JESSE'S SORTIE AGAINST THE MILITIAMEN.
When the war closed, Jesse James was sorely wounded. It was only
by the most persistent and sureful nursing that he could expect to
recover. When he was able to travel he was furnished transportation
from Lexington to go to Nebraska to join his mother, who was then
a fugitive from her home. It does not appear that he lingered very
long in Nebraska, since we are assured that before the brown leaves
had fallen, Mrs. Samuels had returned to her old home near Kearney,
Clay county, Missouri. This point appears to be conceded by all
who have written concerning them. Jesse's wounds healed slowly--so
slowly that after the lapse of a year he was but just able to ride
on horseback a little. During the summer of 1866 Jesse rode around
the country, but there was still considerable feeling against him,
and he went well armed. Indeed, he always had his pistols "handy to
use." Nothing appears to have disturbed the quiet of his life until
the night of February 18, 1867.
It was a cold night. The ground was covered with a thick mantle
of snow, and the wind blew bitterly cold from the north; the full
moon shone brightly on the glittering garments of mother earth.
Jesse James was at his mother's home near Kearney, Clay county,
tossing under the infliction of a burning fever. His pistols
were loaded and rested beneath his pillow. On that night, five
well-armed and well-mounted militiamen rode to the home of the
James Boys. Dr. Samuels heard the heavy tread of the armed men on
the piazza, and demanded their business. He was told to open the
door. He went up to confer with the sick ex-Guerrilla. He asked
Jesse what should be done. The sick man begged his step-father to
assist him to the window so that he might look out upon the crisp
snow out in the moonlight. He looked with a deeper interest at the
five horses hitched in front of the house. They all had cavalry
saddles on their backs. He knew that they were soldiers, and he
well understood the object of their coming. It was a moment when
decisions must be reached quickly. He had never surrendered, and
he never intended to do so. Hastily dressing himself, he descended
to the floor below with his pistols in his hands. The militiamen,
impatient at the delay of Dr. Samuels in opening the door, had
commenced hammering at the shutter with the butts of their muskets,
all the while calling to Jesse to come down and surrender himself.
They swore they knew he was in the house, and vowed to take him
out dead or alive. Jesse crept softly and close to the door, and
listened attentively until, from the voices, he thought he could
get an accurate aim. He raised a heavy dragoon pistol, placed the
muzzle to within three inches of the upper panel of the door, and
fired. There was a stifled cry, and a heavy body dropped with a
dull thud to the floor of the piazza. His aim had been deadly.
Before the militiamen could recover from their surprise, Jesse
James had thrown the door wide open, and, standing on the threshold
with a pistol in each hand, he commenced a rapid and deadly fire.
Another man fell dead, and two more men had received wounds which
were painful and dangerous, and surrendered to the outlaw they
came to capture. The fifth man, terror-stricken, fled, reached his
horse, mounted him, and rode rapidly away in the moonlight.
Thus was commenced that long strife which has gone on year after
year, and the warfare has made Frank and Jesse James the most
renowned outlaws who have ever appeared on the American continent.
All the skill and ingenuity of the shrewdest detectives have been
at various times brought into requisition, but failure has attended
all their efforts to capture the boys.
The scene presented at the Samuels house, after the flight of the
only man of the attacking party who remained unhurt, was indeed a
sad one. Here, in the cold night wind, extended on the open piazza,
with faces ghastly and white in the moonbeams, lay the forms of two
human beings, who but an hour before, in the prime of life and the
full flush of manhood, had ridden to the retreat of the wounded and
sick Guerrilla. They were still in death now. And the next day
friends came weary miles to bear them away.
"Helpless upon their sable biers,
They bore them forth with bitter sighs and tears,
With no gay pageantry they moved along,
Most silent they, amid a silent throng.
And there they left them in that drear abode
Alone with its still tenants and their God."
And there were two more men who had come with brave hearts and
steady hands to capture the weary, feverish ex-Guerrilla, lying
there writhing in agony after the attempt had been made. They had
come with the hope of delivering Jesse James over to the law, and
thus bind him forever. Now they lay completely helpless, and in the
power of the daring outlaw, who had the name of being devoid of the
quality of mercy. And yet they were spared by him.
When a large company of armed men arrived at the house of Dr.
Samuels, the next day, to take Jesse James dead or alive, that
redoubtable adventurer was many miles away. The place that had
proved so disastrous to the five militiamen the evening before, was
quiet enough now, and the militia ranged through the old farm-house
without molestation. Jesse was not at home!