Biography of Benjamin Potter
by Lillian L. Cave
Manuscript copy provided by Jim Cave
Foreword and editorial comments by Larry Sullivan
Lillian Lorena Cave was the youngest daughter of Gaius Cave (son of John S. Cave) and Amanda Missouri Potter (granddaughter of Benjamin Potter). She was born in Tempe Arizona on April 27, 1890 and died in Los Angeles in 1977. Her older siblings were all born in Lone Jack. She was a teacher and never married.
In 1951 she wrote this piece based upon recollections of her mother and father. Her opinions were a little biased by insisting that William Quantrill was a gentleman and hero, not the cutthroat and opportunist that he actually was. But she collected much material bearing upon the execution of the six Lone Jack men. John S. Cave was her grandfather and Benjamin Potter was her great-grandfather.
Martin Rice was a neighbor of the men and an ardent Union sympathizer. However he was not militant about his views and tolerated his Confederate-supporting neighbors. He and his daughter Mary are known to have supplied information to the Union garrison commander at Pleasant Hill about the movements of the guerilla forces in the area.
On the day of the executions he and his son Isaac were also taken prisoner as related in the Lillian Cave account and commented on by Martin in later writings. He and the boy were released because he had an official Certificate of Loyalty issued by the Union Army. The others were shot.
Martin Rice wrote several books in later life. One important segment related his account of the executions, the burials, and the evacuation of the families. I gleaned much of the information contained in the Nancy Cave exile piece from his accounts of the people who accompanied the evacuees and the routes they took.
Although there has been much speculation about the role of Martin Rice in the events leading to the executions (some today still blame him), I have come to believe that he was caught up in the events and regretted the executions greatly. After all, the men were his neighbors and he had worked with them and lived nearby for many years. Also he was known to be opposed to the Bushwhackers and the armed Confederate troops, but the six men were unarmed non-combatants.
Martin Rice died in 1904 and took any evidence of a conspiracy to his grave with him. Without documented proof at this late date, we must assume that he was not a sinister monster who was responsible for the executions. That blame must rest with Lt. Col. Charles S. Clark, deputy commander of the Ninth Kansas, and Capt. Charles F. Coleman, commander of Company D. In their fervor to wipe out the Quantrill forces after the Lawrence raid, they executed anyone whom they suspected of aiding the Bushwhackers in any way.
I have more to say about Martin Rice in my "Stories of the Lone Jack Massacre."
-Larry Sullivan
My Most Interesting Pioneer Ancestor of Jackson County
When the heroic lives of our early American ancestors are recalled, we of the atomic age often yearn to slip our hand in theirs and face the threat of Communist aggression and the uncertainties of drastic change with the assurance that their firm touch would bring to us. Such an ancestor was my great-grandfather, Benjamin Potter, veteran of the War of 1812, man of kindness and courage, who followed his principles unswervingly even though they eventually led him before a firing squad to a soldier-type burial in a field.
Of Scotch Irish ancestry, he was born in Surry county, North Carolina, May 17, l788. As did most Southerners of the period, he lived a rural existence, with his life, so far as we know, uneventful until his service in the War of 1812. In his younger years he wore colonial knee breeches and often dancing pumps, as he enjoyed the social life of the young people of his generation.
The National Archives and Records Services give his military service as follows:
Artificer in Capt. George Lee Davidson’s Company of Artillerists, in the 7th Regiment (Pearson’s) North Carolina Detached Militia, War of 1812. He enlisted for six months on February 1, 1814, and was discharged July 31, 1814. His name appears on the Muster Roll, dated March 25 to May 15,1814, Camp Jackson, as absent, having been left sick at Fort Laurance. His name appears on the Muster Roll for May 15 to July 16, 1814, at Camp Pike near Fort Hawkins. (The dictionary’s military definition of artificer is: "One who prepares the shells, fuses, etc. in a military laboratory," so Mr. Potter must have prepared ammunition for the cannon.)
Mr. Potter married Mary Hays, a Virginian, but the date of this marriage is not available. We know that couple moved to Lawrence County, near Bedford, Indiana, prior to 1819, as their first child, a son, was born there in that year. All of the family’s twelve children were natives of Indiana. The home was a farm not far from Bedford and Mrs. Potter died there October 17, 1852. Subsequently her husband moved to Jackson County, Missouri, near Lone Jack. This move was probably due to the loss of his wife, as Mr. Potter, normally a calm man, could never speak of her passing without tears.
Seven of the Potter children either accompanied their father to Missouri or joined him shortly afterward. Four married girls remained in Indiana. He was firm with his children but not repressive and always had their loyalty and affection.
He was a competent agriculturist, very successful in the growing of wheat, and prospered in Missouri.
Until the war years the Lone Jack neighborhood enjoyed a period of peace and tranquility. There was excitement when a huge comet appeared and remained for some time in the sky as most people considered it a certain portent of war. Mr. Potter, singularly free of superstition for one of his day, always greeted any reference to superstition with a sharp "Pshaw, pshaw, pshaw. There’s nothing to it."
A photograph of Mr. Potter, probably taken after his arrival in Missouri, and reproduced in "Rural Rhymes and Talks and Tales of Olden Times" by Martin Rice, shows him a man with high forehead, keen eyes and firm mouth; clean-shaven except for beard along the jawline. His blue eyes often sparkled with merriment and he enjoyed jokes with a group of his neighbors, especially the exchange of tales of North Carolina with friends from that state.
He was a small man, vigorous and agile all of his life. In his seventies he once raced playfully through his back yard and leaped gate bars, which a much younger neighbor managed to vault, but ignominiously stubbed his toe as he went over. The only sign of physical deterioration shown by Mr. Potter was palsy, which particularly affected his head and hands, the latter to such an extent that he was reluctant to dine out for fear of spilling beverages.
A son, Steven, who had crossed the Plains to San Francisco in 185O, was an adventurous spirit and became wagon master with the freighting firm of Russell, Majors and Waddell, making trips to Salt Lake City. Two of his brothers, William and Benjamin [Jr.], made a crossing with him. William, who had three motherless children, had been told that a long journey in a. wagon would benefit his liver ailment. This treatment failed and he died leaving his children, Marion, Amanda (my mother) and Thomas to be received into his father’s home. Mr. Potter gave these orphans the care of a father and mother, treating them with such kindness and understanding that they revered his memory as long as they lived.
Since incidents in a man’s life are so revealing of his character, a number of those in the life of Mr. Potter will be related. They come from recollections of my mother. It is regrettable that most must be of the war years, but the tragedy they brought had such an impact on my mother’s memory that she dwelt on them and repeated them many times. Then, too, most of her life in-the Potter household was in war-time.
Mr. Potter believed in States Rights or "se1f-determination" as our government now. expresses it. It was the fear of loss of such rights that caused our colonies to hesitate to accept a union of states, and this apprehension was still wide-spread in Mr. Potter’s day. At the outbreak of the War Between the States, he felt these rights had been violated and placed himself squarely on the side of his native state and the Confederacy.
The first impact of war came to the Potter came one morning when Jennison’s Jayhawkers rode into the yard. The "ramparts they watched" were built of choice quilts and coverlets stacked high front and back on their horses. It was evident they had selected the choicest of such articles, wrought by the hands of the gentle women of the area. Their greedy eyes looked out through scraggly beards to discover what the Potter place possessed which they could carry away on horseback.
When Mr. Potter appeared on his porch, one trooper demanded, "Are you Union or Secesh?" The old gentleman answered forthrightly, "I was for the old Union. I fought for it in the War of 1812, I’m not for the sort of Union it has become." "Now you’re the right sort," said one trooper. Then all slid from between their piles of bedding and proceeded to ransack the house from top to bottom selecting such articles as could be used in Kansas. Apparently Kansas must have been sadly in need of most everything used by the average citizen. An adult Jayhawker and a boyish soldier climbed the stairs closely followed by my outraged little mother. When the boy lifted a beautiful coverlet from a bed, Mother said "Let that alone." The older man spoke, "Just take anything you see that you want, Jim." One of the Jayhawkers declared, "We’re Jennison’s regular Jayhawkers. If we have the name, we might as well have the game."
One professional patriot from Mr. Potter’s home state particularly aroused his contempt by his loud and frequent avowal of his loyalty to the Union. The exasperated Mr. Potter snapped, "I wonder if he knows that I know his grandfather was hanged because he was a Tory."
Despite his adherence to the Southern cause, the old veteran still kept his high regard for his Union neighbors and tried to avoid acrimonious political discussions with them. One, an old bachelor, came with a story of his house having been searched while he, hidden, beard some of the intruders mike such remarks as, "If I could find the old rascal, I’d kill him."
Mr. Potter, having had his premises so frequently prowled by the enemy, and believing by the report that the search of his neighbor’s home was someone’s idea of a practical joke, remarked, "Now you know how a man feels who has been Jayhawked." Thereafter he noticed a coolness on the part of his neighbor, who, being asked the cause, reminded Mr. Potter what he had said. The latter at once apologized, saying he was only joking and had meant no harm.
The location of the Potter home lent itself well to the posting of sentries and other protection against surprise attack, and was much frequented by men of both sides in search of meals. Food was never denied any-one in those days, and the Potters well knew that refusal to feed their enemies could result in a burned house and death for the men of the family. The entire neighborhood, because of its wooded areas, was popular with armed forces. It was not unusual to prepare meals for squads of men. Sometimes neighbors were asked by a larger force to prepare food and bring it to the Potter place for consumption.
Colonel Quantrill’s men often stopped in for meals, either one or two at a time or a group under command of Capt. John Jarrette or Capt. George Todd. On one occasion forty came, asking each of four families to cook for ten men, all to be served at Potter’s.
They approached the historian, Martin Rice, who retorted, "We’ll not cook for any such bunch of men." He was seized by the hair and dragged into the yard from his seat on his front steps. When the Quantrill men reported this encounter, Mr. Potter was indignant, saying, "I don’t like to have my neighbors abused."
After the outbreak of war conditions in Jackson County worsened very fast. Southern men were shot in their homes, their houses set on fire and the women told, "If you don’t get him out, he’ll burn up." Oxen had to be used for transportation because horses might be commandeered by either side on the road. Women did the marketing in Kansas City, because men were not safe in travel. Murder and violence were rampant and the area’s gentle people were in peril day or night.
There was one rather cheerful incident in this somber period, an occasion when enemy troops were considerate. Late one morning when the Potter men were all away, a squad of Union troops arrived. Only Martha Potter and her niece, Amanda, were at home and the latter was ill.
Martha had constructed two large pockets attached to a waistband in which she stored a revolver, the only weapon left in the family, and various other valuables for concealment beneath her wide skirts. The device was, known as "saddle pockets." On this day, the troops were at the door before their approach was discovered end Martha was panicky when she had to don her pockets so hurriedly to answer the door. The men wanted food and she told them, "There are only two of us here and one is sick. But we’re always willing to do anything we can." (Her last statement always caused amusement in the family.)
One trooper replied, "We’re not around forcing women to cook. We’re not that kind of men. We –proudly– are Neugent’s men." The soldiers then cut wood and built fires where needed. After their meal they apologized because orders forced them to search the premises, which they did very hurriedly. One wonders how Neugent (commander of Neugent’s Second Battalion, Missouri Provisional Militia) could inspire men to humanity in the midst of a cruel conflict, which often descended to barbarism. He should have a monument.
A disquieting development in the local situation was the activity of Martin Rice. He acted as a self-appointed spy on his Southern neighbors and used his daughter, Mary, as his courier in getting information to the nearest army post at Pleasant Hill [about 15 miles southwest of Lone Jack]. Aside from having sons or other relatives in the Confederate service, his neighbor men devoted themselves to their families and tried to avoid embroilment with the enemy. Word of Mr. Rice’s machinations came from his niece, who visited his home and reported them to pro-Southern neighbors. She said Mr. Rice had written a song, extolling the patriotism of his daughter, and one line stated that when she visited Pleasant Hill to make her report, the soldiers gave three cheers for that young lady when she went riding home. Mr. Rice was closely watched and one day was observed carefully searching a creek bank in which Southern men had dug a shelter and screened it with brush. Mr. Rice was seen to pull aside the brush and then carefully replace it. The men never sought its shelter again. One who had occupied it was William Calvin Tate, son-in-law of Mr. Rice.
Mr. Rice’s book, written after the war and previously referred to, does not mention his spying activities of which he was once so inordinately proud. About 1928 his grandson, Rev. John Tate, visited my father and tried indirectly to ascertain if his grandfather’s spying had caused the death of his father. It was difficult to speak the harsh words, "Your grandfather was responsible for your father’s death," and my father remained silent. Rev. Tate said that a Union veteran, Butler, who married his aunt, Mary Rice [the Union courier], stated he had once been ordered to take a squad and execute some of the Rice neighbors, but was sent on another mission and was always thankful that he did not make orphans of the Tate children.
Mr. Potter did not seek to conceal himself when the enemy appeared and was able to maintain a calm, which must have been inspired in some degree by fatalism. His assurance was a comfort to his family, who often feared for his life.
One night a group of men came to his gate and called for him to come out, which he did. His daughter, Martha, and granddaughter, Amanda, refused to let him go alone and walked close on either side of him. The strangers asked many questions, but did not state their mission. Mr. Potter evidently grew weary of the mystery and ran his hand over the saddle of one horse. He found what he ,sought and remarked, "You’re armed." The men laughed and one replied, "Oh, yes, we’re well-armed." They left without revealing either the reason for their call or their identities.
Mr. Potter felt that his orphan grandson, Thomas, age 12, was rather safe from enemy action.
He changed his mind one day when he sent the boy to the mill with a load of grain to be ground. Arrived at the mill, the miller told Thomas, "If you’ll go out on the prairie and bring in a yoke of oxen, I’ll grind your grain first. Thomas mounted a horse, but had not ridden far, when he heard the commands, "Halt! Halt! Halt!" He reined in his horse and two Federal soldiers rode alongside. They asked many questions about the Confederate guerrillas and the situation in the area.
Thomas had no information for them, which angered one soldier and he drew his revolver, saying, "I’m a great mind to shoot you." Thomas, who was by this time tired of abuse, said, "I’m only a boy, but if you want to be a coward just go ahead and shoot." The second soldier intervened, telling his companion, "I wouldn’t shoot him, Bill. He’s only a boy." They finally let him proceed on his errand, but a few days later the trigger-happy soldier inquired if there was a Potter family in the vicinity with a boy about twelve years old. When the answer was affirmative, he said, "I come as near as a pea shootin’ him the other day." Thereafter Mr. Potter instructed his grandson to avoid contact with the soldiers as much as possible.
August 12, 1862, John and Melchert Potter [sons of Benjamin Potter and granduncles of Lillian] enlisted in the Confederate army. Melchert, the younger, was a gay-spirited lad, who loved to play his violin in the evenings by the fireside. His brother, John, was a quiet, dependable type. The home was lonely without its two fine sons. Melchert’s father did not live to learn that he was drowned while swimming an Arkansas river with the army of General Sterling Price, and that when John returned to Jackson county, he brought his brother’s cavalry horse home.
Also in 1862 Mr. Potter’s married son, Steven, was killed, his death only indirectly due to the war. Steven who had a wife and three children, the youngest only one year old, was frequently pursued by Federal troops, but always escaped because his saddle horse could distance the cavalry mounts. He asked a pro-Union neighbor, Ploughman, to ascertain what charge the army had against him, stating he would return the favor if Mr. Ploughman had any difficulty with pro-Southern forces. The Union commander told Mr. Ploughman, "We don’t have any charge against Potter, but he is an influential man and could raise a company against us." Shortly a band of "bushwhackers" took two of Mr. Ploughman’s horses and Steven, true to his promise contacted the captain and the horses were released to him. While leading them home, he rode with a chance traveling companion. The man stopped for a short time to converse with a women he knew, then rode an after Steven. The man told later that she had asked the identity of Steven, and her acquaintance, John Ryder, had said, "Steven Potter. I know him, but he doesn’t know me. I’ve grown out of his remembrance." A short distance beyond the house of this. woman, Steven was found dying beside the road, shot in the back. His horse and the two Ploughman horses ware standing quietly by. Steven bad no known enemies, but it was suspected that Ryder might fancy he had a grievance from some incident on the Plains while Steven was an employee of Russell, Majors and Waddell. Mr. Ploughman arranged for a Mr. Boston, Southerner, to accompany him to tell Mr. Potter of the death of his son. The two men in discussing the war, almost engaged in a brawl by the Potter fireside. But they were glad to have each other’s company on the journey home for protection.
August 16, 1862 occurred the battle of Lone Jack. Mr. Potter and. one of his neighbors were riding into town unaware that fighting was in progress, as only small arms were being used. The Federals opened fire on the two. men, mistaking them for Confederates, who were all in civilian clothes. They retreated and Mr. Potter arrived home to relate that his neighbor "lay flat on his horse" as he fled.
In the later afternoon when the Union army had retreated and the Confederates were in possession of the little village, Mr. Potter and his family rode into Lone Jack because his two sons, John and Melchert, were with the forces there. The place was a shambles. The hotel, of which Bartlett Cave was the proprietor, had been burned and his wife, who had taken refuge in some weeds, wounded when she rose into rifle range to attend to the needs of her baby. She lived three weeks. Her wounding was entirely accidental. The Confederates, most of them ragged and some barefooted, were cooking their evening meal over campfires when the Potters arrived. The dead had not yet been buried and it was a harrowing scene. Many of the Federal dead had been almost entirely stripped so great was the Confederate need of clothing.
One of the wounded Federals, shot through the body and in retreat, rolled from his saddle onto the stile block, at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Bennett. (Mrs. Bennett was the oldest daughter of John S. Cave, a Potter neighbor.) The man remained in the Bennett home three weeks, until he was able to travel. Two soldiers with a wagon and flag of truce were sent out by the commander of the Union post at Pleasant Hill to ask the wounded man if he wished to remain where he was or return to the post. He declined to be moved. Unconsciously both the commander and the wounded soldier had paid the highest possible tribute to the humanity of the pro-Southern Missourians and the magnanimity of Col. William Quantrill toward wounded enemies. This area was definitely Ouantrill territory.
Mr. Potter once took a wounded Confederate into his home and had to be constantly on the alert so that the enemy would not discover him. Other wounded Southerners had been killed. Mr. Potter’s wounded man was Mr. Casey, who was still on crutches. The Federals heard of his presence, came early one morning, surrounded the house with fixed bayonets, and rapped on the door, Mr. Potter had not lighted a lamp and was building a fire in the room occupied by Casey. The two soldiers at the door were young people from the neighborhood. They entered and said, "We understand you have a wounded man here." Mr. Potter replied firmly, "No, There is no wounded man here."
Knowing the old gentleman’s reputation for veracity, they accepted his word, warmed their hands briefly over the mounting fire and departed. Poor Casey had not believed that Mr. Potter would deny his presence when he was lying in the same room, and placed his arms on top of the covers, preparatory to seizing the crutches beside the bed and making ready to leave with the soldiers. When he heard the denial, he remained very quiet until all was clear, then exclaimed, "Let’s have a regular jollification. I could so easily be dead."
The afternoon of August 19, 1863, Colonel William Quantrill appeared with about 300 men. The Potters had never seen him, nor had they seen that many troops since the battle of Lone Jack. Ouantrill purchased meat from Mr. Potter’s smokehouse. During the transaction, Mr. Potter called, "Girls; here’s Quantrill," and his daughter, Martha, and granddaughter, Amanda, appeared.
The colonel was greatly embarrassed and his followers amused that he was always so bashful in the presence of ladies.
The men cooked much of their evening meal over campfires except that various neighbors were asked to contribute half a bushel of bread.
Ouantrill and his officers ate at the Potter table. Mr. Potter asked a trooper of his acquaintance, "Where are you boys going?" "I don’t suppose anyone knows but the officers," was the answer. "I think we’re going to Kansas." Quantrill did strike Lawrence, Kansas a few days later. Each man had a horse with many lead animals in the command, and all were fed from the Potter oat supply, consuming a stack and a half. There were abundant signs that any horses had fed there and Mr. Potter remarked to the soldier that he probably would suffer reprisals. He was advised to rake up all the litter, which was impossible as it was too widespread.
For some time there had been rumors of a military order, which would exile all persons, regardless of age or sex from Jackson and certain other counties. Webb in his history of Missouri troops states that the Missouri Union forces were opposed to such an order while the Kansans were enthusiastically for it. Notable among its opponents was the Union general [actually Treasurer of the state of Missouri], George Bingham, native Missourian and frontier artist. He stated that there were sufficient Union troops always available to drive all Confederate guerrilla forces from the area and it was not necessary to remove the population to cut off their food supply. Finally the matter was referred to Washington, reportedly reaching Abraham Lincoln, and the order was approved.
August 25, 1863, General Ewing issued Order No. 11, providing that all persons living in the counties of Jackson, Cass and Bates and certain portions of Vernon must move from their premises within fifteen days from date of the order. Strangely this did not so much frighten as utterly dismay the people of the area, who must leave their houses and possessions. They seemed to feel that the threat of death was lifted and that so long as they complied with the order there was safety from violence.
In the early morning of Sept. 6, 1863, Mr. Potter’s son, Benjamin, and his grandson, Thomas, went to get oxen so they might leave that day though there were three or four days leeway under Order No. 11. When their return was delayed, Mr. Potter mounted his horse and started in search of them. He was met after a short distance by a detachment of the 9th Kansas Regiment [Ninth Kansas Volunteer Cavalry], under Capt. C.F. Coleman [Charles F. Coleman, commander of Company D], and turned back. The squad also had Martin Rice, his son, Isaac, David and William Hunter, and Calvin Tate, son-in-law of Mr. Rice. They later picked up John S. Cave, my grandfather, and Andrew Owsley, his cousin [actually a nephew by marriage].
They were taken to the Roupe farm where Col. Clark [Lt. Col. Charles S. Clark, commander], of the 9th Kansas, was camped and took the names of all eight men. He then "retired into the underbrush" as related by Mr. Rice. Coleman took over, saying to Mr. Rice, "You will take your son and travel." The words were spoken in an ominous tone and the Rices promptly left. Shortly firing was heard and when relatives of the men became greatly alarmed, Mr. Rice told them he thought the soldiers were "shooting chickens for breakfast on the Roupe farm."
Shortly Jane Cave [daughter of John S. Cave] asked Amanda Potter to accompany her to the soldier’s camp to ask the colonel to return her saddle horse. When the two youngsters [aged about 23 and 18 respectively] arrived at the camp, they found all six of the captives dead and the troops gone.
Much information eventually leaked out as to events of the morning. It was reported that the soldiers were reluctant to kill Mr. Potter, but a youth volunteered for the deed. He was later blinded in both eyes. One wonders if sometimes in his darkness he saw the courageous face and steady blue eyes of a 75-year-old soldier. Mr. Potter never asked for land or pension for his war service and the only gift he received from the government in Washington was a bullet in the stomach triggered by the youth from Kansas.
Coleman, sated with carnage, called his pack to heel and lead them away, his soul feasting on the horrors and grief his day’s deeds would bring to the relatives of the Christian men he had slain. We know that Col. Clark eventually came out of the underbrush, for a little later he was at the nearest army post weeping and saying, "Those were innocent men. I could have saved them and I didn’t." He was also supposed to have told Coleman they were innocent and that their blood would be on Coleman’s hands alone.
The other men, who perished with Mr. Potter, form a worthy guard of honor for a veteran soldier. All sleep together in a field, their resting place marked by a marble shaft surmounted by a dove. Two of the older men had risked their lives and that of their families to nurse cholera victims in the epidemic of the early 1850’s. None had borne arms on either side of the conflict and all shall receive tribute here.
John S. Cave [age 53], my grandfather, asked permission to pray. Whether it was granted or not I do not know. He had a son in the Confederate army in Arkansas, a wife and six children at home and a son yet unborn. He must have died in an agony of anxiety for them. Whether he uttered a prayer or not, God must have watched over the helpless family, who for over a year sheltered in an abandoned house near Dover, Mo., where a son was born Nov. 6. The widow assumed many unaccustomed responsibilities and found many kind neighbors. The family raised garden and on one occasion the mother and daughter with the help of their dog, killed a wild hog to supplement their meat supply.
William [age 48] and David Hunter [age 32] were brothers [and also brothers of Nancy Jean Hunter, wife of John S. Cave], the latter a son-in-law of Mr. Potter [married to Julia Potter, the 10th of Benjamin's children]. David [actually John David] attempted to escape by flight. He was a large man and knocked two soldiers down in his break for liberty.
He was felled on the edge of the timber and then, in a frenzy of hate, shot repeatedly in the face. A heart-breaking incident occurred when his only child [Molly], a toddler, recognized her father and climbed on his chest before her mother observed her.
Andrew Owsley [age 17], nephew of the Hunters [he was the son of their sister, Matilda] was trying to assume responsibility of the head of his family while his father was absent in the Confederate army.
He also attempted to flee, but a voice cried, "Five dollars to the man who drops the boy" and he was cut down. A beardless youth, eye witnesses reported Andy looked like a child as he lay in death.
[William] Calvin Tate [age 32], a distant kinsman of the Hunters [reportedly a cousin, but no family link has been found yet], left his wife, Martha [Rice], and three small children, whose care was assumed by her father, Mr. [Martin] Rice.
The six men were buried near where they fell with quilts for caskets and pillows for headrests. Mr. Rice and his son assisted 75-year-old John Hunter in burying his two sons, grandson, David [should be Andrew] Owsley, his son-in-law John S. Cave and the other victim. There was no time for the usual burial service, as all feared the soldiers might return and massacre the entire neighborhood. While the men laid the dead to rest, the women packed wagons for departure.
The Potters left that day for a month-long journey to Indiana where four of Mr. Potter’s married daughters resided. Strangely the Rice family traveled a ways with them. Mr. Rice wrote: "It was plain I must go as my friends and neighbors did or not go at all. I felt assured that if I abandoned them and sought a place of safety…by taking another road, my life would pay the forfeit." He mentioned that the family had friends among the guerrillas who might be out for vengeance.
He failed to state that at their first camp, Marion Potter, my mother's brother, and Jefferson Wilhite, brother [in-law] of Mr. Benjamin Potter, Jr., visited their relatives to say farewell. Both were mere youths, but members of a guerrilla band, which they joined, not only to fight, but for safety, as it was hazardous for young men to remain at home.
Their presence alarmed Mary Rice [the Union courier]. Her sister, Martha [Tate], came to the Potter camp, saying Mary was crying, because she feared the young men might "kill her pa." Even if there had been a wish to add to the atrocities of the day, the Potters would not have deprived Martha, widowed that morning, of the protection that her father could give her and her family.
Marion Potter, grandson of Benjamin was the last to sacrifice his life for the South. He, with a guerrilla group, was eating breakfast one morning in the spring of 1865 in Waverly, Mo. Federals dashed up to seize their horses. They could not be left without mounts, so fought their way to their houses and escaped. Marion and a man whose wife was living with other refugees in an old house in the area, were wounded. The women hid them in the attic, but a heavy storm blew the building down, killed the other man, broke Marion’s leg and rendered him unconscious. Union troops took him to Marshall, Mo., where, still unconscious, he was taken to the cemetery on his casket and shot.
The war over, several Confederate veterans, relatives of the men slain, returned home to learn of the tragedy. They located Coleman and were laying plans to kill him when he died. I have often heard my father, Gaius Cave, tell of the plan. He was a kindly man, but always ended the story, face set and eyes seeming to be looking into the past, with the words,
"And he died before we got to kill him."
The last members of his family to see Benjamin Potter alive, were his daughter, Martha, and his granddaughter, Amanda. The latter was watching him from an upstairs window as he rode away that September morning in search of his son and grandson. She saw him round a turn almost into the midst of Coleman’s soldiers, who appeared suddenly. Both women were standing on their front porch when the troops brought him past. He did not glance toward them and later they realized that he must have known his fate and was sparing them the agony of farewell, while depriving his brutish captors the satisfaction of witnessing their grief. With this last act of consideration for his family, the proud old soldier rode to his death, sitting very straight in the saddle.
