Put in a crop.—Started to Missouri with nine men.—Killed a
soldier near Dallas.—Went to St. Francois county,—Watched for
Walls and Baker.—Watched near Big River Mills for McGahan.—Came
near shooting Mr. Sharp.—Robbed Burges, Hughes and Kelley of
their horses.—Robbed Abright‘s store.—Captured some Federals on
White Water.
As we all belonged to the “Independent Bushwhacking Department of the
Confederate States of America,” and were entirely dependent on our own
exertions for a livelihood, it was necessary now that we should put in
our crops.
For nearly two months Crowley‘s Ridge on which we lived, and the
adjacent country, looked as if it contained an industrious little
community of “honest farmers.”
The axe was heard in every direction; the smoke from burning brush was
curling up from a thousand fires, and at night the little boys and
girls were making bright fires until midnight, under the impression
hinted at by their fathers that it was “such fun.” All day long the
women were out in full force with their hoes and their rakes, unmindful
of the music of crying babies heard at nearly every cabin. Mothers are
nearly always deaf while planting out onions; it is a little season of
orphanage through which most children in the country have to pass once
a year. We have all passed through that bitter day with red eyes, and
it is no wonder that the sight of an onion in after life is so apt to
bring tears in our eyes.
I put in a good crop of corn, and my wife made an excellent garden with
no help but the children. I am very much tempted to brag a little on
my excellent wife, but if I were to assert that I had the best wife in
the world, each one of my male readers who are married would want me
to except his own; this would render the exceptions so numerous that
my wife would come in nearly last, so I will say nothing about it, and
keep my own opinion to myself.
After plowing my crop over once I made preparation for another trip
to Missouri, but we had all got into such a good humor while busily
engaged in farming, that we were nearly two days recounting our
grievances before we were mad enough to think of snatching our enemies
into eternity.
Taking nine men, one of whom had served under Quantrel, we started on
the 25th day of May, 1864, for another raid into Missouri. Crossing the
St. Francis river at the southwest corner of Stoddard county, we went
into Scott county and watched three days and nights to catch some men
we were after, but failing in this we went in the direction of Dallas,
the county seat of Bollinger.
My men wanted to return, as nothing of an exciting interest had
transpired so far; but at my earnest solicitation they agreed to go
with me one more day. The next morning we were traveling in day time,
and had not proceeded more than four or five miles when we discovered
a party of Federals, seven in number, who had discovered us and were
under full speed toward the town of Dallas, which was at that time
garrisoned by about one hundred Dutch soldiers. We dashed on after
them; the race was a very exciting one. When we had gone about six
miles we began to gain on them, and when we got within a mile of the
garrison one of their horses fell, giving the rider a thump on the
ground that knocked him senseless until we were upon him. We disarmed
him, and as his horse had not left, we made him mount and go with us
about two miles in the woods.
The Dutchman seemed very much alarmed, and gave us enough broken
English for a good sized volume; but as soon as we arrived in a thick
timbered hollow between the hills, we quietly sent his spirit back to
the Rhine where it never should have left. In a few hours we called at
the house of a friend, fed our horses and got some refreshments for
ourselves.
To the Flat Woods, in St. Francois county, we then made our way, and
remained there about twenty-four hours, after which we went to the
extreme northern part of the county, and concealed ourselves among the
Pike Run hills. Those hills are perhaps the most rugged part of the
whole State, and are covered with a dense thicket of underbrush, making
it a wild, uninhabited wilderness. These hills not being far from Big
river, they afforded me a secure place for my temporary headquarters
while searching around for my enemies.
Early in the morning I engaged the services of a well known friend, who
feigned business in several parts of the neighborhood, who returned at
night and reported that only two of my persecutors were at home, whose
name were James Walls and John Baker.
On the following morning when the light of day again pierced through
the gloom of our retreat I went and stationed myself near the house
where they both resided.
I did not watch long before Walls came out onto the porch. But I had
failed to get a position sufficiently near for me to kill him at the
house; I was watching for them to come to the wood pile, which would
only have been about one hundred yards. I could always hit a spot as
large as a man‘s hand at that distance with old “Kill-devil.”
About ten o‘clock two men rode up to the house, alighted and went in;
they came out again in half an hour followed by both Walls and Baker,
who started off in an opposite direction from where I lay. I then
changed my position to the opposite side of the house, thinking they
probably would return soon.
I remained quietly until the sun had dipped behind the western hills,
then I returned to camp where I again found my friend who had acted as
a spy for me. He told me that he had seen Baker and Walls going in the
direction of De Soto with two other men, one of whom stated to him
that “Sam Hildebrand was thought to be in the country, from the fact
that strange and very rough looking men had been seen at several public
places, and that they were thought to be Hildebrand‘s men.”
The reader will here understand that these unwarrantable scares were
very frequent in this vicinity; one poor ragged stranger making his
appearance in the neighborhood was sufficient at any time to raise the
cry of “Hildebrand,” at which all who had wronged me would squat like
young quails.
Knowing that any further efforts to kill either Walls or Baker would
be fruitless, I concluded to run the risk of watching the town of Big
River Mills, which was at that time a place of rendezvous for the
Militia, where they generally collected before starting out against me.
I accordingly took my station on a bluff overlooking the main road
leading from the settlement of my old enemies to that place, being
about a quarter of a mile below the town and fifty yards from the road.
At daylight I was on the bluff and ready for business. During the day
people passed the road at intervals of from fifteen minutes to half an
hour; but none of them were the men I wanted to kill. From the position
I occupied I could easily recognize the features of any one with whom I
was formerly acquainted.
In the evening, about an hour by sun, I discovered a man riding slowly
and alone toward the town, whom I recognized as Joe McGahan. A thrill
of intense satisfaction pervaded my whole system, which it would be
folly in me to attempt to describe. The English language from its high
standard of dignity to its inexhaustible mine of scathing invective
would be inadequate to describe the supreme contempt I felt for that
man. When I reflected that one of the men who had dipped his hands
in the blood of my brothers was now within the range of my gun, my
feelings of joy, mingled with a hope of success was indescribable.
Nearer and nearer he came, unconscious that retributive justice was
hanging over his head; and as he approached the desired point I raised
my trusty rifle to my face, placed my finger on the trigger, and was
nearly in the act of pulling when the man turned his face a little
toward me, when I discovered the sad and almost fatal mistake, that
instead of being McGahan it was a man by the name of Sharp. He was a
Union man living near by, but was a worthy man and highly esteemed by
all who knew him. I almost involuntarily hailed him in order to explain
and apologize, but was checked instantly by the return of reason. As he
passed slowly out of sight my eyes were riveted on him until a point
of the bluff around which he had passed broke the spell. I was deeply
absorbed in thought, and the question naturally arose in my mind, why I
should have been so often thwarted in my attempts to mete out justice
to one who was a scourge to the land that gave him birth, and who had
not even the magnanimity of the rattlesnake whose alarm is heard
before the blow is struck.
I arrived finally to the conclusion that his Satanic Majesty, who still
ruled the infernal regions without a rival, was jealous of his protege
upon earth where he still needed his services, and that he wished to
delay the period when he would be compelled to doff his crown to a
superior.
I did not remain long in ambush after I had come so near committing
a terrible error; but hastened through the woods, back to my retreat
among the Pike Run hills, and found my men awaiting my return with
anxious impatience. As soon as it was dark we started south, and after
midnight reached the pinery, southwest from Farmington, and slept there
until late in the morning. Our horses were much fagged, we saw that it
was best to swap them off before proceeding on our journey.
During the day we stationed ourselves near the plank road between
Farmington and Pilot Knob, to watch for an opportunity of exchanging
horses. A large company of Federals passed by, but they were too
numerous for our purpose. Toward evening we saw three men approaching
who were mounted upon fine looking horses. The names of the men were
Burges, Hughes and Kelley. We lost no time in capturing the party, and
to prevent them from reporting us too soon, we made them go with us
several miles over the rugged hills and deep ravines.
Not understanding this movement, they seemed much alarmed, thinking
probably that we designed “barking” them.
Old man Burges begged manfully for his life, and shed an occasional
tear; but I told him that as they were not Federal soldiers, and that
as I had no personal animosity against them, it would be barbarous in
the extreme for us to harm them. We took their horses, gave them our
own and then released them. They left seemingly very well pleased with
the arrangement, and as we had rather out-jockeyed them, we certainly
had no right to complain.
We kept near the road leading to Pilot Knob until near sunset, when we
came to Abright‘s store. Abright was a good Union Dutchman, and was not
in the habit of crediting bushwhackers, so we robbed his store of all
we wanted and then taking the woods we changed our course.
Night soon overtook us, and we traveled eastward until we got into the
neighborhood where Mr. Bess resided, on White Water. It was now late in
the morning, and we took our position on the top of a high hill where
we had a fine view of the surrounding country, and especially of the
main road along which the Federals were in the habit of passing from
Cape Girardeau to Fredericktown.
In the evening, while most of us were sleeping, my pickets discovered
a small squad of soldiers about half a mile off, making their way
westward. On being awakened I directed my men to follow me, went down
to the road which was skirted by very thick undergrowth, where we
secreted ourselves in two parties about fifty yards apart, giving
orders not to fire on the Federals unless they showed fight or
attempted to run. When they got near the second squad we stepped out
into the road and demanded them to surrender. Our appearance was so
sudden that they had no time to draw their weapons. Several of them
wheeled their horses for a run, but on discovering themselves faced on
that side also they threw up their hands in token of a willingness to
surrender.
I made them dismount and stack their arms against a tree; after which
we marched them into the woods to where our horses were and proceeded
to question them.
Then I told them who I was, at which they seemed rather pleased, and
remarked that they had often heard of me, and although they had no
desire to fall into my hands as prisoners of war, yet they always
wished to see me.
I asked them if they had not heard of me as being a bushwhacker and
withal a very bad man, and that I was in the habit of killing all my
prisoners. “Oh, yes!” said their leader, “we have heard that you did
not regard the life of a personal enemy as of any value, but we have
seen several men whom you had released who told us that you was quite a
different man from the fabulous blood-thirsty Hildebrand we have heard
so much about in timid circles.”
Upon producing papers which satisfied us that they were neither
McNeal‘s or Leeper‘s men, but belonged to the command of Col. Beverage
of Cape Girardeau, we released them unarmed and afoot. We went on
toward Bollinger‘s Mill, but when in that vicinity on the next morning
about sunrise, we met two Federals in the road, who instantly wheeled
their horses and dashed through the woods at full speed.
Being burdened with the horses and the arms we had taken from our
prisoners on the day previous, all of us could not engage in the
pursuit. Captain Snap, myself and two men started after them at full
speed, and caught them in less than half a mile. They stopped and threw
up their hands before we were within two hundred yards of them. I was
almost tempted to shoot them for being cowards.
After taking them back to our boys, we went on the top of an adjacent
hill and camped for the day. We ascertained from the prisoners that
they were new recruits, which was corroborated by some letters from
their friends which they happened to have in their pockets.
Knowing that they had not been in the army long enough to have
committed many depredations, we decided to release them; but as we were
already burdened with horses we took them along with us to assist with
our stock until we had passed Mingo Swamp, and then released them. A
few days afterwards we arrived safely in Green county, Arkansas.