University of Virginia Library

22. THE
KANSAS EMIGRANTS.

“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, dear 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 age 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! Didn't 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 Missisippi, 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

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:

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 loop-holes
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 cooperated
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.
Dont 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.