LETTER NO. 1
Damon, Wayne Co., Mo., Dec. 6th, 1902
Dr. C. W. Peterson,
St. Louis, Mo.
Dear Sir- (pardon me for saying it) and Comrade:-
Yours of Oct. 22nd, 1902 is now before me, asking me to write up my “personal
recollections of the battle of Pilot Knob, Mo., Sept. 27th, 1864 from participants in that
remarkable fight”. You say “This material will be preserved for the future historian, in
the interest of truth.” As an old soldier of the war of the Sixties, please permit me to
return unto you my most sincere and heart-felt thanks for conceiving the idea. In saying
this, I am quite sure that I voice the true sentiments of all of my old comrades and their
children, together with the old Union men too old or too young to be in the service, like
yourself; but our sympathies and sentiments were one, so that makes us comrades in the
Great Cause for which we fought. Last, but not the least, I will also mention our wives,
mothers, sisters, daughters and our sweethearts,-all as true lovers of the Union, as we
participants in actual service.
In writing up my story of the War of the Sixties, I wish it remembered that, that
awful war was a “bomb shell in the wheel” of my education,-so many orthographical and
grammatical errors may appear in my writing. At my age;-19, when Fort Sumpter was
fired on, I should have had a fair education: but, be it remembered, that I was born and
raised (Except one year) in a slave state; and slavery and the public education of “the po’
white trash”, only to a very limited extent, did not work well together. The principle of
Negro slavery, in the “Sunny South” was antagonistical to the public education of the
masses. Ignorance was one of Slavery’s strongholds. In fact, I think I am justified in
saying that ignorance among the masses termed “po’ white trash” was Slavery’s strongest
hold.
In writing my story, I have, after much thinking, concluded that it will be best to
write in letter form, giving in each letter, things as they occurred, from the hot political
campaign year of 1860 to the close of the war in 1865. When I read after a writer in
whose writings I am deeply interested, I am always wearied with the question “Who is
the he or she?” (as the case may be) until I learn something of the writer’s history. So
applying the “golden rule”, I will first give a sketch of my life to the outbreak of the war.
My great grandfather, Neil Wilkinson, came from Scotland some years before the
Revolutionary War and settled on Lock’s Creek, Cumberland County, N. C. I now have
two letters written by him to my grand father, Allen Wilkinson, in Smith County, Tenn.
In those letters, one dating Nov. 15th, A. D. 1804, and the other bears the date of Jan. 31st,
A. D. 1815,- he signs his name “Neil Wilkinson”. The postmark on the last letter reads
“Single leaf, 37 ½ cts.” We cannot make out the postage on the first letter. In his last
letter, I learn that my grandfather, Allen Wilkinson, was born A. D. 1768, in July.
Grandfather Allen Wilkinson traveled across the Cumberland Mts., to Tennessee
in the very early days of the settlement of that state. Two of his brothers came about the
same time,- Daniel and Archibald. Grandfather first taught school on Peyton’s Creek in
Smith County, Tenn., and soon married Rachael Hesson, a girl of 15. Her father came
from Dublin, Ireland, sometime previous to the Revolutionary War. He was with Putnam
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and Preston on Bunker’s Hill, and continued in the “War for Liberty” until its close. He
also removed to Smith County, Tenn. In a early day. He was a tailor by trade.
Grandfather, after marrying, bought the beginning of the old “Wilkinson Homestead” on
the headwaters of Peyton’s Creek and began the life of a farmer and hunter. To them
were born eight children,- John McBride Wilkinson, was the 5th one of the family, - the
father of the writer,- born June 7th, 1813. About this last named date, grandfather enlisted
a company to go to fight the Indians during the war of 1812-15. Edward Sanderson, a
near neighbor was one of Grandfather’s Lieutenants. Their time expired, however,
before the battle of New Orleans. Of Edward Sanderson and Mary McMillen Sanderson,
were born several sons and daughters, among whom was Lavana Sanderson, who married
John M. Wilkinson, sometime in 1836. Of them were born five children. The fourth one
was Henry Clay Wilkinson, born March 27th, 1842,- the writer. Mother died, Feb. 16th,
1844,- so I now have no recollections of my mother whatever. One baby brother was
buried in mother’s arms, so they told me. After mother died, father gave our only sister
and myself to his mother to care for. He took with him my oldest brothers, Edward and
Neil to Grandfather Sanderson’s. So sister and I remained until the early spring of 1858.
Father enlisted in Company C, 1st Tenn. Regt. Vols., commanded by Col. Wm.
Campbell, in 1846, and went to Mexico, but on account of sickness, he was discharged
before his regiment was engaged in battle. In 1848 father was married to Sarah Young in
Lafayette, Macon County, Tenn. And soon after removed to Dardanell, Yell County,
Ark., where he remained until early in the spring of 1856. While in Arkansas, he lost his
wife and two children. He brought the oldest, a girl, back to Tennessee with him. Oh, it
seemed so long to be away from father! Yes over 7 ½ years!
From my earliest recollections, I was expected to bend my back in the tobacco
field and go to school occasionally, till the tobacco crops were “housed”, -then, perhaps
we would get to attend school a solid week and sometimes a solid month. The public
schools (so called) were for only three months in the year,- but such schools. We sat in
houses, if frame buildings, were only weatherboarded and a wide fireplace in a ‘stickand-
dirt” chimney. Our school house, where I attended school, was built of hewn
buckeye logs and was as open as the commonest stable, with no fireplace or stove! We
warmed of cold days at a fire built out in the yard. Our seats were made of slabs from the
saw mill, with four legs in them. We called them “benches”. They were from about 7
feet long to about 16 feet, owing to the size of the house and where used in the house. As
to “black boards” we never heard of such a thing. The “writing desk” was usually as long
as that side of the school house where it was fastened to the wall. A log cut-out, with
sometimes glass panes in a frame in place of the log cut-out, furnished light. At this
“writing desk”, we all sat on one long bench to practice penmanship. The teacher was
always expected to “set copies” for us to write by. In going to and from school, we
would watch the roads for good goose quills, out of which the “school master” would
make our writing pens. To know how to make a good pen was one very important
qualification in the teacher. The teacher? O dear! He or she could not now get a school
for nothing, not even to pay for the privilege to teach in our public schools on 1902. He,
or sometimes, she, always sat at the teachers’ desk to hear us “say our lessons” and to
“set copies” make or mend our pens, tell us “what this word is?” and “work” the hard
sums of the “cipherers” whose blessed privilege it was to sit out doors under the shade
trees or in the sunshine or by a “chunk fire” if is was cold. If they “got stalled” they
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would bring their sums to the school master to “work”. Those studying grammar were
also of this blessed privileged number. Sometimes one would be studying geography and
would be permitted to “go out doors” too. The studies were spelling, reading, writing,
arithmetic and grammar. The main things were spelling, reading and in particular
“cipering” and writing. Our text books were Webster’s old spelling book; Smith’s,
Smyle’s and Fowler’s arithmetics. The readers were McGuffey”s and Goodrich’s readers
and the New Testament. Such a thing as a class, except in “spelling for heart” just before
“play time” at noon and the last thing of the evening, was never heard of. We had the
“big class” and the “little class” in these spellings. As to such a thing as uniform series
of text books, we never dreamed of. In fact, to have required a uniform series of text
books and to class the pupils as they do now in all of our schools would not then have
been tolerated in school at all. If he, or she, as teacher had dared such a thing then, they
would have been put down as a “blue bellied Yankee” and an “abolishioner”. When we
studied our lessons, if I should say study, we were required to “spell out” and “read out”,-
that is, to spell and read aloud and I assure you that when we came to “getting the
spelling lesson”, we did “spell out” as loudly as we could hollow, - no we bawled! This
spelling and reading out was the excuse for the”cipherers” and the grammar students to
sit out doors; so when we began to “get the spelling lesson” we were often heard over a
quarter of a mile, which was the signal for the “cipherers” and the grammer scholars to
come into the school house to help “get the spelling lesson”.
I may be rather tedious in relating these things but my desire is to give the
generations after me, some rather dim idea of common school life in a slave state before
the war, which forever blotted out the enemy of public education in the “Sunny South”.
Yes, “Future Generations”, the principle of Negro slavery, the great enemy of education
and enlighten in the fair South, has gone “into the lake that burns with fire and
brimstone”. We will never see it more, and who weeps? “Bless the Lord, O my soul!”
That great debate at Freeport, Ill., between Steven A. Douglas and Abraham Lincoln in
1858, in which Mr. Lincoln put this question to Judge Douglas, lighted the fuse that fired
on Fort Sumpter, April 12th, 1861. It was: “Can the people of a United States Territory,
in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizen of the United States, exclude slavery
from its limits prior tot the formation of a State Constitution?” Mr. Douglas’ answer was,
“It matters not which way the Supreme Court may hereafter decide as to this abstract
question whether slavery may or may not go into a territory under the constitution,- the
people have the lawful means to introduce or to exclude it as they please, for the reason
that slavery cannot exist a day or an hour anywhere unless it is supported by local police
regulations.
This affirmative answer, I suppose we might term it, lost the South to Douglas at
Charleston in 1860 and it also elected Abraham Lincoln President of the United States
and the south seceded and the war came and now Negro slavery in the United States, is
known only in history.
I well remember the exciting times during the summer and fall of 1856, when
there were three men in the field,-Fillmore, Buchanan and Freemont. I remember that the
defeated Fillmore men greatly rejoiced that Freemong ran so strong in the north, but then
there was but little talk of war, unless Freemont had been elected, so the old people said.
Well, as I close this letter, I wish it to go on record that I never directly or indirectly hired
a single cent’s worth of “nigah Property”, but I can well remember how I would rejoice if
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a run-away negro was not caught, but got safely away to a free state. I well remember
also, how I would sympathize with the poor slave when beaten by his cruel owner. I was
never at but one public sale where Negroes were sold at auction. There I beheld an old
negro woman,- “Aunt Milly” parted from her baby girl, then about ten years old. One of
my uncles bought the old woman and another man bought her daughter and so they were
parted,- Aunt Mille to a good home and her little daughter to serve a hard master.
Very truly yours,
H. C. Wilkinson.
Letter No. 2.
Dear Doctor:
I am again seated to continue my story. I feel rather ashamed to say “I” and “Me”
and “My” and “Myself” so often, but I cannot well relate my story as a single individual
without it. In my former letter you can see that I belonged to that people in the South
called “Po’ white trash”, because my ancestors were not slave owners. I am not a bit
ashamed of it even to this day. My kin there in Tennessee were not considered
“Abolishioners”, but they were opposed to the principle of negro slavery. It was contrary
to the mixture of the “Scot-Irish” blood, with a slight seasoning of English blood, in our
veins, I suppose. One of mother’s brothers married to father’s youngest sister, and when
father moved to Arkansas, in 1848, they took my brothers Edward and Neil to raise.
Uncle bought three Negroes, one of whom was the “Aunt Milly” mentioned in my former
letter. Father’s brother, Peter A., had a negro boy and girl come to him by his wife’s
father. Afterwards Uncle Peter bought their father to keep him from being “sold south”.
These two uncles were solid Union men in the sixties, and gave up their negro property
cheerfully, and were only too glad to do so.
After while, the spring of 1858 came along, and one beautiful Monday morning a
four horse wagon drove up to Uncle Tom Sanderson’s to haul our now re-united family
to Nashville, Tenn., 60 miles south-west of our old home. I was then 16 years old but
had never been over 12 miles from home that whole 16 years. It was a great event in my
life as I was to see sights and hear sounds. I was to see my first steamboat and railway
cars. I was to see cities. Oh, it was a great day with me, although I was bidding farewell
to my own home and to my dear old grandmother, who had been my mother ever since I
could remember. I then saw her and my Grandfather Sanderson for the last time. Among
the dear ones to bid farewell was my constant companion, my dear little “Bobby”, a little
bench legged fice that had never owned a tail in all his life. Reader, did you ever own a
dog that loved you as dear life and always trusted you as supreme, and had always
obeyed you? Well, such was dear old “Bobby”. We were raised “pups” together, so we
loved each other dearly. Well, were you ever called upon to forever part with such a dear
friend in good health? If so you can sympathize with “Bobby” and I. We had to part
forever. The following summer poor little “Bobby” howled and dwindled and died of
grief. We were two days reaching Nashville and at once boarded the “City of
Huntsville”, and were soon on our way to Schuyler Co., Ill. In traveling overland to
Nashville we passed the “Hermitage” and saw Andrew Jackson’s tomb. I had forgotten
to relate that I saw father meet his old Colonel, Wm. Campbell, in Lebanon in Wilson
Co., and the old Colonel tried hard to get father to go home with him near by and stay a
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whole week. Father could not then accept the invitation. I remember that father told us
that we were eight miles from Nashville when we first saw the imposing capitol of
Tennessee on a hill about the city. It looked so small that I thought it was only the
cupola. Going down Cumberland River we passed under the great wire bridge across
Cumberland River, then we passed the new pier of the new railway bridge to soon cross
the river from Louisville. It was to be a turn bridge so steamboats could pass up and
down. I saw it in December ’64 and in March ’65. The turning span was then in
operation, but the old wire bridge was gone. The wire bridge was destroyed when “On
they kept going till they reached old Shiloh”, after Gen. Zolicoffer was killed. They
destroyed the wire bridge to save Nashville from the Yankees till they could get safely
away. Grant had turned Bowling Green, Ky., by taking Fort Henry and Donalson. They
had the “skedaddle” in good earnest.
At Paducah we boarded the “Highflyer”, right from Cincinnati bound for St.
Louis. She was loaded partly with dry hides and German emigrants, fresh from the
“Mother country”. I remember that as we wee streaming up the Mississippi, close
alongside the Iron Mountain Ry., I asked one of my fellow passengers what they were
cutting away the bluff for. He said: “Yesem”. He didn’t understand English and I didn’t
understand German, but we parted good friends though. Soon we saw that immense
cloud of smoke. They said: “That is St. Louis”. Then here we are along the wharf or
levee, and our boat was soon pulled into her place with the “capstand”. Oh, such a crowd
of steamboats. To look up or down the river, the chimnies, escape pipes & c. looked like
a perfect wilderness of old dead trees in a clearing.
We soon boarded the “Sam Guty” for Browning, Schuyler Co., Ill. This was early
Saturday morning. The “Sam Gaty” was not to sail till late P. M. , so we got to see some
of St. Louis as it then was, spring of 1856. Why, I didn’t know that there was a St. Louis
till we reached Nashville, and then I imagined a little river town. Nashville just wasn’t in
it at all. The trip up the Illinois River was made partly in the night, so we couldn’t then
see a great deal. Through neglect of the clerk, we were carried by our landing, and father
demanded of the captain of the “Sam Gaty” to return and land us, as it was then Sunday
noon. The captain was a fine man and begged father to let him take us on the Peoria and
back to Browning Monday night, telling father that it shouldn’t cost him a cent, so we
quieted down and went cheerfully along, and so saw more of Illinois. So, sure enough,
we were landed at Browning Monday night, but got up Tuesday morning to find the
ground covered with show. Soon we were on our way out to friends and kin. The
summer of ’58 in Illinois was a warm political year as Judge Douglas and Abraham
Lincoln were “stumping the state” for U. S. Senator. Be it remembered that they opened
their joint debate at Freeport that year, which finally beat Judge Douglas for the
Presidency two years after, as Mr. Lincoln then predicted. I remember that father and my
oldest brother went with others to Beardstown to hear Judge Douglas speak. The next
day I was at Browning and saw Judge Douglas on board the “Sam Gaty” on his way to
Bath to speak again. I well remember how he looked, but, also, I remember that I did not
join the crowd that had gathered at the boat landing when they cheered him.
Soon after Mr. Lincoln spoke in Vermont in Fulton Co., and father and my two
brothers went in a wagon with others to hear Mr. Lincoln. I wanted to go so badly, but
father said: “Edward and Neil are older that you, so you should let them go.” Had I then
known what I have since learned, I would have heard that speech if I’d had to walk that
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ten miles all alone in the night. My brothers told me when they returned that father said
to the men in the wagon: “Gentlemen, that man Abe Lincoln will be elected President in
1860. The Douglas men were about to dump him out of the (Democratic) wagon for
saying so. It was not like that “Old Union wagon” of which we sang in the sixties. We
sang: “And we’ll all take a ride.” Father told them to just wait and see. They saw that
father was not a false prophet.
It was during this summer 1858 that the “great comet” appeared, which many
claimed foretold war. When at its greatest brilliancy it was a fearfully beautiful object to
behold in the evening sky.
It was during the winter of 1858-59 that I attended my first real public school.
How I regretted to leave Illinois on account of the public school. I was deeply interested
in my studies as then I first knew “system” in school. Then I learned what a blackboard
was made for. They then had six months public school in Illinois, three months in the
winter for the large pupils and three months in the summer for the small children. Then
so strange, indeed, to find lady teachers. I then fully realized what an enemy the
principle of slavery was to the free public school system. In Illinois we found the text
books were uniform, and we were classed. Ray’s arithmetic was the go there, so we
could lay aside our Smyley’s old thing, half of which was “pounds, shillings and pence.”
What use had we for English money? Then another thing we found, that if a man was a
Republican, or even an out and out abolitionist, he could freely say so, without
molestation whatever. This was a great wonder to us, because if a man dared to speak
such sentiments in Tennessee he would have been treated to a coat of tar and feathers, or
perhaps hung by a mob, with the “big fish” to back them in it. I could see that we did not
then live in a free country and now I can understand Mr. Lincoln’s utterances at that time
that “This nation cannot exist half slave and half free.”
The early spring of 1859 found us ready to come to Wayne Co., Mo., which will
be related in my next letter.
Yours Truly,
H. C. Wilkinson
Letter No. 3
Dear Doctor:
As we found most excellent cooks in Illinois, it may be of interest to tell of the
manner of cooking fifty years ago, when cook stoves were rare. “Cooking on the fire
place” was the old way. The writer well remembers the first cook stove he ever saw, and
the remark of its owner to an admiring neighbor. She said: “I wouldn’t take a niggah fo’
it.” Corn meal was the main staple for bread. Beginning with the “Ash cake,” we will
tell how the various breads were made out of corn meal. The dough ready, a place was
swept clear of ashes on the hothearth and the dough was placed on the hot rock and
covered with hot ashes till cooked. Then it was cleared of ashes by brushing and
washing, then dried before the fire. The “Johnny cake” was baked on a board about 14 or
16 inches long and 6 to 8 inches wide. The dough was “pattied” out on the board until
about an inch thick, and then placed before the fire until cooked and turned to brown. The
“Hoe cake” was cooked, generally, on the inverted skillet lid, which was then made with
three legs on the top side so that the fire coals could be put under it. When partly cooked
it was then turned over and cooked till it would bear standing on its edge before the fire
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with a support behind it, and turned until a delicious brown. The “Dodgers” were cooked
in a skillet or oven, then were baked at once. The “Co’n Pone” was baked in the skillet
or oven and was generally two inches thick, but few people used anything to “make up”
the dough save cold water. Sometimes we got “Fatty bread,” which was made by adding
lard and salt. “Punkin bread” was made by adding cooked pumpkins, and then baked as
“Pone” or “Dodger.” “Corn light bread” was made by placing scalded meal in a vessel
by the fire until it was fermented; then more meal was added; then it was baked in a deep
oven to a black brown. Sometimes we got “Egg bread,” which was made by adding two
or three well beaten eggs. Soda and salaratus were hardly known to the cook. The writer
well remembers the first time he ever heard of such a thing as salaratus. One of our
aunts, who lived near by, was assisting in the cooking for father’s “Infair” dinner, to be
eaten next day after his second wedding. That was in 1848. Aunt said: “Go up to my
house and tell “Kink” to send me the salaratus. Then another aunt came up and said:
“Now, don’t forget it—s a l a r a t u s.” Sister and I hurried away to do their bidding, but
we forgot the name. We could get “Sally” all right, but to save our lives we couldn’t get
“ratus.” Cousin “Kink” guessed what was wanted and so gave us a semi-fluid in a bottle.
Meats of all kinds were boiled in pots by the fire, or hung over it, or fried in the skillet
oven or frying pan held in the hand over the fire. Meats broiled on fine coals were
common. No such thing as browned coffee could be bought then. The main teas were
made of sarsafras roots and spice-wood twigs and sweetened with honey, maple sugar or
New Orleans sugar or molasses. The aristocracy used loaf sugar, which was put up in
blue paper and was very hard and white. We learned that loaf sugar was made by
packing the New Orleans sugar in an earthen vessel with holes in the bottom, and then
place a large lump of wet clay or mud on top of the sugar. The clay would absorb the
brown color of the sugar, leaving it white as snow. It is related that this process was
learned from a pet hen walking over the sugar in the cooling vat. There were large lumps
of clay sticking to the hen’s feet, some of which remained on the sugar. Soon someone
discovered that immediately under the lumps of clay left by “Her Majesty” on the sugar
were white spots. A discovery was made and turned to account, as loaf sugar began to
appear on the market, but it was costly, so it was for the use of the aristocrat, and in
medicines by the “Po’ white trash.”
Our biscuits had only four things in them, namely: Flour, cold water, salt and lard
or fried meat grease. It took as long then to get the dough ready to bake as it does now to
make the dough, cook it and set it on the table ready to be eaten. Some kept a “dough
bench and dough meal” and made beaten biscuit. Light bread was made with what they
called “salt raising,” a natural fermentation. “ Frumity” was wheat scalded in lye, as
“corn hominy” was made, and is yet. The wheat was then washed and cooked in water
until done, and seasoned to taste. Some ate it like cooked rice, with milk and sugar,
molasses or honey. Starch was then obtained by soaking wheat bran in water in a tub till
fermented, then it was taken out and squeezed in the hands over a meal sieve into another
vessel, then strained through a coarse cloth to clear it of the remaining bran, then it was
left to settle and the water would then be poured off and the yellow starch on top was
removed to make “sowins.” When boiled it looked somewhat like the stomach of a hog
after being emptied and washed, and to the writer it tasted no better, but some folks were
fond of it eaten with sweet milk. The smell wasn’t any more inviting than that of an old
kraut barrel. The starch was thus washed through different waters till white. This paste
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was used to stiffen our Sunday shirts. Our Sunday shirt and pants in the summer time
were made of home grown, home spun, home woven and home made flax. Most all
kinds of cloths were home made flax, cotton and wool and dyed in various colors. Indigo
blue was made in a large pot set near the fire. It took an expert to make a good blue dye.
The blue dye was “set” by taking weak wood lye, madder and wheat bran, put in the old
“continental pot” till fermentation took place, the indigo was added by tying it up in a
small rag or cloth, and , after soaking, rub out in the hand till the blue was of the right
color. When the indigo was added the wheat bran would precipitate, but care was used to
add a handful of wheat bran daily. The thread, either cotton or woolen, was left in this
dye and repeatedly worked through the hands till the right color was obtained; either deep
or pale blue was obtained. Sometimes a clouded cloth was desirable, or perhaps stocking
thread. To produce this result they would tie bits of corn shucks around the “hunk” of
thread, in spaces, so as to prevent the dye from penetrating. Some dyes were made of the
roots of black walnut, or of the butternut or white walnut. Cloth died in this dye was
called “Butternut,” and was worn by the “Johnnies” in the sixties. Madder and Spanish
brown were often used in the dyes. Coperas was used then, and the writer remembers
that way back in the “Forties” the Democrats wore “Coperas yellow,” and long hair
parted on one side, and the Whigs wore the old old blue-“True blue,” and short hair. The
writer can just remember of wearing his old straw hat with “Henry Clay & Freeling
Huyson” printed on paper and pasted on his old straw hat. He grew up to hate the
coperas yellow and long hair. They told him that Democrats were “Coperas yellow and
long hair,” and taught him to say: “Daddy’s gone to Texas to kill Democrats.” (That was
while father was in Mexico in 1846.) “Coperas breeches” was the name applied to the
“Po’ white trash” as they were first being enlisted into the Confederate army. The
regulation Whig dress was the famous hunting shirt made of the regulation blue, a
straight sack coat with a short cape like that on the soldiers’ infantry overcoat, with a
fringe around its border. Sometimes white fringe was used around the cape and the tail
of the coat. In those days it was thought that the “old cart and steers” were indispensable
on the farm, but “Yankee notions” in the form of the “two horse wagon” soon retired the
old cart to the scrap pile and “Buck and Darbe” to the beef buyer. They have passed into
history like “Free trade” and “Free silver.” “States rights,” as per Alexander H. Stephens,
is there also to keep them company, “as we go wandering on.” Well, this country of ours,
is as big as all out doors anyhow, and we may expect many changes yet to come by 1950
A.D. Yours truly,
H. C. Wilkinson,
Damon, Wayne Co., MO.
Letter No. 4.
Dear Doctor:
I will now tell of my experience in becoming a Missourian, “the fellow who
cannot be told, you have to show him for he must see.” It was probably early in March,
1859, when we boarded the “City of Alton” at Browning, bound for St. Louis. Our
journey this time was to terminate near Cold Water on Cedar Creek in Wayne Co., Mo.
It was a cold cloudy Sunday evening, and while waiting for our steamer we witnessed a
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large baptizing in a small slough of the Illinois River. A big protracted meeting held in
Browning was just closing out.
Soon the steamer hove in sight, above Wells’ Landing, and soon we bid our
friends and kin farewell and rounded out for St. Louis. We reached that city early next
morning, and soon we were on board a large side wheeled boat bound for Cincinnati or
New Orleans, I disremember, and in fact I have forgotten the name of this steamer. It
looks rather odd now to visit the levee at St. Louis and see so few steamers, and I think
back to 1958-59, and think: “Well, where are all of that great crowd of fine steamers
now?” Well, many of them have gone into history to help cheer up poor old “Buck and
Darbe” and their old cart. We might say that about nine-tenths of them have traveled that
road. The railways have played sad havoc with the old river traffic. Wonder what will
displace the railways? By the late P. M. our steamer rounded out for the lower country,
and away we went. There were thirteen persons in our company now. Our family of six
persons, and cousin John L. Stepp’s family of seven souls. Besides these I had my two
hounds and cousin’s part shepherd and two horses. We also had a wagon to haul our
living freight of women and children to Wayne County from Cape Girardeau, 60 miles.
We reached the Cape Tuesday morning and stowed away our extra freight, taking the
indispensibles for camping on the road. We cooked and ate our first Missouri meal,
dinner, at the One Mile Stone on the Marble Hill pike, then called Dallas.
Our first camp was not far east of that stone grist mill on White Water where Col.
Hecker, in the summer of 1861, became so displeased with ‘one of dem stones’ that he
returned with a gun and sent some solid shots through the stone wall. The mill fared
badly, as it was burned. It was all caused by two of his “D---d lop eared Detch” being
killed near the mill. This was what the rebels called Col. Hecker’s men
The next day (Wednesday) we passed through Marble Hill, all soaking wet except
the tender little ones and the ailing. We had encountered a very hard rain the P. M. and
kept the little ones well covered in our covered wagon. We crossed Crooked Creek to
camp, but afterwards found were traveling the Greenville road instead of the Cold Water
road. As we neared the Castor bottom, we had our first view of a pine forest way across
Castor, west of us. We found Castor-way past fording at the “Mon Sitze ford,” so there
we had to camp for two nights before we could safely cross. However, we made Cedar
Creek via Bear Creek that (Saturday) night, but found that we had traveled nearly ten
miles out of our way. Now we sat down to try to make genuine Missourians of ourselves,
and time comes up now and says that we made a complete success of the job.
We found deer, turkeys, coons, possum, rabbits, squirrels, quail and pheasants
very plenty. That was well pleasing to the boys and father as well. Pine knots all around,
and so handy and useful to read by, and to kindle the fires and to light us on our nocturnal
rambles over the hills and rocks hunting ‘coons’. How about church and schools? As to
churches, they were reasonably plenty, but the schools—oh, dear! Old Tennessee over
again, only worse by a hundred percent. The things then called school houses were also
churches, and the church houses were also school houses. Some old benches, only the
most of them were made of split timers with legs, contributed by the populace. Many of
these benches would go over topsy turvy if you only touched them. The houses for
public worship and for school houses were mostly weather-boarded shells, or old unhewn
log cabins of the primitive kind. No public school fund, or so little that it was hardly felt.
The schools were mostly, or in some places, altogether subscription schools. The
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teacher, if anything, was far below the Tennessee teacher in education, and no method,
but, as in Tennessee, there were as many classes as there were pupils. Every one took
just such text books as they might have or could procure, or just any text book he or she
might choose. “The sun of knowledge” wasn’t up yet. We found an honest, open
hearted, hospitable people in this part of Southeast Missouri. Whiskey was plenty and
cheap and almost every one, old and young, drank whiskey more or less. There were a
few persons who were looked upon as drunkards, but they were not so plentiful as one
might suppose. Whiskey was free of any U. S. revenue, and anyone could make, buy or
have made a barrel or barrels of whiskey, and sell by the barrel, gallon or quart, but the
saloons had to pay a light revenue into the state and county funds. The people were
generally agreeable. Sometimes a trouble would arise between two or more persons, but
if it came to blows they generally settled it in a “fist and skull rough and tumble fitht”. If
it was a “pitch battle” each participant selected his second, and each one made his half of
the ring. Then they would cross their sticks and then throw them aside and “walk in.” If
one hollered “Nuff” the other would cease knocking or gouging. There was little cutting
or shooting after the old land feuds were all wiped out, which were brought about by the
man who had the money entering his neighbor’s “Improvement” from under him. This
caused much trouble for a while. The people were very liberal to help each other, in log
rolling, hog killing, corn shuckings and even in the harvest field. The writer remembers
once that word came up the creek that the St. Francis River had washed Bill Cobb’s
island field fence away and that his corn was exposed to all out stock. That was enough
as a notice that the man needed assistance, so away we all went, old and young, many
with teams and wagons, and soon his corn was safely fenced in again. It was Sunday,
too, but we went and worked hard to help our neighbor in the hour of need. The sick
were never neglected. If a man fell sick and his crop was coming to distress, the same
help was rendered him like neighbor Bill Cobb’s island field fence.
We found Twelve Mile Creek, East Big Creek, Castor River and Bear Creek were
settled principally by North Carolinans. They were called “Tar Hulls” in some
neighborhoods. In and around Patterson west of the St. Francis River were mostly
Virginians. That region was called “The Virginia settlement.” By some they were
termed “Tuchahos.” Cedar Creek was almost solidly Tennesseans, and mostly from
Smith and Macon counties, our old home folks. They were called “Copenas Bruches.”
That was as we found this part of Southeast Missouri in 1859, and there were but little
changes, only that new comers continued to arrive until after the war closed. Wonderful
now to think back to our “little bit of unpleasantness”, how soon we were to become
deadly enemies, hunting each other, and shooting at each other whenever and wherever
found, and now all living in peace again and our own sons and daughters marrying each
other as though an hostile gun had never been fired in a great national strife. Here is a
rich field for the historian, the philosopher, the philanthropist, the logician and the
theorist, and I don’t know that we are justified in slighting the poet and theologian either.
The monotony of the summer, fall and winter of 1859 was relieved somewhat by the
action of John Brown at Harper’s Ferry in “Old Dominion”. We watched the
proceedings with deep interest, but as John Brown had little or no following here in his
mad act, there was little or no discussion of the subject. There were two astronomical
displays that caused some talk. One was the appearance of another comet. The other was
a rushing noise in the upper air, or above it, that sounded like a covered buggy being run
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rapidly over a smooth road. This happened one Saturday evening with a clear sky
overhead, but nothing was seen or felt like an earthquake. It came from rather to the
southeast and passed over rapidly to the north northwest. It was heard the same evening
in Tennessee at our old home, and, strange to relate, it came from there in our direction.
1860 came around next. We began to realize that there would be a very hot time
in politics that year. Abraham Lincoln of Illinois and John Bell of Tennessee were
nominated by their respective parties. Mr. Lincoln was chosen the standard bearer of the
brave, fine, new Republican party. Mr. Bell represented the very last feathers in the last
wing of the old Whig party. It was called the “Union and Constitutional” party, or
something like that, but there was no denying it but that these “feathers” were of the
dying Southern wing of this “Old Clay Whig Party”. The Republican party had absorbed
the bulk of that old party, although that “Know Nothing” arrival drove many in the South
into “Buchanan Democracy.”
As the clouds gathered over Charleston, S.C., we could plainly see that the “Old
time honored” Democratic party would encounter a mighty storm. The South wouldn”t
swallow Judge Douglas’ Freeport speech, called the “Freeport heresy” that Mr. Lincoln
so logically forced out of him in 1858 in their joint debate. The “Free soilers” wouldn’t
just submit to give up Judge Douglas, so here was the “breaker” that would smash that
old Democratic craft. Well, that storm came at last, and now methinks I can still hear the
timbers of the old Democratic raft as they grind and churn on that awful Freeport
“breaker”. I well remember that we were reading “Harper’s Weekly,” and that I read a
kind of burlesque report, given by a “Down Easter”, who figured in his report as a vender
of ginger cakes and cider. I am so sorry that I have forgotten his (fictitious) name. When
the “Bust up” came he wrote a P. S. to the editor begging him to “Hold on to my letter for
the thing’s busted”, or about these words. The editor informed him that he was too late,
that his letter was already in the press. Soon we learned that there were two Democratic
candidates in the field, Stephen A. Douglas and John C. Breckenridge. Judge Douglas
was claimed to be the regular nominee and Breckenridge the sectional nominee, or that
was the claim in the hot discussions here in Wayne Co. There were strong Douglas men
and strong Bell men on Cedar Creek, but there were few Breckenridge men in our
community, but on Bear Creek there were very many Breckenridge men. If there were
more than two Lincoln men at Cold Water, or more than two votes cast for Mr. Lincoln
on Nov. 6th 1860, it was never made public. Now, in honor of these two men I doff my
hat. One of them was a blacksmith then at work in P. L. Power’s blacksmith shop, and I
think, he was a Vermonter. I wish I could now call to mind his name so I could here and
now write it down for the future generations to see and to honor. His given name was
“Martin”. The other man was born and raised in Macon Co., Tenn. Thanks to memory, I
am able to write it down, for I knew of him from the time I was 8 years old. His veins
were well filled with Scotch blood, and in the war of the great Rebellion no truer patriot,
no greater lover of the country and the flag and no braver soldier ever shouldered a
musket in that great strife to battle for his country than JOHN A. MCKINNIS. (Note—
There were two John A. McKinnises living in Wayne Co., Mo., in 1860-61, and both
were born and raised near each other in Tenn. They were near the same age and first
cousins. This other John Allen McKinnis is also first cousin to the writer. He never took
any open part in the war. He was a strong Southern man from start to finish. When the
war broke out the writer’s father and family lived on lands leased of this John Allen
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McKinnis in ’59, ’60 and to the close of ’61. Very hard feelings arose between the
writer’s father and his nephew, John Allen McKinnis, early in the spring of ’61 on
account of politics, so after and brother Edward enlisted in the “Haw Eaters” company in
the fall of ’61, Cousin Allen, as we called him, told the writer and his brother Niel that
their vacant room on his land would be much better company than they were. Then
brother Niel rode over to Camp Cole, situated on the Head farm west of the St. Francis
River, a mile and a quarter above the mouth of Cedar Creek, where the “Haw Eaters”
were then encamped, to lay the case before father, then Lieut. John M. Wilkinson. Not
wishing an open rupture, it was arranged that we remove to a part of the Greenwood
farm, just over the Wayne and Madison Co. line, but retain a part of the lease for another
year’s cultivation. ( Mention will be made of the “Union” John A. McKinnis in his action
in ’61 and ’61.) If any of his children or grand children, or his great grandchildren, or
any of his descendants should ever chance to read this, let them bear in mind that he who
now pens these words is one who knows. Through the summer and fall of 1860 there
were very many hot personal encounters, but no blows. The summer was dry in part, and
as a thunder cloud would appear, only to tear asunder, the Bell men would call it a
“Democratic cloud, “cause it split”, to the derision of the Democrats.
I hope I may be pardoned in pausing here to record another astronomical wonder.
It was an immence meteor. It came from the south and passed over Tennessee on its
rapid flight north. I wouldn’t here interrupt the reader by relating the grand phenomenon
had I not been an eye witness. I well remember that my oldest brother and myself were
in a cornfield on a “’coon hunt”, and as it was after corn had passed from the roasting ear
stage to the “gritting” stage, the ‘coons were eating the corn in this particular neighbor’s
field, and we had paused to await the dogs to “find him if he was thar”. The moon was
shining, and, being between the first quarter and the full, she was high up over heads. All
at once we saw a mighty light spring up in the south-east and soon died away in the
north-east. I never heard of its being seen above the Eastern horizon in Missouri. Soon
letters came from Tennessee telling of its awful appearance there. The writers described
it as being the size of a tobacco or sugar hogshead, but to have given such a strong light it
certainly was much larger that a large barn. To say the least of it, it was just immense.
Well, the election of Nov. 6th 1860, came along at last, but I don’t now remember
just how the two Democratic candidates stood in Cedar Creek township, but I know that
Douglas had quite a vote there. Bell got a good vote. I think the most of the Bear Creek
votes cast there were for Breckenridge. Well, anyhow, we soon learned that Abraham
Lincoln received 180 votes out of 303 votes in the electorial college, giving Mr. Lincoln
57 votes over his three opponents. So now we had a “rail splitter” for president. How
detestable he appeared in the eyes of the Southeners, even in Wayne Co., Mo. He was
derided and mocked, and I suppose that if he had been in some parts of Wayne Co. the
people would have spat in his face, as they did one who had gone before him, even the
Lord Jesus. It was, indeed, a very bitter pill for Southern aristocracy to swallow. No,
they wouldn’t swallow this bitter pill. They would leave the Union first, because
Jefferson Davis said so in September 1858, at Jackson, Miss. Mr. Davis said: “If an
abolitionist be chosen president of the United States, you will have presented to you the
question whether you will permit the Government to pass into the hands of your avowed
and implacable enemies. “Without pausing for an answer, I will state my own position to
be that such a result would be a species of revolution by which the purposes of the
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Government would be destroyed, and the observance of its mere forms entitled to no
respect. In that event, in such manner as should be most expedient, I should deem it your
duty to provide for your safety outside of the Union, from those who have already shown
the will, and would have acquired the power to deprive you of your birthright, and reduce
you to worse that the Colonial dependence of your fathers.” And there we stood on Nov.
7th 1960, a little over two years hence, ready to behold these very things being done.
How we held our breath. Could it be real that these things were transpiring? Will there
be war? If so, who but the South would and did precipitate it?
Very truly yours,
H. C. Wilkinson,
Damon, Mo.,
Wayne Co.