A Mr. Boosman, however, generously and fearlessly came to my relief, borrowed a carriage from Mrs. Early and hauled me into Lexington.
Frank and myself served under Quantrell, Todd, Anderson and Taylor.
From Nelson county we went to Logan county to see some relatives we had there, and after staying until the middle of October, I returned alone to my home in Missouri.
I had hope, however; I had been wounded seven times during the war, and once before in this same lung; and I did not believe I was going to die.
I knew, however, that the next morning after the fight I would have to get away, and I did just in time, for a full company came early to look for me and were furious because I had escaped them.
Just able barely to mount a horse and ride about a little in the spring of 1866, my life was threatened daily, and I was forced to go heavily armed. The whole country was then full of militia, robbing, plundering and killing.
My dad worked me like a dog when I was kid. From 8 years old, I was an integral part of his business and working, and you know, made me.
My pistols, however, I always kept by me.
No, I think it taught me to be independent and never expect a handout and never wait for anybody to hand you anything in any aspect of my life.
On the 21st of the same month I surrendered at Lexington. I was in a dreadful fix. A minie ball had gone through my right lung and everybody thought the wound would be mortal.
Surrender had played out for good with me.
The militia were clamoring for the death of all guerrillas, and people were afraid to come near me or about me.
This was in June, 1866. Frank wrote for me to come to him at once, and although my own wound was still very bad, I started immediately and stayed with him at the house of Mr. Alexander Severe, in Nelson county, until he recovered, which was in September.
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