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This was an invitation by the National Park Service to do a living history interpretation on the site similar to one done in 1980. Both Union and Confederate reenactors were encamped in an area known as Sigel's Final Position, separated from one another by about one hundred yards or so. (Again, I will not bore you with a history of the battle; many fine histories can be found on any library shelf, including an account most recently published entitled: WILSON'S CREEK, THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE CIVIL WAR co-written by William Garrett Piston and former Wilson's Creek park superintendent Richard Hatcher).
This weekend was to be the Brigade camp of instruction, which meant drill, drill, and of course, drill. As mentioned in a previous chapter, no reenactments on National Park property. Even our firing demonstrations were severely limited on where and when we could shoot with a park ranger in attendance to supervise and inspect each musket. If the ranger thought the weapon was unsafe for any reason, it could not be used. Holmes Brigade would be portraying the 1st Kansas Infantry, a motley bunch of scarecrows who arrived at the Battle of Wilson's Creek attired in the clothing they wore from home. Records indicate that they did receive the federal issue fatigue or sack coat. However, they were poorly armed as only two companies out of ten had rifled muskets. For the sake of the weekend, as not everyone had access to civilian gear or smoothbore muskets, a generic infantry impression was approved.
I had done a little reading on Wilson's Creek and the early years of the war in particular. What struck me was in 1861 and into '62, the soldiers were issued a tent known as the wedge or A frame tent. These tents stood about 6x6x6 and could theoretically hold four men inside. For the past two years, I had been seeing nothing but the dog tent or wall tents for the officers. I became the FIRST guy in the Holmes Brigade to purchase an A tent. I did this for two reasons. First, my wife was traveling along as of this year, and secondly a dog tent did not afford much privacy nor shelter from wet weather. I bought one from an outfit called YAKIMA for about $100. I had to cut poles, plus locate stakes and practiced setting it up in my backyard before bringing it to the event.
Until this moment, I couldn't recall much about Saturday's activities beyond the fact that I'm sure we drilled and drilled some more. I do know we left the motel early that morning (see previous chapter) and got back to camp about sunrise. The UHAUL trailer was still where we had left it, stuck in the mud. We had to quickly unload it, then move it out of camp, because about 9 AM we were bused into Springfield for a parade to celebrate the Sesquicentennial (or 150 years) of Greene County. We returned to camp about 1 PM when we continued the previously mentioned drill until supper. In the evening a concert was given by the 4th Georgia Band, a group of 11 musicians from California who perform on authentic brass instruments of the period. As the evening wore on, it began to get a little colder and the moon came out. One of the band members played TAPS and it was to bed.
Sometime after midnight, the coyotes started yipping and yapping at each other. The moon seemed as huge as a dinner plate and twice as bright. Before the National Park Service built the visitors center and put in a new tour road, there used to be an audio/visual center on BLOODY HILL. It was built and consisted of a circular platform with some maps and engravings of the battle. A button could be pressed on a metal box to hear a brief narrative of the events on BLOODY HILL. It was during these early morning hours that the audio program mysteriously came on by itself; and continued to replay for nearly an hour. About a quarter-mile (as the crow flies) to where we were camped, many of the boys claimed they were woke up by the metallic sounding voice coming from BLOODY HILL. ( A side note: an inspection later that day of the tape machine revealed no mechanical malfunctions. Was it a ghost playing with the audio tape or was it Erik Hansen who with Michelle Yipe had had an early rendezvous on BLOODY HILL? Or is it Bullshit or not? You decide!)
Around about 4 AM First Sergeant Ray Ham came scratching at my tent like a cat wanting attention. My wife and I had two Army Surplus folding cots in the tent, which we had pushed together. I reluctantly left the warmth of the blankets, dressed quickly, and joined the boys who were sipping hot coffee at the cook fire. Dickson had planned some sort of pre-dawn adventure so we were cautioned to make as little noise as possible. The johnnies were still under their blankets-having spent the night up late and drinking a heavy dose of popskull. Each man in the Holmes Brigade received one piece of hardtack and one apple apiece. There was no talking above a whisper and anything that clanked or rattled had to tied down or left behind. Once the company was all present and accounted for, we silently stole off into the night
We followed Telegraph Road from Sigel's Final Position down to Skegg's Branch; this part of the Road dipped down a 30 degree hill. The road was graveled but after heavy rains on Friday and heavy traffic up and down all weekend, it was a real ankle-twister. Skegg's Branch-which was a tributary of Wilson's Creek-is normally a dry bed in the summer, but after the April shower's, it had a least a foot of water in it. The water level had even risen over the concrete slab of a bridge (more of a pontoon type bridge) by about 3 inches.
Capt. Dick told the men they could remove their shoes and socks before crossing or "Bully on through and be damned!" Skegg's Branch was about ankle deep as the company splashed across the 20 yards of very cold rushing water. On the opposite side, we paused for a minute to allow those few men to put footwear back on frigid feet; the rest of us stamping our feet and watching the water squirt out between the shoe laces. After a few hushed words from the Captain and his NCO's, we continued our advance up Telegraph Road, past an area that had been the main camp of Sterling Price's State Guardsmen, towards the bridge over Wilson's Creek about one hundred yards away. It was at about this time that Hig saw his ghost.
As I was towards the front of the column, I did not witness the episode first hand, so here is a complete, bare-bones account by Gregg Higginbotham himself:
"After everyone was across (Skegg's Branch), we started down the Wire Road and at that point, I wanted to see if we were being tailed. Sitting about fifty yards behind was a man seated on a horse. I pointed him out to Hansen and Fannin, who were both with me to the rear of the company. We continued the march and he kept on following. After crossing Wilson Creek we waited for him to cross, but we never heard or saw him. Everyone agreed that the light colored horse was being ridden by a dark figure wearing a wide brimmed hat."
When the word was passed up to the captain that they were being followed, he halted the company and went back to investigate for himself the mysterious intruder.
"I descended partway down the slope to get a better view as the field was somewhat shrouded in fog", Dick wrote in a recent letter to me. "I could make out distinctly the figure of a cavalryman or officer on a light colored horse about 80 yards from me, and standing still. The most notable feature was the low crowned, large brimmed hat the man wore. Both horse and man were greyed out in the fog, almost silhouettes really, and I could not make out any real detail although I tried. We knew the cav boys had stayed up really late having a huge drunk and were somewhat surprised to see that one of them had gotten up to follow us. It was a bit odd also that there was just one rider since they were always in a group when in the field. We knew most of the johnnies by their costume and there was a discussion as to who it could be as none of knew offhand of a johnny cavalryman who wore such a distinctive and authentic looking hat. The figure did not move during the entire time I observed it which was perhaps a minute. I thought of sending a patrol out, but dismissed the idea and went back to the head of the column to proceed down the road leaving the figure to himself."
After crossing Wilson's Creek, Telegraph Road rose uphill till it passed the RAY HOUSE, then straightened out again. It was about 6 AM and we had gone a little over a mile (as the crow flies). Dawn was breaking over our right shoulder and we left the park and entered county property. Capt. Dick halted us at a crossroads, and came up to me with orders to remain behind and hide in the woods. The rest of the company went about a quarter mile east and north up a dirt lane and halted. About 30 yards into the woods, I flopped down on my belly-partially hidden behind a large oak-and spent the next half hour waiting on the johnnies to show up. Once the enemy's intentions were clear, I was to skedaddle back and report to the captain. I remember my bayonet fell out at some point while squirming around on my belly. It was probably only a few yards behind me, but I didn't dare get up and look for it now. I expected the johnnies to show up any second.
To make a long story short, the johnnies arrived at the crossroads where they looked in both directions for a minute or two, then they faced west, and marched in a direction away from me. Once they last of them were out of sight, I got up from my prone position, located my missing bayonet, and high-tailed it in the direction I knew the company had gone. I found them about a hundred yards back of the road in a private driveway just sitting on their ass'-eating their apple's and hardtack. Breathlessly, I made my report to the captain, who then called us all to attention, load muskets, and forward march. We marched to the place where the johnnies had gone and found ourselves in an open field (it was private property). Naturally the grey clad foe was there to greet us and in anticlimactic fashion, we blew powder at each for almost a half hour.
It was near 8 AM when we said "Uncle!" and resolved to return back to camp. On the return trip, we allowed the johnnies to eat our dust. We did not see any 'spooks' at this time (ghost's don't like the daylight), but there was one more episode that beg's mention before this chapter is concluded. In the recent letter sent to me, Dick includes this story- one that he fondly remembers as the tale of the CONFEDERATE BOOT :
"We recrossed Skegg's Branch...we just marched through without breaking formation. Some of the lead johnnies following us stopped to take off their shoes including an officer who took off his boot. This brought their whole column to a halt. Another Reb officer disdaining this unmanly act performed in full sight of the bold Federal men and annoyed by the halt of the column, pitched the (other man's) boots in the creek on the downstream side below the road. The current immediately and rapidly began to carry them off. It was but an instant after throwing the boots in that both the owner and the thrower realized the boots were going to be gone out of sight in seconds and so they both dove in after them at the same time. The boots were saved after a bit of a chase and the sight of the two drenched johnnies struggling in the waist deep water was pleasant diversion from my own wet feet and the remembrance causes me to smile to this day."
A final word on the spook. To this day no one is sure who or what they saw that early Sunday morning. The Missouri cav boys won't tell you if any of them were involved in the role of CASPER, THE FRIENDLY CAVALRYMAN. With a straight face, they've all but claimed complete ignorance of the entire episode. But, do we really want a definitive answer. The story of the Ghost at Wilson's Creek has become part of Holmes Brigade folklore and remains an unsolved mystery.