The enlistment of Colored men for the army commenced in Chariton County,
Missouri, early in December, 1863, and any slave man who desired to be a
soldier and fight for freedom, had an opportunity to do so. Certain men
said to be recruiting officers from Iowa, came to Brunswick, to enlist
Colored men for the United States Army, who were to be accredited not to
Missouri, but to certain townships in Iowa, in order to avoid a draft
there. I am unable to state the number of Colored men who enlisted in
that county during the period from December, 1863, until the close of
enlistments in the spring of 1865, but I am sure it was large. I had
some trouble with these enlisted men, which was as follows: Being in the
United States service themselves, they thought it no more than right to
press in every young man they could find. Being secretly aided by these
white officers, who, I learned afterwards, received a certain sum of
money for each recruit raised and accredited as above described. These
Colored men scoured the county in search of young men for soldiers,
causing me to sleep out of nights and hide from them in the daytime. I
was afraid to go to town while they were there, and greatly relieved
when a company was filled out and left for some point in Iowa.
Our owner did not want us to leave him and used every persuasive means
possible to prevent it. He gave every grown person a free pass, and
agreed to give me fifteen dollars per month, with board and clothing,
if I would remain with him on the farm, an offer which I had accepted to
take effect January 1, 1864. But by March of that year, I saw that it
could not be carried out, and concluded to go to Kansas. I might have
remained and induced others to do so and made the crop, which would have
been of little benefit to him, as it would have been spirited away. I
made the agreement in good faith, but when I saw that it could not be
fulfilled I had not the courage to tell him that I was going to leave
him.
I was engaged to marry a girl belonging to a man named Allen Farmer, who
was opposed to it on the ground, as I was afterwards informed, that he
did not want a Negro to visit his farm who could read, because he would
spoil his slaves. After it was known that I was courting the girl, he
would not allow me to visit his farm nor any of his slaves to visit
ours, but they did visit notwithstanding this order, nearly every
Sunday. The girl’s aunt was our mutual friend and made all arrangements
for our meetings. At one of our secret meetings we decided to elope and
fixed March 30, 1864, at nine o’clock, P.M., sharp, as the date for
starting.
She met me at the appointed time and place with her entire worldly
effects tied up in a handkerchief, and I took her up on the horse behind
me. Then in great haste we started for Laclede, about thirty miles north
of Brunswick, and the nearest point reached by the Hannibal and St. Joe
Railroad. This town was occupied by a squad of Union Troops. Having
traveled over that country so often, I had acquired an almost perfect
knowledge of it, even of the by-paths. We avoided the main road, and
made the entire trip without touching the traveled road at any point and
without meeting any one and reached Laclede in safety, where we took
the train for St. Joe, thence to Weston, where we crossed the Missouri
River on a ferry boat to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. I then felt myself a
free man.
I learned soon afterwards that Jesse Boram, Allen Farmer and as many
other men as could be hastily gotten together started in pursuit of us,
following every road we were supposed to take, and went within six miles
of Laclede, hoping to overtake us. Of course they would have ended my
earthly career then and there, could they have found me that night. But
I had carefully weighed the cost before starting, had nerved myself for
action and would have sold my life very dearly had they overtaken us in
our flight. How could I have done otherwise in the presence of the girl
I loved, one who had forsaken mother, sister and brothers, and had
placed herself entirely under my care and protection.
I am satisfied, even now, that I was braver that night than I have ever
been since. I was a good shot and knew it, and intended to commence
shooting as soon as my pursuers showed up; but it was a Godsend to all
concerned, and especially to myself and bride, soon to be, that we were
not overtaken; for I was determined to fight it out on that line, as
surrender meant death to me. I had buckled around my waist a pair of
Colt’s revolvers and plenty of ammunition, but I feel now that I could
not have held out long before a crowd of such men, and while I might
have hit one or two of them, they would in the end have killed me.
My bravery, if that was what affected me, was not of the kind that will
not shun danger, for I resorted to every scheme possible to avoid it.
We had the start of our pursuers about an hour, or in other words the
girl was missed from her room in that time; then it took probably
another hour to get the men together. But they stood a very poor show to
capture us on the main road, for we left it after the first half mile
and took to the brush and by-paths. They expected to overtake us on the
main road, where they would have killed me, taken the girl back and
given her a severe flogging, but they were badly fooled, for we traveled
east, nearly on a straight line for six miles, then turned north, the
correct course of our destination.
I had heard it whispered among his Colored people, that Mr. Farmer’s
house was a kind of rendezvous for the bushwhackers in that part of the
country, a place to meet to secure rations, ammunition and information,
and that, occasionally, he went out with them at night. If it be true
that he acted with bushwhackers, then I assert that he went out with
them just once too often, for he was killed as such, during the Summer
of 1864, while on the run after being halted.
As already stated in a preceding chapter, I had learned to read, but
could not write. Prior to leaving home I printed with pen and ink a
note, which was pinned to the bridle, telling a friend of my master, who
lived within four miles of Laclede, and in whose front yard I tied the
horse about daybreak, to whom it belonged, and requesting him to send it
home or notify its owner to come for it. I learned afterwards that the
horse, “Old Fiddler,” was sent home the next day. I did not want to be
called a horse thief, and ever afterwards be afraid to visit my old
home, friends and relatives.
In January, 1865, I visited my old master and found him greatly
disheartened and hard pressed. He told me that he wished I had kept the
horse for he would have been better satisfied, as it had been taken from
him by the thieves, dressed for self-protection in the uniform of Uncle
Sam. He had but one horse on the farm at the time of my visit, and
offered that to me as a gift, knowing that it was only a matter of time,
when it, too, would be stolen. I did not accept the gift and was sorry
that I did not, for I was informed by letter that three armed men
appeared a few days afterward and took, not only the horse, but a wagon
load of corn to feed it.
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