Historical Baker Plantation House - History
Standing silently now with her back turned disdainfully to the noise of Interstate 70, the Plantation House stares out at Booneslick Road. The road, too, has changed from dirt to pavement, but at least this view is similar to a past dimly remembered. A past filled with the joyful laughter of many children in her halls and on her porches, the sadness of the death watches as bodies were laid out in her parlor before there were funeral homes in the area, the fear as armies came to harm her inhabitants, the loneliness as child after child left to seek a profession only to come back to her to await their death, and finally, the pain as the last inhabitants were without money and resources to take care of her. Her walls sag now as an old skin sags and there are scars on her where the years have taken their toll, but she is still sound under it all.
It was in 1850 that she was conceived in the mind and heart of Sylvester Marian Baker and his master carpenter, John Sparks. The plans were drawn, and the slaves were put to work digging her foundation. Six feet down they dug before it was enough, and then clay from the surrounding land was formed into bricks. At her base, the builders placed a layer of bricks four wide and narrowing to three bricks above ground. Each of her rooms also had a six-foot deep foundation so there would be no danger of her ever falling down. All of her walls are fourteen inches thick and made of bricks and plaster.
Mr. Sparks fashioned the woodwork as the slaves formed the brick. He ordered cherry balustrades from St. Louis and made pine cabinets in three of her rooms. He also fashioned furniture from the walnut and cherry, which grew so plentifully nearby. The floors were made of heart of yellow pine planks, and the walls and ceilings were plastered with horse hair and lime plaster. She was indeed beautiful as well as sturdy. No nails were allowed by Mr. Baker. He wanted her to last, so he had her pegged together. And last she did! She was finished in September, 1853 and stands without a wobble to her stairs or a squeak to her floors.
The years passed, more children were born to the family, and Mr. Baker continued to gain in prominence in the community. He became a member of the state legislature for the Whig Party to insure that the railroad would come through Danville, and although he was Southern, he voted to keep Missouri in the Union. It was because of this vote that the house was almost destroyed.
On October 14, 1864, a moonlit night so clear and bright you could have read a newspaper, "Bloody" Bill Anderson was on his way to Danville with 50-60 of his guerrillas. With muffled horses‚ hooves, they rode right into Danville square, shot down citizens, and started to loot and burn the town.
At the edge of town, stood Danville Female Academy, where Maggie Baker attended school. The students were fearful for their lives and quickly packed trunks to escape the dormitories before the buildings were torched. Some of the girls were more resourceful than others and stood at the fences waving at the guerrillas and calling out to them that they, too, were Southern sympathizers. These girls begged the guerrillas not to burn the buildings. One impudent young woman even offered "Bloody" Bill a kiss for his knife˜she got the knife! Their begging was not in vain, for the school was not burned.
On down the Booneslick Road rode the guerrillas to the house of Sylvester M. Baker. They shouted for him to come out, but Mrs. Baker bravely came to the door carrying her young baby. She told them Mr. Baker was not home, but they were welcome to search the house. She had already hidden the slaves and the other seven children in the field to the rear of the house. The guerrillas searched the house, rode their horses through the foyer, and took whatever they wanted. After setting the mattress from Mrs. Baker‚s bed on fire and torching the parlor floor, they rode off toward New Florence. Calling her ten-year-old son, David, Mrs. Baker was trying to put out the fire when one of the guerrillas returned. He ordered David to fetch him the holster and pistols he had left in the baby‚s cradle, took the baby to the safety of the yard, and put out the fires. Promising Mrs. Baker she would not be bothered again that night, he left. The scorch mark remains on the floor to this day as a symbol of Mrs. Baker‚s bravery.
Yes, the house holds this memory as well as the memory of Union soldiers who camped across the road and skirmished with the Southerners. They fired a cannon at her walls, and the ball remains in her side today. She also has holes in her front wall where a pistol was fired and the bullets smashed into her bricks. The soldiers marked her mantle with their swords and tramped through her halls with muddy boots. They drank from her wells and watered their horses from the 30,000-gallon jug well dug by slaves in 1820 when the only building on the site was the Wright Tavern.
Finally, the war was over. The railroad bypassed Danville by five miles, and the town continued its demise started by Anderson's burning of the town square. The county seat was moved to Montgomery City, and with that move, Danville‚s end was certain.
Today, the house stares out on Booneslick Road where several cars a day go past. Down the road, Danville is but a ghost of its former splendor with only a few houses and fewer businesses. Few of the present buildings would remember the Civil War, but the Baker Plantation House remembers. The burn marks are still on the setting room floor, the saber marks are still in the mantle, and the bullet holes are still in the outside walls. As the House remembers, so should we. This part of history should never be taken from the citizens of this country. We should never forget that once upon a time brother fought against brother and neighbor killed neighbor. Especially here in Missouri, where division was more prominent during the Civil War than anywhere else, we should be forced to remember so that we never make the same mistakes. Baker Plantation House stands as a monument to the Bakers who dreamt her, the architect who constructed her, the slaves and servants who tended her, but most of all, to the war that made her a historic relic. As you look upon her today, remember that era as one of great craftsmanship as well as one of great destruction and appreciate all that she was and still is.
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