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The
Botts Family Cemetery, located southeast of Santa Fe in
Monroe County, contains a stone (rock) marker indicating the
burial site of a Federal soldier killed during the Botts
Skirmish on Botts Bluff (called Battle of Santa Fe in
Federal records). The story relayed in the Botts Family
Cemetery Listing by Mrs. Otto Roth in 1968 indicated that
the soldier, whose name records showed was Jack Case, was
buried by the Botts family in their cemetery plot.
Here
is “the rest of the story” extracted from “With
Porter in North Missouri” by Joseph A. Mudd. This
incident occurred near Santa Fe on July 24, 1862, several
days after the First Northeast Missouri Cavalry, C.S.A.,
better known as Porter’s Regiment, fought with the
Federals in the Battle of Florida.
“Our
march was in a southwesterly direction and extended some
twenty miles. The guides and couriers along the route were
carefully instructed as to what they were to say to the
Federals in answer to their questioning concerning our
movements and our strength. In certain contingencies our
numbers were to be underestimated, our appearance
demoralized, our horse worn out, but still pressed forward
with whip and spur; in others our numbers were to be greatly
overestimated, recruits pouring in, morale unimpaired and
men eager to meet the enemy. As soon as darkness had well
set in we turned back and, almost retracing our steps, went
into camp at daylight in a secluded spot not far from Santa
Fe.
We
had a good rest for thirty hours… the word to saddle was
passed around… a mile or two from camp… told that the
Federals were down the road a short distance and that we
should meet them in a few minutes if we kept on… By some
means a break in the column had occurred just behind Captain
Porter’s company, leaving that company and ours to compose
the advance. The colonel said there was an excellent spot
for battle about a third of a mile to our left and that our
little force could hold any number of Federals until the
other companies came up. We lost no time in getting there.
The place seemed to be made for our purpose. Our horses were
completely sheltered and the contour of ground was favorable
to us. When the remainder of the command had come up and
taken its place - an event looked for with interest and
which happened in the nick of time – a bank eighteen
inches deep was a natural fortification for one-third of our
men on the left, and two half-decayed logs lying in a
straight line, with a gap of ten feet between, were in the
proper position on our right, leaving us in the center to
hug the ground. The colonel standing behind our company
ordered every man, officer and private, to lie flat on the
ground. This was scarcely done before the enemy began
firing. They fired eight or ten volleys before they came
into sight, the bullets whistling over us… After the fifth
volley Colonel Porter in a low tone gave the order to load,
and it was passed up and down the line. We turned on our
backs, loaded our pieces and quickly and quietly resumed our
position… The Federal commander now caught sight of us…
‘Ready!’ rang out the clear silvery voice of Colonel
Porter, and a moment later: ‘Fire!’. When the smoke from
our volley, which was as if from one gun, cleared away, not
a Federal could be seen except those prone on the ground…
In a little while the colonel called for a volunteer picket
guard, one from each company, to go forward and ascertain
the whereabouts of the enemy… The pickets returned in
about a half hour and reported that the enemy had also
thrown out pickets of foot, who retired before ours and soon
the whole force had gone out of sight…
While
we were waiting for the return of the pickets Tom Moore
said: ‘Boys, you see that man lying yonder behind that
tree? He’s mine. You know the colonel’s orders have
always been to fire behind trees and that’s the reason why
he won’t let us stand behind tress, afraid the Feds might
get onto the same practice. Well, when ‘ready’ came, I
covered this man and as soon as we are allowed to break
ranks we’ll go over there and you’ll find a small bullet
wound in his belly. You know I have the only rifle in the
crowd. If you don’t find the little bullet hole just where
I say I’ll own up that somebody else got him.’
Concerning
this affair Captain B.F. Crail, of the Third Iowa Cavalry,
writes: ‘On the 24th of July Major Caldwell
mustered up eighty men and pursued Porter and ran into him
at Santa Fe. I had the advance and ran your pickets off the
road in toward Salt River. When the major came up he ordered
me to dismount with part of my men, go in and reconnoiter to
find out your location. I proceeded with seventeen men. I
was within a hundred feet of you before I saw you. You had
piled up some old logs on a bank and fired a volley of
buckshot into us the first thing. I ordered my men to lie
down, but was too late. I had one many killed and ten
wounded. You had one man killed that I saw later. We buried
him on the widow Botts’ farm by the side of my man, Case.
The Major thought we did not have enough men to meet you
then. We followed Porter south, but stopped at Mexico to
care for our wounded.’
I
saw very many more than seventeen Federals before we fired
and probably I did not see them all, as the undergrowth was
thick in places… We did not have any pickets out. Our
company was in the lead and we left the road in quick time
for our position, before we saw the Federals and before they
saw us… The piled up logs mentioned by Captain Crail were
the two separate logs, where they had lain since they were
felled. I know the captain aims to tell the truth, because
that is his character, but we had a better and much longer
view of the logs and the whole surrounding than he had.
I
did not go with Tom Moore to verify his contention that he
shot the man behind the tree, but one or two from our
company did and a few others fell in with them. I was
shortly afterwards told of a circumstance that reflected
little credit on one of our boys and revealed a very
discreditable record of the unfortunate victim of Tom’s
bullet. When the man was reached he was unconscious and his
death seemed to be a question of a few minutes. Some one
suggested that his pockets be searched for a possible letter
to identify him and the name and address of some relative
whose notification would be an act of kindness. There was a
letter. It was disgustingly filth and I shall not tell the
relationship of the writer to the recipient. The soldier who
discovered it - I cannot believe that he was a member of our
company - giggled over its contents and gleefully read it
aloud. The wounded man opened his eyes, feebly asked for
water and, when it was given him, feebly murmured his
gratitude.
A
stately man came carelessly by without a glance at the
little group; it was Lucian Durkee’s companion – he who
never smiled (note: Mudd refers to this man earlier in his
book as the retiring and taciturn almost melancholy
companion of Lucian B. Durkee and whose name he has
forgotten; both Durkee and this man were inseparable, having
joined the Porter group from Captain Caldwell’s company in
July just before the Battle of Vassar Hill). The giggling
idiot with the letter arrested his attention. One look at
the name on the envelope lighted the hottest fire of the
inferno. ‘Is this your name?’ reading it to the
prostrate man. ‘Yes.’ ‘You are the damned scoundrel
that murdered my brother because in the over-crowded
foul-smelling prison at Palmyra he came to the window for a
breath of fresh air. If you have a prayer to say before you
die, say it now. Your black soul has only one minute more to
pollute this earth.’ The watch; one minute, then the
revolver. They said the handsome face mirrored the demon,
and the writhing form of the victim was horrible to see.
The
names connected with this incident dropped out of my memory,
but the other details are as vivid as they were when first
told to me. Not one of Porter’s men with whom I have
communicated - and I have corresponded with every known
survivor - remembers the incident. Probably not one now
living, except myself, ever heard of it. Frank McAtee, of
Portland, Oregon, in writing his recollections, mentions
that Tom Moore mortally wounded a Federal soldier named Jack
Case. When Captain Crail told of burying ‘his man
Case,’… I asked Frank how he learned the name of Tom
Moore’s victim. In reply he writes, ‘I do not remember
which one of the boys it was that told me the name of the
man wounded by Tom Moore at Botts Bluff was Jack Case. It
might have been some one in the military prison in St.
Louis.’ So it is established that our men knew that name
of the Federal soldier who was killed. This slight
corroboration is all the verification of this story I have
been able to get after very considerable effort. I have
failed to learn if Case had a wound in the temple as well as
in the stomach, and failed to learn if he ever did guard
duty at a military prison. I have no criticism for the man
who did the horrible deed. Had his position been mine I
believe that the admonition ‘Vengeance is mine, and I will
repay,’ would have guided my action, but I do not know.”
Source: Extracted by Lisa Perry from “With Porter in
North Missouri” by Joseph A. Mudd, pp. 84, 148-156. |
