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Excerpt from Campaigns of the 20th Iowa Infantry by J. D. Barnes
Bought the book directly from Camp Pope Publishing in Iowa City, Iowa. Author J. D. Barnes wrote a post-war series of articles published in the Post Byron Globe, a family oriented newspaper that is now out of print and was printed in Port Byron, Ill. Over a century later Barnes' articles were compiled by M. Lawrence Shannon, great-grandson of John Shannon, who served alongside with Barnes in the 20th Iowa. Barnes tells of his Civil War meeting Wild Bill Hickock in Springfield, Missouri.
"One afternoon while taking a stroll around Springfield, my attention was attracted to an almost constant string of rough looking men and soldiers entering and coming from a low frame building situated in the most business part of town. On entering, my gaze was instantly rooted on a brawny-looking man with long hair and shapely hands playing at cards and at the same time relating some hair-breadth escapes from the 'Reb' army, as he called it, while he was a scout for Gen. Curtis during the Pea Ridge Campaign. He seemed to be the centre of attention and proved to be William Hickok, the afterwards famous Wild Bill. After he had finished his story a bystander questioned him in regard to the McCandlas fight. " I don't like to talk about the McCandlas affair," said Bill in answer to his question. "It always sends a queer feeling over me when I think of it, and sometimes I dream about it and wake up in a cold sweat.
"You see this McCandlas was the captain of a gang of desperadoes who were the terror of everybody on the border and kept us in hot water whenever they were around. I knew them all in the mountains, where they pretended to be trapping; but they were only hiding from the hangman. McCandlas was the worst scoundrel and bully of them all and was always blowing of what he could do. One day I beat him shooting at a mark and then threw him at the back hold; and I did not let him down as easy as you would a baby, you bet. Well, he got fight'n mad over it and swore he would have revenge on me some day. This was just before the war broke out and we were already taking sides either for the South or for the Union. McCandlas and his gang were border ruffians during the Kansas troubles, and of course they went with the Rebs. He soon left the mountains and I had almost forgotten him; but it appears he did not forget me.
"It was a year ago last spring, when I guided a detachment of cavalry who were coming in from Camp Floyd, when one afternoon, while we were in Nebraska, I went to the cabin of Mrs. Waltman, an old friend of mine. The moment she saw me she turned as white as a sheet and screamed, 'Oh, my God! They will kill you! Run, run!' 'Who will kill me,' said I; 'there is two who can play at that game. 'It is McCandlas and his gang; there is ten of them; they have just gone down to the corn-rack. McCandlas knows you are bringing in that party of Yankee cavalry and he swears he will kill you. Run, Bill, run.' But it is too late, for I see them coming up the lane.
"While she was talking I remembered I had but one revolver and one load was gone out of that. On the table was a horn of powder and some little bars of lead. I poured some powder into the empty chamber and rammed the lead after it, and I had just capped the pistol when I heard McCandlas shout. 'There is that Yankee Bill's horse. He is in there and we will skin him alive.' If I had thought of running before it was too late now. The house was my best hold - a sort of fortress, you see; though I never expected to leave that room alive, for the McCandlas gang, all of them, were reckless, bloodthirsty villains who would fight as long as they had strength to pull a trigger.
"Surround the house and give him no quarter!' yelled McCadlas. When I heard that I felt as quiet and cool as if going to church. I looked around the room and saw a rifle hanging over the bed. 'Is that loaded?' said I to Mrs. Waltman. 'Yes' she answered in a whisper, for the poor thing was so frightened she could scarcely speak above a whisper. I leaped upon the bed and caught it from the hooks, although my eyes did not leave the door. Just then McCandlas looked in at the door, but fell back when he saw me with the rifle in my hands. 'Come in here, you cowardly dog,' I shouted; come in here and fight me! McCandlas was no coward if he was bully ; for he rushed into the room with his gun leveled to shoot, but he was not quick enough. My rifle ball went through his heart and he fell back outside the house, where he was found the next day holding tight to his rifle.
"His demise was followed by a yell from his gang and there was a dead silence. I put down the rifle and took the revolver and I said to myself, 'Only six shots, and nine men to kill. Save your powder Bill, for the grim monster is looking hard at you.' There was a few seconds of that awful stillness, and then the ruffians closed in on me from both doors. How wild they looked with their red, bloated faces and inflamed, drunken eyes, shouting and cursing. but I never aimed more deliberately in my life. One-two-three-four; and four men sank to the floor dead. Bt that did not stop the rest. two of them fired their bird guns at me. And then I felt a sort of sting' sensation run over me. The room was full of smoke. Two of them closed in on me. One I knocked down with my fist. 'You are out of the way for a while,' I thought. The second I shot dead. The other three clutched me and crowed me onto the bed. I fought hard. I broke with my hand one man's arm. He had his fingers around my throat. Before I could regain my feet I was struck across the breast with the stock of a rifle, and I felt the blood running from my nose and mouth.
Then I got ugly, and I remember that I got hold of a knife, and then it was all cloudly like, and I was wild, (it was at this fight that he gained the world 'wild' to his name) and I struck savage blows, following the devils up from one side to the other of the room and into the corners, until I knew that every one of them was dead. All of a sudden it seemed as if my heart were on fire. I was bleeding everywhere. I rushed out to the well and drank from the bucket, and then tumbled down in a faint."
"You must have been very badly hurt," remarked a bystander.
"Yes; There were eleven buckshot in my body. I carry some of them now. I was cut in thirteen places, all of them bad enough to have let out the life of a man, but that good old Dr. Mills pulled me safelty thorugh it, after a bad siege of many a long week."
Bought the book directly from Camp Pope Publishing in Iowa City, Iowa. Author J. D. Barnes wrote a post-war series of articles published in the Post Byron Globe, a family oriented newspaper that is now out of print and was printed in Port Byron, Ill. Over a century later Barnes' articles were compiled by M. Lawrence Shannon, great-grandson of John Shannon, who served alongside with Barnes in the 20th Iowa. Barnes tells of his Civil War meeting Wild Bill Hickock in Springfield, Missouri.
"One afternoon while taking a stroll around Springfield, my attention was attracted to an almost constant string of rough looking men and soldiers entering and coming from a low frame building situated in the most business part of town. On entering, my gaze was instantly rooted on a brawny-looking man with long hair and shapely hands playing at cards and at the same time relating some hair-breadth escapes from the 'Reb' army, as he called it, while he was a scout for Gen. Curtis during the Pea Ridge Campaign. He seemed to be the centre of attention and proved to be William Hickok, the afterwards famous Wild Bill. After he had finished his story a bystander questioned him in regard to the McCandlas fight. " I don't like to talk about the McCandlas affair," said Bill in answer to his question. "It always sends a queer feeling over me when I think of it, and sometimes I dream about it and wake up in a cold sweat.
"You see this McCandlas was the captain of a gang of desperadoes who were the terror of everybody on the border and kept us in hot water whenever they were around. I knew them all in the mountains, where they pretended to be trapping; but they were only hiding from the hangman. McCandlas was the worst scoundrel and bully of them all and was always blowing of what he could do. One day I beat him shooting at a mark and then threw him at the back hold; and I did not let him down as easy as you would a baby, you bet. Well, he got fight'n mad over it and swore he would have revenge on me some day. This was just before the war broke out and we were already taking sides either for the South or for the Union. McCandlas and his gang were border ruffians during the Kansas troubles, and of course they went with the Rebs. He soon left the mountains and I had almost forgotten him; but it appears he did not forget me.
"It was a year ago last spring, when I guided a detachment of cavalry who were coming in from Camp Floyd, when one afternoon, while we were in Nebraska, I went to the cabin of Mrs. Waltman, an old friend of mine. The moment she saw me she turned as white as a sheet and screamed, 'Oh, my God! They will kill you! Run, run!' 'Who will kill me,' said I; 'there is two who can play at that game. 'It is McCandlas and his gang; there is ten of them; they have just gone down to the corn-rack. McCandlas knows you are bringing in that party of Yankee cavalry and he swears he will kill you. Run, Bill, run.' But it is too late, for I see them coming up the lane.
"While she was talking I remembered I had but one revolver and one load was gone out of that. On the table was a horn of powder and some little bars of lead. I poured some powder into the empty chamber and rammed the lead after it, and I had just capped the pistol when I heard McCandlas shout. 'There is that Yankee Bill's horse. He is in there and we will skin him alive.' If I had thought of running before it was too late now. The house was my best hold - a sort of fortress, you see; though I never expected to leave that room alive, for the McCandlas gang, all of them, were reckless, bloodthirsty villains who would fight as long as they had strength to pull a trigger.
"Surround the house and give him no quarter!' yelled McCadlas. When I heard that I felt as quiet and cool as if going to church. I looked around the room and saw a rifle hanging over the bed. 'Is that loaded?' said I to Mrs. Waltman. 'Yes' she answered in a whisper, for the poor thing was so frightened she could scarcely speak above a whisper. I leaped upon the bed and caught it from the hooks, although my eyes did not leave the door. Just then McCandlas looked in at the door, but fell back when he saw me with the rifle in my hands. 'Come in here, you cowardly dog,' I shouted; come in here and fight me! McCandlas was no coward if he was bully ; for he rushed into the room with his gun leveled to shoot, but he was not quick enough. My rifle ball went through his heart and he fell back outside the house, where he was found the next day holding tight to his rifle.
"His demise was followed by a yell from his gang and there was a dead silence. I put down the rifle and took the revolver and I said to myself, 'Only six shots, and nine men to kill. Save your powder Bill, for the grim monster is looking hard at you.' There was a few seconds of that awful stillness, and then the ruffians closed in on me from both doors. How wild they looked with their red, bloated faces and inflamed, drunken eyes, shouting and cursing. but I never aimed more deliberately in my life. One-two-three-four; and four men sank to the floor dead. Bt that did not stop the rest. two of them fired their bird guns at me. And then I felt a sort of sting' sensation run over me. The room was full of smoke. Two of them closed in on me. One I knocked down with my fist. 'You are out of the way for a while,' I thought. The second I shot dead. The other three clutched me and crowed me onto the bed. I fought hard. I broke with my hand one man's arm. He had his fingers around my throat. Before I could regain my feet I was struck across the breast with the stock of a rifle, and I felt the blood running from my nose and mouth.
Then I got ugly, and I remember that I got hold of a knife, and then it was all cloudly like, and I was wild, (it was at this fight that he gained the world 'wild' to his name) and I struck savage blows, following the devils up from one side to the other of the room and into the corners, until I knew that every one of them was dead. All of a sudden it seemed as if my heart were on fire. I was bleeding everywhere. I rushed out to the well and drank from the bucket, and then tumbled down in a faint."
"You must have been very badly hurt," remarked a bystander.
"Yes; There were eleven buckshot in my body. I carry some of them now. I was cut in thirteen places, all of them bad enough to have let out the life of a man, but that good old Dr. Mills pulled me safelty thorugh it, after a bad siege of many a long week."
