Confederate Veteran
Experience Of A Missouri Women
Mrs. Lou McCoy (Now Mrs. Gentry),
In Denver News
In the middle of the night in the year 1864 I was awakened by the sound of voices near the door of my home, and immediately aroused my little brother, ten years old, who was my only protector. Before we got into our clothes a loud call in a gruff voice ordered the door opened. Then a man began to bang on the door with his gun and said: Open the door or I will break it down. I replied: Just as soon as I can dress I will let you in. When we were dressed, I opened the door, and in walked five big soldiers in Federal blue. We heard that your husband was seen in this neighborhood to-day, and we want him, they said.
He is not here, I replied.
Then he is concealed somewhere, and you must tell where.
I don know, I said, and would not tell you if I did.
Well, said the spokesman, we hang men to make them tell what we want to know, and we hanged one women.
The hair seemed to rise on my head at the thought of such a scene before my little children and little brother, and, realizing that my safety depended on fearlessness, I said: You all look brave enough to hang a woman! I looked the man squarely in the face as I said it, and I believe that the boldness of my reply was all that saved me.
Without further threats they left the house and rode away. This experience made me decide not to risk staying alone another night. While packing up next morning to move to my mothers, who lived in the same neighborhood, I was surprised by an officer appearing at my door with a force of armed men, and he said: Consider yourself under arrest! And without permitting me to change my dress he forced me to go with him. I sent my children, including my infant, eighteen months old, and brother Matt to my mother before going. I also asked what I was charged with, and the lieutenant read: You are charged with having furnished food, shelter, and clothing to Rebel soldiers. If true, you will be held a prisoner until you take the oath of allegiance.
He escorted me to Liberty Landing arsenal, where we boarded a steamboat for St. Joseph. When we arrived there, I was taken before Colonel Hardy, who read the charges and asked if true. I said, True. Then he produced the iron-clad oath, which forbade me even to exchange letters with husband, brother, etc., or to give food, shelter, or clothing to any Confederate soldier. I said: If you mark out two of the items, I will take it.
Not one. he said; and I replied: I will not take it.
Orderly, escort her to Captain Dunn and tell him to take care of her until further orders.
Captain Dunn received me kindly and gave me a nice room. Next morning a newspaper contained the following item: A she adder, a Rebel damsel, arrested and brought before Colonel Hardy! She acknowledged that she had furnished food, shelter, and clothing to Rebels and would do so as long as able. She stoutly refused to take the oath of allegiance unless part of it was marked out. She is now held as a prisoner of war.
Being gloomy and sad, I asked Captain Dunns little girl to walk with me to the cemetery. She ran to her mother for permission, when Mrs. Dunn said: I am sorry to inform you that you are only allowed the limits of the yard. If you should go, they would hold Captain Dunn responsible.
I laughed and said: I will write to Colonel Hardy and shame him for such treatment. I did so, and he sent for me to come to his office and said: I will let you have the limits of the city on parole of honor.
Accepting it, I went to Reuben Kays, where I met many Confederate ladies, and put in my time as best I could. After that I went out every day among the Southerners, and didnt eat another meal at Captain Dunns except breakfast.
Four days later Colonel Hardy sent for me and said if I decided to take the oath I would be sent South and put through the lines. I again refused. For three more days I visited my new Southern friends. In the afternoon of the third day a message came for me to report at the colonels office. When I went, he offered me a mild, light oath and I took it. He then sent me to Major Bassetts office to get release papers. Handing me the release papers, Major Bassett said: You did not have to take any oath, for you are exchanged for one of our provost marshals who has been captured by Quantrell, as he had said he would release the provost only when Mrs. McCoy was released. Perhaps Colonel Hardy thought best for you to take a slight oath anyway.
Major Bassett and Colonel Hardy also had me sign a paper showing that I was released, which they were to send to Quantrell and ransom the provost from death.
Before I left St. Joe I had a thrilling experience. I suppose it is a mystery to this day how Captain Burkholder escaped from prison. It was Mrs. Howard, of St. Joe, and I who set him free. After I was paroled I went with Mrs. Howard to the hospital to visit the sick. Captain Burkholder was there. He was a prisoner, held as a spy and condemned to death. He had been captured within the lines at Missouri City dressed in citizens clothes. I knew him; he was a friend of the Hardwicks and Ella Hardwicks lover. He had risked his life in the enemys lines in order to see his sweetheart.
Captain Burkholder told us of his perilous situation. We said we would aid him to escape if we could. He said the prison keeper had agreed to give him a cap and coat if they would serve him, and then he said: If you two can come here just before dark, I can manage it. Ill put on my cap and coat to disguise myself and go out with you, giving the countersign, which I know, to the guards. If you can have a conveyance ready outside, I will surely get away.
We carried out the plan successfully. Mrs. Howard found a true man who stationed himself in a carriage just back of the hospital. Captain Burkholder walked out with us, giving the countersign, entered the carriage, and was quickly on his way to Rock House Prairie, where I had a friend who would aid him further by buying a ticket for him at the station and sending him on to Canada, out of reach of the hangmans halter, and he got safely away without our being suspected.
About three months after I was paroled I was arrested again. A squad of soldiers came to my house and read to me an order from General Rosecrans, dated Washington, D.C., I think, which stated that every officers family was to be put through the lines. The paper also charged that I had come on in advance of General Price on his raid. My husband, Captain McCoy, had done that, but they charged me with it. Captain McCoy had come in advance of General Price, had caught of Captain Garths men, and had sworn them out of service till exchanged. Garths boys had gone out grape hunting with some of the girls of Liberty, but ere they could find any grapes they found themselves surrounded by McCoys men of Prices army and captured and paroled. They were of the militia pressed into the service against their will, and were glad to be released to respect this oath.
We had but little time to get ready to be put through the lines. We left Liberty, Mo., about the 15th of February, and were taken to the railroad station by a lieutenant and five privates, who accompanied us to Pine Bluff, Ark. There were thirteen families of us in all, some of them from Jackson County. When we arrived at Pine Bluff, Ark., a new escort received and receipted for us as if we had been so many cattle. While we were waiting two families succeeded in having the order to send them through the lines revoked. At this others of us undertook to have the order revoked in our favor. I asked a sergeant to tell General Clayton that some of us would like to speak to him. With a sneer he replied: Do you know what you would have to do in order to speak to General Clayton? You would have to send in a gilt-edged card on a golden plate.
Why wouldnt it do to send a white sheet of paper turned down at the right-hand corner and on it written, Urbanity of Tom, Dick, or Harry? You can tell General Clayton that my husband is one of Joe Shelbys staff officers.
The sergeant went out. In a short time General Clayton appeared at the door and said: Where is the little Rebel captain who wished to speak to me:
Mrs. Hendrix, from Jackson County, pointed to me, and I rose up and explained that we wanted to get the order revoked and not go through the lines. He was very polite and said our case had gone too far for the order to be revoked.
At last we started and traveled in open wagons. Our escort were on horseback, and one carried a long white flag. We were ferried across a bayou during a mist of rain just enough to make the flag cling to the pole. There was a good deal of joking about Mr. Rosecranss white rag. The lieutenant said to the flag bearer: Keep that flag unfurled; we may be fired upon, as we are in the land of graybacks.
In a little while we saw armed men ahead of us. One of our escort looked through a field glass and said: Yes, them are graybacks. The Confederate commander halted his men and advanced alone to meet us. Seeing this, our lieutenant, ordering the escort to remain with us, rode forward. The two commanders on nearing each other lifted their hats and exchanged words, then advanced and shook hands, turned and came toward us, beckoning the Confederate squad to come on. When the man in gray came to where we were, he dismounted and shook hands with all of us, saying he was always glad to meet people from Missouri. The Ford girls knew him as soon as they saw him. It was Bob Thompson, of Clay County, whose father owned the old Thompson house in Liberty. As the squad of Confederates approached us we waved our handkerchiefs. Then we all, gray and blue, were taken to Dr. Fergusons house, where the officers exchanged writings. Our officers were Boes Roberts and Col. Gil Thompson.
That night the prisoners were given shelter in Dr. Fergusons house, while gray and blue remained by camp fires till morning. The Yankee escort went back, and we went on to Monticello, where we remained until the surrender.
At St. Louis I needed some medicine, and one of our escort kindly offered to get it for me. I informed him that I had no small change; nothing less than a $10 bill. Well, madam, said he, you can trust me. Ill get the medicine for you and bring you back the change. I never saw the man again.
At the time of these occurrences I was Mrs. Lou McCoy, of Clay County, Mo., my husband being Captain Mose McCoy, of Shelbys command. He died soon after the war. Quantrell aided me because he had helped his men in time of need.
This is a copy of the second letter written and published in Confederate Veteran magazine by Moses McCoy's wife Lurena.
Confederate Veteran
ABOUT THE FIGHT AT RICHFIELD, MO.
BY MRS. LOU MCOY (NOW MRS. GENTRY)
My husband Moses McCoy, who was a participant in the Richfield (Mo.) fight, did not enter the Confederate army in the beginning of the War of the States. Our children were small and I was young and inexperienced, and he shrank from leaving me with such care. Our home was in the country, and there was no one to run the farm and make a living for us. But when the Federals began to force men into the Reserved Missouri Militia, he at once placed these responsibilities upon me and went with the Confederates.
I determined to remain on the farm, although a mile from our nearest neighbor, with no protector except my little brother Matt, ten years old. We lived on the north side of the Missouri River, and it was difficult for recruits for the Southern army to cross that dangerous stream. They usually went in parties, under the leadership of some one who knew the way, prepared to fight their way through if halted. To organize they had to hide in the brush and sleep in out-of-the- way barns or in the woods. The Federals knew this and were constantly on the alert to intercept them and prevent their crossing the river. All crossing places were closely watched by the Federals and militia. Sometimes they would discover a Rebel camp in the woods, and a fight was the result. But the Federals rarely ventured into the thick timber in search of them.
These companies of recruits for the Southern army were generally gotten together and taken over the river by men sent from the main army as recruiting officers. They had to watch for a chance to raise a sunken or hidden skiff and cross the river at night, swimming their horses.
Here was where Quantrell generally gave aid. He would send experienced men in to help them get out and protect them until they could reach the main army. On Mr. McCoys going his company was safely escorted by Quantrell through to Shelbys command. Mr. McCoy entered as a private, but later was promoted to captain, and served on General Shelbys staff.
I aided the Confederates all I could, and always helped a Confederate boy to secure an outfit for the army. For this I was closely watched by the Federals, who had detectives and spies out all the time. But I gave aid to every one that came to me. I fed them and had uniforms made for them when they were preparing for the service. My efforts in behalf of the Southern boys made the Federals suspect me as working for their deliverance. I recall this instance; One morning the jail door in Liberty, county seat of Clay County, was found wide open and the Confederate prisoners gone. The men had been arrested and jailed as spies, to be tried by court-martial and executed or sent to some dungeon. Having no clew to the mystery, they conjectured that It must be Mrs. McCoy, and accordingly laid it to my charge, alleging that I had taken an impression of the keyhole in wax and had the key made for opening the door for the captives.
One of my real (not alleged) offenses against the majesty of the government was found out, which brought me into trouble, and was the cause of the Richfield fight. (An account of this skirmish is given in War of the Rebellion, Series I., Volume XXII., page 336, by Captain Schmitz, which is unfair to the Confederates engaged in it.) My offense was that I had a suit of gray made for a Confederate soldier just about to leave for the army. Captain Sessions, of Richfield, an officer in the militia, by some means found out where I had concealed the suit of gray. He at once took possession of it and had me arrested. I have written of my arrest and imprisonment at St. Joseph, Mo., in another paper. (See Veteran for May, 1912) Captain Sessions had lived in Richfield (now Missouri City) for many years. I had often bought goods at his store. He knew everybody in that part of the county and was well known there. He no doubt thought that he was doing his duty, but it cost him his life.
The pretext for arresting me was that my husband had been seen in the neighborhood, and I must tell where he was or go to prison. Just a few days before he seized the gray uniform Captain McCoy and others had come in as recruiting officers and to see their families. When they came to our house seeking him, Captain McCoy and his recruits were already across the river on their way South. As the officer with his detachment passed through Richfield with me, Mrs. Adams rushed out to the gate at the home of Dr. Sheetz and said: I hope you are not a prisoner. Yes, I said. She raised her hands and said, shaking her head: Never mind. There will be a hereafter to this.
The soldier turned on her and replied: You had better keep you lip or we will get you next and some more like you. But she was nothing daunted by his threat, and at once sent word to her brother, Louis Vandiver, who was with Quantrell, not far away across the river. Louis informed my husband of my arrest while still in Jackson County on his way back to Shelbys command.
Captain McCoy called on Quantrell for volunteers to aid him. Louis Vandiver was the first to offer his services, and there were many others. Quantrell gave him a squad of six or eight picked men, among them a brave leader, one Ferdinant Scott, and with these Captain McCoy recrossed the river and went to the house of one of our neighbors for breakfast. This man was our friend, but ill health kept him out of the army. He said: Boys, I shall have to report on you. You know we are ordered to report at once if we see any bushwhackers, as they call you; and if we do not, we will be arrested, and that means prison if not death.
That is just what we want, and what we came for. You go straight into Richfield and tell Sessions that Joe Hart is here with a handful of men, and he can come right out and get them if he will be quick.
They stationed themselves on either side of the road in the woods where they knew the Federals would have to pass. They had not long to wait, for Richfield was only about two miles away; and soon the came in a gallop, Sessions in the lead, Lieutenant Graffenstein next, with Rapp and others following. They were fired into from both sides of the road. Sessions fell mortally wounded; Graffenstein was hit, but went on for a hundred yards or more before he fell from his horse. Rapp was thought to have been killed outright, but must have feigned death. The others ran away unhurt. Louis Vandiver went to Sessions as he lay in the road where he fell. He looked up and said: Louis , I am a dead man; dont shoot me any more. Louis turned to McCoy and said: He is at war with you and yours; you can finish him. When McCoy went to Sessions, he was dying.
Some one passing with a wagon took up the wounded man Rapp (supposed by Quantrells men to be dead) and carried him to the hotel in Richfield. When McCoys men went to Richfield and found that Rapp was not dead, Fletcher Taylor tried to kill him. Pushing aside the doctor, he raised his gun to shoot, but the landlady knocked his gun up and the ball missed Rapp, who rolled off the couch and under it. It should be remembered that Quantrells men had been declared outlaws and the black flag raised against them by the Federals. As no quarter was given them, they gave none, and as a rule took no prisoners. They were driven to this course by the severity of the Federals toward them.
The bushwhackers, so called, then went into one of the stores and called for tobacco and cigars. The storekeeper said: Boys, you are welcome, but I cant be supposed to give you anything. If I should, I would be arrested. Take what you want. Thus they robbed the store.
McCoy and his men recrossed the river and returned to Quantrells camp. Contrary to his custom, Quantrell sent out and captured a prisoner as hostage for Mrs. McCoy in prison at St. Joseph. He sent word to Colonel Hardy at St. Joseph that he would release a provost marshal he had in custody as soon as he had evidence that Mrs. McCoy was set free and sent home to her children. I was released.
The men in the Richfield fight were not engaged in a marauding expedition of robbery and murder. Captain McCoys wife had been arrested for refusing to betray him to his enemies or for the slight offense of procuring a suit of clothes for a Confederate soldier. The arrest was a cruel wrong, and he avenged it on the perpetrators. She was put in prison, and with the aid of Quantrell he released her by threat of death suspended over the head of the provost marshal. Like a true defender of home, he restored his wife to her children and her fireside and then went back to his post in Shelbys command to fight for his county.
While I have suffered much and endured many hardships caused by that war, yet I have always felt sorry that any one was killed on my account. I also reflect that Mr. McCoy would have been less than a man and unworthy of a wife if he had permitted such an injustice to go unpunished. I have never recovered from the losses of that period of war and the reconstruction, but still feel that our people were in the right. We had justice on our side; and though defeated we gained an imperishable heritage worth more than silver and gold. There is a high destiny awaiting our people. Let us teach our children that their fathers were not traitors but patriots.
[Mrs. Gentry is a sister of Mrs. B.A.C. Emerson, now of Denver, Colo.]
This is the statement of Mrs. Lurena McCoy after being arrested. I have a copy from the original statement that is on file at Jefferson City, Missouri in the State Archives room under Union Provost Marshal papers 1861-1866. This statement is also found in the book "Frank and Jesse James" pages 37-38, by Ted P. Yeatman. Lurena was 19 years old when she was arrested.
Statement of Mrs. Lurena McCoy abt. May 22, 1864
"I do not know what I was arrested for, but was told it was for feeding bushwhackers, but I do not believe I have ever been guilty of that. I have fed both parties. No union man ever came to my house and asked fo some thing to eat but what he got it. It made no difference whether they were union men or rebels I fed them. I never turned off any one who was hungry. I will take the oath willingly and live up to it. I would not take the oath unless I intended to live up to it. When the war first broke out I was for the union. Shortly after the Lexington battle I changed. I then began to sympathise with the other party, and my sympathies grew stronger and stronger as the decision of parties was made. It cannot be proved that I ever done any disloyal act. I do not know what a disloyal act is. They say it is feeding rebels...My enemies have said a great many things of me which are not so. I acknowledged to Col. Harding that I had fed rebels. I only meant then that they had came to my house and asked for something to eat and I gave it to them. I did not think I was doing anything wrong. I supposed the federals would be mad about. I have asked for the federals a great many times. I have two children. That is one adopted five years old and one of my own two years old. I have one brother in the federal army, or rather half brother....and the most of my relatives are in the federal army, some are in the secession army"
Transcribed by Russ Norris