ion of Weller's
steam ferry.

Boone Muir and myself met Coffee and the rest below Rose Hill, on Grand
river. Col. Cockrell, whose home was in Johnson county, had gone by a
different route, hoping to secure new recruits among his neighbors, and,
as senior colonel, had directed the rest of the command to encamp the next
evening at Lone Jack, a little village in the southeastern portion of
Jackson county, so called from a solitary big black jack tree that rose
from an open field nearly a mile from any other timber.

At noon of Aug. 15, Muir and I had been in the saddle twenty-four to
thirty hours, and I threw myself on the blue grass to sleep.

Col. Hays, however, was still anxious to have the other command join him,
he having plenty of forage, and being well equipped with ammunition as the
result of the capture of Independence a few days before. Accordingly I
was shortly awakened to accompany him to Lone Jack, where he would
personally make known the situation to the other colonels.

Meantime, however, Major Emory L. Foster, in command at Lexington, had
hurried out to find Quantrell, if possible, and avenge Independence.
Foster had nearly 1,000 cavalrymen, and two pieces of Rabb's Indiana
battery that had already made for itself a name for hard fighting. He did
not dream of the presence of Cockrell and his command until he stumbled
upon them in Lone Jack.

At nightfall, the Indiana battery opened on Lone Jack, and the Confederate
commands were cut in two, Coffee retreating to the south, while Cockrell
withdrew to the west, and when Col. Hays and I arrived, had his men drawn
up in line of battle, while the officers were holding a council in his
quarters.

"Come in, Colonel Hays," exclaimed Col. Cockrell. "We just sent a runner
out to look you up. We want to attack Foster and beat him in the morning.
He will just be a nice breakfast spell."

Col. Hays sent me back to bring up his command, but on second thought
said:

"No, Lieutenant, I'll go, too."

On the way back he asked me what I thought about Foster being a "breakfast
spell."

"I think he'll be rather tough meat for breakfast," I replied. "He might
be all right for dinner."

But Cockrell and Foster were neighbors in Johnson county, and Cockrell did
not have as good an idea of Foster's fighting qualities that night as he
did twenty-four hours later.

The fight started at daybreak, hit or miss, an accidental gunshot giving
Foster's men the alarm. Fo