The flags under which Missouri soldiers were gathered clearly blended the interests of the State with secession.

Our troops entered Booneville amid demonstrations of delight from one portion of the inhabitants, and the frowns and muttered indignation of the other.  The Rebels had fled, a part of them by land, and the balance on a steamboat, toward Lexington.  Quiet possession obtained, there was time to examine into the details of the fight.  We had lost twelve men, the enemy probably twice as many.  The action, three years later, would have been considered only a roadside skirmish, but it was then an affair of importance.  Every man with General Lyon felt far more elation over the result than has since been felt over battles of much greater moment.  We had won a signal victory; the enemy had suffered an equally signal defeat.

During the battle, a chaplain, provided with four men to look after the wounded, came suddenly upon a group of twenty-four Rebels.  An imperative demand for their surrender was promptly complied with, and the chaplain, with his force of four, brought twenty-four prisoners into town.  He was so delighted at his success that he subsequently took a commission in the line.  In time he was honored with the stars of a brigadier-general.

General Lyon was my personal friend, but he very nearly did me great injustice.  Seeing myself and a fellow-journalist on a distant part of the field, he mistook us for scouts of the enemy, and ordered his sharp-shooters to pick us off.  His chief-of-staff looked in our direction, and fortunately recognized us in time to countermand the order.  I was afterward on the point of being shot at by an infantry captain, through a similar mistake.  A civilian’s dress on the battle-field (a gray coat formed a part of mine) subjects the wearer to many dangers from his friends, as most war correspondents can testify.

While approaching the town, I stopped to slake my thirst at a well.  A group of our soldiers joined me while I was drinking.  I had drank very freely from the bucket, and transferred it to a soldier, when the resident of a neighboring house appeared, and informed us that the well had been poisoned by the Rebels, and the water was certain to produce death.  The soldiers desisted, and looked at me with much pity.  For a moment, I confess, the situation did not appear cheerful, but I concluded the injury, if any, was already done, and I must make the best of it.  The soldiers watched me as I mounted my horse, evidently expecting me to fall within a hundred yards.  When I met one of them the following day, he opened his eyes in astonishment at seeing me alive.  From that day, I entertained a great contempt for poisoned wells.

In Booneville the incidents were not of a startling character.  I found the strongest secession sympathy was entertained by the wealthier inhabitants, while the poor were generally loyal.  Some cases of determined loyalty I found among the wealthy; but they were the exception rather than the rule.  Accompanied by a small squad of soldiers, myself and companion visited the house of a gentleman holding office under the United States Government.  We obtained from that house several Rebel cockades and small flags, which had been fabricated by the ladies.