Deserters and “bounty jumpers.” -- There were two classes of deserters who became well known along the northern frontier, bordering on Canada, during the war days of 1862-65. First, there was the ‘bounty jumper,’ who enlisted with the sole intention of securing a large bounty and then making his escape to Canada, only to reappear at some distant point in the states to repeat the operation. “Jumping the bounty” and “bounty jumpers” described this precious class of rascals in the popular speech of the time. Second, there came the much smaller class who deserted from the front, or while home on furlough, and made their way to Canada, or, as was frequently the case, hired out to farmers on the American side near the border, so as to easily cross into the Dominion in case of danger. The first class named were, as a rule, a bad lot, without patriotism or character, and mere robbers of the bounty paid for the purpose of securing recruits for our army, while many of the second class, returning to their homes along the northern border on furlough, in a moment of weakness, and weary of the dangers and hardships of active service, and not unfrequently (sic) suffering from wounds and ill-health, were tempted to make their way across the St. Lawrence into the Queen’s dominions. The records of deserters from various New York regiments were sent to the provost-marshal-general at Washington, and through his office transmitted to the provost-marshal of the section in which the original enlistments were made out. It was found that the usual course of a deserter finally led him back to his old home haunts, and there traces of him were most likely to be found.

The record of some of the arrests made in this county will be of interest, as a part of the stirring events of this exciting period, and a few will be given. It may be said in this connection that Jefferson County and the provost-marshal’s office in Watertown were regarded as poor places for bounty jumpers and deserters to conceal themselves or ply their fame of fraud, owing to the excellent organization of Captain Emerson’s office, and the zeal displayed in bringing all delinquents to justice.

Information having reached the provost-marshal that several deserters were lurking about in a not distant town, Special Agent Shaw was ordered to take a couple of guards and carriages and seek their arrest. It was a beautiful October morning in 1864, and the drive was delightful. By 1 o’clock P.M. two deserters had been arrested, and a third was known to be in the vicinity. The utmost secrecy was necessary, for these men were always on the alert, and took to their heels at the first suspicion of any danger. Most deserters changed their names, and this deepened the difficulties of finding out through inquiries where they were located. In this instance, while a full description of a deserter known to be in the immediate vicinity was in the officer’s possession, no trace of him could be found. At last, well along in the afternoon, Officer Shaw sent the guards on to Watertown with the two deserters already secured, and set out in a single carriage to make still further efforts to find the person wanted. By diligent inquiries he got trace of his man, but failed for some time to find out where he was working. While passing a school-house, just as the scholars had been dismissed for the day, a bright lad of seven or eight years of age, with ruddy cheeks and neatly dressed, was asked by the officer if he would not like to ride. He nimbly climbed into the carriage, and was soon on terms of intimacy with the driver. The small boy is always one of the detective’s best friends, for what he does not know about a neighborhood and its current gossip is not worth knowing, as a general rule. Under careful questioning the boy was asked if he knew a man by the name of ______, the assumed name of the deserter. “Oh, yes,” was the prompt reply, “he works for my pa.” The officer’s horse was given a free rein, and the boy was told that he would be driven home. The house where he lived was situated off the main road on which he was driving about half a mile, and they were soon at the place. Hitching the horse the boy led the way, and luckily the farmer was at home. The officer took the farmer one side and told him the facts. He knew Captain Emerson well, and when assured that his favorite hired man was a deserter his astonishment was great. “A deserter!” he repeated, “it cannot be, for he is one of the best men I ever have had on my farm. His young wife works for us also, and they have been here for some weeks. They are very loving and religious people, and there must surely be some mistake about this.” He was given to understand that there was no doubt about his identity. “Well,” said he, “_______________is just putting the horses into the stable down under the barn there, and you can soon see whether you are right or not.” Walking quietly down to the stable, under the guidance of the small boy, the officer had just reached the stable door when _______________ stepped out. “How are you?” said the official. The deserter stood bewildered for a moment on being called his real name, but quickly shaking off his embarrassment replied, “That’s not my name.” He was told it was one of his names, as he edged away in the direction of some straw stacks near at hand. The careless display of a large Colt’s revolver by the officer had a magical effect upon him, and he retraced his steps saying, “There is some mistake about all this; but what can be done?” He was informed that he must accompany the officer to Watertown, and at this point his face was a picture for an artist. The agony of the situation was really painful to witness. “Great Heavens!” he said, “what a mistake you have made. My name is _________________, and I know nothing about the army. My wife and I work here, and we have been here for weeks. What can I do?” It was soon made clear to him that he must get ready to go to Watertown, and at once, and placing him in front he was marched to the house from the barn. Here a strangely pathetic scene took place. The farmer, his wife, and the small boy, with the deserter and his wife, met in the dining-room. “What does this mean?” asked the farmer. “Mean!” bravely answered _____________________, “I don’t know. This man declares I am a deserter, and I am now under arrest and must go with him to Watertown. It’s all a big mistake.” At this point his really very pretty young wife threw her arms about his neck and sobbed as though her heart would break. The farmer’s family were all in tears, and the officer looked on not unmoved by the picture of pain before him. For nearly a minute not a word was spoken, and the almost frantic wife clung to her husband as though it was to be her last interview with him before he was shot. Finally he was ordered to hastily make ready to go to Watertown, when he asked to have an opportunity to change his clothes before going away. This request brought its embarrassments, for the officer well knew how great the temptation to bolt out of a window would be, and frankly told him so. It was arranged that the wife should bring his clothing into a closet, with no window, and here, under the range of the officer’s revolver, a fitting change in dress was made. This proceeding called forth angry remonstrances from the deserter, who loudly declared that he would “make the officer smart” for such indignities practiced upon an innocent man!

The farmer and his wife were completely overcome and presented a woe-begone appearance. “Why,” said the farmer, “_____________has always joined in our family prayers, and so has his wife, and nicer Christian people I have never known, to all appearances.” He was told that the man was no doubt a deserter, and arrangements were made for the prisoner’s wife, and their effects to come to Watertown the following day, when “all was to be made clear,” to use the deserter’s words. “Dear me,” replied the farmer, “how unfortunate I am!” This is the second deserter who has worked for me this fall.” After a leave-taking, mingled with tears and prayers, the officer and the deserter drove off. As soon as the carriage was out of hearing the officer said to the deserter, “What cheek you have got! You would make a good actor. How could you lie so, looking that good man and his wife square in the face?” “I’ll tell you,” was the quick and frank answer; “the truth is that I could not do otherwise after making them believe I was a Christian man, and kneeling down every day with them at family prayers. I really had not the courage to tell him the truth, when you so suddenly brought me before them face to face. No, sir, I couldn’t do it. I am the man you want, and I’m glad you have got me, for I have lived in a hell within myself for months past. Every man I’ve seen coming across the lots, or down towards the house, has seemed to me to be an officer coming to arrest me. Twice when plowing recently I have dropped the lines, ready to run the woods, before I found out there was no cause for alarm. I’m glad it is over, for I’ve grown poor under the ever present fear, and now I’ll go back to my regiment and manfully serve out my time. I was a great fool to desert; but I got married when I came home on furlough, and when they refused to grant me a longer furlough I very foolishly took one. It was kind of hard to leave her and go back, and so I told her I had been discharged, for I had been wounded in battle. I went to ________’s to work, half resolving I would give myself up and go back to my regiment again. I’m glad I am going back now, and if I don’t redeem myself, as a good soldier, when I take my old place, then I don’t know myself.” The next morning the wife and trunk were brought in, and the farmers---a loyal Republican and a good citizen----found out that his “hired man” had a previous engagement to keep with Uncle Sam. No amount of persuasion, however, would induce _____________ to see the farmer. He said he “could not bear to have him see what a sneak he had been.” This deserter, who was at heart a really good fellow, was sent back to his regiment along with some new recruits, and proved as good as his work in his soldier record.

A second adventure of the same officer took place about the same time on the St. Lawrence, a few miles below Millen’s Bay, at Grennell’s Island. On the Canadian shore opposite this point quite a little colony of deserters had found work at small pay on farms about the section, and several were in the habit of crossing over the river to pay visits to relatives and friends who met them at the shore. Word having been sent to the provost-marshal Private Payne and Special Agent Shaw were sent to the river to break up the practice, and secure the arrest of some of the deserters if possible. Taking up quarters with a family named Carter, living just across from Grennell’s Island, the detectives had not long to wait before the wife of a deserter came down and waved a signal to her husband to come across. The detectives were concealed in the chamber, and soon saw a small boat put out from the other side. It came over, and just as it struck the beach the officer, pistol in hand, stepped forward and ordered the deserter to surrender. He was sitting in his skiff, talking to his wife, so as to be ready for any surprise, as was his custom, and the moment he was confronted by the officer he sprang up, and with an oar quickly pushed his boat, out beyond reach. Pointing his pistol at the deserter Shaw commanded him to come ashore or he would fire. His wife jumped up and down and shouted, “Don’t you do it; don’t you do it; let him shoot first.” She was no coward, and her ringing words had a strange effect upon the now pale-faced deserter---giving him courage, the blind courage of despair and his wife’s stirring words, shrieked into his ears, spurred him on in his desperate effort for freedom. Shaw shoved off his boat, and being a good oarsman, soon gained upon the retreating deserter. The wife kept up her encouraging appeals, while the lady residents of the house on the shore were eager spectators of the comical race taking place before them. The deserter had a small sail to his skiff, and this began to aid him as he pulled out from under the shore. Shaw found the race was an uneven one under the conditions of oars and sail, and in hastily looking over his shoulder to see how the thing was working, an oar slipped up on the thole-pin, and it bent down, and over went the officer on his back, in the bottom of the boat, with his heels in the air. A shout from the jubilant wife on shore did not add to the officer’s feelings, and regaining his feet, in the tottling boat, he shouted that he would shoot if the deserter did not instantly surrender. No heed was paid to the summons, and fire was opened upon him in brisk fashion, at less than 100 yards distance. Bullet after bullet, from a heavy Colt’s revolver, was sent point-blank at the desperate man, who was rowing for dear life to get across the river. Each shot went close to the mark, as could be seen as they splashed into the river just beyond him. Six shots were fired, when the chase had to be abandoned, and Shaw returned to the shore, a disgusted and beaten man.

The deserter’s wife was on the shore and greeted him with jeers, but a threat that her own arrest might follow silenced her abuse--which was, perhaps, not unnatural under the circumstances. Later in the day a drum and fife was heard across the river, and by the aid of a good glass a gathering of men could be seen there. Early in the evening a neighbor, who had been on the other side, came and told us that an attack was contemplated from the deserters, who had sworn vengeance on us for our attempt to arrest one of their number. The officer and guard prepared to give them a warm reception in case they should come. Bullets were cut up into slugs so as to make a scattering charge, doors and windows were barricaded, and all was made ready for a stubborn defence (sic). The ladies volunteered to go out on picket, but this was not permitted The drum and fife could be heard plainly for more than an hour, and when darkness came on a sharp outlook was kept for the threatened attack. But one came. The night passed with no alarm, and the next day the forces of the United States withdrew.

The deserter, after the war, said that one bullet passed through his hair, and several of them whistled so near to him that he feared he had been hit. He declared that he was “too scared to surrender,” and that he mechanically took to the oars, rowing away in vigorous fashion, in sheer desperation from the first impulse that came over him. This adventure had a marked effect, however, upon the actions of the deserters living across the river. They made a great deal of noise and threatened great things because of this attempt to arrest one of their clan, but they took good care to keep themselves safely on the Canadian side of the river. The officer, on returning to Watertown, was unmercifully hectored over this failure to arrest the deserter. Even the good Captain Emerson laughed until his sides must have ached as he was told the interesting tale of the adventure. This was an instance where the force of the United States was baffled by the escape of the enemy. It was the only instance in the history of the office where a failure was met with in arresting a deserter; and in this case there was only reason for gratitude on the part of the officer afterwards that some of his shots did not hit the unfortunate deserter.

A third instance of the arrest of a deserter made a good deal of excitement. A man brought information to the provost-marshal that his youngest brother, who had come home from his regiment on furlough, was intending to desert, and that he was being harbored and encouraged in this intention by a “copperhead” uncle, and he wished him to be arrested before he had time to run away to Canada. A zealous Republican himself, in the days when patriotic excitement ran high, he was deeply pained at the course of his young brother, and so came to have him secured and sent back to duty. Special Agent Shaw was ordered to take the case in hand, and went to the elder brother’s house early the next morning. Together they drove to the uncle’s place, and the latter’s rage on being charged with concealing the deserter knew no bounds. Finally the volley of abuse was cut short by the action of the officer in pulling out a pair of “handcuffs,” and declaring that he would clap them on him unless he instantly ceased his tirade and point out where the deserter was in hiding. This had the desired effect, and with a crest-fallen look he led the way to the horse-barn, in the loft of which young _______________ had a hiding-place. A more woe-begone young man was never seen than this one, with his hair and clothes covered with literal “hay seed,” and half scared out of his wits. He was really a pitiable sight, and cried like a child. Taking him into the two-seated carriage he was driven to the elder brother’s house, so that the prisoner might see his old mother, who lived with him, a sweet woman with white hair, and in feeble health. Arriving there the officer went in first to comfort the old mother by explaining that the erring son stood in no danger from being shot, but that on being returned to his regiment only a nominal punishment, such as loss of pay, was likely to be inflicted upon him. The prisoner had been left in the kitchen in charge of two of his brothers, and presently a great shout was heard there. Shaw rushed out to see the three brothers running for dear life across a field at the rear of the house. Taking in the situation at a glance he gave chase also, but found himself a bad fourth, with no hope of coming up with the deserter. Calling on him to stop, with no effect upon the lively retreating foe, Shaw fired at him. The bullet cut the wind close to his face, and he at once stopped, throwing up his hands. For an instant the officer feared that his shot had taken effect, but this soon proved not to be the case. The two brothers coming up seized him by the collar. “O dear! O dear!” he cried, gasping for breath, as he stood pale, trembling, and hatless; “I don’t know what made me run away. I really couldn’t help it. My legs started off with me before I knew what I was doing. O dear! O dear! what shall I do, what shall I do!” The serious side of this scene having happily passed without injury to the deserter, a reaction took place, and the officer and the two brothers laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks. The prisoner was duly brought to Watertown without further incident, and honorably served out his term as a good soldier. He lived to return after the close of the war, and married a worthy wife, thus wiping out by manly service the weakness induced by ill health and bad counsel.

Special Agent Kirby got upon the track of a deserter who was engaged in Watertown in the bounty broker business. Owing to a quarrel with his partner he was “given away” to the officer as being a deserter from the navy. Kirby found him out, but he said he had a discharge up in Rutland at his father’s, and suggested that he hire a horse and buggy and accompany him up there for it. This was done; and on arriving at the house Kirby proceeded to follow him up to his wife’s room, but finding the lady unprepared for their visit, he remained outside in the hall. “Mary,” said the deserter, “where is my discharge?” “In that lower bureau drawer over there,” was the instant response of his wife. Kirby remained for a few minutes awaiting the advent of his prisoner, when, deeming the time sufficient, he opened the door only to see an open window and his prisoner exercising “leg bail” in a brilliant burst of speed for the woods not far off. A glance at the situation showed Kirby that the game was up, and he returned to Watertown somewhat crestfallen. However, he said nothing, but concluded his deserter would return soon, and in this view he made no mistake. A week later he was caught in his boarding place in town, and sent back to his ship, serving faithfully, and came back to the county after the war, dying here only a couple of years ago.

On another occasion Special Agent Kirby and Chief Clerk Greenleaf went to Le Ray in a buggy to arrest a deserter. Having found him at work in a field some miles distant from his home, he said he was not a deserter, but had his permit to be absent on leave at his house. This seemed possible, and the man said he would harness his horse to the wagon and ride with them to show them the order. The horse was a poor looking animal, and as the man’s brother was with him they were allowed to drive ahead and show the way. All went well until a turn in the road was reached, when the whip was applied by the deserter to his old horse, with such result as to complete outpace the officer’s roadster. Amid a cloud of dust the disappearing fugitive reached his home, and bolted for the woods, escaping in the deepening darkness. This escape was comically described by an eye-witness and “the race” was long afterwards remembered as a decidedly laughable scene.

This same excellent officer arrested seven deserters on one trip to Henderson, the largest capture made in the history of the office.

When the draft for the town of Salisbury took place Deputy Provost-Marshal Cook was present, this being his residence. He was requested to try a turn at the wheel, and did so, remarking that “he knew how to shake his own name to the bottom.” The blindfolded man drew out the card, and a shout went up when “James J. Cook” was the name read off. The frequency of such a coincidence was striking, for it occurred several times during the draft in Watertown.

On day a would-be recruit entered a barber shop in Watertown and had hair and whiskers neatly dyed. The watchful Kirby spied out his trick and advised Dr. Walker of the scheme. When he appeared for the surgeon’s examination his attempt to appear younger than he was came to grief. He acknowledged that he was 55 instead of 45 years of age, but declared he was fit to be a soldier. His investment in hair dye was a dead loss on this occasion.

William Wright, of Watertown, a well-known person at the time, was appointed janitor at headquarters. Wright was a happy, easy-going man, always ready to take it easy when he could. While the officials were all out at dinner one day a soldier called to see about securing transportation back to his regiment. Wright told him to wait a few minutes until some one who could attend to him appeared. A musket of the old pattern, left by one of the veterans not then on duty, was in the corner, and the soldier took it up, saying that he would show him how to handle a gun. Wright was sitting with his chair tilted back against the wall of the room, reading a newspaper, and the soldier went through the manual of arms with a great deal of vim. Finally he shouted, “take aim, fire!” Suiting the action to the word, and to his horror, the musket was discharged with a report in the small room like a cannon. It was loaded with the old-fashioned “gall and three-buck-shot” cartridge, and these crashed through the window, the bullet lodging in the casing of the window of the American Hotel opposite, while one of the buck-shot swept into the dining-room, where many guests were at dinner, causing no end of excitement. Wright, when the gun went off, sprang out of his chair and fell sprawling on the floor, half dead with fright, while the soldier ran out and down stairs, never appearing afterwards. This exploit was the talk of the town for days, and several persons claimed that the charge just missed them. It was the only shot fired at the provost-marshal’s office during the war. Wright allowed no loaded guns about after this adventure.

The draft. -- After long preparation, calling for severe and continuous hard work, the efforts of supervisors failed to furnish men fast enough to fill the quotas of the towns, and a draft was ordered, both in 1863 and in 1864, to make up the required number of recruits. Great excitement prevailed throughout the district. Bitter political opponents of the administration uttered dire threats against the provost-marshal and his subordinates, and many feared that a riot would take place if the order for a draft was carried out. The fact was that the dreaded draft was no joke. The revolving wheel knew no law save that of chance. Within its cheerless and capacious circle were received the cards copied from the carefully compared rolls containing the names of all the men liable in a town to do military duty, and the outcome was left to the chances of a blind draw. The revolving wheel---a circular box some three feet in diameter by one foot in width, and mounted much as a grindstone usually is--used for the draft was designed by E. B. Wynn, Esq., at his special request. He did his work very creditably, but the fates brought about a strange reward for his kindness, his being one of the earliest names drawn from the cylindrical wheel he had so skillfully constructed. This wheel is now in charge of the sheriff of the county, having been bought at the sale of the office effects by Captain Emerson, and by him loaned to the sheriff for safe keeping, and to be used in the drawing of jurors. Captain Emerson has presented it to the Jefferson County Historical Society, and it will be given over into their keeping as soon as a suitable building for the keeping their records is secured. It is one of the most interesting relics of the draft in existence. The draft days were busy ones at the provost-marshal’s headquarters, as well as painfully exciting to the residents of towns about to undergo its trying ordeal. A full record of the daily incidents of the draft would be of intense interest, for many characteristic scenes of the period would be recalled by the record, now lost forever. It being the object of the writer to place a fair and full picture of the work of the provost marshal’s office on record, details are given to this end.

The basis of a draft was determined at the provost-marshal-general’s office in Washington, and based upon the population of the various states, as shown by the last census. The enrollment under this same data came under Captain Emerson’s jurisdiction in the three counties embraced in the 20th Congressional district. When a town was to be “drafted,” as the phrase went, the roll was brought out, the cards copied from it, carefully compared and checked off, and the number of men called for to complete the quote was announced. Owing to the nervous and suspicious state of public feeling Captain Emerson was anxious to have every one satisfied that strict impartiality was observed in all the stages leading up to the draft. He believed that patience and care in explaining all the details connected with the important events would do much to convince all interested that no favoritism whatever was permitted, and that all was open for inspection, everything being conducted on the fair and square principle.

As this distance of time, when a new generation has grown up in the interval, it is hard to form any adequate idea of the bitter and malignant prejudices which were aroused by the draft. Anti-war Democrats--as a class of grumblers connected with the Democratic party were then generally called--openly declared that there would be some sleight of hand used whereby Republicans would escape and Democrats would be drafted here in Watertown. Absurd and senseless rumors flew thick about, deeply stirring up strife and creating bad blood. It was a threatening time about the city, and grave fears were entertained by good men as to the result of a draft during this heated period. The object of the Democratic tactics was to make the enforcement of the law difficult, and with the masses of the people unpopular. War had become serious by this time. The cruel and bloody record of many months of disease and carnage, and the burial-mounds multiplied amid the old home scenes, where gallant soldiers were laid away to rest, surrounded with the hallowed associations of peace and youth, had made war a terrible alternative. Besides, those who could go readily early volunteered; later on, others followed as duty made the way clear; but when a great additional “300,000 more” was needed the solemnity of the situation became deep and impressive. The Union rested on the bayonets of our soldiers, and if these were allowed to trail in the dust all would be lost. Every man at home who gave the government loyal support even in the humblest way was a hero, in full measure, for united patriotism at home and the boys in blue at the front struck down a false flag and wiped out the dark shadow that had cursed our civilization from the first. The pent-up eagerness of the people in the early days of June was painful. The public pulse was in a flutter. Many believed that the draft would be resisted by blind force. Men who never thought of going to the front to fight the rebels openly swore that they would fight to stop the draft! Somehow, and why it is hard to explain, the people had an idea that the government would not dare to enforce the proposed drafting of men. The morning before the first draft took place in Watertown a prominent Democrat stopped Captain Emerson on his way to his office early in the day, and calling him aside said, “Captain, you must not have the draft to morrow, for if you do there will be bloodshed. You and I are old friends, and I tell you this in seriousness. It is a dangerous time. Why, even _______ swears he will shoulder a musket and help prevent it.” “The draft will proceed to-morrow as ordered,” replied the Captain coolly, “and if it is resisted I will see that my duty is performed as I understand it,” and he walked on to his office. All through the day leading citizens of both parties called, and most of them came to decry allowing the draft to take place until public excitement had time to cool off. The Union League of Watertown held a meeting the same evening to consider the situation, and Captain Emerson was invited before them and earnestly advised to postpone the draft owing to the unrest about it. “Gentlemen,” was the Captain’s dignified answer, “I have been ordered by superior officers at Washington to commence the draft to-morrow, and it will take place. It is simply my duty as a military officer to obey orders, and this is what I propose to do.” A leading Republican lawyer, John Clark, Esq., patriotic and honored as few of our citizens ever were, said to Captain Emerson on this occasion, “You don’t seem to realize the danger we are in. You don’t know what trouble there is brewing. You had better order the draft delayed so as to let this intense excitement die out. Why, blood will flow in our streets, most likely, if you persist in your determination to go on with this draft.” “I cannot answer for what may occur,” slowly and impressively responded the Captain, “beyond the fact that I shall go on with the draft in the morning at the appointed hour. My duty is to obey orders, and it is also the duty of all good citizens to respect and obey the laws. If we are to have bloodshed I shall not commence it; and if riotous proceedings take place I shall do my best to enforce order, and I believe I shall be able to do so. At any rate I will do my part, and if any disturbance follows those who incite it must answer for the consequences.” The situation was critical, and no one knew this better than did Captain Emerson. He had a list of the fault-finders and turbulent “anti-drafters,” and knew what threats had been made and who made them. But, better than all, he had a goodly company of invalid soldiers ready at hand, armed and equipped, prepared to compel peace at the point of the bayonet. The cool and dignified bearing of the provost-marshal did much to quiet the anxious and awe the would-be disturbers. The facts were that he did not “scare,” as one of the Democrats phrased it, “worth a cent.” The draft took place as ordered, and a quieter town could not be found anythere (sic). It was even painfully still, as though a funeral was taking place. Captain Emerson had inspired both fear and confidence by this tact and courage, and the embers of what at one time threatened to burst into a glaze of party fury died out utterly.

For convenience sake the draft took place in the historic old county clerk’s office on Court street. It was so small that only a few could be admitted, but enough of both parties were called in to examine the cards and rolls to insure full and unquestioned evidence of the perfect fairness of the operation. The manner of conducting the draft was briefly as follows: After a satisfactory comparison of the rolls and cards the latter were placed in the “wheel” through a little trap door, and then this was closed. The supervisor of the town being drafted was generally invited to turn the wheel, thus shaking up the cards thoroughly. A blindfolded boy was then allowed to open the slot, reach in his hand, and take out one card. This was handed to the official in charge, and the name and number on it was read aloud at the door, for the benefit of the deeply anxious crowd outside. This name was put down, the card checked and filed, and thus the operation was repeated until a sufficient number of names had been drafted to fill the quota.

There never was the slightest ground for any complaint, so far as the drafting process was concerned, in our district. Some curious results, however, came out of the “wheel,” as the circular box used for drafting was called. At Evans Mills a club of young men was formed for mutual protection in case one of their number was drafted. When it took place nearly every one of them was drafted! In one town in our county, having a Democratic supervisor, six veterans, who had reenlisted in the field, sent home to have their bounty of $300 paid to them from this town. As they had been credited already to the town this supervisor thought he had them sure and fast, and refused to pay over their bounty. This caused a row, of course, and the outcome of it all was that Captain Emerson got an order to credit these six men to a town that stood ready to pay the bounty due, and this was done quickly and gladly by the supervisor of Watertown. Word was sent to ________that a draft for six men would take place the next week. A clap of thunder from a clear sky could not have made more commotion than did this order. The town was up in arms against their foolish supervisor. Curses long and loud fell upon him. The day of the draft nearly every man liable to its claims was on hand. These crowded one of our offices in the Safford block, and after the examination of the rolls, etc., had been satisfactorily made the draft commenced. The supervisor was invited inside the railing, as were several prominent citizens of the town, to see that all was properly done. After three men had been drafted Captain Emerson, noticing the pale face of the supervisor, invited him to turn the wheel. He did so, reversing it twice or three times, and giving it a good shaking up. “Put in your hand and take out a card,” said the Captain. The supervisor did so, handing it to the officer conducting the operations. When the name was read out it was the supervisor’s. He had drafted himself! A great, angry shout of approval went up from his disgusted neighbors and townspeople, as the poor man sank back in his chair, pale as though mortally wounded by a shot from the enemy in battle. The comments made by those present were far from comforting, and he sat half dazed until the draft was over and many had gone out of the room. It cost him $1,500 to get a substitute, the unwilling price of pig-headed meanness and folly.

The “draft” was an efficient way to fill quotas, but in our Congressional district only a small percentage were drafted. The able supervisors of the several towns--each being selected for useful service--succeeded in largely making up their quotas through substitutes and volunteers. The bounties raised by the various towns amounted to large sums, but these were paid cheerfully. The town of Ellisburgh, in Jefferson County, wiped off its indebtedness in one year, the tax rate being seven per cent!

It can be truthfully and deservedly claimed for the officials in the provost-marshal’s office in Watertown that they very efficiently did their whole duty as honest and patriot men. They were all intensely in earnest in the work committed to their hands. In no district was the discipline better or the reputation superior, in all that contributed to the public confidence in the provost-marshal’s office. Many of the subordinates had been tried in battle; several were suffering from serious wounds. Lieut. McOmber, Brayton C. Bailey, S. Harvey Simmons, Lieut. I. P. Woddell, Louis C. Greenleaf, James P. Kirby, and Albert D. Shaw were all veterans, each having volunteered at the commencement of the war, and either served two years, the term of enlistment, or had been discharged on account of wounds or disability. Bailey carried a bullet in his head, having received a severe wound at the second battle of Bull Run.

An honorable and highly valuable public service was rendered by Captain Emerson and his subordinates in a very trying period of the nation’s history, and in a manner reflecting the greatest credit upon them all. They filled the measure of a patriotic duty without fear and without favor, and brought no reproach upon the fair name and fame of the 20th Congressional district. It is fitting and altogether proper, therefore, that a brief record of this perilous era in the history of Jefferson County should have a place in this Gazetteer, for the work performed was in every way well done.

The following communication from the War Department will show that an effort to secure a complete list of the enrolling officers from the files of that office was unavailing. The records of the provost-marshal’s office in Watertown were all turned over to the proper authorities at Washington, and no duplicates were retained. This will explain the regretted omission in this instance: --

“WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON CITY, November 21, 1889.

“Sir: In reply to your communication of the 19th instant, requesting to be furnished the names of the enrolling officers of the 20th Congressional District of New York, I am directed by the Secretary of War to state that the Board of Enrollment for the 20th Congressional District of New York was organized under the enrollment act of March 3, 1863, on the 19th day of May, 1863, headquarters at Watertown, N. Y., with the following members: --

“Frederick Emerson, captain and provost-marshal; Arthur Pond, commissioner; Dr. Edward S. Walker, surgeon.

“The district embraced the counties of Jefferson, Lewis, and Herkimer, and was subdivided for the enrollment and draft purposes into fifty-eight (58) sub-districts, with an enrolling officer for each. R. H. Huntington was enrolling officer for Adams, first sub-district (Jefferson County), and C. Ackerman for Winfield, 58th sub-district (Herkimer County.)

“The following subordinate officers also appear during April, 1865 (latest returns): --

“James J. Cook, deputy provost-marshal; James B. Phillips, deputy provost-marshal; James P. Kirby, special agent; Albert D. Shaw, special agent; Dr. Charles Goodale, assistant surgeon.

“Enrolling officers were but per diem employees, and constantly being changed during the period of the war, making it impossible to furnish a complete list from the official records at this time.

Very respectfully,

“F. E. AINSWORTH,

“Captain and Asst.-Surgeon U. S. Army.”

(This concludes the section, “War for the Union,” as it appeared in Hamilton Child’s “Gazetteer of Jefferson County, N. Y., published in 1890.)