The references that have been made to General Frank P. Blair of Missouri have not been complimentary to that individual. They would indicate on the part of the writer no very exalted admiration for or estimate of the man. In that particular they are not altogether just. The stormy period of the Rebellion brought out few more picturesque figures than his, or in some respects more admirable characters. There is no question that, but for the efforts of Blair, the Rebels would have effected the capture of St. Louis at the beginning of the war, to be followed by the at least temporary control of the entire State of Missouri, and possibly of Kansas as well. To that end preparations had been carefully and skillfully made. The leader in the movement was none other than Missouri's Governor, Claiborne F. Jackson, who was justly looked upon as one of the most consummate and accomplished schemers of the time. He was a Rebel from head to foot. He had taken office with the deliberate purpose of swinging his State into the Confederate column, and without regard to the wishes of the majority of the people whom he officially represented. He was supported by a sympathetic corps of official assistants, including a majority of the Legislature of his State, who gave him whatever legislation he wanted. Every advantage seemed to be on his side. He would undoubtedly have succeeded but for the opposition of Blair. In him he encountered an equal in cunning, and more than a match in courage and energy.
When the Governor and his helpers were busy raising an army pursuant to the conditions of a law that had been enacted for the purpose, and which hampered their operations, Blair went ahead in raising and equipping an army on the other side without the slightest regard to law. The presence or absence of a statute did not trouble him in the least. He called on the unionists to organize and arm, and when a sufficient force, composed in greater part of loyal Germans, had responded he struck the first blow. In a legal aspect the whole proceeding was irregular, but it was none the less effective.
When the Governor's army was quietly encamped on the outskirts of St. Louis, for the capture and occupancy of which it was getting ready, it found itself unexpectedly surrounded by a superior force, and its surrender was demanded in a way that admitted of no denial. The writer was present on the occasion. From a convenient eminence he witnessed the whole proceeding. When Jackson's men—the rendezvous had in honor of his Excellency the Governor been named Camp Jackson—were enjoying themselves on a pleasant summer's day, sleeping on the grass, playing cards, or escorting their lady friends and other visitors about the grounds, suddenly they realized that their position was commanded by hostile guns. Pointing downward from higher ground not far off were nearly a score of frowning cannons, behind which stood men with burning fuses. I had watched the union forces as they approached. At the foot of the hill that hid them from the camp they paused for a few moments, and then up the hill went the horses that were dragging the cannons at a run. They were wheeled when the summit was reached, and the guns thrown into position. Everything was ready for action. At the same time large bodies of armed men, their arms glittering in the sunlight, were seen approaching from all sides on the double quick. The Rebels were completely entrapped, and their immediate capitulation was a thing of course. The credit for the manoeuvres of the day was given to Captain—afterwards General—Nathaniel Lyon, who was in immediate command of the unionists, but everybody understood that the real leader, as well as instigator, of the movement was Blair.
Blair had been the admitted leader of the Missouri Abolitionists. He was as radical as any man among them. One day he stopped me on the street for the purpose of thanking me for a paper I had contributed to the Missouri Democrat, in which I had favored what was practically immediate emancipation in Missouri. He said that was the right kind of talk, and what we had to come to. I felt greatly flattered, because there was nothing in the article that disclosed its authorship, and Mr. Blair had taken the trouble to inquire about it.
Blair turned against the Missouri Abolitionists when a decided majority of them turned against him in his quarrel with Frémont. They indorsed Frémont's emancipation proclamation, which the President, at Blair's instigation, it was charged at the time, revoked.
Blair was a man not only of strong ambition but of arbitrary temperament. He could not tolerate the idea of a newcomer pre-empting what he had considered his premises. If he could not rule he was ready to ruin. That disposition accorded with both his mental and physical make-up. Bodily he was a bundle of bones and nerves without a particle of surplus flesh. His hair was red, his complexion was sandy, and his eyes, when he was excited and angry, had a baleful expression that led some one in my presence on a certain occasion to speak of them as "brush-heaps afire."
He was not an eloquent man, although a ready and frequent public speaker. His voice was not musical. His strong forte was invective. He was nearly always denouncing somebody. Apparently, he was never so happy as when making another miserable. Sometimes his personal allusions were very broad. He was accustomed in his speeches to refer to one of Missouri's United States Senators as "that lop-eared vulgarian." That he was not almost all the time in personal difficulties was due to the fact that he was known to be a man of exceptional courage. He was a born fighter. Physically I think he was the bravest man I ever knew. I witnessed several manifestations of his fearlessness, but one particularly impressed me.
I have spoken of the Camp Jackson affair. Although the people in the Rebel encampment surrendered without a blow, the incident was attended with considerable bloodshed. A mob of Rebel sympathizers, consisting largely of half-grown boys—I was in the midst of the throng at the time—with their pistols opened fire on a German union regiment and killed several of its men. The troops, in return, poured a volley into the crowd of spectators from which the shots had come, killing or wounding over forty persons, the most of them, as is usual in such cases, being inoffensive onlookers. A man standing beside me and, like myself, a spectator, had the top of one ear clipped off by a Minié ball as cleanly as if it had been done with a knife. I found when, soon afterwards, I reached the business center of the city, where the Rebel element then largely predominated, that the story of the tragedy had swelled the number of the victims to one thousand. Intense excitement and the most furious indignation prevailed. Hundreds of men, with flaming faces, were swearing the most dreadful oaths that they would shoot Frank Blair, whom they seemed to regard as wholly responsible, on sight. Many of them were flourishing pistols in confirmation of their bloody purpose. Just then the attention of the crowd was drawn to an unusual spectacle. Down Fourth Street, which was then the leading business avenue of St. Louis, and at that time densely packed with the excited people, came the union soldiers with the prisoners from Camp Jackson on their way to the United States Arsenal grounds. At the head of the procession marched the men of the First Missouri volunteer regiment, their guns "aport" and ready for immediate service, and at their head—the only mounted man in the regiment, according to my recollection—rode their Colonel, who was Frank Blair. He was in full uniform, which made him still more conspicuous. No better target could have been offered. I watched the audacious man, expecting to hear a shot at any moment from the sidewalk, or from a window of one of the high buildings lining the street, and to see him topple from his saddle. He understood very well the danger he was braving. He knew that in that throng, where everybody was armed, there were hundreds toying with the triggers of their guns, and trying to muster sufficient courage to shoot him down. Slowly, and as calmly as if on ordinary dress parade, he led the way until he passed out of sight. I thought then, and still think, it was the pluckiest thing I ever witnessed.
The effect of the breaking up and capture of Camp Jackson was something wonderful. Up to that time, the Rebels of St. Louis and their sympathizers had been very demonstrative. In portions of the city the Rebel cockade, which was a red rosette pinned to the side of the hat, was conspicuous, and any one not displaying that decoration was in danger of having his hat smashed upon his head. After Camp Jackson's surrender, I never saw a Rebel cockade openly worn in St. Louis.
At the same time there was an extensive shifting of positions. A good many men of prominence and wealth, who had been leaning over towards the South, suddenly straightened up, and not a few of them showed a strong inclination the other way. Some of the evolutions they executed were amusing. One of the first to discuss with the writer the union defeat at Bull Run was a former United States Government official. He was tremendously excited and correspondingly exultant. After describing how the Southerners had vanquished the Government's men, and particularly how the South Carolina "black horse" had ridden them down in deadly slaughter, he cried out, "That's the way we will give it to you fellows all the time."
Not very long afterwards General Grant, having entered Tennessee, and captured Fort Donelson, and many prisoners, was about to visit St. Louis, and the leading unionists there decided to give him a grand reception and an elaborate dinner. Money had to be raised, and among those I met who were soliciting it was my ex-Government-official friend. He was fully as happy as he had been before, when the Fort Donelson affair was alluded to. "Didn't we give it to those fellows down there?" he exclaimed.
Out in western Missouri was a young lawyer of great ambition and considerable promise. He was afterwards a member of Congress. Like a good many others he was at first puzzled to know what course to take. In his dilemma he concluded to consult an old politician in that section who was much famed for his sagacity, and who bore the military title of General.
"If you contemplate remaining in Missouri," said the older man to the junior, "you should take the Southern side. Missouri is a slave State and a Southern State, and she will naturally go with her section."
The young man availed himself of an opportunity to make a public address, in which he aligned himself in the strongest terms with those who had gone into rebellion. But scarcely had this been done when Lincoln issued his first call for troops, and among those nominated to command them was the old Missouri General. It was announced that he had accepted t............