Imprisoned in Jacksonport jail.—Mrs. Hildebrand returns
to Missouri.—Escape from prison.—Final settlement in Ste.
Genevieve county.—St. Louis detectives make their first
trip.—The Governor‘s reward.—Wounded by Peterson.—Removed
to his uncle‘s.—Fight at John Williams‘.—Kills James
McLaine.—Hides in a cave.
Early in the spring of 1868 I put in a good crop of corn, and devoted
much of my time to gardening; my prospect looked flattering indeed,
and I fancied that I was getting along as well as any of my neighbors,
and better than most of them. My negro man worked cheerfully, and I
put in much of my time in “overseeing.” I claim that I was the last
slaveholder in the United States.
A circumstance now took place that destroyed my future prospect, and
cast a shadow over the happiness of my family. It is a circumstance
that I deeply deplore, and one, too, that I you‘d easily have avoided,
at the expense, perhaps, of losing one friend.
Early in the month of April one of my old war associates, with whom I
had passed many a hardship, came to my house and stated that he had
received bad news from home; that his sister had been deserted by her
husband without any cause, and that the fellow had taken up with a
negro woman, and was living with her not more than ten miles off. He
requested that I should aid him in taking the couple out and giving
them a good flogging.
The matter was talked over, and one of us might have made the remark
that they deserved to be tied together. This conversation was heard by
the wife of my friend; two or three days after which the guilty pair
were taken from a mill pond, drowned, and still tied together. After
the first excitement was over, nothing more was heard about the matter
for nearly six weeks. My friend‘s wife told all about the conversation,
and suspicion rested upon us.
Finally Major Surge, with three men, arrested us, and took us before
the authorities; the preliminary examination was had, and we were both
lodged in the jail at Jacksonport.
We were secured by handcuffs and by ball and chain. In this condition
it soon became apparent to us that our escape was impossible. Negroes
frequently passed our prison, and told us that we would be hung by a
mob.
We were loaded with chains, and so strongly guarded that I began to
doubt the ability of our friends to release us, even if they should
attempt it; in fact I began very strongly to doubt the probability of
their ever coming at all.
In June, my brother William, who had served during the war in the Union
army, came down to Arkansas, where my family was, for the purpose of
taking them back to Big river, in Missouri; for the probabilities were
that my wife would soon be left a widow. She sold the crop as it stood
on the ground for what she could get, and hired a teamster to haul the
family to Big river.
She made the trip in safety; arriving at the old homestead, she lived
with my mother and brother William. My prison life every day became
more intolerable. I had been in jail for four months, and had almost
abandoned all hopes of being released.
On the last day of August, as I lay brooding over my helpless
condition, some one, about dark, whispered in through the grates,
telling me to be of good cheer, for that on the following night his
friends were going to make an attempt to release me.
Fortunately for us, as our friends lay in wait on the next night, a
boat landed at the wharf, which attracted the attention of all those
who were yet up, and we were let out without any disturbance whatever.
I was so overjoyed at the idea of being free once more, that I leaped
off the platform in the dark and sprained my ankle. I was in a bad fix
for traveling, but we were soon out of danger. I rode until daylight;
then we all scattered, and each one took his own course. I hobbled
on in this way, living on nothing but May-apples until I made about
thirty-five miles, to the house of an old friend, where I remained
until I recruited up, and then I started to where my family was, in
Missouri. I found them at my mother‘s residence, on Big river; but
after remaining a few weeks, finding that my presence was anything
but pleasing to my old enemies I removed to Illinois and settled on
the Mississippi, about forty miles below St. Louis. Here I went to
chopping cord wood for a livelihood, not intending to molest any one,
as the war was over, and fully determined to withhold my hand from the
commission of any act that would indicate anything else than that I was
a peaceable and law-abiding citizen.
In January, 1869, I moved across the river on to the Missouri side, at
a place called Rush Tower, and continued cutting wood until the first
of April, at which time I rented a small farm of Samuel B. Herrod, on
the Three Rivers, in Ste. Genevieve county, near the county line of
St. Francois, and about four miles from Big River Mills. To this place
I moved my family. My oldest boy was twelve years old, and on him
devolved most of the labor on the farm.
My arrival seemed to create a panic among those who had robbed me,
killed my brothers, and persecuted my family. They still had a fear of
retributive justice, and though I had no such designs, they secretly
went to work to effect my destruction.
Joe McGahan, as I am informed, took several trips to influence the
Governor of Missouri to crush me out of existence. Gov. McClurg
instructed Col. Myers, Police Commissioner of St. Louis, to send out
men for my arrest. In May, 1869, he sent McQueen and Col. Bowen, who
were met at Irondale by Joe McGahan, to pilot them to the scene of
operations. On going about ten miles, however, daylight overtook them,
and McGahan, after informing them that to be seen there in daylight
would be death to him, went on home and never returned. At the
approach of night the detectives were obliged to proceed without a
guide, on foot, and in a strange neighborhood. After wandering around
all night, wading Big river at a deep ford, they were obliged to pass
another day in the woods. As they could not find my house without some
further information, one of them, disguised as a rude country man in
search of employment, got all the information he wanted. It appears
that those two detectives watched around my house for eight days and
nights. Their provisions then gave out, and not being able to get any
from my enemies, they started back to Irondale at ten o‘clock at night,
and from there took the cars for St. Louis. While this was going on I
was working at the mouth of Isle Bois on the Mississippi.
It appears that some time during the war Governor Fletcher had offered
a reward of three hundred dollars for my capture.
This and other rewards which were offered was the price of blood—an
inducement held out for assassination! Men can be found, who, for a
certain reward, will shoot any man down whom a Governor may designate.
Thank God, I have never come to that yet! I have killed many men,
but it has always been either in self-defense, or for the purpose of
redressing some terrible wrong.
Some persons wrote to Governor McClurg to ascertain whether the
reward was still valid; on being answered in the affirmative, they
determined, even for that paltry sum, to attempt my assassination.
James McLaine, as he afterwards boasted, prowled around my house for
one whole month for that purpose.
On the night of June 6th, 1869, I ventured up to my house at a late
hour to see my family, and remained with them all night. In the morning
I stepped out into the yard, when I heard the report of a gun from a
cluster of hazel brush about eighty yards off. I went into the house
for my gun, and discovered that I had been shot through the fleshy part
of my thigh.
On going out I could discover no one, the person having left as soon
as he fired, so I went into Mr. Pratt‘s stable, a short distance
off. Presently McLaine passed by with his gun; after going up to my
house, he came back and passed along the road not far from the stable.
Believing him to be the assassin, I would have shot him, but was
prevented by Mr. Pratt.
I was hauled to the house of William M. Highley, who went after a
physician to have my wound dressed. The wound proved to be a very
serious one, and disabled me for a long time in such a manner that I
was unable to walk. I was next hauled to Samuel Gossom‘s, and then to
the residence of my uncle, John Williams. As this became the scene of
a furious battle a few days afterwards, I shall be a little minute in
my description. My uncle‘s family consisted of himself, Aunt Mary and
a granddaughter about six years of age. His house is among the hills
in the western part of St. Francois county, five miles from Big River
Mills, and one mile due south from the stone house formerly occupied
by Dick Berryman. My uncle‘s premises consisted of one log house, one
story high, and containing but one room. In the yard west of the house
stood an old dilapidated cabin with the chimney torn down, near which
stood the smoke-house and a cluster of young cherry trees. Opposite the
south end of the house, at a distance of about eighty yards, was the
spring house.
I suffered much from my wound; and as my well known crippled condition
emboldened parties afterwards to attempt my arrest, under the
assumption that I was just about dead, I attribute all my sufferings
and privations during the three months that followed to that attempted
assassination. For many months afterwards I believed that it was James
McLaine who did the deed, but I will here state that the man who shot
me, as I am informed, was Cyrus A. Peterson, from Fredericktown, and
that Walter E. Evans was along with him.
Neither of those two men did I ever harm; Peterson I did not know, and
Evans I had met a few weeks before, and shook hands with him.
The Evans family resided on Big river, and we were raised up within
a few miles of each other. The widow and her daughter remained at
home in perfect safety during the whole war, although the family
was known to be Union (with one or two exceptions), and two of her
boys, Ellis G. and William C. Evans, were known to be two of the most
uncompromising Unionists in the State. I heard Dick Berryman once tell
his men, after calling them all up in a line, that he would not suffer
them to interfere with the widow Evans, or with any property that she
possessed. This order I sanctioned, and governed myself accordingly.
While I still lay at my uncle‘s, confined to my bed, Sheriff
Breckinridge and a party of about six men concluded that they would
secure the reward offered by the Governor without any personal danger,
as it was thought by some that I had died of my wounds.
During the night he went with his party to Mr. Highley‘s, and got
near the house by keeping behind a gate-post. Mr. Highley was called
out, and when he assured them that I was not there they made a
valiant charge upon the house, and entered it just as Mrs. Highley
was endeavoring to put on her dress. The gallant Breckinridge thrust
his gun against her dress and threw it to the other side of the room,
denoting thereby that cowardice and ruffianism are blended together.
From here they went on the balance of the night in search of “Sam
Hildebrand”—_and they found him_!
They reached Uncle William‘s about daylight. Finding him at the crib
they made a breastwork of him, by making the old man walk in front,
while they marched on behind with their guns presented. I fastened the
front door and refused to open it. The back door, however, was only
latched, and a child could have opened it. I pulled a little rag out
of a crack near the jamb, and as they attempted to pass I fired four
shots at them before they fired at all; one tumbled up behind the
ash-hopper, and the others dashed back around the corner to the front
side of the house. They fired several shots through the door, which
struck the wall at the back of the house a few inches over the bed
where the little girl lay. She raised a terrible yell; Aunt Mary ran to
her, supposing that she had been shot. “Come away with her,” said I,
“and both of you stand in yon corner; break her a piece of pie to stop
her crying, so that I can hear what is going on.” I got two more shots
through the crack near the chimney, one of which was at Noah Williams;
he got in the chimney corner, and was hunting for a crack, but I found
it first, and sent a shot after him that raked across his breast, and
tore his clothes in such a manner that he left in disgust. They kept
firing through the door; the beds were literally riddled; aunt got a
shot on her chin; a whole volley was now fired through the door; one
little shot struck her on the head, and five holes were shot through
her dress.
They now marched the old man in front of them to the door; he stood
with his right hand against the door-facing, and cried out: “Sam, open
the door or they will kill me!”
“Hold on, Uncle,” I replied, “and step out of the way.”
Just then I opened the door, and crossing my arms I fired to the
right and left with my pistols. Uncle‘s hand being in the way, I could
only shoot Breckinridge through the groin, and another man through the
shoulder.
Andy Bean broke to run, and jumped the fence by a walnut tree just
as a shot passed through his fiery red whiskers, grazing his face
sufficiently to saturate them, and to make him believe that they were
one huge stream of blood. The whole party now broke, and on leaping the
fence fired off their guns, some of their shots piercing the door, one
passed through my uncle‘s wrist, some struck the house, and some missed
creation.
The man wounded in the shoulder was taken to the spring to have water
poured on his wound, Breckinridge to Frank Simms to have his life
written, and Andy Bean to Irondale to have the arteries of his whiskers
taken up. Aunt Mary now brought me a bucket of water and left, after
telling me that there were provisions enough in the house to last a
week.
Telegraphic dispatches were sent to St. Louis, Potosi and Farmington
for more men. James McLaine and Dennis O‘Leary came from Farmington,
and Captain Todd Hunter with eight or ten men came from Potosi and
Irondale, and, from a hill two hundred yards off, kept up an occasional
fire at the house during the balance of the day. The party behind
the spring house were compelled to remain there on account of my
shots; they, however, kept up a random fire, to show to their anxious
companions that they were not yet dead. They once held a hat around
the corner of the spring house, and instantly got a hole shot through
it.
While the firing still continued, I tried my hand at cooking my dinner.
After eating a hearty meal and resting myself a little, I went on duty
again.
About sunset McLaine climbed upon the old cabin near the house, but as
there were three walls between us, the cracks did not range right for
me to shoot him. After he had kindled a fire on the roof he came down
and stood near the door on the far side of the cabin. I got a glimpse
of his body, and by a lucky chance I shot him dead.
This created such an excitement that, as they crowded around his body,
which they carried a short distance, I opened the back door, and
unperceived by any of them, crawled out through the weeds and through
the fence. Here I had to leave my gun, as I could not carry it, for I
could not walk a step on account of my wounded leg. I crawled through
the woods about two miles, for darkness now favored my escape, and
arriving at the house of a friend, I obtained a horse and rode to my
sister‘s (Mrs. Adams), living near the old homestead of the Hildebrand
family.
It was necessary that I should keep in a cool place on account of my
wound, so I went into my cave in the Big river bluff, half a mile north
from the residence of G. W. Murphy, and near the Pike Run hills, where
I remained some time, my provisions being brought to me every day by
my sister. My wife and children still remained on the Herrod place,
where they were watched so closely that they could not come to my
assistance.
[Illustration: HILDEBRAND‘S LAST BATTLE.]