Spencer Kellogg Brown: his life in Kansas and his death as a spy, 1842-1863, by Spencer Kellogg Brown

St. Louis, Missouri, May 27, 1861.

Dear Father: I heard from you Saturday, and, hearing there was to be a payment to-day, put off writing so as to have the means to repay you the debt you paid Newman.

I am well, and prospects are continually brightening for me. I think enlisting will prove one of the most fortunate things that I could have done. I expect to call for a furlough in a week or two, which my captain (T. W. Sweeney) has signified his willingness to give me. Let me here acknowledge the receipt of three papers from Chicago, for which I am obliged.

I have just returned from the United States Express office, where I sent you six dollars, which you can get by calling for it. Charges paid.

You will hear all about the Camp Jackson expedition in the papers, but if you wish my account you must apply to Kitty. I have a good situation now, company clerk, and mean to hold it, if possible. There is not much to do, and very easy times. If I do not get a furlough I shall send the balance of my pay to Rock, to buy a heifer with—at least, I think so now. If I get the furlough I am going South, and will probably return married to age and money. I contemplated, at first, very seriously, getting a discharge, but, on account of the fine prospect offered me to stay, I concluded I should only want a furlough. For the present, therefore, I shall not trouble about my discharge, and I have no doubt will eventually spend much of my life in the service. Of course my prospects are something better than those of a common soldier, although we are now leading a most particularly lazy life.

My friends here are very kind, and seem to find it difficult to do enough for me. I can only repay them with gratitude.

If you wish me to get your answer, it must come by return mail, or thereabouts. Please acknowledge receipt of package.

P. S.—Adding the Brown to my name now would result in considerable inconvenience and some shame: so it’s no use.

My Dear Son: I was in St. Louis, on the 15th ult., with Fanny, en route, missing your Mother on the river. Your Aunt Mary received a letter informing us, we supposed, of your arrival at Litchfield. I am very sorry, as I could have seen you, and learned your views and desires much better than by letter. . . . Five acres in spring wheat I left looking well. Rockwell has planted garden, potatoes, carrots, and corn,  Mr. A—— doing the ploughing for him. They have  a cow and calf, two pigs, and fowls. There were no late frosts, and fruits look well. Have had plenty of rain. Cistern is full. … I have delayed writing to you, as I did not know how to address you, supposing you had taken on your full name again. Why longer leave off the Brown? . . . Write me news of your captain, etc., etc. . . . Lane went to Kansas to raise several regiments of cavalry, under the auspices of Government, by State authority. Eleven regiments are raised, or to be raised. We read with great interest Captain Lyon’s capture of Frost’s band of rebels, and feel not a little gratified that my son should be allowed to participate in so bold and important a move for disarming and disbanding State treason.

Write me the particulars, and how things look to you from that standpoint. The Government is making very formidable preparations to put down the rebellion. . . . Missouri will be held to her allegiance, and her loyal citizens will be protected. . . . Large numbers of volunteers, more than could be received, have been offered. The regulars will fare much better than the volunteers, and, if you remain in the service, it is far better to be in the regular army in that particular. Of your standing truly and faithfully by your country’s flag in this its hour of greatest peril I cannot doubt for a moment; and that God will protect your life and health is my daily prayer.”

I received yours of May 2d this morning. I regret that you did not see Spencer. You were misled by Abigail’s letter, where she mentions Kitty and Spencer coming. She meant Ambrose Spencer, who went out with Kitty. . . .

Spencer seemed sad, and we thought he wished to get away. I had written you to go to him, and you thought you could not; so I resolved to go myself, and came away a month earlier, at least, than I should have done, to be sure and see him and do what I could for him. As for his name, I certainly am not pleased with his course about that; but, as he has enlisted as Spencer Kellogg, he does not, probably, find a convenient time to make it right. My friends in St. Louis understand about it and call him Spencer Brown. Spencer has no intimacy or interchange whatever with officers, to explain or recommend himself. Mr. Cozzens has acquaintance and influence with them, and you can do nothing, very well, except through him. You would enjoy his acquaintance much. … He had the impression that I was Captain Brown’s¹ wife (the only Osawatomie Brown he had any knowledge of) until father went there. . . .

He did not relish the idea of my marrying Captain Brown. … I wrote you a letter from St. Louis to Osawatomie, which you did not receive, telling you all about Spencer and my visit there. . . . He felt very bad about some things. He felt so much the want of education, and said that he had neither trade nor education. He would have thought best to leave there if anything else were in view. I do not know about his being a volunteer, but I never was pleased with his enlisting. . . . They were very much interested in him and about him at Mr. Cozzens’s, and would be glad to do anything for him.

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¹ John Brown of Harper’s Ferry fame.

My Dear Wife: I am in receipt of yours from Osawatomie of the 22d ultimo. I did hope to see you ere you went West, but missed you on the river; also failed to see Spencer, supposing him to be in Utica, and having only money enough to bring us here, Fanny at half-fare. … If the war goes on, in the Volunteer service Spencer might get some promotion, but where he is perhaps it is doubtful. As I am so entirely in the dark, I am not prepared to act, or judge of what is best, and must wait until I hear from you again. Here all is bustle and busy preparation for a vigorous and protracted war. The whole nation can now see something of the Kansas struggle with Pro-Slavery power. This move is looked upon as leading to the final overthrow of slavery. … I cannot say when I leave here. May go down to see Spencer, when I hear from you. I am pleased that he is now occupying so important a position in the defence of the Government property at St. Louis. I should be quite willing to have him volunteer if he were not now in the service. I am very anxious to hear from him, but don’t wish to put him in a false position by writing before I can learn something of the facts. … I can see no good reason for leaving off his surname,¹ as he is now safe from ‘Border Ruffian’ violence. Spencer has committed no crime, and now is safe, and no longer needs to disown a name which is immortalized by the heroism of John Brown.”

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¹ He had enlisted as Spencer Kellogg, dropping the Brown.

Dear Father: Grandpa received your letter, saying that you were in Chicago, a day or two since. We think that Mother and Lily must be in Osawatomie by this time—but we can only conjecture, as we have heard from her but once since she left. She was then at St. Louis. She stayed at William Cozzens’s— that is, when he found that she was in the city he came to the hotel where she was and insisted upon her accompanying him home. He then went for Spencer, who got leave of absence, with some difficulty—making Mother a call of an hour or two in length. When he left, Mother wrote a note to the officer, requesting permission for him to spend the next day, which was Sunday, with her.

This was granted, and she thought that the visit did him much good—the change of diet, society, and scenery—and it appeared as if he would devour Lily. I felt so disappointed that you did not see him at St. Louis. I am exceedingly anxious to hear from Mother. I cannot imagine what she will do. Grandpa is quite distressed about her going, and in these critical times, too: but she was so anxious to see the children, and she supposed they would remain there.

What a mistake that was about Spencer’s being at Litchfield! That was Uncle Spencer. Dear child! I only wish it had been so. Grandpa wishes you had stopped to see William Cozzens in St. Louis, even if Spencer had not been in that place, for you would have enjoyed the visit, he says, as that gentleman has a beautiful place, and he would have been very glad to see you. He took a great fancy to Spencer. There is a great state of excitement here about the war. I was out, for the first time in several days, this morning, with some friends, to see the ‘Utica Citizens’ Corps,’ and our brave volunteers—who are among the first young men in the city—some of them mere boys. Many companies were in zouave costume, and although an imposing and interesting spectacle it was a very sad one. . . .

Your affectionate daughter,

K

Osawatomie, Kansas, April 22, 1861.

My Dear Husband: Ascertaining at St. Louis that you had not been there, and, through Mr. Bailey, that you had not been in Chicago, I flattered myself that I should get here before you left. I was greatly disappointed when told at Kansas City that we had missed each other on the river. I wished very much to see you before you left, yet I am rejoiced that you could get away; also that you have taken Fanny. She ought to go to school. I had reasons for wishing to come back which I did not wish to commit to paper, but I would gladly have conferred with you. I believe I am acting judiciously.

. . . I came sooner than I intended, and without delay on the way, as I wished to see Spencer. I did see him daily while I was in St. Louis, and it was a great satisfaction to me. I hope you saw him. I had not sent you his last letters, because I was expecting soon to bring them to you. If you called on Mr. Cozzens you heard from Spense in St. Louis. I was there nearly a week, and had a very pleasant visit. . . . The weather is very warm, but windy, as usual. We had a thunder-shower this morning—not very much rain, however. The garden looks beautiful, and I hope we shall soon be able to get along and make it comfortable for you when you come back. I heard there was to be an effort to raise a Secession flag in Kansas City, yesterday. . . . Will you forward this letter to Utica, when you have read it, as I cannot write any more to-day, and they will wish to hear from me? . . . Send these flowers to Grandpa; Lily has just picked them.

St. Louis Arsenal, Missouri, April 2, 1861.

Dear K——:… I want to tell you about  I—–n, our second sergeant. I—–n and myself  struck up an acquaintance at Newport, Kentucky; but at Jefferson, from circumstances, this acquaintance was necessarily interrupted, and when we came to the arsenal I succeeded in doing something that angered him. So, the acquaintance hasn’t progressed much here. But during the last two weeks, or thereabouts, we have been on somewhat better terms, and I am now in the squad of men under his charge. I—–n is a fine looking fellow, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years of age, with a most peculiar turn of mind, generous, and so just that having power he does not abuse it. He has also a most reserved manner, making no friends, admitting but few acquaintances. At Newport I used frequently to sit upon the side of his bunk, while, most curiously, he would speculate upon the small amount it would take to set up a small farm upon which one could earn a nice living, sojourning betimes in the neatest of little white cottages, with the prettiest of graceful little women. ‘What is the matter with I—–n?’ thought I. ‘What is his main point?’ ‘What has made him so misanthropic, and so reserved?’ But last week I think I found out the reason. I will not tell you what I think it was, but only the incident which made me think I knew.

I happened to speak of wanting to be transferred to the artillery, and he inquired my reasons. I told him that I liked the service better, and that I had a friend—he interrupted me with a violent exclamation, at the same time striking the bench upon which we were sitting with his clinched fist. ‘There is no such thing as a friend,’ he said. The reason of the remark struck me in a moment, and I could not help saying, ‘You didn’t always think so.’ In less than a minute after he went away, with some half-spoken excuse. But since then he has been very much more cordial and pleasant, and a day or so afterward we were divided into squads, and when I fell to his squad I had to leave my old abiding-place and take up my sojourn in a strange land, which happened to be the next bed but  one to where I—–n slept. ‘Why don’t you take  this place?’ said he, pointing to a place still nearer to his bed than where I was. ‘The bed was my bunky’s,’ I began,’ and I—’ He cut me rather short: ‘Oh, it doesn’t make any difference to me, but I thought you wouldn ‘t like to sleep so near that B—–.’

I smiled inwardly. I think I was pleased. What difference was it to him whether I slept near B—– or  not, and why so much anxiety to excuse a little apparent interest? We’ll see by-and-bye. So ends this little episode for the present.

St. Louis Arsenal, Missouri, March 25, 1861.

Dear Sister: I came off guard the day after I received your letter, and, getting a pass to go into town, I only had time to write part of a letter to Matie, which letter I inclose for you to give her, giving her the preference because I felt more like writing to her than to you—you understand? You may read it, or not, as you please. If you see her, give it to her; if not, please inclose and send it. You cannot understand what an intense longing some of us poor sinners have for some ladies’ society; and next to that will be receiving a letter occasionally from a girl such as I believe Matie to be.

Pay-day has come and gone, making life here, to me, but so much harder. While I had no money I was contented; now I begin to have longings. I shall go to South America, first you know!

I have spent five dollars since pay-day, and in its place I have now gloves, chess-men, stamps, capcover, pocket-inkstand, writing-paper, pocket-knife, and porte-monnaie; besides some other things that I did have but haven’t now—in one sense at least. It is impossible to keep stamps—only look: I bought six stamped envelopes (twenty-five cents) three or four days since, and you sent me one; well, one friend has the stamp, and three or four of the envelopes my chum,  O ‘C—–, must have. It’s no use to talk of refusing—’twould be cutting my own throat. There, one whom I would oblige as a friend; here, one who lent me paper.  O’C—– would not refuse me anything that he has.  Comically enough, and unusually, too, he likes me better than I like him. I record the thing because it does not happen every day. So, if you want to hear from me regularly, you must send me a stamp. Keep account of them, and next pay-day I’ll send them back.

You ought to have seen how miserable I was last night. I had just come off guard, and, getting a pass, rambled round St. Louis a good share of the afternoon. Well, I was pretty tired, and when my friend  C—– , who has been in desperate trouble for months,  came to tell me about a letter setting it all right, and showed me a fine ambrotype, and some brown hair, fine and soft as silk, why, of course, I was feeling the contrast, and was proportionately wretched. Tis the first time I have given way since I left home, and there was a good deal pent up, you see. Well, I have partially recovered this morning—enough at least to clean out my gun (I just now am interrupted by an application for a postage-stamp, and ‘twon ‘t do to refuse the cook, you know—he could almost starve you, if he liked), and finish my letter to Matie, besides writing you one.

Tell Mother that I will write to her once a week, if she will send a stamp, although I cannot help being ‘shoppy.’ I shall probably make an application to be transferred to the detachment of artillery that C—– belongs to. I shall let you know the result.