Took eight men.—Attacked a Federal camp near Bollinger‘s Mill
at night.—Lost two men killed and one wounded.—His men return
to Arkansas.—He went alone to St. Francis county.—Watched the
farm of R. M. Cole to kill him.—Was checked by conscience.
I remained two weeks at home plowing, and then went on a scout to
the vicinity of Mingo Swamp with eight men. We watched around for
several days to capture some infamous scamps in that country who had
been giving our friends trouble from the beginning of the war. Being
too cowardly to go into the army, they were staying at home and were
constantly annoying peaceable citizens by making false reports against
them of every kind.
Having failed to get any of them, we concluded to make another trip
over onto Castor Creek, for my men were always anxious to go to parts
of the country frequented by the Federals. We had been on Castor but
one day and night when a party of Federals came along, making their way
through the country, and camping within a short distance of Bollinger‘s
Mill. We were quietly enjoying ourselves in the nook of rocky range of
brushy hills when a runner came to inform us of the fact. Of the exact
number of the Federals he did not know.
It was with some difficulty that I restrained my men to wait until a
proper hour of the night before making the attack, but finally about
ten o‘clock I gave the word to get ready, which was done in a very few
minutes. Going around the hills we struck the main road about a mile
from their camp. We rode very slowly until we routed the pickets, then
dashed on and crowded them into camp; but the locality of their camp
and the position in which they had taken up quarters, had not been
stated to us correctly; consequently we came out somewhat worsted.
They had chosen a narrow place in the road, and had turned their wagons
across it, so that in our attempt to dash through their camp, as was
our custom, we found our progress suddenly stopped; this bothered us
so badly that they opened a heavy fire on us, killing two of my men
and wounding another slightly before we had time to retreat. We were
not certain of having killed any of them, but were afterwards told by
a citizen that we wounded three, one of whom died next morning. After
this unfortunate mistake my remaining men wanted to go back to Green
county, Arkansas, where our wounded companions could be properly cared
for; to which I consented, and bidding them adieu I started alone to
St. Francois county, Missouri.
I now thought this a favorable opportunity to take vengeance upon R.
M. Cole for the course he had taken at the time my brother Frank was
hung by the Big river mob. That matter had never yet been redressed,
and my mind was yet harrassed by conflicting impressions concerning
his guilt or innocence in the matter. That he was a Southern man I very
well knew, but that it was his duty, as a civil officer, to wrest my
brother from the clutches of a merciless mob I knew equally well. I
will here remark that all my evil impressions concerning his complicity
in the hanging of my brother have long since been entirely removed
from my mind; but at time of which I am now writing, I finally adopted
the unwelcome conclusion that he was evidently guilty. I escaped the
vigilance of my enemies, and of the hundreds of soldiers whose especial
duty it was to watch out for me; and unobserved by any one who would be
likely to inform against me, I succeeded in reaching his farm, on Flat
river, and found to my joy that he had not yet finished plowing. I went
around to the back part of the farm, hitched old Charley to a sapling
in the woods, and taking old “Kill-devil” in my hand, I cautiously
approached the cornfield where I had seen him plowing from a distance,
and about sunset I secreted myself in a fence corner about ten rows
from where he had plowed the last furrow. I waited until I became
satisfied that he had stopped for the night. It was now about dark.
I went back to where I had hitched my horse, unsaddled him and went in
search of feed. I soon found an abundance of oats already cut in the
field. On my way back I chanced to cross a splendid melon patch; on the
ripe melons I made out my supper, feeling thankful for my good luck so
far.
My only chance now was to wait until morning, which I did, making
myself as comfortable as possible during the night.
In the morning I took my station again in the fence corner with old
“Kill-devil” already cocked. After a long delay, as I thought it, he
made his appearance, following along behind the plow and singing most
merrily. I was a little flustrated by his merry mood, and a strange
weakness kept me from firing. I thought I would let him plow one more
round. How I chuckled to myself as he walked deliberately away from me
as if nothing was about to go wrong with him. He came around again as
merrily as before. I once more raised old “Kill-devil” to my face and
was in the act of pulling the trigger, when I heard a stick crack in
the woods just as he was turning. This and some other imaginary noises
caused me to delay until he was too far off to make a sure shot. Here
was a good chance lost. This I thought would never do, for I was now
becoming quite nervous; I bit my fingers as I usually do to stop what
hunters call the “buck ague,” but it seemed to do me no good.
The more I thought of the matter, the more nervous I got, and I must
acknowledge that I never felt that way before when I was in a just
cause, and a thought struck me that there might be something wrong
in this matter after all. I knew that it would never do to remain
squatting in the fence corner any longer; that I must either shoot or
leave.
Can it be possible that he is innocent of the charge brought against
him by my friends, and that my suspicions are groundless?
It may be so! I began to think about letting the man live; but the
thought of riding several hundred miles for the express purpose of
killing a man, and then to go back without doing it, after having had
such a good chance, was a thought that I did not like.
While these thoughts were revolving in my mind I still set as quietly
as a mouse. Once I would have got up and left, but the man was now
making his third round, and was too close for me to do so without being
seen. I deliberately raised my gun and took a bead on him to make my
decision while he was completely in my power—“live on, sir! live on!”
was my decision, and as soon as he turned I hastily left for fear of
being tempted again. I mounted my horse, and as soon as I thought he
was out of sight among the corn I rode away, and never before in my
life did I feel so happy as I did when I passed opposite the row he was
in. I bade him a silent farewell, and mentally told him to rest easy,
for that he never should be hurt by my hand.
On my homeward trip I stopped in the vicinity of Bloomfield (which was
still in the hands of the Federals) in order to pay my respects to
Captain Hicks. He was the commander of the company which followed me
and my family to the St. Francis river; and boasted that he was the
man who shot me at the Flat Woods. Not being disposed to rob him of
his honors, I was willing to admit that he did the act, and to govern
myself accordingly.
I lay around his residence four days and nights, getting my provisions
out of his smoke-house, before he made his appearance.
On the evening of the fourth day he rode up to his house, and in a few
minutes walked out with his wife into the garden.
I walked up to the garden fence and spoke to him; he seemed agitated
and started toward the house; I raised my gun, halted him, and told him
to come to me as I wanted to talk a little to him. He halted and with
some reluctance walked toward me, and on getting within a few paces
he asked me who I was. I told him that I was Sam Hildebrand; that I
understood he had been hunting for me for some time, and I thought I
would come by and see what he wanted. At this he made a lick at me with
a hoe which he held in his hand, and came very near hitting me; but in
a moment I ended his existence by shooting him. I eluded all search and
effected my escape to Arkansas.