Federal cruelties.—A defense of “Bushwhacking.”—Trip with Capt.
Bolin and nine men.—Fight at West Prairie.—Started with two men
to St. Francois county.—Killed a Federal soldier.—Killed Ad.
Cunningham.—Capt. Walker kills Capt. Barnes, and Hildebrand
kills Capt. Walker.
On arriving at headquarters we busied ourselves for several weeks in
building houses to render ourselves as comfortable as possible during
the coming winter. Our headquarters were on Crawley‘s Ridge, between
the St. Francis river and Cash creek, in Green county, Arkansas. It was
a place well adapted to our purpose, affording as it did a safe retreat
from a large army encumbered with artillery.
Many of Capt. Bolin‘s men had their families with them, and our
little community soon presented a considerable degree of neatness and
comfort. I could have contented myself longer at this quiet place, but
our scouts were constantly bringing us rumors of fresh barbarities
committed by the different Federal bands who were infesting the country
in Southeast Missouri, making it their especial aim to arrest, burn
out, shoot and destroy all those peaceable citizens who from the
beginning had taken no part in the war.
They were especially marked out for destruction who had been known to
shelter “Sam Hildebrand, the Bushwhacker,” as they were pleased to
call me. If any man should happen to see me passing along the road,
and then should fail to report the same at headquarters, regardless of
the distance, he was taken out from his house and shot, without even
the shadow of a trial to ascertain whether he was guilty or not. An
old man, with his head silvered over by the frosts of seventy winters,
who had served his country in many a hard fought battle before his
tormentors were born, and who now hoped to go down the declivity of
life in peace and security, found himself suddenly condemned and
shot for disloyalty, because he generously took a stranger into his
house for the night, who afterwards proved to be “the notorious Sam
Hildebrand.”
These same miscreants, however, would call at any house they pleased,
and, by threats, compel even women, in the absence of their husbands,
to cook the last morsel of food in the house, scraped together by poor
feeble women to keep their children from starving to death.
Did I ever do that? No, never! Did I ever punish a man for feeding a
Federal? Did I ever shoot a man for not reporting to me the fact of
having seen a Federal pass along the road? If that was really my mode
of proceeding, I would deserve the stigma cast upon my name.
My enemies say that I am a “Bushwhacker.” Very well, what is a
“Bushwhacker?” He is a man who shoots his enemies. What is a regular
army but a conglomerate mass of Bushwhackers? But we frequently
conceal ourselves in the woods, and take every advantage! So do the
regular armies. But a Bushwhacker will slip up and shoot a man in the
night! Certainly, and a regular army will slip up and shoot a thousand.
But a Bushwhacker lives by plundering his enemies! So did Sherman in
Georgia, and a host of others, with this difference: That I never
charged my government with a single ration, while they did so at all
times. Besides, I never made war upon women and children, neither did I
ever burn a house; while the great marching, house-burning, _no battle
hero_, turned his attention to nothing else.
In fact, the “Independent Bushwhacking Department” is an essential aid
in warfare, particularly in a war like ours proved to be. There are a
class of cowardly sneaks, a gang of petty oppressors—like the Big river
mob—who can be reached in no other way. A large regular army might pass
through where they were a dozen times without ever finding one of them.
As I stated before, barbarities were committed by a certain band of
Federals, that warranted our interference.
Capt. Bolin, myself and nine other men mounted our horses and started
on another trip, about the first day of December, 1862.
We crossed the St. Francis, and traveled several nights, until we
reached West Prairie, in Scott county, Missouri, where we came upon a
squad of Federals, thirty in number, like an old-fashioned earthquake.
Imagining themselves perfectly safe, they had placed out no pickets; so
we ran suddenly on them, and before they had time to do any fighting
they were so badly demoralized they knew not how to fight.
We killed four, wounded several more, and charged on through their
camp, as was our custom; in half an hour we returned to renew the
attack, but found nobody to fight.
In our first charge, we caused several of their horses to break loose,
which we afterwards got. We had one man wounded, having been shot
through the thigh with a Minnie ball. Capt. Bolin and six men took the
wounded man back with them to Arkansas, while Henry Resinger, George
Lasiter and myself started on a trip to St. Francois county.
One morning, just at daylight, we found ourselves on the gravel road
leading from Pilot Knob to Fredericktown, and about seven miles from
the latter place. We concealed ourselves in a thicket and watched the
road until evening before we saw an enemy. A squad of eight Federals
came suddenly in sight, riding very fast. I hailed them, to cause a
momentary halt, and we fired. One fell to the ground, but the others
hastened on until they were all out of sight. While we were examining
our game (the dead man), we discovered three more in the distance,
who seemed to have got behind the party, and were riding rapidly
to overtake them; at this we divided, taking our stations in two
different places for the purpose of taking them in. On coming nearer
we discovered that they were not dressed in Federal uniform. We took
them prisoners and ascertained that they were Southern sympathizers
from near Fredericktown, who had been imprisoned at the Knob for
several weeks, but having been released they were on their way home.
While we were thus parleying with them, asking questions relative to
the forces at the different military posts in the country, the party
we had fired into now returned with a much larger force, and suddenly
we found ourselves nearly surrounded by a broken and scattered line on
three sides of us, at a distance of only one hundred yards. The odds
were rather against us, being about sixty men against three. I called
quickly to my men to follow me, and we dashed for the uncompleted
part of their circle. On seeing this movement they dashed rapidly
toward that part and closed the line; but when I started toward that
point it was the least of my intentions to get out at that place; I
wheeled suddenly around and went out in the rear, contrary to their
expectations, followed by my men, shooting as we ran, until we had
gained some distance in the woods; having the advantage of the darkness
that was now closing in upon us, and being on foot, we escaped from the
cavalry, who were tangled up in the brush, and were making the woods
resound with their noise.
We luckily escaped unhurt, although there were at least fifty shots
fired at us. I received two bullet holes through the rim of my hat, and
one through the sleeve of my coat, and one of my men got a notch in his
whiskers. We were not certain of having hurt any of the Federals as we
passed out of their lines. We kept together and returned to our horses;
after a short consultation we mounted and rode back to get a few more
shots at them, at long range; but when we got to the battlefield we
found no one there. Toward Fredericktown we then made our way, until we
got in sight of the place, but saw nothing of the soldiers. During the
night we visited several friends, and several who were _not_ friends,
but did no harm to any one, there being only two men at that time in
the vicinity whom we wanted to hang, and they were not at home. On the
next day we tore down the telegraph wire on the road to Pilot Knob,
and stationed ourselves about a mile from town for the purpose of
bushwhacking the Federals when they should come to fix it up; but they
were getting cunning, and sent out some Southern sympathizers for that
purpose, and we did not hurt them. But I made a contract with one of
them for ammunition, and in the evening, when we had again torn the
wire down, he came out to fix it up, and brought me a good supply of
powder and lead.
From him we learned that a general movement against us was to be made
by the troops, both at Fredericktown and the Knob, on the following day.
I knew that the whole country between there and Arkansas was in the
hands of the Federals. I knew also that they had learned my trick of
invariably making a back movement toward Arkansas, immediately after
creating an excitement.
As they seemed not likely to hunt the same country over twice, I
concluded to go north of the road and wait a few days until the
southern woods were completely scoured, and thus rendered safe for our
return.
While waiting for this to be done, I thought it a good opportunity to
hunt up a man by the name of Cunningham, who had been living in the
vicinity of Bloomfield. During the early part of the war he professed
to be a strong Southern man, and had been of some service to our cause
as a spy; but during the second year of the rebellion he changed his
plans and became to us a very dangerous enemy, and was very zealous in
reporting both citizens and soldiers to the Federal authorities.
Our intention on this trip was to arrest and take him to Col. Jeffries‘
camp, ten miles south of Bloomfield, that he might be dealt with by the
Colonel as he might see proper.
On gaining the vicinity of Farmington, where Cunningham now lived, we
learned that he was carrying on his oppressive measures with a high
hand, and was very abusive to those whom he had in his power.
It is said that he even robbed his own brother, Burril Cunningham, and
suffered him to be abused unmercifully by the squad of men under his
command. On reaching the Valle Forge we struck his trail and followed
on toward Farmington; but some Federals got upon our trail, and would
have overtaken us before we reached town, if a friend had not deceived
them in regard to the course we had taken.
We found Cunningham at his own house, and when we approached the door I
demanded his surrender; he attempted to draw a revolver, and I shot him
through the heart.
Having accomplished our object, we now returned to Bloomfield and
reported to Col. Jeffries. We remained there about three weeks.
On the 5th day of January, 1863, Capt. Reuben Barnes requested me
and my two men to assist him in capturing a man by the name of Capt.
Walker, who had a command in the Federal army, and was now supposed to
be at his home, about six miles from there.
On approaching the house, Walker ran out, holding his pistols in his
hands. As we were near enough, we ordered him to surrender, at which
he turned around and faced us. On getting a little nearer, he suddenly
shot Capt. Barnes, and started to run. Our chase was soon ended, for I
shot him dead.
We took Capt. Barnes back to Bloomfield, where he died the same day. We
then returned to Green county, Arkansas, and went into winter quarters.