3. Big River and Scouting the Southwest Corner
August to September 1861
Soon after my return to Saint Louis, our regiment was sent, in great haste, to Big River, some 50 miles or more south, on the Iron Mountain Rail Road, to help repel an attack which was being made upon the bridge across that river by the notorious rebel leader, Jeff Thompson.1 The moon was shining brightly, and the train that carried us almost flew. We were in open cars, and, as we instantly dashed from the bright moonlight of the open spaces into the dark shades of the forest, and from the dark shades into the bright moonlight again, the scene was wild and weird beyond description. Presently, however, danger made us slacken our speed, and we were enabled to warm ourselves by the glowing fires of half consumed farm houses and villages to which the rebels had put the torch.
When we reached Big River, the fight was over, and the bridge was already nearly consumed. Its defenders were all either killed or captured. The wounded of both sides had been carried to neighboring farm houses. The rebel dead had also been removed. The Union dead still lay in the little stone pen in which they had intrenched themselves while living. Most of them had been shot in the head as they stood on their knees firing over their low wall. They had fallen backward, and I shuddered as I gazed upon their ghastly upturned faces and their glassy eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Nearly the whole party had fallen thus at their post; and of the few that did not fall, the greater portion left a puddle of blood where they stood before they surrendered. On the outside of the stone pen, were great numbers of blood puddles, not yet cold, which had been drawn from the veins of brave rebels who had fallen there. The combatants had been only a few rods apart, and the slaughter had been fearful. Being more exposed, the rebels had suffered more severely. By vastly superior numbers, they had gained a very dear victory.
Here we lay till morning, trying to learn what had become of the rebels, and hoping that they would give us battle. I was one of those sent out to reconnoiter the neighborhood. I followed the trail of the enemy some distance, and satisfied myself that they had fled. Leaving the road on my return, and cautiously making my way through the forest, I discovered a rebel who seems to have been left to watch our movements. From his position he could see our regiment, and he was so absorbed in his watching, that he did not notice my approach from the opposite direction. Stepping up to him as noiselessly as a ghost, I clapped the muzzle of my gun to his back and told him to drop his gun quick or I’d drop him into hell. He dropped his gun, and came very near going to hell from sudden fright. Taking up his gun, I conducted him in and gave him up to our commander who seemed pleased with my little exploit. Morning was now dawning.
Boarding a train on the other side of the river, we proceeded some distance further south. Here we were divided into three parties and placed to guard three bridges which were not over a mile apart. The equinoctial storms were now past, that delightful period called Indian Summer had come, and the leaves of the forest had put on a thousand gorgeous dyes. At such a time and in such a place, it was a real delight to be permitted to spend the days, as McConnell and I did spend them, scouting about the neighborhood in search of apples, rebels, paw-paws and other such things. I do not now remember how many days we remained here. The enemy gave us only one call. That was at night and they did us no harm. We were in rifle pits, and their bullets simply whistled over our heads, making us flatten ourselves a little more than necessary. The enemy, too, being invisible in the dark forest, were not liable much to suffer from our random shots. Presently the firing ceased. We waited an hour or more to see if it would be renewed. Hearing nothing, I crept silently around and came up in the darkness behind the position which had been held by the enemy. As I was creeping into this position, I could hear my own heart thumping. I was expecting every moment to feel the bodies or hear the whisperings of enemies. All was still as the grave. The enemy were evidently gone. Creeping on a little further, however, I did perceive a man’s head protruded a little into a spot of moonshine. My heart thumped louder than ever, and drops of cold sweat began to roll off my body. For a moment I did not move a muscle. Then I crept a little closer, intending to shoot this man, and trust to the darkness to escape from his comrades, if they were still there. But why did the man keep his head so perfectly still? Why did he keep it so flat upon the earth and in the moonlight? Could he have fallen asleep? I would soon know. I crept closer. He did not stir. His face was flat upon the ground. He was asleep. I touched him. I turned him over. He was covered with blood. He would never wake again. My heart ceased its thumpings. My cold sweat ceased to flow.
Soon after this affair, we moved still further south to Iron Mountain. Here, for two or three days, McConnell and I, as usual, were permitted to scout about the country. We made one trip to the top of the celebrated Pilot Knob.2 This is a conically shaped mountain, about 500 feet high, composed of nearly pure iron. The view from its summit was the finest I had then ever beheld. After our usual day’s ramble, McConnell and I, on a certain occasion, were called upon to go secretly to a place, Farmington I think it was called, and learn what the rebels at that place were doing. We started about sun-set, and reached the point of our destination, nearly forty miles distant, and did our reconnoitering before morning. We kept the main road all the way, leaving it only for a few moments at a time when we were obliged to do so to avoid interrupting certain bodies of rebel cavalry that came meeting us. Until we had performed our mission, we were peaceably inclined, and did not wish to interrupt any body. Had we felt ourselves at liberty to do so, we would have bush-whacked some of these parties. Having performed our mission, we started back, keeping the road till it became day. Then we left the road and struck as straight a course as we could through the mountains, determined to give battle to any party we might meet of the enemy if their numbers were less than double our own. We saw only one man, however, and he fled at our approach. When within about four miles of our own camp, we came upon a miserable looking little cottage in the forest. The wooden chimney was burning on the outside. We knocked at the door and it was opened by one of the most beautiful girls I ever beheld. She was about seventeen years of age, and wore a dress faded and worn, but neat and clean. We told her of the fire, and helped her put it out. I found her quite intelligent and witty. On departing, I told her that I proposed some day to come back and make her my wife. She said: “All right.” McConnell said the same to her sister, who was scarcely less beautiful, and received the same reply. Indeed, McConnell was now so nearly given out, that he came very near remaining there. We reached our camps, at last, however, about sun-set, having walked nearly 80 miles over a rough country in 24 hours. Of course, we were nearly exhausted. While we were making this trip, the desperate little battle of Frederickton, in which many of our friends were engaged, was being fought, and we were losing our share of the glory of that battle.3
Having rested and slept one night and one day, I was called upon by Col. Boyd to go out in disguise and pass along the entire southern border of Missouri to the South West corner, and see if it would be possible for his regiment alone to march through on that line.4 Having disguised myself as well as I could, I started early in the evening and walked all night. McConnell wished very much to go with me, but I would not permit him to do so. It was no use to risk two lives when one would do just as well. Being weary and hungry when morning came, I stopped at a little log house near the road and asked for breakfast, truthfully telling the people that I had no money with which to pay for it. Being told that I could have breakfast, I sat down to rest while it was being prepared. I felt very ill at ease. Besides the man of the house, there were some half dozen other men present. They seemed to be a sober honest set, fairly well dressed for country people, and all were armed. They evidently regarded me with suspicion, but, instead of questioning me, as I expected they would, they preserved an ominous silence, occasionally conferring together in tones too low for me to hear. The lady of the house, sharper than any of the men, seemed to read me at once. The side pockets of my coat were so full of “hard tack” that the tops of the pockets stood open, thus disclosing the ends of the “hard tacks,” as the soldier biscuits were called. Seeing the kind of food I was carrying, the woman took her husband outside to communicate to him her suspicions. When he returned, his eyes fell at once on my pockets. I now felt that I had been very imprudent in carrying such provisions thus exposed. My breakfast was now ready, but my appetite was gone. I hastily bolted a few mouthfuls and started, not feeling at all sure that I would be permitted to go. By a few questions that I asked, however, I had made the impression that I was a southern man, and as I was going in the right direction, no effort was made to stop me. Had I been going in the opposite direction, I would undoubtedly have been stopped.
Strangely enough, I feared the woman in this case more than I did the men. I feared that, after my departure, she would communicate to them her suspicions, and induce them to pursue me. So soon as I was out of sight of the house, therefore, I left the road and struck into the thick bushes with which the mountainsides were covered. Presently, I struck an obscure road that led in the direction I wished to go. I took this road, having carefully concealed my revolvers and thrown away my “hard tack.” At the first house I came to, I found a large and active looking young man making inquiries about the road. He was going my road for some fifteen miles. We therefore walked on together. He was very reticent and non-committal. His company was a burden to me. I concluded to break the ice at once by letting him know that I was a southern man and that I was neither afraid nor ashamed to own my principles. Without exhibiting in his countenance the least expression of surprise or pleasure, he gave me a strange look that I did not like, and simply replied: “That is my ticket.” Determined, if possible, to remove the suspicion with which he evidently still regarded me, I began to pour out a tirade of abuse upon the abolition Yankee government, the “lop-eared Dutch” &c.5 Seeing him occasionally glancing at me still with a blood thirsty look in his keen black eyes, I felt very ill at ease, and rapidly grew more bitter in my denunciation of the Union and of all its friends. We were now at a distance from any habitation, in the midst of a dense forest. All at once, with remarkable dexterity, he whipped out his revolver, and held it, cocked, uncomfortably close to my head, saying: “I’ll let you know that I am a Union man. Now what have you got to say?” “I have to say,” replied I, “That I have never injured any Union man, and I never expect to; I simply claim the right to express my honest sentiments in regard to these matters.” “Well,” said he, “you might express your honest sentiments without so much uncalled for abuse, and without telling so many _____ lies.” Knowing that any attempt to draw my revolver would be instant death, I simply looked him steadily in the eye and said nothing. He hesitated a moment, almost resolved to shoot, then letting his revolver fall to his side, but still holding it in his hand, he turned and started on. I did the same. He now did all the talking. I said nothing. I thought it would be folly to try now to convince him of my true character. All I wanted was to get rid of him. Presently we came to a place at which our road forked. Seeing that he was taking the left hand fork, I silently took the other. Thus ended a very disagreeable adventure.
By noon, I found myself in the midst of by far the finest pine forest I had then ever seen. The trees were very high and straight, and they stood very close together. The lowest limbs were from 50 to 80 feet from the ground. The tops of the trees were so dense and so close together that they almost entirely shut out the rays of the sun. A kind of twilight gloom prevailed. The smooth trunks of the trees looked like columns supporting the roof of a vast cathedral. The ground was entirely free from under-brush, and was beautifully carpeted with the clean leaves or needles of the pine. Having now walked for about twenty hours, I was very weary and sleepy. I left the road, therefore, and finding a sunny spot in a secluded part of this grand forest, I rolled myself in my blanket and went to sleep, holding my revolver in my hand. After some hours of sound sleep, I dreamed that I was standing on the corner of the public square of Springfield and Saint Louis Street, watching our army coming in, and listening to the cheerings of the men. Becoming half awakened and partially aware of my surroundings, my dream changed and I thought the noise I heard was the cries of a party of rebels who had found me asleep in the forest. I sprang up, presented my revolver, and then, becoming fully awake, knew that the noise which had disturbed me was simply the howlings of the autumn winds in the tops of the pines. The former part of this dream was afterwards literally fulfilled. I did actually stand on that very corner, and did see our victorious troops marching in, and did hear their exultant cheerings.6
It was now nearly sunset. I started on, and though I was very hungry, I walked all night. In the morning, a heavy frost was upon the ground, and ice covered the ponds. I had now to pass up the valley of a little river—Current River, I think it was—and had to cross it many times by wading. While I was sitting down putting on my shoes after my tenth wading, I was overtaken by a good looking Confederate officer who was riding a magnificent charger. I asked him if he could tell me where I could get something to eat. He said he could. He said, if I would jump upon his horse behind him, he would take me to the house of an uncle of his who lived not far away and who would entertain me in a hospitable manner. I did as he directed, and we were soon at the house of his uncle, where we were entertained in true southern style. While on the way, I had told my benefactor my plausible little story, and had learned from him that he was engaged recruiting for the Confederate service. I also learned that he intended, after resting a few days with his uncle, to go on one or two days journey in the direction I was going. Having gained his confidence, and knowing that his presence would shield me from suspicion so long as I was with him, I determined to wait for him and go in his company. I really liked him, and, when looking into his frank open countenance, I felt very sorry that I had to appear before him under a false character. He was one of nature’s true noblemen.
Our host was a genial, well-made, and well-preserved man of about 55 years. He was a farmer in good circumstances. He was a remarkably fine shot, too, and kept our table well supplied with fat wild turkeys, all of which he shot in the head. His wife was a fine motherly woman and a first-class cook. She told me that she had five good manly sons in the southern army, and that she was now preparing her baby boy, a fine lad of sixteen, to go to his brothers. Thinking that he was too young, the other boys had left him to comfort their mother, but he said he could not bear to stay at home any longer, and must go to their “boys,” as he called his big brothers. This good mother said that, dear as her noble sons were to her, she would cheerfully give them all up to the cause of the South, if that cause needed them. With such mothers, it is no wonder that the men of the south fought so valiantly.
Leaving these good people, after a couple of days, we went on to my friend’s first recruiting station which was distant about 15 miles. The people met here by appointment, and all seemed glad to see my friend. He introduced me, and let them know that I was a good southern man, well posted, and a good talker. Then I must make them a speech: They would hear no excuse. I complied, though I knew I was running great risk in doing so. My name was simply John Russell, but what if some one in the crowd should recognize me as John Russell Kelso? I showed them how fully the Bible approved and authorized the practice of slavery, and how utterly the North, by opposing this divine institution, were defying God and trampling the Bible under their feet.7 In all this, I spoke nothing but the truth. I also showed them that the Constitution of the United States guaranteed to us the right to hold slaves, and that the North, by nullifying this constitutional guarantee, had herself broken the bond that held the several states in the Union,—had thus released us from all moral and political allegiance to that Union, and by making war upon us, had rendered it our duty to defend ourselves with all the means which God had placed in our power. What I said about the Constitution, was mostly true. It was a pro-slavery document unworthy, in that regard, of the respect of mankind.8 My speech was well-received, and several volunteered into the service of the Confederate States.
On the next day, we visited another recruiting station a dozen or more miles further on. Here I repeated my little rebel speech to an enthusiastic audience of secessionists. As before, several enlistments were made. When I ceased speaking, many gathered around me to take me by the hand. Among these was a fine looking elderly man who exclaimed: “I always knew that we were right. I always knew that our cause was a just one. But I never before heard the facts so connected and the case made so plain. How strange it is that, with all these facts before them, any intelligent person can be in favor of the Union!” He then invited me to his house, saying that he wished his wife to hear me talk. I accepted his invitation and was entertained with that magnificent hospitality so prevalent in the south. I found the wife a highly educated and very intelligent lady. Free from the prevailing prejudices of the South, she held far more nearly correct views of the situation than were held by her husband and her neighbors. She held that secession was a great mistake, and her husband and her friends had not been able to convince her to the contrary. Hence his desire to have her hear me talk. After supper, we sat some hours before the fire eating apples, drinking cider, and talking. The wife and I skirmished over the whole secession ground, I contending for secession and she against it. Whenever I gained a point, the husband’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, for he loved his cause and wished his wife to be converted to that cause. Whenever she gained a point, his eyes sparkled with equally great pleasure, for he adored his wife, and was proud of her ability as a debater. So he was bound to be highly pleased any way. Between the wife and me, it was a drawn battle. Neither made a convert of the other. She said, however, that now, since her people of the South were bound to fight, she would do her best to sustain them. The only drawback to the pleasure of that evening was the thought that I was deceiving these excellent people whose hospitality I was enjoying. I was in the battle of deception now, however, and I must fight it through on that line.
Next morning, this good woman, fearing that I might become hungry when at a distance from any house, put up some choice biscuits, a baked chicken, a cup of preserves, and some other delicacies for me to carry as lunch. Handing me these, she invoked God’s blessing upon me, and parted with me as with a valued friend. I have rarely met two more charming people than she and her husband were. Leaving them, I was soon alone in a wild and sparsely settled country. I felt greatly relieved. I knew that, for the last few days, I had been playing a very dangerous game; and though there was a kind of wild and romantic fascination in the very danger I was facing, I was glad when the long nervous tention of the trial was over. I now determined to avoid, as much as possible all public places. Indeed I felt so much safer in solitude than in company that I concluded not to be seen at all while my provisions held out. I acted upon this conclusion, avoiding the roads and making my way, by course alone, through the forests. On the second evening, however, hunger and the coming on of a cold rain-storm compelled me to seek shelter. I stopped with a poor fellow who never could have owned a decent horse, much less a slave, and yet who was almost furious because, as he declared, the abolition Yankees were trying to free “our niggers.” He seemed to fully believe that, should these abolition thieves succeed in their nefarious undertaking, the “buck niggers” would at once marry off all the white girls and thus force “us” to either do without wives or to put up with “she niggers.” And he was a sample of a large portion of the men of the South,—of that portion who did most of the fighting. I afterwards knew men to run their grown daughters away, upon the approach of our army, to prevent those daughters from being married by the “free niggers” who accompanied that army. I am aware that this statement will appear almost incredible to those who never knew any thing of the gross ignorance and the absurd prejudices that prevailed among the poorer classes of the south. The people of these classes were not afraid of losing their negro property, for they had no such property to lose. The great fear that made them so willing to fight was the fear of “nigger equality,”—the fear that, if once freed, the “buck niggers” would successfully compete with us in courting and marrying white girls. About the only arguments ever advanced upon the subject by these classes of men were: “How would you like for a big buck nigger to step up by the side of your sister or your daughter and ask her for her company? How would you like a big buck nigger to marry your sister or daughter? &c.” These arguments were always supposed to be, and generally actually were, unanswerable. Those who were well acquainted in the South at that time know that I have not over-drawn this picture. Of course these remarks do not apply to the higher classes of the South, who were generally well educated and intelligent. These classes felt themselves too far above the negroes, and too far above the “poor white trash,” too, to fear equality with either of these classes.
By adapting my conversation to all the prejudices of my host, I easily won his admiration. He was a hunter acquainted with the country for a day’s journey on every side. He gave me very useful directions in regard to my route, and advised me to spend the next night with a friend of his who lived about 20 miles away. I did stop with his friend whom I found to be an intelligent man and who, in his turn, gave me directions for the next day and advised me with whom to stop. And thus it was for several other days. The weather was now bad and my progress was slow. Twice I was stopped by parties of rebels and was closely questioned by their officers. These were critical moments. The least hesitation or faltering on my part would, I well knew, cost me my life. My perfect self-possession, however, and my very plausible story, from which I never varied, carried me safely through. Having at last reached the south-western part of the state, and having learned all there was to learn about the rebels, I turned my steps toward Rolla which was the nearest post occupied by Federal troops. As I drew near the Federal lines, every body grew more suspicious of me. I would have traveled entirely in secret and lived upon corn taken from the fields, had it not been for the inclemency of the weather. On the last evening that I was out, I called at several houses, but was turned away from them all. I was very weary and hungry, but I had to stagger on through the dense darkness, the cold rain and the deep mud. At last, when almost exhausted, I reached another house and asked to be taken in. The woman who answered my call said that she did not know that she could keep me over night, but that I might warm myself a little while by her fire and dry my dripping clothes. She asked me several questions, and having satisfied herself that I was a good southern man, she said that I might stay till morning,—that she would have taken me in at the start, had she not been afraid that I might be a Union man,—that she would not feed a Union man on any occasion.
My hostess proved to be the wife of a rebel Captain of whom I had often heard. Perceiving that she was a very religious woman, I suddenly became very religious, too, having a great deal to say about the Lord, what he would do for us, &c. She was greatly pleased with my godliness. At breakfast next morning, she requested me to ask the blessing. I complied, this being the last time I ever enacted that farce. I told her that I wished to make part of a circuit around Rolla and reach a certain point on the other side. She said that, if I traveled on any of the roads, I was liable to be captured by the Federal cavalry that were almost constantly scouting about the country. In order to save me from so great a misfortune, she would have her little son go with me upon a pony to guide me eight miles through the forest. Not wishing to walk these eight miles for nothing, I made an excuse to step out of sight a few minutes into the bushes, then meanly deserting my friendly little guide, I struck straight for Rolla.
When I arrived at the first picket station, about three miles from Rolla,9 it was evening, and all the pickets but one had gone into the town to get feed for their horses and provisions for themselves. The one remaining man had imprudently left his carbine hanging upon the bow of his saddle, and had gone twenty yards away to pick wild grapes. Slipping up to his horse on the other side, I took his gun, rested it upon his saddle, drew a bead upon him, and then gave a keen Indian war whoop. He turned in a frightened manner, saw how he was situated, and turned deadly pale. “Ah ha!” said I, “I’ve got you at last.” “Well,” said he, “I reckon you have.” “I do not reckon any thing about it,” said I, “I know I’ve got you. Walk up here![”] He approached, looking mean and miserable. “Did you not know,” I asked, “that, while on duty, a guard should never, not even for one moment, put his gun out of his hands?” He replied that he did know this. “Then,” said I, [“]here is our gun. Take it. I am a Federal soldier. But do not forget this lesson. The next bush-whacker that comes along may be a real one, and may not let you off so easily.” He took his gun and looked serenely happy.
When I arrived in Rolla, I found my regiment already there, waiting orders to move on toward Springfield with Frémont’s army which was then moving in that direction. Not receiving such orders, I obtained permission, after two or three days’ rest, to go alone into Dallas County and watch the course of events there, and encourage enlistments.
Source: Kelso, “Auto-Biography,” chap. 11, 724–31.
1. Meriweather Jeff Thompson (1826–76), brigadier general in the Confederate Missouri State Guard, First Military District (southeast Missouri), was nicknamed the Swamp Fox after Revolutionary War hero Francis Marion, for his ability to move his forces rapidly over difficult terrain, strike quickly, and then disappear. Thompson had advanced north on Oct. 11, 1861, in hopes of disrupting federal forces, recruiting for the Confederacy, and taking supplies. A detachment of five hundred dragoons on Oct. 15 defeated the federal detachment at Blackwell, Mo., and burned the Iron Mountain Railroad bridge across the Big River. “It was a large three-span bridge,” Thompson reported, “and cannot be rebuilt in months” (M. Jeff. Thompson, Report, Oct. 15, 1861, OR, ser. 1, vol. 3, 225, and see 201–36). See also Gerteis, Civil War in Missouri, 27 (on Thompson), 112–16 (the expedition and battles).
2. Pilot Knob, the site of the southern terminus of the Iron Mountain Railroad, was the place of an important battle on Sept. 27, 1864 (Gerteis, Civil War in Missouri, 182–88), part of Confederate Maj. Gen. Sterling Price’s fall 1864 expedition into Missouri (see OR, ser. 1, vol. 41, 303–729).
3. Thompson’s force of about 2,000 men moved south; engaged and was defeated by a combined federal force of 4,500 at Fredericktown, Mo., on Oct. 21; and then retreated further south (OR, ser. 1, vol. 3, 225–30; Gerteis, Civil War in Missouri, 113–16).
4. After his victory over Union forces at the Battle of Lexington, Mo. (Sept. 18–20, 1861), General Price withdrew to the southwest corner of the state, amassing forces, as Governor Jackson’s rump legislature, meeting at Neosho (seventy miles southwest of Springfield), passed a secession bill (Oct. 28). Forces with Confederate Brig. Gen. Ben McCulloch, who had also been stationed in Springfield, had pulled back to northwest Arkansas. About 1,000–1,200 Confederate troops were in Springfield by Oct. 25 (Holcombe, History of Greene County, 369–72; Gerteis, Civil War in Missouri, 109–18; Wood, Civil War Springfield, 55–78).
5. “Lop-eared Dutch” was a common slur against German immigrants. Most Germans supported the Union.
6. A cavalry force of 300, led by Maj. Charles Zagonyi, commander of John C. Frémont’s Body Guard, routed the 1,200 Confederates at Springfield on Oct. 25, 1861. The Union Army, led by Frémont, reoccupied Springfield on Oct. 27. Maj. William Dorsheimer, a Frémont aide-de-camp, described the scene: “As we approached, Colonel Marshall dressed the ranks, the colors were flung out, the music struck up, and the cadets marched into Springfield in as good order as if they had just left camp. It was a gala-day in Springfield. The Stars and Stripes were flying from windows and house-tops, and ladies and children, with little flags in their hands, stood on the door-steps to welcome us” (Dorsheimer, “Frémont’s Hundred Days in Missouri, Part III,” Atlantic Monthly, March 1862, 372–85, 375 [quotation]). See also OR, ser. 1, vol. 3, 249–53; Dorsheimer, “Frémont’s Hundred Days in Missouri, Part II,” Atlantic Monthly, Feb. 1862, 247–59; Holcombe, History of Greene County, 372–87; Wood, Civil War Springfield, 55–77; and Gerteis, Civil War in Missouri, 117–19.
7. Proslavery Christians frequently referred to the following scriptural passages: Gen. 9:25–27 (Ham’s descendants [through his son Canaan] are cursed to be servants); Gen. 17:12 (God sanctions Abraham’s slaveholding); Deut. 20:10–11 (God sanctions Israel enslaving its enemies); 1 Cor. 7:12 (Christian slaves should not mind their enslavement); Rom. 13:1, 7 (Paul teaches Christians to honor the powers that be, even harsh Roman slaveholders); Col. 3:22, 4:1 (Paul offers guidelines for the master-slave relationship, rather than denouncing it); and 1 Tim. 6:102 (Christian slaves do not need to be emancipated). See Noll, Civil War as a Theological Crisis, 34–35. See also Daly, When Slavery Was Called Freedom.
8. The U.S. Constitution prevented Congress from interfering in the international slave trade before 1808, counted slaves as three-fifths of a person, provided for the return of fugitive slaves, and promised that the federal government would help states suppress slave rebellions (Art. I, sec. 2, para. 3; Art. I, sec. 9, para. 1; Art. I, sec. 8, para. 15; Art. IV, sec. 2, para. 3; Art. IV, sec. 4; Art. V). See Paul Finkelman “Garrison’s Constitution: The Covenant with Death and How It Was Made,” Prologue Magazine, Winter 2000, www.archives.gov, and James Oakes, Freedom National: The Destruction of Slavery in the United States, 1861–1865 (New York: Norton, 2013).
9. A picket station was a small detachment of troops sent out to watch for the approach of the enemy. On Rolla, see John F. Bradbury, Jr., “‘Good Water and Wood but the Country Is a Miserable Botch’: Flatland Soldiers Confront the Ozarks,” MHR 90 (Jan. 1996): 166–86: “The four-year-old town of about six hundred citizens sported a motley collection of seventy-five unpainted buildings scattered along the railroad tracks in what one soldier said resembled ‘the effects of a recent earthquake.’ The new two-story brick courthouse and county jail were the only buildings of note. Siege guns and an earthen fortification overlooked everything. The army’s log headquarters building was usually awash in a sea of choking dust or churned mud” (169).