Spirit and Matter. — A Reverie
Not in another world, as poets prate,
Dwell we apart, above the tide of things,
High floating o’er earth’s clouds on fairy wings;
But our pure love doth ever elevate
Into a holy bond of brotherhood,
All earthly things, making them pure and good.
J. R. Lowell.
One of the most wonderful things connected with the mysterious soul-power, with which we limited mortals are endowed, is the capacity to rise into the infinite from the smallest earth-particle of the finite. How often some circumstance, trifling as the motions of a butterfly, plunges us into a profound reverie! How often, from the smallest and lowliest germ, are thoughts evolved, which go revolving round in ascending circles, forming a spiral ladder, ascending from earth to heaven!
A pair of white-breasted swallows that built a nest in a little bird-box near my chamber-window, sent my soul floating dreamily upward, till it lost its way in wide ethereal regions. The mother-bird was a lively little thing, making a deal of musical twittering at her work, and often coquetting gracefully with her mate. I took an affectionate interest in her proceedings, though I had private suspicions that she was something of a female gossip, in her small way; for I observed that she watched the motions of other birds with inquisitive curiosity, and often stood at her front-door, prattling with them as they passed by. But they seemed to take it all in good part, and it was no concern of mine. I loved the pretty little creature, gossip or no gossip; and, for many days, my first waking thought was to jump up and take a peep at her. Though I rose before the sun, I always found her awake and active, chattering with her mate, or carrying straws and feathers into her dwelling, to make a bed for their little ones. I should have been half ashamed to have had any very wise person overhear the things I said to her. She had such “peert,” knowing ways, that I could not remember her inability to understand human speech. It always seemed to me that she must be aware of my sympathy, and that she rejoiced in it.
One bright morning, when I looked out to salute her as usual, I was filled with dismay to see a grisly cat seated on the bird-box, peeping into the door with eager eyes. She had descended from the roof, and was watching for a chance to devour the inmates of that happy little dwelling. I always had an antipathy to the stealthy and cruel habits of the feline race; but I think I never detested any creature as I did that cat; for a few minutes. The wish to do her harm, was, however, easily conquered by the reflection that she was obeying a natural instinct, as the bird was in catching insects; but I resolved that neither my dear little Lady Swallow nor her babes should furnish a repast for her voracious jaws. So I climbed a ladder, and took down the box, which contained a nest, with two pretty little white eggs. I was distressed with the idea that the hateful cat might have destroyed my favourites before I perceived their danger; but my anxiety was soon relieved by their approach. They circled round and round the well-known spot, peered about in every direction, perched on the platform where their home had stood, and chattered together with unusual volubility. Again and again they returned, bringing other birds with them, and repeating the same motions. They were evidently as much astonished, as we should be to wake up in the morning and find that an earthquake had swallowed a neighbour’s house during the night. Whether there were scientific swallows among them, that tried to frame satisfactory theories in explanation of the phenomenon, or whether any feathered clericals taught them to submit to the event as a special providence, we can never know. The natural presumption is, that they will always wonder, to the end of their days, what mysterious agency it could have been that so suddenly removed their nest, house and all. As for conjecturing why it was done, the mere query was probably beyond the range of their mental powers.
I was watching them all the time, but their bird eyes could not see me, and their bird-nerves conveyed no magnetic intimation of my close vicinity. Their surprise and their trouble were partially revealed to me by their motions and their utterance; but, though they were intelligent swallows, they could form no idea of such a fact. I had removed their dwelling to save their lives; but between their plane of existence and my own there was such an impassable chasm, that no explanation of my kindness and foresight could possibly be conveyed to them.
I thought of all this, and longed in vain to enlighten their ignorance, and relieve their perplexity. The earnestness of my wish, and the impossibility of accomplishing it, suggested a train of thought. I said to myself, perhaps some invisible beings are now observing me, as I am observing these swallows; but I cannot perceive them, because the laws of their existence are too far removed from my own. Perhaps they take a friendly interest in my affairs, and would gladly communicate with me, if I were so constituted that I could understand their ideas, or their mode of utterance. These cogitations recalled to my mind some remarks by the old English writer, Soame Jenyns. In his “Disquisition on the Chain of Universal Being,” he says: “The superiority of man to that of other terrestrial animals is as inconsiderable, in proportion to the immense plan of universal existence, as the difference of climate between the north and south end of the paper I now write upon, with regard to the heat and distance of the sun. There is nothing leads us into so many errors concerning the works and designs of Providence, as the foolish vanity that can persuade such insignificant creatures that all things were made for their service; from whence they ridiculously set up utility to themselves as the standard of good, and conclude every thing to be evil, which appears injurious to them or their purposes. As well might a nest of ants imagine this globe of earth created only for them to cast up into hillocks, and clothed with grain and herbage for their sustenance; then accuse their Creator for permitting spades to destroy them, and ploughs to lay waste their habitations. They feel the inconveniences, but are utterly unable to comprehend their uses, as well as the relations they themselves bear to superior beings.
“When philosophers have seen that the happiness of inferior creatures is dependent on our wills, it is surprising none of them should have concluded that the good order and well-being of the universe might require that our happiness should be as dependent on the wills of superior beings, who are accountable, like ourselves, to one common Lord and Father of all things. This is the more wonderful, because the existence and influence of such beings has been an article in the creed of all religions that have ever appeared in the world. In the beautiful system of the Pagan theology, their sylvan and household deities, their nymphs, satyrs, and fawns, were of this kind. All the barbarous nations that have ever been discovered, have been found to believe in, and adore, intermediate spiritual beings, both good and evil. The Jewish religion not only confirms the belief of their existence, but of their tempting, deceiving, and tormenting mankind; and the whole system of Christianity is erected entirely on this foundation.”
Dr. Johnson wrote a satirical review of Soame Jenyns, which had great popularity at the time. He passes without notice the fact that men of all ages, and of all religions, have believed that malicious Spirits cause diseases, and tempt men, in many ways, to their destruction; while benevolent Spirits cure physical and mental evils, forewarn men in dreams, and assist them in various emergencies. There was, therefore, nothing very new or peculiar in the suggestion of Mr. Jenyns; but Dr. Johnson, in his rough way, caricatures it thus: “He imagines that as we have animals not only for food, but some for our diversion, the same privilege may be allowed to beings above us, who may deceive, torment, or destroy us, for the ends only of their own pleasure or utility. He might have carried the analogy further, much to the advantage of his argument. He might have shown that these hunters, whose game is man, have many sports analogous to our own. As we drown whelps and kittens, they amuse themselves now and then with sinking a ship; and they stand round the fields of Blenheim, or the walls of Prague, as we encircle a cock-pit. As we shoot a bird flying, they knock a man down with apoplexy, in the midst of his business or pleasure. Perhaps some of them are virtuosi, and delight in the operations of an asthma, as human philosophers do in the effects of an air-pump. Many a merry bout have these frolic beings at the vicissitudes of an ague; and good sport it is to see a man tumble with an epilepsy, and revive and tumble again; and all this he knows not why. Perhaps now and then a merry being may place himself in such a situation as to enjoy at once all the varieties of an epidemic disease, or amuse his leisure with the tossings and contortions of every possible pain exhibited together.”
It occurred to me what bearish paws the old Doctor, in his gruff sport, would lay upon modern Spiritualists, if he were about in these days. I smiled to think what an inexhaustible theme for skeptical wit was afforded by the awkward and tedious process of communication employed. But after a little reflection, I said to myself, is not the common action of Spirit upon Matter, while we are here in the body, quite as inexplicable? If we were not accustomed to it, would it not seem nearly as inconvenient and laborious? The Spirit which dwells within me, (I know not where, or how,) wishes to communicate with a Spirit dwelling in some other body, in another part of the world. Straightway, the five-pronged instrument, which we call a hand, is moved by Spirit, and promptly obeys the impulse. It dips a piece of pointed steel into a black fluid, and traces hieroglyphic characters invented by Spirit to express its thought. Those letters have been formed into words by slow elaboration of the ages. They partake of the climate where they grew. In Italy, they flow smoothly as water. In Russia, they clink and clatter like iron hoofs upon a pavement. It appears that Spirit must needs fashion its utterance according to the environment of Matter, in the midst of which it is placed. By a slow and toilsome process, the child must learn what ideas those words represent; otherwise he can scarcely be able to communicate at all with the Spirits in other bodies near him. If they are distant, and his Spirit wills to converse with them, it must impel the five-pronged instrument of bone and sinew to take up the pointed steel, and trace, on a substance elaborately prepared from vegetable fibres, certain mystic characters, which, according to their arrangement, express love or hatred, joy or sorrow. If Spirits out of the body do indeed tip tables and rap the alphabet, to communicate with Spirits in the body, it must be confessed that the machinery we poor mortals are obliged to employ, in order to communicate with each other, is nearly as tedious and imperfect as theirs.
Ancient oriental philosophers, and some of the Gnostics at a later period, believed in a gradation of successive worlds, gradually diminishing in the force of spiritual intelligence, and consequently in outward beauty. They supposed that each world was an attenuated likeness, a sort of reflected image of the world above it; that it must necessarily be so, because, in all its parts, it was evolved from that world. They believed that the inhabitants of each world knew of those in the world next below them, and were attracted toward them; but that the world below was unconscious of the higher sphere whence it emanated.
Swedenborg teaches that all the inferior grades of being in this world are representative forms of the spiritual state of mankind, and owe their existence to the thoughts and feelings in human souls. Thus if men had no bad passions, there would be no lions and tigers; and if they were inwardly pure, there would be no vermin. In other words, he teaches that the lower forms of Nature are reflected images of man, as the orientals taught concerning successive worlds; and in this case also the higher is attracted toward the lower, and wishes to communicate with it, while the lower remains ignorant of the existence of the higher. I knew something of the swallows, and wanted to talk with them, but they knew nothing of me.
Swedenborg teaches successive spheres of existence, as did the orientals, though in another form. He says Spirits in the sphere nearest to this earth are attracted towards us, and wish to communicate with us; but that some of them are in a low state, and capable of great duplicity. Many people are satisfied with the theory that these are the Spirits who are believed to be rapping and tipping tables in all parts of the country. Certain it is, many of the phenomena that actually occur cannot possibly be the result of jugglery; though miracles sometimes seem to be performed by that adroit agency. Candid minds cannot, I think, avoid the conclusion that Spirit is acting upon Matter in some way not explainable by any known laws of our being. Whether it is Spirit in the body, or out of the body, seems difficult to decide. The agents, whoever they are, are obviously nearly on a level with our own spiritual condition; for they tell nothing which had not been previously known or imagined; and they do not always tell the truth.
Minds of mystical tendencies find joy in believing that all inspirations in religion, science, or art, come to us from above, through the medium of ministering Spirits, who dwell in higher spheres of intelligence and love, and are attracted towards us by our inward state. The fast-increasing strength of evil, which often leads men to think the Devil drives them into some crime, they account for by supposing that the indulgence of wrong thoughts and feelings brings us into affinity with Spirits below us, who are thus enabled to influence our souls by the operation of laws as universal and unchangeable as those which regulate the attraction and repulsion of material substances.
Rationalists, on the other hand, deem that all mental influences, whether good or evil, may be sufficiently accounted for by the activity of the soul in any particular direction; that the indulgence of any class of thoughts and feelings renders them continually stronger and stronger, as the pedestrian’s leg, or the wood-cutter’s arm is invigorated by frequent use.
All these thoughts grew out of the removal of a swallow’s nest. They left me where they found me. Temperament, and early habits of thought, inclined me toward mystical theories; while increasing caution, learned by the experience of many fallacies, beckoned toward the less poetical side of austere rationality. I remained balanced between the opposite forces, candidly willing to admit the claims of either. I could only bow my head in reverent humility, and say, “On these subjects we cannot certainly know any thing, in this imperfect state of being. Verily, mysterious is the action of Spirit upon Spirit, and of Spirit upon Matter.” As I thus dismissed the subject from my mind, a voice from some corner of my soul said, “The swallows did not know that you took away their nest, but you did.”
And unto thee, in Freedom’s hour
Of sorest need, God gives the power
To ruin or to save,
To wound or heal, to blight or bless,
With fruitful soil, or wilderness,
A free home, or a grave.
J. G. Whittier.
“You are silent to-night, William,” said Alice May to her lover, as they walked through a green lane, toward the setting sun.
“Yes, dearest,” he replied, “I have that on my mind which makes me thoughtful.” After a pause, he added, “That book I was reading to you, before these golden-edged clouds tempted us out into the fields, has made a very strong impression on me. I never before realized how much depends on the state of mind we are in when we read. The story of our forefathers was all familiar to me; and I always reverenced the Puritans; but the grandeur of their character never loomed up before my mental vision as it does now. With all their faults, they were a noble set of men and women.”
“And what has anointed your eyes to see this more clearly than ever to-night?” asked Alice.
“All the while I was reading, I was thinking of John Bradford’s project of going to Kansas; and, while we have been walking in the fields, my eyes have involuntarily turned away from the glorious sunset clouds, to glance at the neat dwellings dotted all over the landscape; to the mill whirling sparkling water-drops into the air; to the school-house, with its broad play-ground; to the church-spire, gleaming brightly in the sun. All these we owe to those heroic pilgrims, who left comfortable homes in England and came to a howling wilderness to establish a principle of freedom; and what they have done for Massachusetts, John Bradford and his companions may do for Kansas. It is a glorious privilege to help in laying the foundation of states on a basis of justice and freedom.”
“I see that John has magnetized you with his enthusiasm,” she replied; “and he has magnetized cousin Kate also. How brave she is, to think of following him, with their little child!”
“Kate is hopeful by temperament,” said William; “but I think she is hardly more brave than you are. You are both afraid of a snake and a gun.”
“I was thinking more of the long journey, the parting from friends, and living among strangers, than I was of snakes and guns,” replied Alice. “Then everybody says there are so many discomforts and hardships in a new country. And the Indians, William! Only think of going within sound of the Indian war-whoop!”
“The Indians are in a very different state now,” he replied, “from what they were when the Puritan women followed their husbands into the wilderness of this new world. They are few in numbers now. Their spirit has been tamed by accumulated wrongs, and they are too well aware of the power of the United States’ government, to make any aggressions upon those who are under its protection. Besides, you know it is my opinion that the Indians never would have made unprovoked aggressions. Who can read Catlin’s account, without being struck with the nobility of character often manifested by their much-injured race? I am fully persuaded that it is easy to make firm friends of the Indians, by treating them with justice and kindness, and with that personal respect, which they so well know how to appreciate.” He pressed her arm to his side, and took her hand within his, as he added, “You seemed greatly to admire that young Puritan bride, who cheerfully left home and friends behind her, and crossed the tempestuous ocean, to brave cold and hunger by her husband’s side, in a wilderness where wolves and savages were howling.”
Her hand trembled within his; for something in the earnestness of his look, and the tender modulation of his tones, suddenly revealed to her what was passing in his mind. She knew he was not thinking of cousin John’s wife, while he spoke thus of the pilgrim’s bride. It was the first time that such a possibility had been suggested to her mind; and it made the blood run cold in her veins. After a painful pause, she said, with a forced calmness of voice, “We often admire virtues we are not strong enough to imitate.”
He pressed her hand, and remained silent, till an outburst of tears made him stop suddenly, and fold her to his heart. “Don’t weep, my beloved,” he said, “I will never require, or even ask, such a sacrifice of you. Such a delicate flower as you are needs to be sheltered from the blast and the storm. But you have conjectured rightly, dearest, that my heart is set upon accompanying these emigrants. I feel that all there is of manhood within me, will be developed by the exigencies of such a career. My character and my destiny will grow more grand with the responsibilities that will devolve upon me. If I remain here, I never shall do half I am capable of doing for myself and for posterity. To speak the plain truth, dear Alice, I have something of the old Puritan feeling, that God calls me to this work. You have promised to be my wife within a few weeks; but I absolve you from that promise. If you prefer it, I will go and prepare a comfortable home for you in that new region, and endeavour to draw a circle of our mutual friends around me, before I ask you to leave your New England home.”
She looked up at him, through her tears, with a half-reproachful glance, which seemed to say, “Do you then suppose there can be any hardship so great, as separation from the one I love best in the world?”
He understood the mute appeal, and answered it by saying, “Don’t be rash, clear Alice. Reflect upon it till next Sunday evening, and then tell me what is your decision. I shall not love you one particle the less if you tell me that years must pass before you can be the partner of my life. No duties, no excitements, no lapse of time, can remove your image from my heart.”
Few more words were spoken, as they returned homeward, lighted by the crescent moon. It was not until long after midnight that Alice fell asleep, to dream of standing by a wide chasm, vainly stretching her hand toward William, on the other side.
During the following days, she asked no counsel, save of God and her mother. Her mother laid her hand tenderly on her head, and said, “I dare not advise you. Follow your own heart, my child;” and when she prayed to God, she seemed to hear an echo of those words. She saw William often, but she spoke no word to dissuade him from his purpose. Had he been going to California to dig gold, she would have had much to say in favour of the humblest home under the protection of the old order-loving Commonwealth; but he had spoken so seriously of his sense of duty, that her womanly nature reverenced the manliness of his convictions; and she prayed that his courage to dare might be equalled by her fortitude to endure. It rained heavily on Sunday evening, so that the lovers could not take their accustomed walk; and the presence of others prevented a confidential interview. But when they parted at the door, Alice slipped a small package into William’s hand. When he arrived at home, he opened it with nervous haste, and found a small Bible, with a mark within it. An anchor was embroidered on the mark, with the word Faith beneath it; and his eye was caught by pencil lines on the page, encircling the words: “Where thou goest, I will go; where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.” “God bless her!” he exclaimed. “Now I can go forward with an undivided heart.” He kissed the anchor again and again, and, bowing his head on his hands, he wept as he had not wept since boyhood. To his deep and earnest nature, love and duty were sacred realities.
Great was the joy of cousin Kate and her husband, when it was known that William Bruce had determined to join the band of emigrants, and that Alice had acquiesced. William was a young man of such good judgment and stedfast principles, that they all felt he would be a balance-wheel in the machinery of any society where he moved. John Bradford was equally good and true, but his temperament induced more volubility of speech, and more eagerness of action. When the band of emigrants heard of William’s decision, they said laughingly to each other, “Now we shall have both Moses and Aaron to guide us into Canaan.” Kate’s widowed mother, and a younger brother and sister, resolved to join the enterprising band. A little nephew of five years old was of the same mind; and when told that he was too small to be of any use, he declared himself fully able to catch a bear. Alice’s father and mother had prospective plans of following their daughter, accompanied by their oldest son, in case those who went before them should send up a good report of the land. Her adhesive affections suffered terribly in this rupture of old ties. But in such natures love takes possession of the whole being. She would have sacrificed life itself for William. All her friends knew it was harder for her than for others, to go into a strange land and enter into entirely new modes of existence. Therefore, they all spoke hopefully to her, and no one but William ever presented the clouded side of the picture to her view. He did it from a conscientious scruple, lest she should go forward in the enterprise with eyes blinded to its difficulties. But the hardships he described in such tender tones, never seemed like hardships. His warnings were always met with the affectionate response, “What a proud and happy woman I shall be, dear William, if I can do any thing to sustain you through the trials you will have to encounter.” She never spoke despondingly, never told the fears that sometimes swarmed in her imagination. If she could not strengthen him, she at least would not unnerve him, she said to herself; and as for cousin Kate, she would have been ashamed to acknowledge to her what a faint heart was beating within her bosom. Kate, who had earned her own living ever since she was sixteen, and assisted her widowed mother, and educated her younger brother and sister, in a manner well adapted to make them useful and active members of society, was just the woman to emigrate to the West. Sometimes Alice sighed, and wished she was more like Kate. She did not know how many anxious thoughts were concealed under her cousin’s cheerful tones, her bright frank smile, and her energetic preparations for departure.
Thick and fast came in the parting memorials from relatives and schoolmates; and what showers of tears fell upon them as they were stowed away in the closely packed chests! That last night at the old homesteads, oh, how the memories crowded upon those suffocated hearts! When Alice stole out in the moonlight, and wept, while she kissed the old elm, from whose boughs she had swung in childhood, she did not know that the roots were already moistened with Katie’s tears.
To the experienced and the thoughtful, all weddings are solemn occasions; for when they see the young unmooring their boat from its old fastenings, and floating away so gaily on the sun-rippled stream, they know full well that shadows are ahead, and that many a rock lies hidden under the bright waters. The marriage of William and Alice was solemn even to sadness; for they were to depart for Kansas on the morrow. The farewell moment had been so dreaded for days preceding, that all felt as if it would be a relief to have the agony over. Alice clung to her parents as the drowning cling. The mother lifted up her voice and wept, and the old father choked, as he strove to say, “Very pleasant hast thou been unto me. God bless thee, my child.” But cousin Katie, whose mission it was to strengthen everybody, came up and pressed their hands, and said “Good bye, dear uncle; good bye, dear aunt. We’ll make a beautiful home for you in Kansas; and Willie and Ally will come to bring you to us.”
As they mounted the wagons, children, who used to attend Mrs. Bradford’s school, came up with bunches of violets; and the little nephew, who thought himself such a mighty hunter, called out, “send me a bear!”
“Oh yes, Georgy,” replied Kate. “Will you have him roasted?”
“I want to tie him up in the darden, and feed him,” shouted George. But no one heard him. The wagons had rolled away before he finished the sentence; and those who watched them forgot that any thing else existed.
The last glimpse of Alice showed her head bowed down on her husband’s shoulder, her waist encircled by his arm. The last tones of Katie’s voice had been strong and clear; and no one but her kind-hearted John saw how the tears rained down on her infant’s face, as they rode through their native village. They had never fully realized, until now, how beautiful were the elms in the delicate verdure of spring; how precious were the golden blossoms profusely strewn over the meadows; how happy and safe the homes seemed to nestle in the scenery. As they passed the church, all turned and looked back at that place of pleasant meetings with relatives, friends and neighbours.
“They will miss our voices in the choir, dear William,” said Alice.
“Yes,” he replied; “but, by the blessing of God, we will sing hymns in the wilderness, and waken musical echoes among the silent hills.”
“And we will sing ‘Home Sweet Home’ together,” said Alice, with a faint smile.
“We’ll all join in the tune,” said Katie; “and John, who is ‘up to all sort o’ fixens’, as the Westerners say, will make some new variations, on purpose for the occasion.”
Then came the bustle of depôts, the whizzing of steam, and visions of fields and hills racing away. As usual, the hearts that went recovered serenity sooner than the hearts left behind. The new excitement of travelling waked up hope, who shoved memory aside for awhile, and produced from her portfolio a series of sketches, painted in colours more prismatic than Rossiter’s. They talked of the genial climate, and beautiful scenery of Kansas, and foretold that it would be the Italy of the western world.
“I hope it will be like Italy only in its externals,” said Kate. “I trust there will be no lazaroni, no monks, no banditti, no despots to imprison men for talking about the laws that govern them.”
“Why do you want to make a new Italy of it?” inquired Alice. “What better destiny can you wish for it, than to be like our dear New England?”
“Nothing better can be wished for it,” rejoined William. “Had I not been deeply impressed with the conviction that the institutions, and manners, and consequent welfare of states, depend greatly on the character of first settlers, I should never have encouraged emigration from the old Commonwealth by my own example.”
“But the climate and scenery of Italy would be an improvement to Massachusetts,” said John, “if we could have it without losing the active soul and strong muscle of New England.”
“That is it exactly, John,” rejoined Katie. “We will have it a young New England; but it shall be under sunny skies, with Italian dress.”
Several days passed before the emigrants began to be much aware of the discomforts and fatigue of a long journey. The babies crowed, and seemed to think the huge machine was invented expressly to furnish them with a pleasanter motion than cradle or go-cart; while maturer minds found amusement in observing the passengers that came and went, and pleasure in the varying scenery, as they were whirled along, past the thriving farms of New York, the tall forests of Canada, and the flower-dappled prairies of Illinois. But after a while, even the strongest became aware of aching bones, and the most active minds grew drowsy. The excessive weariness of the last days no pen can adequately describe. The continuous motion of the cars, without change of posture; the disturbed night on board steamboats full of crying children; the slow floating over Missouri waters, now wheeling round to avoid a snag, now motionless for hours on a sand-bar, waiting for the drifting tide, while twilight settles darkly down over uninhabited forests, stretching away in the dim distance. The hurry and scramble of arriving at strange places, farther and farther away from home, and always with a dreary feeling at their hearts that no home awaited them.
“If I could only make it seem as if we were going anywhere, I don’t think I should feel so tired,” said Alice, with a kind of weary bewilderment in the expression of her sweet countenance.
Worn out as Katie was, she summoned a cheerful smile, and replied, “Keep up a brave heart, Alice, dear. Those who are going nowhere are pretty sure to arrive.”
After eight days’ travel, they arrived at Kansas City, in Missouri. There they bade adieu to cars and steamboats, and entered the Indian Territory, closely stowed away in great wagons, covered with sail-cloth, and furnished with rough boards for seats. In some places the road swept along in graceful curves, through miles of smooth open prairie, belted with noble trees, and sprinkled with wild flowers, as copiously as rain-drops from a summer shower. The charming novelty of the scene was greeted with a child-like outburst of delight from all the weary party. Even the quiet, home-loving Alice, clapped her hands, and exclaimed, “How beautiful!” without adding with a sigh, “But it isn’t like dear New England.”
William smiled affectionately at her enthusiastic surprise, and said, “Virtuous and industrious people can build up happy homes in such solitudes as these, dear Alice.”
Anon, they descended into deep ravines, which jolted the rough boards, and knocked their heads together. Through these steep passes the wagons were jerked by patient mules, till they were brought into streams whose uncertain depths made the women and children scream; or into creeks sparkling in the sunshine, whose shallow waters covered holes, easier to pass by leaving the wagons, and jumping from stone to stone. Then scrambling up another steep bank, they found marks of wheels to indicate a road. They packed themselves into the huge wagons again, with their baskets and babies, bread and cheese, and went tumbling along with bonnets knocked into cocked-hats, and hats that had lost all appearance of being wide-awake. Katie was conjecturing, now and then, how many bowls and plates would arrive in Kansas unbroken; while Alice had a foggy idea that they were going nowhere; but there was a rainbow across the fog, because William was going there, too.
Tired out in mind and body, they came at last to the river Wakarusa, which they crossed slowly at the fording-place, and rode up a bank that seemed steep enough to set the wagons on end. This brought them into fields of grass, dotted here and there with small cabins. To New England eyes it presented little resemblance to a village; but it was called a town, and bore the honoured name of Franklin. A few miles to the left, smoothly rounded hills rose on the horizon, terrace-like, one behind the other. Between those beautiful hills and the thickly-wooded banks of the river, was the infant town of Lawrence, the destined capital of Free Kansas.
Here the travellers rested to greet old friends, who had preceded them, and to form plans for the future. They all agreed that a more beautiful nestling place for a village had rarely been seen; and really, considering it was little more than eight months old, it had quite a grown-up look. There were several neat houses, and many cabins, the appearance of which indicated industrious inmates, who would rapidly increase their comforts, and enlarge their borders. The bright river made a graceful curve, fringed with trees, which the skill of man could not have arranged so tastefully as nature had done. Hills rose to the horizon in gradually ascending series, their verdant slopes lighted up with golden sunshine. One of grander proportions than the others, called Blue Mound, was immediately singled out by Mr. Bradford as the site of a future Free State University; and his equally active-minded wife forthwith matured the plan, by proposing that William Bruce should be its first president, and her baby become a professor of some ’ology or other.
“I am afraid we can’t wait long enough for him,” replied her husband, smiling. “We shall have to choose you for a professor, Kate; I, for one, will give you my vote.”
The rough hands of the settlers, and their coarse garments, soiled with prairie mud, were offensive to Kate’s ideas of neatness, and still more so to the delicate tastes of Alice. But on Sundays, when they were dressed, in their best, and met together to read and sing, they looked like quite different people. As they became more acquainted, it was an agreeable surprise to find so large a proportion of them intelligent and well educated. With a pervading character of sobriety, industry and enterprise, they seemed to require nothing but time, and a small allowance of that, to build up thriving towns and form a prosperous state. Certainly, the manner of living was rude, for many of them ate their dinner from boards laid across the tops of barrels. The labour also was hard, for there was much to do, and few to do it; and, as yet, wells were not dug, or machinery introduced. But where all worked, no one felt his dignity lessened by toil. They had the most essential element of a prosperous state; the respectability of labour. The next most important element they also had; for they placed a high value on education, and were willing to sacrifice much to secure it for their children. The absence of conventional forms, and the constant exercise of ingenuity, demanded by the inconveniences and emergencies of a settler’s life, have a wonderful effect in producing buoyancy and energy of character. The tendency to hope for every thing, and the will to do every thing desirable to be done, were so contagious, that Alice was surprised to discover the amount of her hitherto undeveloped capabilities.
There was a cabin for sale, built by one of the earliest settlers, who had died of fever. Its picturesque situation, on a rising ground overlooking the river, was attractive to Mr. Bradford and his wife, and it became their home. It consisted of one long room with a loft above, from which it was separated by a floor of loosely-laid boards. The long room was converted into two, by a cotton curtain running on iron rings; and the loft was divided into two apartments in the same manner. When these arrangements were completed, it afforded a temporary shelter for the two families of Katie and Alice, including eight persons. In the absence of closets, it was necessary to hang all sorts of articles from the boards above. A dried salt fish was near neighbour to a very pretty work-basket, and a bag of potatoes was suspended between a new quilt and a handsome carpet-bag.
“I hope we shall soon be able to stow the salt fish and potatoes away somewhere,” said Alice.
“Oh, never mind!” replied Katie, laughing. “If Hans Christian Andersen would only come this way, he would make a fine story about the salt fish falling in love with the pretty basket, and becoming thinner every day, because his genteel neighbour preferred the carpet-bag, and took no pains to conceal her disgust of his vulgar appearance and disagreeable breath. She listen to the vows of a salt fish? Not she! Did’nt he know that her handsome relative, the carpet-bag, from Brussels, had done as good as make proposals to her? Then the poor fish would be stimulated to hunt up a pedigree. He might claim to have descended from Jonah’s whale. He, on his part, might feel his dignity offended by the neighbourhood of dirty potatoes. And the potatoes, like sturdy republicans, might tell him they did not care a darn for his pedigree. They should like to know whether he could grow; if he could’nt, he was an old fogy, and the less he said the better; for he was among folks that believed in growing, and did’nt believe in any thing else.” Alice laughed at her conceits, and said it was a blessing to have such a lively companion in a lonesome place.
As soon as the first hurry was over, the men of the family converted packing-boxes into shelves for books and utensils, and made divers grotesque-looking stools, with cotton cloth and unpeeled boughs of wood, after the fashion of portable garden-chairs. There was talk of a table to be hewn from a black walnut tree; but as yet the tree was growing, and boards on barrel-tops must answer meanwhile. The salt-cellars were broken when the wagons were pitching down some of the ravines; but the shell of a turtle, which Kate’s brother Thomas had brought among his traps, made a tolerable substitute. The women missed the smooth, white table-cloths, and the orderly arrangement of dishes, to which they had been accustomed; but they agreed with the men, that no food had ever tasted so good as the corn-cakes, venison, and wild game cooked in that humble cabin, where they mutually served each other in love. Then the unpacking of the deep trunks and boxes, bringing to light memorials of old places and dear friends, was a pleasure which only the far-off emigrant from home may realize. Some mutual secrets had been kept, which made little sunny ripples of surprise in their quiet stream of life. Alice’s father and mother had packed their photograph likenesses in Katie’s trunk, with a charge that they should not be opened till they were settled in their new home. Katie had pressed mosses and ferns from the old well near Uncle May’s garden-gate. They were twined with pendant blossoms from the old elm, and woven into a garland round the words, “From the well, whose waters Katie and Allie drank in childhood, and from the old elm-tree from whose boughs they used to swing.” She had framed it neatly with cones, gathered in a pine grove, where they had walked together many an hour. These souvenirs of the dear old home so stirred the deep fountains of feeling in her cousin’s soul, that she burst into tears. But Katie soon made her laugh, by exhibiting a crockery bear, which little Georgy had packed among the things, to remind them of the living bear he expected to receive from Kansas.
Alice said she had a little secret too. She retreated to her division of the room, and brought forth a pencil-drawing of the house where Katie was born, and where her mother had always lived; and across the green lane was Uncle May’s house, with the old well shaded by the elm. She had a talent for drawing, and the dear familiar scene was brought faithfully before the eye, though a little idealized by the softness of the shading.
“Dear me!” exclaimed the vivacious Katie. “How can I put it where I can see it often, yet contrive to keep it free from smoke and dust?” She gave a forlorn kind of glance at the unplastered walls, through chinks of which glimpses of the sky were visible. The fact was, neither they nor their friends had been aware of the rough conditions of a settler’s life; and the cousins had brought with them many pretty little keepsakes, which they could find no places for. But it was a rule with them to utter no complaints, to add to the weight of cares already resting on their noble husbands. So the forlorn look quickly gave place to a smile, as Kate kissed her cousin, and said, “I’ll tell you what I will do, Allie dear. I will keep it in my heart.”
“It is a large place, and blesses all it keeps. That I can bear witness to,” said John. * * * *
There was need that the women of Kansas should overlook their own inconveniences, and be silent about their own sufferings; for a thunder-cloud was gathering over the heads of the emigrants, and every week it grew blacker and blacker. It needed less quickness of observation than Katie possessed, to perceive, almost immediately after their arrival, that they were surrounded by dangerous enemies.
Her husband, knowing the reliable strength of her character, did not hesitate to confide to her his anxieties and fears for Kansas. But, as far as possible, they kept danger out of sight in their conversations with Alice. They had seen proof enough that she was strong in self-sacrifice, with abundant fortitude to endure for those she loved; but they knew that the life-blood of her soul was in her affections, and that perils in her husband’s path would undermine the strength she needed for her own. Her busy hands were almost entirely employed with in-door occupations; sewing and mending for the whole family, keeping the rooms tidy, and assisting about the daily cooking. If it was necessary to purchase a pail, or pan, or any other household convenience, it was Katie who sallied forth into Massachusetts street to examine such articles as were for sale at the little shanty shops. If water was wanted, when the men were absent, she put on her deep cape-bonnet, and took the pail to the nearest spring, nearly a quarter of a mile distant; for there was so much work pressing to be done in Lawrence, that as yet there had been no time found to construct wells; and the water of the river became shallow and turbid under the summer sun. These excursions were at first amusing from their novelty, and she came home with a lively account of odd-looking Missouri cattle-drovers, and Indian squaws, with bags full of papooses strapped to their shoulders. But gradually the tone of merriment subsided; and when she had occasion to go into the street, she usually returned silent and thoughtful. Fierce-looking Missourians, from the neighbouring border, scowled at her as she passed, and took pleasure in making their horses rear and plunge across her path. In the little shops she often found more or less of these ruffians, half-tipsy, with hair unkempt, and beards like cotton-cards, squirting tobacco-juice in every direction, and interlarding their conversation with oaths and curses. Every one that entered was hailed with the interrogatory, “Stranger, whar ar yer from?” If their answer indicated any place north of the Ohio, and east of the Mississippi, the response was, “Damn yer, holler-hearted Yankees! What business have you in these diggens? You’d better clar out, I tell yer.”
On one of these occasions, a dirty drunken fellow said to Kate, “They tell me you are an all-fired smart woman. Are you pro-slave? or do you go in for the abolitionists?”
Concealing the disgust she felt, she quietly replied, “I wish to see Kansas a Free State, because I have her prosperity at heart.”
“Damn yer imperdence!” exclaimed the brute. “I should like to see you chained up with one of our niggers. I’ll be cussed if I would’nt help to do it.” And he finished by stooping down and squirting a quantity of tobacco-juice into her face.
There was another Missourian in the shop, a tall burly looking cattle drover, with a long whip in his hand. He seized the other roughly by the arm, saying, “I tell you what, my boy, that’s puttin it on a little too thick. I’m pro-slave. If you’re for a far fight with the Yankees, Tom Thorpe’s the man for yer work. But I’m down on all sich fixens. Let the woman alone!”
The rowdy drew his bowie-knife, with a volley of oaths, and Katie darted from the shop, leaving her purchases uncompleted. When she returned, she found her mother busy about dinner, and Alice sitting at the window, making a coarse frock. She raised her head and smiled, when her cousin entered, but immediately looked out toward Mount Oread. When she first saw that verdant slope, she had fallen in love with its beauty; then she had been attracted by the classic name, conferred on it by a scholar among the emigrants. There was something romantic in thus transporting the Mountain Spirits of ancient Greece into the loveliest portions of this new Western World. William often quoted Leigh Hunt’s verses, about
“The Oreads, that frequent the lifted mountains;
* * * * * * * and o’er deep ravines
Sit listening to the talking streams below.”
Then Governor Robinson’s house, on the brow of the hill, was a pleasant object in the scenery; for he was a courteous and cultivated man, with a good library, always at their disposal. There was so much quiet gentle strength about him, that his presence seemed to ensure protection. The last and strongest reason why Alice loved Mount Oread was that William had taken land a little beyond it, and there was to be their future home, snug as a bird’s nest, in a “sunny nook of greenery.” He was building a cabin there, and every day she saw him descending toward Lawrence, with the axe on his shoulder; and as he came nearer, she could hear him whistling, “Home, sweet home.” She was watching for him now, and hoping he would return in season for dinner. Therefore she had not noticed the flurried manner with which Kate hastened to wash her face, and wipe the tobacco stains from her bonnet. While she was thus employed, the old lady said to her youngest daughter, “Flora, go and call John and Thomas from the field. Dinner is nearly ready.”
“No, mother! No!” exclaimed Katie. “Never send her out! Never!” Perceiving that her quick emphatic manner had arrested the attention of all the inmates of her dwelling, she added in a lower tone, “I will go, myself.”
But her words had aroused a train of thoughts, which was becoming more and more familiar to Alice. The men in the vicinity often came to ask council of Mr. Bradford and Mr. Bruce; and of course their talk was mainly concerning the neighbouring state of Missouri. She heard them tell how ruffians and rowdies came over the border with bowie-knives and pistols to drive the free citizens of Kansas away from the polls; to deprive them of liberty to make their own laws, and compel them to be governed by the code of Missouri, which in many ways violated their moral sense. She heard them say that spies from Missouri were in every neighbourhood, watching those emigrants who dared to say any thing in favour of having the soil of Kansas free. Why was Katie so flushed and flurried? Was the danger approaching nearer than she was aware of? She turned anxiously toward Mount Oread, and longed for a sight of William. What if he should not return till after night-fall? He, whose honest mouth would never utter a word that was false to freedom, whatever might be his personal risk? Unable to keep back the crowding tears, she slipped behind the cotton curtain that screened their sleeping apartment, and kneeling beside their rude couch, she prayed earnestly to God to protect her husband.
William had not arrived when they sat down to dine, and his wife made various pretences for rising to remove a plate, or bring a cup of water; but in reality to look out upon Mount Oread. At last, she heard his voice, and rushed out to meet him, with an outburst of emotion that surprised them all. John shook his head mournfully, and sighed as he said, “Poor Alice! How she idolizes him!”
Katie had the discretion not to mention her rencontre with the Border Ruffian to any but her husband, who grew red in the face and clenched his fist, while he listened, but immediately subsided into a calmer mood, and said, “We must be careful never to lose sight of the best interests of Kansas, in our resentment at the wrongs and insults we are continually receiving. We will give these lawless rascals no excuse for molesting us, and wait with patience for the American government to protect its unoffending citizens.”
On the afternoon of the same day, a gawky lad, with a “long nine” in his mouth, and hands in his trowsers pockets, came to the door, saying, “The ole woman’s tuk wi’ fits almighty strong; and the ole man wants you to cum, and bring along some o’ yer doctor’s stuff. He’s heern tell that yer death on fits.”
Mrs. Bradford had become so accustomed to the South-Western lingo, that she understood “the ole man” to be the lad’s father. She knew very well that he was a Missouri spy, of the lowest order, an accomplice in many villainous proceedings against the free-soil citizens of Kansas. She felt a loathing of the whole family, not unmingled with resentment; but she rose quickly to prepare the medicines; thinking to herself, “What hypocrisy it is for me to profess to be a believer in Christianity, if I cannot cheerfully return good for evil, in such a case as this.” She administered relief to the sufferer, as tenderly as if she had been her own sister; and the poor woman expressed gratitude for it, in her uncouth way. When Kate remarked that they would feel more kindly toward the Yankees, if they knew them better, she replied, “I allers tole my ole man I wished they wouldn’t keep up such a muss. But Lor’, what the use o’ speakin’. It’s jist like spittin’ agin the wind.”
That night, Mr. Bradford’s horse and saddle were stolen. They never knew by whom; but they were afterward seen in Missouri.
In the midst of discouragements and dangers, the brave band of settlers went on with their work. Better stores were erected, and, one after another, the temporary cabins gave place to comfortable stone houses.
An Emigrant Aid Society had been formed in the North, whose object it was to assist in the erection of mills, school-houses, and other buildings, for the public benefit. Their motive was partly financial, inasmuch as all such improvements rapidly increased the value of property in Kansas; and they were well aware that the outward prosperity, as well as the moral strength of a state depended greatly upon encouraging emigrants to go from communities where they had been accustomed to free institutions, educational privileges, orderly habits, and salutary laws. Their motives in extending a helping hand to these infant colonies, were both morally good and worldly wise. There was no partiality in their management of affairs. Emigrants from the Southern states shared their benefits equally with those from the North. Settlers were pouring in from all sections of the country; but chiefly from the North and West, because the hardy inhabitants of those states are always ready for enterprise and toil. Many of them had large families of children, and the small half-furnished tavern, called the Cincinnati House, was quite insufficient to afford them shelter while cabins were prepared for them. In the course of their first summer, John Bradford and his band of pilgrims had the satisfaction of seeing a noble stone hotel, of three stories, rise in Massachusetts street, making the place beautiful with its glazed windows, and doors of polished black walnut.
Unfortunately, the only route to Kansas, by rail-road or steamboat, passed through Missouri. Baggage-wagons were continually plundered, and letters broken open and destroyed, by the Border Ruffians. Supplies of provisions, purchased by the settlers, or sent to them by their friends, went to enrich their enemies. Money enclosed in letters met with the same fate. Still the settlers of Kansas pursued a pacific course toward their persecutors. They came from communities where laws were reliable for protection, and, following their old habits, they appealed to the laws; desirous, at all hazards, not to involve the country in civil war. This conscientious patriotism was not appreciated. The banditti on the borders laughed it to scorn; while the slaveholding gentlemen and statesmen, who used them as puppets, to do the disgraceful work they were ashamed to do openly themselves, smiled at the Yankees’ reverence for the Union, and successfully played their old game of practicing on conscientious love of country, in order to tighten the serpent coil of slavery more securely about the neck of freedom. Missourians had voted their own creatures into most of the offices of Kansas. Some of them pitched a tent in that Territory for a while, while others did not even assume the appearance of residing there. From such officers of justice the citizens of Kansas could find no redress for the robberies and wrongs continually inflicted on them, by the band of ruffians commissioned to drive them out of the Territory, by any means that would do it most effectually. Our wrongs from the British government were slight, compared with theirs. Still these Western Colonies refrained from revolution. They sent agents to Washington, with well-attested evidence of their outrageous wrongs. They received fair words, and no relief. Every day it became more evident that the President of the United States was in league with the power that was crushing free Kansas. The Missourians, emboldened by their knowledge of this fact, played their bad game more and more openly. They paid men a dollar a day, with plenty of whiskey, and free passage across the ferries, to go into Kansas and vote down the rights of the citizens. More and more, the conviction grew upon the people of Kansas that they could not trust the government of the United States, and consequently had only their own energies to rely upon. They published a paper called the Herald of Freedom, in which they maintained the right of all American citizens to choose their own magistrates, and make their own laws. They rejected the legislators imposed upon them by the rabble of Missouri, at the point of the bayonet. They declared that a large majority of the settlers were desirous to have Kansas a Free State, and that they would maintain their right to be heard. To this paper, John Bradford and William Bruce were constant contributors, and Kate’s brother, Thomas, was diligent in setting the types. Of course, the family became odious to those who were bent on driving freedom out of Kansas.
A Convention of the free-soil citizens of the Territory was called at Topeka. There were representatives from nearly all sections of the Union. Emigrants from Carolina, Virginia, and Missouri, agreed with emigrants from Ohio and Massachusetts, that the introduction of slavery would prove disastrous to the prosperity of the state. They framed a Constitution for Kansas, and chose legislators. Some required that free coloured people should be excluded from the Territory, as well as slaves. Others deemed that such a regulation would be an infringement upon freedom, and urged that no man could calculate the future bad consequences of introducing one wrong principle into the basis of their government. No one urged this point more strenuously, than did William Bruce, in his mild firm way. But Southern emigrants were opposed to that view of the case, and the Convention, desirous to concede as far as possible, yet unwilling to introduce such a clause into their Constitution, concluded to leave that question to the votes of the people.
It was a trying time for the women in Lawrence. The wisest and bravest men were absent in Topeka, which was twenty-five miles further up the river. The Convention excited great wrath in Missouri. They called themselves lovers of “law and order,” and denounced those as “traitors” who dared to make other laws than those imposed upon them with bowie-knives and revolvers. The wildest stories were circulated. The most moderate of them was a rumour that Mr. Bruce insisted upon having “niggers” become members of the legislature. This they regarded as the greatest monstrosity a republican could be guilty of; for they were blind to the fact that hundreds of coloured slaves could be found, who were more fit for the office, than the white ones they had appointed to rule over Kansas. Insults multiplied, and curses and threats grew louder. Every family in Lawrence went to bed each night with the feeling that they might be murdered before morning.
When the delegates returned, John Bradford thought his wife seemed at least ten years older, than when she came to Kansas, the preceding spring. The baby, who could now toddle alone, had caught the trick of fear, and hid himself, when his father knocked at the fastened door.
William was alarmed to find Alice so thin and pale, and to see her gentle eyes look so large and frightened. He folded her closely in his arms, and as she wept upon his bosom, he said, “O my wife! My loving and generous wife! How I reproach myself for accepting the sacrifice you offered! Yet had I foreseen this state of things, I never would have consented that you should follow me into Kansas.”
“Don’t say that!” she exclaimed nervously. “It will be easier to die with you, than it would have been to live without you. But oh, William, why need they persecute us so? There are thousands of acres of land uncultivated in Missouri. What makes them covet our land?”
“Ah, dearest, it is a complicated question, and you don’t understand it. They care little for the land, except as a means of increasing their political power. They want more Slave States, to be represented by slaveholders in the councils of the Union; and they do not want that any more Free States should come into the Union, to balance their influence. Therefore they are not content with stretching their dominions to the Gulf of Mexico, and seizing Texas. They wish to grasp the Northern Territories also, that they may be secure of keeping the Free States in political subjection. It is a long story, my love. For many years, they have been artfully availing themselves of every means to increase their power. The antagonistic principles of slavery and freedom have come to a death-grapple here in Kansas; and you, my delicate little flower, are here to be trampled, in the struggle.”
Alice sighed, and wished she was more like Kate; for then she would not be such a weight upon his spirits. But he declared that he would not for the world have her in any way different from her own dear self. Then they fell to talking about their future home, which was now in readiness. Two of William’s brothers had arrived with their families. An addition to the cabin had been built for one of them, and the other would live within call. Katie was loth to part from her cousin; but she said they would be far more comfortable in their new quarters, and as for safety, there was safety nowhere; least of all, in Lawrence.
Gradually they fell into a more cheerful strain of conversation. The husbands spoke hopefully, and really felt so; for they had strong faith that their beautiful Kansas would become a free and prosperous state.
Various boxes from Massachusetts, directed to William Bruce, had arrived 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.
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, “If he had 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, “Governor Sham!”
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, and Katie 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, my brave children,” 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 safely to 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 them savages” she said, “when they scalped some of their victims; but I did injustice to the savages; for, in their worst cruelties, they always 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. Circumstances had 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, she could not 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 centred there. 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 found herself living and acting, rendered their crown 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. “Massachusetts will 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 than wolves. 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. Depend upon 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 have loved thee! How I have trusted in thee!” Then bowing her head in her hands, she sobbed out, “I could not 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 their business, not to their bosoms.
On the 21st of May, 1856, Lawrence was “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 that her six stars were there, 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 that her six 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 the savage crowd, calling out, “I’m down on all sich fixens. 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 little too high.” 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 scattered clothes 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: “Act only on the defensive. Make no aggressions. Keep the cause of Kansas sacred.” She only turned upon her pursuers to say, “You think you 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 that her six 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 my mother! I want to go home to my mother!”
“Yes, dear, you shall go home,” said Katie, tenderly smoothing back her straggling hair. “Who are you?” 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 my mother.”
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 such a 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.