What does it mean to pay for a free man? There are many answers to this question, two completely different sides to the coinciding story, and the resolutions conflict with one another. The story behind a Claim for Compensation for Enlisted Slave offers some perspective to the root of multi-century racial conflict, which is now especially relevant when we consider modern-day events from across the United States. Worth attributed to black lives began with slavery, and became more complex once African Americans gained their freedom. The very idea initiating a Claim for Compensation for Enlisted slave is that black lives are value in measurable economic worth—not a measure of humanity. If we understand slavery as the seed of the issue, then in order to understand the scope of this racial relationship we must look at the root—starting with the connection between a former slaveholder and his former slave. These were two men that came from two worlds and two separate sides of an American tragedy: the issue of slavery in the American South.

My examination of this story begins with the relationship of the “protagonists”—Horace Kingsbury, a prominent Missouri slaveholder, and Albert Cavanaugh, one of the seven male slaves Kingsbury lost to the enlistment of black men into the United States Colored Troops. The relationship between master and slave never changed for Kingsbury, just as it remained the same for many former slaveholders. Just two years after Cavanaugh’s departure from his master’s grasp, Kingsbury attempted to lay his legal claim on the former slave once more. On November 8, 1866, in Cooper County, Missouri, Horace Kingsbury filed a Claim for Compensation for Enlisted Slave stating that he was owed financial restitution for Cavanaugh despite his free status. Due to a series of political compromises, Kingsbury’s right to file a claim was not only legal, but common among former pro-slavery unionists in the border states. Starting with Union army general John Schofield’s General Order 135, which “Provided for the enlistment of any able-bodied black man—free or slave—regardless of the loyalty of the slave’s master, granted freedom to slaves who enlisted, and promised compensation to loyal masters” (Berlin, Fields et al. 408).

General Order 135 was just a precursor to the actions and events that would lead to the Claim for Compensation of Enlisted Slave form, and it resonated negatively with the Missouri antislavery radicals. Black recruitment became the charge of army provost marshals, many of whom came from the Missouri slaveholding class. As military recruitment was the one way for border state slaves to gain a valid approach to freedom, many recruiting officers had no interest in supporting the cause. Furthermore, Schofield’s strict regulations in the system “limited the number of slave volunteers and hampered efforts to employ recruitment as a vehicle of wholesale liberation” (Berlin, Fields et al. 410). General Order 135 was a staple in the conflicting ideals of allowing black men to enlist in the army while simultaneously allowing the slaveholding class to continue asserting ownership of newly freed human beings. Seven of Horace Kingsbury’s male slaves left his property for the opportunity to become one of the many black men that would fight for a country that held them captive. Because their loss was felt for Kingsbury economically, he felt the need to capitalize on their desperation to be free. Slaveholders often did not think of blacks as anything other than their property, and their identity as upper-class citizens depended on it. They “cohered as a ruling class on the basis of their ownership of human beings. From an opportunistic reliance upon slaves as the most convenient laborers available during the seventeenth century, they progressed to a commitment to slavery as a social system,” (Fox-Genovese and Genovese 211). The entire social hierarchy that slavery supplied before the Civil War was perpetuated by the actions of the ruling class, and the Claim for Compensation for Enlisted Slave became one more documentation of the enslavement of African Americans.

The Master

Dr. Horace Kingsbury was born on April 7, 1813, in Randolph County, North Carolina. He immigrated with his family to Missouri in 1817. Not much is known about his childhood, but there are records of a marriage to Eliza Ann Brashear in 1832. The two had six children together before she passed away in her sleep in 1857. Kingsbury married again in 1866 to Mary A. Chandler. There is mention of a second wife named Isabina prior to Kingsbury’s marriage to Mary Chandler in the 1883 publication History of Howard and Cooper Counties, Missouri, but I found no legal records of the marriage. Horace Kingsbury became Dr. Horace Kingsbury in 1847, when he graduated from the Eclectic Medical Institution in Cincinnati, Ohio. He purchased 44.1 acres of farmland—now affectionately known by locals as Cedar Grove, in Howard County, Missouri sometime in 1851. This is the same year in which Albert Cavanaugh was purchased from one William H. Griggs. Horace Kingsbury’s home on Cedar Grove, called the Dr. Horace Kingsbury House, was finished in 1856.

Missouri profited from a “well-developed” economy dependent on slavery, and Kingsbury’s personal affluence was no exception (Berlin, Fields et al. 395). According to the 1980 National Register of Historic Places Inventory Nomination form filed for Cedar Grove, Horace Kingsbury owned twenty-two slaves by the start of the American Civil War, making him one of the largest slave owners in Missouri (Derendinger 9). They resided in the “servant’s quarters, which is now in poor shape,” (Derendinger 4). At least seven of his slaves enlisted in the Union army between 1863 and 1865. One of these men was 30-year-old Albert Cavanaugh, for whom Kingsbury requested financial compensation in 1866. The complete abolishment of slavery in Missouri was a slow moving process that required strategically-planned movements from the government. Missouri’s free labor economy was on the rise, causing panic in slave owners. The election of republican Abraham Lincoln saw the turning point of a state that was already conflicted, as “the sectional crisis turned Missouri into a powder keg, and Abraham Lincoln’s election touched off the explosion” (Berlin, Fields, et al. 395). Both proslavery and antislavery Missourians began to lobby for their respective causes. After the start of the Civil War, Lincoln appointed extreme antislavery official General John C. Fremont to Missouri command.

Kingsbury was reportedly known for living a very Christian life. His story, featured in the History of Howard and Cooper Counties, Missouri, describe him as living a “useful and honorable life and died a Christian death. No nobler epitaph can be written for the dead.” Despite his spotless reputation, Kingsbury was one of the biggest slave owners in Missouri. He measured his profits in human capital.

Many Southerners had deep-rooted Christian beliefs, and “true southern men were Christians who exhibited godliness and piety; they displayed devotion to duty and were committed to protecting their families and the Christian community, as well as the institution of slavery” (Steward 72). Southern Christians easily justified the practice of slaveholding after 1820, when Southern social ideals were being formed (Fox-Genovese and Genovese 223). The boom in evangelism in the South contributed to this immense defense of slavery, as many evangelical pastors were slaveholders themselves. “Good Christian” slaveholders did not mistreat their slaves in terms of physical or sexual abuse, but called for the masters that did to be severely punished. Still, throughout the duration of the war Christian slaveholders did not sway their beliefs. 

Confederate evangelists warned that if a proud and sinful southern people did not repent and reform, it would face the judgment of a God of Wrath. But to the bitter end, they denied that slavery was inherently sinful and argued that all human institutions lay open to abuse and injustice. Slavery as a social relation was ordained of God, who thereby charged the masters with a heavy responsibility toward those in their custody. It would be the fault of a sinful people, not of the social system, if those chosen to rule abused their privileges, failed in their Christian responsibilities, and provoked an angry God to withdraw his sanction. (Fox-Genovese and Genovese 222)

Even with the belief that cruel masters should be punished, the enactment of General Order 135 in Missouri invoked the wrath of the masters, not an angry God. Pro-Union slaveholders went to all lengths to keep their slaves from enlisting in the Union army. From threatening the families of eligible men to locking away clothes and shoes in the dead of winter, masters took great strides just to prevent black men from running off in the night. The hostile environment created by the slave owners in Missouri caused much hardship for the families of men who had enlisted—wives and other family members were often abused harshly, outlaws were hired to kill any free blacks on sight, and the wives of soldiers were often refused work in Missouri’s emerging free labor economy. Many of Missouri’s slave owners would threaten any employers who would dare hire a black person for pay, especially if that person was currently or had been a former slave.

Kingsbury suffered a $25,000 setback after his slaves were emancipated, but his investments and agricultural practices quickly allowed him to gain back the profit lost. No known evidence exists that Kingsbury mistreated his slaves in the way many Missouri owners were known for throughout the war. He did not, at least, sell Cavanaugh’s wife and children, nor does it appear that he locked up the clothes of his slaves, as seven of his men enlisted in the United States Colored Troops. Still, he sought fit to file compensation for a life and labor that never should have been his to claim. Albert Cavanaugh was willing to sacrifice his life to fight for people like Kingsbury in order to gain his independence, and while we have a detailed history of the lives of all the men like Kingsbury, the legacies of the Albert Cavanaughs of the world have suffered.

The Claim for Compensation for Enlisted Slave document looks vastly different from the condensed, thick black boxes and pages of instruction now common in modern-day government paperwork. The print is slightly smaller and not quite as bold, though clearly legible. Where modern-day government forms have black boxes with bold and capitalized print, this 1866 application only has dotted lines for which the applicant must provide information. Instead of providing a social security number and date of birth, Kingsbury simply had to write his name and declare his loyalty to his country. The claim is split into two halves—the first requiring all the information needed to prove that Kingsbury did indeed have a slave join the Union army. Kingsbury was required to list his own name and place of residence. He also had to include the name of his slave, Albert Cavanaugh, the place of enlistment, and the regiment with which Cavanaugh served—a piece of information that Kingsbury left completely blank. The second half of the document serves as insurance of Horace’s allegiance to the Union throughout the duration of the civil war. Horace attested that he had “never joined, or been concerned in any insurrection or rebellion…” and that he “will continue to support and defend the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic” (“Application of Horace Kingsbury” 4). Kingsbury’s oath of allegiance was signed in Boonville, Missouri by two witnesses, presumably his business partners or friends.

Kingsbury crossed out the first line of the document: “I, a loyal citizen…” but instead wrote his name as “Horace Kingsbury, a Loyal citizen…” on the blank space following. Whether he did this out of confusion, or pride, or even to make the sentence structure more coherent is unclear. Considering that Albert Cavanaugh had enlisted almost two years prior to Kingsbury’s claim, it is likely that there was an incentive to cash in on Cavanaugh’s absence. After all the slaves were freed in 1865, Kingsbury “did incur the loss of the value of his slaves, and the cash value of his farm was recorded at half what it had been in 1860,” though, because he did not face an economic setback in terms of his agricultural operation, the financial outcome for his farm-based income was much more optimistic than on typical southern plantations (Derendinger 10). Kingsbury also unsurprisingly spelled “Cavanaugh” differently than is listed on all of Albert’s known records; as Cavanaugh was most likely illiterate, he would have only ever spoken his name to Kingsbury and any of the owners before him. Without knowing the exact way Cavanaugh’s name was spelled, anyone attempting to write it down would have had to rely on sound and assumption. On a record in which Horace Kingsbury grants power of attorney to Isaac C. Dodge, a faded note made in pencil indicates that Kingsbury’s request for compensation was rejected. The reason, even more illegible than the initial note, is listed directly below the verdict as “not enlisted,” because Cavanaugh was rejected from service four days after volunteering. After being turned away from the army, records of Cavanaugh disappear until 1866. Because it was known by the United States Colored Troops that Cavanaugh was not enlisted, it is improbable that Kingsbury knew about Albert’s dismissal. Regardless, the record of Horace Kingsbury’s application exists as a reminder that slaves were not people, they were property.

Little information has been found on Cavanaugh’s existence prior to his sale in 1851. Cavanaugh was born sometime around 1834 in Cooper County, Missouri. He listed himself as a farmhand on his United States Colored Troops volunteer form, which is fitting with Horace Kingsbury’s focus on agricultural investments. Shortly after the turn of the war in favor of the Union, Cavanaugh enlisted in the 67th USCT Infantry on January 11, 1864, near Tipton, Missouri—a 31.2-mile hike from Cedar Grove. Cavanaugh enlisted at a dangerous time for Missouri slaves. Masters did not support the idea of their slaves fighting against them or gaining freedom of any sort. In part due to the extreme hesitation of masters in corroboration with the hope of the government to keep Missouri loyal, the policy prior to General Order 135 was restricted to freemen and slaves of disloyal owners, but “slaves’ determination to enlist and the desire of radicals to expand recruitment and thus hasten emancipation pushed this restrictive policy to its limits,” (Berlin, Reidy, and Rowland 188). This policy was loosened to fit all eligible black males in November of 1863, prior to Cavanaugh’s enlistment in January of 1864.

The 67th Infantry travelled south to Louisiana in March of 1864. Most of the duties of the regiment were to patrol: these men saw almost no action. Apart from one skirmish in Mt. Pleasant Landing, Louisiana, that May, most of the men involved in very little actual battle. The 67th USCT Infantry consolidated with the 65th USCT in July of 1865 due to almost 800 of their men dying of disease. Luckily for Cavanaugh, he was rejected from duty four days after volunteering in light of recruiters discovering some kind of disability. It is very possible that Cavanaugh was already aware of his disability, and that he merely enlisted to gain the freedom that had not yet been awarded to slaves in the border states. However, the practice of provost marshals dismissing black men from service was not wholly uncommon. Many of the recruiting officers in Missouri did not want to see black men in the military and were not enthusiastically recruiting black men. Any black man who had been rejected from service “had no recourse but to return to the tender mercies of the master he had just abandoned or risk apprehension as a runaway,” (Berlin, Reidy, and Rowland 189).  Cavanaugh chose to risk his life in a time that he could have very well been shot on sight for being thought of as a free black or a runaway, but freedom clearly must have meant more to him than the possibility of death. As former slave Fountain Hughes said in one interview, “If I thought, had any idea, that I'd ever be a slave again, I'd take a gun and just end it all right away. Because you're nothing but a dog. You're not a thing but a dog.”

Cavanaugh would have had few options once denied enlistment into the United State Colored Troops. First, he could return to Kingsbury. This option seems unlikely due to the very fact that Kingsbury filed a Compensation for Enlisted Slave form two years after Cavanaugh’s enlistment, with no apparent knowledge of his rejection from the volunteer service. Second, Albert could have made a break for Kansas City, Kansas, where he would be safe from any outlaws hired to kill free or runaway blacks. However, Cavanaugh had a wife and three daughters on Kingsbury’s property, and risking his life as a runaway in Kansas may not have been the best option for his family. The most likely scenario is that Albert Cavanaugh pretended to be a free black and moved to St. Louis:

St. Louis blacks fed, clothed, and sheltered fugitive slaves, and schooled them in the dangers and opportunities of the city. Military authorities and freedmen’s aid societies provided material assistance to newcomers and helped them find employment, often in the free states of the north. (Berlin, Fields et al. 402)

I stumbled across a St. Louis directory from 1865 in which a “colored laborer” named Albert Cavanaugh resided on St. Ange Avenue, which most likely places Cavanaugh in St. Louis after his rejection from enlistment. Life in St. Louis was not easy for most free blacks during the war due to a shortage of free work, but Cavanaugh seems to have been lucky enough to avoid unemployment. St. Louis was one of the only places former slaves would have the opportunity for free labor employment, but “superintendents of contrabands despaired of providing for all their charges. The high cost of food and housing made it difficult for able-bodied adults with few dependents to make ends meet,” (Berlin, Miller, Reidy, and Rowland 561). Many free blacks were sent to work in other Midwestern free states because St. Louis was not big enough for them all. There is no evidence, however, that Cavanaugh ever left the state of Missouri. I am inclined to believe that he left Kingsbury and his family under the notion that he was enlisted in the war as a protection mechanism while he worked and lived alone in St. Louis. At the end of the war, Cavanaugh would be able to change that permanently.

Eight months before Kingsbury filed the compensation claim, Albert Cavanaugh would return to the Franklin, Missouri area for his wife, Harriet Kingsbury, and their three daughters. The two made their marriage legal and christened all three daughters on the same day in the same church on February of 1866. During their enslavement, the marriage of two blacks had no legal standing. Naturally, the legalization of black marriages was cause for joy among African-American romantic partners of the time:

Eager to celebrate publicly relationships that under slaver had been received by backhanded and partial recognition, husbands and wives validated their marriages before clergymen and government officials. In so doing, they not only confirmed the arrival of freedom but also established their unions at law and thereby gained the claims to progeny and property that only marriage could provide. (Berlin and Rowland 155-156)

Albert and Harriet were no exception to the excitement for legal marriage and rights to raise their daughters the way they saw fit. The family remained in the St. Louis area until February 1, 1881—the death date listed on the shared tombstone of Albert and Harriet. The Cavanaughs’ tombstone marks are one of numerous double burial sites in the African-American Greenwood Cemetery in Hillsdale, Missouri. African-American cemeteries become somewhat popularized after the emancipation, when “these practices began to change as segregation blacks and whites became customary at first and later enforced by law,” (Rogers and Kremer 8). Greenwood was the first, and the most popular, of these African-American cemeteries in the St. Louis area. After a decline in upkeep, Greenwood has been a part of a restoration to reclaim African-American history in St. Louis. Many of the patrons buried there are former slaves, and many of their gravestones are eroded and often illegible. These graves have become forgotten with time, making their struggle a story we cannot uncover—much like the details of Albert Cavanaugh’s life.

Conclusion

The lives of black men, and black people in general, were historically measured in terms of value to those who depended on their capital. Whether by masters or military officials, the value of black men was calculated in numbers from the time they became a slave up until after the Civil War. Some would say the worth of black men is sometimes still determined in terms of profitability to society instead of human value. Though former slaves “[w]anted to enlarge their liberty and ensure their independence from their former masters, how they desired to do so and what they meant by freedom were tempered by their previous experiences as well as by the circumstances in which they were enmeshed” (Berlin, Fields et al. xxi).

Slavery was virtually eradicated in Missouri by the summer of 1864 and legally abolished nationally in 1865, but it is undeniable that slavery serves as the basis for the still-tumultuous racial dichotomy in America. Objects like Horace Kingsbury’s Claim for Compensation for Enlisted Slave show us the foundation for a today’s strained cross-racial relationship.

Like all historical tragedies, the struggles of slaver “have owed their ferocity and their tragedy to their embodiment of notions of good, not to their embodiment to conflicting notions of good and evil,” (Fox-Genovese and Genovese 212). For this reason, Albert Cavanaugh is not necessarily the hero of his story nor is Horace Kingsbury the villain. These two men are products of a multi-century hierarchy that placed black men at the bottom of the totem pole. The Claim for Enlisted Slave that Kingsbury filed, and was rejected for, solidifies the idea of Cavanaugh’s monetary worth—no matter that he may have fought and died for a country that physically and systematically enslaved him. Kingsbury’s claim was an attempt to maintain some type of ownership and control over a man who had escaped to freedom long before Kingsbury could catch on. Cavanaugh’s bravery proves that he had something worth more than the dollar amount his owner ascribed to him: the desire to be free.

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