grand- father had gone. There had been no chance for escape, except to the attic of the house. There was a roof below one of the attic windows, so

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passed, but nearer to them than the rest of the Indians. Lieutenant Hard, one of the officers in charge of the scouting party, said to his companion: The next time that fellow passes I ' m going to get him. It went down the line that Lieutenant Hard, who was known as a dead shot, was going to kill the Indian on the pinto horse. When the Indian appeared around the bluff the soldiers stopped firing in his direction and waited to se what would happen. Lieutenant Hard climbed out of the slough and, dropping on one knee, took careful aim, and then slowly and deliberately pulled the trigger. Both horse and rider fell. When Lieutenant Hard had appeared above the bank the Indians concentrated their fire on him, but he rolled over the bank and into the slough to safety. Hardly pausing in their gallop, some of the braves circled around the fallen Indian, picked him up and carried him from the battlefield. Several months later Lieutenant Hard boarded a steamer bound down the Mississippi River. There were also some commissioners on board who were taking a Crow Indian chief and some prominent men of the tribe to Washington, D. C, to see about a reservation for their tribe. In the evening spent on the boat the white men and Indians would gather in the smoking room. The Indians, squatting about the room, did little conversing themselves, but with the aid of the interpreter, listened to the tales the white men told. It came to be Lieutenant Hard ' s turn and he told about the fight at Pompey ' s Pillar and of the Indian on the pinto pony. The interpreter repeated it to the Indians almost as fast as Lieutenant Hard told it. When he had finished, a fine stalwart Indian brave walked up to him and said, How. Then, with the interpreter ' s help, he told of his third ride on the pinto pony of which Lieutenant Hard had spoken. He showed the scars where the bullet had passed through both legs. In doing this it had passed through the backbone of the horse, which accounted for its fall and the ride ' s narrow escape. This is a true story, told to me by my uncle, Lieutenant Hard. IRENE FISH.

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that in an emergency, if he heard them searching the house, my great grandfather thought he could drop out of the window onto the roof, and from there to the ground and escape to the woods. The Guerillas came into the house, sat down before the big open grate fire, and demanded that my great grandmother tell where great grandfather had gone. They did not dream that he was at home, in the attic hiding, and waiting for the least movement, and search for him. They finally left the house without going up the stairs. It was one of many terrible experiences en- dured during the war. Great grandmother was afra.d that she might in some way betray his secret. She succeeded in making them believe that she did not know- where he was. They evidently thought her worried look was due to the uncertainty of his condition. MARY ELIZABETH MCLAUGHLIN. ONE GREATER THING JACK MENLOU, a senior at Yale, was listed to run in the track meet against Harvard. He was the best quarter-mile runner in Yale. He had won the cup twice before but to call it his own he had to win it three times. It was the largest trophy offered for the track meet. When he had entered Yale, everything he had hoped for, dreamed of and done was for the object of gaining that cup. One day as he was walking on the grounds, one of the students stopped him, a thing they seldom did, as he was not liked very well by his fellow students. Jack, he said, I suppose you have heard that our only miler, Henry Young, has broken his ankle and will not be able to compete in to- morrow ' s meet? Heavens! That ' s a shame, and what are you going to do about it? We thought maybe you would take a chance and try and win it for us. You know you are next to Young in running. Young Doil can win the quarter mile for us, as Harvard has a very poor man running for them this time. I ' m sorry, Al, but my heart is set on the trophy for the quarter- mile, besides it wouldn ' t do me much good to try to run against Murphy. You know I am not as good as Henry Young. Sorry, so long. Jack walked slowly through the grounds and suddenly came upon his best and only friend in Yale, Old Jim, the Scotchman. Well, laddie, he said, they ' ll be startin ' the mile pretty soon. Jack, laddie, you will be goin ' in for the mile, won ' t you?