The story of Camp Jackson roots itself in that of the Arsenal. A few facts will show this. During the first days of April our disloyal Governor became unusually patriotic. He thought, or appeared to think, that our State was about to be pounced upon by some lurking foe, and must be made ready to defend itself. To ensure its safety against an enemy that no loyal eyes could anywhere discern, he determined to plant a battery of artillery on Duncan’s Island in the river immediately opposite the Arsenal. From this he was dissuaded, but he did plant one farther down the river at Powder Point, and another, to which we have already referred, on the levee, some distance above the Arsenal. All intelligent men of both parties understood at once that these batteries were hostile to the defenders of the Union, and if occasion offered were to be used in securing the Arsenal and its munitions of war for the secessionists. The Governor’s patriotic professions really deceived but very few. Still, to their honor, some charitable Union men strove to put the best construction on his words; but they were often in great perplexity when they tried to harmonize his words with his acts. While plotting for the secession of the State he constantly harped upon his devotion to it. To his mind evidently its secession from the Union would be its highest good.

Still, under existing circumstances, just what he intended to do, many could not even guess. Captain Lyon declared that he was in correspondence with the Confederate authorities at Montgomery. We then thought that this might be true, and now know from war documents that Lyon as usual was right. In reply to a letter written by the Governor on the 17th of April, and sent to Montgomery by private messengers, Jefferson Davis wrote: “After learning as well as I could from the gentlemen accredited to me what was most needful for the attack on the Arsenal, I have directed that Captains Green and Duke should be furnished with two 12–pounder howitzers and two 32–pounder guns, with the proper ammunition for each. These, from the commanding hills, will be effective, both against the garrison and to breach the enclosing walls of the place. I concur with you as to the great importance of capturing the Arsenal and securing its supplies.”

On that same 17th of April, Governor Jackson visited St. Louis and had a conference with the leading secessionists who resided there. Prominent among them was Brigadier-General Daniel M. Frost. He was born and bred in the State of New York. He graduated from West Point in 1844, and served both in the Mexican War and on the western frontier. He subsequently married in St. Louis, resigned his commission in the army, and went into business in his adopted city. He dipped into politics, became a State Senator, and was finally assigned to the command of the First Brigade of Missouri Volunteer Militia. Snead, who was aide-de-camp of our secession Governor and a soldier in the Confederate army, says that “The Governor trusted Frost fully.”^[19] And two days before the conference of April 17th, Frost presented to him a carefully prepared memorial,^[20] praying that he would authorize him to form an encampment of militia near our city, and order Colonel Bowen, then defending the western counties of the State against Kansas, to report to him for duty. General Frost also disclosed his plan for placing this encampment on the bluffs just below the Arsenal. This however was too bold a move for the politic Governor. It would too clearly reveal to all thoughtful observers his real purpose. He preferred so far as possible to veil his intention. He chose clandestine action. So while on that memorable 17th of April he refused the requisition of the Secretary of War for troops from Missouri in the vehement and absurd language already quoted, and secretly appealed by private messengers to Jefferson Davis for cannon with which to bombard and take the Arsenal, and in hot haste summoned the legislature to meet in extra session, at Jefferson City, on May 2d, in order “to place the State in a proper attitude of defence;” that all might be legally done, he fell back on the militia law of 1858, and ordered the commanding officers of the several militia districts of the State to call together, on May 6th, for six days, those legally required to do military duty for the purpose of drill in the art of war. This order gave General Frost liberty to form a military camp in any place he might choose within the limits of our city or county.

But it was now too late to form his encampment as he had proposed to the Governor on the hills overlooking the Arsenal; the lynx-eyed, energetic Lyon had already occupied those heights with an adequate force of infantry and artillery. So Frost called his militia together on the western border of the city, in Lindell’s Grove, near the intersection of Olive Street and Grand Avenue. There, at the time designated by the Governor, he went into encampment. As he had urged in his memorial, Colonel Bowen was ordered to report to him. This to every loyal onlooker was a suspicious circumstance. Professedly the encampment was formed for the purpose of drilling the local militia, and at the start soldiers who were doing duty in the extreme western counties of the State were ordered to join it. While some of them hailed from St. Louis, many of them did not. Four companies of Minute Men in our city, open and avowed secessionists, with alacrity and enthusiasm responded to Frost’s call and stood foremost among the troops of his encampment.^[21] Young men from different parts of the State, one here and another there, also became part of this motley military force. It is true that some loyal young men had belonged to Frost’s command, and had been deceived as to his real character, but in the latter part of April, headed by Colonel Pritchard, they had abandoned it. Those that now gathered under his standard were homogeneous in sentiment. So by common consent, in honor of the Governor, they dubbed their encampment Camp Jackson. Still, every one that joined it took the oath of allegiance to Missouri and the United States. But this did not reassure us, since the significance of that act depended on each man’s view of State sovereignty and on his construction of the Federal Constitution.

The citizens of St. Louis looked on thoughtfully. Some of them were happy; but that very fact tended to make those of opposite views apprehensive. If the new encampment had been just what it professed to be, simply a place for military drill, there was not a loyal man in the city who would have thought of disturbing it. But there were disquieting rumors that its real character did not appear on the surface; that it had been formed to promote the secession of the State, that it had been put on the western verge of the city so that, at a moment’s notice, it could be used to suppress any movement that might be made by its loyal inhabitants; that the secessionists, having failed to take the Arsenal, proposed now, when the opportune time should arrive, to seize the city, and that the professed defence of the State was simply its defence against United States troops. So from the beginning of the encampment there was earnest debate among loyal men as to what was the wisest course of action, which continued until the whole city was heaving with suppressed excitement.

This excitement was augmented by an ugly report concerning the Governor. It was said that immediately after the munitions of war had been removed from the Arsenal to Springfield, Illinois, he had sent General Harding, his quartermaster general, to St. Louis to procure for the State all the arms and ammunition that he could find there; that he had purchased in our city several hundred hunting rifles, some camp equipage, and many tons of powder. This looked like preparation for war. For what purpose did the Governor of the State, whose professions were so bland and pacific, need tons of powder? Moreover, this war material was shipped to Jefferson City on May 7th, the second day of the encampment at Lindell’s Grove, under guard of Captain Kelly and his company, detailed from Frost’s brigade for that special duty. The more the loyal of the city learned or guessed at, the more certain they became that Camp Jackson was a menace both to St. Louis and the State. Still, the force at the Camp was not large. After Kelly and his company had been detailed for special duty elsewhere, there remained only between six and seven hundred men. But whatever was the strength of the force, the Union men of the city, with almost absolute unanimity, regarded it as hostile; still as to what ought to be done, they differed among themselves.

This military force had been called together under the form of law; it had done nothing illegal; it had not interfered with the liberties or privileges of any one. Should it therefore be disturbed before it had committed any overt illegal act? Such was the question anxiously discussed by Union men; while the secessionists evidently regarded the whole situation with great satisfaction, thinking that they now had at last a reasonable hope of securing their end without violating the letter of the law.

But nothing escaped the eye of Lyon. In some way, he knew everything that pertained to Camp Jackson, and proposed to do promptly and energetically his whole duty as an officer of the United States Army. He had now an ample force under arms and in process of drill. There has been some dispute as to the exact number of this force. The War Documents put it at about three thousand five hundred. Snead in his “The Fight for Missouri,” says that Lyon had, May 10th, seven thousand well-armed men. This is not at all sustained by the best authorities. But whatever may have been the exact number, he at all events was fully prepared for his work.

He did not however propose to seize Camp Jackson by force before completely satisfying his counsellors that such a step was absolutely demanded in order to preserve the city and the State from being forced into secession. He himself had not the shadow of a doubt that the Camp was hostile to the United States, and should be broken up. His opinion was based upon the known character of its commander, and of many of the men that he had gathered around his standard. He had also learned much that was suspicious and disturbing from those who had visited this encampment of militia. But he determined to view it with his own eyes, so that from personal observation he could testify to its real character. On the 9th of May, he arrayed himself in the bombazine gown and close veil of Mrs. Alexander, the mother of Mrs. Frank P. Blair. She was an invalid and blind. In a light, open carriage, he was driven by a colored servant up and down the avenues of Camp Jackson. He observed their names. He saw the arms of the militia and noted from whence they had come. No one challenged him. Many in camp knew Mrs. Alexander, that she was an invalid and blind, and was accustomed to be driven out for her health. When he returned from his ride, Mr. Blair sat chatting with Colonel Simmons on the porch of the southern house of the Arsenal. Mr. Blair rose to help his mother-in-law from the carriage, but saw, when the bombazine gown was slightly raised, a pair of stout cavalry boots. He and Simmons looked significantly at each other but said nothing.^[22]

That evening Lyon called together his Committee of Safety consisting of Oliver D. Filley, James O. Broadhead, Samuel T. Glover, John How and Julius J. Witzig. When this Committee met, Mr. Blair was usually present, and he sat with them at this important, pivotal conference. Lyon laid the whole case before them. He set forth in detail the facts pertaining to Camp Jackson. He portrayed its character. He testified to what he had seen. He declared it to be a nest of secessionists; that its design was to get control of the city and if possible carry the State out of the Union, and that the only thing which remained to be done was to capture it at once.

With this view three of the committee, together with Mr. Blair, were in hearty accord; but Mr. Glover, an able lawyer, strongly maintained that since the organization of the encampment was in strict conformity to the law of the State, and those gathered there had committed no overt illegal act, it would be rash to attack and overcome it by an armed force. If it had in unlawful possession arms that belonged to the United States, a writ of replevin should be served by the United States marshal on those in command there in order to recover these munitions of war without any infraction of law. If the United States marshal required any force to aid him in serving the writ, he might be accompanied by all the soldiers under Lyon’s command. Mr. How, while unconditionally for the Union, was a conservative business man and agreed with Mr. Glover. But Lyon and Blair and the majority of the Committee were so insistent for immediate radical action, that the minority at last reluctantly yielded to them. Nevertheless that very night Glover, with some confidential friends, prepared the writ of replevin, but on the following forenoon, Mr. Blair gave it a coup de grace in language more forceful than elegant.^[23] When the story about the writ got abroad it afforded the Unionists of the city much merriment. It was one of those humorous incidents that enlivened and cheered us amid much that was sad and depressing. Some repeated the words of Lincoln in his inaugural address: “The power confided to me will be used to hold, occupy, and possess the property and places belonging to the government,” and then added, “by replevin;” and this evoked derisive laughter.

For two or three days rumors had reached General Frost that Captain Lyon was preparing to attack his encampment, and these rumors were so numerous and persistent, that Frost, on the morning of May 10th, addressed a letter to Captain Lyon referring to these ominous reports and wishing to know if there was any truth in them; also declaring that neither he nor his command intended any hostility “towards the United States, or its property or representatives.” How Frost could say this is a mystery. In January he secured from the disloyal Major Bell the pledge that he would not defend the Arsenal against State troops and so reported to Governor Jackson; in April he was in conference with the Governor and chief secessionists of St. Louis; in a formal memorial he had already prayed the Governor to authorize him to form a military encampment near the city, and advocated placing it on the heights above the Arsenal; immediately thereafter the Governor in an autograph letter, sent by two of the secessionists with whom he and Frost had been plotting to take the very property of the United States that Frost now declared he had no intention of touching, solicited personally from Jefferson Davis cannon to be planted on those heights, where Frost contended that his encampment should be formed. This very loyal man a little later went straight into the rebel army. He evidently went to his own place. On June 12th, 1861, he openly proclaimed himself a rebel.^[24] In December of that year he was doing for the Southern Confederacy the work of a spy at St. Louis.^[25] The sandy-haired, blue-eyed Captain at the Arsenal knew Frost’s real character; and did not deign to answer his letter that was so full of professed loyalty to the United States.

All of Lyon’s forces were at noon gathered at the Arsenal and ready to do his bidding. About two o’clock he divided his brigade into three detachments and ordered them to proceed by different routes to Camp Jackson. Two of them went on different streets up through the central part of the city, one along its western boundary. They arrived simultaneously on different sides of the camp and took possession of every approach to it. The artillery took positions on the higher points of ground around the encampment. The whole movement was executed with skill and precision. Lyon now sent a communication to Frost, setting forth what he considered to be the real character of his camp. He demanded the immediate and unconditional surrender of his entire command. He gave him thirty minutes to decide what he would do. Frost now had a brief consultation with his staff. They saw that they were surrounded by a force greatly superior to their own. To fight would be worse than folly. They chose the part of wisdom and surrendered. They turned over to the United States forces all their arms, ammunition, accoutrements and camp equipage.

The excitement produced in the city by the marching of Lyon’s troops through it, and by his investment and capture of the secession camp, was wide-spread and intense. To what deeds of violence it might lead no one could conjecture, but all feared some catastrophe. When the troops were moving towards the encampment, almost involuntarily I joined the throngs on the street that were hurrying thitherward. I met a large sandy-haired man, fully six feet in height, hat in hand, head partially bald, with shaggy over-hanging eyebrows. He was a stranger to me. He was not apparently in a rage, but his massive frame shook with emotion. He knew me, and with nervous, jerky gesticulation and in a loud tone of voice he cried, “This is the result of just such preaching as yours!” I replied, “What do you think Lyon is going to do?” With still greater vehemence he cried out, “He’s gone out to kill all the boys,—to kill the boys,” and strode on faster than I cared to go. He was a slightly exaggerated example of the agitation that swayed and impelled the thousands that were gathering in the neighborhood of that fated camp. It was invested at half past three in the afternoon. Then men came running from all directions with rifles, shot guns and pistols. When they heard of the movement of Lyon and Blair they had, by common impulse, started out, with such weapons as they could command on the spur of the moment, to re-enforce the brigade of Frost. It was a pity that they arrived too late. If they had been thirty minutes earlier the number of prisoners taken by Lyon would have been largely increased, and possibly the unfortunate and needless effusion of blood, which marked the close of the scene at Camp Jackson, would have been avoided.

Lyon offered to release the prisoners if they would swear to support the Constitution of the United States, and not to take up arms against the Federal government. This they then refused to do on the ground that they had already taken the oath of allegiance to the United States, and to repeat it would be a confession of disloyalty. So they were marched out of the camp, forming a long column between two lines of Union soldiers. While this column of prisoners was being completed those farthest in advance were brought to a halt. That brief delay resulted in bloody disaster. Many of the prisoners belonged to families of high social standing in the city. The soldiers that were in line on either side of them were mostly Germans, always scornfully called Dutch by the secessionists. Throngs of angry men and women pressed up close to them, gesticulating and heaping upon them opprobrious, stinging epithets. It was difficult for them to endure this without retaliation. Among those who upbraided them were the men who had hurried thither with arms to re-enforce the camp. With their rifles, shotguns and pistols in hand they bitterly taunted, and struck with their fists, the captors of their relatives and friends. Human nature at last gave way. A few of the soldiers at the head of the column turned and fired into the mocking, vituperative crowd and for their rash act were promptly put under arrest. By that volley happily no one was injured. But the firing enhanced the fury of the disloyal in the gathered and gathering multitude. Some, pressing upon the soldiers, spat upon them. Some threw stones into their ranks; there were two or three shots from the turbulent throng, when, at the lower end of the columns of soldiers, one or two volleys were poured into the excited throng. It was positively denied that any officer commanded the soldiers under him to fire. These undisciplined volunteers were unable to stand motionless and in silence when attacked by stones and guns. The result was pitiable. The number of killed and wounded was about twenty-five. Not alone those guilty of jeering and attacking the soldiers were struck down, but chiefly the innocent, who had been attracted to the spot by the general and unusual excitement, and some of them were women and children. This catastrophe stirred the city to its depths. While the loyal rejoiced over the capture of the camp, they deplored the unnecessary bloodshed that had attended it; still, taking into account the irritating provocation, they could not lay the blame wholly on the raw German troops; nevertheless, the secessionists, humiliated and exasperated, swore that they would avenge the capture of their camp.

At about half past five, soldiers and prisoners began their long march to the Arsenal. The streets through which they passed were lined with people agitated with deep but diverse emotions. Some viewed with smiles, if not with open-mouthed exultation, the column of disarmed, tramping prisoners, shut in between files of newly armed Germans; the same scene stirred others to bitter execration. From the windows of some houses the soldiers were saluted by the waving of handkerchiefs; from the windows of others women expressed their bitter scorn by spitting at them. These troops with their crestfallen prisoners marched along a street which crossed the one on which I lived. A lady from the South was spending a few days with a family that lived next door to me. She was a very pleasant person, and altogether sane on every subject except that of secession. Any allusion to that seemed at once to unbalance her. She stood with quite a large group of spectators at the intersection of the streets, viewing the troops as they began to file past with the prisoners. She trembled with excitement. She forgot her ladyhood. She clenched and shook her fist at the soldiers, and cried, “They’ve got my lover.” A moment after she ran up to, and spat upon, a soldier; in a twinkling he broke ranks, leveled his bayonet toward her, and chased her down the street before my door. A sergeant followed him, seized him by the collar and led him back to his place in the marching column.

When night was slowly shutting down on the city, soldiers and prisoners arrived at the Arsenal; the former to stand guard over their new charge, the latter to think after the excitement of the day was over on this sudden and unexpected change in their affairs.

For supper they were offered ordinary soldier’s fare; but having been luxuriously fed at Camp Jackson from the tables of their secession friends, they scorned army rations. They not only refused to eat but, to show their contempt for their captors and their resentment for being treated as prisoners of war, they kicked over the buckets of coffee provided for them, and tossed the hardtack and bacon over the enclosing wall of the Arsenal. They were not very hungry, but some of them afterwards reported that they were treated with indignity and that the Yankees tried to starve them.

At the taking of Camp Jackson there was a spectator, then comparatively unknown, who was destined to fill a large place in his country’s history. He was a graduate of West Point and had served with fidelity as a subordinate officer in the regular army. Besides such service he had been by turns a banker in San Francisco and New York, an attorney in Leavenworth, Kansas, and superintendent of a military academy in Louisiana. Just then he was president of a street horse-car railway in St. Louis. Such, up to that time, had been the checkered career of William Tecumseh Sherman.

Immediately after the taking of Camp Jackson, a rebel flag at Fifth and Pine Streets came down never to be run up again. This was the first visible effect of Lyon’s victory. The lowering of that symbol of disunion was witnessed by a modest man, before whom was opening a marvellously brilliant career of which as yet he had not even dreamed. He was then thirty-nine years old. He too was a graduate of West Point, and while an officer of lower rank had distinguished himself by efficient and brilliant service. But for a time, turning aside from a military life, he had been a farmer, a speculator in real estate, and a leather-dealer. But now, when needed in defence of the Union, he had offered his services to his country through the Governor of Illinois, and had come over to St. Louis on a tour of observation. He heard the shouts that the taking of Camp Jackson and the coming down of the Stars and Bars from the roof of the secession rendezvous drew from loyal throats. Soon after he started in a horse-car for the Arsenal that he might personally congratulate Captain Lyon on the wise and timely work that he had so resolutely and skilfully done. In the car a young Southerner, full of anguish and wrath over the lowering of the secession flag, said to him: “Things have come to a d——d pretty pass when a free people can’t choose their own flag. Where I came from, if a man dares to say a word in favor of the Union, we hang him to a limb of the first tree we come to.” The modest man, into whose ears he poured this vengeful screed, quietly replied: “After all, we are not so intolerant in St. Louis as we might be; I have not seen a single rebel hung yet, nor heard of one; there are plenty of them who ought to be, however.”^[26] To this stinging rebuke there was no response. The young and fiery secessionist was dumb before a man of power; he felt, but could not understand, the humbling force of his simple words. The name of that unswerving Unionist and patriot, Ulysses Simpson Grant, is now in our own nation, and in all nations that love freedom, a household word.

But the excitement that was created in the city by the capture of Frost and his brigade is indescribable. Throngs gathered on all the principal thoroughfares. On Fourth Street, then the centre of the retail trade of the city, crowds moved to and fro eager for news. They bore banners of various and diverse devices. One band of men as they pushed excitedly along cheered, another going in the opposite direction answered the cheer by a groan. Distinguished and influential citizens addressed an excited multitude in front of the Planters’ Hotel, endeavoring to allay their seething passions. At different places in the city men were speaking to impromptu audiences, in which some were cheering while others were yelling defiance, to bring them if possible to calmness and reason. In different directions a shot could now and then be heard. As soon as it was dark, from fear of riot, the saloons and restaurants were closed and their doors were bolted and barred. The windows of many private houses were also shut and securely fastened. The theatres and all places of public amusement were empty. The police were on the alert, but were taxed to the utmost to nip in the bud any show of disorder. In spite of their vigilance and efficiency a crowd made a charge on Dimick’s gun-store on Main Street, broke open the door and secured fifteen or twenty guns, when the gathering mob was dispersed by about twenty policemen armed with muskets. But as the night wore on the excitement abated; men by degrees sought their homes and their beds; some in quietude to rejoice over the brightening prospects of Unionism, others to mourn over the fading hopes of secession.

When morning dawned, the prisoners at the Arsenal viewed more favorably the conditions on which the day before parole had been offered them. All but one now took the prescribed oath of allegiance to the United States, and, thereupon being paroled, left for their homes, where they were joyfully greeted and sat down to well-loaded tables. The plucky one, however, persisting for a time in his refusal to subscribe to the oath, remained in durance vile. But many of those who were paroled openly declared that they did not intend to abide by their oaths, excusing their purposed perjury on the specious plea that an oath taken under compulsion is not binding.

This disregard of the oath of allegiance stirred up all good men in our city to consider its sanctity and to protest against its wanton violation. Still, most of those captured at Camp Jackson, in spite of the fact that they were paroled because they deliberately swore that they would not take up arms against the United States, enlisted sooner or later in the army of the Southern Confederacy.

The sudden and unexpected taking of Camp Jackson carried consternation into the secession legislature, then in extra session at Jefferson City. It was announced to them between five and six o’clock in the afternoon. The members of the Assembly were discussing a militia bill, which, after receiving the news, they passed within fifteen minutes. In haste they sent it to the Senate, where it was passed instanter without debate.

This bill, which General Harney later characterized as a secession measure, created a military fund for arming and equipping the militia of the State. All moneys in the treasury collected for other and specified objects were diverted to this purpose. To augment this military fund taxes on the assessed value of property were enormously increased. Even the school tax was subsidized for three years. Moreover, the Governor was authorized to call on the banks for a loan of five hundred thousand dollars. By this bill, the militia were required to take an oath that asserted fealty to Missouri as first and supreme;^[27] so dominant was State sovereignty in the minds of these secession legislators.

At half past seven the legislature, which had become calmer and in some measure reassured, met once more to discuss the anomalous condition of affairs. But as there seemed to be no immediate danger, these disloyal lawmakers adjourned at half past nine, and, with most of the peaceably disposed inhabitants of Jefferson City, retired for the night. But their rest was soon broken. A little after midnight the bells began to ring furiously; a tremendous thunder-storm was just bursting upon the city; amid vivid lightning flashes, deafening thunderclaps, and torrents of pelting rain, men on foot and on horseback flew through the city, summoning with stentorian cries the legislature to assemble with all possible despatch. It met in secret session at half past three in the morning. Without deliberation it gave the Governor absolute control over St. Louis and conferred upon him extraordinary powers for suppressing insurrectionary movements throughout the State.

What terrible thing had produced this panic? A rumor, flying on the wings of darkness, had reached the city that Colonel Blair, with two thousand troops, was on his way to the State capital. He was coming on the Pacific Railroad. Steam-cars moved rapidly and this hostile invasion must be met at once, if met at all. Without any delay the Governor and his staff began to remove war material from the city. Under the cover of darkness they sent twelve thousand kegs of powder into the country. An armed and tumultuous band of men moved eastward and burned the railroad bridge over the Osage. This relieved the fears of those at the capital, since Blair with his German minions would for a time, at all events, be hindered by that swollen and bridgeless river. But it was all a baseless fright. Colonel Blair and his soldiers were serenely sleeping at St. Louis, having been lulled to their slumbers by the satisfaction that in taking Camp Jackson they had done a good day’s work for the Union.

The next day, the 11th of May, all the material captured at Camp Jackson was removed to the Arsenal. Then all the city knew, what Lyon had known before, the hostile nature of that captured camp. Its main avenue was named Jefferson Davis; one of its principal cross-streets Beauregard. Its arms, both muskets and cannon, had been stolen from the Arsenal at Baton Rouge. They had been consigned as marble^[28] to “Tamoroa, Care of Greely and Gale.” This was of course a mere blind, since the firm of Greely and Gale was distinguished in the city for its outspoken loyalty. But the officers of the steamer on which these munitions of war were brought up the river to St. Louis were in sympathy with General Frost and his immediate counsellors, and, without raising any question, delivered this war material, not to those to whom it was consigned, but to those for whom it was intended. Among the cannon were the pieces that Jefferson Davis had ordered to St. Louis, that were to be placed, according to the plan of General Frost and the Governor, on the bluffs, overlooking the Arsenal, in order to capture it; but since the opportunity to plant them there had passed, they were taken instead to Camp Jackson. Everybody who did not know before, knew now that Camp Jackson was an ally of the Southern Confederacy.^[29] Some of the young men within that camp, as has been claimed, may have been hoodwinked Unionists, but considering all the evidences of the disloyal character of the encampment, daily thrust before their eyes, if they were deceived, they must have been unusually stupid.