in Kansas City. Some of them contained comfortables and blankets for the
winter, which Mrs. May had prepared for her darling daughter; her “stray
lamb in the wilderness,” as she was wont to call her. Could all that
mother’s thoughts and feelings have been daguerreotyped on the cloth,
while those stitches were taken, it would have been an epic poem of
wondrous pathos. What visions of Alice sleeping in her cradle; of her
wakening smile; of her soft curls waving in the summer breeze, as she
came running with a flower; of her girlish bloom, delicate as the
sweet-pea blossom; of her clear melodious voice in the choir at church;
of the bashful blushing ways, that betrayed her dawning love for
William; of the struggle in her soul, when she must choose between him
and her parents; of her parting look, when she turned from the home of
her childhood, to follow her husband into the wilderness. In Alice’s
soul those stitches, by the old, fond, faithful hand, would also waken a
poem of reminiscences. How she longed for those boxes, to see what
mother had sent her! Above all, for the letters from dear New England;
especially the long letter from mother!
It was agreed that William’s brothers should go with a wagon to bring
them. They reached Kansas city in safety, and the boxes were delivered
to them. Passing through Franklin, on their return, they found fifty or
sixty Missouri ruffians carousing round a rum-shop, built of logs. A man
with ragged trowsers and dirty checked shirt, too tipsy to stand alone,
was leaning against a corner of the shop, scraping a fiddle, while his
comrades sung:
“We’ve camped in the wilderness,
For a few days, for a few days;
And then we’re going home,
We’ve a right up yonder.
We’ll vote, and shoot the Yankees,
For a few days, for a few days;
And then we’re going home,
We’ve a right up yonder.”
As soon as this drunken crew espied the baggage-wagon, wending its way
toward Kansas, they set up a frightful yell, and, making a rush at the
horses, called out, “Hallo, stranger! whar are you going? and what are
you toting?”
“To Lawrence, with a load of household goods,” they replied.
“That’s a damned nest of Yankee abolitionists!” cried one.
“We’re gwine to wipe it out,” shouted another.
“The goods must be overhauled, boys!” bawled a third.
It was vain to remonstrate, and useless to fight against such desperate
odds. They unloaded the wagons, tore open the boxes, and pulled out the
home treasures, which would have been so precious to Alice. The young
men pleaded hard for the letters; but the mob said they must carry them
to the Governor, to see if there was treason in them.
“The Governor shall be informed of this, and if there’s justice to be
obtained in the land, we’ll have it,” said the brothers.
“Shut up, you damned rascals!” shouted the rabble. “ Git into yer waggin
and be off, or we’ll stop yer jawing!”
Poor Alice! The blessed words, warm from her mother’s heart, that would
have poured such balm into her own, would be used to light the pipes of
Missouri ruffians. The quilts, so neatly made by those dear old hands,
would be spread on muddy floors for drunken revels. It was hard to bear;
but she knew this was only one of a thousand wrongs, and she said, “I
will never murmur while my dear good William is spared to me.”
From the time of her betrothal, her loving heart had dreamed of a neat
little wedded home, cozy and comfortable, with a few simple adornments
of pictures and vases. The loosely-built cabins of Kansas, with their
rough “cotton-board” floors, brown with prairie mud, had driven away the
illusion; but still it hovered there over Mount Oread, and the Mountain
Spirits seemed to sing a prophetic song of love and peace in a sunny
future. She found the new home provided with more conveniences than the
one she had left; for William, in the midst of all his cares, never
forgot her, and snatched an hour, whenever he could, to work for her
comfort.
It was the morning of a sunny day when they entered their new abode, and
all things looked neat and cheerful. William, who was reverential by
temperament, viewed all the common duties and affairs of life in a
religious light. They stood for a moment, hand in hand, gazing at the
humble little cabin, with moistened eyes. Then he removed his hat, and
looking earnestly to heaven, he threw water on the roof, saying, “I
baptize thee the Freeman’s Home. May the blessing of God descend upon
thee!” There was a saddened pleasure in thus consecrating their
encampment in the wilderness.
In Lawrence, darker, and darker yet, the storm was lowering. Autumn was
coming on with heavy dews, and cold winds from the mountains swept
across the open prairie, whistling through the loopholes of the fragile
cabins, as they went. The dampness and the chill brought with them that
dreadful demon of the settler’s life, fever and ague. The arms of strong
men were palsied by it, and the little children looked like blossoms
blighted by a sudden frost. The active, generous-hearted Katie found
time to run hither and thither with gruel and medicine, though her own
little one was shivering, as if his joints would fall asunder. Many a
murmured blessing followed her footsteps from cabin to cabin, and many a
grateful tear fell on her hand, from home-sick souls, sorrowful, even
unto death. In the midst of this calamity, rumours of invasion by the
Missourians increased daily. In John Bradford’s cabin all slept so
lightly, that the slightest unusual sound startled them to instant
wakefulness. The distant whoop of Indians on the prairie, and the
howling of hungry wolves disturbed them not. They were in dread of a
more infernal sound than these; the midnight yell of Border Ruffians. A
few weeks after the departure of Alice, they were waked from uneasy
slumbers by that frightful noise, at the very walls of their cabin.
Katie rose hastily, and laying her sick child on the floor, covered him
with a thick cotton comfortable; hoping that the rifle-balls, if they
whizzed through the cabin, would either fly over him, or lose their
force in the wadding. There was a random shot, but the ball stuck in the
boards at their bed’s head. The next moment the door was burst open by
twenty or thirty fierce-looking men, armed with bowie-knives and
revolvers. Never, out of the infernal pit, was heard such a volley of
blasphemy and obscenity, as poured from their foul mouths. The purport
of it all was that they had sworn to “wipe out Lawrence;” and that they
had come to shoot this “damned Yankee abolitionist,” who had had the
impudence to write in the paper that Kansas would yet be a Free State.
They attempted to seize Mr. Bradford, but his wife threw herself across
him, and said, “If you murder him, it shall be through my heart’s
blood.” They struck her with their fists, they tried to pull her away;
but she clung with a convulsive power that was too strong for them. Her
brother, Thomas, was out that night, watching with a neighbour who was
“down” with fever and ague; and it had been previously arranged that
young Flora and her mother should remain hidden in the loft, in case of
such an emergency. No screams ascended to their ears, for Katie had
outgrown a woman’s weakness. But the listening mother heard the scuffle
below, and, bidding Flora to hide in the darkest corner, she hastened
down the ladder, and threw her arms round John and Katie, saying, “You
shall kill _me_ first.” They cursed her, and spit at her, and, knocking
the night-cap from her head, made mockery of her gray hairs. The lurid
light of their torch fell on the scene, and all the while, the wailing
of the sick child was heard: “Mammy! Johnny’s _’faid_. Mammy! Johnny’s
_’faid_.”
How the struggle might have ended, none can tell, had not a tall figure
suddenly burst into the room, exclaiming, “Boys! I’m down on all sich
fixens. Let the women alone! I’ll be darned if I don’t _like_ to see a
woman stick to her husband in trouble, if he _is_ a damned abolitionist.
Let her alone, I tell ye! Wait till the time comes for a far fight. It’s
all fired _mean_, boys! Sich a posse arter one man and two women.”
Seeing the human wolves reluctant to quit their prey, he brandished a
bowie-knife, and exclaimed, in a thundering voice, “I tell ye what,
boys, if ye don’t let them ar women alone, I’ll pitch into yer, as sure
as my name’s Tom Thorpe!”
This remonstrance excited a feeling of shame in some of the gang, while
others were willing enough to avoid a quarrel with such a powerful
antagonist.
The ruffians, thus adjured, swaggered away, saying, “We a’nt afeerd o’
Tom Thorpe, or the devil.” They swore frightful oaths, smashed Kate’s
small stock of crockery, and seized whatever they could lay hands on, as
they went. And all the while, the sick babe was wailing, “Mammy!
Johnny’s _’faid_. Mammy! Johnny’s _’faid_.”
Kate took the poor attenuated child in her arms. Those arms, so strong a
few moments ago, were trembling now; and tears were dropping from the
eyes that lately glared so sternly on her husband’s enemies. Tom Thorpe
lingered a moment, and was turning silently away, when she rose, with
the child resting on her shoulder, and took his hand in hers. “I thank
you, Mr. Thorpe,” she said. “This is the second time you have protected
me from insult and injury. I will never forget it. And if a helpless
Missourian should ever need my aid, though he be the worst of Border
Ruffians, I will remember Tom Thorpe, and help him for _his_ sake. I am
sorry you stand up for slavery; you seem to have a soul too noble for
that. I am sure if you lived in a Free State for a while, you would be
convinced that slavery has a bad effect on all concerned in it.”
The mother here laid her hand on his arm, and said, “We are a persecuted
people, Mr. Thorpe; persecuted without provocation; and, I believe,
something in your own heart tells you so. God bless you for what you
have done to-night.”
Mr. Bradford, who had been looking through the chinks in the wall, to
watch the course the ruffians had taken, now came up to add his thanks,
and ask him if he would take any refreshment.
“Thankee, stranger,” said Tom. “I’ve no ’casion. I’ve been drovin cattle
roun in the Territory; and I knows that ar yell of theirn. So I thought
I’d jist cum and see what they was cuttin up. I’m down on all sich
fixens. Allers tole the boys so. Tom Thorpe’s fur a far fight, says I.”
Mr. Bradford tried to convince him that the inhabitants of Kansas wished
to be peaceable, just, and kind in their dealings with the Missourians,
and with all men; and that there was no need of a “fair fight,” and no
excuse for ruffian violence. And Kate threw in an argument now and then,
to aid her husband. But Tom Thorpe had the idea firmly fixed inside his
shaggy head, that a “far fight” was somehow necessary for the honor of
Missouri, though he was unable to explain why. The mighty drover rolled
the quid in his mouth, passed a huge hand through his thick mass of
hair, and strode out into the darkness, repeating, “Tom Thorpe’s down
on all sich fixens.” As he walked along, he muttered to himself, “That
ar’s an almighty smart woman. What a fetchin up she must a had! No such
fetchin up in _our_ diggins. I’m pro-slave, myself. But them ar
free-soilers use a feller all up. I swar, I bleeve they’re more’n half
right. I’ll be darned if I don’t.”
Meanwhile, the inmates of the cabin were canvassing his merits. As he
passed out of the door, Katie said, “There goes an honest kind heart,
under that rough exterior!”
“A little foggy about right and wrong,” replied her husband; “but with
instincts like a powerful and generous animal.”
“That’s owing to his ‘fetchin up,’ as _they_ say, rejoined Kate. “What a
man he _might_ have made, if he had been brought up under free
institutions!”
“Bless your generous soul!” ejaculated John. “But tell me now truly,
Katie, don’t you begin to be sorry we ever came to Kansas?”
She raised her eyes to his, and said calmly, “No, John; never. The more
I know of those Missouri ruffians, the more deeply do I feel that it is
worth the sacrifice of many lives to save this fair territory from the
blighting curse of slavery.”
“True as steel! True as steel!” exclaimed John, giving her a hearty
kiss. “How manfully you stood by me!”
“How womanfully, you mean,” she replied, smiling.
“I assure you, Kate, it required more courage to refrain from seizing my
rifle, than it would have done to discharge its contents among those
rascals. Though we stand pledged to avoid bloodshed, I verily believe I
should have broken my pledge, if your voice had not pleaded all the
time, ‘Don’t, John! Don’t!’”
“Oh if the government at Washington would only do its duty!” sighed
Kate. “How _can_ they trifle thus with the lives of innocent citizens?”
“It’s worse than that,” rejoined her husband. “Their influence protects
the wolfish pack. Slavery always has need of blood-hounds to keep down
the love of freedom in the human soul; and these Border Ruffians are its
human blood-hounds.”
“I wonder whether Frank Pierce has any small children,” said Katie. “If
he has, I wish he and his wife could have heard the feeble voice of this
little one, in the midst of those shocking oaths and curses, calling
out, ‘Mammy! Johnny’s _’faid_.’ God of mercy! Shall I ever _forget_ that
sound!” She drew the sleeping child to her heart, with a gentle
pressure, and the tears of father and mother fell fast upon him. The
grandmother sat apart with her head leaning on the table, and wept also.
* * * * *
For two or three weeks after this transaction, there was a lull in the
tempest. Missourian wagoners came into Lawrence often, with loads of
apples, potatoes, and flour. They met with honest and kindly treatment.
No one sought to take reprisals for the many loads of provisions
plundered from Kansas. The bravely patient people still waited for
redress by law. Soon there came news of a peaceable, industrious settler
in the neighbourhood of Lawrence, who had been shot dead by a scouting
party of Missourians, in mere sport, while he was pursuing his
avocations. A few days after, a gang of armed ruffians entered the house
of a citizen in Lawrence and carried him off, under the pretence of
arresting him for treason. On their way, they were met by a company of
young men from Lawrence, who had been out to inquire about the recent
murder. They hailed the Missourians, and as they could show no legal
authority for what they had done, they took their neighbour into their
own ranks, to guard him home. They offered no violence, but, in answer
to the threats of their enemies, replied, with a firmness not to be
trifled with, “We are all armed; and we shall take this man home.”
Though their own horses and cattle had been seized and driven off into
Missouri, drove after drove, they inquired of their neighbour whether
the horse he rode belonged to those who had arrested him; and when he
answered in the affirmative, they asked him to dismount and return the
animal to his owners. Truly the forbearance of that persecuted people
was wonderful! The United States’ government, where was vested the only
power that could legally protect them, continued to receive their
remonstrances and appeals with fair promises and adroit evasions; while
its alliance with the slaveholding interest, in all its machinations,
was too thinly veiled to be for a moment doubted. In pursuance of this
policy, the President appointed Governor Shannon to rule over the
Territory; a man in league with the Missourians, and bent upon carrying
out their plans, as openly as it was prudent to do. Somehow or other, no
outrages upon Kansas could find redress at his hands. The settlers were
told to obey the laws, and be good children to their father, President
Pierce, and they should be protected. “The laws!” exclaimed they. “Why
these are Missouri laws, forced upon us at the point of the bayonet.”
They were answered, “The President commands you to obey the laws, and if
you rebel against _his_ authority, you will be declared guilty of
treason!” Meanwhile, many a smooth-tongued plotter tried to gain
concessions from the friends of freedom; talking of the value of the
Union, the danger of civil war, and the policy of bending before the
storm; a favourite piece of advice in the mouths of those politicians,
who set the storm in motion, and are guiding it in the hollow of their
hands!
Was ever a people so hard bested? Disheartened by sickness; plundered of
provisions; lying down every night with the prospect of murder before
morning; mocked at by the government of their country; their
conscientious scruples appealed to, to keep the peace where there _was_
no peace; lured into concessions, by fair promises and false
professions; threatened with a traitor’s doom, if they dared to defend
their homes! And all this while, the Free States were looking on with
drowsy indifference. The whig said, with bland self-importance, “They’d
better obey the powers that be. I am a friend to law and order.” The
democrat refused to read well-authenticated testimony on the subject,
and repeated, with blind obstinacy, “I don’t believe half the stories;
and if _any_ of them are true, I dare say the free-soilers are full as
much to blame as the Missourians.”
Verily, they need the trumpet of doom to waken them. And the trumpet of
doom they will _have_, when wakening comes too late, if their slumber
lasts much longer.
That little city of cabins, nestling among the lonely hills, has called
and called in vain for redress and protection. The murders and robberies
still go on. The Border Ruffians are assembling their forces at Franklin
below, and at Douglass above. In their drunken frankness, they say they
will shoot the men, violate the women, kill the children, and burn the
houses; that their commission is to drive all the Yankee settlers out of
the territory, by _any_ means, and _all_ means; and that no man will
dare to prosecute them, whatever they may do. The settlers all feel
that the hour for self-defence has come. Stacks of Sharpe’s rifles stand
in the cabins ready loaded. Forts are erected, and breast-works thrown
up. Companies of men work at them by turns, all day and all night, by
the light of blazing wood. Volunteers come in from the neighbouring
settlements. The Wyandott tribe of Indians offer their aid in case of
need; for they have been justly treated by the Kansas people, and are
unwilling to have them “wiped out.” Sentinels guard the doors of the
Free State Hotel. All night, mounted patrols ride round the settlement.
The drummer watches at his post, ready to beat the alarm; for they have
learned that their cowardly, treacherous foes, assassin-like, prefer the
midnight hour. Ever and anon, random shots come from ruffians concealed
in dark corners. Women look anxiously at the doors, expecting to see the
bleeding bodies of husbands, sons, or brothers, brought in. Governor
Robinson, now General of the forces, still pursues his course of
moderation, and orders the men not to fire till the very last extremity.
There was a small store of powder and percussion-caps in the vicinity,
and various plans were devised to bring it in safely, through the
scouting-parties of Missourians. “I will do it,” said Mrs. Bradford.
“They will never suspect that women carry such luggage.” Another woman
in the neighbourhood promptly offered to accompany her, and they
started in a wagon for that purpose. They were accosted by Missouri
scouts, but as their place of destination seemed to imply nothing more
than visiting a friend, they deemed it gallant to let the ladies pass
unmolested. The kegs of powder were covered by their ample skirts, and
brought safely into Lawrence. The young men on guard threw up their
caps, and cried, “Hurra! Worthy of the women of ’76!”
Alice also was brave in her way. She resigned herself patiently to the
long and frequent absence of her beloved husband, and no out-of-door
work seemed too hard for her to perform. All through the autumn, she and
the other women of the household had helped to gather the crops, tend
the cows, and feed the horses. When it came William’s turn to patrol
Lawrence, or to work at the trenches through the night, she never asked
him to stay with her. She only gave him a tenderer kiss, a more
lingering pressure of the hand, which seemed to say, “This may be our
last farewell.”
Upon one of these occasions, he had been absent several days, and she
sat at her sewing, longing, longing to hear the sound of his voice. The
tramp of a horse was heard. She sprung up, and looked from the little
window. William was not there, kissing his hand to her, as he was wont
to do. She ran out of the door, and meeting one of his brothers, said,
in a disappointed tone, “I thought William had come. He sent word he
would come to-day.” He answered that it was merely one of the horses
that had got loose. But as she went into the house, he looked at his
wife, and said, “Poor Alice! God grant that it may not be as we fear.”
Alas, it was William’s horse, that had rushed by so fleetly, without a
rider, and with the saddle turned. Too soon they learned that he had
been shot in the back by a party of ruffians, after he had told them he
was unarmed and going home to see his family. He supposed that even
Border Ruffians would not be so cowardly as to take his life under such
circumstances.
The day passed without any one’s being able to muster sufficient courage
to tell the mournful tidings to his widow. She had long expected it, and
she met it with a dreadful calmness. She uttered no scream, and shed no
tear. She became pallid as marble, and pressed her hand hard upon her
heart. She was stupefied and stunned by that overwhelming agony.
Of all the outrages none had produced so much excitement as this. It was
so dastardly to shoot an unarmed man in the back, without provocation!
Then Mr. Bruce was universally beloved. His justice and moderation were
known unto all men. The Indians knew how to respect those qualities,
which they so rarely meet in white men. The Chiefs of the Delawares and
the Shawnees came to offer their aid; and General Robinson received
them with that personal respect, which so peculiarly commends itself to
Indian dignity. As the news spread through the Territory, small bands of
volunteers came in from all directions. There were five hundred armed
men in Lawrence. Every cabin was a barrack. The Free State Hotel was
crowded with men earnestly discussing what measures should be taken for
the public safety. General Robinson, pale and anxious, moved among them,
renewing his advice to be patient and forbearing. Up to this period, the
citizens of Kansas had made no aggressions on their merciless foes, and
had used no violence in self-defence. But it was not easy to restrain
them now. Human nature had been goaded beyond endurance, and men were in
the mood to do, or die. When he told them Governor Shannon was coming to
inquire into the state of things, some shook their heads despondingly,
while the more fiery spirits cursed Governor Shannon, and contemptuously
asked what good could be expected from _him_. Out on the prairie, troops
were being drilled to the tunes of ’76. The Wyandotts’ were riding in,
single-file, sitting their noble steeds like centaurs. The mettlesome
Colonel Lane was in his element. He descanted, with untiring volubility,
on the rights of American citizens, and the cruel circumstances
attending the death of Bruce. Men clenched their rifles and drew their
breath hard, while they listened. There is no mistaking the symptoms.
The old spirit of Lexington and Concord is here! They had better not
trifle with the Puritan blood much longer!
Anon, they brought in the body of the murdered man. His countenance was
placid, as the sleep of childhood. The widow asked to see him, and
tenderly they brought her to that couch of death. Oh, what a shriek was
there! Father of mercies! it went up to thy throne. Wilt thou not answer
it? In view of that suffocating agony, the soldiers bowed their heads
and wept.