All this deck was sufficiently unobstructed so as to afford me glimpses without, and for some distance along the bank; and it was not difficult for one with military training quickly to sense the situation, especially as I overheard much of the conversation between Mapes and the young lieutenant quartermaster who immediately came aboard.  A more desolate, God-forsaken spot than Yellow Banks I never saw.  It had been raining hard, and the slushy clay stuck to everything it touched; the men were bathed in it, their boots so clogged they could hardly walk, while what few horses I saw were yellow to their eyes.  The passengers going ashore waded ankle deep the moment they stepped off the plank, and rushes and dried grass had been thrown on the ground to protect the cargo.  Only three log houses were visible, miserable shacks, one of them a saloon, evidently doing a thriving business.  In most cases it was impossible to distinguish the civilian inhabitants from their soldier guests.  Reynolds’ troops, all militia, and the greater part of them mounted, were an extremely sorry-looking lot—­sturdy enough physically, of the pioneer type, but bearing little soldierly appearance, and utterly ignorant of discipline.  They had been hastily gathered together at Beardstown, and, without drill, marched across country to this spot.  Whatever of organization had been attempted was worked out en route, the men being practically without uniforms, tents, or even blankets, while the arms they bore represented every separate species ever invented.  I saw them straggle past with long squirrel rifles, Hessian muskets, and even one fellow proudly bearing a silver-mounted derringer.  The men had chosen officers from out their own ranks by popular election, and these exercised their authority very largely through physical prowess.

We had an excellent illustration of this soon after tying up at the landing.  A tall, lank, ungainly officer, with a face so distinctively homely as to instantly attract my attention, led his company of men up the river bank, and ordered them to transport the pile of commissary stores from where they had been promiscuously thrown to a drier spot farther back.  The officer was a captain, to judge from certain stripes of red cloth, sewed on the shoulders of his brown jean blouse, but his men were far from prompt in obeying his command, evidently having no taste for the job.  One among them, apparently their ringleader in incipient mutiny, an upstanding bully with the jaw of a prize-fighter, took it upon himself openly to defy the officer, exclaiming profanely that he’d be damned if he ever enlisted to do nigger work.  The others laughed, and joined in the revolt, until the captain unceremoniously flung off his blouse, thus divesting himself of every vestige of rank, and proceeded to enforce his authority.  It was a battle royal, the soldiers crowding eagerly about, and yelling encouragement impartially first to one combatant, and then another.