Emblazoned with the State Arms.--A Journalist's Outfit.--A Chaplain of
the Church Militant.--A Mistake that might have been Unfortunate.--The
People of Booneville.--Visiting an Official.--Banking-House
Loyalty.--Preparations for a Campaign.


Daybreak on the 17th found us slowly moving up the river toward
Booneville. General Lyon sat forward of the steamer's cabin, closely
scanning both banks of the stream. Four miles below the town his glass
sought out two pieces of artillery, partially concealed in a clump of
trees, and trained upon the channel by which we were to pass. At once
our engines were reversed, and the boats moved back to a landing about
eight miles below Booneville. A little before seven o'clock we were
on shore, and our column of fifteen hundred men began its advance upon
the Rebel camp.

It was the story that has found its repetition in many a battle since
that time. The enemy's pickets were driven in. The enemy, in line of
battle, was discovered on a long ridge, and our own line was formed
on a ridge parallel to it. Then we opened fire with our artillery (one
battery was all we possessed), and received no response, save by a
desultory discharge of small-arms. Next our infantry added its tenor
notes to the bass of the field-guns; the Rebel forces melted steadily
away, and the field was in our possession, twenty minutes after the
opening shot had been fired.

Once in retreat, the Rebels did not halt until out of harm's reach.
Their camp lay in the line of retreat, but they made no stop in
passing it. Following in the rear of our column, I entered the camp,
and found many signs of a hasty departure. I found the fires burning,