When morning dawned, the prisoners at the Arsenal viewed more favorably the conditions on which the day before parole had been offered them. All but one now took the prescribed oath of allegiance to the United States, and, thereupon being paroled, left for their homes, where they were joyfully greeted and sat down to well-loaded tables. The plucky one, however, persisting for a time in his refusal to subscribe to the oath, remained in durance vile. But many of those who were paroled openly declared that they did not intend to abide by their oaths, excusing their purposed perjury on the specious plea that an oath taken under compulsion is not binding.

This disregard of the oath of allegiance stirred up all good men in our city to consider its sanctity and to protest against its wanton violation. Still, most of those captured at Camp Jackson, in spite of the fact that they were paroled because they deliberately swore that they would not take up arms against the United States, enlisted sooner or later in the army of the Southern Confederacy.

The sudden and unexpected taking of Camp Jackson carried consternation into the secession legislature, then in extra session at Jefferson City. It was announced to them between five and six o’clock in the afternoon. The members of the Assembly were discussing a militia bill, which, after receiving the news, they passed within fifteen minutes. In haste they sent it to the Senate, where it was passed instanter without debate.

This bill, which General Harney later characterized as a secession measure, created a military fund for arming and equipping the militia of the State. All moneys in the treasury collected for other and specified objects were diverted to this purpose. To augment this military fund taxes on the assessed value of property were enormously increased. Even the school tax was subsidized for three years. Moreover, the Governor was authorized to call on the banks for a loan of five hundred thousand dollars. By this bill, the militia were required to take an oath that asserted fealty to Missouri as first and supreme;[[27]] so dominant was State sovereignty in the minds of these secession legislators.

At half past seven the legislature, which had become calmer and in some measure reassured, met once more to discuss the anomalous condition of affairs. But as there seemed to be no immediate danger, these disloyal lawmakers adjourned at half past nine, and, with most of the peaceably disposed inhabitants of Jefferson City, retired for the night. But their rest was soon broken. A little after midnight the bells began to ring furiously; a tremendous thunder-storm was just bursting upon the city; amid vivid lightning flashes, deafening thunderclaps, and torrents of pelting rain, men on foot and on horseback flew through the city, summoning with stentorian cries the legislature to assemble with all possible despatch. It met in secret session at half past three in the morning. Without deliberation it gave the Governor absolute control over St. Louis and conferred upon him extraordinary powers for suppressing insurrectionary movements throughout the State.

What terrible thing had produced this panic? A rumor, flying on the wings of darkness, had reached the city that Colonel Blair, with two thousand troops, was on his way to the State capital. He was coming on the Pacific Railroad. Steam-cars moved rapidly and this hostile invasion must be met at once, if met at all. Without any delay the Governor and his staff began to remove war material from the city. Under the cover of darkness they sent twelve thousand kegs of powder into the country. An armed and tumultuous band of men moved eastward and burned the railroad bridge over the Osage. This relieved the fears of those at the capital, since Blair with his German minions would for a time, at all events, be hindered by that swollen and bridgeless river. But it was all a baseless fright. Colonel Blair and his soldiers were serenely sleeping at St. Louis, having been lulled to their slumbers by the satisfaction that in taking Camp Jackson they had done a good day’s work for the Union.

The next day, the 11th of May, all the material captured at Camp Jackson was removed to the Arsenal. Then all the city knew, what Lyon had known before, the hostile nature of that captured camp. Its main avenue was named Jefferson Davis; one of its principal cross-streets Beauregard. Its arms, both muskets and cannon, had been stolen from the Arsenal at Baton Rouge. They had been consigned as marble[[28]] to “Tamoroa, Care of Greely and Gale.” This was of course a mere blind, since the firm of Greely and Gale was distinguished in the city for its outspoken loyalty. But the officers of the steamer on which these munitions of war were brought up the river to St. Louis were in sympathy with General Frost and his immediate counsellors, and, without raising any question, delivered this war material, not to those to whom it was consigned, but to those for whom it was intended. Among the cannon were the pieces that Jefferson Davis had ordered to St. Louis, that were to be placed, according to the plan of General Frost and the Governor, on the bluffs, overlooking the Arsenal, in order to capture it; but since the opportunity to plant them there had passed, they were taken instead to Camp Jackson. Everybody who did not know before, knew now that Camp Jackson was an ally of the Southern Confederacy.[[29]] Some of the young men within that camp, as has been claimed, may have been hoodwinked Unionists, but considering all the evidences of the disloyal character of the encampment, daily thrust before their eyes, if they were deceived, they must have been unusually stupid.

CHAPTER VII
RIOT, PANIC, SEARCH AND CONFISCATION

While on the 11th of May, the day succeeding the capture of Camp Jackson, the frenzy evoked by that startling event had measurably passed away, it had been succeeded, in the minds of many of the disloyal, by a grim determination to take summary vengeance on the victorious Unionists. On that very day, at the evening twilight, the opportunity presented itself for carrying out their vindictive purpose. It was rumored that a regiment of Home Guards, made up largely of Germans, was about to return from the Arsenal, where it had just been armed. In some way a band of fiery secessionists ascertained the route that the regiment would take on its return march, and for the purpose of harassing and attacking it, hid themselves behind the pillars of a Presbyterian Church, at the corner of Fifth and Walnut Streets. In dwelling-houses opposite the church were some of their allies. They had planned to attack the regiment simultaneously on both flanks. And when in the gathering darkness, these newly armed men were peacefully passing westward along Walnut Street, their concealed foes at first jeered and hissed them. This was followed by unprovoked and dastardly attack. Missiles of various kinds, from both sides of the street, were hurled into the ranks of these new, undisciplined volunteers. A revolver was fired at them from behind the pillars of the church and a soldier fell dead. Two shots then rang out from the windows of the houses opposite the church. The soldiers in the van, now thoroughly demoralized, wheeled about and wildly fired down the street. The musket-balls flew in every direction. Some hit the church, some the houses opposite the church, while some were poured into their own ranks. When the firing ceased six men lay dead on the pavement: four of their own regiment, three of whom they themselves had killed, and two unarmed citizens; while several innocent passers-by were wounded.[[30]] This sad event stirred up much vengeful passion. There was crimination and recrimination. Feeling on both sides ran high. It was intense, bitter, hot. Portentous rumors filled the air. Apprehension of something awful pervaded many minds. Disaster seemed impending. On a city thus agitated and torn midnight darkness at last graciously fell. A merciful Providence had at least held the contending multitudes back from general riot.

Morning dawned. It was Sunday, the 12th of May. The heavens were partially overcast, and there was a chill in the air. Very few besides the newsboys were seen in the streets. The general silence seemed in some way to foretoken the near approach of some overwhelming calamity. Abject fear had taken possession of many minds. The doors of hundreds of dwelling-houses were shut and bolted, and the windows darkened by blinds and shades were securely fastened. No one passing along the nearly deserted thoroughfares could escape a certain weird influence that enwrapped him and all things about him. Objects the most familiar wore an unusual and an uncanny aspect. What power was this which, from enfolding shadows, reached out its formless yet mighty hand and grasped thousands in our city and held them quivering with terror in its relentless grip? This, for want of a better name, men have called a panic. How it comes no one has ever been able to tell; how it departs never to return is equally mysterious. But on that Sunday morning, so long ago, it had thrown its horrid spell over St. Louis. And while men according to their varied constitutions were differently affected, none wholly escaped its dread touch. Still, what it was, no one was astute enough to explain, but that it was an awful reality thousands in the evening of that day of inexplicable alarm could testify.