The Daily Dispatch: February 15, 1864., [Electronic resource]

Quantrell's Exodus from Missouri--the Blount fight.

‘ Towards the middle of September the guerillas reunited at Blackwater, and were ready in a few hours to leave the rendezvous for their march South. Cold nights and occasional frost had warned them to leave Missouri, and like poor houseless birds of passage, beaten by the pitiless storm, they sought a more genial clime, where the grass was green and Federals less numerous. Missouri would afford no shelter or safety after winter had set in; the bare and leafless forests no hiding places, and the pure driven snow would afford to the enemy the best means of tracking the hunted and hungry guerillas whenever they should leaves their holes in search of food. Outlawed by an order of General Blount, proscribed by every Yankee official, the citizens warned against furnishing food or shelter under the cruelest and severest penalties, the very earth almost denying them a resting place, the gallant three hundred broke up their rendezvous and left for the plains of Texas.

’ Small parties of Feds were occasionally seen and bagged as they approached the border of the Cherokee country. But nothing occurred of any particular interest until they had penetrated the Indian country to some distance. The boys were gay and hilarious; often scattered for miles along the road, as careless and much at ease as if in their own homes and no enemy near. They grew at times boisterous under the sense of security from immediate danger, and amused themselves daily with displaying the Federal flag, and enticing to its benignant folds the stupid negro or treacherous Pin. The flag was a good bait to hold out to Indians and negroes, for both flocked to the standard as readily as a dish of honey attracts flies and insects. But they never return to tell their mistake; nigger and Pin fared alike, and both were left dead side by side.

On the 10th of October, without guide or compass, without the slightest knowledge of the country, but marching in good order — for the "sign" was getting fresh — they suddenly came upon a party of Federals tearing down some houses belonging to the exiled Ridge party. A dozen or more unsuspecting Pins and negroes, with a few Feds, came up to the advance guard of the guerillas, but the larger portion, not liking the "lay out," and scenting the danger, fled towards the fort, which Col. Quantrell had not yet discovered. About sixty of Todd's men, under the leadership of Lieut. Taylor, gave chase to the flying Federals, while the rest, under "Old Quant" and Todd, were dispatching the miscreants who remained. A few of the retreating Feds were overtaken and shot down, the others, more fortunate, "levelled" themselves to reach a place of safety; and, all at once, Taylor came in full view of a strong fort, surrounded with breastworks and ditches. This was a new feature in the case; and it was very evident that something novel and mysterious was actuating the Feds' movements, for they were running to and fro, some gazing eagerly at the advancing force of Taylor, without an attempt at preparation for resistance — while others still seemed to be expostulating vehemently with the terror stricken Yankees, who had so madly rushed in. Flags were flying as if on a gala occasion, music was heard within the fort, and the officer appeared in full uniform, as if for dress parade. They were not long in a state of suspense — for it takes us longer to tell it than it took Lieut. Taylor to form his men and dash like a thunderbolt upon the breastworks. The boys rushed on, screaming like demons — and amid the horrid din the amazed Feds heard the shout for "Old Quant" That charge was magnificently ferocious and superbly desperate. But for the inauspicious yell for Quantrell, every man might have entered the fort and carried it by storm. But a perfect shower of lead now greeted the storming party, and only five succeeded in leaping the rope that was stretched over the breastworks. The names of those immortal heroes are Lieut. Taylor, Sergeant Berry,--Hultz, George Shepherd, and Peyton Long. Each man brought down one of the enemy as he leaped in; but it was impossible to stay and contend against 300, who poured an enfilading fire upon the guerillas from every angle of the fort.

Just at this juncture our boys retreated to the spot where the command had been left; but here was something new also. Taylor found the whole command in line of battle, motionless as statues, with Quantrell at their head on his war-horse looking as grim as the Sphinx of Egypt at a brilliant cavalcade of horsemen forming beautifully about three hundred yards in front. The whisper ran through the line, "It is old Blount, and he thinks we are Federals coming out to give him a reception!" It was true. There rode Gen. Blount and staff, glittering in blue cloth and gold lace, and about 200 of his body guard. Just then the cavalcade moved, and the band commenced playing Yankee Doodle. Quantrell moved also; but the quick eye of Blount discovered something wrong and called a halt. But the guerillas by this time were under full gallop, and down they swept upon the brilliant cortege like an avalanche and hurled them to the earth. The struggle was short and fierce; the shock terrific, as guerilla rode over both horse and his rider, and dashed out the brains of the latter as he passed. Again and again they turned and fired, charged and recharged, until the ground was strewn with the dead, ambulances overturned, and horses flying madly in every direction. Here occurred one of those thrilling incidents, one of those marvellous episodes that cause whole nations sometimes to pause with breathless wonder, and whole armies to halt and gaze with amazement and admiration.

Lieut Col. Curtis, Adjutant General on General Blount's staff, rode a magnificent horse, richly caparisoned, and was himself dressed in the richest uniform of his rank. He was a remarkably handsome man fair and rosy, eyes blue as those of the fairest blonde of his own clime; pale, fair, tall, slender figure — with features as beautiful as those of a woman. He was well armed with pistol and sabre, and used them gallantly. He sees that his force is defeated, and determines to escape. But as he turns his horse's head he encounters the fierce eye of a young guerrilla as handsome, as brave and well armed as himself, bearing right down upon him. He observes the Adj't. General endeavoring to escape; calls to him to stop and fight. He does turn to meet the guerilla now swooping down upon him like an eagle on its prey. The Yankee fires a long range gun — but misses his aim; he draws his six-shooter and rapidly, nervously discharges the contents at his adversary, who all this time is gaining on him and dashing straight at him.

As an eagle swoops down on his prey, gracefully and grandly ferocious, beautiful even in the act of destruction, so does Peyton Long, the young hero, gallantly bear down on the "cute" Yankee; he reserves every shot, while Curtis is wasting his; he dashes upon him — both pause for an instant, as if in mutual admiration — but only for a moment. Peyton Long watches his antagonist, and sways his body to the left to escape the sabre cut of the Yankee; the next instant the inevitable six-shooter of the guerilla is pointed to the head of the splendid-looking fellow; it is the work of an instant; Peyton strikes like an eagle, and all is over! A shout of triumph arose from the throng of guerillas, who had ceased the fight to watch the encounter between this well-matched couple.

Long saw his antagonist fall heavily to the earth, and his noble heart essayed to pity and assist him; but the stern mandate, the inflexible cannon of the guerilla's creed, "kill and spare not the Yankees," the order of Gen Blount outlawing every guerilla, written by those hands before him and approved by that fluttering heart, dried up the fountain of commiseration and brought him back to himself and his duty.

The fight was over, although the Feds continued to fire random shots from their artillery in the Fort. The fruits of this victory were in killed, three Majors, one Lieutenant-Colonel, five Captains, several Lieutenants, every member of Blount's staff, and two hundred privates; all of Blount's papers and personal effects, several ambulances and a large number of horses were captured. The loss of the guerillas was one or two wounded and some horses killed.