Trip to Missouri with four men.—Attempt to rob Taylor‘s store.—Fight with Lieut. Brown and his soldiers.—Killed Miller and Johnson at Flat Woods.—Return home from his last raid.—The war is pronounced to be at an end.—Reflections on the termination of the war.—Mrs. Hildebrand‘s advice.—The parole at Jacksonport.
Trip to Missouri with four men.—Attempt to rob Taylor‘s store.—Fight with Lieut. Brown and his soldiers.—Killed Miller and Johnson at Flat Woods.—Return home from his last raid.—The war is pronounced to be at an end.—Reflections on the termination of the war.—Mrs. Hildebrand‘s advice.—The parole at Jacksonport.
When the war first broke out in Missouri, and after the persecutions against the Hildebrand family had become so intolerable that I was compelled to flee the country, I owed a small debt to D. W. Taylor, a merchant living at Valley‘s Mines, in Jefferson county.
After the mob had destroyed my property and driven me into the Southern army for protection, it was impossible for me to pay the debt during the struggle.
In all communities there are “land sharks” who are willing to befriend an intended victim to a certain extent, but who are ready at the first approach of an unforseen disaster to gobble up his lands.
In this instance, Taylor attached my interest in the Hildebrand homestead, and while the country was in the ebullition of civil war, had it sold at public vendue, bidding it in himself for a mere nominal sum.
For this little piece of ingenuity I now determined to award him with a clear title to another smalltract of land, four feet by six, to have and to hold, as his own individual possession, until Gabriel should blow his horn.
With this intention, on the 28th day of April, 1865, I started with four men for another raid into Missouri. We made our way quietly and cautiously through the southern counties of Missouri, all of which were now held by Federal soldiers, for the protection of the citizens—theprotection, however, being the same kind that the vulture gave the lamb.
Reaching Big river late in the night, we repaired to the Pike Run hills and slept until morning. Knowing that we would be more apt to catch Taylor in daytime, we started in the morning and rode over to Taylor‘s store, which was distant only about six miles. He was not at home, and having no time to lose, we went into his store and commenced selecting such goods as we wanted, when we were suddenly run on to by some Federal soldiers, under Lieut. Brown, from Perry county, but who was at that time stationed at Big River Mills, with forty men, one-half of whom he had with him on the present occasion.
They came up within two hundred yards of the store, and commenced firing and yelling at a terrible rate. We ran out to our horses, which were tied to the brush not more than forty yards off, but on the opposite side from the soldiers. One of my men was killed by an accidental shot, and another one who happened to be a new recruit left his horse and ran off through the woods, leaving me with anarmyof only two men, besides myself, to repel the attack of twenty regulars. The Federals, however, after their first fire, took refuge behind some old houses about one hundred and fifty yards off, and from there showed us a very harmless and cowardly fight. After I gained my horse, I used him for a fortification and shot several rounds at them; occasionally I could see one‘s head bob around a corner, but they were out of range, and my shots fell harmless to the ground. My other two men now left me alone, and for several minutes I remained, trying to get a dead shot at one of the Federals; but having no chance to do so, without charging them by myself, I mounted my horse and retreated, leaving my dead man upon the ground, whom they charged and shot several times after I left. I went on to an adjoining hill, but failing to find my men, I rattled my cow bell, which I had with me for emergencies of this kind, and in half an hour my three men were with me.
Having made a complete failure, it is not unreasonable to suppose that we felt very much chagrined at our ill luck, and knowing that if we started south then, we would be annoyed by Federals on our trail, we repaired again to the Pike Run hills for safety, where we could easily have whipped all the forces within the three surrounding counties. My comrade who was on foot went about four miles to the house of an old acquaintance and obtained a horse, by promising to return him again in six weeks;which promise, I will here state, he afterwards faithfully performed.
It was now about the middle of May, and we were anxious to be on our way back; so we started one night and went as far as Flat Woods.
Before McIlvaine and the soldiers had driven me from there, I became acquainted with two men, George Miller and Joseph Johnson, who professed great friendship for me; but some time after my expulsion from that neighborhood, they visited my house and used abusive language to my wife, making threats what they intended to do with me. Johnson had the impudence to remark that he intended to kill me and bring my head to her swinging to the horn of his saddle.
These were not vain threats, for they watched for me for a long time; but after they learned a little more about me, they were very shy, and up to the present time I had never got my eyes upon either of them.
Late in the evening, on the next day after our arrival in the neighborhood, as I was passing a house I saw a lady dressing some butter, and wishing for a good drink of buttermilk, I alighted a moment and went in the house. As I was dressed in Federal uniform, the good woman asked me if I was hunting for Sam Hildebrand; on telling her that I was, she went on to give me the particulars of our affray at Taylor‘s store, ascribing to the Federal arms the most brilliant victory, by stating that “Lieut. Brown, with only twenty men, ran uponHildebrand‘s Bushwhackers and completely routed them, killing fourteen and wounding several more; a great many soldiers are now after him, and have him surrounded in a place where he can never get back here to bother us again!” I asked her if she would please give Sam Hildebrand a drink of buttermilk? She looked at me a moment and then replied: “Yes, sir; you can have all in the churn if you want it.”
Not long after leaving there, I found Mr. Miller in his field, and shot him. After night I found Mr. Johnson at home, took him out of the house, and cut off his head with my bowie knife.
The reader will perceive that the threats of Johnson would have been completely reversed if I had carried his head to his wife swinging to the horn of my saddle; but instead of imitating his designs any further, I leisurely pursued my way home to our headquarters in Green county, Arkansas.
On the next day after my arrival at home, Capt. Bolin called on me and stated that he wished us all to meet him at headquarters that evening at three o‘clock. At the time appointed I was there, and so were about forty more of the boys, most of whom had just returned from their various scouts.
The Captain seemed a little agitated, and for several minutes after we were all assembled he did not say a word. Presently he began, and these are about his words:
“Gentlemen: It is my wish that we remainquietly at headquarters a few days until my other scouting parties return.
“I wish to say to you now that, in my opinion, this war has virtually closed. General Lee, the great head and front of all our hopes, as you are already aware, was compelled to succumb to superior numbers, and surrender on the 12th day of April. General Johnston surrendered on the 18th of the same month. The hopes held out by General Kirby Smith in his general order issued at Shreveport can never be realized.
“The Southern Confederacy is at an end; our course must be governed by circumstances over which we have no control.
“The course we have pursued during the struggle is only justified by the fact that a great war existed. While the eyes of the world have been riveted on great actors and on events of an astounding magnitude, the minor details of the struggle have been overlooked. That condition of affairs now no longer exists; the war has ceased, and our operations must cease also.
“Finally, it is my request that each and every one of you submit manfully to the same terms that have been forced upon our great chieftains; that is: Lay down your arms, surrender on parole, and return to the pursuits of peace.”
This little speech fell like a wet blanket on most of the men, and I must confess that I was one of that number; but we held Capt. Bolin in such highesteem that not a murmur of dissent was suffered to drop from the lips of any of his men.
On the next day, however, the matter was fully discussed in every camp. Nine-tenths of the men fully indorsed the statements made by our noble captain, and I could not but acknowledge that his reasoning seemed plausible; yet I was annoyed beyond all measure by the reflection that the war had suddenly ceased before I was done fighting.
I cared not so much about the general result. I knew but little, and cared still less, about the great political problem that the war was supposed to have solved, nor to the technical question discussed by old fossil statesmen, whether the States formed the Union or the Union formed the States, whether the South had inherent rights or whether inherent rights had the South, whether the General Government was a restricted agent of the people, or whether the people were the restricted agents of the General Government.
These questions probably originated with the antediluvians, and they ought to have been left to a committee of twelve Egyptian mummies, with the “man in the moon” for chairman.
The practical question with me was, whether all the scoundrels in the nation were yet killed off or not. As far as my knowledge extended, the war had only gobbled up about one-tenth of them.
Most of those men who had composed the Vigilance mob on Big river were yet alive. They were in the centre of military camps, crawling aroundthe feet of Federal officers, and whining for protection against my vengeance.
To reach them it would be necessary to overthrow the Federal power; just that far my heart was in the National war.
My mind was troubled by the reflection that as soon as the war should be ended, all those cowardly miscreants would crawl out from their hiding places, boast of their loyalty, make a grand rush for office, swing their hats, and cry out: “Well, didn‘twewhip them?”
I made up my mind that, for my part, I would take as many of the boys as were determined never to surrender, escape to Texas if possible, fight under Gen. Kirby Smith until he should surrender, and then make our way into Mexico—there to annoy the Federal Government all I could until I could get another “whack” at my old enemies.
I thought, however, that I would consult my wife for once, and see what she thought about it. She looked serious for a minute, and then burst out into a laugh.
“I once heard about some little boys,” said she, “who were left at home by their parents, who had gone to church. One of them discovered a rat which had taken refuge under a pile of lumber in the yard; but the boys tore away the lumber, splitting about half the boards. The rat then ran under the ash-hopper, and when that was torn down it took refuge under the barn floor. One of the boys ran to the house for matches, in order to burn outthe rat; but his little sister, the youngest one in the crowd, cried out: ‘If you burn the rat we will have no barn!‘ The boys saw the force of her reasoning, and made peace with the rat. So I would advise you to make no further efforts toward destroying the Federal barn for such a purpose.”
I must confess that this little speech from my wife, given in such good humor, contained a little more good sense than anything I had heard for a long time.
It sounded a little like a Union speech, and seemed strange on that account; but, although I had not at first the least idea of ever swerving from my purpose, yet I now determined to follow her advice, for I concluded that as she had waded through the hardships of war with a devotion to me that has but few parallels in the history of mankind, I ought to respect her comfort as well as my own.
On the next day I told Capt. Bolin that I consented to his arrangement. He started on to Jacksonport to give in the list of his men, and I started a few days afterwards to the same place, and received my parole on the 26th day of May, 1865, the very day on which General Kirby Smith surrendered at Shreveport.
The war now being over, I tried to banish the subject from my mind as much as possible, and soon went to work on the place I still occupied, for no owner had yet returned to claim it. Most of our men were afraid to return to their homes in Missouri while a remembrance of our depredationswere still fresh in the minds of the people, and went to farming in different parts of Green county.
With what I captured during the war I did not have more than half as much property as I had lost by the hands of the Vigilance mob in Missouri.
One might suppose that, from the name my enemies gave me, I might have grown rich by my depredations during the war; but such was not the fact; plunder was only a secondary consideration with me; I resorted to it merely to sustain myself while I pursued my main leading object—that of killing my enemies.
We sustained ourselves during the whole war off of our enemies. If objections are made to that kind of warfare, I can point to the example of Sherman, in Georgia, and to a host of other Federal commanders, both great and small, even down to that pigmy lump of insignificance—the Big River Militia. But, unlike those illustrious examples, we did not charge our government with anything we captured; neither was I a burden to the Confederacy to the amount of one dollar; neither did I ever stoop so low as to become an incendiary, and burn out my enemies. I left that for the Indians to do, and for those who saw proper to imitate them.
So, at the close of the war, and in fact during its whole continuance, I was poor, and my family were in straitened circumstances; but I went to work and raised a good crop of corn and everything else that we needed. In the spring of 1866 I rented another place in a better locality, and farmed on alarger scale. This I also did on the year following, and at the close of 1867 I had succeeded in rendering myself and family as comfortable as could be expected.
The negro boy I had taken from Free Jim, in St. Francois county, still remained with me; he was free, I suppose, but he seemed to prefer good living and light work to “free starvation.”
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.
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 theground 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 toIllinois 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 bedeath 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; onbeing 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 granddaughterabout 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 achild 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 myarms 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 companionsthat 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.
HILDEBRAND‘S LAST BATTLE.
HILDEBRAND‘S LAST BATTLE.
Military operations for his capture.—Col. Bowen captures the Cave.—Progress of the campaign.—Advent of Gov. McClurg.—The militia called out.—Don Quixote affair at the Brick Church.—The campaign ended.—Mrs. Hildebrand escapes to Illinois.—“Sam” leaves Missouri.—His final proclamation.
Military operations for his capture.—Col. Bowen captures the Cave.—Progress of the campaign.—Advent of Gov. McClurg.—The militia called out.—Don Quixote affair at the Brick Church.—The campaign ended.—Mrs. Hildebrand escapes to Illinois.—“Sam” leaves Missouri.—His final proclamation.
My narrative would not be complete without a history of the military operations carried on by authority of the State government for my capture or destruction; yet I must depend almost exclusively upon what my friends told me from time to time as those events were transpiring.
A few days after the fight at Williams‘, a detective with a dirty face and hair uncombed; riding an old mule, with a pack saddle and blind bridle, went to Big River Mills, and inquired of Dr. Keith and Samuel B. Herrod where “Sam Hildebrand” was, as he was an old “war chum” whom he wanted to assist. His ragged coat and old hat condemned him at once as a detective, for we were in the habit of dressing well during the war, as ourcreditwas always good while we were well armed. He failed to elicit any information from them; in fact at this time I was nursing my wounds in the cave, and the dismal scene of my suffering was only visited by that angel of mercy, a kind sister.
It appears that the Police Commissioner of St.Louis sent Col. Bowen, McQueen, Schuster and Wadkins on a second expedition against me. They were joined at Irondale by Hughes, King, Fatchet and Zoleman; and on Big river by Joe McGahan and Dennis O‘Leary.
Col. Bowen, with his men, went to the house of my sister on the 21st day of June, just before daylight, and questioned her about where I was. My sister of course refused to answer any of their questions, but on threatening to hang two of her youngest boys, one of them divulged all that he knew.
On the evening of the 22d the party arrested William Harris, my brother-in-law, also Mr. Cash and Mr. Dunham, and hung them up by the neck until they extorted from them the fact that I lived in a cave in a certain bluff which they described. This bluff rises perpendicularly nearly three hundred feet above the waters of Big river, which runs at its base. A skirt of high timber on the margin of the river in a great measure hides the bold front of this towering mass of rock from view.
The cave can be seen neither from the top nor bottom, for it is about two hundred feet from the bottom, and is hid by a projecting rock in front. From the cave in one direction along the seam in the rock there is a narrow and very difficult causeway running several hundred yards where it can be approached from above and below. This narrow turnpike can easily be defended by one man against five hundred. I regret that I was not in my castle when Col. Bowen and his posse were prowlingaround in front of the cave on the morning of the 23d, I would have had more fun than I did at Williams‘ house, where they had so much the advantage of me.
I retired from the cave during the night, and was absent when the party came to see my castle. They remained near the cave all day, but did not think it prudent to peep in to see whether I was at home or not. On the following night they built a large fire on the projection in front of the cavern, and kept it supplied with wood which they threw from the top of the bluff.
On the next morning they learned from Mr. Nash, whom they hung by the neck awhile, that I was not in the cave.
On receiving this welcome information the party scaled the bluff and took the whole place by storm. The next move to capture me was through a confession made by a son of Mr. Nash, that he was to meet me at a certain point at night with a quart of whisky.
Col. Bowen determined to capture me and the “quart,” so he and his party reconnoitered the place for several hours, but I kept two hundreds yards from them. They were welcome to the whisky, for I considered it my treat; and after taking a hearty drink from the branch I went away perfectly satisfied.
After the capture of my cave, Col. Bowen made his headquarters at G. W. Murphy‘s. There of course he lived well; the boys were all happy, drawing good wages and incurring no danger, for I solemnlypromised my friends that I would not kill a single one of them unless they should indeed discover me. The first time I saw Col. Bowen after his removal to Murphy‘s was three or four days after he had captured the bluff. I was aiming to cross the road two or three hundred yards east of Murphy‘s house, when on getting in a small glade fifteen steps from the road I heard horses‘ feet coming from the direction of Big River Mills. I stood behind a cedar bush with a cocked pistol in each hand. Col. Bowen rode by me with two of his men, but none of them turned their heads, and I moved around the bush as they passed.
HILDEBRAND‘S CAVE.
HILDEBRAND‘S CAVE.
I did not wish to hurt them; I had a high regard for the Colonel, and respected him for his magnanimity in not burning my cave after he had captured it, for I must say that he was the first man who ever drove me out of a place without setting it on fire.
A few days after this I concluded to hobble over to where my family was, for the purpose of paying them a short visit; but on passing through a wheat field I was discovered by a certain man who reported me. Col. Bowen took a squad of men to watch around my house at night. Before arriving there it was dark and raining; and as I heard the tramp of their horses I stepped out of the road until they had passed. I followed them on until they got near the house and commenced placing out their pickets.
After the campaign had continued several weeks, it became apparent that the forces already in thefield were insufficient for my capture; the disloyalty of the people of St. Francois county had been greatly magnified. Certain evil men in the neighborhood desired nothing so much as a pretext for martial law; some of them had rioted in murder and pillage during the war, and they knew that in all civil commotions the dregs arise to the top.
Governor McClurg is a good man; I can say that much for him, but in the goodness of his nature he is slow in detecting the evil designs of some of his party friends who live in the under current of cunning rascality. To show the tardiness and disloyalty of the civil authorities in St. Francois county, Sheriff Murphy was ordered, just as the farmers had whetted their scythes and were preparing to enter their harvest fields, to call out the militia throughout the county to aid in scouring the woods. To the mortification of the plotters, he responded and the people turned out.
Then the report was started that I was concealed in a deep mineral shaft among the Pike Run Hills. Murphy and his party scrambled over that terrible country until every snake was crushed by their feet.
This severe ordeal continued for two or three weeks until fortunately the Governor made his advent on Big river, and was welcomely received by all parties. To my regret I was out of the ring; however, I was anxious to see Governor McClurg, for I had never yet seen a Governor; and having been informed by my friends that he would make aspeech in Farmington on the following day, I posted myself in the corner of a fence at the end of a lane on the Green place about five miles from Farmington and watched for him to come along, knowing that he would pass on that road.
I did not intend to molest him, or even to speak an unkind word; but I was anxious that he might be alone so that I could step out, shake him by the hand, give him a drink out of my bottle, and have a social chat.
When he passed me he was riding by the side of a Methodist preacher from Caledonia, named Williams; he was followed by a train of about forty men, the saints being in front and the sinners in the rear. Not liking the rear-guard very well, I did not join in the procession, but retired further back in the woods.
Under the impression that the Governor would deliver a speech at the court house that night, I concluded that I would go and hear what he had to say about me. After dark I made my way to town and secreted myself opposite the court house door among some goods boxes near Fleming‘s store.
I saw no indications, however, of a public meeting; I made a motion to adjourn, which was seconded by a large woolly dog that found me occupying his sleeping apartment.
I ascertained afterwards that McClurg did make a speech during the day, and that it was anything but flattering to me. To avoid the necessity of a resort to martial law, the citizens were very clamorous intheir protestations of holy horror at the very name of Hildebrand. They passed a long string of resolutions; the first declaring that “Sam Hilderbrand ought to be arrested;” the second that “it would be proper to arrest Sam Hilderbrand;” the third “that to arrest Sam Hilderbrand would be a good idea;” the other sixteen resolutions not differing materially from the first three, I need not repeat.
The resolutions being read to me a few days afterwards, I fully sanctioned them, and cruised around several days myself, in search of desperadoes.
Governor McClurg appointed six deputy sheriffs for St. Francois county; their number was afterwards increased to ten, each one of whom were allowed a posse of ten men, by which arrangement one hundred men would be in active service.
In order to create the impression that he was performing some prodigious deeds of valor, Col. Bowen pretended to have fought a terrible battle single handed with “Sam Hildebrand and his men” at the Brick Church on Big river.
I have heard the battle at the Brick Church frequently mentioned, and I have a word to say in regard to that matter. I was not there myself, neither was any of my friends at the time the firing took place.
The whole tragedy was concocted by the cunning of Col. Bowen himself, in order to cut a figure and stamp himself a hero.
I could easily have killed him at any time previous to this, but as he had done me no harm, and wasnot likely to do any, I took the advice of my friends and let him peaceably pursue his brilliant campaigns for the sake of eclipsing the renown of Don Quixote.
It seems that two of his men had stationed themselves in the brush near the Brick Church by the road leading from his headquarters at G. W. Murphy‘s to Big River Mills. On a certain evening between sunset and dark, when Sheriff Murphy and himself were riding by the church on their way from Big River Mills, those two men in ambush fired off their guns. The valiant Colonel drew out his pistol and commenced firing; but to prevent the sheriff from taking a pop at the two men, he cried out to him to dash on to Big River Mills for more men, which he did and soon returned.
The Colonel remained on the ground and was master of the field, but his horse was slightly wounded by a shot nearly perpendicular, which might have been made by himself. The horse, however, not understanding the matter thoroughly, threw his master high in the air; but luckily the Colonel came down head foremost, and striking on a rock he received no injury except a ringing in his head like the rattling of a cow-bell.
He dispatched one of his men to Irondale to telegraph to the authorities at St. Louis the astounding intelligence that at the Brick Church, Col. Bowen had encountered the irrepressible “Sam Hildebrand” and his band of out-laws; that his horse had been shot from under him, but that single-handed he haddriven the enemy from the field, and only received a slight wound. This Don Quixote campaign against me terminated in a spree, and the Colonel returned to St. Louis.
Previous to this, however, by Col. Bowen‘s orders, my wife and children were removed, first to Irondale and then to Farmington; they remained at the latter place under the supervision of the sheriff for a month. They were kindly treated, but my wife was anxious to escape from the ceaseless annoyance of Bowen‘s military operations.
On a certain night a friend of mine from Illinois, named Crittenden, proceeded into Farmington with a light wagon, and before the break of day my wife and family were in Ste. Genevieve county, on their way to Illinois. They stopped for breakfast at a house by the roadside, and by a strange coincidence it proved to be the house of the late James McLaine. The widow, not knowing the party, made them very welcome, and in apologizing for her straitened circumstances, observed: “I am now left a destitute widow, and all these poor little children of mine are left orphans, by the hand of Sam Hildebrand.”
Mrs. McLaine‘s father, George Shumate was present, and while the good woman was preparing breakfast, he addressed himself to Crittenden, and gave a terrible account of my desperate deeds.
After breakfast the party arose to continue their journey; the widow would have nothing for hertrouble. My wife, taking Mrs. McLaine kindly by the hand, said:
“Mrs. McLaine, I am sorry for you—truly sorry for you and your dear little children; sorry for the many hardships you have had to encounter. I know how to sympathize with you, for I am a widow myself.”
“You a widow?”
“Yes, Mrs. McLaine; I am worse than a widow—I am the wife of Sam Hildebrand!”
The good woman stood amazed and said nothing; but the look that Mr. Shumate gave Crittenden was truly comical: he drew up his neck, threw his head a little back, and exclaimed:
“Well—my—God! and you are not Sam Hildebrand—are you?”
“Oh, no sir! I am not; but his wife here is my cousin.”
They continued on to Illinois, and as soon as all military operations against me in Missouri had subsided, I left the State; and since that time I have been wandering through the Southern States as a peaceable citizen.
The Governor‘s reward against me, of course, is still unrepealed; and I hope that it will be chiseled into one of the pillars of the State Capitol, that it may be handed down to posterity in the same category with two rewards offered during the last generation—one for a feasible northwest passage, and the other for the invention of perpetual motion.
Let the legend pass down the corridors of time tothe latest generation, that the strange flickering light sometimes seen at night in the dreary lowlands of the South is none other than “Jack with his lantern” trying to get the reward by finding Sam Hildebrand.
If the strange hallucination should ever enter the mind of a man that I could be captured, let him immediately send for a physician, have his head emptied and filled up with clabber to give him a better set of brains.
All fighting between “Uncle Sam” and myself has ceased long ago. He came out of the war unconquered—and so did I.
It will be a long time, however, before he gets entirely over the effects of our fight. I am hale, and have the free use of my limbs; but his southern arm is paralyzed, he is terribly in debt, can only see out of one eye, and his constitution is broken; he has the KuKlux nightmare, the Salt Lake cancer; the African leprosy, the Fenian rickets, the bondholder‘s cramp, and the Congressional blind staggers. The war left me out of debt, with a good horse, and forty dollars in cash.
As several proclamations have been issued against me, without ever eliciting one in return, I shall now swing my hat and proclaim:
“Peace and good will to all men; a general amnesty toward the United States, and to ‘Uncle Sam‘—so long as the said Uncle Sam shall behave himself.”