d.

We will now confine ourselves to the narrative of the incidents of the
march to Springfield, as it is given in the journal which has been placed
in our hands.

FROM ST. LOUIS TO WARSAW.

_St. Louis, September 27th, 1861._ For four days the head-quarters have
been ready to take the field at an hour's notice. The baggage has been
packed, the wagons loaded, horses have stood saddled all through the day,
and the officers have been sitting at their desks, booted and spurred,
awaiting the order for their departure. It is not unlikely that the
suspense in which they are held and the constant condition of readiness
which is required of them are a sort of preliminary discipline to which
the General is subjecting them. Yesterday the body-guard left by the
river, and the staff-horses went upon the same steamer, so that we cannot
be detained much longer.

_Jefferson City, September 28th._ Yesterday, at eleven o'clock, we were
informed that the General would leave for Jefferson City at noon; and that
those members of the staff who were not ready would be left behind, and
their places filled in the field. At the appointed hour we were all
gathered at the depot. The General drove down entirely unattended. Most of
the train was occupied by a battalion of sharp-shooters, but in the rear
car the General and his staff found seats. The day was cloudy and damp;
there was no one to say farewell; and as the train passed through the cold
hills, a feeling of gloom seemed to pervade the company. Nature was in
harmony with the clouded fortunes of our General, and the laboring
locomotive dragged us at a snail's pace, as if it were unwilling to assist
us in our adventure.

Those who were strangers in the West looked out eagerly for the Missouri,
hoping to find the valley of the river rich in scenery which would relieve
the tedium of the journey. But when we came out upon the river-bank and
looked at the dull shores, and the sandy bed, which the scant stream does
not cover, but through which it creeps, treacherous and slimy, in half a
dozen channels, there was no pleasure to the eye, no relief for the
spirit. Late in the afternoon we approached a little village, and were
greeted with music and hearty cheers,--the first sign of hospitality the
day had furnished. It was the German settlement of Hermann, famous for
good cheer and good wines. The Home-Guard was drawn up at the station,
files of soldiers kept the passage clear to the dining-ro