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 a larger 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.”
CHAPTER XXXVI.
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.