“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.”
“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.”
“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 preciousto 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, andsnatched 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 bethrough 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 killmefirst.” 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’tliketo see a woman stick to her husband in trouble, if heisa damned abolitionist. Let her alone, I tell ye! Wait till the time comes for a far fight. It’s all firedmean, boys! Sich a posse arter one man and two women.” Seeing the human wolves reluctant to quit their prey, hebrandished 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 forhissake. 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 wouldbe 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 inourdiggins. 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,’ astheysay, rejoined Kate. “What a man hemighthave 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. “Howcanthey 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 everforgetthat 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 ofthat 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 againsthisauthority, 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 downevery 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 therewasno 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 ifanyof 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 willhave, 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, byanymeans, andallmeans; and that no man will dareto 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 theystarted 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 cometo-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 receivedthem 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 fromhim. 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 andConcord 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.
When Governor Shannon, with his escort, came riding across the prairie, there was none to invoke a blessing on him. General Robinson went out to receive him, and some one suggested that the chief magistrate appointed by the President ought to be received with cheers. The door of the room where the murdered body lay was open, and men saw it, as they passed in and out. The sobs of the broken hearted widow were heard from the room adjoining. His reception was very much like that of Richard Third, who caused the murder of his brother’s children. John Bradford went through a formal introduction to Governor Shannon, but Katie turned quickly away, saying, “Ifhehad done his duty, this would not have happened.” The brothers of William Bruce turned away also, and said coldly, “We have no faith in that man.” The Governor saw plainly enough that the blood of Kansas was up to fever heat, and that it was prudent to cool it down. He was very courteous and conciliatory,and promised to disperse the bands of ruffians at Franklin and elsewhere. General Robinson co-operated with him in these efforts at pacification. He addressed the people in a speech setting forth mutual mistakes and misrepresentations, which he trusted time would correct. He had always shown himself brave in danger, and they knew that he was cautious for the good of Kansas, not for his own interest or safety. Most of them yielded to his arguments, and accepted his invitation to a supper at the Free State Hotel, in honor of peace restored. But some walked away, contemptuously, saying, “GovernorSham!”
The settlers, far and near, formed a procession to escort the body of William Bruce to its last resting place. Alice kept up her strength to witness all the ceremonies, and only low stifled sobs came from her breaking heart when the coffin was lowered from her sight. But after that she broke down rapidly. The long-continued pressure of fears and horrors had completely shattered her nervous system. She rejected food, and seemed never to sleep. As she appeared to feel more at home with Katie, than she did with any one else, they concluded to establish her in the humble apartment where she had first lived with William. Pale and silent she had been ever since she lost him; but gradually a strange fixed expression came over her face, as if the body was vacated by the soul. Soon she was utterly helpless, andKatie fed and tended her, as if she were an infant. The winter proved, as the Indians had predicted, cold beyond any within the memory of man. The settlers, many of them plundered of all their money, and most of their clothing, suffered cruelly. Not a few of them returned to their homes in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New England. Indications multiplied that peace would be of short duration. Poor Kate! How she had changed! Thin as a skeleton, with eyes so large and bright! But thinking always of others before herself, she said, “Mother, dear, worse troubles are coming upon us, than we have ever had. John and I have resolved that, living or dying, we will abide by Kansas. But had’nt you, and Flora, and Tom, better return to Massachusetts?”
The mother looked at her younger children and awaited their answer. “I have lived through scenes that make men of boys,” said Thomas. “I will have a free home, or a grave, in Kansas.”
“And you Flora?” inquired the mother.
“The men of Kansas have need of nurses for the sick and wounded,” she replied, “I will stay and help Katie.”
“I will abide by my children, mybravechildren,” said the mother. “God help us all to do our duty!”
Alice sat bolstered in her chair by the fire, unconscious of the solemn compact. “Alas,” said Katie, “how I wish we could convey her safelyto her mother! but she is too feeble to be removed.”
Emerging from the terrible winter of 1855, the returning sunshine brought some gleams of hope to the suffering colony. They hoped that more emigrants would come in, and they knew the fertile soil would yield abundant crops, if there were hands to till it. But the Border Ruffians soon dashed the cup of pleasant anticipation from their lips. They swore they would stop all Yankee emigrants from going into Kansas; and they renewed their threats to “wipe out Lawrence.” Again they made inroads into the Territory, robbing the already impoverished settlers, and especially seeking to deprive them of arms. During one of these forays, they seized a woman, whom they suspected of concealing ammunition, and dragged her into the woods, where she was subjected to their brutal outrages.
When Kate Bradford heard of this, her naturally pleasant countenance assumed an expression stern almost to fierceness. “I called themsavages” she said, “when they scalped some of their victims; but I did injustice to the savages; for, in their worst cruelties,theyalways respected the modesty of women.” From that time, she practiced with rifle and pistol, and became expert in using them. A similar spirit was roused in several of the women, who agreed to act under her command, if the emergencies of the time required it. Circumstanceshad goaded her to this. Her nature was kindly as ever, and she prayed fervently to God that no blood might ever rest upon her hands. All along, she had been sustained by the belief that aid would come to Kansas. She had such pride in American institutions, shecouldnot believe that the government of her country was in league with such abominations and outrages, until the return of messenger after messenger sent to Washington, made the damning proof too strong to be resisted. Then her old love of New England increased a hundred-fold; for all her hopes centredthere. The Pilgrims that came over in the May Flower, the men and women of ’76, had always been the heroes of her imagination; and the crisis, in which she now foundherselfliving and acting, renderedtheircrown of glory more luminous in her memory. “Massachusetts will help us,” she was wont to say, with somewhat of filial pride in the confident tones of her voice. “Massachusettswill not look on with indifference, while her emigrant children are driven into a pen-fold to be slaughtered like sheep, by those whom long habits of slaveholding have made familiar with every form of violence and wrong.”
Drearily, drearily, the weeks passed away. Men and women were limping about, with feet that had been frozen during the winter’s severest cold. Many had no guns to shoot game, to protect them from the wolves, or from enemies far worse thanwolves. Their ammunition had been stolen from them, provisions were intercepted on the way, and every breeze brought rumours that the ruffians were making ready to “wipe out Lawrence.” Newspapers from the North, and letters from friends, were long delayed, and often destroyed on the way. The haggard settlers looked at each other with forlorn helplessness. They had reached the extremest point of desolation. Still John and Katie said, “Massachusetts will help us.Dependupon it, Massachusetts will not desert her children in their utmost need.” And other brave hearts responded to the cheering words, saying, “Ohio will help us.” “Connecticut will not forget us.” “Illinois will come to the rescue.”
They had said this to each other, at the close of one of their darkest days, when lo! a messenger, sent to Kansas city for letters and papers consigned to a friend there, was seen riding across the prairie. Through various perils, he had brought the packages safely to Lawrence. They were seized and torn open with eager, trembling hands. A crowd of men and women assembled at the printing-office, to hear the news. Mr. Bradford was reading aloud to them, when his countenance suddenly fell. “Go on! Go on!” cried the anxious listeners. He gasped out,” “The Legislature of Texas has voted to give fifty thousand dollars to make Kansas a Slave State.”
“And Massachusetts? What has Massachusetts done?” asked Kate, with nervous eagerness.
He lowered his eyes, as one ashamed of his mother, while he answered, “The Legislature of Massachusetts has voted not to give one dollar to make Kansas a Free State.”
In the midst of all the sufferings that had harrowed her soul, Katie had always remained calm and collected. Now, for the first time, she groaned aloud; and, throwing her arms wildly toward heaven, she exclaimed, in tones of bitter anguish, “Oh, Massachusetts! How I havelovedthee! How I havetrustedin thee!” Then bowing her head in her hands, she sobbed out, “Icouldnot have believed it.” But Massachusetts was far off. The Governor and Legislature of her native state did not hear her appeal. They were busy with other things that came home to theirbusiness, not to theirbosoms.
* * * * *
On the 21st of May, 1856, Lawrencewas“wiped out.” Companies of Ruffians encamped around it; a furious tipsy crew, in motley garments. One band carried a banner with a tiger ready to spring; the motto, “You Yankees tremble! and abolitionists fall?” Another carried a flag marked, “South Carolina,” with a crimson star in the centre, the motto, “Southern Rights.” Over Mount Oread floated a blood-red pirate flag, fit emblem of the Border Ruffians; and by its side, a suitable companion for it now, floated the United States flag. What cared New England thathersix stars werethere, in shameful “Union” with that blood-red flag?
President Pierce issued a proclamation, which made it treason for the citizens to defend themselves. The best and truest men were arrested and imprisoned as traitors, because they had no respect for the laws passed upon them by a Missouri rabble, with bowie-knives and revolvers.
The printing-press was broken in pieces; the types scattered; the Free State Hotel demolished; General Robinson’s house, with its valuable library, burned to the ground; and many of the cabins set on fire. No time was allowed to remove any thing from the dwellings. Trunks and bureaus were ransacked; daguerreotypes and pictures of dear home friends were cut and smashed; and letters scattered and trampled in the mud. The women and children had been ordered out, at the commencement of these outrages. Mothers were weeping, as they fled across the prairies, and the poor bewildered little ones were screaming and crying in every direction.
What cared New England thathersix stars were looking down upon the scene, in shameful “Union” with that blood-red flag?
Above the noise of tumbling stones, and crackling roofs, and screaming children, rose that horrid yell of the Border Ruffians. “Damn the Yankees!” “Give ’em hell!”
A figure, tall as Ajax, loomed up above thesavage crowd, calling out, “I’m down on allsichfixens. Allers tole yer ’twas darned mean to come over into the Territory an vote for these fellers. I’m pro-slave myself. I’d like to see him that dar’d to call me an abolitionist; but I tell yer what, boys, this ere’s cuttin up a littletoohigh.” He was interrupted with shouts of, “Hold your jaw!” “Shut up! you damned ole fool!” Still he remonstrated: “This is a breakin down the rights o’ American citizens. You might jist as well smash my ole woman’s bureau. Them ar traps are personal property. I’m down on all sich fixens.”
“Pitch into him!” cried the rabble; and they did “pitch into him,” amid yells and laughter. Tom Thorpe was silenced. He learned the uselessness of trying to moderate slavery, or ameliorate murder.
Katie’s first care had been to consign little Johnny to her brother; and the next was to place the helpless Alice in her mother’s arms, to be conveyed to a hut half a mile off. Then she held a hurried conference with her husband about a suitable place to conceal some fire-arms for future use; and snatching up a box of letters and small valuables, she fled with Flora, pistol in hand. When Alice had been cared for, as well as the exigencies of the moment would permit, she ran back to aid some of her sickly neighbours, who were breaking down with the weight of their clinging children. Then, swift as an ostrich, the daring woman ran back to Lawrence, to pick up some of the scatteredclothes and bedding, which her husband and his neighbours carried off as fast as she could heap it on their shoulders. The Ruffians were so busy with the printing-press and the Hotel, and she watched opportunities so cautiously, that she had rescued many things from the wreck, before they noticed her. They drove her off with oaths and ribald jests. She stood within sight of her blazing home, and her hand was on her pistol. The temptation was strong. But she remembered the oft-repeated words of General Robinson: “Actonlyon the defensive. Make no aggressions. Keep the cause of Kansas sacred.” She only turned upon her pursuers to say, “Youthinkyou have silenced the Herald of Freedom, because you have demolished the printing-press; but you are mistaken. That trumpet will sound across the prairies yet.”
“What a hell of a woman!” exclaimed one of the mob; and they laughed aloud in their drunken mirth, while the lurid flame of blazing homes lighted her across the prairies.
What cared New England thathersix stars were looking down upon the scene, in shameful “Union” with that blood-red flag?
* * * * *
The rapid removal of Alice, and the discomforts of her situation in the empty hut, brought on fever. In states of half wakefulness, she murmured continually, “I want mymother! I want to go home to mymother!”
“Yes, dear, youshallgo home,” said Katie, tenderly smoothing back her straggling hair. “Whoareyou?” inquired the sufferer. “I am Katie. Don’t you know Katie?” The words seemed to waken no remembrance. She closed her eyes, and tears oozed slowly from them, as she murmured piteously, “I want to go home to mymother.”
In this state of half consciousness she lingered two or three days. It was a mild, bright morning, and the terraced hills looked beautiful in the golden light, when she woke from a deep slumber, with a natural expression in her eyes, and asked, “Where am I?” “You are in Kansas, dear,” replied Katie. A shadow passed quickly over the thin pale face, and she pressed her emaciated hand against her heart. Again the eyelids closed, and the tears oozed through, as she answered feebly, “Yes—I remember.”
All was still, still, in the wilderness. The human wolves were for the present glutted with their prey, and Lawrence lay silent in its ruins. Mr. Bradford was in prison, in danger of a traitor’s death. The inmates of the hut looked at each other mournfully, but no one spoke. Presently, the invalid made a restless movement, and Katie stooped over her, to moisten her parched lips. She opened her eyes, which now seemed illuminated with a preternatural, prophetic light; and, for the first time since her husband was murdered, she smiled. “Oh, Katie,” she said, “I have been with William, having sucha happy time walking over the hills! From Mount Oread, he showed me the prairies all covered with farm-houses and fields of corn. Bells were ringing, and swarms of children pouring into the school houses. All round the horizon were church-spires, and beautiful houses, with windows glittering in the sunlight. When I told him it seemed just like dear New England, he smiled, and said, ‘This is Free Kansas!’ Then he pointed to a great University on the highest of the hills, and said, ‘Little Johnny is President, and the Blue Mound is called Free Mont.’”
“I hail the omen!” exclaimed Kate. The thin lips of Alice quivered tremulously. It was her last smile on earth.
There once wandered with me a beautiful child,With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild;And she looked at me long, with an earnest gaze,As I watched the sun sink in a golden haze.She knew not the thoughts that were floating away,Through the closing gates of that radiant day;But a something she read in my dreaming eyes,Of the pale autumn leaves, and the sunset skies;And a chill came over her, she knew not whence—’Twas the shadow of older experience.She looked up afraid at the heaven’s blue dome,And murmured, “I’mtired. I want to gohome.”The child’s timid glance, and her quivering tone,Came gliding like ghosts, when my soul was alone;And oft, when I gazed at the heaven’s blue dome,She seemed to be saying, “I want to gohome.”She grew up a woman, that lovely young child,With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild;But she lived not to see life’s drear autumn dayFade slowly in silence and darkness away.In her spring-time of freshness, fragrance, and bloom,Disease stole her roses to strew on the tomb.Then often she looked at the heaven’s blue dome,And sighed, “I amtired. I want to gohome.”My autumn of life is fast passing away,Bringing on the long night, and cold winter day;And I often remember her childish sigh,As she turned from my face to the twilight sky.When I sit on her grave, at sunset, alone,Her voice seems to speak in that tremulous tone;And longing I look up to heaven’s blue dome,Saying, “Father! I’mtired. I want to gohome.”
There once wandered with me a beautiful child,With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild;And she looked at me long, with an earnest gaze,As I watched the sun sink in a golden haze.She knew not the thoughts that were floating away,Through the closing gates of that radiant day;But a something she read in my dreaming eyes,Of the pale autumn leaves, and the sunset skies;And a chill came over her, she knew not whence—’Twas the shadow of older experience.She looked up afraid at the heaven’s blue dome,And murmured, “I’mtired. I want to gohome.”The child’s timid glance, and her quivering tone,Came gliding like ghosts, when my soul was alone;And oft, when I gazed at the heaven’s blue dome,She seemed to be saying, “I want to gohome.”She grew up a woman, that lovely young child,With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild;But she lived not to see life’s drear autumn dayFade slowly in silence and darkness away.In her spring-time of freshness, fragrance, and bloom,Disease stole her roses to strew on the tomb.Then often she looked at the heaven’s blue dome,And sighed, “I amtired. I want to gohome.”My autumn of life is fast passing away,Bringing on the long night, and cold winter day;And I often remember her childish sigh,As she turned from my face to the twilight sky.When I sit on her grave, at sunset, alone,Her voice seems to speak in that tremulous tone;And longing I look up to heaven’s blue dome,Saying, “Father! I’mtired. I want to gohome.”
There once wandered with me a beautiful child,With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild;And she looked at me long, with an earnest gaze,As I watched the sun sink in a golden haze.
She knew not the thoughts that were floating away,Through the closing gates of that radiant day;But a something she read in my dreaming eyes,Of the pale autumn leaves, and the sunset skies;
And a chill came over her, she knew not whence—’Twas the shadow of older experience.She looked up afraid at the heaven’s blue dome,And murmured, “I’mtired. I want to gohome.”
The child’s timid glance, and her quivering tone,Came gliding like ghosts, when my soul was alone;And oft, when I gazed at the heaven’s blue dome,She seemed to be saying, “I want to gohome.”
She grew up a woman, that lovely young child,With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild;But she lived not to see life’s drear autumn dayFade slowly in silence and darkness away.
In her spring-time of freshness, fragrance, and bloom,Disease stole her roses to strew on the tomb.Then often she looked at the heaven’s blue dome,And sighed, “I amtired. I want to gohome.”
My autumn of life is fast passing away,Bringing on the long night, and cold winter day;And I often remember her childish sigh,As she turned from my face to the twilight sky.
When I sit on her grave, at sunset, alone,Her voice seems to speak in that tremulous tone;And longing I look up to heaven’s blue dome,Saying, “Father! I’mtired. I want to gohome.”
THE END.