I attended a meeting of “mechanics” and citizens at the City
Hall last night. The prime mover of this organization is E. B. Robinson, some
twenty years ago one of my printers in the Madisonian office. It was
fully attended, and although not so boisterous as might have been expected,
was, nevertheless, earnest and determined in its spirit. Resolutions
instructing Mr. Randolph (State Senator, and late Secretary of War) to vote for
a bill before the General Assembly reducing and fixing the prices of the
necessities of life, were passed unanimously; also one demanding his
resignation, in the event of his hesitating to obey. He was bitterly denounced
by the speakers.
I understood yesterday, from the butchers, that they have
been buying beef cattle, not from the producers, but from a Mr. Moffitt (they
say a commissary agent), at from 45 to 55 cents gross; and hence they are
compelled to retail it (net) at from 75 cents to $1.25 per pound to the people.
If this be so, and the commissary buys at government prices, 18 to 22 cents, a
great profit is realized by the government or its agent at the expense of a
suffering people. How long will the people suffer thus? This community is even
now in an inflammable condition, and may be ignited by a single spark. The
flames of insurrection may at any moment wrap this slumbering government in its
destructive folds; and yet the cabinet cannot be awakened to a sense of the
danger. Mr. Seddon (who may be better informed than others), deeply sunken in
his easy chair, seems perfectly composed; but he cannot know that his agents
are permitted to prey upon the people: and the complaints and charges sent to
him are acted upon by his subordinates, who have orders not to permit business
of secondary importance to engage his attention; and his door-keepers have
instructions to refuse admittance to persons below a certain rank.
Nothing but the generous and brave men in the army could
have saved us from destruction long ago, and nothing else can save us
hereafter. If our independence shall be achieved, it will be done in spite of
the obstructions with which the cause has been burdened by the stupidity or
mismanagement of incompetent or dishonest men.
“the
Sufferings Of The Border Missourians. — The people of Missouri, on the
Kansas border, are being slaughtered without mercy under the authority of the
Yankee commander of that department, Schofield. A letter to the St. Louis Republican
(Yankee) says:
“On Sunday last the desire for blood manifested
itself in the southeastern part of Jackson County, not far from the village of
Lone Jack. Although it was Sunday, the people of that region, alarmed and
terror-stricken by threats from Kansas, and cruel edicts, from headquarters of
the district, were hard at work straining every nerve to get ready to leave
their homes before this memorable 9th day of September, 1863.
“One
party of these unfortunate victims of a cruel order had almost completed their
preparations, and within half an hour's time would have commenced their weary
wanderings in search of a home. It consisted of Benjamin Potter, aged
seventy-five; John S. Cave, aged fifty; William Hunter, aged forty-seven; David
Hunter, aged thirty-five; William C. Tate, aged thirty; Andrew Owsley, aged
seventeen; and Martin Rice and his son. While thus engaged in loading their
wagons with such effects as they supposed would. be most useful to them, a
detachment of Kansas troops (said to be part of the Kansas 9th, though this may
be a mistake), under command of Lieut.-Col. Clark and Capt. Coleman, came up
and took them all prisoners.
“After a little parleying, Mr. Rice and
his son were released and ordered to leave; which they did, of course. They had
not gone much over three-fourths of a mile before they heard firing at the
point at which they had left the soldiers with the remaining prisoners. In a
short time the command moved on, and the wives and other relatives of the
prisoners rushed up to ascertain their fate. It was a horrid spectacle.
“There lay six lifeless forms — mangled
corpses — so shockingly mangled that it was difficult, my informant stated, to
identify some of them. They were buried where they were murdered, without
coffins, by a few friends who had expected to join them on that day, with their
families, and journey in search of a home.
“These are the unvarnished facts with
reference to an isolated transaction. There are many, very many others of a
similar character that I might mention, but I will not. The unwritten and
secret history of our border would amaze the civilized world, and would stagger
the faith of the most credulous. In the case just mentioned, we find an old man
who had passed his threescore and ten, and a youth who had not yet reached his
score, falling victims to this thirsty cry for blood.
“The world will doubtless be told that
six more bushwhackers have been cut off, etc. But believe it not, sir; it is
not true. These six men never were in arms, neither in the bush or elsewhere, I
have been told by one who has known them for years past. The widows and orphans
of some of them passed through this city yesterday, heart-broken, homeless
wanderers.”
SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's
Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p.
67-70
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