AT THE SACK OF LAWRENCE, KANSAS.
"Wherefore this tangle of perplexities,
The trouble or the joys? the weary maze
Of narrow fears and hopes, that may not cease,
A chill falls on us from the skiey ways,
Black with the night-tide where is none to hear
The ancient cry, the wherefore of our days."
The years come and go, and they give birth to bright and tender
dreams, as well as to passions dark as Azrael's wing, and fierce as
flames of Tophet. Yes, the years give joy and peace to some, and
hope buds, as in the spring days the lilacs bloom. Yet time digs
deep graves in which to bury our fondest hopes, and obliterates in
indistinguishable night every earthly joy. It is better so. If we
could draw aside the screen which hides from our ken the things of
the future, who of us would enjoy the prospect?
There was a time, perhaps, when Frank and Jesse James would shudder
at the thought that they should become not only soldier-slayers of
men, but robbers and murderers as well. And yet they were drifting
down a rapid tide toward the great black gulf of evil. A few
months calls the leaves from their buds, and dresses the forest in
green--a few months more and the leaves and flowers wither before
the North wind's breath and the beautiful flowers and the gay
leaves become loathesome in the dust of decay.
And so too, we imagine, are the changes of mind and the
transformation of character. The James boys were in a school where
the gentle law of mercy was never imparted; in a school where the
instructors were incarnations of bitterness and hate, and every
pupil devoted to the lessons they gave out. So the months rolled
away and it was not long before they could listen unmoved to the
last sigh of the dying victim, and send a foe before the aim of
their unerring bullets, to challenge the sentinels on the farther
shore of the river of death without a thought or tremor of remorse.
They were fit now to take part in the most sanguinary warfare ever
waged in this country--the Guerrilla warfare along the border of
Missouri.
It was therefore without any twinges of conscience that they heard
the proposition of the revengeful Quantrell, to capture and sack
the city of Lawrence and massacre its male inhabitants. They were
in the transforming stage, the full grown desperadoes were just
coming along the steps of time from the closet of the future.
It was a night in August--the 16th--1863, when the commander of
the fiercest band of Guerrillas that ever marauded in the State
of Missouri, gave the order, "Saddle up, men!" in his camp on the
Blackwater, and unfurling that ominous black banner with the single
relief of the word "Quantrell" in white, the bush-warriors rode
west toward the Kansas border, intent upon a mission which could
neither succeed nor suffer repulse without bringing sorrow to many
hearts. On the way three peaceable citizens beyond the Aubrey, were
pressed into service as guides to the bloody band. They forced
these to lead them until they had reached a part of the country
where their knowledge extended no further, and when they came
to a grove of timber on the margin of a stream, the three poor
inoffensive men were remorsely shot, Frank James being one of the
executioners. They had set out to kill all Kansas men.
[Illustration: After Lawrence.]
On the morning of the 21st, it was as clear and bright a summer
morning as ever gladdened the earth. Quantrell's band was in full
view of the ill-fated city. There was a charge, women's faces
blanched, and shrieks rent the air. Volley after volley broke the
stillness of the morning. The people saw the sombre black flag, and
knew that the Guerrillas were upon them. On they came, a resistless
tide. Men sank down without a groan. The very streets ran red in
human blood. Women and children, coming before the fatal revolver
bullets which streamed along the street, met their fate as they
fled for the shelter of homes that were destined for the flames to
feed upon. In this pandemonium of war-fiends, Frank and Jesse James
were conspicuous actors. Here, there, everywhere, when opportunity
offered, men either armed or unarmed and defenseless were made
victims of their skill as pistol shooters, and they felt no more
regret than if they had been acting the part of honorable soldiers
and chevaliers. The torch was applied, and the terrors of billowy
flames were added to the horrors of the scene. How many houses they
burned, and how many lives they destroyed that day, they themselves
do not know; of the first there were several, of the second there
were many.
They returned with Quantrell to Missouri. They had learned well.
The lads who are claimed by their friends to have been gentle as
cooing doves in the home nest had been singularly transformed into
merciless eagles, or vindictive kites, rather. They had proved that
human rights and human lives had little to call for their regard,
and so the first stage of a notorious career had been attained by
these brothers ere yet they had reached their majority.