'Anderson's Warning' by Cathy Barton, Booneville Mo.
You sons of Missouri, in towns and on farms,
I hear you´ve been urged to go taking up arms,
To fight the guerrillas wherever they´re found—
Take such a step and walk perilous ground.
Remember we hide in the bush all around.
I can´t save you traitors from a terrible end,
Like wolves we will hunt you down both me and my men.
Fools that you are, you can´t run and can´t hide;
My eyes will be on you; watch how you decide.
Death will await those who choose the wrong side.
My name´s Captain Anderson; I hunt and I kill.
I am a guerrilla; I´m a Devil from Hell.
For my dear sister´s death I will kill till I´m killed,
Now there never can be enough Yankee blood spilled.
Jo was crushed as the walls of her prison caved in,
The Feds did it on purpose and they´ll pay for that sin.
And they´ll pay and they´ll pay, boys, again and again.
´Round my waist I keep a cord of the finest of silk,
And I´ve tied a knot in it for each Yank that I´ve killed.
There´s dozens of knots that I´ve put in the cord;
Each knot´s one step closer to evenin´ the score.
But it ain´t never enough, boys, I only want more.
My name´s Captain Anderson; I hunt and I kill.
I am a guerrilla; I´m a Devil from Hell.
One day we rode into Centralia town,
We broke into shops; we robbed the people we found.
Stole a barrel of whiskey from the local saloon,
And we drank and we had fun, boys, till just about noon.
When the real fun would be enterin´ the town mighty soon.
As the sun was a-blazing high up in the sky,
The train from St. Louis was just passing by.
We threw ties on the rails and then we forced ourselves in,
And to our delight there sat Federal men,
unarmed and on furlough—right there in our hands.
We forced them all out; we lined ´em all in a row,
With our guns we´d put each damn Yank on parole.
I says to Arch Clements, “Go on, muster ´em out!”
Then that whole row of Feds fell with screams and with shouts.
We shot ´em till bodies lay littered about.
My name´s Captain Anderson; more feared than Quantrill.
He may spare a Federal, but I never will.
More Feds soon pursued us, but we knew they would come,
We tore through their lines; we shot and killed every one.
Jesse James shot Major Johnson, sent him screaming to Hell.
For a beardless young boy, I believe he´ll do well—
Someday that young Jess might make a name for himself.
So come all you Missouri boys, take warning by me,
No quarter will I give to any traitor I see.
I´ve already killed dozens. Dozens more will I kill,
And if you dare oppose me your fate it is sealed.
If at first I don't get you, the next time I will.
My name´s Captain Anderson; I hunt and I kill.
I am a guerrilla; I´m a Devil from Hell
I suppose many of us are fascinated and repulsed at the same time by figures such as Anderson. He and others were legendary in Vernon County where I grew up. My old Grand Uncle Guy Weddle used to tell us kids stories about the 'bushwackers'. He once said that on occassion the Youngers and Dalton gangs would stop at his fathers farm and have a fried chicken dinner and take care of their horses. Before moving on they would pay for the favor with coin. He said that there was a big difference between men that were called 'outlaws' and men like Anderson who were just plain mean and crazy.
Thanks for the piece Sam.
