Wilson Creek Battle Field
We were too tired after Silver Dollar City to do much else. Earlier in the week grandma had mentioned a cemetery in nearby Republic City where most of her mothers family was buried. A quick google search found it easily and we drove over to find it. The Wade Chapel cemetery was beautiful and old. The Goblin Child and I hopped out of the car to look around while the others drove. I loved looking at the old gravestones. Some were funny, as funny as a gravestone can be, and others brought me nearly to tears. A child less than a year, young children and couples married for decades. We did find grandma’s family, her grand parents and aunt, most of the cemetery did seem to be related to her.
I found a patch of wild strawberry’s and desperately wanted to dig a start but abstained as it did seem wrong somehow. Not to mention there was no way they would have made it home. I can’t believe I didn’t take any pictures.
On the way home we realized we were by the Wilson Creek Battle Field. We used to go there when I was a little kid, the road went through a creek, very exciting at the time, and grandma would tell the story her grandpa used to tell her about himself, or a cousin, time has a way of blurring memories, who was a little boy living at the house there during the battle. The family story has always been that they brought the injured soldiers to the house to care for them. He was sent to fetch water but when he got down to the creek it was red with blood.
It was interesting to compare it with the “official” story. There was a family living here with small children who were sent to fetch water for the soldiers while they used the house for a hospital. There is no mention of the creek running red with blood, they always leave the interesting stuff out, but the signs point out a spring house where they fetched water from. It stands just across the creek. So why go the extra distance for water unless there was reason not to use the creek?
The family story says that the famous general who died at the battle (I don’t remember his name and is it really relevant to this story?) was brought to the house where he died wrapped in the families best quilt. The quilt was displayed at county fairs for years afterwards.
The official story is that he died on the battle field but was wrapped in a quilt. They leave the quilt story there.
The stories of the battle lead to more old family stories that have been told over and over but often get lost to time. While trying to remember if her grandpa had said that he was the one at the battle or one of his relatives grandma told some other great stories. We got to hear more about her grandpa, he was an Indian of the Delaware tribe, we knew that, but also that he had been left behind as a child on the trail of tears and adopted by a white family. How he, a Delaware, was on the trail of tears, thought that was the Cherokee? I don’t know. So many things lost to time, stories forgotten and never written down we will probably never know the whole story but the bits and pieces are fascinating.
We do know he grew up and married a woman named Rose Ella. As a child grandma remembers him singing in his native language and I think I’ve seen a picture of him in a headdress. He wasn’t interested in the children, didn’t sit them down and tell them stories but he would talk about these things and they listened. He walked with them at the battlefield where he told the story as they picked up arrow heads and now it has been carried on for at least one more generation.