Newspaper Accounts of the Burning of Osceola, Missouri

Burning of Osceola - Newspaper Accounts - Page 2

The Campaign In Missouri., etc. - New York Times, November 9, 1861 (Excerpt)

From Our special Correspondent, Camp Brooks, Bolivar, Missouri, October 27, 1861

I closed my last letter to the Times at Fort Station, a point 12 miles above this on the Overland Road and 46 miles from Springfield. Night before last, General Sturgis, attended by a wild-looking body of men, who, being mounted on horses, are I suppose entitled to the name of cavalry, came over. I was immensely glad to see the old veteran, and hence readily accepted an invitation to take a seat in his carriage and cross over to visit his command.

On the Missouri Campaign

Soon, we were traveling swiftly over the smooth prairies in the luxurious vehicle of General Sturgis. A journey of eight miles brought us to a little town named Humansville, on the road leading from Osceola to the Overland Road. We drove up in front of a white house of Medium respectability, when the noise of our carriage brought to the door a gentleman of middle-age, in his stocking feet, and wrapped in a gray military overcoat.

"General Lane,” said General Sturgis, and in a moment thereafter I was shaking hands heartily with General Jim Lane -- a more noted, more feared, more hated, more talked-of man does not exist in Missouri or any other state. In two minutes after the two Generals were in a hot discussion -- Sturgis claiming that the government is to make itself felt as to its foes, conciliate the wavering and reward its friends -- in general not to steal indiscriminately. In the main, this was agreed to by General Lane -- but with a smooth sophistry he combated the other’s arguments, while he seemingly agreed with him, and alluded, with a humorous twinkle in his eye and a pleasant laugh at the fun of thing, the reminiscence of negroes stolen, houses burned, citizens robbed, and prisoners shot, after compelled to dig their own graves. He asserted that he had forbidden, under penalty of death, stealing on the part of his troops.

"Yes, exactly, but didn’t your men steal $8,000 from Mrs. Vaughn at Osceola?” queried General Sturgis, "and didn’t they take even the clothes of old Stringer’s grandchild?”

General Lane's eyes twinkled with fun as these interesting memories were called to his mind, and with a "I grant you my fellows have done some wrongs!” and a laugh of infinite gusto, he changed the subject and smilingly proceeded to discuss another part of the matter in question.

After a short conversation I left him, armed with the following document:

"Colonel Montgomery: Receive Mr. ______, report of the New York Times, kindly. -- Lane”

Proceeding a short distance below the town, I came upon Lane's encampment, and after a little, succeeded in getting speech with a man in citizen’s dress -- Colonel Montgomery. I presented my credentials, shook an emaciated hand and then dropped down on a pile of tents to have a chat. He waxed eloquent upon the emancipation of the negro and his hope of a millennium at hand, in which they would gain a political and social equality with the white man. I will give only one of his remarks.

Lane's Camp near Humansville, Missouri, 1861, by

Alexander Simplot

"If our boys thought that this war had any other object than to give freedom to the slave, they would every one go home tomorrow.”

I found all through Western Missouri a deadly terror entertained towards Lane and Montgomery, and possible for good reason. Day before yesterday, Lane sent back to Kansas 100 negroes, and this morning, as his train passed, I counted 102 more of these ebony chattels. Everywhere that he has been, he carried the torch and the knife with him, and has left a track marked with charred ruins and blood.

An old man told me his story, -- told it with composure, while he said that they had taken his horses, mules, grain, his wife’s dresses, and then fired the log shanty that afforded his gray hairs shelter from the pelting rain and the nipping frosts. He told all this in detail with a firm voice, but when he added "They even stole the clothes of my little dead grandson,” his lip trembled convulsively a moment, and then the hot tears gushed from his eyes and found ready channels down his time-furrowed cheeks.

At Osceola was a family named Vaughn -- a man and his wife -- wealthy, young, educated, refined, respectable. Vaught took up arms for the South, received a commission as captain, bug gave himself up to Lane and was released on parole. When Lane passed through Osceola, he burned the beautiful residence of Vaughn to the ground, then followed the family to a log house in the country where had fled, and there, upon the information of a salve, dug up $8,000, which they had buried, sacked the house, taking seven silk dresses and all the valuables belonging to Mrs. Vaughn, and then left.

I learned of a dozen other similar cases -- to give which would be mere repetition.

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