While in some cases this mode of procedure was unquestionably justifiable, still it was a policy specially liable to abuse. It was deprecated by many of the staunchest Union men. They maintained that in a heterogeneous community like ours, where there was every kind and shade of political opinion, it could hardly fail to subject some good men to the rankest injustice; that those who did not openly participate in rebellion, whatever might be their political views or sympathies, should be let alone. There were among us many good men who were born and educated in the South, and while opposed to the folly of secession, they nevertheless naturally sympathized with their kith and kin; and the drastic policy of the extreme radicals and of their Charcoal general greatly disturbed and disheartened them.

Take this as a representative case. There was in St. Louis a prominent Presbyterian minister of Southern sympathies. He had been born and bred in the midst of slavery. He hardly knew where he stood politically. He swung uncertainly between Unionism and secessionism. Like all such irresolute, hesitating mortals, he got into difficulty. The staunch Union men of his church secured his removal from his pulpit by ecclesiastical authority; and he now stood in fear lest the hand of military power might be laid upon him. So he determined to leave the State. One of his familiar acquaintances found him one morning boxing up his household goods, on the sidewalk before his door, and in surprise exclaimed: “Doctor, what’s up now?” He replied: “I am going to get out of this State of Misery;[[90]] I can endure it no longer.” “Where are you going?” asked his friend. He answered, “I am going to Kentucky.” “Why,” said his neighbor, “that is a worse State than this.” “Then,” said the doctor, “it must be a State of Despair.”

The extreme policy of General Curtis soon brought him into collision with our conservative, provisional Governor. The sparks flew. The Charcoals and Claybanks put on fresh war-paint. The one upheld the general and his radical policy; the other the Governor and his more moderate policy. While both parties were for the Union, they denounced each other in the hottest terms. If we had believed what both factions declared, we should have been forced to conclude that there was scarcely a decent man among all the Unionists in the State. Each party again and again appealed to the President for his support, but of course he could not side with either. At last, worn out by this incessant strife, in May, 1863, he removed General Curtis from his command and put General Schofield in his place.

On May 24th, the new commander began his work. He was not a stranger to us. Before the war he had been for several months professor of physics in Washington University, which adorned our city, and was highly esteemed by all who knew him. Nor was he unfamiliar with this military department, having been put in command of it for a time by General Halleck. During his brief administration at that time he did such thorough and heroic work that we all expected of him wise, liberal, patriotic service, and were not disappointed.

Three days after he had relieved General Curtis, the President wrote him a letter, which is so quaint and so packed with good sense that we feel impelled to reproduce it. It tersely portrays the difficult task that confronted him.

“Executive Mansion, Washington,

“May 27, 1863.

“General J. M. Schofield:

“My dear Sir:—Having relieved General Curtis and assigned you to the command of the Department of Missouri, I think it may be of some advantage for me to state to you why I did it. I did not relieve General Curtis because of any full conviction that he had done wrong by commission or omission. I did it because of a conviction in my mind that the Union men of Missouri, constituting, when united, a vast majority of the whole people, have entered into a pestilent factional quarrel among themselves—General Curtis, perhaps not from choice, being the head of one faction, and Governor Gamble that of the other. After months of labor to reconcile the difficulty, it seemed to grow worse and worse, until I felt it my duty to break it up somehow; and as I could not remove Governor Gamble, I had to remove General Curtis. Now that you are in the position, I wish you to undo nothing merely because General Curtis or Governor Gamble did it, but to exercise your own judgment and do right for the public interest.

Let your military measures be strong enough to repel the invader and keep the peace, and not so strong as to unnecessarily harass and persecute the people. It is a difficult rôle, and so much greater will be the honor if you perform it well. If both factions, or neither, shall abuse you, you will probably be about right. Beware of being assailed by one and praised by the other.