He had established himself in an unpretending, but comfortable farm-house, formerly owned by a German, named Brown.  This house has lately been the scene of one of those bloody outrages, instigated by neighborhood hatred, which have been so frequent in Missouri.  Old Brown had lived here more than thirty years.  He was industrious, thrifty, and withal a skilful workman.  Under his intelligent husbandry his farm became the marvel of all that region.  He had long outlived his strength, and when the war broke out he could give to the Union nothing but his voice and influence:  these he gave freely and at all times.  The plain-spoken patriot excited the enmity of the Secessionists, and the special hatred of one man, his nearest neighbor.  All through the summer, his barns were plundered, his cattle driven away, his fences torn down; but no one offered violence to the white-headed old man, or to the three women who composed his family.  The approach of our army compelled the Rebels of the neighborhood to fly, and among the fugitives was the foe I have mentioned.  He was not willing to depart and leave the old German to welcome the Union troops.  Just one week ago, at a late hour in the evening, he rode up to Brown’s door and knocked loudly.  The old man cautiously asked who it was.  The wretch replied, “A friend who wants lodging.”  As a matter of course,—­for in this region every house is a tavern,—­the farmer opened the door, and at the instant was pierced through the heart by a bullet from the pistol of his cowardly foe.  The blood-stains are upon the threshold still.  It was the murderer’s house the soldiers sacked to-day.  A German artillery company heard the story, and began to plunder the premises under the influence of a not unjustifiable desire for revenge.  General Asboth, however, compelled the men to desist, and to replace the furniture they had taken out.

I found General Sturgis, and Captain Parrot, his Adjutant, at General Asboth’s, on their way to report to General Fremont.  Sturgis has brought his command one hundred and fifty miles in ten days.  He says that large numbers of deserters have come into his lines.  Price’s followers are becoming discouraged by his continued retreat.

The business which detained me in the rear was finished at an early hour, but I waited in order to accompany General Asboth, who, with some of his staff, was intending to go to head-quarters, five miles farther south.  We set out at nine o’clock.  General Asboth likes to ride at the top of his horse’s speed, and at once put his gray into a trot so rapid that we were compelled to gallop in order to keep up.  We dashed over a rough road, down a steep decline, and suddenly found ourselves floundering through a stream nearly up to our saddle-girths.  My horse had had a hard day’s work.  He began to be unsteady on his pins.  So I drew up, preferring the hazards of a night-ride across the prairie to a fall upon the stony road.  The impetuous old soldier, followed by his companions, rushed into the darkness, and the clatter of their hoofs and the rattling of their sabres faded from my hearing.