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His fear likely had merit, given Jesse’s stepfather had been hanged from a tree by Union militiamen who wanted information about Confederates.

In a letter to newspapers, Jesse claimed innocence, saying they fled due to fear of being lynched by Unionists. The James brothers were suspected, and when a posse arrived at their family farm, the two brothers burst from a barn on horseback, firing their guns while escaping. Not for a big payday but because Jesse shot and killed the cashier, former Captain John Sheets, confusing him for a different Union captain who had killed the ruthless Confederate guerilla leader, Bloody Bill Anderson. It was the bank robbery in Gallatin, Missouri, during December 1869 that made Jesse famous. It’s not clear that the James brothers committed each crime they were credited with, but they were certainly involved in some of them. Another bank was robbed in Russellville, Kentucky, in 1868. Next came a bank in Richmond, Missouri, where three citizens were killed during a shootout. The first was a bank in Liberty, Missouri, in February 1866.

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Among these murderous raiders were later bandits like the infamous Frank and Jesse James.Īfter the war, as entrenched political violence lingered throughout Missouri, a series of daring robberies began, with the targets typically being Unionist-controlled enterprises. One such band of Confederates was the ruthless Quantrill’s Raiders, who traded vengeful atrocities with pro-Union guerillas. Learning more about the outlaw history of the region only deepened my curiosity.ĭuring the Civil War, a community of Irish immigrants vanished amid the violence of guerilla warfare fought throughout the border states. Ever since, I wanted to explore the interior on foot.

I learned about the 16,227-acre Irish Wilderness years ago, when passing through on my first paddling trip down the Eleven Point National Scenic River.

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Demonstrated by all the spider webs, plus poison ivy encroaching on the branch-strewn trail, most people don’t hike in the Ozarks during midsummer. in early July and I’m already sweating through long pants and sleeves. I’m hiking the Whites Creek Trail through dense woods of the Irish Wilderness in the southeastern Missouri Ozarks. Before I think to stop walking, I stumble through another web and repeat the entire process. Hoping the sneaky web-spinner didn’t hop inside, I flip open the hood of my hiking shirt. I windmill my arms, untangling myself from a dense spider web. The first smack to the face feels like an ambush.

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