“I am a minister of the gospel of the Missionary Baptist order, and pastor of the churches at Emerson, in Marion county, and Monticello and Mount Gilead, in Lewis county, Missouri; and nearly sixty years of age. In 1862, whilst attending as a member of an Association of the Baptist churches of ——, Col. Martin A. Green, commanding a detachment of Missouri troops in sympathy with the Southern cause, encamped a mile or two off, and despatched a messenger requesting the Association to appoint a minister to hold religious services and preach to his regiment on the Sabbath day. I was assigned to this duty by the Association, and performed it to the best of my humble ability. Perfect order prevailed, much feeling was exhibited, and I received compliments and other expressions of gratitude above measure.
“Returning to my home from the Association, after its close, I was arrested in the presence of my family by an armed force commanded by an officer in Federal uniform, marched off hurriedly to ‘headquarters’ in the city of Hannibal, and there confined a close prisoner in a filthy, cheerless hovel denominated a ‘guard-house,’ without fire to warm me, a bed to lie upon, or food to sustain nature, until my masters chose to permit my friends to furnish me supplies. Repeated efforts were made by my relations, brethren of the Church and others, to communicate with me and furnish me necessaries, but all in vain. The subalterns dressed in uniform, who, in the character of sentinels, haunted me like spectres, appeared much gratified to have jurisdiction around, and haughtily domineered, ridiculed, sneered and blustered as if to torture me into submission and humble me as in the dust. Meantime I put my trust in God, and continued ‘instant in prayer.’ Somehow I felt an extraordinary assurance that He whose right arm brought deliverance to Daniel, and to Paul and Silas, would rescue me from the snare of the enemy. About nine o’clock on the succeeding Monday morning a Northern Methodist preacher calling himself ‘Captain Cox,’ with a squad of armed men, entered my miserable and filthy prison, and, with an air of much authority, commanded me to march forthwith into the presence of Col. David Moore, who demanded that I immediately appear before him as commander of the garrison.
“Glad of any change in my gloomy situation, I arose and started, closely followed by my reverend persecutor, ‘Captain Cox,’ and his insolent myrmidons, until ordered to ‘halt’ in front of the quarters of the commanding officer. Being ushered in, I found Colonel Moore surrounded by an ill-mannered, ruffian-like multitude, who stared and sneered as if I were a curiosity on exhibition. The salutation of the commander was, ‘Are you a rebel?’ I answered that I had rebelled against the empire of Satan many years before and intended to continue in that warfare while life should last. ‘The hell and damnation you have!’ exclaimed the gentlemanly commander, in a loud tone of voice. I then said, ‘I am a minister of the gospel, sir, and it is my business to make war against the kingdom of Satan. This, and this alone, is my occupation and my daily employment, and this alone I expect to do.’ ‘Are you a Southern man?’ asked he. ‘I was born in the South, raised and educated there, and my sympathies irresistibly lead me in that direction. Custom, tradition, my construction of the teachings of the Bible and ancient and modern history convinced me and established my belief to the effect that the institutions of the South were morally, socially, politically and religiously right, and I could not conscientiously say that I was not a Southern man.’ ‘Other men control their sympathies,’ said he, ‘why can you not do the same and harmonize with the North as well as the South?’ I frankly replied that I would not believe the man that would tell me so. Habit and education made a man’s opinions, and the convictions of a lifetime of three score years could not be changed in an hour. ‘How do you like old Abe?’ said he. ‘In some respects well enough; in others not so well. On the whole, I don’t endorse him as a President.’ ‘The hell you don’t!’ said he, whilst his surrounding admirers screamed with laughter. ‘Did you pray for them rebels?’ said he. ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Did you preach to them?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘How long were you in Green’s camp?’ ‘Two or three hours, perhaps.’ ‘Why did you go there and pray and preach to them damned rebels?’ said he. ‘Colonel Green sent a request to our Association, then in session near his camping ground, for a minister to be sent to preach to his men on the Sabbath day, and the Association deputized me to the task, all of which facts would appear in our published proceedings.’ ‘Damned glad you were to go, no doubt; and since you love praying for rebels so well, I will make you do a little loyal praying.’ ‘As to loyal or disloyal praying, I have no knowledge, but being commanded to pray for all men I endeavor to do so everywhere, lifting up holy hands without wrath and doubting.’ I then demanded to know why I was there a prisoner; what was my offense, and who was my accuser. He answered in a violent and spiteful manner, that ‘for preaching and praying for rebels in a rebel camp he had ordered my arrest, and that as a punishment for treason I should remain in the guard-house a prisoner, on coarse fare, for nine days, and should offer each day a public prayer for Old Abe.’ Having grown impatient at the abuse and insults of which I had been the subject so long, I replied: ‘Col. Moore, I am told you have a praying wife; and I thank God this day that I am counted worthy to be punished for preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ and praying for sinners. Sir, I esteem it a privilege and an honor, and shall not only pray, as my penance requires, for ‘Mr. Lincoln,’ but shall pray with all my heart for all other sinners, especially such as are associated in authority with him.’ Springing suddenly to his feet, ‘take him,’ said he, and with much coarse abuse added, ‘convey him under guard back to the guard-house, imprison him, give him prisoner’s rations, keep sentinels around him; and Captain Cox, I shall look to you to see this order executed.’ Hurried buck to the stench and filth of my prison house, accompanied by my armed guard, I remained until the next morning, when I was summoned to march out, and followed by several armed men with fixed bayonets and was conducted to a spot where the cannon were stationed. The regiment had been drawn up and formed into an irregular hollow square, in mockery. Many of the officers slunk away, while others stood and incited the men to giggle and perform antics to make the scene ludicrous and mortifying. As my divine Master, like a lamb before its shearers, was dumb, so I opened not my mouth. In an exultant and authoritative manner, the Rev. Capt. Cox, my loving Christian brother, a preacher of the Northern Methodist Church, as before stated, commanded me to ‘mount that cannon and offer prayer for Mr. Lincoln, in obedience to orders, as a penance for praying in a rebel camp.’
“Being an old man, and weighing between two and three hundred pounds; having had scarcely an hour’s rest for several days and nights; having had no change of clothing and no privilege of ablutions of any kind, I felt very badly, and with difficulty climbed to the top of the cannon-carriage, and there lifted up my heart and hands and voice to Jehovah in humble, fervent prayer. I felt greatly lifted up, much revived and encouraged, and my faith seemed as it were to grasp the very horns of the altar. The glory of the Lord shone forth, the Shekinah appeared to come down and rest upon the camp, and fear came upon the men. The pious rejoiced, the wicked were ashamed, and astonishment pervaded the scene. At the conclusion of my prayer, still standing in the ridiculous attitude I was made to occupy upon the cannon, I opened my eyes and looking around upon what had been my fun-making and pleasure-seeking audience of soldiers and citizens, I discovered many weeping, others hurrying away in disorder, and even the blasphemous Colonel Moore was said to have shed tears. Knowing I had committed no offense against the laws of God or man, and that my blessed Master had been stoned, spit upon, whipped with cords, dressed in mock royalty, crowned with thorns and driven through the public streets in derision for the sport of the mob, I took courage and hoped for the best. ‘If they did those things in the green tree, what might they not do in the dry?’ The weapons of my warfare were not carnal. Yet these wicked men, actuated by the same malignant spirit which prompted their prototypes to lay violent hands on the Son of God, seized me, an humble and obscure preacher of righteousness, guilty of no offense, and to gratify their malignity, dragged me around, followed by soldiers with muskets and bayonets, exposed me to ridicule and attempted to force me to make a mockery of religion, and thus (as they hoped) bring the Church into dishonor and disgrace. ‘But the ways of the Lord are marvelous in our eyes,’ for
“‘Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs
And works his sovereign will.’
“Hastened from this scene by the peremptory order of my Rev. Brother, Capt. Cox, I was conducted by an armed guard back to the filth and stench of the guard-house, and there remained, each day going through the same blasphemous exhibition, except that I was allowed to stand on the ground instead of the cannon to offer up my prayer. Many of the soldiers professed repentance, and whilst stationed as sentinels around me tendered me their sympathies, extended many kindnesses, and pledged me that, dying in battle, or when or where they might, they would try to meet me in heaven. Verily and of a truth ‘the Lord maketh the wrath of man to praise him.’
“Shortly after these events Col. Moore and his command were ordered South, where they participated in the battle of Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing, as it is sometimes called. The regiment was cut to pieces, Colonel Moore lost a leg by a shot from a cannon, and his Major, Barnabas Sing, to whose instigation my friends attributed much of my suffering, was killed. The Rev. ‘Captain Cox’ seems to have kept out of harm’s way on that fearful day, for—now that our homes are made a ruin, our land shrouded in mourning, and our dwellings sad and sorrowful on account of the absence of the loved ones who were cruelly murdered in the presence and amid the cries and shrieks of wives, mothers and babes, as well as the brave who fell in battle—he comes again. Not bedecked with the tinsel and trappings of authority, to shut up old gray-headed men in loathsome prisons, march them around surrounded by bayonets, and force them to mount cannons and pray for the amusement and sport of the soldiery and the mob for preaching the gospel to sinners. Lo! he comes again in the lowly habiliments of Christianity, commissioned by the Bishops of the Northern Methodist Church, as an accredited minister of that Church, to teach religion and preach the gospel amongst us, for which purpose the Rev. ‘Captain’ is now perambulating Marion and adjoining counties. ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.’