IUAHOIS 
 
 iSUR VBC 
 
A 
 
 UNION 
 
 FOREVER 
 
 Muriel Culp Barbe 
 
 (See Poge 430) 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/unionforeverhistOObarb 
 
A UNION FOREVER 
 
 An historical story of the turbulent years, 1854-1865, 
 
 in the Lincoln country and the Kansas-Missouri border 
 
 of the Old Central West, based on contemporary 
 
 records, documents and letters of Lewis Hanback, 
 
 hitherto unpublished 
 
 by 
 MURIEL CULP BARBE 
 
 w 
 
 THE BARBE ASSOCIATES 
 
 P. O. Box 230, Glendale, California 
 
 1949 
 
Copyright 1949 by 
 
 MURIEL CULP BARBE 
 
 All rights reserved including 
 the right to reproduce this 
 volume or parts thereof in 
 any form. 
 

 To 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 
 and 
 
 to all who died with him 
 
 to preserve the 
 
 Union 
 
 "They never fail who die 
 In a great cause. The block may soak their gore, 
 Their heads may sodden in the sun, their limbs 
 Be strung to city gates and castle walls, 
 But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years 
 Elapse and others share as dark a doom, 
 They but augment the deep and swelling thoughts 
 Which overpower all others and conduct 
 The world at last to Freedom." 
 
 Albany, N. Y. 
 
 January 25th, 1865. 
 Laid by for future reference. 
 
 Lewis Hanback. 
 
Preface 
 
 William Elsey Connelley, one of the most prominent historians 
 of the events leading to the American Civil War, said the facts he 
 had compiled would eventually help in the writing of a book 
 designed to bring about understanding, North and South, of the 
 irresistible forces behind the conflict. These forces met on the 
 Kansas-Missouri border,— a feudal system confronted by an expand- 
 ing free economy. The flame, kindled on the border with the repeal 
 of the Missouri Compromise, became a holocaust that was watched 
 breathlessly by all the peoples of the world who were pressing on 
 toward freedom. 
 
 "A Union Forever" opens in the small town of Chapin, twelve 
 miles west of Jacksonville, Illinois, where a fifteen-year-old or- 
 phaned boy, Lewis Hanback, is caught up in events that carry him 
 to Lawrence on the Kansas border where he meets two young men 
 who are to become a part of the band of Captain John Brown. 
 Following the failure of the Brown campaign in Kansas, Hanback, 
 teaching school in Chapin, meets Abraham Lincoln at a school 
 picnic. When war is declared he is among the first to go, serving 
 on the staffs of several officers, notably Colonel George Roberts, 
 and Phil Sheridan. His letters to his sweetheart, Hester Ann Cooper, 
 and his lectures and articles of after days are used in depicting the 
 battle scenes of Stone River, Chickamauga, and the storming of 
 Missionary Ridge. Lovers of Americana will find eyewitness ac- 
 counts in the book that have never before been published. 
 
 Not only does "A Union Forever" develop the causes and relate 
 the scenes of history in the years from 1854 to 1865. It establishes 
 beyond controversy that in the fight to preserve a union forever of 
 free men, the defendants included Protestant and Catholic, Jewish 
 and Gentile, native Americans and thousands of foreign born, one 
 whole brigade of American Indians, devoted colored troops who 
 died smiling while they tried to advance the position of the Flag, 
 and Southerners without number. In the Republican convention of 
 1864, Breckenridge of Kentucky shouted, "As the Republican party, 
 I will not follow you one inch; but as the party of the Union, I will 
 follow you to the very gates of hell." 
 
 "A Union Forever" rests upon a true historical basis. Through the 
 Illinois State Historical Society the author was put in touch with 
 descendants of the boys of Company K, 27th Illinois Volunteers, 
 
6 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 whose story winds through the battle scenes. All these families 
 cooperated graciously in furnishing material. To Miss Helen M. 
 McFarland and her assistants of the Kansas State Historical Society 
 deep appreciation is due for untiring assistance. Important material 
 was furnished by the families of Colonel William Phillips, founder 
 of Salina, Kansas, and Judge August Bondi, of Salina, both of whom 
 were with John Brown of Osawatomie. 
 
 The author of "A Union Forever" has an American ancestry going 
 back to pre-Revolutionary days, the greater part of it Southern. 
 With deep appreciation of all that is excellent and cultured in every 
 part of our country, she feels the time has come to lift the fratricidal 
 conflict of a hundred years ago out of emotionalism into its true 
 perspective where it may be seen as a difficult upward footstep in 
 the progress of mankind. 
 
Parti 
 
 The Virgin and the Harlot 
 
A UNION FOREVER 
 
 In the early Fifties of the last century a shortline railroad shuttled 
 Morgan country, Illinois, from Jacksonville to Meredosia on the 
 Illinois river. Hurrying along at the conservative speed of fifteen to 
 twenty miles an hour, sparks streaming and bell clamoring, the 
 little engine drew its freight of country people into Jacksonville 
 every morning, and took them westward again in the afternoon. 
 Or dropped them off at various way stations coming in, and picked 
 them up again going out, after they had made visits to friends and 
 relatives. Before the construction of this railroad in 1839, each small 
 cluster of pioneers in Morgan county lived to itself. The Northern 
 Cross changed all that, uniting the countryside and making possible 
 an exchange of ideas on the great question always agitating Southern 
 Illinois during the Forties and Fifties,— the question of human 
 slavery. Meanwhile the old, difficult pioneer time of horse drawn 
 vehicles over the choking dust or bottomless mud of dirt roads 
 yielded to the comparative comfort of cinders and a horrible odor 
 of coal gas. 
 
 Passengers who alighted in the village of Chapin, twelve miles 
 west of Jacksonville, soon learned that in Chapin the family of 
 Horace Chapin took the lead, closely seconded by Frenches, Wil- 
 lards, Smiths and Danielses. Here John Douglas Cooper, lately from 
 Tennessee, opened a general merchandise emporium. Here too, 
 appeared from over Winchester way a Mr. Ebey, proposing to 
 found a pottery works. Here Mr. Samuel French, a circuit preacher 
 with a talent for banking, gave land for a schoolhouse, and became 
 the leading school trustee. Thus commerce was lively, industry 
 boomed, and culture was not neglected. When Cooper and Chapin 
 erected a grain elevator there were those in Chapin who prophesied 
 that city would untimately annex Jacksonville twelve miles away. 
 
 Owners of the comfortable estates in and around Chapin brought 
 their architecture from their home states, as well as their trees and 
 shrubs and garden flowers. Houses flavored with Massachusetts and 
 Virginia, New York State and Tennessee, rose in dignity behind 
 lilac and mock orange, elm for grace and pine for sturdy worth. 
 Peach and cherry and apple orchards spread their pink and white 
 tables to the bees under April skies, and had great stores of sweet- 
 ness left in ripened fruits for the jars of the thrifty Southern Illinois 
 housewives. Flocks of busily cropping sheep kept the lawns of 
 Kentucky blue grass, behind low picket fences always painted 
 whiter than white. 
 
 On a Sunday afternoon of July in 1854, when orchards began to 
 
A UNION FOREVER 9 
 
 glow with apples and peaches, and arbors hung thick with turning 
 grapes, translucent green and misted purple, several persons sat 
 under an arbor on the Daniels side lawn. They watched a group of 
 children and young people who were enjoying a newly made swing. 
 The clean new rope was attached to an elm bough twenty feet above 
 the ground. At just the right distance from the ground the rope was 
 drawn through two holes in a nicely planed board. All the children 
 present declared it to be the very finest swing they had ever seen. 
 
 "Who climbed up there to fasten the rope?" demanded Hettie 
 Cooper, thrusting her short legs in finely tucked cambric pantalettes 
 straight out before her as her older brother William negligently 
 kept her in motion. 
 
 The Daniels children vied in explanation. 
 
 "The new little Dutch boy." 
 
 "Lew Hanback." 
 
 "He says it's really Heinbach." 
 
 "It's Hanback in America." 
 
 "Where is he now?" persisted Hettie. "Why doesn't he swing 
 with us?" 
 
 The Daniels children explained in chorus. 
 
 "He won't come where there's company." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because he has patches on his trousers." 
 
 "On his Sunday trousers?" 
 
 This inquiry came from Vassey Willard, Hettie's cousin. A timid 
 child, she momentarily forgot herself before the enormity of patches 
 on Sunday trousers. 
 
 The Daniels children continued to chorus. 
 
 "He's an orphan." 
 
 "So his father an' mother both got to be dead." 
 
 "He has to take care of cows." 
 
 Hettie Cooper's grey eyes flashed. 
 
 "Why doesn't your father give him some new trousers? For taking 
 care of the stable?" 
 
 "Because Lew won't let him." 
 
 "Because Lew makes father put all his wages in our strong box." 
 
 "Because Lew's going away to school." 
 
 "To Cherry Grove Academy." 
 
 "That's very creditable of him," declared William Cooper. "Now, 
 Hettie, let one of the others have a swing. I'll swing everybody once 
 around. Then I'm through." 
 
 At either end of the long grape arbor two adult conversations 
 were proceeding along two immensely different lines. At one end 
 
10 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Mrs. Daniels kept an eye on half a dozen bees drowsing round the 
 grape clusters between glances at the group near the Swing, the 
 while she enjoyed the chat of an Eastern visitor who was brimming 
 over with news. 
 
 "And just think, Auntie! Last year Uncle John put in a water 
 closet! That's the name for them. Uncle John always gets everything 
 first. But he says it's only a question of time till they'll be all over 
 America." 
 
 "I don't know that I'd want such a thing," murmured her aunt. 
 "And I'm sure Mr. Daniels would never consent to it." 
 
 She glanced toward the other end of the arbor where her husband 
 was in low-toned conversation with Mr. Samuel French. 
 
 Her niece continued. 
 
 "There's a box over your head, Auntie, filled with water. You 
 pull a chain and the water roars down. It's really exciting. Cousin 
 Milly was all dressed for a reception, and the chain got caught some 
 way. The water came over the edge of the box, right down on her, 
 plumes and all. The dining room ceiling below had to be done over." 
 
 "How do they get the water into the box?" 
 
 "They pump it up from the pond into a storage tank in the attic. 
 Uncle John makes the boys fill the tank. It takes five hundred strokes 
 of the pump handle to fill it. And what do you think, Auntie? 
 Millgrove was so furious because he had to pump, he deliberately 
 kept on pumping after the five hundred strokes. Till he ran the 
 tank over, up in the attic. Ruined the guest room ceiling. Uncle 
 John's house is so complete. Modern in every way." 
 
 Comfortable in wide, cane-seated chairs at the other end of the 
 arbor, Mr. Samuel French, sturdy Congregational pillar, and his 
 host, Mr. Daniels, spoke in lowered voices. 
 
 "A cord of wood as a gift to a friend in Winchester. We'll start 
 from here so as to make it into Winchester after dark. I'll do the 
 driving, but I need someone to keep a sharp lookout. Willard won't 
 do, now that he's suspected." 
 
 While Mr. Daniels, benevolent but no zealot, hesitated, Samuel 
 French continued, "Their condition is pitiable. Both emaciated, and 
 the man's back is scarred from the lash. If anything goes wrong, if 
 they are in danger of being recaptivated, I have a presentiment 
 they'll kill themselves." 
 
 "I'll go with you." 
 
 Mr. Daniels lacked the stern determination of Mr. French, but 
 he had an all-embracing compassion for the weak and troubled. 
 He asked, after a moment of consideration, "Shall I take my 
 shotgun?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 11 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 Mr. Daniels was not the man to shoot a fellow being: even if he 
 could make up his mind to the act, he would never manage the 
 first draw. However, Mr. French did not seriously contemplate 
 trouble. Whatever gossip was going over the county, there was 
 probably no one with the hardihood to challenge a man successful 
 both as a preacher and a man of affairs. He had time to say, "The 
 false bottom in the wagon makes it as comfortable as possible under 
 the circumstances. Tomorrow afternoon then. Here come the ladies!" 
 
 "Mr. Daniels, do you think the children should swing so high?" 
 
 "I believe they are quite safe, my dear. I tested the limb myself." 
 
 Mr. French who inclined toward hard maples and honey locusts, 
 remarked, "I doubt if the elm will survive our western climate. New 
 England is better for it." 
 
 He looked severely at the children arguing over their turns in 
 the new swing. Mrs. Daniels catching his expression said, "I'm afraid 
 they're rather noisy for the Sabbath. Don't you think so, Mr. 
 Daniels?" 
 
 "Let them enjoy themselves. It isn't Sunday in the back yard." 
 
 "Who is the young boy standing behind the currant bushes?" 
 asked the Eastern niece. 
 
 "That is Lewis, our stable boy. Poor fellow! He won't come out 
 among the others because he has no proper Sunday clothes. He is 
 saving for his education. Mr. Daniels thinks he will make a fine 
 man one of these days." 
 
 "You're expected in Winchester?" asked Mr. Daniels under cover 
 of his wife's pretty voice. 
 
 "Oh, yes. No trouble there." 
 
 Mrs. Daniels was saying to her niece, "You recall my mentioning 
 a friend named Jane Willard Smith? In my letters? This Lewis is 
 her husband's nephew. Wilson Smith had a truly beautiful sister. 
 She married a Charles Heinbach. A young Holland Dutch portrait 
 painter. He came over from Amsterdam to Virginia, to relatives 
 there. The Virginia Hanbacks. They say Charles Heinbach— or 
 Hanback, as he soon came to be called— was an excellent painter. 
 He used to travel through the South, stay at plantation big houses. 
 Commissioned, you know, to paint the family. In the usual style of 
 doing things below the line. He was successful, and his family lived 
 well over in Winchester. But he contracted one of those nasty 
 Southern fevers. Came home to die. His wife lived only a few 
 months after him. They left a penniless family. They had lived 
 up everything." 
 
 "Oh, Auntie, artists always do." 
 
12 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Making splendid commissions," explained Mrs. Daniels. "But as 
 you say, artists] They live for the hour! Jane and Wilson Smith took 
 this boy for their share of the responsibility; but they have a family 
 of their own to raise. So he came to us. He is energetic and am- 
 bitious. Proud and lonely now. But I think he will get his education." 
 
 Mrs. Daniels' eye— never long off the spot where her children 
 played— fell on a frail little girl being persuaded into the swing by 
 William Cooper. 
 
 "Vassey Willard," she said. "Poor child." 
 
 "Another tragedy, Auntie?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing like poor Lewis. Vassey 's mother is Mrs. Hester 
 Ann Willard. Wealthy in her own right. Hettie Cooper is named 
 for her. The Coopers thought something might come of their naming 
 Hettie for her rich aunt. But so far all Hettie has had from Hester 
 Ann Willard is a pair of panties trimmed with home-made lace." 
 
 "Come, Auntie! You're evading. Why did you 'poor" little Vessey?" 
 
 Mrs. Daniels dropped her voice. 
 
 "Of course the children are forbidden to talk of this. But I believe 
 your uncle would tell you the story, if you were to ask him. About 
 the Cooper quilting bee," she added, raising her voice a tone. 
 
 "Cabin raising and quilting bee, my dear. The quilting bee was 
 a side issue." 
 
 While Mr. French palpably resigned himself to an oft-told story, 
 the niece cried entreatingly, "Oh, Uncle, I must hear that story. 
 Cabin raising and quilting bee! Why, it sounds like the days of 
 the Pilgrims." 
 
 Mr. Daniels settled himself more comfortably. 
 
 "You must realize, my dear, that fifteen years ago we were still 
 pretty much in the pioneer stage. At that time a large double log 
 cabin was considered a luxury." 
 
 "Fifteen years, Uncle? Only fifteen years, and now all this beauty 
 and comfort?" 
 
 "The railroad. Brought in all those Irish laborers. After they 
 finished the road we had plenty of workers, so everybody began 
 to build. These days we are by way of developing a leisure class." 
 
 "To our sorrow," put in Samuel French. 
 
 "You can't object to the Cooper double cabin, French. We built 
 that with our own labor. And after the work was finished John D. 
 Cooper sent invitations near and far for a house warming and 
 merrymaking. No one wanted to miss that occasion. The women 
 wanted to feast their eyes on Margaret Willard Cooper's new 
 furnishings that came all the way from New York. The men wanted 
 
A UNION FOREVER 13 
 
 to stand round and look at the cabin they had helped raise. Talk 
 politics and generally enjoy themselves." 
 
 "What I can't get over," marvelled the niece, "is from log cabin 
 to mansion in fifteen years." 
 
 "They'll do better than that over in Kansas," said Samuel French. 
 "Our Kansas pioneers are taking their saw-mills to Kansas with 
 them. Building fine homes right from the start, is their plan. Their 
 only difficulty is being shot at by Missouri bushwhackers." 
 
 "Difficulty enough," declared Mr. Daniels, seizing the conversa- 
 tion to put it back on its way to the Cooper house warming. "To get 
 back to our story, John D. Cooper was bound to be a good host. 
 Came here from Sumner county, over in Tennessee. Brought some 
 of what we call Veal money' with him. That it, it wasn't bank notes, 
 it was hard coin. The interest rates on his money soon made him 
 well-to-do." 
 
 "Interest rates of one hundred and twenty-five per cent," put in 
 Samuel French. 
 
 "We don't know that he ever took any such sum in interest," 
 objected Mr. Daniels. 
 
 "And we don't know that he didn't. Well, well. Get on with your 
 story." 
 
 "John D. is the son of a Tennessee pioneer named George Wash- 
 ington Cooper. A soldier in the Revolution." 
 
 "Oh, Uncle, do wait a moment! How could he have been named 
 after Washington, and yet be old enough to fight at the time of the 
 Revolution?" 
 
 "He was a Virginian. George Washington was a hero in Virginia 
 long before the Revolution." 
 
 "I see. Do go on with the story." 
 
 "When George Washington Cooper came west to Tennessee after 
 the Revolution he had as his wife Elizabeth Douglas Cooper. She 
 was own cousin to our Steve Douglas." 
 
 "Not really? I heard Judge Douglas speak in New York. He ex- 
 plained everything wonderfully." 
 
 "I suppose you refer to his blood-letting Kansas scheme?" 
 
 "Do you really think it is that bad, Mr. French?" 
 
 "Aren't we losing sight of the Cooper bee?" asked Mrs. Daniels. 
 
 "For his first wife John D. Cooper married a lovely girl, Margaret 
 Willard. Their first-born is the elegant young man now keeping 
 our swing in motion." 
 
 "Just returned from a summer in Tennessee," added Mr. French. 
 "Confirmed in his pro-slavery and State rights sympathies." 
 
 "After the second child, Mattie, came, Cooper raised his new 
 
14 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 double cabin. The countryside came to the housewarming. The 
 women in the long parlor quilted half a dozen quilts, while the 
 men sawed cord wood for wagers and prizes. The children played 
 games under the Cooper oaks, and the babies,"— here Mr. Daniels 
 paused for emphasis,— "the babies were put to sleep in one of the 
 ground floor bedrooms of the new cabin. Each mother wrapped her 
 sleeping baby warmly in its shawl and laid it on a chair or bed, 
 or even under a bed. There they slept, not in the least disturbed 
 by the clatter of tongues in the parlor." 
 
 "Mr. Daniels, you always will put that in about the 'clatter of 
 tongues in the parlor'. I'm sure the men were doing plenty of talking 
 outside." 
 
 "This particular merrymaking would have passed with as little 
 note as any hundred others if it hadn't been for a half -grown boy 
 named John Taylor. After a mighty mid-day feast the men scattered 
 over the farm, examining the stock and soil and so on. The women 
 cleared away and washed up, and the young mothers looked after 
 their babies. Finally they all gathered in the long parlor to finish 
 the quilts. The youngsters who had played themselves out of games 
 during the morning, were left to their own devices. They got into 
 mischief." 
 
 "That John Taylor," said Mrs. Daniels, smiling. "I haven't forgiven 
 him yet." 
 
 "John Taylor happened to look through the bedroom window at 
 the babies in their shawls, all lying snugly asleep. He got what he 
 thought was a brilliant idea. 'Let's swap shawls on the babies/ 
 'What for?' 'Hide under the window. See what our mothers do when 
 they come to get them/ 
 
 "Many of the children were afraid of the scheme and ran away. 
 But there were several bold spirits to help young John. They climbed 
 in through the window, and went to work. Under his direction every 
 shawl or pair of quilts was given a new owner. If a baby woke they 
 hushed it skillfully. Pioneer boys and girls learn baby lore in their 
 own cradles. 
 
 "After the changing the young sinners hung about for a while. 
 But time passed too slowly for them. They got into a game. It 
 wasn't till they were called for the long rides homeward they 
 remembered the babies. Then they crowded close under the bed- 
 room window to hear the cries and comments when their mothers 
 should discover the joke. What do you suppose happened?" 
 
 "The mothers screamed, and fainted, and—" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind. They came in gabbling. Each mother picked 
 
A UNION FOREVER 15 
 
 up the shawl or quilt she recognized, and made off with it. Not 
 having the native intelligence of she-bears, or ewes— " 
 
 "Mr. Daniels, that is too bad of you. We were chatting, and we 
 just didn't notice." 
 
 "Yes. They were chatting, and just didn't notice. They went away 
 home before one of them found out she had a strange baby." 
 
 "How terrible! How dreadfully terrible! How did you ever get it 
 all straightened out?" 
 
 "John Taylor was in agony as he saw them going. He jumped on 
 his pony, struck out into the wild country on a fishing trip. Stayed 
 a while, till the storm blew over." 
 
 "But the babies, Uncle? And the poor mothers?" 
 
 "That night one family after another drove up to the Cooper 
 cabin with horses in a lather. There, in the long parlor, we sorted 
 them out. Then we ate up everything the Coopers had left on the 
 place. And we finished up with a dance. But to this day we haven't 
 really got over the baby-mixing. One woman started a feud." 
 
 "Uncle!" 
 
 "Fact. Said one of the mothers didn't recognize her baby at first 
 because its temporary mother had washed its face." 
 
 "And from that moment to this," commented Mr. French, "two 
 families of professing Christians in this area have lived at daggers 
 drawn." 
 
 "But how does all this affect the little Willard girl?" 
 
 "While John Taylor and his friends were mixing the babies, an 
 Indian squaw came up to the cabin, and stood watching the per- 
 formance through the window. I suppose she had heard of the 
 merrymaking and hoped to get some food. The Pottawatomies had 
 a hard time of it before they moved away to the Kansas-Nebraska 
 territory. Whatever she wanted, she went away as quietly as she 
 came. Some of the children saw her looking in at the window, but 
 none of them saw her go. One way and another the story grew from 
 nothing that she had slipped her baby into one of the shawls. That 
 she took away a white baby in its place." 
 
 "Uncle! You don't believe that?" 
 
 "I certainly do not. Southern Illinois version of the old English 
 story of the nurse who exchanges babies between the cottage and 
 the manor." 
 
 "And the little Willard child is supposed to be the Indian child. 
 Why was she chosen?" 
 
 "No doubt because her mother has so much more wealth than 
 any one of the balance of us. She stood out as a natural target." 
 
 "What a wonderful story to tell at home! I hope I shall do you 
 
16 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 justice, Uncle. I've heard all my life of the wild, wild West—" 
 
 "Here comes the Cooper carriage," exclaimed Mrs. Daniels, rising. 
 
 The others rose with her, Mr. French saying, "I must go. Pleasant 
 company has kept me too long." 
 
 Hettie saw her father's carriage turning in at the driveway gates. 
 She scrambled into the swing, demanding, "Swing me high just 
 once more, William. Before Mattie gets here." 
 
 William lazily complied. 
 
 "Higher! Higher!" 
 
 In some families, and the Cooper family was one such, a member 
 returning from an absence experiences extra affection, is altogether 
 more compliant, during the first hour of renewed family ties. Thus 
 with William, just returned from several months in Tennessee. 
 Obligingly, he swung Hettie upward. Hettie, intoxicated by the 
 rise and sweep of the new swing, went up, up, and outward, almost 
 to the level of the high elm bough, when there came a sudden, 
 terrifying sound of splitting wood. 
 
 The ominous cr-r-rack focused all eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Daniels and her niece shrieked. The children round the 
 swing began to scream. William futilely shouted, "Look out." Mr. 
 French and Mr. Daniels were dashing toward the swing, though 
 it was not in their power to reach Hettie in time to break her fall. 
 The elm bough was peeling itself away from the parent trunk, and 
 the swing began to whirl. Hettie plunged with the whirling swing. 
 But strike the summer-hardened earth she did not. A figure darted 
 from behind the currant bushes in time to save her. Lewis Hanback, 
 the Dutch stable boy, went down on the ground first, and Hettie 
 fell a-top her rescuer. 
 
 Mr. French caught Hettie up, quickly but carefully, and ran with 
 her to the Cooper carriage. He laid her on a cushioned seat and 
 began an investigation for broken bones. A girl between William 
 and Hettie in age jumped from the carriage and ran toward her 
 brother. 
 
 "Willie Cooper!" 
 
 William's appearance had changed from budding manhood to 
 rather pitiful boyhood. His cheeks were suddenly sallow, his narrow 
 shoulders stooped. 
 
 "Willie Cooper," cried Mattie. "Don't stand there like a ninny. 
 Jump on your mare and ride for Doctor Burnham." 
 
 William gave her a hangdog look, turned away into the bushes 
 that had lately sheltered Lewis Hanback, and was heard being very 
 ill indeed. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 17 
 
 "No need to be frightened, Mattie." Mr. Daniels hurried up, all 
 kindly concern. "There are no bones broken." 
 
 "I'm not hurt," Hettie could be heard exclaiming. "Who did I 
 fall on?" 
 
 The chorus of Daniels children replied. 
 
 "You fell on Lewis." 
 
 "You fell on Lewis Hanback." 
 
 "Where is Lewis?" demanded Mrs. Daniels of her dancing, 
 screeching children. 
 
 "He ran back to the stable." 
 
 "Go after him at once. He may be injured." 
 
 The Daniels children ran off to the stable, and presently ran back 
 in a many colored streamer. 
 
 "Lewis won't come, mama!" 
 
 "Lewis says he's not hurt, mama!" 
 
 "But Lewis's pantaloons are hurt, mama!" 
 
 "Poor Lewis hasn't got any pantaloons at all now, mama!" 
 
 "Now what is poor Lewis going to wear, mama?" 
 
 Mrs. Daniels turned to her husband. 
 
 "Mr. Daniels," she exclaimed with spirit, "you will please take 
 Lewis Hanback into Jacksonville tomorrow morning. To your tailor. 
 And have him measured for a suit of clothes. 
 
 ii 
 
 "Lewis," said Mr. Daniels to me, "an opportunity has come to 
 you to make rather a large sum of money for a boy your age. 
 Enough to enable you to attend the academy this winter." 
 
 I turned away from one of the Daniels carriage horses and stood, 
 currycomb in hand, to hear Mr. Daniels out. 
 
 "You may have heard that Mr. French has a pair of young men 
 from Salem, Ohio, staying with him. They are on their way to 
 Kansas Territory." 
 
 I nodded. I was not likely to have missed this exciting item. 
 
 "One of these young men has come down with the shakes. And 
 the other must push on to Kansas. For fear the best land will be 
 taken," explained Mr. Daniels hastily. He finished, "Mr. French is 
 willing to pay you fifty dollars to be young Morrison's companion 
 on the trip. And, of course, your return fare from Kansas." 
 
 As Edwin Morrison and I took the road for Winchester, on our 
 way to the Illinois river, I had to set my teeth and secretly clench 
 my fists to hide my tremors. After the gossip in Chapin I was sure 
 
18 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 we were conveying runaways beneath the floor of Morrison's Cone- 
 stoga. I was expecting the worst on the Missouri side, only wondered 
 if my pocketknife— honed to perfection— would be enough to save 
 me. Edwin Morrison, a young man with a grave face that could 
 break into a friendly smile, drove the team. I was to spell him after 
 we negotiated the ferry. 
 
 Now in these memoirs I propose to relate in the first person only 
 such scenes as came actually under my eye. When I write in the 
 third person, it will be of events I had from eyewitnesses, events 
 so often and meticulously discussed as to make me, in effect, a 
 participant. My thought is to set down a fraction of the discussion, 
 a modicum of the deeds of the men and women who settled the 
 Great Question, with the hope that those who come when we are 
 gone will appreciate our gift to them,— a free and a united country. 
 
 On that summer morning in 1854, as we approached Winchester, 
 I had more than enough to do to hold back my tears. How I longed 
 for at least one glimpse of my baby sister, Maggie. Or just to see 
 how little Albert did. I hoped breathlessly but in vain that some 
 friend would drive by that I might hail for news. When we were 
 past Winchester with the sleek, fresh horses making good time, 
 I said, "What do you need of a rifle? Quakers don't kill people." 
 
 "Friends, boy. Quaker is a foolish name." 
 
 We rode in silence until he gave me a sidelong grin. 
 
 "Perhaps I'll get some rabbits or prairie chicken for our pot." 
 
 On that first day of our journey we had little to say to one another. 
 In the evening, as we cooked and ate beside the road, I could 
 no longer restrain myself. 
 
 "Aren't you going to give them something to eat?" I asked. 
 
 "Them? Who?" 
 
 I jerked my head in the direction of the wagon bed. After a 
 puzzled moment he began to laugh. 
 
 "Listen, boy. When we pass runaways through Ohio, we don't 
 carry them into another slave state." 
 
 After that we were friends. When we had rolled into our blankets 
 he drew me out to talk of my home and parents. 
 
 I was born in Winchester, in the year 1839, in a comfortable house 
 that sat in a wide lawn with plenty of space at the rear for garden 
 and stables. I was the oldest of six children: we were five boys and 
 a baby sister, little Maggie who was the center of our precious 
 home. 
 
 My mother was a beautiful woman. Her portrait, painted by my 
 father, still hangs in the hallway at Uncle Wilson Smith's. I believe 
 
A UNION FOREVER 19 
 
 the love between my parents was unusually deep and absorbing. 
 He was a young Hollander who came out to Virginia to a branch 
 of the family settled in Loudon county since pre-Revolutionary days. 
 They were able to introduce him into Southern society where he 
 earned excellent commissions, visiting one after another of the big 
 plantations to do the portraits of entire families. Alas! In my four- 
 teenth year he came home from a trip into the lower Mississippi 
 valley barely recovered from an attack of yellow fever. He was not 
 recovered. Only deep tenacity of affection and great courage 
 brought him home to die. 
 
 My beautiful young mother lived not quite a year! 
 
 The abundant income we had enjoyed ceased with our father's 
 death. Our reserve funds dwindled. Dazed by our loss, and by our 
 anxiety as we saw our mother passing from us, what could we do, 
 children that we were, to avert the full and final tragedy of be- 
 coming penniless orphans? 
 
 We were five boys that turned sadly away from our mother's 
 grave. Charles and then Will were next to me. Julius was younger, 
 and little Albert so young that he clung to my hand, not understand- 
 ing our loss, only crying in a frightened way because he saw us 
 weep. 
 
 I was already full of anxious plans for the future as we journeyed 
 back to the desolate house kind friends were putting in order for 
 us. There we found little Maggie laughing and dimpling as she 
 took bread and milk in her high chair. I decided I could think 
 better away from the house. I put Maggie in her carriage and 
 trundled her out to the street. Back and forth I pushed her, making 
 brave plans. The confidence with which I faced the future for 
 all six of us was based on a happy ignorance of the provision human 
 society makes for ophans who are left penniless. 
 
 Presently I saw a lady crossing the street toward me, a neighbor 
 who had been a good friend to my mother. There were traces of 
 tears round her eyes, for she, too, was just back from that newly- 
 made grave. 
 
 "Lew," she asked, "what are you going to do with the children?" 
 
 I replied, "I am going to raise and educate them." 
 
 She looked at me long and earnestly. 
 
 "Well, Lew," she said at last, "if any boy could do that, I believe 
 it would be you. The boys, at least. But a little girl is different. A 
 little girl needs a mother. Lew, if you will give me Maggie, I'll be 
 a good mother to her all my life. And I promise you, I'll never try 
 to separate her from her brothers." 
 
 At those words we both broke down. Standing one on either side 
 
20 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 of Maggie's chariot, we wept together. So, in tears, I made the first 
 decision of my orphaned life. A successful decision for my little 
 sister, for she found a loving home with wise and careful parents. 
 
 At first, in my blankets under the stars, I slept lightly. In a dream 
 my lovely mother came to me, laid her hand against my cheek. 
 "Lewis," she said. "Dear, faithful Lewis." 
 
 Comforted, I fell into a deep sleep. 
 
 We were out of Louisiana, Missouri town on the Mississippi with 
 its grandeur in homes and forest trees. Two horsemen barred the 
 road. Morrison who was driving pulled in the horses. 
 
 "Howdy, strangers!" 
 
 We nodded. I let my hand reach the knife in the pocket of my 
 pantaloons. 
 
 "Where from, bub?" 
 
 One of the horsemen rode up beside us. 
 
 "I am from Salem, Ohio," replied Edwin Morrison. 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "Kansas Territory." 
 
 "What's your business in the territory?" 
 
 "I plan to take up land. Isn't that what everyone is going out 
 there for?" 
 
 "Your name?" 
 
 "Edwin Morrison." 
 
 The horsemen conferred. They gave Morrison suspicious glances. 
 Our interrogator rode back to us. 
 
 "Is the boy traveling with you?" 
 
 Suddenly I spoke up in a bold voice. 
 
 "I suppose," I said, "you have heard of the Virginia Hanbacks? 
 They've been a long time in Loudon county." 
 
 Morrison put in, "His name is Lewis Hanback." 
 
 "Wait right here." 
 
 The horsemen cantered away to a larger group gathered under 
 trees by the roadside. They reported to a man who was evidently 
 their captain. Shortly they returned. They brought with them a 
 slip of paper: "Pass L. Hanback and companion." 
 
 "You must excuse us," explained one of the vigilantes. "We aim 
 to stop any trouble. Turn it back from right along here." 
 
 "A very laudable plan," replied Edwin Morrison, gathering up 
 his reins. "Go on, Barney. Up, Mabel." 
 
 When we had driven beyond the possibility of being overheard, 
 he turned to me with laughter in his eye. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 21 
 
 "Mr. French was right. He told me he believed you to be a boy 
 with a great deal of presence of mind." 
 
 Ill 
 
 The first challenge of any civilization to any wilderness is a road. 
 
 The first meanderings of a civilization can scarcely be called a 
 challenge since they follow the easy courses of navigable rivers. 
 Where navigation grows difficult there is a gathering of the human 
 waters. Civilization eddies and swirls. Civilization tripping on 
 dainty feet, bonneted and hooped and beribboned. Civilization 
 boasting a telegraphic system and a regular schedule of river 
 steamers, with steam cars in discussion. Civilization expressed in 
 cultivated fields and tall white houses with double deck verandahs. 
 Civilization accompanied by newspapers greatly concerned with 
 Compromise. Civilization resting, let us admit it in lowered voices 
 and strictly among ourselves, on the human endurance of human 
 slaves. 
 
 The first to thrust into the neighboring wilderness are the hunters 
 and trappers. But they are not civilization; they are the irreconcil- 
 ables who try to outrun civilization. Then come the Indians, many 
 tribes from the eastward, pushed suavely in the rear by Washington 
 politicians. The framers of the Compromise,— convinced that the 
 picturesque wilderness across the Missouri is lost to slavery,— tie it 
 up with Indian treaties that prevail against settlement. Thus civiliza- 
 tion rests until the inevitable hour of her advancement. The hour 
 when the almost omniscient foresight of James K. Polk and his 
 administration comes to light. California,— lately detached from 
 Mexico by Polk and Company,— California notifies the nation that 
 she has discovered gold! 
 
 Gold! Gold!! GOLD!! 
 
 No detours allowable in the rush for gold! 
 
 Now civilization must take the straightest path to California. And 
 this path leaves the winding rivers definitely behind. A great road, 
 beginning on the Missouri border, now begins magically to unroll 
 itself westward, a genuine challenge to the wilderness. The first 
 engineers of this mighty highway are the oxen. Stolidly they clamber 
 over the wooded bluffs, pausing to chew a reflective cud while their 
 owners cut away impeding low growth or hack frenziedly at timber. 
 
 Gold! Gold!! GOLD!! 
 
 "My God, man, can't we find a way around? Do we have to wait 
 to fell that tree?" 
 
 A few miles out of Westport, Missouri, this new road forks. One 
 
22 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 fork turns away into the southwest. Over it passes commerce to 
 New Mexico. The other fork, what may be called the grand road, 
 runs along between the Kaw and the Wakarusa rivers, crosses the 
 Kaw below Fort Riley and leads away toward Fort Laramie. This 
 is the California Road. 
 
 The goldseekers have scarcely marked the trail when new hordes 
 come to make it wider, plainer. These second-comers are the land 
 hungry, entertaining dreams of another sort of gold, the gold of 
 ripened wheat and swelling oranges. With them come easy gentry, 
 averse to toil, intent on getting their share of gold by what they 
 like to feel is superior intelligence, lifting them above the mob. 
 These include many young men from Southern plantations, easily 
 spared since full white manpower is scarcely required to superin- 
 tend the labor of slaves. Desperate venturers join the pageant, out 
 to take what they can get at the point of Mr. Colte's new invention. 
 Here and there travels a merchant,— sometimes Yankee, sometimes 
 Jewish,— carefully tending satin gowns, plumes, feathered fans. 
 These to be exchanged for gold dust with successful miners desiring 
 to buy the favors of lady camp followers. All these thousands follow 
 the California Road. 
 
 Eventually this westward stream begins to meet an eastbound 
 trickle of the disillusioned, the homesick, the defeated. Passing one 
 another in Eastern Kansas, eastbound and westbound make common 
 camps. Here travelers take passing note of the rich soil, the many 
 clear, fish-laden streams, the grass-and-daisy knolls, the bluffs seen 
 against a friendly sky. Beautiful Kansas wild! Entering or leaving 
 the treeless plain to the west,— its coarse, sandy soil covered by 
 sparse buffalo grass,— easternbound eyes brighten while westbound 
 travelers turn for last looks. Whichever way he travels each man 
 carries with him an indelible memory of Eastern Kansas. 
 
 Our wagon train out of Westport had rested for the night in a 
 hollow shaded by spreading oaks where travelers east and west 
 were used to camp. Now Morrison and I, Barney and Mabel and 
 the Conestoga, waited by the trailside while the long train moved 
 steadily away from us into the vast, mysterious West. Theodore 
 Bartles, in charge of the train, sat his horse beside our wagon and 
 answered our questions about the Indians. 
 
 "Delawares round here," he said, "and a few Wyandots." He spat 
 tobacco juice with indignant force into the trail dust. "What's to 
 become of these Indians? They was told they could have this 
 country. If they'd come here peaceable. Makes me, for one, feel 
 kinda cheap. Take these Delawares, f'rinstance. They got a young 
 
A UNION FOREVER 23 
 
 chief named White Turkey. I'd trust him anywheres, any time. 
 Speaks some English. You'll know him by the eagle feather he 
 always wears in his hat." 
 
 "Naturally the white settlers will buy the land from the Indians," 
 said Edwin Morrison. 
 
 "Them Missouri Pukes? Man, they wouldn't buy heaven from an 
 angel. Even if they had money, which they ain't got because they're 
 pore whites. Missouri's got litters an' litters o' pore whites. They 
 ain't got the money to own slaves, couldn't feed one enough to 
 keep him alive if they could buy him. But they'll vote with the big 
 plantation owners, just the same. They've been the first in here to 
 set stakes, but they won't pay nobody a copper. Nope. We're a long 
 ways west o' real estate. This Missouri crowd'll just wag along in. 
 The Indians'll be lucky if they save their hides." 
 
 Morrison changed the subject. 
 
 "What about the negro? We were told slavery was to be quaran- 
 tined in the South. Until it died of attrition. Now it looks as though 
 slavery would spread all over this country, right up to Oregon." 
 
 "You an Abolitionist?" Bartles studied Morrison. "Tell you what 
 it is, you want to keep your back to a tree if you make any abolition 
 talk in this country. Better carry the tree around with yuh." 
 
 The last wagon of the Bartles train passed us, drawn by oxen 
 with a man walking at their heads. Teaming freight to Laramie. 
 With the passing of the train we got an unobstructed view of two 
 men at work across the trail and a matter of fifty feet away from 
 the trailside. They were finishing a log house. 
 
 Bartles called to them, "What you puttin' a cabin here for?" 
 
 The builders answered in chorus, "Open a store." 
 
 "Who you gonna sell to? Squirrels an' blackbirds?" 
 
 "Mister," bawled out one of the men, "this is the city of Franklin. 
 Named for the greatest President the country ever knew. They's a 
 land boom comin'. We aim to git in on the ground floor with this 
 grocery." 
 
 A lively burst of laughter answered him. 
 
 Two young men on Indian ponies had come upon us out of a 
 clump of sumac that masked a narrow trail. One was a white man; 
 the other, I saw, was an Indian. The white man was more mature 
 than the Indian. His face was ruddy, his eyes a keen blue, his hair 
 between yellow and brown. The Indian's profile might have lain 
 cheek to metal on a copper cent. He wore a fringed hunting shirt 
 and trousers of leather, the shirt open at the throat. His moccasins 
 were extremely neat and well beaded. On his head was a flaring 
 straw, woven from grasses of various tones, and worn carelessly 
 
24 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 aslant. It was the white man who laughed aloud. The Indian was 
 grave. Only his eyes shone with merriment. 
 
 "Well, well, well." 
 
 Bartles appeared pleased. 
 
 "Glad to see you again," he told the white man. "Howdy, Pelathe! 
 What's the news, Phillips?" 
 
 "We're going to buy Cuba from Spain." Scotland took charge of 
 this man's speech without too deeply affecting it. He spoke in a 
 pleasant staccato. "And Franklin Pierce is sending Andy Reeder out 
 here from Pennsylvania to be the territorial governor." 
 
 With a nod to us he rode on, the Indian at his side. Bartles waited 
 only long enough to finish his interrupted speech with us. 
 
 "Black an' white an' red. An' them politicians in Washington have 
 busted hell loose on us out here. They'll be all color skins laid open 
 before this territory goes into the Union. All colors. But the blood 
 that spills will be just one color. Plain red. Goodbye, boys." He 
 shook hands. "Be good to yourselves." 
 
 He urged his horse to a canter and joined the white man and the 
 Indian. They disappeared round a bend in the trail. 
 
 "Up, Barney! Up, Mabel!" 
 
 We slowly regained the trail. Several miles later we made a turn 
 that brought us out of the woods and almost on the south bank of 
 the Kaw, glittering in morning sunlight. Theodore Bartles was 
 waving a last farewell as he turned in his saddle. The Indian and 
 the young white man waved back, then sat looking southward in 
 absorbed silence to where a flock of new, white tents made an 
 orderly row across a bit of prairie. 
 
 "Massachusetts street," the white man told us. "This is Lawrence." 
 
 His grin broke into a laugh. 
 
 "Lawrence, Kansas Territory. Pelathe, the tents spread out before 
 you are unique. For the first time in history, Capitol has preceded 
 Labor on one of the frontiers. Spooners, Thayers, Cabots, Higgin- 
 sons and Hales! They've set up the Emigrant Aid Society with a 
 doubly pious purpose. They're discouraging human slavery . . . and 
 at the same time they're opening new markets for Boston merchants. 
 The pocketbooks of Boston will shortly furnish forth in the wilder- 
 ness a typical New England village, complete with schools and 
 Congregational culture. Come along! Let's dash in before they get 
 everything built and dedicated." 
 
 Leaving the California Road they trotted ahead of us up the newly 
 indicated main thoroughfare of Lawrence and halted before a large 
 tent that served as a store. In the street in front of the store I sat in 
 the Conestoga, minding Barney and Mabel while Morrison got 
 
A UNION FOREVER 25 
 
 directions for the farm of John E. Stewart, for that farm was his 
 destination. 
 
 While I stared with quickened interest several men who stood 
 talking before the store turned to inspect the newcomers. The 
 Indian sat his horse rigidly but the white man swung down, at the 
 same time tossing his bridle reins over his pony's head. The wise 
 little beast immediately relaxed into horse slumber, while the man 
 stepped forward, smiling. 
 
 He said, "William Phillips of Horace Greeley's New York 
 Tribune" and my heart I verily believe rose up and turned over. 
 One of my favorite day dreams was holding a position on the great 
 newspaper of the great Horace Greeley. 
 
 Out of the group before the store tent a handsome man of com- 
 manding attributes stepped forward. 
 
 "Charles Robinson," he said. "Of Boston, and less recently from 
 Sacramento." 
 
 The smile widened on Phillips's cheerful face. 
 
 "The Tribune has heard of you, Dr. Robinson. "You're lucky to 
 be 'from' Sacramento. Had quite a time out there, didn't you?" 
 
 "I did lose a fine horse," replied Robinson with an appreciative 
 glance at Phillips's pony who was now disposing himself on three 
 legs while he draped one hind leg restfully against its fellow. "A 
 bullet meant for me." Robinson turned toward a young man of 
 elegant but not robust appearance. He said, "The Reverend Mr. 
 Lum." 
 
 "Ah! Doctor Lum! Pleased to know you. Congregational, of 
 course." 
 
 "Indeed, yes," replied the young minister seriously. 
 
 A man lounging on a bench in the tent shadow burst out laughing. 
 
 "New York Tribunel Say, what's goin' on around heah? Greeley's 
 the far-seein'est Yankee on the face of the earth. He can smell news 
 a long ways ahead. If he's sent a man to cover Kansas, hell's loose." 
 
 The speaker stepped over to Phillips, extending a slender hand 
 with no callouses, although dirt lurked beneath its too-long finger 
 nails. Accident, evidently, had carried away the first joint of the 
 index finger, leaving a horny stump where a nail should be. 
 
 "Catullus Calhoun Leak. Formerly of Texas. One of the Texas 
 Calhouns." 
 
 Exclamations now began to rise on all sides. 
 
 "The Indians!" 
 
 "Here come the Delawares!" 
 
 Robinson cut off his introductions. To Phillips he explained, 
 "You're in time to witness an event. We're about to pay off the 
 
26 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Delawares for some claims they had staked on the townsite before 
 we got here. That's Chief White Turkey, riding ahead of the others. 
 If I know an honest man, he is one." 
 
 Every eye turned northward down tentative Massachusetts street. 
 The storekeeper struck a gong swinging from a post, the sudden 
 clang bringing men from all directions. Soon the street was com- 
 fortably filled. Edwin Morrison came from the store, climbed into 
 the Conestoga and took the lines. I leaped down in a hurry and 
 went closer to the scene. 
 
 The Delawares were dressed much like Pelathe, except that White 
 Turkey wore a handsome white feather in his hat. They came on 
 slowly, bringing their ponies to quiet in the street before the store. 
 White Turkey swung down and approached Robinson. The two men 
 shook hands. The other Delaware leaders looked on in grave silence. 
 Forgotten as always in the economic and political struggle of a 
 young nation, they were forced to make terms with the newcomers; 
 but one thing the white man should not take from them,— their 
 dignity. 
 
 "I've your money here in double eagles," said Robinson. "Shall 
 we count it together?" 
 
 He opened a small leather bag and counted the gold into White 
 Turkey's palm. Then he gave the Indian the bag, and White Turkey 
 put the money away under the watchful eyes of the Delawares. 
 Finally Robinson swung toward the store tent. 
 
 "Your calico and other items are here. Will you look them over?" 
 
 A table made of rough lumber had been set near the tent to hold 
 the barter for the Delawares. The Indians noted with gleaming 
 eyes the fine colorings of the calico, the sacks of sugar and coffee. 
 When Robinson lifted a bag of the candies deservedly called "jaw- 
 breakers" with the explanation, "For the children," the Delawares 
 flashed glances at one another. White Turkey then finished the 
 proceedings by putting his mark to the quit claim deed Robinson 
 read aloud. Pointing to the heap of stores the Indian chief said, 
 "Squaws. Tomorrow." 
 
 Everyone, Indians and white men, now shook hands with any 
 hand available, the city of Lawrence, like any other babe, having 
 arrived successfully out of the blue. 
 
 Robinson said to White Turkey, "We're neighbors. And I want 
 to be a good neighbor to you and yours. Let us be friends." 
 
 While I watched breathlessly, the Indian studied Robinson. The 
 pain of a baffled people was in his eyes. At last he accepted 
 Robinson's offered hand. 
 
 "Friends," agreed White Turkey. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 27 
 
 Presently he rode away, his braves in single file following him. 
 
 Phillips had been talking with his Indian guide. This young scout 
 now seized the dangling reins that tethered the white man's pony, 
 and off he went after the Dela wares. 
 
 "Look at that," exclaimed Catullus Calhoun Leak. "That's Pelathe 
 the Shawnee. That fellow was raised in a Christian family. Had a 
 good education. He can read an' write an' figgah. But all he thinks 
 about is gettin' back to the wigwam. Why, he's even dressed like 
 the balance of 'em. Ah tell you, gentlemen, it don't pay to educate 
 Indians. Any more than it does to educate the nigger. Take the 
 nigger, he can't learn anything aftah he's seven or eight yeahs old. 
 His head solidifies at that age." 
 
 Young Doctor Lum whirled to confront the Texan. 
 
 "You are entirely wrong, sir. I have colored friends in Boston 
 whose culture is admirable. The colored race has no more difficulty 
 in learning than the white race,— if the opportunity of learning is 
 present." 
 
 A silence fell, and the storekeeper's voice was heard. 
 
 "This ax is the best steel that can be bought. You want to use the 
 whetstone on it. Like this. About every once in so often." The 
 storekeeper demonstrated with the stone on the ax. "I guess you'll 
 get along all right. If you don't sever an artery." 
 
 The young Jew who had been bargaining with the storekeeper 
 for the ax was no longer listening. He had turned to fix Catullus 
 Calhoun Leak with a powerful expression of his dark eyes. It could 
 be seen that he restrained himself from speaking v/ith effort. 
 Robinson interposed, a hand on Phillips's arm. 
 
 "If you're going to write us up, you must meet us first. Mr. 
 Walker, Mr. Samuel Tappan. Mr. Brooks is our storekeeper. This is 
 Joseph Savage, he and his brother are musicians. Major Abbot, 
 Mr. Thomas Barber." He came to the young Jew and paused, glanc- 
 ing at the storekeeper. 
 
 "This is young Bondi," explained Paul Brooks. "He's opening a 
 store south of here. Over on the Santa Fe trail." 
 
 "Mr. Bondi. This is Mr. William Phillips of the New York 
 Tribune'* 
 
 The Jewish youth smiled suddenly. 
 
 "Bud I dake your baber," he exclaimed, making a formal bow to 
 Phillips, and another to the company at large. "I supscripe." 
 
 He spoke English like the foreign scholar he was, very correct 
 as to grammar, but slightly mixed as to "b's" and "p's", as to "d's" 
 and "t's". From the breast pocket of his dark, worn coat he drew 
 a folded copy of the Tribune. 
 
28 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Your etidor," he explained to Phillips, "loves freetom. And so 
 do I." 
 
 William Phillips shook hands heartily, beaming at the wellworn 
 copy of the Tribune. 
 
 "You and I," he said, "must get better acquainted." 
 
 I heard a man behind me saying, "Yes, he was in the students' 
 uprising in Vienna. When Metternich got back on top, Bondi and 
 his family came to America. He can tell a wonderful story." I was 
 gazing at August Bondi. He had, I believe, the most perfection of 
 feature I have ever seen. This, with his dark eyes, would have made 
 him noteworthy. Then he was what I most desired to be,— a 
 scholar. But it was his bow that got me. How often in my secret 
 heart I had wished myself in company and making such a bow! 
 
 The group round the store was beginning to dissolve, the im- 
 migrants returning to urgent tasks. August Bondi shouldered his 
 ax, offering polite goodbyes. 
 
 "I shall keeb my foodt oud of the way," he told Brooks. "I have to 
 cud logs now to holt my claim. Nexdt spring I will oben my store." 
 
 "Mr. Bondi," called out Edwin Morrison in a respectful voice, 
 "if you are going out by the south trail, perhaps you will ride 
 with me." 
 
 I went up to the Conestoga to say goodbye to Morrison. 
 
 "Lew," he told me, "I have a letter here for Mr. French. You 
 earned every cent he is going to pay you." 
 
 And now I was free to examine Lawrence, Theodore Bartles 
 having agreed to bespeak a seat for me in a wagon train he expected 
 to meet during the day. I caught William Phillips's eye as he stood 
 talking with Doctor Robinson, and I walked up to him. I said, "I 
 read the Tribune, too." 
 
 "You do? And what are you doing on the border?" 
 
 "I came through with that young Quaker. To earn the money for 
 school this winter." 
 
 "Any adventures?" 
 
 So I showed him my pass, and told my Virginia story. When I 
 had finished he threw a careless arm round my shoulders. "Robinson 
 is going to show me the town. Want to come along?" 
 
 Each man in the Lawrence Association had chosen his residence 
 lot: now each was busy cutting saplings. 
 
 "We're to have sawmills provided," Robinson told Phillips. "But 
 I'm afraid winter will overtake us before we get into operation. 
 We've been told the best thing we can do for the present is build 
 haytents. You set out two rows of saplings, bring them together at 
 the top, and thatch with hay. Rather primitive." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 29 
 
 Robinson strode off and we followed as he led us a mighty climb 
 up a hill. Did Robinson realize the desperate nature of the enter- 
 prise on which he and his companions had set their hearts? Phillips, 
 born in Paisley, Scotland, and coming to Illinois as a very young 
 boy, knew the hard school of the frontier as well or better than I. 
 But these men from the awesome neighborhood of Harvard and 
 Beacon Hill! 
 
 Robinson at the summit and not seriously winded, exclaimed, 
 "Take in this view! Here is where I staked out my homesite. This 
 is Mount Oread." 
 
 From this high prairie knoll we looked down on untainted wilder- 
 ness, stretching northward to the Kaw where tall trees threw their 
 shadows over a natural rapid that tossed itself purling and splashing 
 at resistant boulders. Bringing the eye a bit closer, a pretty ravine 
 cut the field of rippling grass set with a wildflower pattern of gold 
 and purple. Add only to the scene the tents of Lawrence in their 
 virgin whiteness like a flock of butterflies poised on the prairie grass. 
 
 Phillips, turning to take in the view, exclaimed, "You have one 
 cabin. West of the ravine." 
 
 "That was built by a man named Baldwin. We bought it from 
 him. But I understand he isn't satisfied with his bargain. He and 
 his sister now claim our townsite." We looked down at the cabin, 
 half hid beneath the branches of a splendid oak. Robinson said, 
 "Our town hall, our infirmary, our clubhouse, our church." 
 
 The sudden clangor of iron on iron interrupted him. He exchanged 
 a grin with Phillips, gave me a pleasant look. 
 
 "We dine at noon in Kansas." 
 
 "Do you manage a New England meal?" 
 
 "Don't know, I'm sure, what we'll have. We take turns playing 
 chef. Lum is on duty today. He's not from Boston, however. He 
 gave up a delightful church in Middleton, New York, to come out 
 here with us." 
 
 As we neared the center of camp we passed a level space where 
 a man with a hoe industriously shaped various piles of earth. 
 
 "Dinner, Blanton," urged Robinson. 
 
 "Have to finish the bedmaking, Robinson. I never let my house- 
 work go over into the afternoon." 
 
 William Phillips stopped to stare. 
 
 "There is something new under the sun," he declared. 
 
 Robinson said, "We're so weary when night comes, the soft side 
 of a pile of dirt, with our blankets, does excellently well." 
 
 The first public dining room of the new city was two aisles of 
 
30 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 rough boards laid on logs. The new citizens sat on wash tubs, kegs 
 and wooden blocks. 
 
 Robinson repeated Phillips's question about the menu to young 
 Doctor Lum. 
 
 "Dear me, I'm afraid it is just the inevitable beans and fish cakes." 
 
 We found Catullus Calhoun Leak already seated. He moved over 
 on a large tub and Doctor Robinson motioned me to sit down. He 
 and William Phillips found places across from me. 
 
 "Draw right up, son," urged the Texan, meanwhile. "These 
 Yankee gentlemen certainly know how to make themselves com- 
 fortable." 
 
 The sixty men of the Lawrence Association were divided into 
 crews for cooking and dishwashing. Serving and eating did not for 
 an instant interrupt the real business of every New Englander,— 
 conversation. To the talk I could fairly feel Leak giving attention, 
 and always with a secret smile. 
 
 Doctor Lum,— his duties ended when the serving crew took 
 over,— asked a blessing. Then, as we all sat down, he turned to 
 Major Abbot and continued a conversation evidently begun some 
 time before. 
 
 "Wasn't it Thomas Jefferson who said, 1 tremble when I remem- 
 ber that God is just.'? He did well to tremble at the thought of 
 human slavery." 
 
 "I believe the founding fathers expected each state to emancipate 
 gradually. That's why they left the word "slave" out of the Consti- 
 tution." 
 
 "They should have put it in," declared young Lum, trembling but 
 determined. "They should have written in a clause against in- 
 voluntary servitude." 
 
 Phillips called across to them, "There were idealists in the South 
 who began the gradual manumission. It would have worked out, 
 no doubt, when the need for slave labor in breaking land and cut- 
 ting forests and building houses was over. If one of your smart New 
 Englanders hadn't invented the cotton gin." 
 
 "Eli Whitney," exclaimed young Samuel Tappan. "And now we 
 have Eli Thayer trying to undo his mischief." 
 
 "The whole thing," insisted C. C. Leak, "is a mattah of States' 
 rights. Do you want a strong Union that may become an empiah? 
 Isn't that what we are trying to avoid?" 
 
 Several voices joined the debate. 
 
 "The Missouri Compromise should have settled the whole thing. 
 Since 1821, when Maine went in free and Missouri, slave, the states 
 were to march into the Union two by two, like the animals in the 
 
A UNION FOREVER 31 
 
 ark. Abreast, if not akin. Excluding slavery north of 36° 30' was to 
 pen it up until it wore itself out." 
 
 "Unfair. Unfair." 
 
 "Why unfair?" 
 
 "To begin with Missouri is north of 36° 30'. And see how she is 
 obstructing the settlement of this western country by white free- 
 soil farmers. There's a very well-worn trail already down through 
 Nebraska Territory. To avoid indignities in Missouri." 
 
 Catullus Calhoun Leak put in smoothly, "Perhaps you gentlemen 
 don't give enough thought to the wild-haired Abolitionists. Your 
 Anti-Slavery Society." 
 
 "Organized in January of 1831," said the young minister, promptly 
 taking up the challenge. "To cleanse the situation, once and for all. 
 I suppose you know that as manumission progressed, ex-slaves who 
 ventured into Southern ports to earn their livings were seized by 
 slave dealers. Resold into slavery." 
 
 "That is news to me," declared Leak. 
 
 "Massachusetts," said Robinson, "sent a distinguished lawyer, 
 Samuel Hoar of Boston, to Charleston, South Carolina, to attack 
 this practice in the courts. He was denied the use of a Southern 
 court." 
 
 Before Leak could answer the minister was upon him. 
 
 "The 24th Congress of the United States, that was in 1836, tabled 
 all petitions of the anti-slavery people. It was not until the 28th 
 Congress that John Quincy Adams put pressure on our legislators 
 to stop that." 
 
 "Who was it," called a voice from the other table, "had the anti- 
 slavery pamphlets taken from the United States mails?" 
 
 Doctor Lum answered promptly, "Amos Kendall. Postmaster 
 General." 
 
 "What a horrid dilemma confronts the Southern slaveholders!" 
 William Phillips drew all eyes. Conversation fell off to silence before 
 his summary. "They must attack free speech, the right of petition, 
 the inviolability of private correspondence, the right of a hearing 
 in court. Above all, they must attack freedom of the press! The 
 slaveholders dare not permit these rights! Yet they know they 
 cannot permanently destroy them. And now Steve Douglas, a 
 senator from my own state of Illinois, with Dave Atchison, senator 
 from Missouri, acting as midwife, has brought forth a squalling, 
 rambunctious brat. And we have given her the name of Squatter 
 Sovereignty." 
 
32 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 IV 
 
 The after dinner hour was the social hour of the twenty-four. 
 The Lawrence Association stood about in knots, finishing various 
 discussions. I caught the names of Emerson, Euclid, Sumner and 
 Aristotle. While I pondered who these gentlemen might be, I 
 sternly vowed within myself to find out when I reached that goal 
 of my dreams the academy at Cherry Grove. 
 
 Young Doctor Lum was addressing a small, interested group. 
 
 "Yes, I was in the Senate gallery when he made the speech. 
 Seward's face was as white as ever I saw human flesh. He raised 
 his two arms like this, his fists clenched. His voice was thunder. 
 'Come on, then, gentlemen of the slave states! Since there is no 
 escaping your challenge, I accept it in behalf of freedom! We will 
 engage in competition for the virgin soil of Kansas. God give the 
 victory to the side that is stronger in numbers. As it is in right.' " 
 
 The young minister's face glowed. Several of his listeners ap- 
 plauded. Into this applause came a sudden confusion of sound that 
 silenced every voice and turned every eye toward the California 
 Road and the Kaw at the foot of the street. Horses' hoofs drummed 
 and drummed the hard baked trail. Wagon wheels advanced at a 
 furious rattle. Shouts, oaths, Indian war whoops, and, running 
 through all the hubbub, the sound of a fiddle playing, "Turkey in 
 the Straw". 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "A picnic?" 
 
 "A circus?" 
 
 A group of men on beautiful horses swept into sight. Following 
 them came the rattling wagons. Wagons that careened wildly as 
 they rolled. Wagons of the covered variety, but with the covers 
 tattered and soiled. Moreover, every wagon flaunted a piece of cloth 
 that bore some resemblance to a lone star, and almost every wagon 
 carried a fiddler, and every fiddler was engaged to a different tune. 
 
 The newcomers followed the trail westward across Massachusetts 
 street to a gulley they crossed with a whoop, whirling and crashing 
 southward through trees and undergrowth. This brought them 
 eventually opposite the Lawrence men, on the westward side of 
 the ravine that ran through the townsite. 
 
 Confronting them across this ravine, the Lawrence men stood 
 gazing, thunderstruck. 
 
 Men tumbled from the wagons. Every one of them carried a rifle; 
 most of them wore holsters from which protruded pistols. And at 
 least every third man carried a jug. In a presentation of "The Forty 
 
A UNION FOREVER 33 
 
 Thieves" they could have walked on as they were, bearded faces, 
 tipsy expressions, oaths and swagger. 
 
 Catullus Calhoun Leak was the first to act. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he exclaimed in a concerned voice," this looks like 
 Bill Anderson's gang. Ah'll step ovah. Ask what this means?" 
 
 Not waiting for assent from the Lawrence men, Leak scrambled 
 down the summer-dried ravine, came up the opposite bank and 
 accosted a man in a red shirt. If a trifle more swagger, a louder voice 
 and some advantage in obscenity make a leader, this man was un- 
 doubtedly first in company among the Forty Thieves. 
 
 He and Catullus Calhoun Leak went into conference. 
 
 Phillips, eying the two with narrowed gaze, asked Robinson, 
 "Known Leak quite a while?" 
 
 "Don't know him at all. He rode in this morning. That's his horse, 
 tied to that sycamore over by the store tent." 
 
 "Strikes me he's one of the catfish aristocracy." 
 
 Men standing near turned inquiring faces. Phillips explained. 
 
 "The Missouri river steamers are overrun with aristocratic black 
 sheep from the four corners. Like the man in the Bible they neither 
 beg nor dig. They make their money fleecing innocents at gambling 
 games." 
 
 "We don't need him to do our talking for us," declared Robinson. 
 "We'll select our own committee to cross the Rubicon." 
 
 Robinson, Phillips and Lum, quickly nominated, followed Leak's 
 example, scrambling up the rather steep bank opposite, to a chorus 
 of jeers, supplemented by an outburst of fiddling. 
 
 Leak came out to meet them. 
 
 "Here's a dilemma, gentlemen. These folks say they already took 
 up the land round heah. That shows you," he added virtuously, 
 "how damn foolish it is to pay ovah good money to Indians. They'll 
 drink it up in whiskey befo' you-all can get it back." 
 
 As his voice came to us clearly across the narrow ravine, the 
 Lawrence men began to exchange dismayed glances, but Charles 
 Robinson stated, in a voice also to be heard, "When we paid over 
 our money to the Delawares, we acted in the full knowledge of the 
 authorities at Washington. After we had received the competent 
 advice of Boston attorneys." 
 
 The sacred name of Boston drew forth catcalls and whoops from 
 the newcomers, followed by several shots fired into the upper air 
 and a burst of the "Irish Washerwoman." 
 
 The leader came forward, his gait between a slouch and a strut. 
 
 "Strangahs, have you-all heard concerning Steve Douglas an' his 
 great doctrine of Squattah Soventy?" 
 
34 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Yes, we had heard of it. 
 
 "Well, now," drawled the border chief with insulting condescens- 
 ion, "glad you-all know about it. Reckon it saves me the trouble 
 explainin' it to you. Well, strangahs, Missouri was ovah las' month. 
 Took up all the ground around heah." 
 
 Robinson replied, "I repeat, sir, we have the legal title to this 
 land. And we propose to take a stand for law and order." 
 
 "Come heah, Slim," called the border chief. 
 
 A man who was a poor copy of the leader shambled forward. 
 He looked sheepish. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Baldwin," said Charles Robinson. "I 
 thought I recognized you. Will you kindly explain to your friend 
 here that we bought up your claim last week." 
 
 Before Baldwin could reply a woman suddenly emerged from 
 the nearest wagon. I thought I had seen farm women of every type, 
 but I found myself staring at this woman in at least as much amaze- 
 ment as I saw on Lawrence faces. She wore what was evidently her 
 best gown, a black calico, and with it a slat sunbonnet, also of black 
 calico. She was an enormously tall woman, with big hands and feet. 
 A pronounced tumor lifted her skirt at one side, just below her 
 waist. From her mouth dangled the inevitable snuff stick of the 
 Missouri "cracker", female, and her eyes blazed as she spoke skill- 
 fully past her chew. 
 
 "You keep your mouth shut, Slim," she called out ahead of herself. 
 "I'm Slim Baldwin's sister," she told the Lawrence delegation. "He 
 never had no right to sell my cabin. I never put my mark to no 
 paper sellin' that cabin." 
 
 Robinson's eyes took on a cold blue gleam that quelled for the 
 moment even this virago. 
 
 "You must settle matters with your brother," he told her. He 
 turned back toward the Lawrence side of the ravine, followed by 
 Phillips and Lum. The intruders set up a defiant yell. One or two 
 of them had been nailing targets to trees, hammering in the nails 
 with their gun butts. Half a dozen marksmen now fired at these 
 targets, while the entire invading company whooped with elation 
 as the three members of our delegation jumped at the sound of the 
 rifles. 
 
 "We're a-goin' to shoot the pants off any damn Yankee abolitionist 
 dare's t' set foot in Kansas Territory," shouted one marksman, with 
 an eye on the quiet men assembled across the ravine. 
 
 "You gentlemen are making a great mistake," began Catullus 
 Calhoun Leak, following the delegation up the ravine side. "That's 
 Bill Anderson and his gang. He's the worst cutthroat on the border." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 35 
 
 "You seem to know him pretty well," observed Phillips. 
 
 "I've been in this country long enough to know who's who." 
 
 Lawrence, meanv/hile, had counted the invaders. We reported 
 the enemy's strength to Robinson as eighty men. Although they 
 outnumbered the Lawrence party, the invaders seemed to be wait- 
 ing for some pre-arranged event. Presently a horseman turned in 
 from the California Road, and walked his horse briskly up Mas- 
 sachusetts street. At this point the invaders abandoned every other 
 occupation to line their side of the ravine. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the newcomer, "my name is Babcock. Carmi 
 Babcock. I am here in the interest of the Excelsior Land Company. 
 I understand your association is in unlawful possession of land 
 belonging to one John Baldwin and his sister, Sweet Charity 
 Baldwin." 
 
 "You have been misinformed, sir," said Robinson. "If you care 
 to examine our proofs of title, you have only to say so." 
 
 "Thank you, yes," assented Babcock, sitting his horse gracefully, 
 the handsome center for all eyes. 
 
 A tumultuous experience in California, as I afterward heard him 
 explain to William Phillips, had taught Robinson not to expose the 
 whereabouts of valuables to alien eyes. He disappeared into the 
 store tent, and returned with the papers in question. These he 
 handed to Carmi Babcock while even the noisiest ruffian fell silent. 
 Babcock examined the papers thoroughly. When he handed them 
 back he said, "I was misinformed. I shall report to the company 
 that Baldwin and his sister have no claims. May I say I'm delighted 
 to find such a group as this, here on the border? Good day, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 Wheeling his horse suddenly, and giving the animal the spur, he 
 galloped away toward the trail. 
 
 A commotion of snarls and comments rose across the ravine. 
 
 "Damn, white-livered skunk," proclaimed Bill Anderson. "When 
 we get hold of him, we'll choke his neck with a haltah." 
 
 While the Lawrence men abandoned all other occupations to 
 watch the invaders, a long afternoon followed of target practice and 
 drinking from the jugs constantly passing from hand to hand. 
 Toward evening reinforcements arrived, twenty-five more hard- 
 featured, bearded, yelling, tobacco chewing belligerents. Still they 
 did not think themselves strong enough for an attack, or they had 
 a plan of action that called for further delay. 
 
 Night came. 
 
 As darkness blotted the invaders from their sight the Lawrence 
 men agreed upon dividing their company into watches. No one 
 
36 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 expected to sleep, but all agreed our side should make no demonstra- 
 tion toward the invaders until they made a first move. 
 
 In the warm August darkness Robinson stood near the cook tent, 
 his face drawn with anxiety as he gazed across the ravine at the 
 tiny supper fires of the pro-slavery forces. William Phillips stood 
 beside him and gazed in the same direction. I watched them both 
 from the shadow of the tent. To them came Catullus Calhoun Leak, 
 breathing quickly after another trip across the ravine. 
 
 "I've been pleading with Bill," he explained. "But nothing I can 
 say will move him. You see, these people feel they have right on 
 their side. They say they'll give you till daylight to leave peaceably. 
 Take my advice, gentlemen. Begin getting what you can of your 
 possessions togethah right now." 
 
 "This is a formal threat from these hoodlums?" demanded Phillips. 
 
 «T, • » 
 
 It is. 
 
 "Robinson, you owe it to your party to call a conference." 
 
 "I suppose so. Let's get on with it." 
 
 The Lawrence Association assembled outside the cooking tent. 
 During the afternoon Leak had moved from man to man in earnest 
 talk. We now witnessed the result of his work. 
 
 "I think we ought to clear out." 
 
 "Why so, Blanton?" 
 
 Doctor Robinson was examining a Colte's revolver with cool skill. 
 
 "Those men are dangerous. They have a reputation for being 
 absolutely ruthless. I didn't come out here to be hacked in pieces 
 with a bowie knife." 
 
 "What did you come for?" 
 
 "Well, you know I expected to put up a toll bridge. Across the 
 Wakarusa. But that can wait." 
 
 "Some of the Free State men do talk too much," said another 
 voice. 
 
 "What I say," continued Blanton, "is we want to be right on the 
 record. If we can keep right on the record, we'll have nothing 
 to fear." 
 
 "And your idea of keeping right on the record is to scuttle for 
 the East." 
 
 "Might be better to go back East till this whole slavery question's 
 settled." 
 
 "And then who will settle it?" asked William Phillips. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Lum spoke. 
 
 "I am not going back East. My garden is already planned to the 
 last lilac bush. I have even sent the diagram to my wife. I shall 
 stay here and defend the spot where I expect to spend a happy life." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 37 
 
 "Are you ready for the question?" demanded Robinson. 
 
 "Question," called out twenty voices, at the least. 
 
 "All in favor of defending the city?" 
 
 Loud affirmations. 
 
 "Those in favor of starting to pack?" 
 
 Leak said, "Ah can't express to you gentlemen how foolish you 
 make yourselves to stay anothah hour. Bill Anderson is only waiting 
 for Larkin Skaggs and his gang to get heah. Then you'll be hemped, 
 or fall undah the bowie knife. Your money an' possessions will be 
 confiscated. If you have no regard for yo'selves, think of your wives 
 and mothahs." 
 
 "Question," growled Major Abbot. 
 
 "For back East?" demanded Robinson. 
 
 A few weak voices answered him. 
 
 "Very well," said Robinson. "We stay." 
 
 Phillips now spoke. 
 
 "You people have two guests in this conference. I'm one of them, 
 and I want to say I'm with you in defending your homes from those 
 thugs across the ravine. May I make a suggestion? We're in for a 
 fight. Put Robinson at our head. He showed himself a brave man 
 in the land fights in California. Make him our captain. Then, let's 
 get behind him, and stay there." 
 
 Approval greeted this suggestion. 
 
 Accepting the responsibility Robinson told off his watches. While 
 the first watch paced to positions, the other men lay down on their 
 arms. Presently a few of them slept. Robinson and Phillips sat on 
 near the cook tent, and like any boy of fifteen, I sat close to them, 
 and I was fairly tingling with excitement. 
 
 Midnight. 
 
 Across the ravine the enemy had subsided. The Lawrence sen- 
 tinels noiselessly paced their rounds. Except the constant plaint of 
 insects so much a part of the night they ceased to impress the senses, 
 there was no sound except the murmuring of the Kaw over its low, 
 rocky rapid. Farther away a prairie wolf screamed like a woman 
 in trouble, then changed to a coughing howl. From very far away 
 came the "What? What? Who?" of an owl. 
 
 "A nice question for future generations to solve." William Phillips 
 broke the silence. "What gathered all these hard customers on the 
 Missouri border? Some law of attraction must bring them. Most of 
 them, to hear them talk, have been over the plains. Some served 
 in the Mexican war. Some will tell you they 'seen a deal of trouble 
 in Texas'. They're decided characters, these Missouri 'Pukes'. They 
 estimate a man by the amount of whiskey he can guzzle. Admit 
 
38 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 you don't drink hard liquor, they'll set you down for a dangerous 
 character." 
 
 "They're a hairy lot," rejoined Robinson. "Do they also distrust 
 barbers?" 
 
 Phillips went on thoughtfully, "Western Missouri has her county 
 families. Intelligent, courteous members of the planter class. They're 
 given to rich hospitality. They'll entertain a stranger as though he 
 were a king! But the old state has her poor whites. Appallingly 
 ignorant. Often their poverty makes them consumptive. These poor 
 whites could be easily fired by a propaganda based on getting 
 something for nothing." 
 
 "Your implication is dreadful." 
 
 "Hairy faces, yes. Red eyes, that's too much whiskey. Teeth the 
 color of walnuts, that's from tobacco. Dirty shirts, wicked knives 
 and handsome riding boots. Well cleaned rifles and unclean tongues. 
 That's your border ruffian. And, mind you, Robinson, he glories in 
 that title. What's his interest in slavery? He never could hope to 
 own a slave. Or feed one if he owned him. No, his interest is in any 
 sort of rascality with a dollar behind it. And that's what makes it 
 bad. Who gives him this dollar?" 
 
 He fell silent. We all strained our ears and eyes for possible 
 treachery from across the ravine. 
 
 Phillips sighed, easing his back after a too-long contact with a 
 tent stake. 
 
 "The border ruffian! His body's a compound of gutta percha, 
 johnnycake and tobacco. But his soul, Robinson, is old Bourbon, 
 double rectified." 
 
 Later Phillips spoke again. 
 
 "If anyone were thinking of another Kansas town, it ought to be, 
 say, a hundred miles from here." 
 
 "On the plains? Treeless country, flat as a plate." 
 
 "I'd like that. Plenty of room to breathe. Well, I'll see it soon 
 for myself. Pelathe and I are headed west. Greeley wants stories 
 about the Indian tribes in this part of the country." 
 
 In the usual order of events dawn reached American shores, 
 floating in over the Atlantic, bringing another day to the factory 
 worker in Massachusetts and to the slave in Texas cotton who 
 regulated the white worker's wage, to Washington where opposing 
 forces would reengage in struggle and compromise, to Spooners 
 and Thayers and Cabots on Beacon Hill and to their emigrant 
 proteges in Kansas Territory who needed emigrant aid most par- 
 ticularly as the August sun blazed up over the eastern bluffs. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 39 
 
 In the early daylight the border ruffians bestirred themselves to 
 cooking breakfast. 
 
 "So they do drink something besides whiskey," observed the 
 Reverend Doctor Lum, coffee cup and bread in his own hands. The 
 Lawrence men ate hastily on the ravine front while they watched 
 the ruffians making coffee. Reinforcements now began to arrive, 
 finally increasing the number of the invaders to one hundred and 
 fifty, by our careful count. The newcomers made their appearance 
 with shrieks and yells, ululations designed for f rightfulness. The 
 leader of the second invasion conferred briefly with Bill Anderson. 
 Then, being now evidently in full force, the invaders sent a delega- 
 tion to Lawrence. 
 
 Seven desperadoes crossed the ravine. 
 
 Larkin Skaggs, at the head of this delegation, was tall, very tall, 
 but slim and athletic. What could be seen of his countenance above 
 his beard was yellowish in tinge. He wore a red and black shirt, 
 trousers of no particular shade tucked into handsome boots, and 
 he had a dirty-handled bowie knife thrust with ostentation into a 
 wide leather belt that circled his slim waist. 
 
 "My name," he announced, "is Elder Skaggs. Elder Larkin 
 Skaggs." 
 
 Doctor Lum brightened. 
 
 "You are a minister of the gospel?" 
 
 "That's my callin'," replied Elder Skaggs. "I'm here to repazent 
 the innocent an' the downtrod. I call upon the hosts o' the Assyrian 
 to depart out o' our midst. An' leave folks here that was here fust. 
 An' mean to stay here." 
 
 "That is all you have to say?" inquired Robinson. 
 
 With a sudden change of manner Skaggs replied with a snarl, 
 "You damn abolitionists kin have till ten o'clock, an' no later, to 
 git them tents down. An' git to hell on your way to your goddam 
 holes in the East. An' don't come back. Is that right, Bill?" 
 
 Howls of assent reached us from across the ravine. 
 
 Robinson persisted, "That's your offer?" 
 
 "That's it, stranger." 
 
 "Very well. Go back to your friends. Tell them the Lawrence 
 Association respectfully declines their invitation. Respectfully de- 
 clines. Understand?" 
 
 "You'll be sorry for this," declared Skaggs menacingly. 
 
 "Stay!" Young Mr. Lum spoke. "As one Christian minister to 
 another, sir, it becomes my plain duty to admonish you to cease 
 associating yourself with these ruffians. And desist from intruding 
 on the property of others." 
 
40 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Rage withered the elder's face while his hand sought the knife 
 at his belt. Two of his satellites pinioned his arms. 
 
 "Easy now, Lark." 
 
 "You know what Bill said." 
 
 "And I further admonish you that the course you are pursuing is 
 one of total damnation, both in this world and in the world to come." 
 
 Struggling with his emotions under the stern eye of the young 
 minister, Larkin Skaggs was at last dragged away toward the ravine 
 by his men. He called back breathlessly, "I'll make you sorry you 
 was ever born." 
 
 Across the ravine his report to Bill Anderson was received with 
 indignant amazement. 
 
 "Don't slit that preachah's throat along the othahs," commanded 
 Bill Anderson in a stentorian voice. "Take him alive. We'll hemp 
 him." 
 
 "Hemp, hell!" shrieked Elder Skaggs. "We're gonna burn him 
 at the stake." 
 
 "My times are in God's hands," announced Doctor Lum, white- 
 faced but composed, to the horrified men surrounding him. " 1 shall 
 yet praise Him who is the health of my countenance, and my God'." 
 
 Jugs brought by the Skaggs gang were now going round among 
 the ruffians. Whiskey courage mounted. At this moment Sweet 
 Charity Baldwin who had been making an early morning survey of 
 the bushes appeared, to exclaim, "What are you men a-waitin' fer? 
 Come on along! Hep me git these furriners' duds out o' my cabin." 
 
 "Yeah. Drag 'em out!" 
 
 "Start a bonfiah." 
 
 Phillips demanded quickly of Robinson, "What's in the cabin?" 
 
 "Our best clothes. The only cot we have, in case of sickness. My 
 medical stores." 
 
 Phillips and Robinson set off, running, to a point across the 
 ravine from the cabin. A man named Samuel Walker and I ran 
 at their heels. 
 
 "Keep behind the oaks," ordered Robinson. "No use making 
 targets of ourselves. You ought not to be here," he added to me. 
 He jerked out his pistol, and the other two followed his lead. We 
 reached cover before Sweet Charity and half a dozen hot heads, 
 including her brother, reached the cabin. 
 
 "Halt!" commanded Robinson. "The first one molesting that cabin 
 will be shot." 
 
 "Do we shoot to kill?" asked Samuel Walker. 
 
 "I'd be ashamed of myself if I fired at any man and didn't kill 
 
A UNION FOREVER 41 
 
 him," replied Robinson. The men across the ravine showed they 
 had heard him. They paused uncertainly. 
 
 "Come on, you cowards!" yelled Sweet Charity. 
 
 "Is the cabin locked?" asked Phillips. 
 
 "No lock. Several of the men sleep there at night." 
 
 "I'll go in alone," shrieked Miss Baldwin. She started toward the 
 cabin door, but her brother caught her round the waist. 
 
 "Don t do that, Chatty," he ordered, struggling to restrain her. 
 Some of his companions came to his aid, as a ruffian arrived from 
 the main group, shouting, "What in hell are you up to over yere? 
 Bill says, Come on back. We'll tend to the cabin after the fight." 
 
 Laying hold of Sweet Charity with Baldwin, the two of them 
 succeeded in dragging their kicking, screaming burden away from 
 the cabin, back to the main scene of events. 
 
 Robinson watched them, while he began to get an idea. 
 
 "Abbot is forming a military company. Now is the time for him 
 to put us through our paces. We'll have drill parade." 
 
 While we walked back to the main tent I said to William Phillips, 
 "I'd like to have a rifle with the others, please. I can get a squirrel 
 at three hundred paces." 
 
 He gave me a quizzical look. 
 
 "And that's probably more than most of these Yankees can do. 
 You'll get a rifle. I'll see to it." 
 
 Ten minutes later the Lawrence military were executing man- 
 oeuvres in full view of the astonished adversary, presenting arms, 
 falling in and falling out, while Major Abbot roared out his 
 commands. 
 
 Ten o'clock came. 
 
 Ten o'clock passed without an attack. 
 
 Thirty minutes later another ultimatum arrived, this time in 
 writing. 
 
 "You kin hev 30 more minits to git yore tent down an git." 
 
 When the committee regained their side of the ravine they called 
 back, "We mean business. We'll be over'n thirty minutes. Ever' 
 damn one you'll be put to the bowie. Or shot." 
 
 Another thirty minutes passed while the Free State men continued 
 their drill. Meanwhile fierce discussions rose among the ruffians 
 across the ravine. At the end of thirty minutes Bill Anderson himself 
 came to the edge of the ravine to call with a world of deadly menace 
 in his tones, "We'll give you damn blue-bellies till one o'clock to 
 staht fo' Boston!" 
 
 "Why don't you come over right away?" called Phillips. "We're 
 as ready for you now as we'll ever be." 
 
42 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Cause we don't want to shed a lot of awnery blood on good soil. 
 But if we do come, we ain't gonna hold ourself responsible. An' yo' 
 throat'll be slit along the othah shitepokes, Mistah New Yawk 
 Tribune." 
 
 The hour of grace went by. 
 
 The summer sun blazed down on the trodden grass, the clean 
 white tents, and the perspiring Lawrence military. The drillers on 
 parade were beginning to appreciate the joke. Even the timid grew 
 courageous. That the Free State men might see they were ALL 
 READY TO MARCH, the Missourians were now drawn up across 
 the ravine. 
 
 One o'clock. 
 
 "Jes' ten mo' minutes." 
 
 This time the admonition was received with a shout of laughter. 
 
 Robinson said, "They'll not come over. I'll guarantee it." 
 
 Afternoon advanced. The border ruffians continued their evolu- 
 tions. They marched. They counter marched. They threatened and 
 swore. They drank no more, for their liquor was out. But how they 
 did swear! They damned and redamned the Lawrence abolitionists 
 for fools who did not know their own peril. 
 
 Mid-afternoon, and while the exhausted Missourians dropped on 
 the trampled grass Bill Anderson called a conference of the leaders. 
 As he and Larkin Skaggs argued with Baldwin, their voices rose in 
 pitch. We on the opposite bank scrupled not to listen. 
 
 "Let's hev no more marcy on 'em," urged Larkin Skaggs. "Let's 
 go ovah thar right now. Pitch into 'em. Wipe 'em off the face the 
 earth. Damn, white-livered, Yankee, nigger-kissin' trash." 
 
 "That's the talk," agreed Bill Anderson. "Give 'em hell, damn it!" 
 
 "Put 'er through!" 
 Let er rip! 
 
 Meanwhile the conservatives backing Slim Baldwin argued that 
 more time should be given to fresh negotiations. 
 
 "Hell!" Bill Anderson spat tobacco juice. "Bunch o' cowards!" 
 
 "Who's a coward?" called a man backing Slim Baldwin. 
 
 "You ah. Step out heah in front, Ah'll knock yo' teeth loose." 
 
 The man in the background very prudently neglecting this op- 
 portunity for dental work, Bill Anderson caught up the nearest jug 
 to quench a thirst most likely mounting with the heat. Finding the 
 jug empty he hurled it shatteringly at a nearby oak. He raged. 
 "Who in hell's afraid a bunch o' goddam Hahvard blue-bellies, ink 
 runnin' out they noses 'stead o' snot?" 
 
 Lawrence had abandoned its military front. The Lawrence men 
 ranged themselves along their side of the ravine, weapons in hand, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 43 
 
 to enjoy this drama provided them in the Kansas wilderness. 
 
 "I got to git that preachah's livah, feed it to the prairie wolves fo' 
 pizen." 
 
 "No, I'll tell you what," said a follower. With elaborate caution 
 he lowered his voice while several of his companions gathered close, 
 to shield Sweet Charity's modesty. What the speaker had to say 
 sent his hearer's into wild glee. They danced about, uttering one 
 obscene jibe after another. 
 
 "Probably a good thing on more than one account the ladies are 
 still in the East," observed Robinson. 
 
 "Indeed, yes," murmured young Doctor Lum, more aghast, it 
 seemed, at the language he was hearing than he had been when 
 his life was under threat. 
 
 With sundown imminent the invaders at last split hopelessly. 
 Larkin Skaggs threw himself on his beautiful horse and tore away 
 through the trees to the California Road. He screeched back across 
 his shoulder, "Who wants to keep company with a damn, do-nothin' 
 set o' yellow-gut no-accounts?" Bill Anderson stayed only long 
 enough to relieve his system of any profanity left lurking in improb- 
 able corners. Then he, too, took the trail. About half the Missouri 
 company rode away, or drove their wagons away with these leaders. 
 One after another small parties broke off the main stem to follow. 
 Just before dark the Baldwins and their immediate company crashed 
 wildly away through the timber. Lawrence sped them with a cheer. 
 
 Suddenly, from the concealment of oak boughs on the Lawrence 
 side of the ravine, Joseph Savage and his brother Forest lifted their 
 fine young voices. One by one other singers in the Lawrence com- 
 pany joined them. 
 
 "We cross the prairies as of old 
 The fathers crossed the sea, 
 To make the West as they the East, 
 The homestead of the free." 
 
 Charles Robinson was peering in one and another direction 
 through the dusk. 
 
 "Where," he demanded, "is Catullus Calhoun? Of the Texas 
 Calhouns?" 
 
 "Pulled out on that horse of his just before dark," replied William 
 Phillips. "I've had my eye on him right along." 
 
 "Let us lift our hearts in prayer!" exclaimed the young minister. 
 He prayed, while Lawrence bowed its head. "Now we'll have 
 something to eat," he continued in his secular voice. "Dear me! 
 I'm afraid there's nothing ready but what's left of yesterday's beans 
 and fishcakes!" 
 
44 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 The elder, south branch of the great road out of Independence 
 and Westport that forked inside the Kansas border had been known 
 for nearly half a century as the Santa Fe trail. This trail crossed the 
 Pottawatomie country where took refuge the Indians who once 
 roamed Southern Illinois. Like the Dela wares and other tribes, the 
 Pottawatomies were told they might live in peace in the Kansas 
 wild. Like the other Indians they now made concessions to the 
 incoming settlers. Ax and saw were busy, small cabins rising daily. 
 
 August Bondi sat on a felled sycamore, reading a copy of the 
 New York Tribune. His partner, Benjamin, had departed some days 
 before for Westport Landing to make arrangement for freighting 
 in supplies for the crossroads store to be opened under the firm 
 name, Bondi and Benjamin. Bondi intended to have a fine pile of 
 logs ready for the cabin raising when his partner returned. Difficulty 
 was his lack of knowledge on how to swing an ax, the distance from 
 university life in Vienna to the Kansas frontier being formidable. 
 
 A small black snake wriggled suddenly from beneath the prone 
 sycamore, startling the young Jewish settler to his feet. Having 
 jumped up, August went back to chopping with renewed determina- 
 tion. The timber where he was getting out logs was cheerful in a 
 solitary way. Importantly busy, nest building, a pair of red squirrels 
 paused now and then to scold his intrusion. Jays screamed. A flicker 
 drummed against the bleached trunk of a long dead sycamore. 
 Bondi's mind, always divided between present difficult experiences 
 and his turbulent European past, flew momentarily to Vienna. 
 
 In memory he climbed the stairs to his mother's drawing room in 
 a house in the aristocratic neighborhood befitting the senior partner 
 of "Emmanuel Bondy, Sonne". He was late again, nothing for it 
 but to present himself on the family scene just as he was. He hoped 
 the dried tears on his cheeks were not too evident. Summoning 
 fortitude he stepped into the drawing room and made a correct 
 small bow. 
 
 His mother occupied a blue satin sofa behind a low coffee table. 
 She was pouring out for his father and his Uncle David Frankl. 
 His small sister, Henrietta, whom he privately rated a spoiled, 
 peevish thing, was preening herself on the satin sofa beside their 
 handsomely gowned mother. Henrietta alternately tended her own 
 curls and those of her large dish-faced doll. August's father absently 
 stirred too much sugar into his cup, lost, as usual, in the sea of 
 financial grief welling from Italy, Galicia and Hungary where 
 
A UNION FOREVER 45 
 
 gigantic depressions were engulfing one after another of his cus- 
 tomers. Uncle David, using his cup gracefully, was discussing opera. 
 
 August tried to make his entrance casual. As he put out a slender 
 brown hand for one of his mother's sweet cakes, Henrietta the pest 
 exclaimed, "Look at—" August frowned her into silence, her 
 exclamation fortunately not heard. Her activity was reduced to 
 making round eyes, and other pantomimes properly ignored by her 
 brother. 
 
 Presently Uncle David paused to ask kindly, "How go the 
 lessons, August?" 
 
 Mrs. Bondi answered for her son, "Very well, indeed. Adam 
 Schreyer demands the highest scholarship from his pupils." 
 
 "That I well know," rejoined Uncle David in a dry voice. "I can 
 feel his cane to this hour on my breeches." 
 
 Mrs. Bondi flushed. She had chosen August's school. Her husband 
 had left their son to her all during his seven years. 
 
 "When I placed August with Adam Schreyer, I told him never 
 to bring home any story of school discipline. Parents should never 
 interfere with teachers. They have important work in forming 
 character. They must have full control." 
 
 Uncle David had been observing August closely. Now he leaned 
 over and caught up one of the boy's hands. 
 
 "What is this oozing blood?" he cried. 
 
 Mr. Bondi came back at once from Galicia. Mrs. Bondi's flush 
 ebbed, leaving her pale with concern. 
 
 "This is too much," exclaimed Uncle David. "The boy's hands 
 are cut and bleeding from the ferule. . . . 
 
 "Howdy, strangah!" 
 
 Mentally reeling from a Vienna drawing room and physically 
 wheeling from a Kansas chopping block, the Jewish youth found 
 looking down at him a horseman who had approached under cover 
 of the chopping. 
 
 "Leak is my name. Catullus Calhoun Leak." 
 
 August stood silently awaiting further information. 
 
 "Wheah from, strangah?" demanded the horseman, the usual 
 opening question on the border. 
 
 August Bondi replied in his careful university English with its 
 touch of accent, "I am from Send Louis." 
 
 The horseman smiled. 
 
 "A good town, Yo' politics?" 
 
 "I am a Temocradt." 
 
 "Shake hands! Shake hands, suh!" 
 
46 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Bondi shook hands without enthusiasm. He remarked, "I heardt 
 Judge Touglas speak in Send Louis. So I came oud here to helb 
 seddle the slafery question. I pelieve it shouldt pe seddled fairly, 
 py the vodt of the genuine seddlers." 
 
 The horseman leaned down to speak in a confidential manner. 
 
 "That's the stand of the Law-an'-Order party." 
 
 Bondi said nothing, but he sent a glance from his dark eyes into 
 the face above him. 
 
 Leak wheeled his horse, calling back as he rode away, "Glad to 
 have met you. Don't forget the name, Catullus Calhoun Leak/' 
 
 August Bondi w r atched Leak ride away through the timber. He 
 wondered briefly if he was going to enjoy his fellow Democrats 
 in Kansas. As he resumed his chopping his eye fell again on the 
 smear of dried blood on the back of one hand that had carried his 
 thoughts into his Vienna past. Now, for want of companionship, he 
 allowed memory full play, and it went on picturing old days and 
 far away. 
 
 January. Intense cold. The pontoon bridges across the Danube, 
 south and east of Vienna, have been taken up when the ice begins 
 to form. No communication has existed between the banks of the 
 river until the ice has at last become strong enough to bear traffic. 
 Now sheaves of straw are placed over the ice at regular crossings. 
 The straw has been irrigated until the mass is solid enough to fasten 
 planks atop. All this has taken several days, but now at last young 
 August Bondi makes his way across this improvised bridgeway in 
 company with his tutor, Moritz Stern, a medical student at the 
 university. 
 
 "Things couldn't be much worse," says young Stern, drawing a 
 wool comforter up across his purple nose. "Wages are so low, and 
 food costs rising. I don't see how the workers are to keep their 
 families from starving." 
 
 "Or freezing," observes August. He closes his eyes against the 
 dust and ice brought by the wind. He crosses his arms, thrusting his 
 benumbed hands into his arm pits. The north wind comes down 
 with cruel malice, whirling bits of straw and ice particles. 
 
 The gigantic depression that has engulfed fortune after fortune 
 in the provinces, has reached Vienna, taking the firm of Emmanuel 
 Bondy, Sohne in its path. Banking houses unable to collect debts in 
 Galicia, Italy and Hungary, are failing to pay creditors in Austria. 
 Loans are called in, credits have been sharply curtailed, manufactur- 
 ing cut to the bone, workmen laid off, suffering everywhere. People 
 curse Metternich and the royal house alternately. They demand 
 
A UNION FOREVER 47 
 
 that something be done, without clearly knowing the direction relief 
 should take. 
 
 "Damn Metternich," says Stern. "May he roast in hell a thousand 
 years for every worker's child that is freezing this day." 
 
 "Gehenna is too good for him," agrees August. 
 
 Presently, with some last instructions as to study, Stern leaves 
 his pupil. August hurries toward his new home in the Leopoldstadt 
 suburb. He finds a fine carriage and pair before the shabby door. 
 Uncle Joseph Frankl, the very popular and successful physician, is 
 calling. 
 
 Thrilled by the sight of Uncle Joseph's nervous-eared, high- 
 steppers, August hurries indoors. In a small dark room,— bedroom 
 by night, sitting room by day,— Mrs. Bondi is sitting with her two 
 brothers. Several large pieces of furniture saved from other days 
 overcrowd the room, but the blue satin sofa is gone. August's mother 
 is sadly changed. Turning on her brothers dark eyes filled with 
 terror. One homely feature of the scene, Henrietta on an ottoman 
 beside her mother, tending her dish-faced doll. 
 
 "But I am certain they keep him in jail only to bleed what money 
 you have left out of you." 
 
 Uncle Joseph's voice holds a note of exasperation. No matter how 
 kind he might wish to be, he must bring his sister to reason. 
 
 "I have told her that," puts in Uncle David Frankl. "She will not 
 listen. Our courts are so corrupt these days, one bribe does nothing. 
 They keep on demanding of those who will pay, until the well 
 runs dry." 
 
 "It's unjust," exclaims poor Mrs. Bondi, womanlike veering from 
 the point her men are trying to hold her to. "To put him in jail. 
 The firms in Galicia and Hungary pay him nothing." 
 
 "But you must understand," cries Uncle David. "With the firms 
 in Galicia the courts in Vienna have nothing to do." 
 
 "But how can he settle with his creditors here?" 
 
 "Business is like that," explains Uncle Joseph, rising to leave, a 
 busy physician. "I must not keep the horses standing in this 
 weather." He draws the glossy fur of his collar closer round his 
 throat, smiling at August. He lays a fine, white hand on August's 
 forehead, tips his head back a fraction. "My dear," he says seriously, 
 "you really must consider August's future. Here is your hope. How 
 go the studies, August?" 
 
 "Very well, uncle. My tutor is a good friend to the rod." 
 
 "Excellent. Remember, you will one day walk into a fine practice. 
 When I retire " 
 
48 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 A new intrusion on August Bondi's thoughts of his past,— this 
 time in noisy fashion. A pair of riders are coming through the brush 
 at a canter, talking cheerfully as they come. 
 
 They are apologetic. 
 
 "Some of our cattle have strayed into your bottom land. We'd like 
 to ride through to get them." 
 
 August straightened up, eying the newcomers. He liked their 
 looks, clean young men, and he thought from their gaze they 
 liked him. 
 
 "I'm Owen Brown," explained one of the young men. "This is 
 my brother, Jason. We've taken up land next to you." He smiled 
 shyly. "Excuse my question, but are you pro-slavery? Or free-state?" 
 
 "I am for a free stadt," said the Jewish youth quietly. "A Union 
 Temocradt." 
 
 "I knew it!" 
 
 "So did I!" 
 
 Jason and Owen Brown leaned from their horses to hug one 
 another. They shook hands with August Bondi, and Jason fired his 
 revolver into the air. 
 
 "Four of us," Owen said when they had concluded their celebra- 
 tion. "All free-state. Solomon and Fred farm with us. When the 
 pro-slavery crowd finds out you're free-state, you may have trouble. 
 We'll show you how to make a signal fire, case you need us." 
 
 "We'll have reinforcements soon," added Jason. "Our father is 
 coming out here." He made an army with banners of the statement. 
 "And Oliver, our youngest brother, with him. Henry Thompson, 
 that's our brother-in-law, he's thinking of coming, too." 
 
 Owen touched up his horse. 
 
 "Got to get along after our stock." 
 
 'Wait!" 
 
 Jason Brown slipped from his saddle, tossing his reins to his 
 brother. He grinned at Bondi. 
 
 "Want me to show you to use that ax?" 
 
 They could not have been long away after their cattle when I 
 came hustling through the timber. 
 
 "Mr. Bondi," I called. "Mr. Bondi!" 
 
 Breathless, I managed to get out my news. 
 
 "Mr. Bartles is teaming your freight round by the trail. I cut 
 through your wood lot. The pro-slavery crowd have taken your 
 partner, Mr. Benjamin." 
 
 "Taken— Why?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 49 
 
 "They're taking him into Lawrence. To be an election judge 
 tomorrow." 
 
 "I do not unterstandt." 
 
 I tried to make myself lucid. 
 
 "Down the trail a piece, five miles, I should say. We came on a 
 dozen pro-slavery men. They were just about to hang Mr. Blanton. 
 Seems they tried to bribe him to go home, they don't want him for 
 an election judge tomorrow." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "When we got there, it looked like a fight. But at last it was 
 agreed your partner should take Mr. Blanton's place on the board. 
 And your goods to come through with the train. Mr. Blanton says 
 the hollow below Franklin is filled with hoodlums. And more coming 
 every minute. They've made camp. Guards out in every direction." 
 
 August Bondi said below his breath, "I was afraidt of thadt." 
 
 "They told Mr. Blanton they would burn his bridge. If he didn't 
 stay away from the polls." 
 
 "Thadt is their holt on the free-stadt men. These poor creadtures 
 they are senting againsdt us, they haf nodding. Slafery has tis- 
 possedt them. Slafery makes them ignorandt bawns of the system 
 thadt has ruinedt them. Bulledt for bulledt, we couldt fighdt them. 
 We couldt win. But these men haf nodding to lose. And they are 
 peing incidedt to retuce us to their own bidiful lefel. I haf seen 
 you pefore?" 
 
 "In Lawrence last summer. I attended the academy at Cherry 
 Grove, Illinois, all winter. I thought one term of schooling would 
 do me. But I soon learned I have only begun. So I'm going to team 
 freight this summer. I make good money that way. And it leaves 
 a very good job for one of my brothers, taking care of Mr. Daniels's 
 stable." 
 
 August Bondi smiled at me. 
 
 "You haf learnedt you haf only pegun? You will make a scholar." 
 
 VI 
 
 Great fires crackled and curled toward tree branches where a 
 scattering of last year's leaves clung desperately while coming fo- 
 liage budded on the boughs. Heaps of winter-sodden leaves, hastily 
 heaped together and warmed by the flames, made couches for such 
 ruffians as liked to do their drinking in the style of Roman em- 
 perors. Others of the invaders brought fresh supplies for the fires. 
 Still others stood about in groups that passed the ever present jug 
 from hand to hand. One group surrounded a pair of wrestlers, and 
 
50 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 mingled loud, delighted oaths with lively wagers. Here and there 
 a fiddler sat in one of the wagons drawn up at the edge of the 
 clearing, exchanging folk tunes of the border with obscenities of 
 the invaders. 
 
 I showed August Bondi how to creep very close to the edge of 
 the clearing without disclosing himself. It was going to be wonderful 
 to be a scholar, but I blessed a rural background that night. As we 
 applied our eyes to a small clear space in a bit of sumac clump, a 
 man so far above his fellows as to be dressed in broadcloth instead 
 of butternuts stood before a tent headquarters, bawling for order. 
 
 "What th' hell? Cain't you-all quieten yo'selves? General String- 
 fellow'll think we-all is hoodlums. He cain't make himself heard." 
 
 "Shut up, yo'self, Clabe," bawled a voice from the crowd. "Let 
 the genrul talk. We lissenin'." 
 
 A second figure in broadcloth stepped into the light and shadow 
 before the tent. If the figure was obscured, the voice was not. It 
 fell on the clean Kansas night air to charge it with the poison of 
 bigotry and race hatred. 
 
 "Men! Word has come in that more troops will be needed at 
 Bloomington polls. We have more than enough here to take care 
 of the Lawrence blue-bellies." Cheers. "We want volunteers to 
 accompany Clabe Jackson and Sam Jones to Bloomington. But 
 before you go, hear a word on the subject of our sacred Cause. 
 The preservation of white supremacy, and the protection of our 
 womanhood." 
 
 At this point the speaker was interrupted for a low-toned con- 
 ference. 
 
 "Yes?" In a louder tone he went on, "There is a Mr. Benjamin 
 here who desires an escort into Lawrence. Mr. Benjamin has kindly 
 agreed to officiate at the polls in Lawrence tomorrow. And he needs 
 a good night's sleep. Will volunteers kindly step forward." 
 
 Five or six of the worst-appearing ruffians in the lot,— or so it 
 seemed to me,— stepped forward. But there was another hasty- 
 conference. Mr. Benjamin, it developed, did not like his escort. 
 In fact, he almost tearfully rejected them in to to. 
 
 "What about this Benjamin an' his pardner? What's their politics?" 
 called a voice from the shadows. 
 
 "Mr. Benjamin says he has no politics." 
 
 "What about his pardner, Bondi? I don't hold with these goddam 
 Jews. They're a hell of a lot too smart for the rest of us." 
 
 It was then I noticed Catullus Calhoun Leak. He spoke from 
 behind a table set up near the flap of the main tent. 
 
 "Bondi is a Douglas Democrat from St. Louis." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 51 
 
 "Mr. Benjamin," said Stringfellow, "I am going to offer you the 
 hospitality of my own tent for the night. Then you can ride into 
 Lawrence with the balance of us in the morning. Now, my friends, 
 one last word. Negro slavery has a wonderful effect on the character 
 of the white woman. An effect that should commend the institution 
 of slavery to all real men who love the white race more than they 
 do the nigger. African slavery is the shield of God for the protection 
 of the sacred person of the white woman. 
 
 "So long as man is lewd, woman will be his victim. Those who 
 are forced to occupy a menial position have ever been and will 
 ever be the most tempted and the least protected. This is one of 
 the evils of slavery. We admit it is an evil. We are broad enough 
 to admit that slavery does have some attendant evils. And this is 
 one of the evils. An evil that attends all women slaves, from the 
 beautiful Circassian to the sable daughter of Africa. While we admit 
 the selfishness of the sentiment, we are free to declare we love the 
 white woman so much, we would save her even at the sacrifice of 
 the nigger. We would throw around the spotless white woman,— 
 your mothers, your wives, your daughters,— the shield of slavery to 
 keep her from temptation." 
 
 I managed to crawl away through the undergrowth to a safe 
 distance before I gave way to nausea. In the following horrible half 
 hour I was conscious of the young Jew's ministrations, of his tender 
 hand supporting my forehead. Once I heard him murmer, "So the 
 innocendt always musdt suffer. When firsdt they inhale the stench 
 of brivilege." 
 
 VII 
 
 Lawrence in the spring of 1855 entertained a constant stream of 
 passersby, traveling east and west. These strangers supported a 
 tremendous hotel business, a cafe and restaurant business, a cigar 
 store business, even,— despite the efforts of the Lawrence ladies,— 
 liquor and other, more questionable forms of business. Going up 
 rapidly was the Free State hotel, scheduled to cost eighty thousand 
 dollars. Meanwhile the landlady of the Cincinnati hotel worked 
 long hours to feed the multitudes, while the wooden Indian outside 
 the door of her neighbor, the tobacconist, rapidly lost his paint 
 under a constant succession of strokes from brimstone matches. 
 
 The sawmill promised the settlers was in full operation, but 
 could not supply lumber fast enough to meet the demands. The 
 quarrys opened during the winter employed every available man. 
 Wagons loaded with native stone trundled back and forth between 
 
52 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 the quarry and the new hotel. Everyone was intent to exchange 
 shake shanties and cabins for permanent homes before another 
 winter. 
 
 Lawrence men intended to vote. In true American tradition they 
 expected to take time from work or business or profession to do, 
 each, his duty at the polls. Meanwhile each man went at his day 
 with more than the usual absorption, making up in advance the 
 time he expected to lose in voting. 
 
 A small mob of strangers round the polling place did not, at 
 first, attract much attention. S. W. Eldridge, a newly arrived citizen 
 who had leased the Free State hotel from the Emigrant Aid Com- 
 pany, stepped into Massachusetts street, and paused to stare in the 
 direction of the Kaw,— at the polling place in the log cabin office 
 of the new lumber yard. He turned to await the arrival of Doctor 
 Robinson who was approaching on Old Gray, the horse he used 
 in his practice. 
 
 "Where did those people come from?" asked Eldridge as the 
 doctor swung down from his horse. 
 
 "I hear they are hoodlums from across the border. My idea is 
 to let them vote and start for home. We can vote later in the day. 
 This isn't a matter worth fighting about." 
 
 "I suppose not," pondered the hotel man. "We can take the 
 matter up with the authorities." 
 
 "Abbot resigned as an election judge." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "These strangers are refusing to take the oath of residence. On 
 that score alone we can have their votes thrown—" 
 
 But here are two ladies emerging from the shake shanty next the 
 hotel. They are Mrs. Wood, wife of bustling Ohioan, Sam Wood, 
 and Mrs. Brown, wife of the editor of the Herald of Freedom. 
 Hoop-skirted, bonneted and shawled, they pause to chat with the 
 two men. 
 
 Said Mrs. Wood, "Oh, doctor, we are all waiting so eagerly to 
 meet your wife. We were disappointed when she didn't come up 
 with you from the Landing." 
 
 "Mrs. Robinson pleaded to be allowed to make the trip with me. 
 When she saw Kansas City. I'm afraid she formed a poor opinion 
 of the place. Those small, crackerbox houses perched on the bluffs 
 are rather dreary. But I left her to rest a few days at the Baptist 
 Mission. Until I can at least get the roof on our home to cover 
 her head." 
 
 Said Mrs. Brown, "We're on our way now to paste labels in the 
 new books for the circulating library. I do hope your wife will 
 
A UNION FOREVER 53 
 
 enjoy the Ladies' Literary and Charitable Association." 
 
 "Sure to," declared Eldridge. "Hullo! What's happened?" 
 
 Sudden clamor of oaths, shouts, commands. A man has broken 
 loose from the crowd around the polling place and is darting 
 northward down Massachusetts street toward the river. Half a 
 dozen men, drawing revolvers as they run, pursue the fleeing 
 Lawrence citizen. 
 
 "It's young Mr. Willis," cried Mrs. Wood. "They're going to 
 kill him." 
 
 "No," said Robinson, "they're not." 
 
 He nodded, and the others followed his gaze. Coming up Mas- 
 sachusetts street were Chief White Turkey and a party of his 
 leading men. White Turkey, quick to recognize the Lawrence man, 
 allowed Willis to pass. Then he gave a word and the Indians fanned 
 out across the street, effectually blocking the path of the pursuers. 
 The Indians made their ponies prance and sidle while the ruffians 
 cursed helplessly. Young Willis profited by White Turkey's quick 
 thinking. Jumping into the Kaw he swam away at such a rate that 
 his assailants were in time only to send a dozen futile shots after 
 him. On the north bank Willis took refuge in the log cabin of Slim 
 Baldwin and his sister, Sweet Charity. The Baldwins had made truce 
 with the Lawrence Association, accepting a strip of land north of 
 the Kaw with the understanding that they maintain a ferry as their 
 portion of mutual concession. 
 
 White Turkey and his chief men ranged themselves across the 
 street from the polls where they gave solemn attention to this first 
 election of white men who were organizing Kansas Territory. 
 
 "You ladies better retire indoors," advised Eldridge hastily. "Come 
 on, Robinson." 
 
 Hand on revolver butt, he swung down the street toward the 
 polls. Doctor Robinson secured the reins he still held to one of the 
 rings on the long public hitching rack. Calmly he walked away after 
 the tall, thickset figure of the hotel keeper. 
 
 Mrs. Wood stamped her foot. 
 
 "That man has ice water for blood. Why don't our men take stout 
 clubs, cudgel these roughs out of town. Oh, why did Sam have to 
 be away? This day of all days in the year?" 
 
 "Margaret," said Mrs. Brown in a faint voice, "could we get back 
 into your house?" 
 
 "Oh, you poor dear!" Mrs. Wood half supported her friend toward 
 her shake shanty. "Lorinda, I'm going to learn to shoot a rifle. If the 
 men in this town won't fight, the women will have to." 
 
 Young Mr. Willis had demanded to be given the oath of residence. 
 
54 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Outside the polling place a Missourian was haranguing the crowd. 
 
 "I just voted, an' you-all can come right up an' vote. Remember, 
 you-all are citizens of this territory at this moment. At this present 
 moment. If any judge asks you how long you intend to make Kansas 
 Territory your home, tell him to go to hell. It's none of his damned 
 business how long you stay in this goddam hole. 
 
 "Now, let the old men come up first. They're tired. They wanna 
 get back to the wagons. Let's get this over. But first I want t' 
 interduce the law-an'-order candidate for this district. For our new 
 state legislature. Step up here, Mr. Chapman." 
 
 The speaker beckoned forward an ambling lout who grinned 
 vacantly at the crowd. 
 
 "Mr. Chapman will you kindly announce your sentiments? Tell 
 'em what you're for," he added in a lower, explanatory voice. 
 
 "I 'ro 'lavery, y od!" 
 
 "My God, Robinson," exclaimed Eldridge. "That's a fellow from 
 Kersey Coates's livery stable in Kansas City. Claims he got shot 
 through the mouth in the Mexican fight. But nobody believes a word 
 of that. He has a harelip. Do we have to be insulted this way?" 
 
 The polling went through rapidly, the Missourians hurrying away 
 either to their wagons, or to the questionable cabins on the trail 
 between Lawrence and Franklin. The Lawrence men collected 
 across from the polls in an increasing group that silently noted each 
 detail of the humiliating scene. Several Eastern business men look- 
 ing up investments joined the group, grinning broadly. To them 
 this was frontier at its liveliest. 
 
 "We can't out- vote this mob," Robinson explained to them. "This 
 will be a matter for the governor." 
 
 "Of course, of course," they agreed, very merry at this Wild West 
 show they were being privileged to witness. "But you want to get on 
 record, all of you," they cautioned. "Don't fail to vote." 
 
 "Let me introduce you to one of our really fine citizens," said 
 Robinson. "Mr. White Turkey, chief of the Delaware tribe." 
 
 White Turkey acknowledged the introduction gravely. 
 
 "Are those some of your friends?" asked one of the Easterners, 
 nodding toward a group of Indians filing past the polls to give in 
 their votes. 
 
 "Shawnees," explained White Turkey. "Sent by Tom Johnson. 
 Shawnee Mission. Vote for him. Poor fellows. Vote for whiskey. 
 One big chance get drunk." 
 
 Lawrence men began going to the polls. They met no opposition, 
 and their votes were recorded accurately by the judges, Mr. 
 Benjamin being especially anxious to help them. Into this scene rode 
 
A UNION FOREVER 55 
 
 William Phillips. Various citizens called to the Tribune correspond- 
 ent, "Come on, come on! We need your vote." 
 
 Phillips responded, "You need all the votes you can get." 
 
 He swung down, his eyes gleaming with excitement and good 
 humor. He shook hands in every direction, grinning with extra 
 cheer when he encountered White Turkey and his men. 
 
 "Have they voted?" he inquired over his shoulder of Robinson. 
 
 "Do you think they should?" 
 
 "Aren't they bonafide settlers of this territory?" 
 
 "Of course they are. Among the first," exclaimed Robinson, break- 
 ing into a smile. "Certainly they must vote." 
 
 One flash of delight brightened the faces of the Delawares, was 
 gone. In grave fashion, following White Turkey, single file, they 
 went up to the polls to vote against human slavery in Kansas. 
 
 Sam Wood pushed his tired horse into Lawrence in time to vote 
 before the polls closed on that historic 30th of March, 1855. He 
 learned that Charles Robinson was already departed for the Baptist 
 Mission, to rejoin Mrs. Robinson. Wood organized a meeting of the 
 more determined citizens, characteristically called to order by him 
 in the street before the Free State hotel. 
 
 "Before the invaders left," Samuel Tappan told him, "they in- 
 fromed us they will kill Governor Reeder if he refuses to confirm the 
 election." 
 
 "Then we don't protest this outrage?" 
 
 "Of course we protest," replied several voices. 
 
 "Robinson is writing to the governor tonight," added Tappan. 
 
 "The thing for us to do," declared Wood, "is to appoint a com- 
 mittee to go down to the Shawnee Mission at once. To be with the 
 governor. If they start to kill him, we can put up a fight. We'll tell 
 him we've come to die with him." 
 
 Eventually Wood set out with half a dozen of the more deter- 
 mined, including Tappan and William Phillips who must get to 
 Westport to telegraph his story to the Tribune. I said goodbye to 
 him, for I was going westward next morning with Theodore Bartles's 
 wagon train. When the men reached Governor Reeder in his 
 quarters in Tom Johnson's mission, they found Doctor Robinson 
 who had come over from the Baptist Mission. During several days 
 while the East and South rang with the story of the election, the 
 governor studied the situation. Certain Missouri gentlemen sat in 
 his anteroom waiting. The Lawrence men sat there too, and they 
 watched the Missourians. 
 
 In the end Governor Reeder issued the writs of election. 
 
56 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 VIII 
 
 Dispatch from Independence, Mo. 
 "Several hundred returning emigrants from Kansas have just 
 entered our city. They were preceded by the Westport and 
 Independence bands. They came in at the west side of the public 
 square and proceeded entirely around it, the bands cheering us 
 with fine music, the emigrants with good news. Immediately 
 following the band were about two hundred horsemen in regular 
 order; following these were one hundred and fifty wagons, car- 
 riages, etc. They gave repeated cheers for Kansas and Missouri. 
 They report that not an anti-slavery man will be in the legislature 
 of Kansas. We have made a clean sweep." 
 
 Eli Thayer, the man responsible for the Emigrant Aid Society, or 
 Company as it came to be called, began his crusade almost before 
 President Pierce's ink dried on the Kansas-Nebraska bill, making it 
 a law. Amos A. Lawrence, Boston merchant, heard Thayer make 
 an appeal, and became financial backer-in-chief of the Society, 
 declaring, "Slavery must not secure another foot of the national 
 domain." Dr. Charles Robinson, back from California, heard Thayer. 
 He responded by leading the first New England emigrants to 
 Kansas. Now these Lawrence citizens, in less than a year's time, 
 found themselves the very heart and center of the struggle en- 
 gendered by the Kansas-Nebraska Act. 
 
 The bolder spirits among the Lawrence men spoke defiance. 
 Submit to Haw Haw Chapman, hare-lipped stable hand, as their 
 representative in the legislature? Submit to Postmaster Sam Jones of 
 Westport who, it was rumored, would be made sheriff of Douglas 
 county? Presumably for his services to the slaveocracy in the recent 
 elections. Submit to rapscallion Tom Johnson of the Shawnee Mis- 
 sion, now triumphing as president of the new territorial council? 
 Never. 
 
 Martin F. Conway, the only free-state man elected to the legisla- 
 ture, resigned. He got his letter of resignation to Reeder only 
 twenty-four hours before the new legislative body declared his seat 
 vacant. Wrote Mr. Conway: 
 
 "Instead of recognizing this as the legislature of Kansas, and 
 participating in its proceedings, I utterly repudiate it as deroga- 
 tory to the respectability of popular government and insulting to 
 the virtue and intelligence of the age. . . . Simply as a citizen and 
 a man, I shall, therefore, yield no submission to this alien legisla- 
 ture. On the contrary I am ready to set its assumed authority at 
 
A UNION FOREVER 57 
 
 defiance, and shall be prompt to spurn and trample under my 
 
 feet its insolent enactments, whenever they conflict with my 
 
 rights or inclinations." 
 
 Andrew Reeder did not approve all the election returns. In one 
 or two instances he declared them fraudulent, and ordered new 
 elections. Missouri border papers exploded at this treachery, and 
 many were the predictions as to his fate when he should return 
 from Washington, whither he had gone to seek the ear of Franklin 
 Pierce. 
 
 William Phillips brought news about Reeder to a protest and plan 
 meeting of Lawrence men called together at the partly finished 
 Robinson home in the cool of a June evening. 
 
 "Reeder's back from Washington," he told the company. "Arrived 
 yesterday in Kansas City. He was in a room in the American Hotel 
 when Stringfellow walked in on him. Stringfellow opened on 
 Reeder with a string of oaths. About something Reeder said to 
 Pierce. Something he said about Stringfellow being the leader of 
 the invasion in March. The 'general' took advantage of Reeder's 
 position,— he was lying on a couch,— knocked Reeder off the couch 
 on to the floor. Kicked him till one of the Eldridge brothers heard 
 the row. He ran in just in time, I take it, to save Reeder's life." 
 
 "What sort of man is Reeder?" asked a gentleman from the East, 
 a guest of the Robinsons. 
 
 "Not a bad sort," replied Sam Wood. "When you get used to his 
 popeyes. And his pot-belly." 
 
 Laughter greeted this remark, laughter in which Mrs. Robinson, 
 after a slight gasp, joined merrily. Not a beautiful woman, and 
 slightly past her youth, she was nevertheless attractive in figure and 
 blessed with a countenance that revealed intelligence and culture. 
 
 "Here is the doctor now," she exclaimed, folding some sewing. 
 
 Doctor Robinson got down slowly from Old Gray who im- 
 mediately put his head low to crop at the wild oats that grew on 
 the hilltop. After a word of quiet greeting Mrs. Robinson slipped 
 into the house. The doctor smiled rather sadly at his fellow 
 committeemen. 
 
 "I've had a strange day. Two days ago I was called over on the 
 Marais des Cygnes to a poor family from Missouri. They had been 
 drinking tainted water. Too ignorant or too lazy to walk to a clean 
 spring. Several of them were down. The father and mother were 
 seriously ill. Today I rode over to learn the result of my treatment. 
 Those seven children,— they were all ages, from grown to babes,— 
 had left their parents alone in a small cabin. The woman was dead 
 
58 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 when I got there. The man, just expiring. Superstition and 
 ignorance. . . ." 
 
 His voice trailed. 
 
 William Phillips said, "The white side of slavery ." 
 
 "And they hug their chains." Sam Wood consulted his watch. 
 "Where's Carmi Babcock? First time I ever knew him to be late 
 to a meeting." 
 
 "He was to bring his new friend, Lane. Time means nothing to 
 Jim Lane. He'll amble along at his own pace." 
 
 "I'm out of patience with Babcock," declared Wood. "With 
 everything in the balance, he lets this stranger persuade him to call 
 a Democratic convention. Party politics at a time when we must 
 have unity." 
 
 "Jim Lane's a party man," explained William Phillips. "He'd play 
 politics if he was out on the prairie at midnight in one of these 
 Kansas hurricanes." 
 
 "He won't get far. He'll have to come in with us." 
 
 "Here they come." 
 
 Every eye turned to watch handsome Carmi Babcock and the 
 ungainly figure that strolled awkwardly beside him. 
 
 "Robinson," called out Babcock, "you have got a hilltop. Whatever 
 made you build up here?" 
 
 "I selected this spot one evening when our wagon train stopped 
 down below, when I was on my way to California. We've named 
 it Mt. Oread, by the way. After Eli Thayer's school, you know." 
 
 James Henry Lane, lately a Democratic congressman from In- 
 diana, got his long legs over the wild grass and flowers to accept a 
 seat the doctor offered him near his own. Immediately Lane shifted 
 this straight chair until he could tilt it against the siding of the 
 Robinson house. 
 
 "Howdy, folks," he said amiably. 
 
 Babcock shook hands formally all round, finally accepting a chair. 
 
 "We're meeting out here," explained the doctor, "because our 
 downstairs rooms are still piled high. Tomorrow we expect to begin 
 moving the furniture into the upper chambers." 
 
 "Lucky dog," exclaimed Wood. "Your wife escaped the joys of 
 a shake shanty. Gentlemen, I move Doctor Robinson into the chair." 
 
 "What's all this about?" asked Jim Lane. 
 
 Samuel Tappan, leaning against the door frame, said pleasantly, 
 "Wherever two or three Yankees are met together, there they hold 
 a meeting and organize." 
 
 "Organize for what?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 59 
 
 "The subject of the meeting," said Doctor Robinson, "is, Repudia- 
 tion." 
 
 "In short," explained a young man named Anthony, "we are 
 determined to attend no elections called by pro-slavery authority, 
 pay no attention to its county organization, bring no suits into its 
 courts, offer no estates to its probate judges, try no causes and make 
 no complaints before its justices of the peace. Finally," he announced 
 with emphasis, "we will pay no tax levies made by authority of this 
 legislature." 
 
 Jim Lane drawled, "Goin' t' raise hell, ain't yuh?" 
 
 "Oh, that's all well enough, I suppose," cut in Sam Wood. "Civil 
 disobedience out of that book some fellow in New England 
 preaches. What I want is to see a program that goes some place." 
 
 "You'll find that will go places," declared Anthony hotly. "Espe- 
 cially, when those cutthroats find out they're not going to bleed us 
 for taxes." 
 
 Yielding to the importunities of Carmi Babcock, Lane had worn 
 into the Robinson presence the sealskin coat that was his invariable 
 full dress attire. Beneath it he wore his everyday calfskin waistcoat. 
 Now he suddenly rose, stripped off his coat, opened his waistcoat, 
 and resumed his tilted chair. 
 
 "There is another point to be brought forward," said Robinson 
 slowly. "The Southern papers are always urging slave owners to 
 move into this territory. Of course, bringing their slaves with them. 
 But no one of these owners responds to the urging. Slaves are riches 
 that take to themselves feet. And leave for Canada. The slave owners 
 are depending on these poor whites they use for pawns. Plainly 
 these people will be no match for New England thrift. Backed by 
 Boston money and convictions." 
 
 "Just a minute," interrupted Sam Wood. "What about Ohio?" 
 
 "Let us say, the North. Now after Reeder issuing those certificates, 
 we all know the slavery question is settled if we acquiesce in the 
 election. This legislature, when it meets next month, will enact a 
 slave code: Returning boards will keep that code in effect. I feel,— 
 and I believe you all agree,— there is very little hope for aid from 
 Congress. They have uniformly failed to furnish anything toward 
 freedom for a generation. Only repudiation in Kansas and at once 
 will keep the issue alive. Am I stating the sense of the meeting?" 
 
 A chorus of assent. 
 
 "Very well. The first step is to be repudiation. Next, a case 
 satisfactory to the whole world must be made out. To the entire 
 civilized world." 
 
60 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "What in hell do we care about the world?" asked Jim Lane 
 lazily. "If we know we're right, to hell with the world." 
 
 Robinson turned on him an eye gone chill blue. 
 
 "This conflict involves not only ourselves, but the nation. Not 
 only the nation, but the world." 
 
 "And besides all that," remarked Sam Wood with apparent 
 innocence, "we don't want our troubles out here to scare off Eastern 
 capital." 
 
 Ignoring Wood, Robinson continued, "We can and must repudiate 
 the bogus legislature, and any laws it may make. That is a first issue. 
 But secondly, we must keep the free-state issue alive, and unite the 
 people behind us. For this reason I think we must call a state 
 convention and adopt a constitution. A constitution we can submit 
 to Congress. With a petition to be admitted as a state." 
 
 Sudden, complete silence as his hearers grappled with this new 
 idea. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson, assisted by young Tappan, came out of the house, 
 each carrying a loaded tray, coffee, sandwiches and tea cakes. 
 
 "A state convention?" wondered Sam Wood. "How will we get 
 folks to leave their farm work? And city business? We're all so 
 pressed for time." 
 
 "We must have mass meetings," declared Robinson. "Many of 
 them. In various neighborhoods. The whole people must understand 
 the issue. When once we get our constitution, we can elect our own 
 officials. That prospect will be certain to bring men together." 
 
 "And you hate politics," marveled Jim Lane. He was leaning 
 forward now, his face alight. "If you've got a smart scheme like 
 that, I'm for it. What about you, Babcock?" 
 
 Carmi Babcock, delivered his opinion slowly, consideringly. 
 
 "I like the idea. We haven't surrendered our rights under our 
 national constitution by emigrating to this territory. The right to 
 assemble peaceably, and petition our government." 
 
 "Call the first mass meeting right here in Lawrence," suggested 
 William Phillips. "For the earliest possible date. We must be active 
 before this bogus legislature meets." 
 
 "Next week," suggested Babcock, and met with general assent. 
 
 From the deepening shadows Jim Lane leaned toward Robinson. 
 
 "You'll address this meeting?" 
 
 "I suppose so. If that's what you want." 
 
 "Thought what you'll say?" 
 
 "I have made a few notes," replied Robinson, and pulled them 
 from his pocket as Jim Lane suppressed a sudden grin. The doctor 
 held his notes close to his eyes in the fading afterglow. Mrs. Robin- 
 
A UNION FOREVER 61 
 
 son became suddenly still, watching and listening as he read. 
 
 "Let every man stand in his place, and acquit himself like a man 
 who knows his rights, and knowing, dares maintain. Let us repudiate 
 all laws enacted by foreign legislative bodies, or dictated by Judge 
 Lynch over the way. Tyrants are tyrants, and tyranny is tyranny, 
 whether under the garb of law or in opposition to it. So thought 
 and acted our ancestors, and so let us think and act. We are not 
 alone in this contest. The whole nation is agitated upon the question 
 of our rights. Every pulsation in Kansas pulsates to the remotest 
 artery of the body politic, and I seem to hear the millions of 
 freemen, and the millions of bondsmen in our land, the patriots and 
 philanthropists of all countries, the spirit of the revolutionary heroes, 
 and the voice of God, all saying to the people of Kansas, 'Do your 
 duty'." 
 
 In the quiet that followed Sam Wood stood up. 
 
 "A committee of us must go East right away," he said briefly, 
 "to raise money, and buy rifles." 
 
 IX 
 
 Three Lawrence men, Wood, Tappan and Anthony, stood near 
 the rail of the Missouri river packet, the "New Lucy," as she 
 churned her way past thickly wooded shores below Westport Land- 
 ing. Wood held a battered-looking broadside from which he read 
 explosively below his breath. 
 
 "I tell you to mark every scoundrel among you who is in the 
 least tainted with abolitionism, or free soilism, and EXTER- 
 MINATE him. Neither give nor take quarter from the DAMNED 
 RASCALS. To those who have QUALMS of CONSCIENCE as 
 to violating laws, state or national, I say, the TIME HAS COME 
 when such impositions must be DISREGARDED, as your 
 RIGHTS and PROPERTY are in danger. I advise you, one and 
 all, to enter every election in Kansas, in DEFIANCE of Reeder 
 and his myrmidons, and VOTE at the point of the BOWIE 
 KNIFE and REVOLVER. Neither give nor take quarter, as the 
 CAUSE demands it. It is enough that the SLAVEHOLDING 
 INTEREST wills it, from which there is NO APPEAL. 
 
 Benjamin F. Stringfellow" 
 "Listen to that. Just listen to that. God, if we'd only had this 
 broadside when we were speaking through the East." 
 "We did very well as it is," replied Anthony. 
 "But the E.A.S. marking them as 'Books'," worried Samuel 
 Tappan. "You think they will go through that way?" 
 
62 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Sam Wood snapped, "Think anyone at the Landing will bother a 
 few boxes of 'Books'? I'll keep this broadside for future reference." 
 
 "I don't know," hesitated Tappan. "Sometimes very ignorant 
 persons, illiterates, might like to destroy books. Spitefully, or be- 
 cause they fear words." 
 
 Sam Wood grinned. 
 
 "You worked out that piece of reasoning in Boston." 
 
 "The East is certainly roused," remarked Anthony. "I like what 
 Horace Greeley wrote," He quoted from memory, " '. . . a more 
 stupendous fraud was never perpetrated since the invention of the 
 ballot box'. And that part about a 'tribe of wandering Arabs' being 
 just as competent to set up a government on Kansas soil as String- 
 fellow's gang. When Horace Greeley is really roused, he makes a 
 mighty fighter." 
 
 "And his sympathies take a practical turn," agreed Wood. "This 
 latest gift of his-" 
 
 Tappan seized Anthony's arm. 
 
 "Anthony, do you know that man?" 
 
 His companion turned to inspect an elegant bright blue frock 
 coat, a pair of faultless trousers in a delicate shade of fawn, and a 
 set of well trimmed side whiskers. The owner of these handsome 
 accessories was gracefully shepherding an elderly lady with two 
 pretty girls in her charge. The "New Lucy's" captain was ob- 
 sequiously at elbow. Everything in the picture denoted Missouri 
 county family. 
 
 "No," replied Anthony after a quiet observation. "Never saw him 
 in my life." 
 
 "I don't suppose I have either. It couldn't be possible." 
 
 "Look at that fellow's eye," ejaculated Sam Wood. Mr. Wood 
 was a man who spoke briskly at all times, and snapped his words 
 under excitement. "Just look at that eye. A cross between an eagle 
 and a rattlesnake. The man's a killer, if I ever saw one. That's the 
 most vicious eye I ever saw." 
 
 As though he had heard the low-voiced conversation the man of 
 the crossbred eyes turned to favor the Northerners with a sneering 
 smile. 
 
 "I've been watching him since he got on at Lexington," murmured 
 Samuel Tappan. "There's a resemblance, but it's just incredible." 
 
 Wearied of holding his contemptuous smile the Southerner turned 
 to the ladies with some remark, possibly about the sun glare. He 
 took a parasol from the elder woman, unfurled it and held it gal- 
 lantly to shield her eyes. The "New Lucy's" captain had turned 
 away. Now he bustled back to say, "Captain Anderson, I've arranged 
 
A UNION FOREVER 63 
 
 for you to take the ladies ashore ahead of the other passengers. 
 And their nigger wenches, of course." 
 
 "So we're not good enough to walk down the gangplank with 
 them," muttered young Anthony. 
 
 "Mr. Cooper!" 
 
 Captain Anderson raised his voice to attract the attention of a 
 gentleman with a little girl at his side. 
 
 "You had better stay here by us. We'll get you down the plank 
 ahead of the riff-raff." 
 
 "No," said Samuel Tappan, half to himself, "he doesn't talk like 
 the other one did. He hasn't a bit of accent." 
 
 "There's not much accent, as you call it, among the upper class 
 in this part of Missouri," Wood told him. "You get the Southern 
 lingo as you get into the deep South. Each section has its little ways. 
 I've heard Boston children say, "Marmar', and 'Parpar'." 
 
 Captain Anderson was saying, "Weil, Hettie, how do you like 
 the West?" 
 
 The little girl with Mr. Cooper raised her eyes briefly to the 
 captain's. Without replying she shrank away to her father's side, 
 then turned to gaze at the wooded shore. 
 
 "Hettie is tired," remarked her father. "She is a delicate child. We 
 thought change might benefit her. We'll rest at the Coates House. 
 Then I've arranged with Mr. Coates for horses and a comfortable 
 carriage into the territory." 
 
 "I hope you will be successful in your mission, Mr. Cooper," said 
 the older lady. "We, in Missouri, greatly admire Judge Douglas." 
 
 "What do you think about it, Hettie?" asked Captain Anderson. 
 "Would you like to have your Cousin Steve in the Executive 
 Mansion?" 
 
 Hettie had, on her scoop shovel bonnet, a veil she controlled with 
 a silken cord. Now, without replying, she jerked this cord and 
 retired from the world. 
 
 In the year 1855 Westport Landing levee was a crossroads of 
 the world. 
 
 Mexican drivers from Santa Fe trying to control half -wild mules; 
 kid-gloved, gaitered and bejeweled gentry of the river with vicious 
 faces; miners returning successfully from California with money 
 they yearned to spend; miners in rags and despondency, trying to 
 beat a way home; Indian squaws in beads and blankets, with bows 
 and arrows to sell to the tourists now beginning to flock to the 
 exciting scene created by Judge Douglas. Threading this turmoil, 
 earnest men and women plainly clad. These were bargaining for 
 
64 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 conveyance by stage or hack, or farm wagon where possible, into 
 Kansas Territory. From the windows in the brick walls of the stores 
 and warehouses came a reflected glare of afternoon sunlight, 
 stunning the eye as the mingled noises stunned the ear. 
 
 "Where do we meet this Jacob Pike?" demanded Samuel Tappan. 
 
 "Come along. Come along," urged Sam Wood. He had been 
 hustling his friends along the levee. Now he pointed to a saloon. 
 "That's where Jacob Pike buys his poison. He'll meet us there 
 eventually. 
 
 "I don't know that I like trusting a drinking man," objected 
 Anthony. 
 
 "Now, see here, Anthony, don't come your sister Susan on us. 
 This Pike has a signal virtue. He manages to keep in with the 
 Missourians, so he won't be suspect. Besides, I've hired Bob Buffam 
 as his helper." 
 
 Bustling ahead of his companions Wood led them into the saloon. 
 
 As the rusty screen door swung to behind them, the three men 
 from Lawrence walked toward the bar to discover a gigantic hand 
 bill tacked on the wall. They stood reading its handsome offer while 
 the saloon keeper hastily polished his counter. 
 
 $1000 REWARD $1000 
 
 For the capture alive of the notorious 
 
 ELI THAYER 
 
 father of the infamous 
 
 EMIGRANT AID SOCIETY 
 
 A reward of ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS 
 
 will be paid by 
 
 THE SONS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Benjamin F. Stringfellow, Pres. 
 
 While the newcomers silently digested this offer a group gathered 
 round a small table spoke in lowered voices. One of them inad- 
 vertently raised his tone. "Bullets to the muzzle. Knives to the hilt." 
 A companion nudged him to silence. "Shut up, Ranee." 
 
 "What's yours, gentlemen?" asked the saloon keeper. 
 
 "Have you any coffee?" asked Samuel Tappan. 
 
 While the saloon keeper gawped at him, Wood walked over to 
 the table. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 65 
 
 "Who is this man, Thayer?" he demanded. 
 
 After a moment one of the company round the table answered, 
 "He helps niggers escape." 
 
 "Any of you ever see him?" 
 
 "Not likely, strangah. If we had, he'd be dead." 
 
 "You don't know what he looks like? You don't know what sort 
 of man he is?" 
 
 The Missourians were silent. 
 
 "Well! What would you do with him if you met him right now?" 
 
 The bullet-and-knife enthusiast replied, "Hemp him." 
 
 "You'd hang him?" 
 
 A slight stir and mutter answered Wood. 
 
 "Very well, gentlemen." 
 
 Wood walked over to draw himself up beneath the handbill. He 
 swung round to face the Missourians with his back against the bar. 
 
 "Gentlemen, I am Eli Thayer. Now proceed to hang." 
 
 Of the boxes to be smuggled through the Missouri blockade, it 
 may be said they were only briefly in danger. As Jacob Pike and 
 his assistant Bob Buffam struggled to get oxen and heavy load up 
 a bank of slippery clay, several border ruffians rode by, and 
 demanded to know the contents of the load. Bob Buffam immediate- 
 ly became very drunk. He cursed out the people who wanted to 
 read books, declaring they had no heart for the working class, and 
 opining books were the damnedest heaviest things on the face of 
 the earth. He pleased the ruffians mightily. With great good nature 
 they helped heave the boxes up the bank, into the Delaware 
 Reserve. From there on the drivers proceeded safely until they were 
 close to Lawrence where they were met by a group of men who 
 were expecting them, and escorted into town with a flourish. When 
 the books were unpacked they were found to be the new and 
 terrifying Sharpe's rifles. And one of the boxes, that extra heavy 
 one that had been so kindly boosted up the bank by the ruffians, 
 revealed a small brass cannon, gift of Horace Greeley. This was 
 promptly christened "Sacramento" in honor of Charles Robinson 
 and his California career. 
 
 x 
 
 The word beyond beauty of Indian summer lay over Eastern 
 Kansas. During long lazy days the sun warmed a stillness so pro- 
 found in the wooded valleys that a black walnut hull could be 
 heard striking the leaf-carpeted earth, while the prolonged chatter 
 of a squirrel was a riot. 
 
66 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 August Bondi, wearing broadcloth and "city shoes", stepped 
 gingerly along the trail dust, footing it to a mass meeting in 
 Osawattomie. He pondered events recent and distant. Strange that 
 tragedy so often opens her game with a merry gambit! 
 
 Moritz Stern took his young Jewish pupil to a dinner of medical 
 students enjoying the last evening of Carneval in the year 1848. 
 This, only a few weeks after the expulsion of Louis Phillipe by the 
 French. The students are full of this notable event. Young thinkers, 
 when organized and activated they will make tyrants tremble, these 
 Viennese students. Now they make merriment. Come on! Let's start 
 a revolution right now. Who'll be Metternich? We'll expel Metter- 
 nich." 
 
 This is a lively joke. Expel Metternich, for twenty-five years prime 
 minister of Austria? 
 
 "Come, Moritz, you're Metternich. Stand up against us if you 
 dare!" 
 
 Using knotted handkerchiefs, the others rush at Metternich 
 Moritz, while the little Jewish boy looks on with sparkling eyes. 
 This Metternich takes a sound drubbing; but at last he is fairly 
 beaten and cries, "I yield! I yield to the demands of the Austrian 
 people!" 
 
 Flushed and breathless, Moritz exclaims, "Fellows, you were too 
 many for me. That shows what we could do, if we all acted 
 together—" 
 
 A tap on the door, and the landlady has sent up her little maid 
 to request the young gentlemen very politely to make less disturb- 
 ance, please. 
 
 Dutch Henry's Crossing, and August Bondi comes back to the 
 present. He will positively have to take off his shoes and bathe his 
 feet in the cool shallows. He is beginning to doubt the wisdom of 
 highly varnished footgear on a Kansas trail. 
 
 Laving his feet, Bondi reflects on Dutch Henry, proprietor of the 
 crossroads store for whom the crossing is named. August thinks 
 Henry Wiener is Jewish, means to ask him when opportunity occurs. 
 Wiener's store is closed because Wiener is already on his way to 
 the rally in Osawatomie. Coming up the bank of the stream, August 
 sits down to put on the hateful shoes when a halloo from the trail 
 arrests him with one boot half on. Just emerging from the shallows 
 comes a two-horse team drawing a spring wagon. The wagon box 
 is piled high with hay, and the hay is piled high with men. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 67 
 
 "Come on and ride," calls Jason Brown. "We went by for you, 
 but you got the start of us." 
 
 Crowding his feet into his shoes, August Bondi jumped up and 
 hurried to the wagon. Owen Brown occupied the driver's seat with 
 his brother Fred beside him. On the hay sat John, Jr., Jason, 
 Solomon, and a young man Bondi judged to be Oliver. A sixth 
 young man, grinning at him in a friendly way, was named to him 
 as, "Henry Thompson, our brother-in-law." 
 
 "And this is our father," said Jason Brown, flutes and bugles in 
 his voice. 
 
 Seated high on the hay, in the midst of his tall sons, was a man 
 about fifty years old. Dressed neatly in a suit of stout quality and 
 quaint cut, with a black patent leather stock and immaculate white 
 shirt frill, he wore an old plush cap and carried a cavalry saber. 
 Into his belt he had thrust a large army revolver. 
 
 "Hop up, son. Hop up," commanded the elder Brown. He leaned 
 out of the wagon to lay upon the young Jew a powerful, friendly 
 grip, hauling him up into the wagon. "Drive on, Owen," he called 
 to his son. 
 
 Owen Brown drove the spirited horses skillfully, despite the 
 handicap of a crippled right arm. Beside him Frederick sat quietly, 
 experiencing an interval of calm between the siezures of over- 
 excitement to which he was prone. As August settled himself com- 
 fortably he asked in a respectful voice, "To you expecdt drouble 
 totay, sir?" 
 
 "I never go to meet trouble, son, but I don't want ever to meet 
 it without being prepared. It looks as though the forces of hell are 
 determined to pollute Kansas with human slavery. I'm out here to 
 do what I can to organize the free-state people for successful 
 resistance." He studied August briefly but carefully with his 
 piercing eye. "What brought you to Kansas, son?" 
 
 "I pegin to think, sir, I am a stormy betrel, flying always just 
 aheat of the storm. My parendts flet with me from Ausria to escabe 
 the counder-revolution. I was in the ubrising of '48. In Vienna." 
 
 "You don't say! You were young." 
 
 "Fifdeen, sir, when I kneldt behint the barricates. With the oder 
 stutendts." 
 
 "You never told me that," cried Jason. 
 
 "You never asked me," replied August Bondi. 
 
 In Osawatomie houses and stores were closed, the population 
 having assembled in the nearby grove. The Brown boys vied with 
 one another in showing their father the points of interest. 
 
 "They took the name of the town from the Indians,— Pottawato- 
 
68 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 mie, you know,— and from the river here, the Osage. Ingenious, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 "It was that, son." 
 
 "The blacksmith shop, father. Captain Eli Snyder, proprietor. 
 Folks call him Capn EH. We understand he keeps the first station 
 on the underground from Missouri to Canada." 
 
 "Now I want you to get me acquainted with him after the 
 speaking today." 
 
 For the speakers' platform in the grove several large boxes had 
 been drawn together. Planks laid on tree stumps determined the 
 seating capacity. These were for old men and women. Younger men 
 and boys would lean against the trees or climb among the lower 
 limbs, or sit on the heaps of dry leaves beneath the oaks and 
 sycamores. 
 
 Children ran everywhere, their hands filled with paw-paws or 
 hazel nuts gathered from the unlimited quantities to be found along 
 the river bank. Mothers sought to curb the youngsters while they 
 supervised arrangements for a feast after the speaking. Several old 
 men had hurried to occupy the first rows of the hard planks where 
 they hoped, by cupping a hand behind an ear, to get something of 
 the message from the platform. 
 
 "There's the Honorable Jim Lane," said Jason. "He's to be the 
 speaker of the day." 
 
 Jason pointed to a tall, awkward man under a scramble of wild 
 locks, a man whose noteworthy costume comprised fawn-colored 
 pantaloons and a sealskin coat over a waist-coat made of calf-skin. 
 "He's out here to organize Democrats. His idea is to bring Kansas 
 into the Union with a constitution that forever prohibits persons of 
 color from entering the state." 
 
 "I'll want to meet him, too, son." 
 
 The men on the arrangements committee succeeded in fastening 
 a rather sorry flag to an improvized pole. One of them beat on a 
 tin pan with a spoon. Everyone in the grove converged on the 
 sound, and the chairman of the day stepped importantly forward. 
 
 "Folks! We're going to sing America. After which Father Moore 
 of the Baptist persuasion will send up a petition." 
 
 When the white-haired preacher finally came to the end of the 
 news he had to communicate to Diety, the chairman again stepped 
 forward. 
 
 "First thing I want to do, I want to introduce a distinguished 
 guest, Mr. J. D. Cooper, of Chapin, Illinois. I know there are some 
 of you Illinois people here who know what Mr. Cooper is doing for 
 the Democratic party. But others may like to know he is own cousin 
 
A UNION FOREVER 69 
 
 to that great American champion of Democracy, Little Doug!" As 
 applause welled, he turned at a gesture from Mr. Cooper. After a 
 low-voiced conference, he began anew, "Mr. Cooper says it was 
 his mother was own cousin to Judge Douglas. Mr. Cooper is once 
 removed, but a pretty good cousin for all that. Now after the speak- 
 ing the Democratic leaders round here will meet with Mr. Cooper. 
 And any other Democrat in good standing with the party, who likes 
 to be present. Thank you, Mr. Cooper." 
 
 Enthusiastic clapping accompanied J. D. Cooper as he left the 
 platform after a somewhat negligent bow. 
 
 "Now, folks, we have a resolution here we're to act on today. I'm 
 going to have it read at this time. We want a full and free discussion, 
 because this is a matter that effects every one of us. And will likely 
 affect our children, and their children. After discussion and before 
 we take the vote, I'm to have the honor of introducing the gentle- 
 man who will sum up the arguments in favor of this resolution." 
 Renewed applause, as many eyes turned for a glance at Jim Lane. 
 "Now, we'll hear the resolution." 
 
 A timid man, palpably overcome at appearing before an audience, 
 stepped forward to read the resolution, to the effect that Kansas 
 should enter the Union as a free white state, to the complete ex- 
 clusion of negroes and mulattoes. 
 
 "Now for discussion. Yes, sir?" 
 
 "We can't farm against slave labor. We can't cobble against it, 
 or shoe a horse against it, or tailor a suit of clothes against it. We've 
 come out here to get away from the nigger, damn him. And that's 
 what we intend to do." 
 
 "The gentleman over there." 
 
 "To begin with the nigger ain't human. He's a lower order. If he 
 wa'n't lower, he wouldn't be a slave. A baked yam an' a breech- 
 clout'll do for him. An' he drags the white man down with him. 
 Keep him out of Kansas!" 
 
 "Mr. Chairman!" 
 
 "Yes, sir, Mr.,— I don't have the favor of your name." 
 
 "My name is Brown, sir. John Brown." 
 
 "Mr. Brown." 
 
 "I'm a stranger here, Mr. Chairman. But my sons are here with 
 me, and they are bonafide settlers of Kansas. May I speak on this 
 issue?" 
 
 "The chair will recognize Mr. Brown." 
 
 John Brown strode forward with every eye fastened as if hypnot- 
 ically on his tall frame, his eagle-like features, his piercing eyes. 
 
 "Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Kansas: Before 
 
70 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 I say what is on my mind, I should perhaps accredit myself, being 
 a stranger. I came out here from a farm in the Adriondacks, close 
 to the town of North Elba, New York. You may have heard of 
 Gerritt Smith, a man who has spent his life trying to better the 
 condition of the colored race in America. Well, I took this farm 
 from Gerritt Smith in order that I might help him in his work. He 
 had got some farm land up in the hills,— not very good farm land,— 
 and he was getting some freedmen and their families on these small 
 farms. 
 
 "I offered to help him, and the offer came in just right, because 
 there had been difficulties in the way of surveying. I undertook to 
 do the surveying. Meanwhile my boys and I, those that were at 
 home with me, raised sheep. You may say I come from tending 
 sheep in Elba. 
 
 "I didn't know much about the colored man when I first went to 
 Elba. Never had seen any considerable number of colored folks at 
 close range. You know what I found out? I kept saying to myself, 
 just at first, 'These people act like folks'. Finally I said to myself, 
 'These people are folks!' " 
 
 A stir ran through the meeting, a stir that was so strong as almost 
 to seem visible. John Brown spoke right along. 
 
 "Now I say to you that the black man has the same identical feel- 
 ings under his skin that you have under yours, and in addition to 
 that, he has a greater and far nobler feeling than any of you. Yes, 
 he has, sir, and don't interrupt me! He has a love of freedom far 
 exceeding anything you know, or anything you will know until you 
 enlist with him in the great fight against human slavery. 
 
 "You're the ones who are in chains! Chains of expediency, chains 
 of ignorance, chains of selfishness, political chains forged by clever 
 men working for the slave owners." 
 
 In all directions men were rising, red-faced, summoning their 
 wives and children, collecting lunch baskets, leaving the meeting. 
 
 "That's right. Run! Don't for your lives' sakes stay to learn the 
 danger you are in. Do you suppose the slave power will allow you 
 to maintain a free white state here on the border of the slave 
 empire? How long do you think such a state as you propose would 
 last?" 
 
 Here and there among those leaving a man turned back suddenly, 
 caught by the argument, stayed to listen. 
 
 "All over the South there are men who are desperately anxious to 
 pull up stakes and bring their slaves into this territory. Do you 
 know why? Because slavery is played out in the more settled 
 portions of the South. It's a losing game there. Out here, breaking 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 71 
 
 sod they'll get for nothing, felling fine timber they'll get for nothing, 
 building their beautiful homes with unpaid slave labor, the South 
 can create wealth to carry her perhaps another hundred years as a 
 feudal empire. Wealth and more wealth! Because they don't intend 
 to stop with Kansas. They plan to have the whole ball of wax, as 
 far west as the Pacific ocean. And how long will you block their 
 schemes? Men who have the government in Washington in their 
 pantaloon pockets? Men who plan to extend the slave empire from 
 here to Oregon and California? 
 
 "Mr. Chairman, I've said enough. I only thought to present the 
 other side of this question, this great question that involves not 
 only the welfare of the few white men and their families assembled 
 here today, but of all men, of every color and condition, on this 
 earth today, and those who will inhabit it in ages yet to come." 
 
 The chairman sprang into the awestruck pause. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," he cried, "allow me to introduce the 
 speaker of the day, the Honorable James H. Lane of Indiana. Mr. 
 Lane!" 
 
 Jim Lane tilted forward one of the few chairs on the scene,— he 
 had managed to place it against an oak convenient to the platform. 
 He got to his feet in leisurely fashion. 
 
 "Mr. Chairman, the speaker of the day just sat down. I move this 
 meeting adjourn." 
 
 No one waited for a second to that motion. 
 
 The meeting gathered into shouting, gesticulating groups. The 
 ideas cast upon the smooth surface of their complacency by John 
 Brown had set men's emotions to heaving furiously. 
 
 Owen Brown laid hold of his father's arm. 
 
 "Father, this is Captain Eli Snyder." 
 
 The big, plain-faced blacksmith held out a powerful hand. 
 
 "Let me be the first to welcome you to Kansas. We need your 
 kind out here. Now, my wife wants you to have a bite with us. 
 Yonder under the trees." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. We brought a bait with us." 
 
 "Now, now. The wife'll never forgive me, if I don't bring you 
 for a snatch at her punkin pies. All of you come," he commanded 
 the tall sons and August Bondi. "I want all of you, the whole ball 
 of wax." 
 
 Chuckling at his apt reference, he led the way to where his wife 
 stood waiting. A grave, not uncomely woman with glossy hair 
 parted and drawn into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, she 
 wore a spotless white apron over a neatly fitted dark calico gown. 
 
 "Now I know you men are hungry," she began when the for- 
 
72 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 malities were finished. "I want you to eat first. Then well get 
 acquainted and visit." 
 
 "The finest way to get acquainted is to break bread together," 
 said John Brown. "Shall I speak a grace, ma'am?" 
 
 "I was just about to suggest it," said Mrs. Snyder. 
 
 As the grace concluded a voice asked, "Mrs. Snyder, are you 
 going to spare me a chicken wing?" 
 
 "Well, Mr. Lane," she replied good naturedly. "I guess you ought 
 to get some reward. Being put off that great speech you were going 
 to make." 
 
 "What about your committee meeting, Lane?" asked Capn Eli. 
 Not waiting for a reply, he went on, "This is Captain Brown, as I 
 guess you know. And his young folks." 
 
 Lane extended a hand to John Brown. Brown gave him a powerful 
 
 grip. 
 
 "You understand, Mr. Lane, I was under compulsion to speak as 
 I did." 
 
 Lane found a heap of dried leaves beneath a sycamore, wriggled 
 his back into comfort against the tree trunk, and accepted a plateful 
 of Mrs. Snyder's cooking. After a momentary silence in which he 
 chewed a mouthful of chicken breast, he remarked, "You have an 
 unanswerable argument. I felt that, while you were speaking. 
 Reminds me," he continued after a second bite and chew, "of a boy 
 I grew up with back home. Both of us came from mighty poor 
 families. Kind of family came up out of Kentucky and Tennessee 
 to get away from slavery. I hated the slave, but Abe was like you. 
 He hated the institution." 
 
 "Hettie!" 
 
 A child had ventured near. Unmindful of the voice that called 
 her, stood gazing at John Brown. 
 
 "Who is that little girl?" asked Mrs. Snyder. 
 
 Jim Lane replied to Mrs. Snyder's question. He glanced at the 
 child. 
 
 "That's Cooper's little girl." 
 
 "Hettie!" 
 
 Hettie Cooper continued to study John Brown. 
 
 "Hettie," asked her father, coming closer. "Do you wish to go 
 back to Chapin with me? Or do you plan to remain in Kansas?" 
 
 "Where is this Abe now?" inquired Mrs. Snyder when Hettie had 
 gone away with her father. 
 
 "Practicing law in Springfield." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 73 
 
 "I spoke in Springfield not long ago," said John Brown. "I may 
 have met him. What did you say his name is?" 
 "Lincoln. Abe Lincoln." 
 
 XI 
 
 Sara Robinson who kept a diary wrote in it at this time: 
 
 "We are passing through hours of imminent danger to the 
 liberties of the country. 'The old landmarks have been removed', 
 and 'men have framed mischief by law'. Yet, serenely above all 
 these commotions, this treachery, this fraud of men, holding the 
 seals of justice, sits God upon his throne. And out of all, in his 
 own good time, he will again bring the reign of righteous men, 
 and the laws of our country will have as their basis love and 
 truth. Give us courage to act when the hour calls for action, and 
 faith to wait when endurance is our cross. We in Kansas can see 
 with clear vision the workings of this hydra-headed monster, 
 whose seat is at Washington, and whose power emanates there- 
 from, and whose unholy name is Human Slavery." 
 
 First intimation of disaster to his hopes and plans for Charles 
 Robinson was the rattling of a pebble on his bedroom window. 
 Leaning out the window in his nightshirt he discovered in the dawn 
 light Samuel P. Tappan and S. N. Wood standing below. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" 
 
 "Robinson," said Wood, "we were in a party of men who rescued 
 a free-state man from Sam Jones and his crowd last night. Over by 
 Blanton's bridge." 
 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "Tappan, here, was coming home last night from a protest meet- 
 ing. Over the shooting of that young man in Hickory Point. He ran 
 into Jones with a posse of drunken rowdies on their way to arrest 
 Jacob Branson. Seems Branson got up the protest meeting over this 
 murder. So Tappan rode into Lawrence, and a dozen of us went out 
 and took Branson away from Jones and his hoodlums." 
 
 "What did you do that for?" 
 
 Wood turned to Tappan to say something in a lowered voice. 
 However, in the early morning stillness his voice came upward to 
 the doctor's ears. 
 
 "If that ass had a boil to treat, he wouldn't know how to bring 
 it to a head." Aloud he replied, "To keep him from being murdered, 
 of course. Now Tappan and I were recognized, so well get out of 
 the way till matters quiet down." 
 
74 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Wood and Tappan turned to look toward a large sumac clump. 
 Following their gaze Robinson caught a glimpse of a hat and 
 shoulder. 
 
 "He'll be out of the way, too," called Wood cheerily. "We just 
 wanted you to be the first to hear the news. Goodbye." 
 
 Charles Robinson began to draw on his clothes. 
 
 "I must get Babcock and some of the others together at once. 
 This is a pretty kettle of fish." 
 
 "What do you propose to do about it?" asked Sara Robinson 
 quietly. 
 
 "Repudiate the entire matter. Why should Lawrence concern 
 herself with doings at Blanton's bridge? Our plan is to keep out of 
 quarrels until we are properly admitted to the Union." 
 
 "I suppose," said his wife quietly, "Mrs. Branson will be glad 
 Mr. Branson is alive." 
 
 Now, it will be recalled that a second governor for Kansas 
 Territory, to succeed Andrew Reeder, was at this time some months 
 on the job. On his journey up the Missouri, Wilson Shannon had 
 been met enroute by various leading citizens of Missouri, notably 
 by Colonel Boone, father-in-law of the newly made sheriff of 
 Douglas county. These gentlemen entertained the new governor 
 with a dinner at Westport that convinced Shannon of their taste in 
 whiskey, and their consequent soundness on the Kansas issue. 
 
 When Sheriff Jones shortly appeared before him in wrath, assert- 
 ing that a murderous individual, one Jacob Branson whom he had 
 taken into custody on a peace warrant, had been rescued by other 
 equally vicious seditionists operating out of Lawrence, the new 
 governor, waited upon by Colonel Boone and his friend Colonel 
 Kearney, decided to allow the sheriff to raise a posse of two 
 thousand men. The governor at first stipuated these men should be 
 raised from territorial settlers; but it was soon apparent the farmers 
 and merchants in the territory would not accept service that took 
 them away from home at the busiest time of the year. The posse 
 rapidly developed into an army raised not only from the Missouri 
 border counties, but including contingents from Virginia, Alabama, 
 South Carolina and Georgia. So quickly did a small cloud become 
 a threatening tornado that when I drove into Lawrence the last 
 week in November on my final journey for the season teaming 
 freight between Westport and Ft. Riley, I found half the men in 
 town throwing up reinforcements at the end of Massachusetts 
 street, and the other half drilling for dear life with the Sharped 
 rifles sent to them by Amos Lawrence. I had two boys from Chapin 
 with me, Warren Ticknor and his brother Hod, and Theodore 
 
A UNION FOREVER 75 
 
 Bartles for whom we were teaming, wanted us to stay on the border, 
 and join the organization he was forming to conduct reprisals over 
 into Missouri. We explained to him that we had to go back to 
 school. Besides, I doubted the wisdom of his enterprise. 
 
 In Lawrence I learned a deputation of leading Delawares and 
 Shawnees were in session with Doctor Robinson. They were meet- 
 ing in the Lawrence council chamber, a room on the second floor 
 of the Free State hotel. There was nothing private about the 
 council chamber. I determined to step in and watch the proceedings. 
 On my way up the stairs I met William Phillips coming down. 
 "When you finish up there," he said, "I want to see you. I've got 
 a job for you." 
 
 Pelathe the Shawnee, acting as interpreter, stood behind the row 
 of council chairs occupied by the Indian chief men. Doctor Robin- 
 son sat across a table from them. White Turkey was speaking. At 
 first I could scarcely listen to him for my wonder at his clothes. He 
 wore black broadcloth, white, pleated shirt, black satin tie. On the 
 council table before him rested his usual black slouch hat, with a 
 single feather, that of a white eagle. 
 
 "White man two kinds," said White Turkey. "One kind bring 
 whiskey, steal horses. No good. Other kind white man bring schools 
 for all. Build fine houses. Pay for what you buy. My people like 
 more you and your friends. Our squaws say, Send our children to 
 school with white children. We are too old to change. We will 
 wear the blanket. And the doeskin shoe. But let our daughters dress 
 like the white squaws. In the tight harness. And the moccasins that 
 stand up on sticks. So we are come now to help you. We will bring 
 in five hundred young men. To fight with you. I have spoken." 
 
 White Turkey gravely resumed his seat. Pelathe translated for 
 the benefit of a very old Shawnee who spoke no English. Robinson 
 covered his eyes with his hand. I thought as I looked at him how 
 changed he was from the gallant figure of little more than a year 
 ago. He lifted his worn face presently to say, "I can't refuse your 
 magnificent offer unconditionally. Our peril is too dire. If it comes 
 to the lives of our women and children, we may need your help. 
 Otherwise, I can't let you make this sacrifice. I know only too well 
 what reprisals against you would come from the administration in 
 Washington. Meanwhile, let me thank you in my own name. And 
 in the name of—" He broke off to ask, "What's that cheering for, 
 Stubbs?" 
 
 A young officer in dress uniform, who stood by one of the east 
 windows looking down into Massachusetts street, replied exultantly, 
 "The Bloomington Boys have arrived, sir." 
 
76 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Major Abbot's company," exclaimed Robinson, relief in his voice. 
 
 At this moment the door of the council chamber flew open and 
 two ladies swept in. I recognized them as Mrs. Sam Wood, and 
 Mrs. Brown, whose husband was the editor. 
 
 "General Robinson!" 
 
 Mrs. Wood took the lead. 
 
 "Mrs. Brown and I are driving over on the Wakarusa. At once. 
 For the powder and percussion caps that Jewish merchant got 
 for us." 
 
 "Good heavens! I couldn't allow you ladies to take such a risk. 
 One of us men will go." 
 
 Mrs. Wood walked up to Pelathe. 
 
 "Could any man in Lawrence get that powder through?" 
 
 Pelathe repeated her question to the Indians. When they under- 
 stood it, they all shook their heads. 
 
 "Only a scout like Pelathe could get through," put in Mrs. Brown. 
 "And it would be involving all his people. You do see that, General 
 Robinson?" 
 
 "But those ruffians— " 
 
 "Donaldson's Red Shirts," said Mrs. Wood. "A lot of younger 
 sons from Virginia. Come out here to make Kansas a slave state. 
 They'll shoot to kill at you men. But they're too full of Southern 
 chivalry to stop ladies on the highway." 
 
 "Ladies, I cannot sanction this wild, foolish scheme." 
 
 Mrs. Wood wheeled on Captain Stubbs. 
 
 "Captain Stubbs, do we need that ammunition?" 
 
 "We can't get along without it," replied Stubbs simply. "If an 
 attack comes." 
 
 "Then I'm going for it, and no one shall stop me. Charles Robin- 
 son, those ruffians have set a price on my poor Sam's head. Simply 
 for doing what was his manifest duty to do. No matter what you 
 think about the Branson rescue, I glory in Sam's spunk. I am leaving 
 now to get that powder. Come, Lorinda. No use wasting time in 
 talk." 
 
 Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Brown tilted their hooped skirts through the 
 council room doorway. 
 
 Charles Robinson said, smoothing his forehead, "Are they safe?" 
 
 White Turkey unexpectedly answered. 
 
 "Stringfellow's men very angry with her. For making—" He 
 hesitated, looking to Pelathe for help. 
 
 "For making the Lawrence Ladies' Rifle Corps," said Pelathe 
 carefully. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 77 
 
 "Will that rumor never die?" Robinson sounded exasperated. 
 "Lawrence Ladies' Rifle Corps. How can such a story—" 
 
 "Unfortunately," cut in Captain Stubbs, "it is true." 
 
 "It is-My God, Stubbs! Go after her! Stop her!" 
 
 Captain Stubbs went down the stairs on the double, and I was 
 right behind him. We found Mrs. Wood in her carriage,— with Mrs. 
 Brown beside her,— gathering up her lines. She waited long enough 
 to lay a delicate hand on Captain Stubb's shoulder, and how I 
 envied him his uniform. They exchanged a lively glance. 
 
 "How thankful I am," said Mrs. Wood, "I am not Sara Robinson. 
 It would never, never do." 
 
 She clucked to her nags and was off. 
 
 William Phillips was nudging his pony War Bonnet in the belly 
 while he tugged at that obstinate beast's surcingle. 
 
 "Swells himself up deliberately so he can be comfortable later. 
 Look here, Lew, I'm going to take you on as an agent. If you like?" 
 Evidently he saw by my face that I did like. He went on, "I've got 
 to go down to Shawnee Mission right away. There's reason to 
 believe Shannon's down there. I have to interview him. But I need 
 to keep an eye on Franklin. Now what I want you to do is to slip 
 down there tonight. You know how to get in pretty close without 
 being seen?" I nodded, thinking of the night in the spring, when 
 August Bondi and I watched the ruffians. "All right. You watch 
 that grocery. Report to me here in the morning." 
 
 He trotted away, and I saw him pass Mrs. Wood's carriage with 
 a lifted hat. He disappeared in the direction of the California Road, 
 and I began walking northward to the rifle pits where I planned 
 to take a hand at the digging. 
 
 XII 
 
 William Phillips rode into Franklin, past the log cabin grocery 
 erected by those unknown admirers of Franklin Pierce. A number 
 of the border ruffians had left the main camp in the hollow below 
 Franklin. They were grouped with their horses and wagons near 
 the grocery. Four fierce looking fellows leaped up from the comfort 
 of sun-warmed leaves beneath a mighty oak. They had long rifles 
 in their hands. As Phillips on War Bonnet passed they eyed the 
 correspondent with suspicion. When he rode steadily along they 
 seemed at a loss, finally allowing him to pass unchallenged. 
 
 The grocery,— it also dispensed whiskey,— was a center of activity, 
 groceries and whiskey being of equal importance in the diet of the 
 invaders. Here and there a man lay dead drunk on the ground. One 
 
78 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 swarthy fellow in homespun trousers and dirty shirt, once blue in 
 color, perched on a log and played the "Arkansaw Traveler" on his 
 fiddle. Three wild looking men danced around him, drunkenly 
 gallant with imaginary feminine partners. Leering inanely in alco- 
 holic mania, they bowed and chassed, dos-a-dosed and flew down 
 the middle, each holding the hand of an imaginary partner. 
 
 Apparently oblivious of the dancers, four ruffians propped their 
 unsteady legs against the grocery wall, arms about each other's 
 shoulders, and bawled against the fiddle's squeak a camp meeting 
 hymn they seemed dimly to connect with their present venture. 
 "We've camped in the wilderness 
 For a few days, for a few days; 
 We've camped in the wilderness, 
 
 And then we're going ho-O-OME." 
 
 Phillips was looking at a large banner raised above the grocery, 
 a red field bearing one mammoth purple star. The star was the 
 symbol of a newly organized blue lodge, complete with grips and 
 passwords, the child of Senator Atchison of Missouri and Benjamin 
 Stringfellow. 
 
 Just below Franklin two wagons blocked Phillips's passage. The 
 first was commanded by a man of middle years with a face almost 
 concealed by stiff, black hair. An old man, grey haired, sat beside 
 him. Walking beside the oxen was a boy not more than sixteen, a 
 boy who instantly fixed an importuning gaze on Phillips. 
 
 Phillips reined in War Bonnet to ask, "Many more of you boys 
 on the way?" 
 
 "Lot's of urn," cried the boy in high excitement. 
 
 "Where are you from?" 
 
 "Near Independence." 
 
 "Shut up, Randy," commanded the bearded man. "Shut your 
 damned mouth." He stared fiercely at Phillips. 
 
 "Any more coming from your parts?" persisted the newspaper 
 man. 
 
 "Yes," called out a man in the second wagon. "We started ahead 
 of our company. We're three days out. How many in camp?" 
 
 "We-ell!" Phillips dragged the word out consideringly. "Maybe 
 two hundred." 
 
 "My God, is that all? How many Yankees in Lawrence?" 
 
 "Don't ask me. There's a good many of 'em." 
 
 "Look here," interrupted the bearded man, gruffly impatient, 
 "whar's our camp? How far from Lawrence?" 
 
 "It's just in the hollow down there. These men you see came up 
 to the store to buy whiskey. The camp's six miles from Lawrence." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 79 
 
 The old man got over the wagonside very creditably for his years. 
 He came up to Phillips, laid the great rugged hands of a worker 
 on War Bonnet's beautiful mane. He looked up at Phillips with eyes 
 not dimmed by time. There was a volume of interrogation in that 
 keen scrutinizing look. Phillips, looking down into the hard, wrinkled 
 face with the blandness possible only to a reporter in search of a 
 story, read suspicion in every lineament. 
 
 "Ain't you a Yankee?" 
 
 "No. I'm a Sucker." 
 
 "Damn it, I knew he was all right," called the man in the second 
 wagon. The old man, not reassured, appeared to be at a loss to 
 continue his investigation. The boy, forgetting his father, broke in, 
 "Look here, stranger, did you ever see one them Sharpe's rifles?" 
 
 "You bet I have, boy." 
 
 "Gripes! What sort o' fixin's are they?" 
 
 "Terrible." 
 
 "Folks say they kin load 'em ten times a minute. That so?" 
 
 All the men in both wagons were silent now, listening avidly. 
 
 "Yes, son, I guess that's the truth," replied Phillips with seeming 
 reluctance. 
 
 "Well, by God, how in thunder kin they do that?" exclaimed the 
 bearded man. 
 
 "It's done by machinery," returned Phillips mysteriously. 
 
 "Is it a revolvin' fixin'?" queried the old man. 
 
 "Not exactly." 
 
 "Well, how fur kin they carry?" 
 
 "I don't believe all I hear. Can't make me believe they carry a 
 ball over a mile. That is, to do close shooting." 
 
 The whole party digested this information while Phillips prepared 
 to sidle War Bonnet round the wagons. 
 
 "Have they got any cannons, them Yankees?" 
 
 "They say they have plenty of 'em. Grape shot and bombshells. 
 And some kind of infernal machine. But don't you believe it," called 
 Phillips as he moved off. "Yankees'll say anything." 
 
 Below Franklin the upland valley broke into a broad, flat bottom, 
 covered with luxuriant grass, stretching away to the timber-skirted 
 Wakarusa. Across this plain riders galloped in every direction. These 
 were the fiercer border fighters. They put in hours daily learning 
 to fire a gun with either hand and with deadly accuracy while they 
 carried their horses' reins between their own teeth. 
 
 Ahead of Phillips on the trail and riding at a sedate pace was a 
 single horseman. Phillips rode up beside him and inquired, "May I 
 ask where you are going, sir?" Blandly as the question was put, the 
 
80 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 stranger turned a suspicious look on Phillips. He was mounted on a 
 powerful grey horse, not too large a horse for the rider's height 
 and weight. Across the saddle before him lay a long rifle and a 
 couple of holsters. In appearance he was a cross between the 
 gentleman and the ruffian. Only a slightly sinister expression gave 
 the ruffian preponderance. As to attire, he was every inch the man 
 of fashion, beautifully equipped for Western travel. 
 
 He now said to Phillips, "May 7 ask where you are going, sir?" 
 
 "Down below." 
 
 "How did you get through the guard at Franklin?" 
 
 "Guard? They don't stop people on the highway, do they?" 
 
 "Certainly. This whole country is in a state of war." 
 
 "War? Who declared it?" 
 
 "Look here," demanded the stranger, "which way did you come?" 
 
 "I came from above." 
 
 "I mean what part the territory do you live?" 
 
 "Oh! Well, I haven't located yet." 
 
 The other's face grew darker. 
 
 "What state do you come from, mister? What's your business?" 
 
 "I'm a son of Illinois," replied Phillips, always carefully casual. 
 "Editor and lawyer. Now what about you?" 
 
 "My name is Jones. United States marshal, and sheriff of Douglas 
 county in this territory." 
 
 "Of course," exclaimed Phillips. "And postmaster of Westport, 
 Missouri." 
 
 "I live in Westport. When I am home," said Jones in a voice that 
 sent a slight chill into Phillips. 
 
 The two men rode side by side in silence during some minutes. 
 
 "Look here," broke out Jones, "I don't see where in hell you 
 could come from, or how in hell you could travel, not to hear about 
 the war before this." 
 
 "I did hear about some difficulties. I didn't suppose war had been 
 declared." 
 
 "Oh, you did hear about some difficulties. Where did you hear 
 about 'em?" 
 
 "In Lawrence." 
 
 Jones turned to eye Phillips. 
 
 "You're well out of that town. By God, they're all traitors there. 
 Every damned one of 'em's abolitionist! There'll be no peace in 
 this territory till we wipe 'em out. We're goin' t' do it before they 
 get any stronger." 
 
 "That might lead to war." 
 
 "Damn it, that's what we want." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 81 
 
 Unable to restrain himself, Phillips cried out, "But if war begins, 
 where will it end? It might destroy the Union." 
 
 "Damn the Union," said Sheriff Jones. 
 
 After a moment Phillips said quietly, "I can't hope or pray for 
 your success." 
 
 "What!" The sheriff's eyes lighted up fiercely. "You mean you'll 
 hope an' pray for the other side?" 
 
 He shifted his rifle on his arm. This might have been for a change 
 of position. Phillips, as though by chance, loosed the button of his 
 overcoat. He changed the subject, nodding toward the plain. 
 
 "This is rich bottom. Make a fine meadow. Or would it suit better 
 for the production of HEMP?" 
 
 Jones ignored this question, and the two rode on in silence as 
 they left the plain for the timber. When they reached a fresh-beaten 
 path leading off the trail into the trees, Jones pulled in his horse. 
 Phillips promptly did the same. 
 
 "You can't go in there," objected Jones. "You'd be made a 
 prisoner. I don't know that I ought to let you pass. Reckon you 
 don't mean any harm, but you shoot your mouth off too free for 
 the times. Where you going?" 
 
 "Down below." 
 
 "I'll see you through the guard at the ford," decided Jones. 
 
 "What's the ford guarded for? Whose orders?" 
 
 "By the governor's orders. All these men are regular militia in 
 the territory." 
 
 Jones rode down to the ford ahead of Phillips. The bed of the 
 Wakarusa was nearly dry at the ford, and very wide. About the 
 middle of the stream a wagon careened tipsily. Four men were 
 searching it. Phillips sighed for the Lawrence merchant vainly 
 awaiting its contents. Across the stream the road wound through 
 a narrow cut in the bank. Here sentries were posted, armed with 
 long rifles and revolvers. 
 
 The sentries watched Jones and Phillips while the grey horse and 
 War Bonnet drank long and noisily from the stream. When the 
 horses finally lifted their dripping faces and moved forward, Phillips 
 allowed Jones to take the lead. He knew that disarmament was 
 ahead for him unless he accepted the sheriff's protection. Jones 
 nodded carelessly toward Phillips as a young guard stepped forward. 
 "This man is traveling. Let him go through." 
 
 Phillips was about to ride through when the guard cried, "Stop! 
 We mus' search you. That's ordahs." 
 
 Jones exclaimed roughly, "I'm endorsing this man." 
 
 "Mahshal Jones," replied the guard in the soft tones of Virginia, 
 
82 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Ahm right sorry, but we got ordahs frum Genul Stricklah. No one 
 to pass without us takin' they ahms." 
 
 Two of his men slouched up to War Bonnet. Phillips struck War 
 Bonnet with his heel, and the pony trotted out from among the 
 invaders. 
 
 "Stop!" ordered the sentry in command, raising his pistol. 
 
 "Stop!" cried the other sentries. They lowered their rifles and 
 the sun gleamed on the long barrels. 
 
 "For God's sake, stop!" begged Jones, riding up to seize War 
 Bonnet's bridle. Phillips saw the long gun barrels pointing toward 
 him. He saw the wild devil in more than one ruffian eye. He reined 
 in War Bonnet. 
 
 The sentry in command rode forward. 
 
 "You mus' give up yo' ahms." 
 
 "But I may need my pistol," objected Phillips. "I'm traveling. 
 Besides, I don't want to lose my property." 
 
 "I'll guarantee its safety," said Jones. 
 
 Phillips had an excellent six-shooter in his belt, and a small four 
 barreled French revolver in his coat pocket. He took out the 
 revolver with obvious reluctance and handed it to Jones. 
 
 "I'm holding you responsible for this." 
 
 "You see, men," exclaimed Sheriff Jones. "He's given up his arms." 
 
 Some of the guard looked frustrated enough as they saw the 
 pretty weapon handed over to the sheriff. The chief sentry said, 
 "He mus' come 'long up to the camp. Be examined." Secretly 
 exulting in his success in saving his six-shooter, Phillips turned War 
 Bonnet back across the Wakarusa and rode down the bypath to 
 the camp. Jones rode beside him, and an ill favored ruffian rode 
 behind. 
 
 They came upon a camp. 
 
 Wagons and carriages were scattered here and there among 
 several dirty tents. The smoke of campfires curled up through oaks 
 and sycamores. Around these fires many idle adventurers were 
 lying in groups, some of them evidently in liquor. Two or three 
 banners of different devices drooped here and there in the sunny 
 quiet. A flag with the official purple star dominated the center of 
 the camp,— the flag of the order that owned these fierce, half 
 civilized men. 
 
 A crowd gathered round the newcomers. Men on every hand 
 leaped to their feet. Each dirty hairy right hand sought its weapon. 
 
 "I seen that fellow round yeah befo'," observed one ruffian to 
 another. 
 
 "Please ask any of your customary questions as quickly as pos- 
 
A UNION FOREVER 83 
 
 sible," Phillips cut in loudly to cover the ruffian's statement, a 
 remark he had no reason to doubt. He had scoured this timber for 
 a look at this very spot several times during the week past. "I'm 
 on business in Westport," he said. "And I'm already late." 
 
 "This is a respectable lawyer gentleman," announced Jones. 
 
 Phillips turned lightning glances in every direction, sizing up the 
 number of men available for the attack on Lawrence. As no one 
 seemed able or willing to undertake the questioning, Jones, after 
 a pause, changed the situation by calling out, "I need five volunteers 
 for a posse. Business over on the Santa Fe trail. There's a drink in 
 it for everyone. We'll stop at Bondi and Benjamin's." 
 
 Rapidly selecting his posse, Jones handed the little French re- 
 volver back to Phillips, saying, "Better ride right along, sir." 
 
 Phillips lost no instant in obeying. He trotted War Bonnet back 
 to the main trail, crossed the Wakarusa, and rode steadily past the 
 guards who eyed him, but in silence. 
 
 He came to Fish's Shawnee Hotel. 
 
 This was a two-story wooden structure kept by a free-state man 
 whose cooking appealed alike to Kansan and Missourian. This 
 proprietor, a man of Indian descent, maintained his house by 
 exercising great diplomacy, and also by serving good whiskey. When 
 he could do so unobserved this man, Paschal Fish, said to Phillips, 
 "There's a young fellow from Vermont got in a while back. He goes 
 to Lawrence for the fight. You better speak to him." 
 
 Phillips carried a cup of hot coffee and a wedge of apple pie to 
 the table where the Vermonter was consuming a mound of beans 
 and side meat. 
 
 "Going through to Lawrence?" 
 
 "Calclate to," replied the tall, thin Green Mountain lad. 
 
 Phillips grinned at him cheerfully. 
 
 "There's a guard below here, and another above. First you get 
 in, then you have to get out. Think you can do it?" 
 
 "Guess so." After a moment the Vermonter added, "Gonna out- 
 Yankee 'em," as a simple and sufficient explanation. Helping him- 
 self to further stores of beans and side meat, he asked, "You the 
 reporter Fish was tellin' me about?" 
 
 "That's right." 
 
 "New York Tribune?" 
 
 "That's right." 
 
 "Horace Greeley's wrong about half the time. But one thing he's 
 got straight. Negro slavery has got to go." 
 
 Phillips was silent, considering a matter. 
 
84 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "If you're going to try to get through, will you carry a message 
 for me to General Robinson in Lawrence?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "You'll have to hide it. You won't dare be caught with it on you." 
 
 "Write it out. I'll slit open my boot top. Sew it up so even you 
 won't believe I've had it open. That's my trade, shoe making." 
 
 Phillips wrote hastily to Robinson, he thought the attack by the 
 Missourians could not be attempted within three or four days. He 
 had got through the guards, and was on his way below. The 
 Vermonter coolly slit his boot top, inserted the paper, and closed 
 the place so adroitly a cobbler would scarcely have found it. 
 
 "What made you take a chance to get past these guards you talk 
 about?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm on my way to Shawnee Mission. To interview Governor 
 Shannon." 
 
 "Shannon ain't down that way." 
 
 "What!!" 
 
 "Came up this road in the night. Passel generals and such with 
 him." 
 
 "You're sure it was Shannon? What'd he look like? Was he drunk?" 
 
 "Middlin drunk. Tall and red faced. I asked a man who he was, 
 clatterin' round for whiskey when folks wanted to sleep. Man said 
 he was the goddam governor the goddam President had sent out to 
 this goddam territory. He was a profane man," explained the 
 Vermonter. 
 
 Phillips, followed by the Vermonter, walked out silently to War 
 Bonnet. Too experienced a newsman to depend entirely on the 
 Vermonter's report, Phillips questioned Paschal Fish, and found 
 the governor had gone up above to meet Atchison and Stringfellow 
 in Lecompton, pro-slavery town a few miles west of Lawrence. 
 
 "That's a pretty color your pony has," remarked the Vermonter, 
 as Phillips mounted War Bonnet. "What color would you call him?" 
 
 "The Indian who got this pony for me told me this strain comes 
 from Old Mexico. A golden horse, the Indians call him. His coat 
 makes a nice contrast with his cream colored mane and tail. Good 
 luck to you." 
 
 "I'll be in Lawrence tonight," promised the Vermonter. 
 
 With that he went away to his own horse. 
 
 William Phillips continued his way to the nearest telegraph 
 office below. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 85 
 
 XIII 
 
 Margaret Wood and Lorinda Brown bowled along the Road 
 toward Bluejacket's Crossing where William Phillips had lately 
 given up his French revolver. Weeks of beautiful weather, after the 
 early fall rains, had put the trail into excellent condition. The Wood 
 horses, a mature, reliable pair, swung forward with total lack of 
 interest in the bearded, red shirted strangers encountered singly or 
 in groups. The ruffians stared at the two women, but kept a civil 
 distance. Mrs. Wood leveled them with cool glances as she expertly 
 handled her reins. When they had stopped near a spring to share 
 the contents of a wicker lunch box, it became impossible to resist 
 a rise in spirits, saluted as they were on every side by autumn 
 beauty. When they finally drove on, they chatted cosily. 
 
 "If Charles Robinson had been born in Ohio," observed Mrs. 
 Wood, "he'd have more get-up-and-get. Ohio folks believe in 
 action." 
 
 "Pennsylvania is a good state, too," said Mrs. Brown. 
 
 "I know it is, dear. The wonderful articles your husband publishes! 
 When everybody knows the invaders will wreck his newspaper in a 
 moment. If they take Lawrence. And lynch Mr. Brown, too," she 
 added cheerfully, "if they get their dirty, hairy paws on him." 
 
 Willing, perhaps, to flee from such a painful thought, Mrs. Brown 
 changed the subject, remarking, "Wilson Shannon is from Ohio. 
 You aren't proud of him." 
 
 "Wilson Shannon! My dear, the man hasn't been sober in the last 
 five years." 
 
 "Mr. Brown says we can hardly expect any man with a political 
 future to come out here. After the way the Kansas situation wrecked 
 Andrew Reeder." 
 
 At Bluejacket's Crossing, named for a highly respected Indian 
 who farmed the adjacent land, a handsome young man stepped 
 forward. When he saw he was confronting ladies, he swept off his 
 campaign hat, and his face became almost the color of his flannel 
 shirt, turkey red. 
 
 "You ladies will have to excuse me. We ah gahdin' this piece of 
 road. Ah got to know yo' business." 
 
 "Suttinly, suh," cried Mrs. Wood, all affability. "We lookin' fo' 
 a sto' yeahabouts. Bondi an' Benjamin. We unnahstan' Mistah 
 Benjamin is feelin' mighty po'ly. Keeps his bed. We got some 
 comfo'ts fo' him." She laid her hand on a basket between herself 
 and Mrs. Brown. "You men so big an' brave whilst yo' well. But 
 when yo' feelin' pow'ful bad. . . ." 
 
86 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Here she allowed her voice to trail while she gave the young 
 Southerner one of her smiles. At the same time she administered a 
 warning kick beneath the laprobe to Lorinda who was staring in a 
 dumbfounded fashion. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, indeed," cried the delighted boy. "You carryin' me 
 back in haht an' min' to Vuhginia. Mah deah mothah, she would 
 rise in the night to tote herb medicine to the sick," He spoke wist- 
 fully. "Do you, by chance, come fum Vuhginia?" 
 
 "South'n Ohio," murmured Mrs. Wood. 
 
 "Ah knew instantly you couldn be Nawthun. Please to pass, 
 ma'am. Pass right along. You want to tuhn off heah fo' Bondi an' 
 Benjamin's. Pass right along." 
 
 As he swept a bow voices from the Red Shirts at the trailside 
 endorsed him. One said Benjamin was sound on the goose. Another 
 added, he knew good whiskey. When the carriage was well past the 
 patrol, Mrs. Brown asked in a spent voice, "Why didn't you tell 
 me beforehand you were planning to air the Southern lingo?" 
 
 "How could I," rejoined her friend reasonably, "when I only 
 thought of it as that boy stepped up to the carriage?" 
 
 After serving several writs in the neighborhood of Blanton's 
 Bridge, that combination of postmaster, marshal and sheriff, Samuel 
 J. Jones, regaled himself and his followers from the whiskey barrel 
 in the general store kept by Bondi and Benjamin. August Bondi 
 served the whiskey with absent-minded skill. His thoughts were 
 with the Tribune of Mr. Greeley, just arrived and thrust beneath 
 the counter when the Missourians approached. 
 
 "A hundred of 'em," proclaimed Sam Jones. "All armed with 
 these-yeah Sharpe's. We was bustin' to get a fight with 'em. But 
 they kep out ouah way. No mattah how we tried, we couldn't come 
 a-nigh 'em." 
 
 It will be seen that Sheriff Jones suited his dialect to his company, 
 affecting the rough diamond when among the ruder sort of ruffian. 
 
 "How many of you?" asked one of his satellites. 
 
 "Nineteen." 
 
 "By God, Jones, you like a fight." 
 
 "Suah do. Drink up, boys. The whiskey's on me." 
 
 The boys held out their tumblers to be refilled. 
 
 "Yeah's to the sherf o' Douglas county!" 
 
 "Tell you, boys," exclaimed Jones in high delight, "them blue- 
 bellies in Lawrence was madder'n a swahm o' pestahed hawnets 
 when the administration named their county fo' Douglas." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 87 
 
 "Le's drink Steve Douglas," bawled a maudlin follower. "Steve 
 Douglas,— a grea'er man 'n' Jesus Chris'!" 
 
 From outside a gay feminine voice interrupted this toast. 
 
 "Thank you, suh. Mah hosses will stand nicely if we use this 
 weight." 
 
 Mrs. Wood, closely followed by Mrs. Brown, swept into the cross- 
 roads emporium of Bondi and Benjamin. Mrs. Wood carried the 
 wicker basket, neatly covered with a clean napkin. She seemed in 
 no way disturbed by the presence of the drinkers. 
 
 "Mistah Bondi?" 
 
 August achieved a correct if startled bow. 
 
 "We some neighbah ladies, Mistah Bondi. Come to se yo' pahtnah, 
 po', Mistah Benjamin. We sorry to learn he keeps his bed. How is 
 the po' man?" August bowed a second time, not daring to speak for 
 fear of saying the wrong word before the Missourians. Mrs. Wood 
 rattled on charmingly. "You-all have a right smaht chance o' calicoes, 
 Mistah Bondi. We goin' look at 'em. Aftah we see that po' man." 
 
 As August led the way she and Mrs. Brown walked through the 
 store to a room that served for storing supplies. Once in this room 
 Mrs. Wood caught Mrs. Brown's arm. 
 
 "Gracious!" She made her voice perfectly audible. "Ah believe 
 that fine lookin' gentleman's the great Sheriff Jones!" Behind a 
 stack of crates she collapsed in laughter, stifled on Mrs. Brown's 
 shoulder. "Look!" She recovered to peer into the grocery, "He's 
 stroking his mustaches. The big oaf! How I'd love to shoot him 
 where he stands." 
 
 "Margaret! Come AWAY!" 
 
 A one-roomed cabin behind the store served as sleeping quarters 
 for the firm of Bondi and Benjamin. August Bondi ushered the two 
 women into the cabin, closed the door, leaned against it and drew 
 several long breaths. 
 
 The cabin was empty, its two bunks neatly made. 
 
 Mrs. Wood, perfectly serious now, took charge briskly. 
 
 "You mustn't stay here, Mr. Bondi. Show us where the powder 
 is. We'll stow it away. After today," she observed to Mrs. Brown, 
 "any free-state man who objects to sixteen yards of dress material 
 in his wife's skirts should be whipped at a cart tail." 
 
 Bondi pointed to a large trunk that served as a window seat, 
 beneath a partial covering of clean, worn patchwork quilt. He drew 
 a key from his pocket and handed it to Mrs. Wood. 
 
 "You letties will excuse me?" 
 
 Back in the store he found the sheriff and his posse very merry. 
 
 "By God, Bondi, that pardner of yo's has mo' luck 'n' a hawg in 
 
88 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 a cawnpatch. Ahm gonna be sick mahself, right away quick. Tell 
 you whut, boys, befo' we leave, Ah'll set 'em up once mo'." When 
 the tumblers were filled he lifted his reverently. "The ladies! God 
 bless theah deah, kind hahts!" 
 
 As the last sound of the sheriff's departure faded, and the store 
 sank into the golden silence of the afternoon outside, August Bondi 
 drew his copy of the Tribune from beneath his counter. He turned 
 to, "News from our Western Correspondent, The Situation in 
 Kansas." Oblivious of time, he read on as afternoon waned into 
 early evening. 
 
 "Now the intention was to have Branson rescued in Lawrence, 
 a plot which I believe would have worked to a charm, only 
 something interfered to prevent it. Mr. Tappan and a young boy 
 who roomed at Branson's had both been busy; and about fourteen 
 of the neighbors were gathered near Blanton's Bridge. So quickly 
 had they gathered, and so dilatory was the posse, that the rescue 
 party began to think the Missourians had taken another road 
 when the man on guard gave the alarm. Rushing out into the road 
 they saw Jones and his party rapidly advancing. Jones im- 
 mediately gave the order, and his men turned off into the prairie, 
 attempting to shy past the rescuers. On this the Free-State men 
 immediately spread out as if to intercept them. Jones then 
 turned into the road with his party, when the opposition folded 
 in and formed in the road before them. The posse halted. Jones 
 cried, 'What's up?' 
 
 "'That's what we want to know,' said one of the Free-State 
 men from Lawrence. Several of the rescuers repeated, 'Yes, 
 what's up?' 
 
 "There was a pause which Branson broke by saying, 'They've 
 got me prisoner here'. 
 "'Is that you, Branson?' 
 "'Yes'. 
 
 " 'Come this way,' called Tappan. 
 
 " 'Move and we'll shoot hell out of yuh,' declared Jones. 
 " 'Come ahead,' cried S. N. Wood. 'Damn them! If they shoot, 
 we will.' 
 
 "Jacob Branson, who was in the midst of his captors, rode 
 through them and joined his friends. Not a gun was fired. 
 " 'Whose mule is that?' asked several. 
 "'Belongs to them,' said Branson. 
 " 'Then get off. Drive it back/ 
 
 "Branson dismounted, turned the mule toward its owners. The 
 animal hesitated between slavery and abolition, but Mr. S. N. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 89 
 
 Wood stepped up to it and expedicted its departure for the pro- 
 slavery ranks by a couple of kicks. At this moment the pro- 
 slavery men raised their guns and were heard cocking them. 
 Immediately the rescuers raised their pieces, and the sharp click 
 of more than one Sharpe's rifle. . . ." 
 
 "Pssstr 
 
 Bondi, looking away from his newspaper to the back of his store, 
 saw a beckoning hand. As he hustled past a molasses barrel and 
 a keg of salt fish, Mrs. Wood demanded, "Is the coast clear? We 
 don't want an audience. We drag when we walk." 
 
 "I'm awfully heavy," mourned Mrs. Brown. "How will I get into 
 the carriage?" 
 
 However, get in she did, with Mrs. Wood beside her, and the 
 covered basket between them. August Bondi restored the iron 
 weight to the carriage floor. He stood back with a bow. 
 
 "I wish you a safe and bleasant journey home," he said. "Gott 
 pless you." 
 
 Mrs. Wood leaned toward him. 
 
 "Have you planned how Mr. Benjamin will get back here without 
 the neighbors knowing he has been away?" 
 
 "He will come in the nighd. The cabdain of the backet is free- 
 stade. He will led him off in the woots on the Kansas shore. 
 Cabdain Prown's sons will meed him. If the subblies are to con- 
 dinue, he musd dake the chance. Though I think," added Bondi 
 with candor, "he does id simbly for the brofidt." 
 
 Mrs. Wood raised her voice gaily. 
 
 "You keep that po' man mighty quiet, Mistah Bondi. Keep folks 
 away till we see whethah it's a catchin' disease. Lak that tahbul 
 smallpox, or such." 
 
 "Good night, letties." 
 
 After the first quarter of a mile Mrs. Wood drew rein. She took 
 from beneath the napkin that covered the basket a pair of handsome 
 pistols. These she laid on the seat between herself and Mrs. Brown. 
 
 "As Sam would say, I'll be prepared to get first drop. I intend to 
 try everything tact and cajolery will do. But if blandishment fails, 
 I'm handing the reins to you, Lorinda. For I intend to drive these 
 Red Shirts before us into Lawrence. With their hands over their 
 heads." 
 
 Mrs. Brown beamed admiration at her leader through a dusk 
 already made golden by a rising moon. 
 
90 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 XIV 
 
 When William Phillips rode away, I started for the earthworks. 
 Then I saw what interested me more. Across the street, in front of 
 the tobacconist's, a young farmer was talking with Catullus Calhoun 
 Leak! This farmer lived south of Lawrence, and he cheerfully, even 
 proudly, supported the name his parents had bestowed on him in 
 helpless infancy,— Christopher Thaddeus Koskiusco Prentice. I 
 strolled as casually as possible across the street, went into the 
 tobacconist's and purchased a cigar I had no intention to smoke as 
 tobacco and I were not yet friends. When I came out I made a 
 great play of striking a match on the cigar store Indian who spent 
 his time watching the palefaces go in and out of the Free State 
 hotel. I knew certainly the man talking to Prentice was Leak when 
 I saw that finger of his, a horny deformed thing at its end. 
 
 "Now what ah those redskins up to, crafty devils?" inquired Leak. 
 
 White Turkey and the other Delawares and the Shawnees were 
 leaving the hotel across the way. As usual their faces gave away 
 nothing to any white man. 
 
 Thad Prentice was lighting a cigar of the kind known as a rope. 
 When he at length had this rope burning freely, he replied, "Don't 
 know a thing about it. They say General Robinson sets a world of 
 store by Mr. White Turkey." 
 
 "Do you call Robinson a general?" 
 
 "Why not? He's as much of a general as Atchison. Or String- 
 fellow. The general's the fellow takes charge the fight, ain't he?" 
 
 Leak brought the talk back to the Indians, now riding off down 
 Massachusetts street in single file. 
 
 "Perhaps they been makin' an alliance. Now that Reedah has 
 come ovah to the free-state side, anybody's li'ble to follow." 
 
 "Say, that's fine about Reeder, ain't it? They say he was as sound 
 on the goose as Franklin Pierce himself when he come out to the 
 territory. Rut when he saw how these here border ruffians was 
 hired by the slave power to stuff our ballot boxes, Reeder, he took 
 holt to get us justice. Went to Washington to see Pierce, but that 
 pismire was afraid to talk to him. An' speakin' of goose, standin' up 
 for us real settlers cooked Reeder's goose all right. Administration 
 had to cast round for some reason to fire him. So they said he was 
 speculatin' in Kansas lands. My God, who ain't? Funny thing if the 
 governor was shut away from the pie." 
 
 Again Leak changed the talk. 
 
 "Ouah cannon ah comin in right on schedule, ain't they? Ah 
 heah we got a dozen stowed away fo' the invasion." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 91 
 
 I spoke up. 
 
 "I don't believe they've got six, all told." 
 
 Leak saw me, then. In fifteen months I had not changed beyond 
 his recognition. 
 
 "You ah probably right, young man," he said easily. "Well, Ah see 
 we ah goin' to have dress parade." 
 
 He strolled off down the street toward Fort Smith, as the earth- 
 works were named. 
 
 "Dress parade!" 
 
 The cry rose on all sides. Robinson and Lane and Captain Stubbs 
 issued from the Free State hotel and mounted hurriedly the horses 
 being held for them by orderlies. They rode away north. Several 
 carriages filled with ladies turned into the main street and found 
 advantageous places. Small boys appeared, many of them carrying 
 improvised swords and guns they used in their own drilling. The 
 landlady of the Cincinnati House behind me emerged hurriedly, 
 followed by a waitress, both of them patting their hair and adjusting 
 spotless aprons as they reached the street. 
 
 The band came down the street, Joseph Savage leading them in 
 a lively air. The flag blossomed, red, white and blue, above Fort 
 Smith. Many of the diggers at the fort had deserted in order to 
 dress for parade. The balance now rested on their shovels to enjoy 
 the one gala hour of the day. 
 
 The Bloomington Boys came first, 'mid enthusiastic cheers from 
 the men and boys and the liveliest handclapping and bowing from 
 the ladies. They were followed by the Wakarusa Rifles, and, last of 
 all, by the Lawrence Stubs. The Stubs got their name because all 
 the men of short stature who came out to drill, were put into that 
 one company. 
 
 Jim Lane had dismounted to walk beside the companies at an 
 easy, shambling gait, giving orders in a high-pitched whine. Robin- 
 son's face smoothed out as he watched the manoeuvres. Military 
 discipline is a cloak that can be donned in a hurry when an enemy 
 knocks at the gates. After the manoeuvres the companies formed a 
 hollow square round an inverted piano box that served the officers 
 as a speaker's stand. Jim Lane stood back to allow Robinson to 
 speak first. Robinson stirred little enthusiasm. His talk was of the 
 "suffer and be strong" type, not a popular theme with the Lawrence 
 military who were spoiling for a fight. Robinson cautioned the 
 pickets and patrols not to return fire in case of ambush by the 
 invaders. 
 
 "They will only be seeking pretext for an attack. We must not 
 give it to them." 
 
92 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Jim Lane quietly mounted the overturned box. Hands in his 
 pockets, eyes almost shut, mouth full of tobacco, he began in his 
 high, whining voice, twisting his long legs one way and another, 
 "My fellow citizens, the American flag still waves— STILL WAVES! 
 Beneath its stars and stripes, we will oppose any and all attempts, 
 come from whatever source they may, to trample upon our rights 
 as American citizens-AS AMERICAN CITIZENS!" Waiting for 
 an outburst of applause to die, he continued, "Yes, my friends, the 
 American flag still waves. . . ." 
 
 "Leave her wave a while, Jim. I got to talk to you/' 
 
 "What's on your mind, Thad? Trouble?" 
 
 "No trouble at all, Jim. Ever'thing is lovely an' the goose hangs 
 
 high.- 
 
 As he pronounced this, his favorite quotation, Thad Prentice, 
 holding me by the arm, pushed his way up to Jim Lane. He and 
 Lane held a muttered conference. "And I believe Doctor Robinson 
 would recognize him, too," I said as Lane looked at me. Lane turned 
 to speak to Robinson, at the same time jerking his thumb across 
 his shoulder to indicate Leak on the edge of the crowd. Leak 
 promptly began to ooze away, but Lane called after him. "Just a 
 moment! Will someone kindly tell that gentleman in the handsome 
 ten-gallon I want him up here?" 
 
 Half a dozen grinning men pushed Leak toward Jim Lane. 
 
 Lane met him with eyes closed to the merest slits. After a long 
 thoughtful moment he turned and politely relieved himself of his 
 tobacco quid behind the piano box. He turned back to Leak. 
 
 "My friend," he said, "the American flag still waves— STILL 
 WAVES! And just to show you that such is the fact-THE TRUE 
 FACT— I will take you with me on a tour of the Lawrence fortifica- 
 tions." 
 
 Descending with unusual speed from the piano box, Lane hooked 
 the terrified spy by the arm. Thus the colonel led what instantly 
 became a line of march, Lawrence falling in solidly behind them, 
 mostly on the grin although some faces looked startled. 
 
 Jim Lane walked the spy up to Horace Greeley's gift, a twelve 
 pounder, a beautiful brass howitzer. 
 
 "This is our type of armament." He spoke with the grandly care- 
 less air of a Frederick of Prussia. "You may have heard that String- 
 fellow's men gave us valuable assistance in bringing this cannon 
 through the invasionist lines. Extend him my thanks— MY PER- 
 SONAL THANKS-when you see him." 
 
 Captain Stubbs could not restrain a faint snicker which he sought 
 to disguise as a choking sneeze into his handkerchief. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 93 
 
 "Captain Stubbs," said Lane immediately, "will you be so kind— 
 SO VERY KIND— as to show this gentleman our rifle pits? And other 
 earthworks? Then escort him to the edge of our city. You may go 
 back, sir, and report yourself. Tell them what you have seen. My 
 regards-MY DEEP REGARDS-to Stringfellow." 
 
 Later, Captain Stubbs, at the head of the Lawrence patrol, rode 
 down the trail toward Franklin. Beside him rode the spy on his 
 handsome mount. Halfway between Franklin and Lawrence a road 
 forked from the California Road, a trail that led more directly 
 through oaks and sycamores to the eastern edge of Lawrence. This 
 fork was the disputed point. Here a skirmish might occur any night 
 between Lawrence and her enemies. As the Lawrence patrol ap- 
 proached this by-trail, the enemy patrol, some twenty strong, 
 galloped into sight and halted close to the fork. Their leader shouted, 
 "Halt! Who goes theah? Give the countahsign." 
 
 "Damn you, we've no countersign for you. We're the Lawrence 
 guard," called out Stubbs, instantly furious. 
 
 "Law'ence gahd, please file to the lef," replied the voice from the 
 Old Dominion. The voice's own command slid their horses round 
 until their mounts were pressed stirrup to stirrup on the right side 
 of the trail, their riders alertly facing the Lawrence military. 
 Lawrence now filed past them. Each party tensely watched the 
 opposition. If fighting was to be, one side would not relinquish a 
 hair's breadth of advantage to the other. Well past the Red Shirts, 
 Stubbs halted his men. To the spy he said, "Get the hell out of 
 here. And don't forget Colonel Lane's message to Stringfellow." 
 The spy departed at a lope that changed to a gallop, dying away 
 into the woodsy noises of the evening. 
 
 "What's this, suh?" 
 
 The Red Shirt leader rode forward. His companions cursed, bring- 
 ing their rifles to present. 
 
 Stubbs answered in a contemptuous voice, "One of Stringfellow's 
 spies we caught. We're sending him back to Stringfellow with a 
 plan of our earthworks." 
 
 Hoots of disbelieving laughter mingled with Southern curses. A 
 sudden snapping of rifles. The Lawrence patrol, at Stubb's com- 
 mand, now raised their Sharpe's. Although the Red Shirts out- 
 numbered the patrol from Lawrence, the defenders had a superiority 
 in weapons. Into the silence as each side waited tensely for the first 
 shot, the provocatory shot that would justify reprisal, into this 
 silence came the quick hoof beats of horses nearing their mangers. 
 In and out of the tree shadows rolled a carriage drawn by eagerness 
 for supper. As the carriage reached the two patrols the voice of Mrs. 
 
94 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Wood, richly amused, fell sweetly on the perfect Kansas evening. 
 
 "Captain Stubbs! Did you-all come out to meet us? An' Ah deck', 
 if heah ain't all those nice Vuhginia gentlemen again!" Disregarding 
 sudden glares from the Virginians, she cried brightly, "This is the 
 mos' romantic moment of mah life!" 
 
 She clucked to her horses, drove them skillfully between the two 
 forces, and on toward home. Captain Stubbs and his patrol fell in 
 behind her carriage in a column of fours. 
 
 Seizing advantage of the general confusion, I, who had been a 
 breathless witness of the whole encounter from the leafy screen of 
 the roadside, ran across the trail and took refuge in the deeper wood. 
 
 xv 
 
 After being told in Westport that Shannon had indeed gone to 
 Lecompton, Phillips decided to push his tired pony on to the Baptist 
 Mission where he knew he would be welcome to pass the night. 
 At the first small stream out of Westport he stopped to water War 
 Bonnet. Almost immediately he heard galloping on the trail behind 
 him. A pair of horsemen dashed past him, one on either side, reining 
 their mounts in when they had crossed the stream .They whispered 
 together. In the light of the rising moon Phillips saw one of them 
 pass an object to his fellow, something that glinted ominously. They 
 then recrossed the stream and halted, one on either side of the 
 reporter. At the same moment Phillips heard other horses coming 
 at a gallop. 
 
 Two ideas passed through the reporter's mind. The Vermonter 
 had been taken! The dispatch found in his boot! Or knowledge had 
 leaked out to the invaders of his own position on the Tribunel 
 
 "Seen a man goin' long this road?" 
 
 "No, I've been alone all the way," replied Phillips. 
 
 "Well, by God, a man rode this way. If you ain't seen him we're 
 a-holdin' you responsible." 
 
 "Responsible for what?" 
 
 "You're goin' back with us." 
 
 "I believe not," replied Phillips as steadily as possible. "My pony 
 is tired. I'm pushing on to Kansas." 
 
 "Kansas, hell. We arrest you." 
 
 "What for? Anyone been stealing a horse?" 
 
 "Hell, no. They's trouble in the territory. We got orders not to 
 leave nobody pass. You come out the territory, didn't you?" 
 
 "I certainly did." 
 
 "What part?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 95 
 
 "Up above." 
 
 "What in hell d'yuh mean by that?" demanded the ruffian captain, 
 while his men clustered their mounts, to hear every word. "Up 
 whar? What part the territory do you live?" 
 
 "I haven't located yet." 
 
 The leader countered fiercely, "What point did you leave to come 
 down here?" 
 
 "Lawrence." 
 
 The riders surrounding Phillips whistled. 
 
 "And if you don't believe me, ask Sheriff Jones. I rode down with 
 him." 
 
 "How in hell did you get past the guards?" 
 
 "Rode past them," replied Phillips, mounting War Bonnet. He 
 kicked the tired pony in the side; but War Bonnet remained im- 
 movable, determined to rest. 
 
 "Like hell you rode past them guards. An' what's this lie about 
 Sam Jones? He's up in Lecompton with Atchison." 
 
 Murmurs rose from the men. 
 
 "Do you know Andy Reeder?" demanded the chieftan, after a 
 consultation with his men during which Phillips again tried con- 
 clusions with War Bonnet. 
 
 "I don't know him. Of course I know who he is." 
 
 "Know who he is, do you? Ain't that wonderful? Carryin' him 
 any messages from Lawrence?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Course not. We're arrestin' you. We're takin' you back to 
 Westport." 
 
 "Have you a warrant?" 
 
 "We got authority." 
 
 "Who is your authority?" 
 
 "The governor." 
 
 "What governor?" 
 
 "Wilson Shannon, governor of Kansas Territory." 
 
 "Then you can't arrest me. We are now in Missouri." 
 
 Phillips spoke on a relieved breath. In the nonplused hush that 
 followed he kept his hands carefully occupied with his bridle reins, 
 in full view in the moonlight. The border ruffians were fingering 
 their weapons, if he made a move toward his own gun, his chances 
 were nothing. 
 
 "Look here," began the border chieftan in a new tone, "we don't 
 want no bloodshed. I reckon this ain't nothing serious. Come back 
 with us. If we find all right, you'll be all right." 
 
 "How do I know you're not highwaymen? If you want to do me a 
 
96 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 mischief, do it right here." To himself he was saying, They know 
 I'll shoot the first one of them to lay a hand on me. 
 
 After a few muttered comments, the leader pointed to a distant 
 light. 
 
 "See that house over thar? Where the light's a-twinklin'? Go 
 with us over thar. We're bound to examine you. But if you're all 
 right, you can go on." 
 
 "Is that a respectable place?" 
 
 The ruffians cursed. 
 
 "Hell, yes," said the leader. "Ain't we goin' thar?" 
 
 "Have I your word of honor you'll let me go if you don't find any 
 papers on me to Reeder?" 
 
 "Stranger, you shore have." 
 
 As the other horses swung about on the trail, War Bonnet moved 
 with them. A short private road led up to a rather pretentious 
 dwelling house built in the Southern style with a gallery above the 
 porch. Feeling his spirits rise at the respectable appearance of the 
 premises, Phillips rebuked himself for a fool. A hut or a wigwam 
 might house more kindness and honesty than he would find here. 
 
 The riders hallooed mightily, bringing a white haired man to the 
 double front doors. He held a lamp high. In the midst of laughter, 
 oaths and explanations from the newcomers to their host, Phillips 
 demanded of the border chieftan, "If you detain me here, must my 
 horse starve?" 
 
 "How about it, major? Can you bait this gentleman's horse?" 
 
 "Lem!" bawled the major by way of reply. 
 
 A young colored man slipped into the light. 
 
 "Some cawn fo' the gentleman's hoss," ordered the major. 
 
 This major seemed one of these ruffians, setting out whiskey in 
 his long parlor with a free hand. The company drank twice before 
 the major exclaimed, "Well, Ahm damned if this ahn't too bad!" 
 He approached Phillips with a jug and tumbler. "Strangah, take 
 somethin' to drink!" 
 
 "Thank you. I never drink." 
 
 "Nevah drink!" 
 
 The ruffians set up violent exclamation. Neither Phillips nor the 
 major heeded the clamor. In the major's blue broadcloth coat lapel 
 Phillips had spied a pin,— a pin made sacred to him by many as- 
 sociations. In an instant he was giving the major the distress signal 
 of a fellow lodge member. 
 
 "Teetotal, abolition an' the Emigrant Aid Society. All one 'n' the 
 same thing," announced the border chieftan. He turned to his host. 
 "Major, can we trouble you for the lend of a room? We got to 
 
A UNION FOREVER 97 
 
 search this blue-belly for papers. Orders from Governor Shannon." 
 
 The major, recovering himself, caught up one of several lamps, 
 crossed the parlor to throw open a door that evidently led into a 
 guestchamber. He beckoned to Phillips. 
 
 "Right in heah." 
 
 Phillips followed the major into a room where the confined air 
 was musty. He affected to cough. 
 
 "Could I have a little air?" 
 
 The major gave him a harried glance. 
 
 "Ah'll open this window somewhat." 
 
 He set his lamp on a tall dresser, opened the window and turned 
 to Phillips. 
 
 "Rest yo'self on that cha'." 
 
 Phillips protested, "I was told I wouldn't be detained long." 
 
 The major started to reply when loud calls from the long parlor 
 summoned him. 
 
 "Ah'll do what Ah can fo' you," he said hastily, as he left Phillips 
 alone in the bedroom, closing the door behind him. 
 
 In the first moment of his isolation Phillips looked out the half- 
 opened window into the moonlit night. Under cover of a debate 
 rising in the next room, he might succeed in getting out the window. 
 Still, he could be missed while searching the back premises for War 
 Bonnet, and to leave without his pony was unthinkable. Angry and 
 a trifle bored he settled himself to wait. 
 
 Suddenly, as the conversation in the next room grew louder, 
 sinister phrases brought the newsman to his feet. He laid his ear 
 against the door. 
 
 "If we don't do it tonight, he'll get out of the territory before we 
 get him," said the voice of the border chieftan. 
 
 "No, suh, Jarrette," protested the major. "Ah don't approve that 
 sort o' thing. Tah 'n' feathahs, yes. He merits tah 'n' feathahs. Then 
 set him driftin' on the rivah. But no hemp." 
 
 "That's right," assented another voice. "Only what I say, rub him 
 with oil, smear him with lampblack. Then put him on a raf, with 
 nothin' to comfort him but a jug o' whiskey." 
 
 "Hell! Why waste good liquor?" 
 
 "Who's for hangin'?" demanded the voice of Jarrette, the border 
 chieftan. "Let's take a vote." 
 
 The shout that followed left no doubt who was for hanging. 
 
 Phillips drew his revolver. 
 
 "Let's get goin'," ordered Jarrette. Then, surprisingly, "Hell! 
 What'll we do with this fellow in the next room?" 
 
 While Phillips frowned, trying to grasp this sudden development, 
 
98 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Ah'll keep him till mawnin'," offered the major. "Then Ah'll tuhn 
 him loose." 
 
 "That won't do. He had a fustrate look at us. This is a great, 
 patriotic service we doin', but we don't want no witnesses to tuhn 
 up latah in cote." 
 
 "Aw, hell, hemp him. Long t'other one." 
 
 "God, yes, the teetotallin' son-of-a-" 
 
 "Hangin's too good fer 'im." 
 
 "What I say," put in Jarrette, "let's hemp the both of 'em. Andy 
 Reeder oughta have company to hell. Damned Dutch alligator from 
 a Pennsylvania cow stable." 
 
 "Hemp it is!" 
 
 "When do we start? We got better'n an hour's ride to Kansas 
 City. American hotel, you say?" 
 
 "Gentlemen," demanded the major, "you ahn't evah goin' to hang 
 these men befo' sunrise?" 
 
 After a brief profound silence several men spoke. 
 
 "That's so." 
 
 "Any man's got a right to see his last sunrise." 
 
 Jarrette yielded the point. 
 
 "All right. We'll have a game of high, low, jack for an hour. 
 Major, the liquor's plumb out." 
 
 "Ah'll fill the demi. Staht yo' game. They's cards in that drawah." 
 
 Sounds from the other room indicated the ruffians were gathering 
 round a table for their game. Phillips went again to the window. As 
 he hoped, the major soon appeared outside. 
 
 "Throw the window wide," urged the major in a low voice. 
 "Jump out." Phillips was quick to obey. Taking advantage of a 
 burst of laughter and profanity over the result of the first game, the 
 major said, "Lem has yo' hoss up the road. Get away as fast as 
 you can." 
 
 When Phillips would have shaken his hand, the major said fiercely 
 beneath his breath, "Don't thank me. Ah've saved yo' life. Ah had 
 two duties tonight. But Ah don't even want to know yo' name. Ah 
 hope nevah to see you again. Ahm a bordah ruffian, an' Ahm not 
 ashamed of it. When they passed the Kansas bill, the pledge was 
 South should have Kansas and Nawth could take Nebraska. Now 
 this damned Emigrant Aid, an' the balance the abolitionists figgah 
 to cheat us out our sha'. But they can't do it. We'll have Kansas. If 
 we wade to the knees in blood, we'll have Kansas. Good night, suh." 
 
 He was gone. 
 
 Phillips stole silently away from the house, increasing his pace 
 to a run when he got to the main rode. There he presently found 
 
A UNION FOREVER 99 
 
 War Bonnet, the colored boy handing him the reins and slipping 
 away into the roadside bushes. 
 
 "War Bonnet," said William Phillips sternly, "we've got to travel. 
 I don't know how long it may be going to take me to get a 
 Pennsylvania alligator to rise out of his warm bed. Dress in the 
 night, and ride for his life." 
 
 XVI 
 
 To his Excellency, Wilson Shannon, Governor of Kansas Ter- 
 ritory: Sir: As citizens of Kansas Territory we desire to call 
 your attention to the fact that a large force of armed men from 
 a foreign state have assembled in the vicinity of Lawrence, and 
 are now committing depradations upon our citizens, stopping 
 wagons, opening and appropriating their loading, arresting, 
 threatening and detaining travelers upon the public road, and 
 that they claim to do this by your authority. We desire to know 
 if they do appear by your authority, and if you will secure the 
 peace and quiet of the community by ordering their instant re- 
 moval, or compel us to resort to some other means and to higher 
 authority. Lawrence Committee of Safety. 
 
 Twenty-four hours before White Turkey's offer to Robinson, two 
 gentlemen, members of the Lawrence Committee of Safety, were 
 shown into the governor's office in the Shawnee Mission. They 
 bowed to the governor, and one of them said, "C. W. Babcock is my 
 name, sir. My friend here is Mr. G. P. Lowry. We have a letter 
 for you from our committee." 
 
 Shannon read the letter carefully, reread it. He studied the 
 Lawrence men. He had not been given to suppose there were any 
 pleasant looking men-of-the-world in Lawrence. 
 
 "You gentlemen are from Lawrence?" 
 
 "We are, sir." 
 
 "How did you get through the guards?" 
 
 "We gave the countersign." 
 
 "You gave the countersign?" 
 
 "When they surrounded our carriage, we handed them a demi- 
 john of fine whiskey. After they tasted it, they declared we were 
 sound on the goose." 
 
 Shannon again read the letter from the Lawrence committee. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he began severely when he had finished reading, 
 "I am astounded to find men of your evident standing associated 
 with these desperadoes." 
 
100 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Lowry replied in a carefully even voice, "You have perhaps heard 
 the old saw, Birds of a feather flock together. Does it not occur to 
 you that our friends in Lawrence may be as respectable as we?" 
 
 "Damn it, man, that's not possible. Why I have the names of 
 some of them here before me." Shannon rummaged and found a 
 notation. "Warrants are out for the arrest of, let me see, Major 
 J. B. Abbot . . . S. N. Wood . . . Samuel P. Tappan . . . Samuel C, 
 Smith. These men are charged with a serious offense, delivering a 
 criminal from the hands of justice." 
 
 "The name of the criminal?" 
 
 "A man by the name of Branson." 
 
 "Jacob Branson is not a citizen of Lawrence. He was liberated at 
 some distance from Lawrence, by men acting on their own respon- 
 sibility. At the present time not one of the men you have named 
 is in Lawrence. Your posse of two thousand men will not find 
 them there." 
 
 Shannon went on unheedingly. 
 
 "And here is a letter from a fellow named Conway, addressed to 
 Reeder. We found it in the files. Says he won't obey the laws unless 
 they suit him. In addition, you harbor a newspaper man sent out 
 here by Horace Greeley. A shame and a disgrace, the representa- 
 tive of a great metropolitan paper playing the midnight hoodlum 
 with other potential criminals." 
 
 Lowry brought the governor to attention. 
 
 "Sir, we are getting ready in Lawrence to fight for our lives." 
 
 Shannon stopped his tirade. He eyed Lowry in astonishment. 
 
 "I am sorry," put in Carmi Babcock smoothly, "you did not take 
 the trouble to inquire into matters before getting a force into the 
 territory you may not be able to get out." 
 
 "I tell you, I have made inquiries. I have a report here that 
 free-state men have burned sixteen houses. Women and children 
 have been driven out-of-doors by free-state men." 
 
 "Again I tell you this did not happen in Lawrence." Carmi 
 Babcock leaned across the governor's desk. "A quarrel in Hickory 
 Point is not to be made a pretext for leveling Lawrence." 
 
 "Lawrence is in no danger if you give up your criminals to the 
 sheriff." 
 
 "In no danger? When an invading force encamps against us?" 
 
 "There is nobody in the posse from Missouri." 
 
 Shannon fumbled nervously at the papers on his desk. The two 
 Lawrence men spoke in turn and sternly. 
 
 Babcock demanded, "Do you wish to be particeps criminis to 
 our murder?" 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 101 
 
 Said Lowry, "These ruffians plan to destroy our town. We can 
 judge that from the size of the force surrounding Lawrence." 
 
 Babcock added, "If they march into Lawrence, all our throats 
 will be cut." 
 
 Shannon, now thoroughly cowed, exclaimed, "The Missourians 
 aren't up there by my authority. I've written Colonel Sumner, 
 commanding at Leavenworth. For government troops. I-I thought 
 I better. I've been afraid Atchison and Stringfellow are going too 
 far." The governor fumbled for a letterhead while Babcock and 
 Lowry exchanged a glance. "Here! Read it!" 
 
 The letter informed Sumner the governor had telegraphed the 
 President for aid, and asked Sumner to meet Shannon at the Dela- 
 ware ferry that night. When Babcock laid the letter back on 
 Shannon's desk, the governor blustered, "I'm going into Lawrence 
 personally. To insist on the people giving up those Sharpe's rifles." 
 
 "Sir," objected Carmi Babcock, "neither you nor any other person 
 has the authority to abridge the people's right to bear arms. 
 Lawrence is not in a state of insurrection. She has not disobeyed 
 any constituted authority. She has not resisted the execution of 
 any writ." 
 
 Lowry asked, "Will you ask the Lawrence citizens to give up 
 their western rifles? Their shotguns? Their pistols?" 
 
 "No. They may keep those." 
 
 "Then why, especially, the Sharpe's?" inquired Babcock. 
 
 "They're unlawful weapons." 
 
 "Why unlawful?" 
 
 "Damn it, they're dangerous." 
 
 Carmi Babcock smiled. 
 
 "I wholly agree with that statement," he replied smoothly. "They 
 are. Very dangerous. Their ingenious construction makes them a 
 threat to the invaders." 
 
 "If you think of asking us to give them up," put in Lowry, "pray 
 keep away from Lawrence, governor." 
 
 "I'd be just as insulted as if you asked me for my watch and 
 purse," added Babcock. "I can't undertake to carry back any such 
 message, I doubt if even Robinson or Lane would be safe, putting 
 such a proposition to the people. We'll bid you good day, sir." With 
 a final intimidating glare directed at Shannon, Lowry turned to say 
 for the governor's benefit, "Babcock, we'll have to drive over to 
 Kansas City. The time has come to send telegrams East." 
 
 They left Shannon staring after them, terror in his drink ravaged 
 countenance. All day he vacillated, writing and destroying letters 
 and telegrams to Franklin Pierce, and drinking rather more heavily 
 
102 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 than usual. By evening neither persuasions nor whiskey could hold 
 him longer inactive at the Mission. Colonel Boone and Colonel 
 Kearney were obliged to set out with him for the interior of the 
 territory. Thus it happened that at the moment when William 
 Phillips rode away from Fish's tavern, the governor was in con- 
 sultation with Atchison and Stringfellow in the pro-slavery settle- 
 ment just west of Lawrence, a group of log cabins known as 
 Lecompton. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Taking every advantage of the shadows cast by the moon, I crept 
 up to a lighted window on that side of the Franklin grocery 
 farthest away from the trail. Cautiously I ventured a glance. Most 
 of the usual contents of a crossroads store had been hastily pushed 
 into corners. The long table that served as a counter was cleared 
 off, held only a pair of candles that burned clear and steady in the 
 dry, windless night. At the table sat a big man with a cigar in his 
 mouth. He was writing. Behind him, somewhat out of the candle 
 range but still I could see them, two men leaned against the 
 grocery wall with folded arms while they stared at the writer. From 
 their clothing I knew them to be men of substance. The man at the 
 table finished writing, he waved his paper to dry the ink. "Now 
 where's that Red Shirt?" he asked in a testy voice. "Wait! I'll read 
 this to you gentlemen." 
 "Pray do, governor." 
 
 The governor, for so he was, read in the sonorous tones of the 
 platform. 
 
 "Wakarusa, December 6th, 1855 
 "Col. Sumner, First Cavalry, U.S.A.— Sir: I send you this 
 special despatch to ask you to come to Lawrence as soon as you 
 possibly can. My object is to secure the citizens of that place, as 
 well as others, from a warfare which, if once commenced, there 
 is no saying where it will end. I doubt not that you have re- 
 ceived orders from Washington; but if you have not, the absolute 
 pressure of this crisis is such as to justify you, with the President 
 and the world, in moving with your forces to the scene of 
 difficulties. 
 
 "It is hard to restrain the men here (they are beyond my 
 power, or at least soon will be) from making an attack on Law- 
 rence, which, if once made, there is no telling where it may 
 terminate. The presence of a portion of the United States troops at 
 Lawrence would prevent an attack, save bloodshed, and enable us 
 
A UNION FOREVER 103 
 
 to get matters arranged in a satisfactory way, and at the same 
 
 time, secure the execution of the laws. It is peace, not war, that 
 
 we want, and you have the power to secure peace. Time is 
 
 precious. Fear not but you will be sustained. 
 
 "With great respect, Wilson Shannon. 
 "N.B. Be pleased to send me a despatch." 
 
 I had stowed away as much of this letter as I could carry for 
 William Phillips. Now I ventured another glance into the grocery. 
 The men in the background were giving the unconscious governor 
 looks I should have hated to turn my back upon. At the same 
 instant the young Red Shirt leader of the patrol I had watched at 
 the crossroads was coming through the doorway. 
 
 "Oh, here you are. This despatch is for Colonel Sumner at Ft. 
 Leavenworth. Think you know enough about the country to get 
 through?" 
 
 "Yes, suh. Ah undahstan' it's a good trail right through." 
 
 "Take plenty of men with you. This is important." 
 
 "Yes, suh." 
 
 The Red Shirt saluted and went out the door. At the same 
 moment I ducked down, but made use of my ears. 
 
 "I hope one of my messengers, at least, will get to Sumner." 
 
 "You need have no fears, governor. Neither Colonel Kearney nor 
 myself would have your messenger slugged." 
 
 "You wouldn't?" 
 
 "No, sir, I would not. Foolish as I believe you to be, bringing 
 United States troops into a local matter, I would not intercept your 
 messenger to Sumner. Of course if you want to believe H. C. Pate—" 
 
 "Pate's a good man. Comes from Ohio. Educated. Writes books." 
 
 "Yes, I understand he has paid for the publication of some sets 
 of verses. Out of his own pocket." 
 
 "At least," said Kearney, "he knows how to make up a good story. 
 One that will curry favor for himself." 
 
 Pate was a new name on the border. I stowed that away for 
 Phillips. 
 
 Colonel Boone changed the subject. 
 
 "Your mailbag just came up the trail. Here is a letter from Sam." 
 
 "That's another thing," exploded Shannon. "I wish your damned 
 son-in-law would stop buying supplies from the Indians, charging 
 everything up to me. By God, I'd have to be a millionaire to keep 
 up with Jones." 
 
 "Some of Tom Johnson's Indians. We'll soon settle with them." 
 
 The governor now exclaimed, "Why, this letter's dated two days 
 ago." 
 
104 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "It's been following you around." 
 "Listen to this. Just listen to this." 
 
 After a brief silence during which I judged the governor to be 
 reading his letter, Shannon broke out angrily. While I held my 
 breath to hear the better, he read aloud: 
 
 "Camp of Wakarusa, Dec. 4th, 1855. 
 "His Excellency, Governor Wilson Shannon— Sir: In reply to 
 your communication of yesterday, I have to inform you that the 
 volunteer forces, now at this place and at Lecompton, are getting 
 weary of inaction. They will, I presume, remain idle but a short 
 time longer, unless a demand for the prisoners is made. I think I 
 shall have a sufficient force to protect me by tomorrow morning. 
 The force at Lawrence is not half as strong as reported. I have 
 this from a reliable source. If I am to wait for the government 
 troops, more than two-thirds of the men will go away very much 
 dissatisfied. They are leaving hourly as it is. I do not, by any 
 means, wish to violate your orders, but I really believe that, if I 
 have a sufficient force, it would be better to make the demand. 
 "It is reported that the people of Lawrence have run off these 
 offenders from this town, and, indeed, it is said they are all now 
 out of the way. I have writs for sixteen persons of the party that 
 rescued my prisoner; S. N. Wood, P. R. Brooks, and Samuel 
 Tappan, are of Lawrence, the balance from the country round. 
 Warrants will be placed in my hands for the arrest of G. W. 
 Brown, editor, and probably others, in Lecompton. They say that 
 they are willing to obey the laws, but no confidence can be placed 
 in any statement they make. 
 
 "No evidence sufficient to cause a warrant to issue has, as yet, 
 been brought against any of the lawless men who fired the houses. 
 "I would give you the names of the defendants, but the writs 
 are in my office at Lecompton. 
 
 "Most respectfully yours, Samuel J. Jones, Sheriff of Douglas 
 County." 
 
 Venturing a peep, I found Shannon making a great effort to 
 comprehend the contents of the letter. His hands shook as he held 
 the sheet nearer the candles. He exclaimed peevishly, "What in hell 
 does he mean by all this? He wants to go into Lawrence, but the 
 men he is after aren't there. And 'warrants will be placed in his 
 hands' for people who haven't done anything yet. And say they are 
 willing to obey the laws. Look here, Boone, I'm not satisfied. I'm 
 not at all satisfied. I liked those men I talked to yesterday. That— 
 what's his name— Bobsocks?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 105 
 
 "Carmi Babcock," replied Colonel Boone. "A very smooth cus- 
 tomer." 
 
 "You think he's a smooth customer?" 
 
 "I know him to be a very smooth customer." 
 
 "Another thing. I've found out this man, Wood, is from Ohio. 
 Damned if I like hounding a man from Ohio. Unless I know he's 
 actually committed some—" 
 
 Shannon broke off as a sound of ribaldry in the trail near the 
 grocery claimed his attention. He walked to the door, stood looking 
 out. I slipped long the grocery wall for a peep. Half a dozen border 
 ruffians were gathered round a tall man who held a demijohn. 
 
 "All right, preachah. Staht the jug." 
 
 Shannon walked away toward the ruffians. He called back across 
 his shoulder to Boone in the doorway, " Want-a speak to the sentry." 
 
 "His Excellency going to hit the jug?" inquired Kearney, joining 
 Boone in the moonlight. They were now where I could take in 
 every detail of their appearance,— well cut frock coats, beautifully 
 starched ruffles, black satin ties, doeskin breeches and leggings, and 
 wide brimmed hats of fawn colored felt. 
 
 "My God, Kearney, that's what the administration sends us in 
 our agony." 
 
 Both men were silent, watching the governor take his turn at 
 the jug. 
 
 "Strickler says, if this campaign fails, he'll sell every black he 
 owns South. Even the mammy that nursed him." 
 
 "I'd never do that. Black or white, the Boones are all one family." 
 
 "That's what you think now," responded Kearney, desperation in 
 his voice, "but picture to yourself your family sinking to be like 
 those objects over there on the trail. Blood's stronger than color, 
 Boone." 
 
 "It isn't the few slaves any one of us owns. It's the aggregate for 
 Western Missouri. Thirty millions worth, Kearney. Tied up in blacks, 
 and we have to use their labor to get a return on our money. My 
 God! The abolitionists could finish our county families! That's what 
 those damn potlicks in Lawrence know they can do. Sent out here 
 by a bunch of blue-nosed factory owners in New England. It's either 
 us or the Lawrence crowd, Kearney. And by God, it's going to be 
 them." 
 
 "Atchison's bringing up the Kickapoo Rangers through the Dela- 
 ware Reserve," said Kearney, his tone more hopeful. "They're good 
 men from Clay county," he says. "Sort of a hatchet brigade." 
 
 "Hatchets! If those females in Lawrence have an ounce of 
 womanly feeling left in their makeup, they won't want their hus- 
 
106 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 bands chopped into bits with hatchets. Not for the benefit of 
 Emigrant Aid and Northern capital. They'll make terms and get 
 out. Get out and stay out. Leave well enough alone. My God, 
 Kearney, don't we know slavery has its bad side? What hasn't, in 
 this world? But slavery holds us up, and slavery is what we've got 
 to preserve." 
 
 The group around the jug was breaking up. 
 
 Wilson Shannon with his arm around the shoulder of the tall, 
 slender owner of the jug, approached Boone and Kearney. 
 
 "Gennelmun, want you to know grea' frien' o' mine. Reveren' 
 Mr. Skaggs. Mr. Skaggs given up his church, over 'n Missouri, grea' 
 cause o' Squatter Sover— sover— Ain' I ri', Mr. Skaggs?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. This is the Lord's work—" 
 
 Before he could proceed to elucidate his favorite theme a new 
 sound falling on the quiet night brought us all to attention. A small 
 company of horses was drawing rapidly nearer round a bend of 
 the trail. Even precision of hoofbeats and clink on clink of metal 
 told a story. 
 
 "United States cavalry," said Colonel Boone. 
 
 There was a brief interchange between the ruffian sentry and the 
 officer commanding the dragoons. While we watched, the young 
 lieutenant in command swung down and approached the group in 
 the doorway. 
 
 "Governor Shannon?" 
 
 "I'm Governor Shannon." 
 
 The governor attempted to brace himself. The lieutenant bowed. 
 
 "Colonel Sumner's compliments, sir. He has everything in readi- 
 ness to move to your relief, as soon as he receives a confirmation 
 from Washington." 
 
 "Well, I'll be God-damned. I will be eternally God-damned! So 
 Jeff Davis has the first word, ahead of me, has he?" Anger sobered 
 Shannon for the moment. He went on, "This is a fine way for 
 Sumner to respond. Here are fifteen hundred men, or more, come 
 out of Missouri. They would come, and they mean to fight. General 
 Stringfellow thought we better incorporate them into some sort of 
 organization. Then these Lawrence outlaws draw in other outlaws 
 from all over the territory. They're up there this minute making gun 
 emplacements. They mean to fight! This is war!" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Will you reduce this to writing, sir?" 
 
 "Damned right I'll reduce it to writing. Then Jones, he's son-in- 
 law to Boone here, has to have a posse of three thousand men to 
 help him enforce some writs against two or three of the Lawrence 
 bandits. Now Jones and his men are riding all over the territory, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 107 
 
 giving orders on me, if you please, to the Indians. For fodder and 
 ponies. I've got to have help around here." 
 
 "Yes, sir. Will you put this on paper, sir?" 
 
 Shannon waved his arms. 
 
 "Only an hour ago one of Stringfellow's spies came down from 
 Lawrence. Lane up there, one of the most dangerous men in the 
 territory, took him captive. Led him all over the place. Showed 
 him what they were up to. Then turned him loose, told him to come 
 back and tell us what he saw." 
 
 "Governor!" 
 
 At the low-voiced, peremptory check Shannon wheeled toward 
 Boone who had crossed with Kearney to the table in the grocery. 
 Shannon's hand automatically brought a cigar from his breast 
 pocket. He fumbled for a match, found his hand unsure, put the 
 unlighted cigar between his lips. 
 
 "You're right," he declared loudly, as though they had spoken. 
 "You're absolutely right. Go back and tell Sumner he'll hear from 
 me later. I'm wiring Pierce for action." 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Just as the sun, smoking rosily on the horizon, brightened the 
 pages of a new day, I joined Warren and Hod Ticknor who had 
 been throwing up earth during the night. Warren-because he had 
 his father's shotgun with him, and expected to distinguish himself 
 in the fight-was making himself unpopular with Hod and me. 
 
 I said, "Let's go up to the Cincinnati House for breakfast." 
 
 "Wait," said Hod. "The ferry is coming in." 
 
 Slim Baldwin's passengers were William Phillips on War Bonnet, 
 and a well wrapped, portly figure on a tired sorrel. The man on 
 the sorrel rode right along up Massachusetts street toward the Free 
 State hotel; but William Phillips held in War Bonnet while he 
 talked to a tall young fellow who leaned on a spade. 
 
 "Hullo! You got through! Give my message to Robinson?" 
 
 "Yep." 
 
 "Have any trouble?" 
 
 "Nope." 
 
 "How did you get past the guards?" 
 
 "Like I said. Come the Yankee over 'em." 
 
 "My friend," said William Phillips, "I have been in that river out 
 there. Missed the ford in the dark. I thought Horace Greeley would 
 be looking for another western correspondent. I am wet, and tired, 
 
108 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 and uncomfortable. Will you explain to me how you got past the 
 guards?" 
 
 "Passel their men come along. I saw they gave a password some 
 kind. So I rode up smart, saluted, an' s'l, 'Ain't you gonna ask me 
 for the password?' Like I was one the generals, callin' 'em down. 
 'That's all right, sir. Go right on by,' says a polite young fellow in 
 a turkey red outfit. Got in that way. Got out above same way. 
 Out-Yankeed 'em." 
 
 He fell to digging as I stepped up to War Bonnet. I told William 
 Phillips my news as we boys surrounded War Bonnet and all moved 
 up the street together. 
 
 "Good boy," said Phillips. "We'll publish what you recall of it. 
 That'll force Shannon to make the letters public." 
 
 Outside the Free State hotel stood Robinson, looking very worn 
 after a sleepless night spent holding a lantern for the diggers at 
 Fort Smith. 
 
 "Your plight is known," he told Phillips. "I've sent a messenger 
 to Mrs. Robinson. You and Reeder must get to bed while you thaw 
 out. Mrs. Robinson will give you a hot drink." 
 
 "Sweet Charity gave me something she called coffee. Robinson, 
 you better come up the hill with me. You need rest. You're done up." 
 
 "Impossible. We've had a message under a flag from Wilson 
 Shannon. Requests a carriage and guard to bring him up here for 
 a conference. Lane and I are going after him immediately." 
 
 Phillips whistled. 
 
 "And you ask me to crawl into bed at a time like this?" 
 
 "You'll crawl into bed. None of us has the time to nurse you 
 through an illness. My God, look! What does that outfit mean?" 
 
 Reeder on his sorrel was now well on his way up Massachusetts 
 street toward the cross street leading up Mount Oread. Passing him 
 came a small lumber wagon rattling down the main Lawrence 
 thoroughfare at a lively clip. Standing in this wagon were five tall 
 men. As they came nearer we could see they were very tall men 
 indeed. Center of all was an older man in quaint plush cap. He, as 
 well as the younger men, had a heavy broadsword strapped to the 
 person. Each man carried a long rifle and wore visibly displayed a 
 navy revolver. Around three sides of the wagon stood upright poles, 
 and to each pole was affixed a bayonet that gleamed in the early 
 sun. This remarkable turnout came up smartly to the hotel, when 
 the standing driver drew his horses to a sudden stop. 
 
 The man in the plush cap came over the wagon side in one easy 
 spring, and at the same moment a voice called from the hotel door- 
 way, "Howdy, Captain Brown!" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 109 
 
 Jim Lane came forward with outstretched hand. 
 
 "This is Brown of Osawatomie," he explained to Robinson. 
 "Experienced fighting man." 
 
 Robinson managed a smile. 
 
 "You're in good time, Captain Brown. We're about to have a 
 conference." 
 
 "General Robinson, when you want me to fight, say so," replied 
 the man in the plush cap. His grey eyes sent a stunning flash into 
 appeasement. "This final outrage should bring it to the attention of 
 all that the time is past for conferences." 
 
 "Come with me, sir," cut in Lane. "I have a small command for 
 you, men who will do their duty, come what may." 
 
 William Phillips was demanding of Robinson, "What latest out- 
 rage?" 
 
 "You here still? The latest outrage is the death of Thomas Barber. 
 You may recall him and his brother Oliver in the first company a 
 year ago. He came in yesterday with the Bloomington Boys. When 
 he learned that no immediate attack was in prospect, he decided to 
 go home for a few hours to comfort his wife. It seems he left her 
 in a very sad condition, she had dreamed she saw him lying dead 
 in a wood. His brother Oliver went with him. Half-way on their 
 journey, some pro-slavery men met them. Thomas Barber was shot. 
 Now, be off with you. We've brought in the body. Major Abbot took 
 an escort of the Bloomington Boys. Went to fetch Mrs. Barber." 
 
 Robinson turned away. I said to William Phillips, "I'll watch 
 things for you till you get dry." He grinned. "I believe you will. 
 Good boy!" He put War Bonnet to the lope to overtake the ex- 
 governor on his sorrel. 
 
 Doctor Lum, the Congregational minister, and the Reverend 
 Ephraim Nute, newly arrived shepherd of the Unitarians, stood one 
 on either side of a bed in a room on the second floor of the Free 
 State hotel. In the doorway stood Major Abbot and several of the 
 Bloomington Boys, heads bared and bowed. Major Abbot had a 
 hand on the shoulder of a young man who sat bowed over in a 
 chair near the door. I recognized Oliver Barber. Mrs. Wood was 
 there, her arms around a frail young woman who was on her 
 knees beside the bed. 
 
 Doctor Lum and Doctor Nute read turnabout from their Bibles. 
 Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. 
 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst 
 formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to ever- 
 lasting, thou art God. 
 
110 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it 
 
 is past, and as a watch in the night. 
 
 The days of our years are three score years and ten; and if by 
 
 reason of strength they be four score years, yet is their strength 
 
 labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off and we fly away. 
 
 So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts 
 
 unto wisdom. 
 
 Return, O Lord, how long? and let it repent thee concerning 
 
 thy servants. 
 
 Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted 
 
 us . . . and establish thou . . . the work of our hands. . . . 
 
 Doctor Lum's voice faltered as a wild shriek filled the room. 
 Scream after scream tore our hearts. Into this scene walked Wilson 
 Shannon and his two aides on their way to the council chamber. 
 Not more tipsy than usual at this hour of the day, the governor 
 had rambled on jovially to Lane and Robinson, coming up the stairs 
 with a hand through the arm of each. 
 
 "Now, gennelmun, you— you don' know me. Don' unnerstan' me. 
 All abush me. Atsh because you do' know me. Getta know me right, 
 you'11-My God! What's that?" 
 
 A door stood open. Men moved aside to allow him to see the 
 calm figure and face of that dead man, as composed as loving hands 
 could make it. Weak, vacillating, the governor trembled. 
 
 Colonel Kearney exclaimed, "What's the meaning of this?" 
 
 Lane replied in a decently lowered tone, "Our yesterday's losses." 
 
 "Whosh to blame for thish?" demanded Shannon. 
 
 "We have reason to believe the assassins are a territorial judge 
 and the new Indian agent," said Robinson. 
 
 Colonel Boone cut in smoothly. 
 
 "I trust no gentleman here will name another gentleman in the 
 matter until the proof is positive." 
 
 They went into the council room, and I followed them to keep 
 watch until William Phillips in an outfit of Doctor Robinson's 
 relieved me. Colonel Lane closed the door of the council against 
 those heart piercing cries. We found two members of the Lawrence 
 committee waiting to greet the governor. 
 
 "Eh?" Shannon goggled at them. "You gennelmun get back up 
 the trail?" 
 
 Carmi Babcock explained, "We had two passwords hid under the 
 carriage seat. We used one going down the trail, and the other 
 coming up." 
 
 Lowry added, "We were declared sound on the goose both going 
 and coming. As soon as we got the cork out of our password." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 111 
 
 Of the agreement made that day it may be said that it settled 
 nothing, and in the end, pleased nobody. As grey evening was 
 closing in the governor set his slightly unsteady signature to the 
 negotiations. Robinson and Lane quickly added theirs. Word drift- 
 ing from the council chamber that an agreement was imminent, the 
 street outside the hotel filled rapidly with such citizens and soldiers 
 as were not at work or on guard at the ramparts. When the Com- 
 mittee of Safety, headed by Robinson and Lane with the governor 
 between them and the governor's aides, poker-faced, close behind, 
 emerged from the hotel, the people in the street raised a faint, 
 anxious cheer. A large drygoods box had been hastily brought and 
 placed in the street before the hotel. Lane and Robinson assisted 
 Shannon to mount this box. Silence fell. 
 
 "A perfect understanding now exists between your committee and 
 your governor," he told the Lawrence citizens. "I am convinced 
 you people are law-abiding. I shall tell the generals in charge of the 
 troops over there toward Lecompton, and those down in the hollow 
 on the Wakarusa, I shall tell them to get their men out of the 
 territory as soon as possible. I hope to see them go peaceably. Now, 
 I urge upon you people of Lawrence, be moderate. Pursue a wise 
 course. Don't be too— hie— belligerent— " 
 
 "Eeaw! Eeaw! Eeaw!" 
 
 A jackass tied to the hitch rack of the Cincinnati hotel across the 
 way, and ready for his dinner, suddenly lifted up his voice. After 
 a breathless moment Lawrence shouted with laughter. The op- 
 portunity to relieve long over-charged feelings was not to be 
 resisted. 
 
 "Shannon, you better get off that box." 
 
 Boone spoke in a low voice of such concentrated fury as to 
 overawe even the slightly fuddled governor. He allowed Boone and 
 Kearney to help him to the street. Jim Lane leaped to the place 
 Shannon had vacated. 
 
 "Fellow citizens, until these marauders have been induced by our 
 governor to leave, let's remain under arms. Keep on the alert. Any 
 man who deserts Lawrence till the invaders leave the territory is a 
 coward. If we fight now, we fight a mob. A mob shorn of any fancied 
 authority. My friends, we have a standpat hand." 
 
 This time cheering broke forth spontaneously, a shout of victory 
 and courage. 
 
 Charles Robinson stepped quickly forward, raising his hand for 
 silence. 
 
 "All is well. I advise that we disperse to our homes immediately. 
 I see rain is beginning to fall. I have nothing to add to the governor's 
 
112 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 message, except that we have taken an honorable position. Good 
 evening, all." 
 
 In a momentary pause, while large drops splashed the street dust, 
 a few of the citizens raised a thin cheer. Others began to disperse 
 silently. The rain was not more settling to the dust of Massachusetts 
 street than Robinson's words to the high enthusiasm of Lawrence. 
 And then a tall figure,— tall, slender, angular,— came striding through 
 the people. John Brown thrust his face, somber, strongly lined, into 
 Robinson's face. His blue-grey eyes, honest and inexorable, burned 
 with a strangely unworldly intensity, searching Robinson's eyes. 
 
 "What are the terms?" he demanded. 
 
 Robinson's eyes, always keen in their glance, met Brown's with 
 the impact of sword against sword. 
 
 "I have not time to discuss the terms, Captain Brown," he said. 
 "Colonel Lane and I are leaving immediately to escort the governor 
 to Franklin." 
 
 "You mean the people are not to know what their leaders have 
 decided?" 
 
 "Not at the moment." 
 
 John Brown leaped up on the drygoods box. His voice rang out 
 from that vantage, arresting the departure of the people. 
 
 "Stop! For your liberties, stop!" 
 
 Numbers of citizens turned back, clustered close, eying Brown 
 curiously. They had no idea who this odd figure in an old plush 
 cap, his waist girt with sword and revolver, might be. 
 
 "Do you realize," asked John Brown, "that these politicians may 
 be fooling us? They are looking to ballots, when they should be 
 looking to bayonets. They count up voters when they should be 
 mustering armed, and none but armed emigrants. They want to put 
 Kansas in the free white state column, but they should be here to 
 promote the killing of American slavery." 
 
 A gasp and a murmur from the crowd. 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "Trouble-maker ! " 
 
 "Crackpot!" 
 
 "Pull him off that box!" 
 
 "Quiet! Hear what he has to say." 
 
 "All marauding rascals from Missouri and elsewhere should be 
 asked to show their passports. And when they do show them, such 
 as they are, these rascals should then be run out of the territory at 
 the point of the bayonet. If they do not run fast enough and far 
 enough, they should be put to the slaughter." 
 
 Robinson lifted his magnificent voice. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 113 
 
 "I call upon this meeting to disperse." 
 
 In his favor, and against Brown, was the storm, now changing 
 from warm rain to icy sleet. Brown's tall sons had closed round the 
 drygoods box, and the few men who might have tried to hustle 
 Brown thought better of that intention. Almost in a moment the 
 crowd dispersed, leaving only a handful of men near the governor's 
 carriage. 
 
 As William Phillips and I stared after the departing Brown 
 family, Phillips had a hand laid on his arm. Two men stood at ease, 
 each carrying a long rifle, grinning at Phillips. 
 
 "Tappan!" he cried. "And Wood! What are you doing here?" 
 
 "Come in to fight with the balance of you. If there's a fight 
 tonight." 
 
 "You think there will be an attack?" 
 
 "There will if we take these politicians at their word, and roll up 
 in our blankets tonight for a sound snooze," declared Wood. 
 
 "What did you think of the man in the cap?" inquired young 
 Tappan. 
 
 "A maniac," declared Sam Wood. 
 
 "What do you think of him, Phillips?" 
 
 William Phillips answered slowly, after a long moment, "I sup- 
 pose I think he knows what he's talking about." 
 
 XIX 
 
 The liveryman who drove the governor and his aides to the log 
 cabin grocery in Franklin scarcely waited for them to set foot on 
 the ground before turning his horses and rattling away toward 
 Lawrence. The sleet storm was now turning to a young blizzard, 
 and the blizzard was growing by the minute. A rising wind sent 
 stinging ice particles in sweeping circles that saluted the traveler 
 on every side. Without a star, the early evening was lighted only 
 by the eerie presence of the snow, and even that faint comfort 
 would shortly fail as the end of the day went over the rim. 
 
 Thirteen captains of the Missourians, summoned by Boone and 
 Kearney during the ride from Lawrence, crowded into the grocery 
 to learn the terms of the treaty. Colonel Boone read the treaty aloud 
 to them in a clear unemotional voice. 
 
 "Now may God damn my soul to hell," swore Captain Bill Ander- 
 son. "Didn't you fix it fo' those bastahds in Lawrence to give ovah 
 they Shahpe's? What in hell we been waitin' fo' but those Shahpe's? 
 Then we could cleah out the whole damn shootin' of 'em." 
 
114 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Aren't the United States muskets you already have good enough 
 for you?" asked Jim Lane. 
 
 "Let me handle this, Lane/' interposed Robinson. He turned the 
 winning side of his personality uppermost. "You gentlemen would 
 scarcely allow yourselves to be relieved of your weapons, would 
 you?" 
 
 "He's right, Bill." 
 
 "Hell, no, I say." 
 
 "Too late to ahgue," decided Anderson. "We ought to gone up 
 theah two days ago. Cleaned 'em out. Half my company's already 
 stahted fo' home." 
 
 Governor Shannon spoke. 
 
 "I'm ordering all the troops to cross to the north side of the river, 
 and to proceed for home at once. I'm confident there will be no 
 further trouble made for the sheriff by the Lawrence people. 
 Gentlemen, the war is over!" 
 
 "And we better be getting back to Lawrence as fast as horse flesh 
 can do it," muttered Jim Lane to Robinson. Colonel Boone and 
 Colonel Kearney rode with Lane and Robinson as an escort along 
 the California Road. A wild black night excused the silence of the 
 Missourians. Nevertheless Jim Lane kept a hand on his pocket 
 pistol. At the fork where the second road to Lawrence branched 
 away from the main trail, the Missourians drew in their horses. 
 
 "Goodnight, sirs." 
 
 Wheeling their mounts they disappeared into the storm. Lane and 
 Robinson stared after them. 
 
 "Cool," exclaimed Robinson. 
 
 "Damned cool," agreed Lane. "I don't like this. Let's push on 
 to town as fast as our horses can travel." 
 
 He set his own horse to a gait that Old Gray found difficult. 
 Almost at once the grey horse stumbled, and came down on the 
 frozen trail. Robinson was up on the instant, and Old Gray, as 
 though he felt danger about them, struggled to his feet. Shivering 
 as the wind wrapped him in icy particles, the old horse dropped his 
 head against the doctor's shoulder. 
 
 "Lane," said Robinson, "there's a bridle trail over to our left, 
 about a hundred yards. Pretty well open, I think. William Phillips 
 has been using it to reconnoitre the Franklin camp. I'll lead Gray, 
 you follow." 
 
 Relief from the worst of the blizzard was immediate as they 
 plunged into the brush beneath the oaks whose winter-clinging 
 leaves shut away much of the blizzard. The doctor proved an 
 intelligent guide. The bridle trail appeared, Robinson mounted. The 
 
A UNION FOREVER 115 
 
 two leaders, congratulating themselves on their good fortune, made 
 their way back to Lawrence. 
 
 William Phillips and I with extra comforters tied over our heads 
 and wrapped round our chests, encountered Captain Stubbs on his 
 way to Fort Smith. 
 
 "Where you going?" demanded Stubbs. 
 
 "I have to get through the lines. Want to see what those ruffians 
 just above us are doing." 
 
 "Get a pass from Dietzler. He's in command while Robinson's 
 away. I'll go with you to find him." 
 
 A one-room log cabin with a fireplace furnishing light as well as 
 warmth, was headquarters at Fort Smith. George Dietzler, a good 
 man, was questioning a woman with two children who huddled 
 toward the heat. "She just came in," he explained. "Says four 
 ruffians put her out of her cabin, this side the fork." 
 
 "Bout a quarter of a mile," said the woman, trying to hold back 
 tears of fright and exhaustion. 
 
 Her small son was too indignant to cry. 
 
 "Damn skunks," he exclaimed. "Come bustin' in while we was 
 eatin'. We just had time to grab our coats. Hadda put 'em on 
 outside. Don't cry, maw. Don't cry Lizzie. Say! Aincha goin' t' do 
 nothin' about it?" 
 
 "Damn a paper war," swore George Dietzler. "I'm going after 
 those fellows." 
 
 "I'll go with you," said Stubbs. They hurried out, but Stubbs put 
 his head back in to say, "He says the password tonight is, Titch in'." 
 
 Stationed at regular intervals along the earthworks were citizen 
 soldiers, keeping guard in case of an attempt by the Missourians 
 to seize Fort Smith during the night. The light of their lanterns 
 shining through fine, drifting snow lighted up the spades thrust 
 into frozen ground, lighted up Old Sacramento defying the invaders, 
 lighted up Mrs. Wood and other literary and charitable ladies, well 
 bundled as to figure, carrying hot coffee in buckets from sentinel to 
 sentinel. 
 
 In a blessed hollow beneath oaks and walnuts we came on the 
 nearest company of the invaders. Most of their number were 
 engaged in keeping up gigantic fires, a dangerous business as the 
 raging wind often caught the fire and threw it with malicious intent 
 at the clustering and freezing ruffians. A few men had rolled them- 
 selves into their blankets. Others were struggling with the wagons. 
 The storm tore at the canvas tops, and threatened to overturn the 
 wagons themselves. Adding itself to the turmoil, as we peered from 
 
116 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 our shelter into the clearing, was an almost constant fusillade from 
 the Missourians, who were in dire terror of a visit from the Yankees 
 now that their status was reduced by treaty to that of a mob. Over 
 and over the ruffians fired into the upper air to advise the Yankees 
 against approach. 
 
 Near the central fire a group of leaders played cards behind the 
 comparative comfort of a blanket held by two young men. These 
 poor fellows, evidently prisoners, held the blanket until their be- 
 numbed fingers let it fall, when a terrific cursing from the card 
 players,— "God damn your abolition souls to hell,"— put desperation 
 into their frozen extremities, and they again managed to hold the 
 blanket between their captors and the storm. 
 
 Two men burst into the scene. Without ceremony they addressed 
 the card players. 
 
 "When we goin' ovah to wipe out them blue-bellies?" 
 
 "Come on! Ball t' th' muzzle! Knife t' th' hilt!" 
 
 "Shut up, Lark," commanded Benjamin Stringfellow. "But that's 
 what I want t' know, myself," he continued, turning to another card 
 player. "When do we start, Atchison?" 
 
 "We can't go now. We ain't the authority, for one thing." 
 
 "Damn Shannon," swore Stringfellow. "He played us false. The 
 Yankees tricked us, but he made a downright disgrace of himself. 
 He's a traitor to the pro-slavery Cause." 
 
 A man with a fiercely haired face spoke up. He had an old man 
 and a young boy not older than I, with him. 
 
 "Liquor's out. How we goin' t' keep ourselves from freezin'?" 
 
 "That's it, Atchison." 
 
 "Yep. That's the question." 
 
 "I say we git on back home," urged the man with the hairy face. 
 "Damn it, we live in Missouri, an' that's where I'm goin' t' stay. In 
 Missouri, the liquor never gives out." 
 
 Argument raged with the elements, but the first dreary light of 
 morning found the California Road alive with ruffians and their 
 horses, mules, oxen and wagons limping frozenly toward the ever- 
 flowing liquor of Missouri. 
 
 XX 
 
 The blizzard that closed the Wakarusa War ushered in a winter 
 season of such unmitigated cold as to bring a welcome pause in 
 hostilities between abolition and slavery. Missouri ruffians, however 
 proud of that title and however devoted to their Blue Lodge with 
 its emblem of a solitary star, preferred the comfort of a Missouri 
 
A UNION FOREVER 117 
 
 fireside to the rigors of a Kansas river bottom in midwinter; and the 
 Lawrence settlers thankfully enjoyed the respite, shaking from their 
 buffalo robes in the morning the snow that had drifted in during 
 the night through the chinks in their unfinished cabins. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson tells in her diary of the grand peace ball for 
 Governor Shannon and his aides, put on by the Lawrence ladies. 
 William Phillips was another eyewitness to the ball, noting par- 
 ticularly the fond hopes of the militia companies that they might 
 draw compensation some day for their week under arms. A lady 
 writer from the East, a guest of Mrs. Robinson, wrote the best 
 remembered account of the affair, an account that had a far 
 reaching effect on Kansas politics. Said this lady: 
 
 "I have to confess to a feeling of mortification that everybody 
 could not at once bridge over the rapid current sweeping down 
 between these two contending parties, and let 'by-gones be by- 
 gones'. But perhaps this feeling came to the surface because I had 
 not entered into the atmosphere of bloodshed, and had not made 
 the creation of cartridges the occupation of my leisure hours. 
 Colonel Lane's voice could be heard in different rooms, detailing 
 to eager listeners the most painful circumstances of poor Barber's 
 death, and, with wonderful ingeniousness, keeping up the wicked 
 spirit of vengeance among those over whom he exercised any 
 power. What on earth he was driving at by such a course, it 
 seemed to my stupid self quite impossible to understand; while, 
 at the same time, I knew that he aimed at something he could 
 not otherwise attain so well. Any reader of human faces can 
 never study his without a sensation very much like that with 
 which one stands at the edge of a slimy, sedgy, uncertain morass. 
 If there were any good in him, I never, with all my industry in 
 culling something pleasant from the most unpropitious characters, 
 have been able to make the discovery. And he has not, in lieu of 
 anything better, that agreeable fascination of manner which so 
 often gives currency in society to men as hollow-hearted as he. 
 "General Robinson stood like an aggrieved king. He not only 
 stemmed the tide, but rolled back the surging emotions of the 
 crowd; and the meeting closed much more like a gathering of 
 peace than at one time seemed likely." 
 
 Early in January the more political-minded wrapped themselves 
 against the weather and journeyed to Topeka to the inauguration of 
 Governor Robinson and the opening of the free-state legislature. 
 Topeka, anxious to be made the permanent capital of the state, had 
 hastily provided a large, barnlike hall for the occasion. Samuel 
 
118 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Tappan and S. N. Wood paused on the wooden steps of this building 
 to watch the assembling legislators. 
 
 Said Tappan, "Wherever two or three Yankees are gathered to- 
 gether, there they hold a meeting and organize." 
 
 "We're not all Yankees," objected Wood. "Here comes a Hoosier. 
 Hello, Jim." 
 
 Jim Lane had added a buffalo-fur coat above his usual sealskin 
 and calf -skin. A red comforter wound round his head did little to 
 improve his appearance. 
 
 "Thought I'd bring my slimy morass up here and stick it into the 
 hall to see grieving Arthur accept his crown." 
 
 "You don't want to pay too much attention to what these lady 
 writers say," Wood told him kindly. "Tappan, can I believe my 
 eyesr 
 
 Approaching the legislative hall was Sheriff Sam Jones, getting his 
 big form over the snow-packed slithery street with immense dignity. 
 Wood hailed him at once. 
 
 "You wish to arrest me, Jones?" 
 
 Sheriff Jones favored him with a look. 
 
 "I am here simply to take notes," he replied, opening the door 
 into the hall. 
 
 "I say, I'm Tappan, you know," called that young man after him. 
 "You'll find Brooks and Smith inside." 
 
 Sheriff Jones slammed the door. 
 
 In the hall Mrs. Robinson who had accompanied her husband to 
 the session, was happily telling friends, "I managed to change over 
 from calling doctor, 'doctor', to calling him, 'general'. But after 
 today I shall just call him 'the governor' for the remainder of my 
 life." 
 
 "In that you'll be quite right, Mrs. Robinson," replied William 
 Phillips. "There never can be another inauguration in Kansas just 
 like this one. After today he'll be 'the governor' for the balance of 
 his life." 
 
 Sheriff Jones wet a lead pencil between his lips, and dug a nota- 
 tion into the small notebook he was carrying. 
 
 XXI 
 
 "The town reaches to the river, whose further shore is skirted 
 with a line of beautiful timber, while beyond all rises the Dela- 
 ware lands, which in the distance have all the appearance of 
 cultivated fields and orchards, and form a background to the 
 picture of singular loveliness. To the eastward the prairie stretches 
 
A UNION FOREVER 119 
 
 away for eight or ten miles, and we can scarcely help believing 
 that the ocean lies beyond the low range of hills meeting the 
 horizon. The line of travel from the east or from Kansas City, 
 passes into the territory this way. Blue Mound rises in the south- 
 east, and, with the shadows resting over it, looks cool and velvety. 
 A line of timber between us and Blue Mound marks the course of 
 the Wakarusa, while beyond, the eye rests upon a country 
 diversified in surface, sloping hills, finely rolling prairies, and 
 timbered creeks. A half mile to the south of us Mount Oread, 
 upon which our house stands, becomes yet more elevated, and 
 over the top of it passes the great California Road. West of us 
 also is a high hill, a half mile in the distance, with a beautiful 
 valley lying between, while to the northwest there is the most 
 delightful mingling together of hill, valley, prairie, woodland and 
 river. As far as the eye rests we see the humble dwellings of the 
 pioneers, with other improvements. . . ." 
 
 Sara Robinson allowed the ink to dry on her diary while she 
 watched a group of horsemen appear on the California Road where 
 it lay across the summit of Oread. She sat near an open window of 
 her long parlor in the now completed Robinson home. The paper 
 was hung, a pattern of brown leaves on ivory background. Sara's 
 most prized pictures adorned the walls; her books filled the low 
 bookcases; her seraphine and other pieces of furniture, exquisitely 
 waxed, shone with cleanliness. She had achieved a New England 
 abode in the wilderness! 
 
 The hillside nearby was a riot of wild roses, with tall spikes of 
 foxglove, ivory and mauve, swinging their bells in the spring wind. 
 And on every open, sunny slope ripened the wild strawberries. 
 
 "I must fill a basket with them before the noonday heat," reflected 
 Sara Robinson, closing her diary. "The doc— the gen— the GOV- 
 ERNOR enjoys them so with his tea." 
 
 The on-coming riders now left the trail and quickly surrounded 
 the Robinson home. Their leader approached the window where 
 Sara Robinson still clasped her diary. 
 "Robinson at home, ma'am?" 
 
 Sara Robinson answered with firm voice and level gaze, "Governor 
 Robinson is not at home today." 
 
 After the four or five horsemen had peered into every ground floor 
 room they gathered in front of the house. 
 "Wha'd she call him?" 
 "Called him govner." 
 
 This amused them. They sent laughing glances toward Sara as 
 they remounted and rode back the way they had come. A new 
 
120 A UNION FOREV7R 
 
 element in the Lawrence scene, these groups of horsemen in various 
 types of guerrilla costume, who paraded Massachusetts street, or 
 made camps on the slope of Mount Oread. These were the young 
 men recruited in Alabama by Buford, recruited in Florida by Titus, 
 recruited in Georgia by Moon, recruited in South Carolina by 
 Wilkes. They served under the banner with the lone star. 
 
 Sheriff Samuel Jones rode into town accompanied by Larkin 
 Skaggs and a newly appointed deputy, Sam Salters, the three of 
 them under escort of four dragoons. They had with them Haw Haw 
 Chapman, and hypocritically showed him vast attention when they 
 halted in front of the Free State hotel. 
 
 "Mr. Chapman," said Jones in a loud voice, "As the legal repre- 
 sentative of Douglas county, your testimony will have great weight 
 with the committee." 
 
 "O, y od 'es!" agreed Mr. Chapman. 
 
 As usual the Free State hotel was the center of activity. Sitting in 
 the council room on the second floor, the congressional committee 
 of investigation into affairs in Kansas Territory took testimony with 
 the assistance of ex-Governor Reeder. Dozens of persons known to 
 have been active in Kansas affairs had already testified before the 
 committee, and dozens were waiting their turns, coming into town 
 every minute of the day. 
 
 Jim Lane, with his back propped against the hotel wall, observed, 
 "Chapman is a wonderful politician. He can talk an hour, and 
 nobody on earth can testify as to what he was talking about." 
 
 When the laugh had subsided, "You see that Salters," inquired 
 S. N. Wood. "I've got a copy here in my pocket of a pass he issued 
 over on the Wakarusa." Wood passed round the half sheet of paper 
 on which he had copied the military achievement of Salters: "Let 
 this man pass i no him two be a Law and abidin Sittisen. Samuel 
 Salters, depy sherf." 
 
 Jim Lane studied it thoroughly. 
 
 "Damned if Salters wouldn't make a first rate secretary for 
 Haw Haw." 
 
 Both Salters and Haw Haw sensed they were the objects of the 
 laughter that followed. Salters looked angry, Haw Haw appeared 
 pleased. Skaggs with Salters rode away up Massachusetts street, 
 accompanied by the dragoons, while Jones escorted Haw Haw into 
 the hotel. 
 
 The Lawrence men returned to a discussion of the proclamation 
 just issued by President Pierce. Memorialized by the free-state 
 citizens on the condition of the territory, Pierce had issued a 
 meaningless assortment of phrases, at the end of them declaring he 
 
A UNION FOREVER 121 
 
 should uphold the pro-slavery regime "by the whole force of 
 government." 
 
 "Next to Stephen A. Douglas, Pierce is the leading blight on 
 American freedom. Douglas, of course, is the Benedict Arnold of 
 our time." 
 
 Joseph Savage cut in on Wood to declare, "We have one man 
 in the Senate to answer Pierce. And Douglas, too. I'm waiting for 
 Sumner's speech." 
 
 "All very well to uphold Charles Sumner," replied Wood, snapping 
 his words with his usual vigor. "But we're out here in Kansas. In 
 the heart of the difficulty. And things aren't getting any better. 
 They're getting worse." 
 
 As he spoke Sheriff Jones came from the hotel. He walked up to 
 Wood. 
 
 "You're my prisoner," announced Sheriff Jones. 
 
 Wood glared back at the sheriff. 
 
 "By what authority?" 
 
 "As sheriff of Douglas county." 
 
 "I don't recognize any such authority," Wood told him. "Never- 
 theless, for the sake of peace, I'll go with you. My house is next the 
 hotel here. If you'll allow me to step in there first, I'll go with you." 
 
 "No, sir," exclaimed Jones. "Not on your life. You don't go in 
 there." 
 
 Wood looked what he felt,— outrage. 
 
 "You mean to say you won't allow me to step into my house a 
 minute before I go with you?" 
 
 "That's what I mean to say." 
 
 "Then I won't go with you at all," decided Wood. He walked 
 calmly away, and presently disappeared into the shanty he owned 
 next to the hotel. The enraged sheriff of Douglas county attempted 
 to draw the pistol from his holster, when, to his manifest horror, 
 he discovered his weapon had been skillfully removed while he was 
 talking with Wood. Not one countenance among those he now 
 confronted gave him a clue to the thief. His face dark with rage, he 
 drew a paper from his breast pocket. 
 
 "You see this?" he yelled. "It's the names of forty traitors! And let 
 me tell you I got down the names of those sons-of-bitches captured 
 me during the militia manoeuvres last fall." 
 
 "That was all a mistake, Sam," drawled Jim Lane. "You got inside 
 our lines at night, an' the boys were under orders to bring in all 
 strays." 
 
 "The sheriff of this county is a stray, is he? That's traitor talk." 
 
 He emphasized his words by slapping his paper with his fist. 
 
122 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Give us a look at that paper, Jones," proposed Lane. 
 
 "You'll get to see it in plenty of time. You'll be one to see it," 
 Jones told him, turning away and retreating into the hotel. 
 
 Lane pulled from one calf-skin pocket a bit of sycamore twig 
 with six inches of hemp rope and a cartridge tied to it. 
 
 "Found this at my front door this morning. I'm in some doubt 
 who sent it. I got enemies both sides this fight." 
 
 Larkin Skaggs and Sam Salters approached the home of the 
 editor, John Speer, while their escort of dragoons sat at ease, looking 
 on. Salters thumped the newly hung front door of the Speer home 
 with the butt of his pistol, bringing a frail little woman with bright 
 eyes and a determined mouth to confront him. 
 
 "What is your business here?" she demanded. 
 
 "You Miz Speer?" asked Sam Salters. 
 I am. 
 
 "Miz Speer, we got information you an' your husban' is harborin' 
 a enemy o' the United States." 
 
 "Is that so? Who is this enemy? Franklin Pierce?" 
 
 "No, ma'am. Hit's a feller name o' Smith. Samuel Smith." 
 
 "He's not here." 
 
 "We gotta search your house, ma'am." 
 
 Mrs. Speer looked beyond Salters and Skaggs to the dragoons. 
 
 "I have respect for United States troops. Mr. Smith is not in this 
 house, but if you wish, you may search for him." 
 
 "That's all right, lady. We'll take your word for it. Besides we're 
 just actin' as escort for these civil officers." 
 
 Salters looked uncertain, but Larkin Skaggs blustered forward. 
 He thrust his face toward Mrs. Speer. 
 
 "Out the way, woman." 
 
 Mrs. Speer reached suddenly into the corner behind the door. 
 She brought back a rifle that looked remarkably like one of Amos 
 Lawrence's gifts to the Lawrence military. With cool skill she 
 presented it at the astounded Skaggs. 
 
 "You dirty Missouri Puke," she exclaimed, weeping but only with 
 anger, "will you get out of my doorway? Or shall I blow you out 
 of it?" 
 
 Later in the day one of the dragoons got drunk. 
 
 "Never been 'shamed United Stash service till now," he told 
 all comers. "Never been on sush vile work before." 
 
 The congressional committee in the Lawrence council room was 
 making progress but slowly at the moment. At a table in one corner 
 
A UNION FOREVER 123 
 
 where the light was good we sat, the correspondents for the big 
 city newspapers,— I gloriously among them through the interest 
 taken in me by William Phillips. He got me on with the St. Louis 
 News. We watched a tall, athletic man in Western homespun, a 
 man with a bottle-brush beard, who was coming with long strides 
 into the council room. He carried a great ox-whip, six feet long, 
 with a lash much longer. The committee were busy examining an- 
 other witness, but the newcomer walked up to their table and 
 demanded in a loud tone, "This the committee from Washin'ton?" 
 Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Well, gentlemen, I 
 heered you was a-wantin' me, an' so I jist come down. You've got 
 my name there, I guess. The feller that come after me had it, I'm 
 Tom Thorpe." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Thorpe," rejoined Mr. Howard of the committee, bowing. 
 "We are engaged at present, examining this witness. Will you please 
 take a seat until we are ready for you?" 
 
 "Edzackly, of course. You see I ben a-drovin' cattle over here on 
 the Wakaruse. Got a fine lot of 'em, too. An' the boys tole me you'd 
 be after me an' ketch me. I tole 'em I didn't give a damn. So when 
 that feller come for me, I jist concluded I'd step over an' see what 
 you did want. Tom Thorpe ain't afeard— " 
 
 "That is all perfectly right, Mr. Thorpe. As soon as we are dis- 
 engaged we shall be happy to examine you." 
 
 "I'm from Platte county, myself. I live . . ." 
 
 At this point the gentlemen of the committee conferred together 
 in low tones. Evidently realizing that the cheapest investment they 
 could make of their time involved examining this witness in order to 
 get rid of him, they asked the other witness to stand aside for the 
 moment. 
 
 "Mr. Thorpe," asked Mr. Howard of the drover, "will you be 
 sworn?" 
 
 "Oh, sartin. I'm willin' to swar to all I'm a-goin to tell you. I tell 
 the truth anyway, myself. But swar away." 
 
 The oath was administered. 
 
 Mr. Howard then asked, "Mr. Thorpe, you are a resident of 
 Missouri. Do you know of any parties coming from that state to 
 vote in the territory?" 
 
 "Lord, yes. Lot's on 'em." 
 
 Mordecai Oliver, member of the committee from Missouri, 
 changed color. 
 
 "Looky here, I sposed you'd want to know first about that 'ere 
 Parkville business. I was there, an' I seed it all. That was a mighty 
 mean business. I tole the boys at the time, I says, when that young 
 
124 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 wife clung to her husband, I says, it ain't right to tear the clothes off 
 a minister. I didn't hold with 'em using tar an' feathers on him 
 either. Editors, yes. Preachers, no. After they blacked his face, they 
 set him on a raft. . . ." 
 
 "Mr. Thorpe," interposed Mr. Howard, "the attack on that 
 Episcopal minister in Parkville is out of our jurisdiction. However 
 much we may condemn that outrageous . . ." 
 
 "Oh, Lord, yes. It was a mighty mean thing. I was down on it 
 myself. I tole 'em there, that day, I was down on it. I'm pro-slavery 
 myself,— there's no abolition in me. But that's cuttin' up a little too 
 high. I'm down on all them fixin's, an' I jist tole 'em. . . ." 
 
 "Mr. Thorpe," interrupted Mordecai Oliver, "will you please 
 confine yourself to the subject on which we may question you? 
 Did you reside in Missouri in March of 1855?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. I've been in Platte county more 'n twenty year. I've— " 
 
 Mr. Howard asked, "Do you know of any Missourians going over 
 from your neighborhood into Kansas to vote at that time? In March 
 of 1855?" 
 
 "Lots an' slavers on 'em. Stop! Let me get this straight." Thorpe 
 turned to the clerk of the committee, Mr. Lord, who was taking 
 notes. "Looka— here, I want t' see you keep this straight. What you 
 got there?" 
 
 The clerk read: "To Mr. Howard:— I have known lots of people 
 who came over from Missouri to Kansas to vote." 
 
 "Well, now, Mr. Clerk, scratch that out. Tell you what it is boys," 
 he explained to the members of the commission, "I got to keep this 
 mighty straight. I come from Platte county myself. I got to give an 
 account of this business to the boys when I go back. I ain't afeered. 
 I tell yuh, I'm down on this thing o' votin' over in the territory, as 
 much as you dar be. But I cain't swar to what I don't know. I 
 wa'n't in the territory to see all they done. There's no mistake about 
 it, boys, but they voted. But you see I cain't swar to it." 
 
 Mr. Sherman of Ohio exchanged a glance with ex-Governor 
 Reeder. Sherman leaned forward to say, "Only swar to what you 
 know." 
 
 Mr. Howard made a fresh start. 
 
 "You will please state if you knew of large parties going from the 
 state, at the time of the territorial elections, into the territory? And 
 whether such parties returned afterwards?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, they did. Any amount of 'em. They used to keep the 
 roads busy, an' the ferries, too, 'bout that time. An' they used to 
 raise companies to go. An' raise money for to keep 'em at it. Come 
 to me to subscribe, but I tole 'em I was down on this thing o' 
 
A UNION FOREVER 125 
 
 votin' over in the territory. I tole 'em Tom Thorpe didn't subscribe 
 to no such fixin's. They jawed me, too, about it. But I guess they 
 found out ole Tom Thorpe could give as good as . . ." 
 
 "Mr. Thorpe will you please state at what time you found these 
 men thus coming and going? If you remember it, give us a date. 
 Or tell us at which of the territorial elections." 
 
 "Oh, they swarmed every time. They come, an' they kep' 
 a-comin'. Whenever they was an election in the territory, they war 
 a-fussin' round. Gittin' up companies to go. Gittin' hosses an' 
 wagons, all them fixin's. They used to ax me to go, but I tole 'em—" 
 
 Mr. Oliver cut in severely. 
 
 "Witness, you will please state how many persons you may have 
 seen going or coming this way." 
 
 "They all come. The hull possitatus on 'em. It was gineral, kinder. 
 Be a heap sight easier fer me to tell you who didn't go over than 
 who did." 
 
 Mr. Howard asked, "Can you give the names of any of them?" 
 
 "Hell, yes. Jem White, an' Bill Bowers, an' Bob Murphy . . ." 
 
 "Stop!" begged Mr. Lord. "Not so fast." 
 
 "Well, looka here, I guess they ain't no use givin' all them names. 
 I ain't got a first rate memory myself, to mind all on 'em. Less I 
 was to git some time to study on it. Tell you what, they was lots 
 on 'em. More'n you'd want t' put down in that there book." 
 
 "Witness, do you know what induced these men to do this?" 
 
 "Well, I guess they felt like it. Some o' the folks did persuade 
 the boys to go over an' vote. Tole 'em they wanted to make Kansas 
 a slave state. Tole 'em the abolitionists war a-comin' in. Said the 
 Emigrant Aid Society an' Company war a-pitchin' in, an' they better 
 pitch in, too. You see, they took the boys over, an' they got plenty 
 o' liquor, an' plenty to eat. They got over free-ferry, too. They did 
 say— now I ain't a-goin' t' swar to this, cause I don't know— but they 
 did say they gin some on 'em a dollar a day to go. Well, 'twan't a 
 very busy time, an' most of 'em liked the joke anyhow. You see 
 they was a heap o' respectable folks went with 'em. There's Doc 
 Tibbs, lives over in Platte, he used to go. An' you see how they 
 'lected him. The boys tole me one time, when they came back, says 
 they, 'We've 'lected Doc Tibbs to the legislater'. I says, Is it the 
 legislator to the state or the territory?' 'Hell,' they says, 'the ter- 
 ritory.' 'Boys,' I says, 'ain't this a-puttin' it on too thick. . . ." 
 
 "Is this Doctor Tibbs the W. H. Tibbs whose name is on the list 
 of territorial legislators?" interrupted Mr. Howard. 
 
 "Don't know, I'm sure, but I do know Doc Tibbs was elected to 
 the Kansas legislater. An' was over makin' the laws, too. That was 
 
126 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 in July, an' our 'lection come on in August. Some the boys wanted to 
 run Doc for an office in Missouri; but others thought it wouldn't 
 work well for him to try to hold office both in the state an' in the 
 territory." Thorpe swung on Mr. Lord. "Looka here, young man, 
 I want you to keep all this straight. Read over that thing you've got." 
 
 "I'll read it over when you get through." 
 
 "You see, we used to have some fusses. When they was puttin' 
 that 'Piscopal preacher on the raft, I says, 'Boys, this is a mighty 
 mean trick', an' Doc Tibbs, says he, 'Shut up, you damned ole fool'. 
 An' I says—" Tom Thorpe broke off suddenly, glancing toward the 
 corner where we were busily engaged with pad and pencil. Thorpe 
 leaned confidentially toward Mr. Howard, speaking in what he 
 probably considered an undertone. "Look-a here, I did speak darn 
 sharp to the doc, an' I don't want t' use any bad words afore them 
 smart members o' Congress." 
 
 As by one impulse we newsmen bent closer to our writing. None 
 of us ventured to look at a confrere, or at any member of the 
 audience hanging on the scene. 
 
 "Never mind those smart members of Congress," rejoined Mr. 
 Howard. "They can bear anything you say." To the clerk he added, 
 "Don't, of course, put down any of this Parkville matter." 
 
 "Well, I couldn't think o' usin' such words a-fore 'em. Upshot of 
 it was, Doc an' I got to fightin' . . ." 
 
 An interruption now brought aid and comfort to us reporters. 
 Several of us were going purple in the countenance. Sheriff Jones, 
 accompanied by Sam Salters, walked into the council room. He 
 walked up to Andrew Reeder. 
 
 "Andrew J. Reeder?" he demanded. 
 
 "You know I'm Andrew Reeder." 
 
 "Andrew J. Reeder, you're under arrest." 
 
 We reporters half rose to get a better view of the scene, while 
 the members of the Congressional committee stared first at Reeder, 
 then at Jones. The ex-governor was the first to speak. 
 
 "This man is sheriff of the county, and I believe he is also a 
 United States marshall. And a postmaster over in Missouri, too, if 
 I am correctly informed." 
 
 "I've met Mr. Jones," said Howard. "Why are you arresting the 
 ex-governor?" 
 
 "Contempt of court," replied Jones, producing a writ. The com- 
 mittee members gathered close to examine it, while everyone in the 
 room bent forward unconsciously, taking a vicarious part in the 
 examination. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 127 
 
 "Reeder, do you have any idea what this is all about?" asked 
 Howard. 
 
 "I certainly do not." 
 
 "I suppose you didn't refuse to come with me yesterday? Up to 
 Lecompton? When the grand jury wanted you for questioning?" 
 demanded Jones. 
 
 Reeder suddenly sent a hand into his trouser pocket and drew 
 forth a legal paper. 
 
 "I'll be damned," he muttered. "I did get some sort of sub- 
 poena yesterday. But I explained to you," he exclaimed, turning 
 to Jones, "that my citation to appear before this commission goes 
 ahead of any territorial matter." 
 
 "We are not a court of adjudication on that matter, Mr. Reeder," 
 put in Mordecai Oliver. "My impression is the court has a right to 
 arrest you." 
 
 "You are wrong, sir," cried Mr. Sherman. "His right of exemption 
 from such arrest is guaranteed by the Constitution of the United 
 States." 
 
 Reeder was staring coldly at Jones. 
 
 "In any case I refuse to comply with this writ," he announced. 
 "More particularly as I believe my life would not be worth a 
 minute's purchase price if I were fool enough to place myself in the 
 power of the Law-and-Order party. Make an attempt to take me, 
 sir, at your peril. I shall resist as any man does who believes his 
 life is forfeit." 
 
 A murmur ran through the room. Several hands were seeking 
 pistol pockets. We at the reporters' table wrote madly, not to miss 
 one precious word. 
 
 "I suppose," said Mr. Howard, looking sternly at the deputy 
 marshal, "this is not an attempt to insult or interrupt the commis- 
 sion. I scarcely think that could be possible. If it is such an attempt, 
 if the commission is to be molested, we have the power to call to 
 our aid a sufficient force, and we will send any party who may 
 disturb us to Washington to answer to the charge." 
 
 Jones saw that this was not his hour. 
 
 "Andrew J. Reeder," he said, red-faced with anger and chagrin, 
 "I am a witness, and Mr. Salters, here, is a witness with me, that 
 you have willfully resisted a writ of arrest for contempt of court." 
 
 Swinging on his heel, he left the room, followed by Salters. 
 
 All attempts at a demonstration by the audience were immediately 
 hushed by the sergeant-at-arms. Examination of witnesses continued 
 for another hour. By that time it was being whispered throughout 
 the room that Jones had gone, not to Lecompton where the ter- 
 
128 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 ritorial grand jury was in session, but down to Franklin for a 
 reinforcement of border ruffians. And a rumor was invading the 
 council chamber that Sheriff Jones had forty names on his now 
 beginning to be famous paper, and that these forty would be im- 
 mediately taken in custody for treason. 
 
 XXII 
 
 Choir practice in the Robinson parlor as Sara Robinson at the 
 seraphine modulated into Toplady's famous hymn. 
 "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee;" 
 sang the choir members, but tonight their attention was not 
 centered. The effect was ragged. 
 
 "Oh, this won't do," cried Sara, resting her hands on the keys. 
 
 "We'll be all right Sunday," promised Forest Savage. "That is, if 
 we sing. Any of us may be on Jones's list." 
 
 The choir members laughed at this sally, then started and the 
 women members shrieked, as a knock came on the outer door. 
 
 "Don't let me frighten you," called Samuel Tappan. He came in 
 carrying his rifle. "Mrs. Robinson, I need to write a letter. I'll give 
 it to Wood to mail for me. If he gets through, the letter will." 
 
 Presently he was seated at Sara's desk, a supply of paper and a 
 good quill before him. 
 
 "Jones came into town at dusk under an escort of ten soldiers," 
 he told the choir members. "He's spending the night in Lieutenant 
 Mcintosh's tent. We'll know by this time tomorrow who are to be 
 arrested." 
 
 "All of us probably," replied Sara Robinson. "Shall we try that 
 hymn once more? And do put your minds on it." 
 
 The hymn was sung, this time to the complete satisfaction of the 
 hostess, and the choir members departed on a note of laughter. 
 Ordinarily no one would court arrest, but Sheriff Jones had let it 
 be known, "forty leading citizens," and one scarcely liked to be 
 left out of such a count. The sound of cheerful voices died away 
 down the eastern abrupt face of Oread. Sara Robinson came back 
 to her parlor and sank tiredly into one of her pretty chairs. She 
 sighed. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Tappan, looking off his writing. 
 
 "I suppose I am getting discouraged. There has been too much 
 prosperity in America. Love of power and love of wealth may prove 
 the grave of freedom." 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 129 
 
 "Come! That isn't like you. You always keep the balance of us in 
 heart." 
 
 A cautious knock interrupted them. 
 
 When Sara opened the door S. N. Wood walked in. 
 
 "I've been down into town," he began. 
 
 "Where you have no business to be," chided Sara. "Why can't 
 you stay up in your dugout where you're safe? Till you leave." 
 
 "Jones is shot." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "An hour ago. He was spending the night with one of the 
 dragoons in a tent on Rhode Island street. Someone made a noise 
 outside. Jones stepped to the tent door, and a person unknown put 
 a bullet into him." 
 
 "Is he dead?" 
 
 "Worse luck, no. Whoever did the job should be indicted for 
 being such a poor shot." 
 
 His questioners stared at him. 
 
 "I suppose," remarked Tappan, "that doesn't happen to be you?" 
 
 "From the expression on your faces I can see right now the honor 
 will be all mine. I hope I should have proved a better shot." 
 
 Sara Robinson took the long view. 
 
 "This will be a terrible affair for Lawrence. Oh, if only we were 
 better prepared to defend ourselves?" 
 
 The two men sobered, beginning to consider the issues involved. 
 
 "The ruffians will clamor for our hides now," agreed Samuel 
 Tappan. "In fact, the more I study the matter, I wouldn't be 
 surprised—" 
 
 What he had to say died on his lips. A quick, imperative knock 
 on the outer door was repeated after a brief interval. Sara was 
 the first to recover. "You'll have to get away," she whispered to 
 Wood. "We must look out the back way first, to see if the house is 
 surrounded." 
 
 Tappan was already on his way to the kitchen. Sam Wood mo- 
 tioned Sara to carry away the lamp. When he was left in darkness 
 Wood went to the window, flattened himself against the wall and 
 peered cautiously into the night, a night brightened somewhat by a 
 half -made moon. Then he laughed. 
 
 "It's my wife." 
 
 Mrs. Wood came in swiftly. 
 
 "They're looking for Sam," she told Sara Robinson. When she 
 saw her husband she exclaimed, "I don't care if you did kill him. 
 It was the right thing to do." 
 
130 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Sam Wood took Margaret by the shoulders. 
 
 "Listen to me," he said firmly, "I didn't shoot the sheriff." 
 
 "Didn't you? Then who did?" 
 
 "That I do not know." 
 
 "I went up to the dugout," Mrs. Wood told them, "and when I 
 didn't find either of you, I knew you must be here. Sam, you'll have 
 to be out of the neighborhood before morning." 
 
 She had brought a few travel comforts for her husband, and what 
 money she had on hand. 
 
 "I saw William Phillips. He and the scout Pelathe are crossing 
 to the Delaware Reserve as soon as the moon sets. Mr. Phillips says 
 Pelathe can guide you north into Nebraska Territory. You can get 
 to Ohio from there." 
 
 "And leave you here, I suppose." 
 
 "Just until Congress hears the result of the investigation. Then 
 they're sure to force some decent action from Pierce. I'll be safe 
 enough with all the friends here." 
 
 Sara Robinson seconded Mrs. Wood. Tappan added his plea. 
 "You're too valuable a citizen of the territory to end with a rope 
 round your neck." 
 
 While they debated, voices in earnest talk came nearer up the 
 eastern hillside, the Quincy street approach. 
 
 Sara exclaimed, "The doc-the gen-THE GOVERNOR!" 
 
 Charles Robinson ushered in ex-Governor Reeder and two mem- 
 bers of the commission. They had Mr. Lowry, formery secretary to 
 Reeder, and Mr. Lord, clerk of the commission, with them. 
 
 Said Mr. Sherman, the gentleman from Ohio, "Wheel!" 
 
 Said Mr. Howard, the gentleman from Michigan, "Your hill, 
 Mrs. Robinson, is quite a climb." 
 
 Both these gentlemen looked uncomfortable when they saw Wood 
 and Tappan. They would infinitely prefer,— such is the way of 
 politicians,— not to know the whereabouts of these fugitives. While 
 they found seats Samuel Tappan said to Sara in an undertone, "I'm 
 going to picket outside. I'll give notice in time of any alarm." 
 
 He went out carrying his long rifle. 
 
 "Mr. Wood is positively leaving after midnight," announced Sara 
 Robinson when the room was settled. "For the Nebraska line, and 
 then for Ohio." 
 
 "The very best thing he can do," declared Robinson. "This last 
 development will bring added troops. If they start searching the 
 hillside, we can scarcely hope to keep the dugout a secret." 
 
 "What about you?" asked Wood. "Are you going East as 
 planned?" 
 
A UxNION FOREVER 131 
 
 "That's the question we are here to decide. I think I should stay 
 here, but Mr. Howard disagrees." 
 
 "For one thing," cut in Mr. Sherman, "he can speak in various 
 parts of the East. Set this unbelievable struggle before the people in 
 its true light." 
 
 "He can set Franklin Pierce before the people," declared S. N. 
 Wood. "The hollow-hearted, truckling knave. If I do leave for 
 Ohio, it will be to uncover the treachery and imbecility—" 
 
 Mrs. Wood pressed her husband's arm. With difficulty he snapped 
 his teeth on a tirade. Robinson said, "There is one person here who 
 is in more danger than you, Wood. I'm urging Reeder to go East 
 at once." 
 
 "Certainly he's in danger. He better come with me tonight. And 
 Lowry with him." 
 
 Andrew Reeder said nothing, staring down at the Robinson 
 carpet. 
 
 Mr. Sherman remarked, "His services to the commission are 
 pretty well finished. In fact, since this writ is out against him, he 
 may prove more of an embarrassment than a help to us." 
 
 "Nothing must be allowed to interfere with the work of the 
 committee," added Mr. Howard. "We have enough to contend with 
 as it is." 
 
 "Robinson, if you go East," exclaimed Wood, "have the goodness 
 to make your opinion clear on the Sharpe's before you leave. In my 
 opinion, our Committee of Safety is made up of a bunch of molly- 
 coddles. If the marshal or the military from Leavenworth demand 
 those rifles, the committee'll hand 'em over, mark my words." 
 
 "There is such a thing as a Constitutional right to bear arms." 
 Robinson smiled. "I say, keep the rifles and give the invaders the 
 contents." 
 
 When the laugh died, Mr. Sherman turned to Sara Robinson. 
 
 "Mrs. Robinson, Howard and I are counting on you to help us. 
 My wife is ill in bed at the hotel this minute, or she would be here 
 with us. If she can travel, I plan to start her homeward on the 
 morning stage. We want you and Governor Robinson to go with 
 her. Since we're all trustworthy here, I'll mention the reason. We 
 want you to carry the report of the commission to Congress." 
 
 "I don't think," said Sara Robinson, "I quite understand." 
 
 Mr. Howard undertook the explanation. 
 
 "Lord, here, has two packets of the testimony already taken. One 
 is the sworn testimony. But he has a second packet, copies of the 
 sworn papers. Now these copies we are going to put in a mailbag 
 
132 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 openly in the morning. My opinion is they will be stolen before 
 the stage reaches Quindaro." 
 
 "And the sworn testimony?" 
 
 "That goes with your party." 
 
 "You think they would not suspect the governor? Oh, I think 
 they would search him." 
 
 "Probably. That is why we are asking you to carry the packet." 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Samuel Tappan who had been left in charge of the Robinson 
 home, with his dugout always an emergency hiding place, read a 
 letter from Sara Robinson, sent him under cover to William 
 Phillips. Sara wrote from St. Louis. 
 
 "As Governor Robinson and myself were passing down the 
 Missouri river, on our way to St. Louis, and further east, upon 
 affairs of business, we were taken off the boat at Lexington, at 
 the instigation of lawless men, they pretending that Governor 
 Robinson was fleeing from an indictment. He assured the gentle- 
 men, some eight or ten in number, who gathered about our state- 
 room door, opening upon the guard, that such was not the case; 
 that he had heard of no indictment; that his whereabouts, whether 
 in Lawrence or elsewhere, were at all times known; that if the 
 marshal had desired to serve such a process upon him he could 
 easily have done so, and he should have made no resistance. He 
 told them also that he would never think to escape from an 
 indictment for a political offence; and, had he been doing so, of 
 all places he would have avoided the Missouri river and Lex- 
 ington. 
 
 "Upon the statement of a gentleman, that the delay in leaving 
 the boat, as the crowd had found the bar, and were drinking 
 freely, only added to Governor Robinson's danger of personal 
 violence, he said, 'Let me see the crowd, and I can shortly con- 
 vince them that I am not running away from arrest; then I can 
 continue on my journey'. To which the reply was given that he 
 would be in immediate danger of mob violence. It was also 
 insisted upon, as a means of safety, that we pass out on the guard, 
 in leaving the boat, while the exasperated people, a 'cabinfuli' 
 of them, should be unaware of our departure. A carriage was in 
 readiness to take us to the town. We were quartered in the 
 house of a Mr. Sawyer, who kindly offered his house as a place 
 of safety, the night guard about the house alone reminding us of 
 the fact that Governor Robinson was a prisoner. I omitted to 
 
A UNION FOREVER 133 
 
 mention, in its proper place, that the gentlemen on first coming 
 to the stateroom said they had been talking to the crowd for 
 fifteen minutes, trying to persuade them to leave the boat, but 
 that none would be satisfied unless he remained in Lexington 
 until they could learn whether an indictment was out against 
 him; while others cried, 'Drag him out/ To Governor Robinson's 
 suggestion that, if he was running away from arrest, he could see 
 no grounds for another state to interfere, one of the gentlemen 
 replied, 'He did not wish to get into an argument,' etc. Governor 
 Robinson is retained as a prisoner, while I am allowed to pass on." 
 "She'll get the testimony through," said Tappan. He read by the 
 
 light of a dark lantern placed on the Robinson kitchen table in a 
 
 manner that one bright beam only penetrated the dark, and that 
 
 beam shone away from the kitchen window. William Phillips and I 
 
 sat across the table from him. 
 
 "Have you shown this to the committee?" 
 
 He referred to the Lawrence Committee of Safety. 
 
 "I showed them my own letter," replied Phillips. "But we learned 
 
 today Robinson was brought up the trail and is held at Lecompton. 
 
 I got that advice from the agent who brought me Donaldson's 
 
 proclamation." 
 
 "Have you a copy of the proclamation?" 
 
 For answer Phillips drew a paper from his wallet. Tappan seized 
 
 it, read it in the lantern ray. 
 
 PROCLAMATION 
 
 "To the people of Kansas Territory: Whereas, certain judicial 
 writs of arrest have been directed to me by the First District 
 Court of the United States, etc., to be executed within the County 
 of Douglas, and whereas an attempt to execute them by a United 
 States Deputy Marshal was evidently resisted by a large number 
 of the citizens of Lawrence, and as there is every reason to 
 believe that any attempt to execute these writs will be resisted 
 by a large body of armed men; now, therefore, the law-abiding 
 citizens of the territory are commanded to be and appear at 
 Lecompton, as soon as practicable, and in sufficient numbers for 
 the execution of the law. 
 
 "Given under my hand this 11th day of May, 1856. 
 
 "J. B. Donaldson, United States Marshall for Kansas Territory. 
 
 "P.S. No liability for expenses will be incurred by the United 
 States until its consent is obtained. J. B. D., U. S. M." 
 
 "Yes," murmured Tappan, "the law-abiding have responded nobly, 
 they're all over this hill." 
 
134 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "But not one on the townsite today," I said. 
 
 "What do you make of that?" 
 
 "The Committee of Safety thinks Mrs. Robinson has reached 
 Washington. And Washington has called off the pro-slavery forces." 
 
 "You don't think that?" 
 
 "I'm afraid," I said, "Lawrence business men are letting their 
 hopes govern their logic." 
 
 Phillips added, "I doubt if Washington could call off these 
 guerrillas since Jones was shot." 
 
 "How is Jones?" 
 
 "Well enough. He was probably only winged. The folly of turning 
 him over to Stringfellow's brother for treatment! Half the Missouri 
 papers insist he is dead. The balance attribute his recovery to the 
 skill of Doctor Stringfellow. Works with good effect either way. 
 Leak did a good job." 
 
 "Leak!" 
 
 "Leak." 
 
 "You mean the pro-slavery forces had Jones shot?" 
 
 "News hawks get hold of precious items they can't use. Where 
 the necessary proof involves danger to agents. Don't look so 
 horrified. The pro-slavery forces are prepared to sacrifice every- 
 thing . . . except slavery." Phillips walked to the kitchen door, paused 
 with his hand on the knob. "Tappan, I'm going to scout around 
 outside. When I know the coast is clear, I want you to walk over 
 with Lew and me to your dugout. Sleep there tonight! Mrs. Robin- 
 son's guest room may be more comfortable, but the dugout is safer." 
 
 After we left Tappan in the dugout Phillips and I hurried down 
 the hill to a meeting of the Lawrence Committee of Safety. The 
 people of Lawrence who, as a general thing, wished to defend the 
 town, had dispensed with the first committee as being too mild. 
 They had elected a new committee. Of the new committee, George 
 Dietzler plumped for fighting, while Carmi Babcock reserved his 
 decision. The other members were even less inclined to defense 
 than the old committee. Had Jim Lane been there, he might have 
 turned the tide; but Lane disappeared during the night that saw 
 the departure of S. N. Wood. Gossip said Lane met Wood some- 
 where north of the Kaw, and traveled with him to safety. Before 
 leaving, Lane characterized the Lawrence Committee in his own 
 way. 
 
 "They remind me of the Russian woman who kept throwing her 
 babies out of the sleigh to feed the wolves. And I figure myself to 
 be the baby the Lawrence Committee would part with first." 
 
 The committee broke up that night without developing either 
 
A UNION FOREVER 135 
 
 strategy or tactics. When daylight came Mount Oread swarmed 
 with ruffians. Cannon were trained on the business district of 
 Lawrence. Ruffian leaders had seized the Robinson home for head- 
 quarters. A crimson flag with a white star rippled on the spring 
 breeze above the dwelling of the first governor of Kansas. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 The Reverend Ephriam Nute of the Unitarian church, and S. Y. 
 Lum, Congregational minister, stood together on Massachusetts 
 street, looking up at Oread where the invaders were lining up by 
 companies. All Lawrence was gazing, the stores deserted, house- 
 work at a standstill. 
 
 Said Doctor Nute, "They are raising a United States flag beside 
 that Southern rights banner." 
 
 "There is always reassurance in the Stars and Stripes," observed 
 Doctor Lum. "Perhaps they intend to proceed without violence." 
 
 At this moment United States Marshal Donaldson came riding 
 up Massachusetts street with an escort of ten guerrilla chiefs. 
 Donaldson's services in organizing his Red Shirts had been re- 
 warded by his appointment as a marshal. Now he was anxious to 
 stir up enough activity to justify the office. When he saw Lum and 
 Nute he reined in beside the two ministers. He called to them, "I 
 hereby command you to assist me in the service of writs on Lawrence 
 traitors." 
 
 Doctor Nute looked at Doctor Lum; Doctor Lum looked at 
 Doctor Nute. Then they both turned to look at Marshal Donaldson. 
 
 "You heard me, didn't you?" asked Donaldson. 
 
 "Sir," replied Doctor Nute, "there are no traitors in Lawrence." 
 
 "Speaking for myself," announced Doctor Lum, "I shall give you 
 no aid in your endeavors against the well being of any Lawrence 
 citizen." 
 
 "You speak for me also, Brother Lum." 
 
 "It's that ink-snot parson!" 
 
 Larkin Skaggs who was among Donaldson's riders, raised a 
 screech. 
 
 "Leave me at him!" 
 
 "That'll do, Lark. Hold him, Fletch." 
 
 "All right, I got him." 
 
 "Fletch Taylor's a-holdin' him. Crazy bastard." 
 
 Now came hurrying the proprietors of the Free State hotel, 
 S. W. Eldridge and his brother, pushing through the gathering 
 crowd. 
 
136 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Donaldson, if you have writs to serve, we appointed a committee 
 last night to help you. Who do you want to serve?" 
 
 "I have writs here for the arrest of one George Dietzler and one 
 Samuel Smith, for seditious acts against the United States of 
 America." 
 
 "They will give themselves up, sir. It is all arranged." 
 
 Standing on the edge of the crowd I caught a fragment of talk. 
 Two young men, they were named Cook and Lenhart, were watch- 
 ing the scene, faces convulsed with scorn. 
 
 "Let's get our nags," said Cook to Lenhart. "Ride over to the 
 Blackjack. Join Old Brown. He's a man." 
 
 Twenty minutes later they were riding out of town, not the first 
 to depart. Almost to a man the Stubs, when they learned the 
 committee intended no defense of the town, left Lawrence, taking 
 their Sharpe's with them. They marched to join a company from 
 Osawatomie whose captain was John Brown, Junior. This company 
 had been on its way to Lawrence to reinforce the Stubs in defend- 
 ing the city. 
 
 "No, suh. Ah freely feel to say Ah don' like what's takin' place 
 heah. That's a lady's pariah in theah. Wheah those plain drunks 
 a-spittin' they tobacco juice on the cahpet. An' what business they 
 got to rummadge into huh dressah draws? Ah ask you, is this wah?" 
 
 The speaker, a tall son of Virginia in the red shirt of Donaldson's 
 men, stood outside a window of the Robinson parlor, scowling at 
 what he saw between Mrs. Robinson's looped-back damask drapes. 
 His companion, a slender youth with a cynical cast to his face, 
 looked into the Robinson parlor and laughed at what he saw. A 
 drunken ruffian had found the coat to a dress suit. Struggling to 
 don it over his flannel shirt, he had burst it open at the under arm 
 seams. Another ruffian was solemnly fashioning a sash for himself 
 from one of Mrs. Robinson's curtain cords. 
 
 "Look, Virginia," said the cynical youth, "if you don't like border 
 fighting, whyn't you get some work to do?" 
 
 "You know Ah can't wuk. Ah nevah wukked a day in mah life." 
 
 "Buy a nigger. Let him work for yuh." 
 
 "Buy a black? Lissen, boy, if Ah had the money to buy a black, 
 Ah'd have the money fo' a ticket to Vuhginia." 
 
 Reporters were privileged. Indeed we were welcomed by the 
 pro-slavery leaders. Hustling over the hilltop in my efforts to cover 
 every angle of my story, I paused beside the Red Shirts to look into 
 what was left of the beautiful parlor. Buford and his Alabamians 
 
A UNION FOREVER 137 
 
 were arriving from Lecompton. Among them the Virginia Red Shirt 
 found a fresh source of annoyance. 
 
 "Will you kin'ly tell me who that gentleman is with the ribbons 
 on his hat? An' some mo' braided in his hoss's tail?" 
 
 "That's Captain Pate," replied his companion. 
 
 "Who's he?" 
 
 "He's a book writer. Comes from Cincinnati." 
 
 "Ah purely don' like his drapin' himself with ribbon." 
 
 "Look here, Virginia, you don't like some these men because they 
 wear dirty shirts, an' don't never shave. Then you get mad because 
 Pate fixes himself up some with the red, white an' blue." 
 
 The Virginian continued his plaint. 
 
 "Back in Vuhginia Ah was tole we would have real fightin' out 
 heah. With one dollah peh day. So Ah thought Ah'd save mah 
 fightin' wages. An' when ouah side came off victorious, Ah'd take 
 up a claim, send home fo' a couple hands. But Ah nevah have seen 
 no fightin' wages, an' only time Ah was any place neah to a fight, 
 a nice lady drove huh team right through the lines. She was a nice 
 lady, but she shuah spoiled ouah fight." 
 
 Marshal Donaldson now came riding up Mount Oread with such 
 of his original escort as remained faithful to him. Larkin Skaggs 
 and others were looting Lawrence homes. A crier began riding 
 about among the invaders. 
 
 "I am authorized to say that the marshal has no further use for 
 you, thanks you for the manner in which you have discharged your 
 duties; asks you to make out a statement of the number of days of 
 service with affidavit, and you shall be paid. 
 
 "Now, gentlemen, I summons you as a posse of Sheriff Jones. 
 He is a Law-and-Order man, and acts under the same authority 
 as the marshal." 
 
 And here, amid tremendous ovations that swell and rise to blue 
 heaven, comes that triumph of medical and surgical skill, Sheriff 
 Sam Jones, so lately dispaired of as the victim of a sniper's bullet. 
 Jones himself, erect and smiling as he acknowledges the cheers. 
 
 "Boys, before we march into Blue-Belly Town, General Atchison 
 has something to say to you." 
 
 General Atchison is slightly unsettled by the day's potations, it 
 being now nearly three o'clock in the afternoon. He attempts to 
 mount one of the cannon trained on Lawrence, but finds this a 
 difficult task. After slipping down several times, he manages what 
 he evidently believes to be a dignified pose. 
 
 "Boys, this day I am a Kickapoo Ranger, by God. This day we 
 
138 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 have entered Lawrence with Southern Rights inscribed upon our 
 banner, and not one damned abolitionist dared to fire a gun." 
 
 "Now, boys, this is the happiest day of my life. We have entered 
 the damned town, and taught the damned abolitionists a Southern 
 lesson they'll remember till the day they die. And now, boys, we 
 will go in again with our highly honorable Jones, and test the 
 strength of that damned Free State hotel. We will teach the 
 Emigrant Aid Company that Kansas shall be ours. 
 
 "Now, boys, ladies should and I hope will, be respected by every 
 gentleman. But when a woman takes upon herself the garb of a 
 soldier, by carrying a Sharpe's rifle, then she is no longer worthy of 
 respect. Trample her under your feet as you would a snake! 
 
 "Come on, boys! Do your duty to yourselves and your Southern 
 friends! Your duty I know you will do. If one man or woman dares 
 to stand before you, blow them to hell with a chunk of cold lead!" 
 
 One matter troubled Atchison. 
 
 "Those blue-bellies were too damned easy," he said several times 
 on the slow winding march round Oread to the foot of Massachu- 
 setts street. "I believe that report about Massachusetts street is true. 
 We don't want them to blow us to hell." 
 
 Arrived at the point where the trail crossed the lower end of 
 Massachusetts street, Atchison ordered a halt. As he peered owlishly 
 up the street his fear began to infect those around him. 
 
 "Stringfellow has a man in the town," he muttered to Jones. 
 "Where the hell is he?" 
 
 A rather more than soiled ruffian was sidling up to Atchison's 
 horse. Unshaven for days he yet bore recognizable traces. 
 
 "The cannon is buried undah a shanty nawth of the Free State," 
 he told Atchison. "The Stubs mahched out of town befo' daylight. 
 They took the Shahpe's with 'em." 
 
 Atchison swore. 
 
 "What about those mines in the street?" 
 
 "That's a tale stahted by Jim Lane befo' he fled." 
 
 "You sure?" 
 
 "Ah'll walk beside yo' hawse up the street." 
 
 Before the Free State hotel Jones importantly took charge. He 
 called for the Committee of Safety, and these gentlemen appeared 
 very promptly from their retreat in the council room. 
 
 "Gentlemen," announced Sheriff Jones, "I have writs here for the 
 arrest of two murderers being harbored in this town." 
 
 Murderers? The members of the committee exchanged wan, 
 inquiring glances. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 139 
 
 "I call upon you to surrender the persons of S. N. Wood and 
 Samuel Tappan." 
 
 Carmi Babcock asked, "On what grounds do you base your 
 charge of murder?" 
 
 "On or about April 17th last," read the sheriff from a paper he 
 held, "one S. N. Wood resisted arrest in front of the Free State 
 hotel, Lawrence, Kansas Territory, and was aided in escaping the 
 law by certain citizens of that town. Later in the day, on the same 
 date, one Samuel Tappan, a citizen of Lawrence, on being ap- 
 proached by the sheriff, struck the sheriff, felling him to earth, and 
 during the confusion, Tappan escaped arrest. Sheriff Jones left 
 Lawrence, but returned under an escort of ten dragoons, and 
 stopped for the night in the tent of Lieutenant Mcintosh, when the 
 said desperadoes Wood and Tappan did feloniously fire upon him, 
 v/ounding him severely, and this act was plainly done with intent 
 to kill." 
 
 "You have proof that Wood and Tappan fired at you?" 
 
 "I got all the proof I need," replied Jones. 
 
 Babcock shrugged and was silent. 
 
 "But neither Tappan nor Wood is in town. They left, and haven't 
 been seen," expostulated Samuel C. Pomeroy, agent for the Emi- 
 grant Aid Company. 
 
 "I further call upon you to surrender any and all Sharpe's rifles 
 in this town, and to surrender a cannon we know you received from 
 an Eastern editor, a seditious, unprincipled scoundrel named Horace 
 Greeley." 
 
 Jones looked from one to another of the committee and men 
 gathered round to support them. Everywhere he was met by folded 
 arms and stony gazes that went past his broad shoulders. Speedily 
 he grew red in the face. He took out his watch. 
 
 "I will give this community five minutes to produce that cannon." 
 
 Samuel Pomeroy, lacking the fire of his principle, Eli Thayer, 
 gave way. 
 
 "I never did think we should accept that cannon," he blurted 
 out. "I'll show you where it is." 
 
 He led them behind the Wood shanty and obligingly flicked the 
 dirt away from the wooden platform that covered the cannon. Old 
 Sacramento was hauled forth amid howls of glee from the invaders. 
 
 Pomeroy's folly at once became all too plain. 
 
 "Boys," called Jones, "set this cannon across from this damned 
 hotel. Load her up! We got orders to level this hotel as the head- 
 quarters of sedition in this territory." 
 
 While the ruffians hastened to obey, the Eldridge brothers 
 
140 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 hastened to protest. Sheriff Jones ordered them to remove their 
 furniture within an hour. This, they declared they could not do. 
 The hotel was a large building, three full stories and basement. 
 On orders from Atchison gangs of ruffians now began to hustle and 
 smash the furnishings into the street. 
 
 Meanwhile Buford's men had undertaken the destruction of the 
 newspapers. Presses were going down Massachusetts street to the 
 river. Type strewed the thoroughfare. Banners soon floated over 
 the buildings that had housed the papers. One banner bore the 
 inscription, "South Carolina". Another boasted, "Supremacy of the 
 White Race", on one side and, "Kansas the Outpost", on the other. 
 The largest was being stretched where all could read: 
 "You Yankees tremble, 
 And abolitionists fall; 
 Our motto is 
 'Southern Rights to all'." 
 
 Ruffians had scattered in every direction through the town. The 
 various captains rode in advance of their men, ordering women and 
 children to leave the city. With no time to rescue even money or 
 jewels the women were driven away, some in tears, but others 
 spiritedly telling the ruffians what they thought of Southern chivalry. 
 
 Now began the sack of the city. 
 
 It is related that H. C. Pate confined his prize hunt to several 
 boxes of fine cigars. One of these boxes he presented to Atchison 
 who declared it was sufficient reward for all his trouble and toil in 
 connection with sedition. Pate rode up and down the main streets, 
 making his horse dance and sidle, while his patriotic ribbons 
 fluttered on the breeze. He urged the invaders to get into the shops, 
 help themselves to anything they could use. One tall young fellow 
 in the red shirt of a Donaldson man, when so urged by Pate, replied 
 gently, "You bettah get into a ladies' sto' yo'self, suh. Get yo'self a 
 good stock o' ribbons. Take plenty fo' yo'self, suh, whilst yuh got 
 the chance." 
 
 He met Pate's eyes steadily. Pate's eyes fell, and he danced his 
 mount away from the encounter. 
 
 At last the hotel furnishings lay heaped and sprawled in Mas- 
 sachusetts street. Two lines of ruffians held their rifles at present 
 while the Eldridge carriage passed between them carrying the 
 Eldridge family and such effects as they had hastily gathered in 
 their arms. 
 
 Atchison aimed the first shot from Old Sacramento at the hotel. 
 The worthy ex-Vice President of the United States was rather too 
 tipsy to win laurels as a gunner. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 141 
 
 "A little higher, boys! A little lower. Higher! That's it, boys. Now! 
 Let 'er rip!" 
 
 The ball missed the hotel altogether, going clear over it. Lawrence 
 could not resist raising a small cheer. The next gunner put a ball 
 through the cornice. Fifty rounds followed, and at the end of all 
 this firing the hotel looked little the worse. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you this is a fortification built to defy the United 
 States troops?" yelled Jones to Atchison who was rather weary 
 and proposed they now adjourn. 
 
 Undeterred, Jones had four kegs of powder brought and set 
 inside the lobby. When these were fired into, the building soon 
 became a satisfactory mass of flame. As the flames roared ever 
 higher and more wild, Jones removed to a safe distance and leaned 
 against his horse to contemplate the spectacle. His eyes glistened. 
 He said over and over, "This is the happiest moment of my life." 
 
 H. C. Pate rode down Massachusetts street and turned into the 
 California Road after a tall, young figure taking the down trail 
 toward Missouri. 
 
 "Where in hell do you think you're going?" Pate called. 
 
 One hand on his revolver, the tall youth swung round on the 
 beribboned Pate. 
 
 "Where you going?" 
 
 "To Vuhginia." 
 
 Pate sat his horse watching as the Red Shirt strode purposefully 
 along the trail until he disappeared behind bushes strung with 
 spring greenery. 
 
 In the rosy dusk of evening the rear guard of the ruffian army 
 disappeared over the California Road where it climbed the final 
 summit of Mount Oread. 
 
 Presently came Samuel Tappan in a furtive manner from the 
 hillside bushes. With a swift glance in every direction he gained the 
 comparative safety of the shattered Robinson home, stood looking 
 at the foully desecrated long parlor where every sort of violence,— 
 shattered picture glass, torn books, overturned chairs and tables, 
 slashed draperies and filthy carpet,— turned him sick. While he stood 
 trying to assess the damage, he caught the odor of smoke. Gaining 
 the upper floor by leaps, he found one of the choice cigars pilfered 
 by Pate and more recently left burning by the noted but fuddled 
 Atchison,— left burning in the center of Sara Robinson's guestroom 
 bed. 
 
 Tappan caught up the burning mattress and bedding. He stag- 
 gered with them to the window. Out they went, down on the wild 
 
142 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 roses below. Looking about hurriedly to assure himself he had 
 found all the fire, the young man ran down the stairs. He took a 
 glance, in passing at Sara's parlor furniture. "Perhaps we can clean 
 and mend part of it." He ran outside and used his stout boots to 
 stamp fire out of mattress and bedding. Voices alarmed him. He 
 dived into the bushes as a party of stragglers came whooping 
 drunkenly after their comrades, laden with what had been, that 
 morning, the treasures of some Lawrence home. 
 
 Night fell. 
 
 Sometime after Tappan's departure flames burst from the windows 
 of the Robinson home. Unchecked, they mounted higher and 
 higher, blotting out forever from Sara Robinson the desecration of 
 her pleasant treasures. At any other time the burning of the gover- 
 nor's mansion would have brought all Lawrence up the hill. On 
 this night, as the dazed citizens tried to restore order to their own 
 dwellings, tried to assess loss and damage, the holocaust on the 
 hill was but one phase of the general nightmare. When morning 
 dawned there remained of the Robinson home only smoking ashes 
 to mark the vandal passing of border ruffianism. 
 
 XXV 
 
 Atchison and his men, the Platte County Rifles, rode down 
 Massachusetts street on their way to the ferry. Coming to himself 
 to find only a handful of the invaders left, he had been forced to 
 ride to the southern outskirts of Lawrence, to request permission of 
 the citizens to cross the townsite. The Lawrence committee granted 
 this permission! 
 
 Atchison, tall and muscular, his face marked by recent dissipa- 
 tion, buttoned his coat and pulled his hat over his eyes as he 
 passed the smoking ruins of the Free State hotel, and the ruins of 
 a certain shanty that had stood next the hotel. 
 
 Margaret Wood stood at this point with Lorinda Brown. 
 
 "Yes," remarked Mrs. Wood in audible tones, "trample her as 
 you would a snake, boys." 
 
 Brazenly she displayed a Sharpe's rifle to Atchison. 
 
 Mrs. Brown was in Lawrence to gather up what comforts she 
 could to carry to Lecompton where her husband was held with 
 Robinson, Dietzler and others. Intrepidly, she had demanded to be 
 allowed to ride with Brown from Kansas City to the concentration 
 camp in Lecompton. She recounted her experience to Mrs. Wood. 
 
 "So this big ruffian,— dirty, hulking brute,— put his head in the 
 carriage window. I saw he had a pistol trained on Mr. Brown. Quick 
 
A UNION FOREVER 143 
 
 as a flash I thought of you. My pocket pistol was out, right in the 
 ruffian's face. 'Put your pistol on the carriage seat/ I told him. 'Get 
 out of here, and don't come back. My husband will go to Lecompton 
 to be held for treason to Franklin Pierce and the Southern aristoc- 
 racy. But you're not going to kill him on the way'. My dear, we had 
 no further trouble." 
 
 Atchison's column gained the river, put their one cannon on the 
 ferry, plunged their horses into the shallows, and presently dis- 
 appeared into the dense timber on the northern bank. 
 
 They left behind them Haw Haw Chapman. 
 
 Haw Haw who drove a carriage heaped high with odds and ends 
 of military equipment, discovered that one of his horses had a 
 loose shoe. Two good a stable man to drive the animal under such 
 a condition, he stopped at a blacksmith shop near the ferry. 
 
 "Say! Aren't you ole Haw Haw Chapman?" 
 
 Haw Haw turned from an inspection of the blacksmith's work to 
 confront two half grown boys. They were Herb Winchell, nephew 
 of the Eldridges, and his friend Arthur Spicer. 
 
 " 'Es. I 'Aw 'Aw," that politician admitted. 
 
 "Sa-ay, you better get out of this town," young Herb told him. 
 
 "You're goin' t' get lynched," added Arthur Spicer, wagging a 
 solemn head. 
 
 Haw Haw failed to observe a grin spreading on the face of the 
 blacksmith. He was in his carriage, gathering up his lines as the 
 blacksmith bestowed a final tap on the shoe. 
 
 "The Ladies' Rifle Corps is coming for you," exclaimed Herb. 
 "They're goin' t' drag you through the streets. Then they'll lynch 
 yuh. Throw your body in the river for the buffalo cats to feed on." 
 
 Haw Haw struck his startled horses with the end of a line, 
 repeating and repeating; this attention as they plunged into the 
 California Road, headed for Franklin. 
 
 Kansas City in May of 1856 was a straggling village of less than 
 one thousand inhabitants. Its business houses were contained in 
 two blocks, located on a narrow strip of level ground between the 
 river and the bluff. Streets were yet to be. A graded approach down 
 a ravine to the levee presaged Main street. Against the bluff stood 
 the American House, a four-and-a-half-story brick structure with a 
 steeple that carried a bell to be rung at mealtimes. The third floor 
 of this hotel could be gained by stepping from the face of the bluff. 
 Always crowded by the influx from the East, the lobby now was 
 thronged with Buford's men. 
 
 Major Jefferson Buford, a lawyer of Eufala, Alabama, had ad- 
 
144 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 vertised in the Southern press for men of steady purpose and good 
 character to come to Kansas Territory to there maintain Southern 
 rights. A great enlistment followed, with a send-off of prayers and 
 Bibles from well intentioned persons who were persuaded they 
 were being patriotically correct. There was no appeal made to 
 homeseekers; and as it is in the highest degree unlikely that persons 
 of exalted character and steadiness of purpose will leave their daily 
 pursuits to travel hundreds of miles in search of adventure, it is not 
 surprising that Major Buford's men comprised some of the first 
 rakehellies of the Old South. Westport and Kansas City, at first 
 receiving them with open arms, began to deplore their presence. 
 As one business man declared, "Just: keeping them in liquor would 
 exhaust the mint." 
 
 Shortly before the supper hour on the evening following the sack 
 of Lawrence, Colonel Eldridge stood in the lobby of the American 
 House. He had followed his family to Kansas City during the night, 
 accompanied by half a dozen of us who had to get our stories to our 
 papers. Having had a tipoff, Watch the American House, I now 
 stood listening to the colonel. 
 
 "You may have heard that General Pomeroy and I came out here 
 together last year. After we left St. Louis on a Missouri river boat, 
 it looked as though the packet might get frozen into the winter ice. 
 So we landed and made the balance of the trip to Kansas City in 
 a hired rig. While we were riding along Pomeroy got his big 
 inspiration. 'Have you noticed,' he says, 'how every man of any 
 standing out here has a military title? I never saw so many colonels 
 and majors in my life. You and I will go further and fare better if 
 we adopt a military designation'. 'All right, General Pomeroy,' I 
 says, 'please address me from this out as Colonel Eldridge'. We 
 began at the next tavern to introduce one another by our new titles. 
 And darned if it hasn't worked!" 
 
 Sensing tenseness in the colonel and in his brothers, I had been 
 making myself quietly observant. I caught scraps of low voiced 
 conversation. 
 
 "Absolutely necessary to get him out of here. We've got to devise 
 some means—" 
 
 James Eldridge said, "We have to wait for the J. M. Converse. 
 There isn't another boat on the river—" 
 
 "Did you see that old blunderbuss I bought this afternoon?" 
 interrupted the colonel. "Looks wicked, but it's liable to explode 
 in my hands." 
 
 They looked toward the front doors. 
 
 "I don't like that noise outside." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 145 
 
 A third Eldridge brother hustled in from the street. 
 
 "What is it, Edwin?" 
 
 "H. Clay Pate with a posse. Says he intends to search the hotel." 
 
 The colonel set his jaw. 
 
 "Shall we submit? Or make a stand?" 
 
 "Defend our rights." 
 
 James nodded assent to Edwin's decision. 
 
 At this moment the supper bell began to ring. A general stampede 
 all but cleared the lobby. 
 
 "Hold Pate here. Parley with him." 
 
 The colonel walked up the stairs with a calmness that gave way 
 to haste as he turned the corner of the stairs. He knocked on the 
 nearest door. Andy Reeder opened it narrowly. He said, "I've been 
 making my will. Like a lot of other men, I've always put it off." 
 
 "They're after you," said the colonel. "We're going to make a 
 stand at the foot of the stairs." 
 
 From my place behind the colonel I saw that Reeder was 
 throwing off his coat and waistcoat. He caught up a revolver and 
 a knife. 
 
 "If they overpower you," he said, "retreat up the stairs. I'll do 
 my best." 
 
 Colonel Eldridge just laid a hand on the ex-governor's shoulder 
 before he raced for the stairs. I waited for Reeder, I planned to 
 take at least one ruffian between the eyes. Pile him back on his 
 fellows. The Eldridge brothers took casual positions near the foot 
 of the stairs. Edwin and James examined their revolvers. The 
 colonel laid his blunderbuss on the third stair, ready to hand. They 
 had only a moment. Pate pushed through the doors, accompanied 
 by Haw Haw Chapman. 
 
 James Eldridge met them, all politeness. 
 
 "You wish supper?" 
 
 "We've come to search this hotel for an American traitor. Andrew 
 J. Reeder." 
 
 "You've been a guest yourself in this hotel, Captain Pate," pro- 
 tested Edwin Eldridge. He stepped between the captain and the 
 stairs. "Your privacy and your rights were always safeguarded here. 
 We expect to do the same by all our guests." 
 
 Colonel Eldridge walked across the lobby and planted himself 
 on the stairs. 
 
 "We looked after your safety and comfort," he said. "Do you 
 expect us to allow you to come in here and annoy our guests?" 
 
 "I tell you, I'm after a traitor." 
 
146 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Have you a search warrant?" inquired James Eldridge, joining 
 the colonel on the first stair step. 
 
 "How about it, Haw Haw," put in the colonel. "Got a warrant?" 
 
 "Oh, y 'od, no." 
 
 Pate had turned to motion to his posse. 
 
 "I don't need a search warrant," he declared. "Out of my way!" 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 Colonel Eldridge seized the old blunderbuss from the stair step. 
 He swung it to present. 
 
 "The first one of you to set foot on these stairs is a dead man." 
 
 The command to halt was so well obeyed that Pate fell back 
 against Haw Haw. 
 
 "What does this mean?" he blustered. 
 
 "It means you need a legal process to search these premises," 
 replied James Eldridge. 
 
 "You ve got Reeder up above. We mean to get him." 
 
 "You'll find trouble at the head of these stairs, sir," said the 
 colonel sternly. "More of a reserve than you care to face." 
 
 Pate wheeled suddenly on his detail. 
 
 "Come on, men. We've got other work to do. We'll come back 
 this way." 
 
 A contingent of Buford's guerrillas surrounded the steps of the 
 American House to hear a noted Southern spellbinder on the 
 perennial subject of "white rights". An Irish laborer in faded blue- 
 jeans walked noisily down the stairs inside, and through the lobby. 
 The battered felt on his head, the clay pipe in his mouth, the bundle 
 swung from a stout stick across his shoulder, and the ax in his hand, 
 proclaimed the woodchopper. More than one eye studied him. A 
 flophouse on the levee, it seemed, might be the range of his purse, 
 rather than the only first class hotel in the neighborhood. 
 
 The woodchopper took the one vacant place in the crowd seated 
 on the hotel steps, a place just vacated by Edwin Eldridge who 
 continued to stand close by. Sending out clouds of smoke from his 
 clay, the woodchopper listened attentively to the speaker. After 
 some ten minutes, at a break in the speech, the woodchopper stood 
 up, walked slowly away down the levee. Three minutes later Edwin 
 Eldridge and his wife walked out on the bluff from a rear door on 
 the third floor of the hotel. Between them they carried a heavy 
 valise. 
 
 "I don't like you going on this expedition," protested Edwin 
 Eldridge. 
 
 "Edwin Eldridge, I can stand anything better than I could stand 
 
A UNION FOREVER 147 
 
 waiting for you to come back. We must hurry." 
 
 They set off up the gully that today is Delaware street. Once 
 or twice they passed a stray citizen on the hurry to attend the 
 speaking in front of the hotel. When this happened the wife pulled 
 her voluminous skirts across the valise. From the highest point on 
 the bluff they looked downward to a point a mile away. A long 
 mile of slipping and stumbling lay ahead of them, with the valise 
 always growing heavier. Only the noises of insects broke the 
 countrylike silence of the May night,— with now and then a faintly 
 heard cheer from the crowd at the speaking. The clay bank was 
 cruelly hard in some places where the sun had baked it. Again, it 
 was suddenly a slippery bit of treachery left from the spring rains. 
 At last, tired, dirty, over-heated, they reached the point fully agreed 
 upon. 
 
 Edwin Eldridge, listening more acutely, it is probable, than at 
 any time in his life, before or after this event, whistled,— a low 
 signal previously agreed upon. There was no answer. After waiting 
 and whistling half a dozen times, he whispered, "I'm going back 
 up the ravine a little way." 
 
 "I'm going with you," promptly declared his wife. 
 
 Leaving the valise behind a convenient clump of sumac, the two 
 began an upward climb. Almost at once the woodchopper rose 
 from some bushes, his ax upraised. 
 
 "It's Eldridge," said Edwin hastily. 
 
 Consulting his watch Edwin waited a few minutes. Then, leaving 
 his wife with the woodchopper, he felt his way along the darkness 
 on the river's edge below. A signal agreed on, the faint call of an 
 owl, was exchanged many times. Both sides were afraid of a trap. 
 At last a skiff shot out from under a clump of willows. Edwin 
 Eldridge and the skiff oarsman met. They went together up the 
 ravine. Mrs. Eldridge was weeping. "Let us know as soon as you 
 are where you'll be safe," she begged. A moment later Edwin 
 Eldridge and his wife were left alone. They had only to listen until 
 they heard the sound of oars. 
 
 Down the Missouri a few miles there was an out-of-the-way land- 
 ing where men of the woodchopping occupation frequently hailed 
 the river streamers for short rides from one chopping station to 
 another. Our chopper had smoked two pipes after being left at this 
 landing, before his anxious watch upstream was rewarded. The 
 "J. M. Converse," bound for St. Louis, steamed into sight. Captain 
 Bowman caught the signals the woodchopper made with his glowing 
 pipe. Bowman leaned out of the pilot house as the "Converse" 
 
148 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 slowed and stopped and threw down her plank with a rattle and 
 thump. 
 
 "Get aboard, you old scalawag," trumpeted Captain Bowman 
 through his hands. "I won't wait for you two minutes." 
 
 The woodchopper took the plank in three of four long strides; he 
 disappeared into some dark corner of the boat. Only then did I 
 emerge in an old rowboat from the deep shadows of water weeds. 
 I rowed silently back to the Kansas City levee, tied up the leaky 
 craft I had borrowed, went into the American House lobby. Casual- 
 ly I made for the desk and Colonel Eldridge. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Absolutely well. Reeder is gone." 
 
 XXVI 
 
 I got off a path that crossed the path near Prairie City. 
 
 An hour's struggle in the pathless deep wood followed, when I 
 admitted to myself that I was lost. I drew rein, thinking to get my 
 bearings by a glance at my watch first, and then at the sun. 
 Suddenly, thirty paces in front of me, a wild looking man appeared 
 from behind a sumac clump. 
 
 "Hello! You're in our camp." 
 
 The newcomer was a man of fine proportions. He carried a large 
 Arkansaw bowie knife and had half a dozen pistols of various sizes 
 thrust into the belt that held up his pantaloons. He wore a pair of 
 red-topped boots, and a coarse blue shirt. His uncovered head 
 showed long, tossed locks. In his left hand he swung a water pail. 
 As he came up to me, and I had time to note a rolling eye, he 
 exclaimed excitedly, "What are you doing in our camp?" 
 
 "I'm a reporter," I answered quietly. "Come to interview Captain 
 Brown. You're his son, aren't you? Frederick Brown?" 
 
 "Be careful what you do and say," replied Frederick Brown 
 fiercely. "There are sentries behind all these trees." 
 
 "Will you take me to your father?" 
 
 Frederick studied me thoroughly. 
 
 "I came out for a pail of water," he remarked finally. "I'm going 
 to the spring. You may follow if you like." 
 
 He set off running, occasionally leaping high in the air, shouting 
 and singing bits of hymn tunes. I set my horse to follow, not a 
 difficult task as Frederick Brown wasted some time leaping back 
 and forth from bank to bank. Coming at length to where a spring 
 gushed from the roots of an oak that overhung the creek, he filled 
 his pail, after first stooping to drink deeply. This done, he turned 
 
A UNION FOREVER 149 
 
 back on his path. I urged my horse after him, but not too closely, 
 just keeping him in sight. Three times during the next ten minutes 
 a young man appeared suddenly from behind a tree, rifle in hand, 
 took a good look at me, evidently recognized me as a friend of 
 William Phillips, and disappeared as suddenly as he had come. 
 I was allowed to proceed into a sizable clearing. 
 
 My first attention was caught by a great, blazing fire in the center 
 of the clearing, then by a tall man who stood near the fire, carefully 
 roasting a piece of pork skewered by a long-handled fork. A large 
 pot on the fire sent forth steam and fragrance, wreathing the man's 
 figure while he gave competent attention to the meat. Kneeling 
 across the fire from him, August Bondi tended the fire to keep it in 
 a bright blaze and prevent its smoking. At the edge of the clearing 
 beyond the fire, a woman of neat, wholesome appearance gathered 
 blackberries from the heavily loaded sprays that helped seclude the 
 clearing. A youth with a long rifle did sentry duty, and ten or 
 twelve young men were mounting spirited horses, evidently out- 
 ward bound. 
 
 I took in the scene, then centered my gaze on the man with the 
 meat. Old John Brown, as he was called to distinguish him from his 
 son John, wore a suit of some very durable cloth. This suit was 
 conspicuously clean, as was his linen; but his shirt was frayed at 
 the wristbands, and his shoes had noticeable holes at the toes. He 
 was clean shaven, and he wore his hair short, brushed neatly away 
 from his forehead. He gave me a keen glance from his grey eyes, 
 and a friendly, "How do you do, sir?" 
 
 I said, "I'm Hanback, sir, of the St. Louis News. I had a time 
 finding your camp." John Brown shook hands with me. I laughed. 
 "They say that when John Brown wishes to hide himself, no one 
 can find him. I begin to believe that, sir." 
 
 The young men filed away by a bridle path I had not noticed 
 until their departure called my attention to it, so concealed was it 
 by greenery. I watched their departure while I explained my 
 presence to John Brown. 
 
 "Captain Brown, my editor wishes me to interview you about 
 the Pottawatomie affair." 
 
 John Brown examined the pork critically before answering. 
 
 "I have nothing to say about the Pottawatomie massacre." 
 
 Brought to an impasse, I was saved embarrassment as the woman 
 gathering berries came forward with a full basket. 
 
 "My daughter-in-law, sir. The ruffians who arrested my two sons 
 offered insulting remarks to her and her sister, and threatened to 
 
150 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 return and do worse. So we thought it better to have them share 
 our greenwood." 
 
 The young woman smiled, acknowledging my bow. She took the 
 pail from Frederick Brown and set about the task of stewing the 
 fruit. I was narrowly observing Frederick. The young giant had 
 subsided abruptly when he reached the clearing. At the mention of 
 the massacre he had fallen into a study, knitting his brows pain- 
 fully, his eyes on the ground. August Bondi, meanwhile, fixed his 
 dark, sad eyes on me, I thought entreating me to silence. Through 
 my mind what was known and what was conjectured of the Pot- 
 tawatomie affair went racing, while I stared at Frederick Brown or 
 glanced at his father. 
 
 After the successful and undefended sack of Lawrence various 
 pro-slavery settlers concluded the time was now at hand to drive 
 the free-state settlers from their homes in the territory. Of these 
 pro-slavery settlers five known leaders met in a home near Dutch 
 Henry's Crossing on the Pottawatomie to complete plans for an 
 attack on the free-state settlers and their families. In some way, 
 perhaps through a farmhand or a servant girl, their meeting was 
 known to free-state settlers. A party said to number eight men broke 
 in suddenly on the plotters. All five were seized, their hands bound 
 behind them. Taken to the trail a short distance from the house, 
 they were summarily shot. Rumor said they had enjoyed a brief 
 trial, were condemned, and executed only after they were adjudged 
 guilty. This was the Pottawatomie massacre. 
 
 Captain Brown spoke suddenly. 
 
 "I was not involved in the Pottawatomie affair. But, remember, 
 young man, I do not say this to exculpate myself. Although I took 
 no hand in it,— I was here in camp at the time,— I would have advised 
 it had I known the circumstances. As it is, I endorse it." 
 
 Watching Frederick Brown, I saw the pained look dissolve on 
 his countenance, saw his shoulders straighten and his eyes worship 
 the elder Brown. Before another word could be said, shouts and 
 laughter from the boys who had filed away into the bridle path 
 came back to the clearing from a distance. Horses approached at a 
 gallop, and presently there emerged from the trees and vines two 
 youths bareback on a handsome matched pair. 
 
 "Cook and Lenhart," exclaimed August Bondi. "What now?" 
 
 Cook and Lenhart slid down from their mounts and stood laugh- 
 ing beside the beautiful horses, each young man holding the rope 
 halter he had used as a bridle. Cook sang out gaily, "Meet Governor 
 Shannon and President Pierce. Captain Brown, this is Shannon's 
 
A UNION FOREVER 151 
 
 carriage pair. We couldn't find the stolen horses we were to look 
 
 for. So we levied on our governor,— during the night." 
 
 Lenhart added, "We've named this one Pierce. And that one is 
 
 Shannon." 
 "We took them from the camp near Franklin." 
 Captain Brown spared a moment from his task with the great 
 
 chunk of pork. He sent Cook and Lenhart a stern glance. 
 "In this camp we receive no stolen property. Do you want us to 
 
 get the reputation of a band of robbers living in the woodland like 
 
 gypsies?" 
 
 I pitied the two young men. They changed color, the smiles fading 
 
 from their faces. After a moment the leader said quietly, "You 
 
 maybe didn't realize how the thing would look. Better take them 
 
 right away. After meat." 
 
 "Where shall we take them?" asked Cook. 
 
 John Brown's eyes twinkled suddenly. 
 
 "Well, son, I guess the best place to take them would be back 
 
 to Shannon." 
 
 August Bondi, beyond a welcoming smile and word, had not 
 
 spoken to me. He now said, "Have you seen a ladt issue of the 
 
 Tripune?" 
 "Not for days." 
 "I am more fortunade than you. Penjamin, my bardner, you recall, 
 
 meeds me in Brairie Cidy with my mail. I have several cobies of 
 
 the Tripune here." 
 
 I seized the newspaper Bondi held out to me, plunged at once 
 
 into an account of Sumner's famous speech. 
 
 "Beginning with the Missouri Compromise of 1821, Senator 
 Sumner rehearsed the entire controversy to the present hour, and, 
 after comparing Douglas to Sancho Panza and Senator Butler to 
 Don Quixote, brought his attack to a flaming peroration in which 
 he said, 'The senator from South Carolina has read many books 
 on chivalry, and believes himself a chivalrous knight, with senti- 
 ments of honor and courage. Of course he has chosen a mistress 
 to whom he has made his vows, and who, though ugly to others, 
 is always lovely to him; though polluted in the sight of the world, 
 is chaste in his sight: I mean the harlot Slavery. 
 
 " 'Let her be impeached in character, or any proposition be 
 made to shut her from the extension of her wantonness, and no 
 extravagance of manner or hardihood of assertion is then too 
 great for this senator. The frenzy of Don Quixote in behalf of his 
 wench Dulcinea del Toboso is all surpassed. 
 
 " If the slave states cannot enjoy what, in mockery of the great 
 
152 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 fathers of the Republic, he misnames equality under the Constitu- 
 tion,— in other words, the full power in the national territories to 
 compel fellow men to unpaid toil, to separate husband and wife, 
 and to sell little children at the auction block,— then, sirs, the 
 chivalric senator will conduct the State of South Carolina out of 
 the Union! Heroic knight! Exalted senator! A second Moses come 
 for a second exodus! 
 
 " 'As the senator from South Carolina is the Don Quixote, so 
 the senator from Illinois is the squire of Slavery, its very Sancho 
 Panza, ready to do its humiliating offices. This senator, in his 
 labored report,— piling one mass of elaborate error upon another 
 mass,— constrained himself, as you will remember, to unfamiliar 
 decencies of speech. Standing on this floor, the senator issued his 
 rescript requiring submission to the usurped power of Kansas; 
 and this was accomplished by a manner all his own— befitting the 
 tyrannical threat. 
 
 " 'The senator dreams that he can subdue the North. He dis- 
 claims the open threat, but his conduct implies it. How little that 
 senator knows himself, or the strength of the cause which he 
 persecutes! He is but mortal man: against him is immortal 
 principle. With finite power he wrestles with the infinite, and he 
 must fall. Against him are stronger battalions than any marshalled 
 by mortal arm,— the inborn, the ineradicable, the invincible senti- 
 ments of the human heart; against him is Nature with all her 
 subtile forces; against him is God. Let him try to subdue 
 these 
 
 At this point I deserted the speech of Senator Sumner to seize 
 another copy of the Tribune held ready for me by August Bondi. 
 From this paper I hastily gleaned the main facts of the attack on the 
 senator from Massachusetts. Early adjournment of the Senate on 
 Thursday after . . . the senator from Massachusetts remains at his 
 desk writing letters . . . long legs beneath his desk . . . Preston S. 
 Brooks, a member of the House from South Carolina . . . carrying 
 heavy cane made of gutta-percha . . . walks up behind senator . . . 
 blows on head and shoulders until heavy cane breaks . . . senator's 
 legs entangled under desk . . . with his gigantic strength wrenches 
 desk from floor . . . rises, only to fall unconscious . . . reported Senator 
 Douglas party to the attack . . . waiting in lobby . . . victim's heavy 
 head of hair probably saved his life ... his blood drenched clothing 
 of men who finally came to his rescue . . . condition grave . . . Willard 
 hotel . . . 
 
 When I had satisfied my first curiosity for news of the attack by 
 
A UNION FOREVER 153 
 
 Brooks on Sumner, I postponed a more leisurely absorption of 
 details to draw August Bondi aside. 
 
 "Truth is," I began in a lowered tone, "I came here only partially 
 to interview Captain Brown about that Pottawatomie affair. Some- 
 thing has happened that he must know." 
 
 "Something padt," suggested Bondi. 
 
 "Yes, bad. Those dragoons who took Jason and John Brown to 
 Lecompton, seems they drove the two Browns ahead of their horses 
 on foot and in chains. All day in the heat. The exertion, and the 
 worry over what might be happening to his family was too much 
 for John. When they got to Lecompton he was raving in his irons. 
 
 August Bondi carefully controlled his face and voice. 
 
 "Led us waid undil afder the meal, pefore we dell the fader. 
 Drouble strikes more keenly ad an embty man." 
 
 The sunlight loved the clearing as John Brown offered grace 
 before meat. The sentries came in two at a time, took their rations 
 quickly and carried them from sight into the deep thicket. 
 
 "Someone is coming!" 
 
 John Brown lifted a hand for silence. Everyone listened. A sound 
 of footsteps on leaves and twigs came from the path I had so lately 
 followed with Frederick Brown. After a waiting interval a group of 
 as widely dissimilar human beings as I have ever seen together 
 came into the clearing. Center of the group was a tall, muscular 
 colored woman, decently dressed in a full-skirted gown, a deep 
 bonnet and a handsome shawl. In her arms she carried a colored 
 child of some three or four years. Walking on either side of her 
 were three young white men. Captain Eli Snyder lugging a corded 
 box brought up the rear. 
 
 I began to grin at one of the young white men. 
 
 "Edwin Morrison!" 
 
 He had to study me a moment,— I had changed considerably,— 
 before he could exclaim, "Lew Hanback!" 
 
 While we shook hands the colored woman was announced briefly 
 by Snyder. 
 
 "Here she is!" 
 
 John Brown shook hands with the woman. He took the child, a 
 small boy dressed skillfully in a fashionable roundabout, a cloth cap 
 and copper-toed boots. "So now you are a free man! What is his 
 name?" he asked. 
 
 "Moje. He named fo' 'Go Down Mojes'," replied the woman, smil- 
 ing as she saw John Brown skillfully handle the little boy, and the 
 boy duck a pleased, shy face into Brown's shoulder. "We call him 
 Lil Moje." 
 
154 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 She spoke in a rich, incisive voice. Indeed, her personality was 
 that of a woman of force and character as, under a word from 
 Snyder, she told her story. 
 
 "We sellin' out all ouah culled folks to the cotton fields," she said. 
 "On ouah place ovah in Missou'. They was a mighty sighin' an* 
 cryin' in quahtahs. We all knew the unnahgroun' would fetch us 
 into Kansas. If we had the git-up-an'-git to make the try. So Ah 
 determined in mah haht to not give up. One night las' week Ah 
 dressed me an' this lil boy what is all mah flesh an' blood lef to me. 
 We walked out an' down the road to wheah Capn Eli waitin' fo' us. 
 Wasn't a hahd thing t' do. It jes' looked hahd from the front of it." 
 
 John Brown's daughter-in-law had been busy at the fire. Now she 
 came forward smiling, with an offer of hot food. When I saw her 
 minister to the colored refugees, I knew her for a good woman. 
 Captain Snyder strode toward the food manfully. 
 
 "She doesn't want to make the trip to Canady," he told Brown, 
 nodding toward the woman. 
 
 Brown said gravely to the woman, "You would be safer there." 
 
 "No, suh," replied the woman strongly. "Mah place is heah. I 
 want to help mah people. They is such a mort of 'em groanin' in 
 they misery. Ah want to be wheah Ah can help 'em GO!" 
 
 "Could she stay here?" asked Edwin Morrison. 
 
 Brown set the little boy down on the sward as young Mrs. Brown 
 brought the child a plate of hot food. He regarded the woman 
 kindly. 
 
 "If God has put a work in your heart, we have no right to hinder 
 you. But the plans I have in mind make it impossible for me to keep 
 you here. In a few days I hope to have a battle with the ruffians 
 camped above us, at the head of Blackjack slough. I mean to capture 
 as many of them as possible, hold them here as hostages until the 
 invaders leave the territory." 
 
 "That reminds me," said Snyder past a huge bite of pork. "The 
 talk is that Pate says the only fear he has in the world is he may not 
 find you." 
 
 Edwin Morrison introduced his two friends to me as Charles Ball 
 and Chalk Lipsey. I did not have to guess their occupation. Border- 
 educated now, I knew them for agents of the underground. 
 
 "Have you seen Chapin lately?" I asked Edwin. 
 
 "No. I've never been through that way since you brought me 
 along on the coattails of your Virginia relatives." 
 
 "What is your name?" Mrs. Brown asked the colored woman. 
 
 "Well, ma'am, they been call me Auntie fo' a mort o' yeahs. Capn 
 Snydah, he say Ah bettah nevah give mah mastah's name out to 
 
A UNION FOREVER 155 
 
 nobody. An Ah reckon Ah rightly got no name o' mah own. Jes' 
 you call me Auntie." 
 
 XXVII 
 
 The character of the Kansas struggle changed in an hour with the 
 sacking of Lawrence. Buford's army began to melt away. A number 
 of his deep South adherents left in genuine disgust of the outrages 
 they had witnessed in Lawrence. Many Southern editors joined the 
 North in disparaging the event. If we are to defend one sort of 
 property, they asked, why do we destroy and appropriate other 
 sorts? Hundreds of the guerrillas had collected enough loot in 
 money and jewels to satisfy their ambitions. They took uncere- 
 monious leave for home. 
 
 While the pro-slavery organization disintegrated, the free-state 
 forces took to the woods. The actions of the Lawrence committee 
 convinced the more determined element that organized resistance 
 was a thing not to be counted upon. The companies so ardently 
 drilled a year before broke up over night into small bands of 
 partisans, roving the countryside in search of horses and weapons 
 taken by the pro-slavery forces in the Lawrence raid. 
 
 When H. Clay Pate left Kansas City at Haw Haw Chapman's 
 insistence, he had no intention of openly challenging an outraged 
 Lawrence citizenry. Skirting that town he marched up the Wakarusa 
 until he encountered Catullus Calhoun Leak. Leak had news. John 
 Brown, Junior, and his brother Jason were back on their farm, after 
 disbanding their company. Many members of the company had 
 gone back to earning a living, while the younger element were off 
 to join Old Brown. Pate and his company rode to the Brown 
 homestead where they surprised John and Jason and took them 
 prisoners. By a further happy conjunction, they fell in with a 
 detachment of dragoons under a decidedly pro-slavery officer who 
 gladly took over the prisoners, promising to deliver them to 
 Lecompton. Pate, elated by his success, set out to make camp at 
 the head of the Blackjack. 
 
 "Now," he told his men, "we'll take Old Brown." 
 
 The Blackjack, a long ravine something north of the Santa Fe 
 trail, got its name from the small common oaks making a wilderness 
 of its banks. To this ravine came H. Clay Pate and his Westport 
 Rowdies within a few days of the sacking of Lawrence, and made 
 camp at its head. Pate's position was a strong one. Except for a 
 force coming up the ravine, it must be approached over the open 
 
156 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 prairie, a bit of prairie that sloped upward from Pate's camp to a 
 summit without trees. 
 
 John Brown had secured the cooperation of Captain Shore's com- 
 pany from Prairie City. He conferred with Shore before daylight, 
 advising that Shore take the left side of the ravine while Brown and 
 the nine men with him would creep along the right bank. As the 
 Blackjack made a bend near its head, they would thus get the 
 range of the enemy and have him in a crossfire without being in 
 their own fire. Brown carried out his portion of the manoeuvre with 
 his usual exactitude. Captain Shore had other ideas. Rightly feeling 
 the importance of this first battle between free-state and pro-slavery 
 forces, he desired to make for himself a notable record. He took his 
 men round to the prairie, came up over the slope, and marched 
 toward the Missouri camp in the first light of day. Thus he was 
 fully exposed to the enemy fire. 
 
 "Who comes there? What do you want?" cried Pate. 
 
 "When I get my men in line, I'll show you," bawled Shore. 
 
 With that his men poured in a first volley on the Missourians. 
 Pate's men, from behind their wagons, instantly returned fire. 
 Shore's position proved a deadly hazard. His men broke and re- 
 treated up the slope behind them to high ground where they were 
 out of range. 
 
 Captain Brown had posted his men as planned, in a dry gully 
 within rifle range of the Missourians. August Bondi kneeling in the 
 gully and waiting Brown's command to fire, quite suddenly visited 
 a street in Vienna. He and his fellow students were tearing up the 
 pavements to raise barricades. Behind these barricades they would 
 stand off Metternich's trained soldiers. 
 
 Captain Shore's first volley brought Bondi back to Kansas Terri- 
 tory. 
 
 "What now?" demanded Captain Brown when firing ceased as 
 suddenly as it had begun. "Stay low in the gully. Don't give your- 
 selves away. I'll have a look." He strode quickly and carefully to a 
 vantage point, returned and jumped into the improvised trench. 
 "We must open fire right away. Shore's men are engaged." 
 
 When the first fire came from Brown's nine men, the Missourians 
 were heard cursing. "We're whipped!" yelled one of them. Had 
 Shore's men held, the battle would have ended at that point. How- 
 ever, as Shore's men scattered up the hillside, Pate was able to 
 rally his men. They began to return fire on Brown's men in the 
 gully. 
 
 Owen, Solomon and young Oliver Brown were near Bondi in the 
 gully. Further along knelt Henry Thompson, Charles Kaiser, a man 
 
A UNION FOREVER 157 
 
 named Carpenter who was a stranger to Bondi, Wiener who, Bondi 
 thought, was a fellow Jew, and Benjamin Cochrane. Presently there 
 was a tearing sound through the brush, a call of "Don't fire!" from 
 Captain Shore. He and Doctor Westfall, James Townsley and the 
 three Moore boys came tumbling into the gulley. The Moore boys 
 were grim with anxiety. The Missourians had captured their father, 
 an elderly Baptist preacher long known for his abolition sentiments, 
 in Missouri before he came to Kansas. Father Moore was held in the 
 camp of the enemy, where he might be killed by a free-state ball. 
 Or done away with by the enraged ruffians. 
 
 The battle now opened in earnest. 
 
 Brown's force trained every bit of their armament,— Bondi held an 
 1812 musket, and there were but three Sharpe's in the group,— on 
 the Missourians. Potential death, mingling with the dust of the 
 gully and the breeze through the scrub oak, made even the sun- 
 shine awesome. 
 
 Captain Shore observed, "They're in force." 
 
 No one answered him. 
 
 Captain Brown, an emaciated figure crowned with an old plush 
 cap, passed continually up and down the trench, cautioning and 
 advising his men. Occasionally he used a spyglass to inspect the 
 enemy. 
 
 "Keep down, Henry," he admonished his son-in-law. "You'll do 
 no further good to freedom, dead." 
 
 Henry Thompson was continually jumping up for a reconnaisance. 
 Almost before Brown turned away, he leaped up once again, and 
 received a bullet that crumpled him on the rough bottom of the 
 gully-trench. Doctor Westfall supported him away to a hollow 
 under the bank. A few seconds later a bullet struck Carpenter in 
 the upper arm. He crawled away to Westfall for a dressing, came 
 back to report, "Thompson's shot through the lung." 
 
 Captain Shore spoke whiningly. 
 
 "I'm hungry." 
 
 John Brown did not answer Shore,— passing along the line, closing 
 up the gaps left by his casualties, directing his partisans where to 
 fire. 
 
 "Well, boys," announced Shore, trying to speak casually. "I got 
 to leave you. Got to hunt up some breakfast." 
 
 He crawled out of the gully at a point where thick scrub oak 
 veiled his exit, and slunk away. 
 
 The sun grew hotter. Bullets smacked the dust of the gully, now 
 here, now there. Half an hour passed. James Townsley asked 
 
158 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Captain Brown if he might start for Lawrence to fetch ammunition. 
 Brown ignored him, spyglass to the enemy. 
 
 "Townsley's dusted," whispered Owen Brown to Bondi a moment 
 later. 
 
 Nine o'clock came. 
 
 The sun beat down pitilessly into the gully. Captain Brown 
 remarked, studying the enemy intently, "Seems like the Missourians 
 have suffered too. From our fire. They're leaving! Leaving one at 
 a time. We mustn't allow that. We must try to surround 'em. Compel 
 them to surrender." 
 
 Looking along the trench, Brown selected two of the Moore 
 brothers, Wiener and Bondi. This group, crawling down the gully 
 into the scrub at Brown's command, crawled up the bluff with 
 Brown in advance and circled to the south of the Missourians. As 
 soon as they gained this slight eminence, Brown ordered the Moore 
 brothers, "Aim with your carbines at the horses and mules. Don't 
 shoot a man if you can help it. We want to take as many prisoners 
 as possible." 
 
 Immediately the Moore brothers each fired two shots, killing two 
 mules and two horses. 
 
 August Bondi, on his stomach, peering down at the Missourians, 
 could see that this success created consternation in the Missouri 
 camp. Several Missourians were hastily leaving. Captain Brown 
 now drew and cocked his great revolver. "I'm advancing twenty 
 yards by myself," he told his men. "Then, if I wave my cap, you're 
 to follow. Wiener and Bondi, advance first. You boys," he said to 
 the Moores, "come along slowly. If we have to retreat, you're to 
 cover us." 
 
 The eyes of Brown's little force followed him intently as he 
 started. Steadily he advanced, keeping what cover he could but 
 making never a halt. And suddenly Frederick Brown appeared over 
 the summit of the rise, brandishing a great sword as he rallied 
 Shore's lurking forces. 
 
 "Come on, come on!" shouted Fred. "The Lawrence Stubs are 
 just behind!" 
 
 Off came the old plush cap! 
 
 Swung above Brown's head it was the signal to the men on the 
 hill, and also to those in the gully. Those below were to charge 
 when they heard the signal. Charge they did, with as big a yell as 
 they could manage. The four men on the hill came after Brown 
 with great leaps. Before they could cover half the distance between 
 themselves and the Missourians, Captain Pate stepped out in front 
 
A UNION FOREVER 159 
 
 of his men and gracefully waved a white handkerchief. He called 
 out, "We're ready to leave!" 
 
 Brown advanced steadily to within five feet of Pate, keeping the 
 captain covered. He spoke grimly. 
 
 "Our terms," he said, "are unconditional surrender." 
 
 William Phillips had jumped into the gully just before the charge, 
 seizing the long rifle dropped by Carpenter. He rushed up to John 
 Brown who was engaged in disarming his prisoners. 
 
 "Will you do me the honor to shake hands, sir? You're a man 
 without fear. And a military genius." 
 
 Eternal gratitude to John Brown and the little company who stood 
 with him in that ravine! After the sack of Lawrence and the attack 
 on Sumner, the free-state cause hung in the balance. When men's 
 hearts were failing them, John Brown proved that selfishness, reac- 
 tion and tyranny can be defeated in the field by a proper display of 
 energy, courage and common sense. The battle of the Blackjack may 
 be safely rated as one of the decisive battles of the world. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 I left my horse tied to a sapling, and slipped through the under- 
 growth to find the trail into Old Brown's camp. I came on August 
 Bondi seated on a fallen log, in earnest conversation with his 
 partner, Benjamin. 
 
 "So why should one partner be working alone?" demanded 
 Benjamin. "And the other partner, he is living in the woods?" 
 
 "I helb to guart brisoners Cabdain Prown took on the Plackjack." 
 
 "It gets known you are here, never again can I bring another 
 wagonload merchandise through the blockade. Our business is 
 ruined." 
 
 August Bondi's eyes yearned to kindle a spark in his partner. 
 
 "Look, friendt andt bardner, Cabdain Prown holts these brisoners. 
 With them he pargains. Missouri withtraws, obens the plockade." 
 
 "Foolish talk. Missouri would let this Pate and his rowdies grow 
 old in your camp." 
 
 Bondi sighed. 
 
 "Berhabs. Andt berhabs nodt. Some wives andt mothers couldt 
 temant otherwise. I musdt stay. This is the olt struggle come to life 
 I thoughdt was deat. When my barends broughdt me away from 
 Vienna." 
 
 "Since I was little I have worked," mourned Benjamin. "To eat. 
 To sleep without freezing. To cover my body with decent clothes." 
 
 "You musdt dell me thadt? Do nodt my barends make puttonholes 
 
160 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 in New Orleans? For their preat? Has my sisder any fudure, put 
 boverty andt doil? The struggle for preat is always with us. Budt 
 nodt so greadt as the struggle to pe free." 
 
 "When are you coming back to the store?" 
 
 For answer, August Bondi turned on his partner a sad, resolute 
 look. 
 
 "It was on the dwelfdth tay March, eighdeen fordy-eighdt. The 
 Lantdag was sidding in Vienna. Thad was a Suntay, so the mempers 
 of the faculdies andt schools med. We formuladet a pudgedt which 
 our commiddee wouldt bresendt on the nexdt tay to the council of 
 the Lantdag. A bedition, you unterstandt, retress of grievances andt 
 apolishmendt of the audocradic sysdem of governmendt. 
 
 "It was sait thadt Meddernich riticuledt the movemendt. 
 
 "On the Montay, afder my tinner in the Leopoltstadt supurp, I 
 hurriet pack to the cidy gade. I wantet to pe bresend at the attress. 
 I reached the gade,— Rothenthoms Thor,— pefore one o'clock. The 
 gade was clost! Infandry on guart! 
 
 "While I stoot there, a small gade near the pig gade was obened 
 to allow the relief squat to march oudt. Now, in a momendt, a crowt 
 of roustabouds from the harpor ran over the squat. The addack was 
 sutten, the soltiers were unbrebared. The workers ran righdt over 
 them. There we all were, in the cidy brober! 
 
 "As fasdt as my legs couldt carry me, I ran up the Herrongasse. 
 There I bushed to the frondt, mixdt ub with the studendts of the 
 tifferendt schools. The streed was packdt. Unter the palcony of the 
 room where the Lantdag Council was meeding. We shoudet for 
 freetom of the bress, andt for freetom of conscience. Occasionally, 
 'Town with Meddernich!' Somedimes, 'Consdidution! Give us a 
 Consdidution!' 
 
 "Our debudation abbeardt on the palcony. They askdt us to pe 
 quiedt. We complite. In the hush that followt, from a site streed 
 marchdt oudt a paddalion of Czech-Pohemian bioneers. Firsdt in 
 bladoon, then in half-combany column. Less than a hundret feed 
 from the crowt! Andt the bladoon frondt extentet from house- wall 
 to house-wall, across the streedt. 
 
 "The commanting officer stebs to the frondt andt shouds the orter 
 to tisberse. Even the mosdt willingly we couldt nodt move. The 
 eighdy food streed was backed full. The orter, 'Fire!' is given. The 
 frondt ranks tischarge their muskedts,— flindlocks, they were. A 
 tozen teat andt tying fall aroundt me. Heinrich Spitzer, eighdeen 
 years olt. Jewish stutent of the Dechnical school. Only son, only 
 son. Falls, bierced through the heardt, prings me down with him. 
 Another stutendt falls over us both. I hear the payoned charge ortert, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 161 
 
 andt I crawl oudt from unter my deat comrats. Then a Czech 
 strikes me over the heat andt shoulters with the budt of his 
 muskedt. Another Czech savage lunges his bayonedt indo my pack, 
 andt raises me from the groundt. His payonedt is fastendt in my 
 coadt. 
 
 "Well, the payonedt losdt ids holt. I mate dracks with the crowt. 
 We were bushing our way through a narrow streedt like an alley. 
 Strauchgassel. Andt the oudledt of this streedt indo the Michaelis- 
 blatz' was the imberial resitence, the Purg. Two cannon there! In 
 charge of an ardillery sergeandt, Johann Bolledt was his name. 
 Those cannon were loatedt with grape andt cannister. The gunners 
 stood py them with lighdet madches. Andt here we came, crowts of 
 us, fleeing from the Czech bioneers. Here we came bouring indo 
 the Michaelisblatz just as an archtuke,— I forged his name, bud no 
 madder,— gallopdt ub in a general's uniform. Andt he commandt, 
 Tire!' 
 
 "Then thadt Johann Bolledt jumped pefore the muzzle of one of 
 those guns, andt he thuntert, yes, he thuntert to his men, 'Holt! Holt 
 fire! I am in charge here!' Then he turnt do that widdling general. 
 Imberial Highness, rememper! If I fall here, the House of Hapspurg 
 goes down with me!" 
 
 Benjamin stirred. 
 
 "But that is in the Old Country, already long ago, back in the 
 Forties." 
 
 "Fordies or Fifdies, the struggle is always the same." 
 
 There had been, beside me, another unseen listener to Bondi's 
 story. Captain Brown now stepped forward, his usually keen eyes 
 mild as they rested on Bondi. 
 
 "Son, Kagi is back from carrying my message to Colonel Sumner. 
 The colonel agrees to a military conference. I'm going out to meet 
 him. You better show your partner out the back way. He wouldn't 
 want to come from the same direction I do." 
 
 Captain Brown went striding away down the woodland trail; 
 but he turned almost at once and came back. 
 
 "What became of that sergeant who jumped in front of the 
 cannon?" 
 
 "Johann Bolledt? Afder Meddernich fled in the nighdt andt the 
 emberor grandet our requesdts, Johann Bolledt was mate a lieu- 
 denendt. The very nexdt tay he was mate a lieudenandt. He tite 
 in the baddle of Navara." 
 
 This time John Brown strode out of sight. August Bondi dis- 
 covered me, as he turned back to his partner. His dark eyes held 
 unshed tears. 
 
162 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "The same in every coundry, andt in every dime. They are like 
 the delegraph, those ubrighdt lives that carry freetom's currendt 
 town the ages." 
 
 XXIX 
 
 When Bondi and I had seen his partner safely away from camp, 
 we returned to the glade. I walked up to William Phillips, lying 
 on his stomach, reading Captain Brown's copy of Cromwell's 
 "Souldier's Pocket Bible". 
 
 I said in a reproachful way, "I suppose you know I've been 
 mourning you for dead?" 
 
 "Lew! What a shame! You were out of the way when I was 
 indicted. It suits my purpose to have the Missourians think I'm 
 dead. Pelathe brings me reports from my agents. And carries my 
 copy out. A newspaper man can afford almost anything better than 
 being cooped up in prison." 
 
 As Bondi and I joined him on the turf Phillips ran over aloud for 
 our benefit Cromwell's requirements for a soldier: valiant for God's 
 cause . . . put his confidence in God's wisdom . . . pray before battle 
 . . . love his enemies as they are his enemies, and hate his enemies 
 as they are God's enemies . . . consider that God giveth the victory 
 to the few. 
 
 "Cromwell and Captain Brown draw their inspiration from the 
 Old Testament, rather than from the New. From Moses rather than 
 from Christ." 
 
 Flushing suddenly, Phillips fell silent, looking down at the Book. 
 August Bondi replied after a moment, "My barends kebdt a stricdtly 
 Jewish house. But they favort my knowledge of oder religions. I hat 
 reat the New Desdamendt pefore I was eighdt years olt." 
 
 Phillips smiled, stretching out a hand. Those two were friends. 
 
 August Bondi broke the silence that followed. 
 
 "The mardyrtom of Jesus causedt me the same feeling of horror 
 andt bain as the mardrytom of the vicdims of the dyrandt Andiochus 
 Ebiphanes. My father explaindt to me that the rebort in the Chrisd- 
 ian Desdamendt regarting the execution of Jesus py the Jews was 
 merely false. Poth my barendts imbressedt on me that Jews or 
 Chrisdians, high or low, all are chiltren of the same Father." 
 
 Before Phillips could reply Frederick Brown burst into the clear- 
 ing, followed by Charley Lenhart. Fred plunged across the clearing 
 to Phillips and Bondi, knelt close to Bondi. He said in a hoarse 
 whisper, "The dragoons have captured father." 
 
 Phillips looked past the agonized face, to Charley Lenhart. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 163 
 
 Lenhart nodded. 
 
 "They're bringing him in here." 
 
 We swung to our feet. Solomon Brown, Oliver, Charlie the 
 Hungarian and Cook were standing guard over the prisoners. Pate 
 and his men were gathered in groups around cards and dice, their 
 usual diversion. Gambling that Old Brown would have ended in a 
 moment among his own men, he ignored among the prisoners. Only 
 he remarked upon occasion, "They have their own right to go to 
 hell." With a glance toward the absorbed players, Phillips asked, 
 "How long before they get here?" 
 
 "Less than twenty minutes." 
 
 Phillips crossed to speak to Oliver Brown. Presently Oliver blew 
 a clear note on a whistle. In response the pickets appeared silently 
 from various directions. While Pate and his men came to attention, 
 suspecting a crisis, each picket was quietly informed of the outcome 
 of Captain Brown's response to the invitation from Sumner. Seven- 
 teen men in all, they slipped quietly away to their posts. 
 
 Pate and his men rose tumultuously at the appearance of Old 
 Brown, evidently a captive, although not disarmed. He walked 
 beside Sumner's horse, with his hand on the stirrup. After one wild 
 shout the Missourians subsided. The remoteness of the situation, 
 those seventeen guards they knew to be behind the bushes, served 
 to chill the never abundant courage of the Westport Rowdies. 
 
 Sumner was followed by a dozen dragoons in charge of the very 
 young lieutenant I had watched bring a message to Shannon. Riding 
 with the lieutenant was Sheriff Sam Jones. Sumner and his adjutant, 
 as well as the dragoons and Sheriff Jones, were casting glances into 
 the woodsy depths. 
 
 "Damn it," swore Sumner under his breath to the lieutenant, 
 "they could hold this camp against a thousand men. I doubt if 
 artillery could be brought to bear upon it." 
 
 John Brown answered. 
 
 "A ravine is always better than a plain. Woods and mountains can 
 be held by resolute men against ten times their number." 
 
 "Outlaws have been accustomed to take to the woods since the 
 dawn of history," replied Sumner insultingly. "Jones, do your duty." 
 
 Now Deputy Marshal Jones,— for it was in this capacity among 
 his many that he now came among us,— was acting very strangely. 
 His eyes kept darting into the depths of the woodland. Evidently 
 he could not believe but every tree and mass of vines concealed a 
 rifle, and that every rifle was trained on him alone. Reluctantly he 
 brought his gaze to the partisans in plain sight. 
 
 "I don't believe I see anybody here I have a writ against." 
 
164 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "You don't!" The Old-Buil-of-the-Woods, as his men called him, 
 snorted. "Then what did you tell me you had writs for? What in 
 hell do you mean, getting my help to make arrests, if you've got 
 none to make?" 
 
 "I don't think there is anybody here I want to arrest," faltered 
 Jones. 
 
 "You got an indictment for Captain Brown?" 
 
 "Well, no, sir. The grand jury never did indict him. It was his 
 son they indicted. His son is part of this outlaw legislature keeps 
 meeting up in Topeka." 
 
 "Well, I'll be damned!" 
 
 Sumner turned to John Brown who had stepped away from him 
 and stood with folded arms. 
 
 "Captain Brown, I am riding round this part of the country under 
 orders from Washington to put an end to this guerrilla warfare. As 
 a part of my duty, I shall take these Missourians out of here. Start 
 them on their way toward home." 
 
 At this the Shannon Sharpshooters,— formal title of the Westport 
 Rowdies,— raised a cheer. Captain Pate now came forward to shake 
 hands with Sumner. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" demanded Sumner. 
 
 "Well," drawled Pate in the affected manner he reserved for those 
 he considered his equals, "I came out to take Old Brown. But Old 
 Brown took me." 
 
 Pate would have said more, evidently thinking this an admirable 
 time for a speech, but Sumner shut him off. 
 
 "I don't want to hear a word out of you. I had a conversation with 
 Governor Shannon about your particular case. He told me you had 
 no authority for going about the country with an armed force." 
 Sumner waved his hand toward the Sharpshooters. "Come! We'll 
 get out of here as fast as we can." 
 
 "But our arms, sir? And our horses?" 
 
 The surprise had been so quick and complete, there had been no 
 time to secure the arms of the Missourians in some woodland hiding 
 place. Or drive away their horses and mules. The Missourians were 
 soon, under the stern eye of Sumner, in possession of both mounts 
 and arms. 
 
 Sumner stared at those arms. 
 
 "Those are United States muskets. Where did you get them, 
 Captain Pate?" 
 
 "We got them from a friend." 
 
 "A friend," snorted Old-Bull-of-the-Woods. "What friend had a 
 right to give you United States arms?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 165 
 
 Not waiting for a reply,— perhaps not desiring one in the political 
 turmoil of the hour,— he ordered, "Come, let's be off. You'll put 
 your men in advance, Pate. I want you well on your way toward 
 Missouri by nightfall." 
 
 "Just a moment, Colonel Sumner." 
 
 Sumner turned in his saddle. 
 
 "My name is Phillips, sir," announced William Phillips, with a 
 glance at the wretched Jones who certainly had an indictment 
 against Phillips hid in his wallet. "I beg of you, don't turn this man, 
 Pate, and his cutthroats loose with those government arms in then- 
 possession." 
 
 "What d'you mean, sir, by that remark?" 
 
 "They'll never retreat to Missouri so long as they have arms and 
 ammunition to use against the free-state towns. From what I have 
 heard of their talk, Osawatomie is their next objective." 
 
 "I will attend to matters without any advice from you," declared 
 the now infuriated Sumner. "Allow me to tell you, sir, that I shall 
 communicate with your editor. I shall tell him you are consorting in 
 the woods with the enemies of organized society." 
 
 "By all means, sir." 
 
 "Oh, I've no doubt," cried Sumner, now purpling round his jowls 
 and over his eyes, "He's as subversive of the country's best interests 
 as you are. As for you, sir," he added, turning to Captain Brown, 
 "this deputy declares he has no indictment for you. I can only warn 
 you that such conduct as yours leads inevitably to the gallows." 
 
 Standing with folded arms, his cold-grey eyes engaging those of 
 the colonel of dragoons, John Brown replied, "Sir, I believe in the 
 Golden Rule, and the Declaration of Independence. I think they 
 both mean the same thing. It is better that a whole generation 
 should pass off the face of the earth— men, women, and children, by 
 violent death, than one jot of either should fail in this country. 
 I mean exactly so, sir." 
 
 Pate and his men had disappeared into the woods on the trail 
 leading to Prairie City. Sumner wheeled his horse, set spurs to him, 
 followed in single column by his dragoons. The young lieutenant 
 hung back until the last of the dragoons was out of sight. Then he 
 bent in his saddle toward John Brown. He was near to crying, but 
 mastered himself with an effort. 
 
 "Sir, you are like Marion and his men, you and your company. My 
 mother taught me from my cradle, sir, to abhor human slavery. Let 
 me help you, the little that I can. Here's an eagle, sir. I wish it were 
 more, but I've spent every cent of my pay. God bless you, sir. 
 Goodbye." 
 
166 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 John Brown took the Bible from William Phillips and opened it 
 to a well worn page. He read: "Be strong and courageous; be not 
 afraid nor dismayed for the king of Assyria, nor for all the multitude 
 that is with him; for there be more with us than with him; With 
 him is an arm of flesh; but with us is the Lord our God, to help us 
 and to fight our battles." 
 
 Later as most of us stood or sat around in silence, August Bondi 
 said, "We to wrong to pe discouragedt. When our drain movedt 
 oudt of the Tepot of the Northern railroat in Vienna, I watchedt the 
 cross of Saind Stephan's giltedt py the sedding sun. When id 
 tisabbeard, I hidt my face in my handts. Andt I criedt myself to 
 sleeb. I thoughdt all freetom we hadt foughdt for lay teat. Andt 
 here I am, again a comrat in the fighdt for liperdy. Subbose we 
 never gain lipperdy in our dime? Even so, Is id nodt a thing to pe 
 tesiredt to pe apove the clot animading a while from the earth andt 
 going pack to the earth? To pe in the tivine struggle, whadever the 
 oudcome, that is to live." 
 
 XXX 
 
 The stage running between Quindaro on the Kansas shore of the 
 Missouri river and Lawrence, Kansas Territory, had a new driver in 
 the second week of November, 1856. 
 
 "Of course," said the agent to Colonel Eldridge, "you can't rightly 
 judge a man this week. Everyone's liable to take more than a drop 
 election week. Specially when it's presidential." 
 
 Colonel Eldridge glanced over at his gaily painted Concord 
 where the new driver gathered the reins of the four-in-hand with a 
 nonchalant air. Jacob Pike was a florid young man, well fleshed and 
 yet muscular. If his eyes glittered in his head this day, might not 
 elation over the job of driving four-in-hand the handsome Eldridge 
 stage horses account for the phenomenon? 
 
 "He's an educated young man," explained Mr. Sharpe, the agent. 
 "Reads books. Owns a dictionary. He was correcting my pronuncia- 
 tion of 'Buchanan'." 
 
 The colonel took off his hat to sweep a large, doubtful hand over 
 his hair. 
 
 "I'd be better satisfied if he owned a Bible. I don't like the aroma 
 on his breath." He walked over to the stage. "Draw in your lines 
 when you get to the big bluff. I'll drive that piece," he told his 
 new employee. 
 
 The stage had four passengers, one of them a lady writer, com- 
 missioned to do articles for a ladies' magazine. Eldridge assisted 
 
A UNION FOREVER 167 
 
 this lady to settle her luggage, with many assurances as to her 
 safety. 
 
 "The stage, madam, is immune. Even the worst ruffians agree that 
 it is useful necessity." 
 
 Colonel Eldridge took the reins while the horses crawled up over 
 the big bluff. He failed to note the expression on the face of young 
 Mr. Pike. Jacob, retaking the reins without a word, was questioning 
 within himself. Would he not have done well to take that teaming 
 job between Leavenworth and Laramie? After all, a man doesn't 
 endure too much paternalism in the matter of his driving. 
 
 "Stop the horses and notify me at Bluejacket's crossing," directed 
 Colonel Eldridge. "I'll take the stage across the ford." He could be 
 heard reassuring the lady passenger. "A new man. I always take 
 every precaution, especially when we have a lady passenger." 
 
 The lady wanted to know about the bandit leader, John Brown. 
 
 "An odd character. Jim Lane says Brown is a parenthesis in 
 Kansas. Not a part of the regular context. He lay up in the woods 
 at Topeka on July 4th, with his second in command, Captain Aaron 
 Stevens. Ready to attack Sumner and his dragoons when Sumner 
 dispersed the free-state legislature. But we'd had word from Re- 
 publican headquarters not to take any radical steps." 
 
 The stage swayed into the dusty trail, slapped occasionally by 
 sumac boughs or tall, belated sunflowers waiting death at the hands 
 of winter. The sky was deeply blue; the oaks were deeply crimson 
 with yellow splashes of sycamore along the frequent streams. Tiny 
 lavendar asters bloomed in profusion against the scarlet of bitter- 
 sweet. Early morning tang in the air yielded to the lazy softness of 
 Indian summer. The passengers in the stage listened to reminiscences 
 by the colonel. 
 
 "That particular town in Johnson county, Oxford, they call it, had 
 less than a hundred qualified voters. But the Southerners opened 
 up the polls after they were closed. Came in next day with fifteen 
 hundred votes. We couldn't understand it till we looked round the 
 polling place. Found a Cincinnati city directory. Supposedly fur- 
 nished by H. Clay Pate. The pro-slavery men had voted several 
 pages straight,— for James Buchanan." 
 
 The horses now broke into a pleasant gait, making little of a 
 forty mile trip over a well beaten road. Above the defile that led 
 down to the Wakarusa ford, Jacob Pike drew rein. He got down to 
 study the steep descent into the shallows. From within the stage 
 came the voice of his new employer, happily relating details of the 
 battle of Franklin. 
 
 "That's one advantage of a Sharpe's rifle. You can lie as flat as 
 
168 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 you please, poke out your gun before you, shove in the cartridges 
 from behind, and fire away as long as you have any cartridges left." 
 
 Pike was making a decision. If he gave the leaders a trifle more 
 harness, he could get down the defile by himself. The abrupt descent 
 into the Wakarusa, always a problem, was made more treacherous 
 by a spring that had recently burst forth hereabout, turning the 
 dust of the trail to slithery mud. However, having toasted his new 
 President not wisely but too often, Pike was in that rosy state of 
 mind that makes every prospect pleasing. He adjusted the harness 
 to his satisfaction. 
 
 "The upshot of the fight," came the colonel's voice, "was we 
 recaptured Old Sacramento. That's our famous cannon. So in the 
 next fight, at Fort Saunders, our boys used cannon balls cast from 
 ruined type of the Lawrence newspapers. Every shot, they'd yell 
 at the Missourians, "Another issue of the Herald of Freedom." 
 
 Jacob Pike climbed into the driver's seat, threaded the reins to 
 his liking, touched up the off leader, and went down the incline and 
 into the Wakarusa as he many times afterward recalled, "lickety 
 brindle". His employer, happily lost in talk, had no idea which of 
 the many streams it was that splashed beneath the floor of the 
 Concord. They came to the further bank, climbed the rise, and 
 made the best of time into Lawrence. The stage rolled away from 
 bluffs and woodland, and there was the Kaw, very bright under 
 the November sky. 
 
 Jacob Pike pulled in the horses. 
 
 "Excuse me," said Colonel Eldridge to his passengers. "I'm going 
 to take the stage over a bad bit of trail." He stepped out into a 
 familiar scene. Looking at Jacob Pike who was staring straight 
 ahead, he demanded, "When did you cross that scoop in the trail?" 
 
 "When I came to it," replied Pike. 
 
 "Why you damned, sneaking hell-pup, get off that box. You're 
 fired." 
 
 The passengers now hung out the windows of the Concord, to 
 take in the excitement. 
 
 "God damn you, I'm not fired. I quit." 
 
 Jacob Pike leaped from the box, thrusting the reins at his now 
 late employer in passing. He set off running to catch John Baldwin's 
 ferry. Later, Baldwin reported the young fellow as walking away, 
 declaring he would team freight to Laramie. Silently, with com- 
 pressed lips, his late employer mounted to the box and took the 
 stage up the street to the temporary accommodations of the newly 
 rising Eldridge House. 
 
 In the street before the hotel rising on the ruins of the Free State, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 169 
 
 Governor Robinson, lately released from captivity in Lecompton, 
 talked with Captain John Brown. Old Brown was about to ride 
 away, only tarried with his bridle over his arm, to exchange civilities 
 with the governor. As usual, each was impatient with the other. 
 
 "You caucus, and you caucus. Talk is a national institution, but it 
 does no manner of good to the slave. Talk is for weak men with 
 tender consciences." 
 
 The men in the stage piled out hurriedly. Eldridge, handing his 
 lines to a waiting stable hand, descended with dignity and waited 
 upon the lady passenger. 
 
 Robinson was saying, "You are wrong, sir. Proper discussion 
 among men of sense is the prelude to judicious action." 
 
 "Slaves are prisoners of war," continued John Brown, following 
 his own line of thought. "Their tyrants have taken the sword. They 
 must perish by the sword." 
 
 The captain turned away to mount his horse. From that vantage 
 he looked down on the governor. 
 
 "You aim, sir, to make Kansas a free state, and your plans are 
 skillfully laid to that end. I have another object in view. I mean to 
 strike a blow at slavery. Any resistance, however bloody, is better 
 than a system that makes every seventh woman a concubine." 
 
 Without a backward glance, sitting very straight and emaciated 
 in his saddle, Captain Brown rode away up Massachusetts street 
 while the group he left stared after him. The lady writer from the 
 East, helped by her courteous host, was emerging from the stage. 
 She tottered slightly, the impact of the West being what it was. 
 Already she had wonderful copy, but, even expurgated, could a 
 magazine for ladies . . . ? 
 
 She was not to gain the privacy of a hotel bedroom without one 
 further shock. While she anxiously reclaimed bandboxes and bags, 
 a man on a tall, bony roan, a large man under a wide grey hat and 
 chewing an out-sized cud of tobacco, trotted up the street and 
 reined in beside the stage. 
 
 "Any of you gentlemen tell me where I can find a Mr. Lane? A 
 Mr. Jim Lane?" 
 
 Governor Robinson answered. 
 
 "Colonel Lane is out of the city at present. May I help you?" 
 
 "Truth is, I'm lookin' for a nigger wench been cookin' for him, I 
 understand. Calls herself Auntie. Took French leave of her master 
 over in Missouri." 
 
 Governor Robinson took his time to answer, while the stage 
 passengers and several citizens who had joined the group hung 
 on his words. 
 
170 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "You are wasting your time in Lawrence, sir," said the governor 
 at last, looking the stranger in the eye. "Nobody in this town has 
 any information to give you about the colored woman you mention." 
 
 Near the Indian warrior's grave with the bones of his horse and 
 dog bleaching on it, William Phillips and Pelathe stood and watched 
 the passing of the stage with Jacob Pike on the box. Then they 
 turned back to the matter in hand. 
 
 "He is dead some hours." 
 
 They looked at the boy whose bound hands held him round the 
 trunk of a young sycamore with his face toward the bark of the tree. 
 He had been stabbed in the heart region. 
 
 "You know him?" asked Pelathe. 
 
 "I think he is one of the Buffams. You know those brothers. 
 Helped bring in the cannon. A year ago. I think he is their brother. 
 David. 
 
 After a silence Phillips asked, "Shall we lay him down? We could 
 dig a shallow grave." 
 
 "Then the prairie wolves will get him." Pelathe's tone was matter- 
 of-fact. Phillips winced. Before he could comment, Pelathe went 
 on, "Let us leave him where he is. Then his family or friends will 
 find him." 
 
 "You're right." 
 
 They mounted their ponies and set off along a private trail of 
 Pelathe's in the direction of August Bondi's store where they had a 
 rendevous with Captain Brown. Behind them young David Buffam 
 stood with his arms round the sycamore, waiting to be found by 
 his friends. 
 
 One tallow candle lighted the crossroads grocery of Bondi and 
 Benjamin, revealed the stern emaciation of Captain John Brown 
 who sat very upright in a barrel chair, of William Phillips atop an 
 empty cracker barrel, of August Bondi perched on the counter, and 
 of Pelathe the Shawnee almost in deep shadow as he stood with 
 folded arms against the outer door. The firm of Bondi and Benjamin 
 was a thing of the past. Benjamin had been some weeks in St. Louis, 
 and there was no hope of his being allowed by the Missourians to 
 team in further supplies. The business element in Lawrence had 
 made a truce of sorts with Buchanan's administration; but the 
 "radicals" who had fought with John Brown were in limbo. 
 
 "You're not giving up the struggle, sir?" 
 
 William Phillips put urgency into his voice. 
 
 "I haven't begun. Do you know that twenty resolute men well 
 
A UNION FOREVER 171 
 
 placed in the Alleghany mountains could break the back of slavery 
 in two years?" 
 
 "You astound me!" 
 
 "The slaveholders know it." 
 
 August Bondi waved a hand toward the drygoods side of the store 
 where a few diminished bolts of calico reproached him in the half- 
 light. 
 
 "When all is solt," he explained, "I shall gedt away to Send Louis. 
 I can findt work there." 
 
 "But you must come back to Kansas, son. When the times change. 
 This is a country for young men." 
 
 Phillips spoke. 
 
 "Pelathe and I are on our way to Salina. We'll take refuge with 
 the Kaws before morning. South of Topeka. At least I'm safe with 
 the Indians." 
 
 "How does your new city fare?" 
 
 John Brown's gravity almost brightened into a smile. 
 
 "Very well, sir. No tree stumps to dig out, and the soil is deep 
 and black. There are buttes to the southwest. The Indians tell me 
 these buttes will turn the prairie storms away from us. According 
 to their records, the townsite has never been hit by a twister." 
 
 "An advantage." 
 
 "Decidedly an advantage. But we have a disadvantage. Every 
 sixty years the rivers and creeks overflow. Meet on the townsite. 
 According to the calculations of the chiefs the next overflow won't 
 occur till after the turn of the century. What are your plans, sir?" 
 
 "Since we were burned out in Osawatomie, I'm more or less a 
 stranger round here. I've been invited to lecture at various points." 
 
 "We're all going in opposite directions. Will we keep in touch?" 
 
 "We will keep in touch," said John Brown. "We have work to do 
 together." 
 
 John Brown slept that night in the cabin behind the store. Just 
 before dawn he shared with August Bondi a final meal, washed 
 down with large swallows of the spring water he preferred to coffee. 
 At the close of the meal he took a carefully wrapped package from 
 the breast pocket of his coat. 
 
 "A keepsake," he said, handing it to Bondi. 
 
 They shook hands, neither offering to speak again. John Brown 
 mounted his horse and turned at once into the woods, to find one 
 of the trails by which he eluded his mortal enemies in the Kansas 
 struggle. August Bondi watched until his leader disappeared. Only 
 
172 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 then did he look down at the packet in his hand. He opened it 
 slowly. 
 
 "His likeness!" 
 
 There was the clear, direct eye, the upward sweep of close-cut 
 hair, the thinker's forehead, the smooth shaven cheeks and chin, the 
 grim mouth behind which lurked a hint of humor, the patent leather 
 stock, the vest cut quaintly high, the coat of such durable cloth that 
 its style was ten years old. August had to wink heartily before he 
 could see the handwriting across one corner of the cardboard. 
 
 "Farewell," he read. "God bless you." 
 
 XXXI 
 
 The regular teacher being detained away by illness, it rested with 
 me to teach the Green Meadow school that day. This savored more 
 than I liked of the appointing of a monitor during teacher's absence. 
 In fact, a number of the scholars were older than I. My fitness for 
 teaching lay in the fact I had been recently graduated from Cherry 
 Grove seminary in Knox county. I was beginning what I have more 
 or less continued all my life, writing for the newspapers, but the 
 financial returns were small. I was glad, in the circumstances, to 
 seize this suddenly offered opportunity. Given a short trial, I hoped 
 to impress the school trustees with my fitness to preside over just 
 such a modest hall of learning as the Green Meadow school. 
 
 Planning my first day of teaching I had decided to rest my fate 
 on calesthenics and composition. Already I had opened the morning 
 session with such a round of drill, march and countermarch, that 
 even the liveliest were glad to sit down. I now began a carefully 
 prepared speech. 
 
 "Pupils," I announced in a firm voice, "as you know, Green 
 Meadow Lyceum will hold a picnic and forum this afternoon on the 
 grounds of Wildwood Home, the mansion of our esteemed towns- 
 man, J. D. Cooper." He was one of the school trustees. "I propose 
 to devote time this morning to the writing and reading of composi- 
 tions. The best composition will be read before the Lyceum." 
 
 I held up a number of slips of paper. 
 
 "On each of these slips is a topic of general interest. As I pass 
 down the aisles, kindly each one of you draw a slip. Your composi- 
 tions must not be more than five hundred words in length. Other- 
 wise we may not have time to read and correct all of them." 
 
 When I had delivered the slips I returned to the desk,— it was a 
 smooth slab from an old forest tree set at a convenient angle for 
 
A UNION FOREVER 173 
 
 writing,— and drew out my father's watch, a handsome gold affair 
 brought from Holland. I laid the watch, face up, on the desk. 
 
 "You may begin to write," I said. 
 
 Satisfaction mixed with plenty of relief in my chest region as I 
 watched the older scholars ruling paper, sharpening quills, and 
 otherwise getting down to the business of composition. One or two 
 of the girls of my acquaintance, who had been giggling very foolish- 
 ly, turned their attention to something worth while. The smaller fry, 
 after satisfying their curiosity about their elders, were conning their 
 spellers. All, that is, except Elam Hobson who was aiming a spitball 
 at Charley French. I wilted Elam with a prolonged, cold stare. 
 
 Yesterday morning, when I had started out with Uncle Wilson 
 Smith to Winchester where I had heard of a possible school, seemed 
 incredibly remote. We were fully a third of our distance on our way 
 when I said to uncle, "I'll have to go back to Chapin." Uncle pulled 
 in the team and turned to me in astonishment. "What in tunket you 
 got to do that for?" I said rather miserably, "That Voice just spoke 
 to me. It said, 'Go back to Chapin. You'll get a school in Chapin'." 
 
 "Now, look here, Lew," said uncle. "I don't like this voice busi- 
 ness. Nobody in our family ever took to hearing voices. You hell 
 bent for going back?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," I said. 
 
 "Well, you'll have to walk," he decided, shaking his head. "In 
 your good clothes, too. I got to get on to Winchester." 
 
 I walked along the roadside weeds until a voice said? "Lew 
 Hanback! What are you doing in that dust! And wearing a good 
 suit of clothes?" 
 
 Samuel French reined in his driving mare, and sat over on one 
 side of his surrey seat. I climbed in, explaining, "Uncle and I started 
 for Winchester. But I had to turn round and come back." 
 
 "Forgot something? That's too bad. What was your business in 
 Winchester?" 
 
 No young person ever hesitated about answering one of Mr. 
 French's questions. I said, "I heard there might be a school in 
 Winchester." 
 
 After he had pondered the information, he said, "I haven't heard 
 anything about it, if there is." 
 
 That made me feel better. At least I hadn't missed anything in 
 Winchester. 
 
 "But if you were after a school," said Mr. French, "what made 
 you turn back?" 
 
 "It's this Voice," I confessed miserably. "It speaks to me in my 
 mind, and I think I should listen. Uncle Wilson thinks I'm crazy." 
 
174 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "If Wilson Smith would put more time on his Bible, and less on 
 his hogs," announced Samuel French, "he would understand the 
 inner Voice. Now, tell me, Lew, what did you study at Cherry 
 Grove?" 
 
 As a result of his interrogation I now stood behind the teacher's 
 desk in the Green Meadow school. 
 
 Seated directly in front of me was William Cooper. 
 
 I have a photograph lying near my hand as I write, taken of 
 William at Helena, Arkansas, in his uniform as a Confederate 
 officer. Of late years I have noticed when attending the theater that 
 the Southern gentleman in any production is invariably pictured as 
 very tall, very slender and very dark. During my army years I saw 
 Southerners who were heroes and gentlemen without any such 
 physical characteristics, but that is beside the point. As a perfect 
 example of the romantic Southern ideal, William Cooper stands in 
 my memory without a rival. Glistening waves of black hair worn 
 a trifle long, eyes that snapped black brilliance, swarthy cheek and 
 brow, an exquisite in dress with a tall, graceful figure, the youth 
 before me that morning in the Green Meadow school elegantly 
 prefigured the man in the grey uniform. 
 
 Behind William sat his cousin, Vassey Willard, a delicate girl 
 with a mystery surrounding her babyhood. As I glanced at her I 
 wondered, not for the first time, if there could be any truth in the 
 idle gossip connected with her parentage. 
 
 William Cooper's younger sister,— she was a namesake of Vassey 's 
 mother, the wealthy Mrs. Hester Ann Willard,— sat across the aisle 
 from William. Hettie Cooper's eyes, lifted absently to mine, were 
 a dark, clear grey. Her skin, always carefully protected from sun 
 and wind, was fair, her cheeks were lightly touched with color that 
 came and went with her emotions. Her indulgent father,— he owned 
 our general store,— had special gloves brought from the East twice 
 a year for the small hands now gripping a silver pencil, and shoes 
 to her measure for her little feet. 
 
 I recall that for this, the last week of the spring term, she wore a 
 cherry and black checked silk, with a fine apron over it, white 
 muslin, I think, edged with lace. A large gold locket on a thin gold 
 chain completed her costume. While I watched her she lifted her 
 head with its wreath of dark braids, glanced at me and then turned 
 her eyes toward her brother William. Presently she rose, smoothed 
 out her full skirt, and at the same time took a long look at what 
 William was writing. 
 
 After answering a question for Debby Williams I turned away to 
 the class in spelling. Hettie's interest in William's composition I 
 
A UNION FOREVER 175 
 
 took to be the natural pride of a sister in a brother. It was known 
 that William Cooper, in the intervals of breeding trotting horses, 
 planned a literary career. Some slight delay in getting started was 
 attributed by him to indecision as to his destination. Should he 
 follow the lines already laid down by any one of three great 
 Americans,— Mr. Washington Irving, Mr. James Fenimore Cooper, 
 Mr. Edgar Allen Poe,— or should he strike out along a new line? 
 
 About the time I saw signs of the compositions being finished, 
 Charley French reached the head of the line of spellers. I thought 
 it might be as well to end the spelling lesson with Charley in that 
 position,— since I owed my chance of teaching to his father,— so I 
 closed Webster's Blue Back Speller, and announced a recess. 
 
 "Immediately after recess," I added, "we will listen to the com- 
 positions." 
 
 William Cooper stood in the doorway with me, discussing an 
 article of mine recently printed in the Jacksonville Journal. 
 How clearly I recall the scene! The schoolyard absolutely bare of 
 vegetation, tramped hard by weeks of school; the road past the 
 school shaded by a scattering of tall, old trees; the exposed roots of 
 a forest giant where little girls had seated themselves with jack- 
 stones; the windlass of the pump shrieking horribly, surrounded 
 by a thirsty group; and a game of London's bridge peacefully oc- 
 cupying a corner of the lot. 
 
 While paying attention to William's patronage, I was watching 
 the various groups, and admiring the fine new well. The city of 
 Chapin was justly proud of this well. An excellent well that brought 
 up cold water in cups that emptied, as they turned, into our cleanly 
 scoured pails. Just as I was thinking of stepping over to the well for 
 a drink of the cold underground spring water, I noticed a youth 
 coming at a run along the road to the school. I saw at once that it 
 was Will Ebey, one of the Ebeys who had recently moved into 
 Chapin where the father had founded a pottery. The Ebeys were, 
 in some sort, family connections of mine; and I had been relieved, 
 rather than distressed, when the morning session opened with Will 
 absent. He was about my age, though somewhat taller and thicker 
 of build, and he was not inclined to treat me with the respect I 
 desired to inspire. 
 
 Young Ebey ran up to the group of girls who were playing 
 London's bridge. I heard him gasp, "Vassey! Vassey Willard!" 
 
 What he had to impart I did not catch, but I saw Vassey break 
 away from the group and start running toward William Cooper 
 and me. Stumbling, she fell across one exposed root of the great 
 
176 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 tree, and there she lay. Her uplifted eyes were dreadful, reason lost 
 in terror. 
 
 William Cooper was first to reach his cousin. He caught her up, 
 and ran with her to the pump. I was there before him, and drenched 
 a clean handkerchief with which I bathed the girl's face and wrists. 
 The scholars came crowding round. Some had been laughing at 
 Will's communication. Few took it seriously, as he was known to be 
 a practical joker. Now all were sober, watching the Willard girl's 
 pallid lips and closed eyes. 
 
 When Vassey showed signs of returning consciousness Hettie 
 Cooper was first to speak. 
 
 "Will Ebey," she cried, "you're the nastiest boy in this school. 
 Yes, the meanest, low-downest boy in this whole state/' 
 
 I waited until Vassey, supported by William Cooper, was able to 
 stand on her trembling legs. Then I gave her into the charge of the 
 two girls who twined their arms about her and led her away to a 
 bench under one of the trees. 
 
 "Will Ebey," I now demanded, "what is the meaning of this?" 
 
 Will Ebey sulked with his hands in his pockets, spurning a small 
 stone with his toe. 
 
 "I'll tell you about it," interposed Hettie Cooper with flashing 
 eyes. "Will Ebey's always teasing Vassey. He says she wasn't traded 
 back after the baby mixing." 
 
 "Is that what you said to her just now, Will?" 
 
 "Oh, worse than that," cried Hettie. "I believe he stayed away 
 from school on purpose, so he could come panting up that way 
 during recess. He told Vassey her Indian mother was come to get 
 her. That's why she started to run." 
 
 I looked at Will. He returned me a furtive, measuring glance. 
 
 "Elam Hobson," I directed, "bring me the hickory. You'll find it 
 beneath the desk." 
 
 A cold sinking, there was, round my middle anatomy. Such a 
 sinking as I was not to experience again until I waited for the 
 instant of dawn at Stone's River. Will's sister Barbara, or Barbary as 
 she was usually called, sent me a glance of entreaty. But I was steel, 
 although I had accompanied her to the Lyceum only two weeks 
 before. 
 
 Into a stage tableau for stillness Elam fetched the hickory. 
 
 "Look here, Lew Hanback, don't you try that stick on me," 
 whined the jokester as I advanced upon him. 
 
 "Will Ebey," I said in the firmest tone I could muster, "I propose 
 to thrash you. Turn around and bend over." 
 
 William Cooper, behind me, stood with folded arms. His black 
 
A UNION FOREVER 177 
 
 eyes, fixed on Will, glittered with rage. As for Hettie, I believe if 
 Will had attempted to run, the intrepid little creature would have 
 laid hold to restrain him. There was a tradition in Morgan county 
 that the aristocratic Coopers had a drop of gypsy in their blood, 
 enough to account for their excellent trading ability and their love 
 of horses. Perhaps, too, for the avid fierceness with which William, 
 and even Hettie, now regarded Will Ebey. Will looked into our 
 three determined faces, and knew that the moment was against 
 him. Sullenly he took the hearty blows I dealt out to him. When I 
 had finished he started away across the yard. 
 
 "You'll be sorry for this, Lew Hanback," he called across his 
 shoulder. "My father'll get you." 
 
 Handing the hickory to Charley French, I went to where Vassey 
 still trembled between the two older girls. 
 
 "Vassey," I said, kneeling beside her, "Will Ebey was playing one 
 of his senseless jokes on you. There is no Indian woman waiting for 
 you at your mother's home. The Indians are all gone away long ago, 
 to live in Kansas. You love to read, don't you?" She answered me 
 with a wan assenting look from her pathetic dark eyes. "Well, I'm 
 going to lend you one of my favorite books. 'The Last of the 
 Mohicans', by Mr. James Fenimore Cooper. When you have read 
 that book you will feel quite differently about the Indians. You 
 won't mind Will Ebey's jokes." I turned to the watching boys and 
 girls. "Pupils," I cried, clapping my hands smartly, "form lines for 
 drill." 
 
 When we were finally settled back in the schoolroom, I allowed 
 myself to draw a deep breath. 
 
 "Now," I directed, "we will listen to the compositions. Miss Hettie 
 Cooper will kindly read first." 
 
 Hettie rose with quick grace, floated her full skirts to the platform, 
 curtsied, and began in a composed way: 
 
 "Spring." 
 
 I knew the title of her essay. I had purposely held that slip out 
 toward her little fingers. I thought she could make something of the 
 subject, and I thought the subject was made for her. 
 
 "In the spring," read Hettie, "the birds return from their winter 
 homes in the South. And the flowers wake from their sleep beneath 
 the snow. Procrastination has been called the thief of time. Copy- 
 books have been filled since men began to use them with wise saws 
 about timeliness. 'A stitch in time saves nine'. 'Never put off till 
 tomorrow what can be done today'. Through procrastination Alex- 
 ander lost an empire, and—" 
 
 "Stop!" 
 
178 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Eyes flashing, William Cooper was on his feet. 
 
 "She has stolen my essay." 
 
 Hettie smoothed her glossy braids with an agitated hand. Her 
 grey eyes, meeting mine, filled with tears. 
 
 I was aghast. 
 
 "Hettie! How did you happen to—" 
 
 "I couldn't think of anything to say," explained Hettie in a small 
 voice. "And William's essay was such a lovely one." 
 
 To me this seemed a beautiful explanation; but I was not her 
 elder brother. No procrastination about him now. 
 
 "Aren't you going to punish her?" demanded William. 
 
 Punish her! 
 
 As Hettie's eyes met mine, eyes startled and appealing, I could 
 feel my jaw drop. Only Nature's kindly provision in the way of 
 support kept it from falling to lie shattered on the puncheons. 
 
 "Thieves," announced the outraged William, "should be whipped." 
 
 Strange how a group of youngsters in a schoolroom can settle 
 down when something interests them. The room fell magically into 
 the pindrop state. We all remained as though life had been trans- 
 fixed. Then, as so many times in my experience, help came from a 
 direction unforeseen. Outside, on the dirt road, quick hoofbeats 
 pounded, drawing rapidly near. Nothing less, it was, than William's 
 superb trotter, Thunderguns, driven by Mike Delaney, the Cooper 
 coachman. While we all turned our heads to listen, Thunderguns 
 stopped at Mike's, "Whoa, there, boy!" Almost at once light foot- 
 steps tapped the entry. Hettie's young married sister, Mrs. Bronson, 
 appeared in the doorway. 
 
 "Do please excuse me," she cried, snapping her black eyes at me, 
 "for rushing in this way. But William really must come away with 
 me at once. If we expect to reach Jacksonville in time to hear the 
 arguments." 
 
 Amazed by our tableau,— Hettie in tears, William outraged, I 
 showing consternation,— she stopped speaking. Hettie dissolved the 
 picture, running to Mattie. 
 
 "William called me a thief," she cried, hugging up to her sister's 
 elegant muslin shawl. "Because I copied his essay. What does one 
 old essay matter?" 
 
 I was shocked, planned to reason gently with Hettie later about 
 the laws of authorship. William glowered at Mattie. 
 
 "Pet her, do," he urged gloomily. 
 
 Young Mrs. Bronson spoke in a low voice. Her eyes, as black as 
 his, snapped at William. 
 
 "Spare us a scene, please, in front of the neighborhood, Willie." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 179 
 
 William became aware of his audience. A sister's diminutive for 
 his stately name took a considerable amount of starch out of him. 
 Making me a half-ironic bow he stalked from the schoolhouse, 
 leaving Mattie Bronson to follow. She turned to me. 
 
 "You'll excuse us, please." 
 
 She tripped out. I had the curiosity to follow her to the doorway. 
 Mike Delaney was leaping from the sulky, handing the reins to 
 William. Mike went to Thunderguns's bridle. Yes, as always, South- 
 ern chivalry triumphed,— William was helping his sister politely into 
 the sulky. I turned back to the room, saying, "You may be seated, 
 Hettie. Miss Debbie Williams will read her essay." 
 
 I felt I was earning every penny of my modest stipend. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 I walked home with Hettie Cooper. I intended to relate the 
 incident of the morning to Mr. Cooper before Mr. Ebey should get 
 to him. I scarcely expected trouble from my trustees. It was usual 
 for a teacher in our parts to thrash one or two of the older boys as 
 a means of gaining prestige. Only I had hoped I might prove one 
 of those rare pedagogues who rule without the rod. 
 
 Hettie confided Lindley Murray's grammar to me to hold for her 
 as we sauntered through a bit of woodland. She filled her bonnet, 
 removed for the purpose, with long-stemmed late violets that grew 
 under the oaks and walnuts. 
 
 "How does it happen," she asked, "that we never met until now? 
 We're sort of cousins. At least we'd be cousins in Tennessee. Or 
 Virginia. William says everybody in the South is either a cousin, 
 an uncle, or an aunt." 
 
 I replied, watching her little hands bunch the violets, "Your Aunt 
 Jane married my Uncle Wilson. I expect we're cousins-in-law." 
 
 "But how does it happen I didn't meet you at the Lyceum year 
 before last? I hear you were a member." 
 
 "I kept in the background. I never got far away from the rear 
 wall in those days. Because of the patches on the seat of my 
 trousers." 
 
 This I said complacently, aware that my present tailoring was as 
 good as any in the neighborhood. When Hettie looked horrified, I 
 explained further. "I was saving my money for a year at Cherry 
 Grove Academy." 
 
 "Are you going back to Cherry Grove?" asked Hettie. 
 
 "I'm going to the Albany Law School," I told her. "The unalter- 
 able determination of my life is to become a lawyer." 
 
180 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Like Cousin Steve Douglas," cried Hettie with enthusiasm. "And 
 make a great deal of money, and go to Washington. And represent 
 the railroads and the mining companies when we go to court. That's 
 where Mattie and William are gone, to the courthouse in Jackson- 
 ville. To hear Cousin Steve Douglas argue the defense in that 
 lawsuit against my father's mining properties. The other lawyer has 
 got Abe Lincoln to come over from Springfield to help him. And 
 William says Cousin Steve will make a monkey out of Old Abe." 
 
 "It's a wonder," I observed, veering away from Cousin Steve 
 whom I did not especially admire, "that I've never seen you at 
 Uncle Wilson Smith's in all the years I've come and gone there." 
 
 "Their friends are over round Bethel," explained Hettie rather 
 evasively. "But all the Smiths are going to be at the picnic. Aunt 
 Jane is going to bake the hot biscuits." 
 
 "That suits me! If there's one thing more than another I love to 
 eat it's an Aunt Jane biscuit. Topped with jelly or maple syrup. In 
 fact, I wouldn't stop at one biscuit. I'd eat six or eight." 
 
 Laughing, Hettie and I crossed the stile in the white picket fence 
 that separated Wildwood from the railroad. We walked through the 
 grove of forest trees to the formal lawn before the house. 
 
 The grounds of Wildwood were laid out in sweeps of closely 
 trimmed lawn, set here and there with nooks where vines and wild 
 flowers were let to grow beneath oaks and elms. Along one side 
 of the estate ran an orchard, a small orchard mostly of fine apples, 
 and between the apple trees we glimpsed the railroad, the old 
 Northern Cross it had been in its youth, the first rails in the region 
 to carry a locomotive. Separating the estate from the right-of-way 
 was a white picket fence. Over the stile in that fence and along 
 the cindery roadbed the young people who will live again for you 
 in this chronicle strolled during the fine evenings and Sunday after- 
 noons of those last gay months before the War. 
 
 On that sunny afternoon of long ago in Southern Illinois, the 
 Cooper mansion, Wildwood Home, gleamed attractively white in its 
 setting of vines and over-arching trees. The famous double cabin 
 of pioneer days was lost in additions and decorations insisted upon 
 by the second Mrs. Cooper, a lady who knew her own mind. The 
 circular graveled drive led us to a comfortable porch, built in the 
 Southern style with an upper deck. Broad, shallow steps invited us. 
 Four wooden pillars supported a roof that shaded prosaic rockers 
 and table of hideous but stylish rattan. The double front doors, open 
 to the day's warmth, hinted hospitality. Either side of the doors 
 were windows whose small panes glittered cleanly. On the porch 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 181 
 
 table stood a tall earthen pitcher. Half a dozen glasses filled with 
 mint and lemon slices spoke louder than words of juleps. 
 
 Enjoying the mingled comforts of warmth and breeze, juleps and 
 the fragrance of a climbing rose, where three men, and, behind the 
 table, Mrs. Cooper. 
 
 Margery Ann Risley was the first Mrs. Cooper's nurse and com- 
 panion through the months when Margaret Willard Cooper and 
 her fourth infant, another George Washington Cooper, died quietly 
 day by day. After the two deaths Margery Ann stayed on to manage 
 the house and children. In a short time she was managing John D. 
 Cooper as well. His flaccid nature found in her confident assertive- 
 ness just the prop it needed. 
 
 Duchess Margery,— neighborhood title,— was twenty years younger 
 than her husband, in full bloom at thirty, the mother of three 
 children. Full figured and of a sufficient height, striking rather than 
 beautiful, she had a pair of large, dark eyes she used expressively 
 in conversation. She employed a mannerism very trying to many,— 
 notably to her stepdaughter, Mattie Bronson,— of raising her brows 
 in a way that stamped an adversary's comments as absurd, and 
 probably untrue. 
 
 Mrs. Cooper, in state behind the table, pushed back wide lace 
 cuffs as she poured lemonade for the temperance portion of the 
 gathering. 
 
 Occupying one of the porch chairs was John Douglas Cooper. 
 
 A little above middle height, very spare in frame with cheeks 
 slightly sunken, his grey eyes were pensive rather than alert. 
 Accustomed in infancy to be waited upon by slaves, he carried con- 
 sequent indolence into his later life. At money making he was 
 adroit; in all else hazy. 
 
 Mr. E. P. Gilbert, Mr. Cooper's business partner, sat a little 
 behind the others, quietly observant from the shadows afforded him 
 by a mighty trumpet vine. Peter Gilbert was a bachelor, still young 
 enough to be not unattractive to the girls of the neighborhood, and 
 successful enough to be more than attractive to their match-making 
 mothers. 
 
 I was interested to see, as Hettie and I crunched our way up the 
 freshly graveled drive, that Mr. Samuel French was the third man 
 on the porch. Mr. French was a free-state enthusiast, suspected, but 
 only in whispers for he was a solid man financially, of aiding the 
 abolition cause. When Hettie and I reached the steps he was reading 
 aloud from a letter of many pages. He paused to say, "Good after- 
 noon, Hettie. Good afternoon, young man. I am reading a letter 
 
182 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 from a friend in Springfield. He has got hold of some notes on Mr. 
 Lincoln's Bloomington speech." 
 
 "The 'Lost Speech?" 
 
 As I bowed to Mrs. Cooper, I could not refrain from saying, 
 "Pray go ahead, sir. My business can wait." 
 
 Mrs. Cooper, pouring lemonade, said, "Hettie, go change your 
 dress." 
 
 "Mattie says I'm not to change it," replied Hettie, settling her 
 pretty skirts on the top step. 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "She says I'm not to take care of Ida so much. I'm a member of 
 the family, not your nurse girl." 
 
 Across the sheets of his letter Mr. French gave Hettie a severe 
 look. The children in the French family did not take issue with 
 their elders. E. P. Gilbert, watching from the shadows, politely 
 tucked in a smile. I was enough in the current of Chapin gossip to 
 enjoy the situation. Mrs. Cooper fired a furious glance at her 
 husband, but Mr. Cooper merely raised his glass for a thoughtful 
 sip. Like the meadow grass before the breeze, he bent to allow 
 family storms to pass over him. 
 
 Mrs. Cooper rose from behind the table. 
 
 "If you will excuse me," she said, "I have a great deal to do. 
 Hettie! If you stain that dress at the picnic, you'll not get another 
 all summer." 
 
 She made an angry wave of herself, surging through the doorway 
 and along the cool dimness of the hall. 
 
 I went to sit beside Hettie on the steps. 
 
 "These notes," explained Mr. French to me, "were made by a 
 young lawyer who was present at the Bloomington meeting. A. Mr. 
 H. C. Whitney. They are authentic, or nearly so." 
 
 He proceeded to read while the other men resumed listening. 
 Enjoying Mr. Lincoln's oratory, I meanwhile studied the indolent, 
 rather melancholy face of John Douglas Cooper. In all the years 
 that have passed since that speech was read beneath the softly 
 moving shade of the elms that swept against the walls of Wildwood 
 Home, I have never met one individual who could furnish me an 
 incident to prove a hand's turn of unnecessary physical effort on 
 the part of Mr. Cooper. Born in the slave-holding South, he main- 
 tained to his latest day the tradition of white folks' leisure taught 
 him in his cradle. 
 
 But here is Mr. French getting to the meaty portion of the 
 "Lost Speech". 
 
 " T will not say'," read Mr. French, " 'that we may not sooner or 
 
A UNION FOREVER 183 
 
 later be called upon to meet force with force; but that time has 
 not yet come, and if we are true to ourselves, may never come. Do 
 not mistake that the ballot is stronger than the bullet. Therefore let 
 the legions of slavery use bullets; but let us fire ballots at them in 
 return; and by that peaceful policy I believe we shall ultimately 
 win/ " 
 
 "Demagoguery !" 
 
 E. P. Gilbert was suddenly sitting forward. 
 
 "When and where," he demanded, "have the slave-holders used 
 bullets." 
 
 "In Kansas," replied Mr. French. 
 
 Peter Gilbert said nothing further. Samuel French said, "Where 
 was I? Oh, yes, ballots and not bullets." He read on in a slightly 
 firmer voice, " It was by that policy that here in Illinois the early 
 fathers fought the good fight and gained the victory. In 1824 the 
 free men of our state determined that these beautiful groves should 
 never reecho the dirge of one who had no title to himself. By their 
 resolute determination the winds that sweep across our broad 
 prairies shall never cool the parched brow, nor shall the unfettered 
 streams that bring joy and gladness to our free soil water the tired 
 feet of a slave; but so long as these heavenly breezes and sparkling 
 streams remain, the humanity to which they minister shall be 
 forever free!'" 
 
 "That was in 1824," remarked Peter Gilbert. "Times have 
 changed." 
 
 "They haven't changed so much that a Tennessee slave-holder 
 dares bring his human chattels into Morgan county," announced 
 Samuel French. 
 
 He marked his place in his letter with a finger that shook notice- 
 ably. A prickle traveled my spine. In this electric atmosphere I knew 
 a passing anxiety for myself, the young schoolmaster caught between 
 opposing forces. 
 
 "I've manumitted my slaves in my will," observed Mr. Cooper. 
 "All hands and house servants I may own at the time of my death 
 get their freedom." 
 
 "After you are through with them, do you turn them out to 
 starve?" 
 
 Mr. Cooper answered, always mildly, "I've made provision for 
 those who will be too old to work. Other men in Tennessee feel 
 as I do. Slavery will take care of itself, one of these days. Slavery 
 isn't the issue." 
 
 "What is the issue?" 
 
 "The issue is States' rights," answered Peter Gilbert. "Whether or 
 
184 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 not the citizens of one state are to be allowed to arrange the affairs 
 of the citizens of another state. That is the issue." 
 
 "Are you by any chance rejecting the immortal doctrine of 
 squatter sovereignty?" inquired Samuel French in apparent surprise. 
 
 "A state and a territory are two different things." 
 
 Anxiously observant I saw a gleam of triumph almost dispel the 
 severity of Mr. French, as he flipped a page of his letter. He read 
 very slowly and distinctly the following passage from the speech of 
 Abraham Lincoln: "'The essence of squatter or popular sov- 
 ereignty—I don't care how you call it— is that if one man chooses to 
 make a slave of another, no third man shall be allowed to object. 
 And if you can do this in free Kansas, and it is allowed to stand, the 
 next thing you will see is ship loads of negroes from Africa at the 
 wharf at Charleston; for one thing is as truly lawful as the other; 
 and these are the bastard notions we have to stamp out, else they 
 will stamp us out.' " 
 
 "Flapdoodle!" exclaimed Peter Gilbert. "Political demagoguery, 
 and flapdoodle." 
 
 I was leaning forward, listening with breath almost checked, 
 waves of excitement rising in me. Mr. French, evidently determined 
 to cram the Bloomington speech into two pairs of Southern ears, 
 dropped argument. Clearing his throat, he read on: "'One great 
 trouble in the matter is, that slavery is an insidious and crafty 
 power.' " Mr. French gave these adjectives their due. " 'And gains 
 equally by open violence of the brutal as well as by sly manage- 
 ment of the peaceful. Once let slavery get planted in a locality, by 
 ever so weak or doubtful a title, and in ever so small numbers, and 
 it is like the Canada thistle or Bermuda grass— you can't root it out. 
 You, yourself, may detest slavery, but your neighbor has five or six 
 slaves, and he is an excellent neighbor, or your son has married his 
 daughter, and they beg you to help them save their property, and 
 you vote against your interest and principles to accomodate a 
 neighbor, hoping your vote will be on the losing side. And others 
 do the same; and in those ways slavery gets a sure foothold. And 
 when that is done the whole mighty Union— the force of the nation- 
 is committed to its support. And that very process is working in 
 Kansas today—' " 
 
 Samuel French broke off reading to say, "There was a gentleman 
 from Kansas at the Bloomington convention. Introduced to the con- 
 vention. He told of the outrages being committed out there on the 
 free-state people." 
 
 "I have been meaning to ask Steve about those reports," said 
 Mr. Cooper in his placid voice. "Exaggerated, no doubt. I've always 
 
A UNION FOREVER 185 
 
 believed in allowing both factions to settle out there. The side that 
 gets the most men there first will win, of course. Perfectly fair to 
 all." 
 
 "And as I understand it," added Peter Gilbert, "Missouri got the 
 most men there first,— to the polls." 
 
 Mr. French read on. 
 
 " 'The Union is undergoing a fearful strain; but it is a stout old 
 ship, and has weathered many a hard blow, and the "stars in their 
 courses", aye, an invisible power, greater than the puny efforts of 
 men, will fight for us. But we ourselves must not decline the burden 
 of responsibility, nor take counsel of unworthy passions. Whatever 
 duty urges us to do or omit, must be done or omitted; and the 
 recklessness with which our adversaries break the laws, or counsel 
 their violation, should afford no example to us. Therefore, let us 
 revere the Declaration of Independence; let us continue to obey the 
 Constitution and the laws; let us keep step to the music of the 
 Union. Let us draw a cordon, so to speak, around the slave states, 
 and the hateful institution, like a reptile poisoning itself, will perish 
 by its own infamy.' " 
 
 Mr. Cooper looked as nearly disturbed as his nature permitted. 
 It is one thing mildly to deprecate a situation in which one finds 
 oneself; it is quite another thing to hear the same situation roundly 
 scored by another. 
 
 Unconcerned with the feeling he was rousing, Mr. French read 
 on in a voice of triumph to Lincoln's peroration. 
 
 * 'The conclusion of all is, that we must restore the Missouri 
 Compromise. We must highly resolve that Kansas shall be free! We 
 must reestablish the birthday promise of the Republic; we must 
 reaffirm the Declaration of Independence; we must make good in 
 essence as in form Madison's avowal that the "word slave ought 
 not to appear in the Constitution"; but we must go even further, 
 and decree that only local law, and not that time honored instru- 
 ment, the Constitution, shall shelter a slaveholder. We must make 
 this a land of liberty in fact, as in name. But in seeking to attain 
 these results— so indispensable if the liberty which is our pride and 
 boast is to endure— we will be loyal to the Constitution and the 
 "Flag of our Union", and no matter what our grievance— even 
 though Kansas shall come in as a slave state; and no matter what 
 theirs— even if we shall restore the Compromise— we will say to the 
 Southern disunionists, "We won't go out of the Union, and you 
 SHAN'T!!! 
 
 " 'But let us, meanwhile, appeal to the sense and patriotism of 
 the people, and not to their prejudices; let us spread the floods of 
 
186 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 enthusiasm here aroused all over these vast prairies, so suggestive 
 of freedom. . . . There is both a power and a magic in popular 
 opinion. To that let us now appeal; and while, in all probability, 
 no resort to force will be needed, our moderation and forebearance 
 will stand us in good stead when, if ever, WE MUST MAKE AN 
 APPEAL TO BATTLE AND TO THE GOD OF HOSTS!!'" 
 
 Mr. French brought into perfect order the sheets of his letter. 
 
 "My correspondent adds that the audience went wild, waving 
 hats, shouting, and generally running riot. Even the reporters from 
 the big city newspapers forgot to take notes. If it were not for the 
 presence of mind of this young Whitney,— I understand he went 
 into the meeting with the intention of taking notes, and didn't 
 swerve from that intention,— the greatest speech ever made on 
 American soil would be entirely lost." 
 
 "Greatest piece of political claptrap," exclaimed Peter Gilbert. 
 "Why, the man doesn't say a thing. For example, if the South 
 decides to secede, who are we in Illinois to say they shant? Unless 
 we mean to fight, and fight like blazes. Just like a penniless politi- 
 cian," he finished bitterly, "brewing trouble sure to interfere with 
 legitimate business." 
 
 Mr. Cooper remarked, "I'm waiting to hear what Steve has to 
 say about the situation. He's on from Washington to defend that 
 suit for me. Radicals like this man, Lincoln, come and go. But a 
 competent statesman like Stephen A. Douglas can be counted on 
 to keep the country peaceful and prosperous. Steve is a master of 
 expedient." 
 
 "Expedient," repeated Samuel French in disgust. "Like trying to 
 set a broken leg with a dose of castor oil. I tell you, slavery has got 
 to go. Or it will ruin us all." 
 
 "Dad seize it!" cried Mr. Cooper, roused at last to the use of his 
 one expletive. "Let it die a natural death. Once the nation's settled, 
 nobody will want the black race here any longer. They'll be 
 returned to Africa." 
 
 Forgetting Hettie, all ears, in his excitement, Mr. French leaned 
 forward to demand, "And will the South send her bastards with 
 them?" 
 
 "What difference?" asked Peter Gilbert. 
 
 "I tell you," almost shouted Samuel French, "before that time, 
 the cotton belt planters will use the last ounce of strength in the 
 last black back. Then what will they do? They'll either bring more 
 blacks from Africa. Or they'll be strong enough to make slaves of 
 impoverished white men. . . ." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 187 
 
 He broke off suddenly, and we all followed his gaze down the 
 driveway. 
 
 William Cooper was turning Thunderguns between the white 
 wooden gate-posts. Mike Delaney, evidently on the watch, ap- 
 peared round the corner of the house in time to seize the high- 
 spirited creature's bridle. William leaped from the sulky and 
 handed down his sister. As young Mrs. Bronson swept her full 
 skirts to the steps we all rose. There was a moment of general con- 
 versation while William spoke to Mike. Then the young man sprang 
 toward the steps and his father. 
 
 "I have to tell you, sir, that Cousin Steve will be out on the after- 
 noon train. And he has invited Abe Lincoln to accompany him." 
 
 "Lincoln?" 
 
 Mr. Cooper appeared mildly astonished. 
 
 "Yes, sir. During the arguments I thought several times, Cousin 
 Steve will surely ask Lincoln for the satisfaction of a gentleman. 
 I give you my word, sir, I never heard such coarse attempts at 
 ridicule. But after the adjournment, they walked down the steps 
 together. And Lincoln had an arm round Cousin Steve's shoulder." 
 
 "They've been friends for years," explained Mr. Cooper. "From 
 pioneer days when they were young fellows together in the law." 
 
 Samuel French cut in, "Abraham Lincoln in Jacksonville?" He 
 gave William a grim smile. "I understand Mr. Lincoln was chal- 
 lenged at one time, young man. He named broadswords for the 
 weapons. Your Cousin Steve would scarcely like to meet Abraham 
 Lincoln in a broadsword duel." 
 
 Mr. Cooper turned the subject. 
 
 "I intended to tell you, French, but your letter put it out of my 
 mind. Lawyer Lincoln was employed by plaintiff's counsel in an 
 effort to bolster their case." 
 
 Mr. French moved to go. 
 
 "If Mr. Lincoln is coming to our picnic, we ought to arrange for 
 a committee of welcome." 
 
 "No, Mr. French," interposed Mattie Bronson from the doorway, 
 where she stood drawing off her lace mitts. "He specially said if he 
 came he wanted to forget politics. I invited him, father. To eat 
 some of Aunt Jane Smith's hot biscuits." 
 
 "You invited him? To eat Jane's biscuits?" 
 
 "You seem to forget, father, that I now move in Springfield 
 society. One evening Dan and I were entertained by Mrs. Lincoln. 
 And Dan got to bragging about Aunt Jane's biscuits. Till Mr. 
 Lincoln said he should certainly try them. If he ever had the 
 opportunity." 
 
188 
 
 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Mattie started into the house. Raising his voice for her benefit, 
 William remarked, "As things now stand, I shall absent myself." 
 
 "Willie," said Mr. French, "you will not be missed." 
 
 Hettie, who had been listening with sparkling eyes, called after 
 her sister, "Did Cousin Steve make a monkey out of Old Abe?" 
 
 Mattie Bronson swung round, her black eyes snapping. 
 
 "Quite the contrary. Old Abe made a monkey out of Cousin 
 Steve." 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 To Wildwood Home, as the afternoon shadows lengthened, came 
 the leading families of the neighborhood. I arrived early with the 
 Williams family,— with Debbie who was a great friend of Hettie 
 Cooper, and Mary Williams, a young lady who was said to be 
 hesitating between Peter Gilbert and the Bethel school where she 
 was expected to teach in the fall. Horace Chapin, distinctly our 
 leading citizen, came with his lady and his younger brother Cor- 
 nelius, already making sheep's eyes at Hettie. Here came the 
 Frenches with Charley and their young lady daughter, Laura; old 
 Mr. Withington, a perennial beau, and his son Nat, a young 
 carpenter and builder; my former kind employer, Mr. Daniels, with 
 his wife and children and his wife's niece, a mature young lady 
 accustomed to visit each year from the East. By no means of least 
 importance to me, here came Uncle Wilson Smith with Aunt Jane 
 and all their children, even the baby Tal. Aunt Jane was in her 
 middle thirties, a fine figure of a contented matron. Would that pen 
 of mine were skillful enough to reveal the beauty of her character, 
 her unfailing kindness to the orphan lad, her husband's nephew. 
 
 All these folks and fifty more gathered on the lawn around the 
 long tables that soon began to take on an irrestible attraction as 
 large cakes,— coconut, chocolate, and the always delectable sponge,— 
 with heaping dishes of strawberries interspersed, stood at ease down 
 the long tables, while salads, pickles and jellies filled every vacant 
 space, crowded by platters of cold, sliced ham, eggs rosily pickled 
 in beet juice, mounds of fried chicken and pots of delicately 
 browned beans. 
 
 At exactly the right moment the passenger train from Jacksonville, 
 madly clanging her bell, chuffed past the white picket fence of 
 Wildwood, and stopped at the little station located in Chapin but 
 named for the village of Concord, two miles north. Despite Mattie 
 Bronson's relayed message, Samuel French and half a dozen other 
 leading Union men were waiting on the platform to greet Mr. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 189 
 
 Lincoln, while an equal number of Democrats headed by Peter 
 Gilbert surrounded Senator Douglas. Mr. Cooper, too indolent for 
 the walk to the station, greeted the two Illinois politicians beneath 
 the shade trees on his lawn. 
 
 "Mr. Cooper," said Abraham Lincoln, "you owe my presence to 
 your daughter Mrs. Bronson. She and my wife exchange calls and 
 dinner parties. I believe they even shop together. Both are of 
 diminutive stature, but I assure you it is a race between them to see 
 which can crowd the most yardage into a fine silk gown." 
 
 Mrs. Cooper, meanwhile, was pointedly making a group of 
 herself with Peter Gilbert, Senator Douglas and her younger brother, 
 George Risley. Seeing this, "You are just in time, Mr. Lincoln," 
 exclaimed Mattie Bronson, tilting her hooped skirts toward him 
 over the lawn,— sixteen yards of skirt I learned later from Hettie. 
 "Aunt Jane was beginning to worry. She says her biscuits must 
 come out of the oven right now!" 
 
 At this point Little Doug deserted Mrs. Cooper's group. 
 
 "When I described Jane's biscuits to Lincoln, he'd have set out 
 to walk, if there'd been no train," explained the senator. He beamed 
 equally on the tables and on the Lyceum membership, crowding 
 up politely to greet the two leading politicians of the state. Both 
 food and company were a delight to Douglas. "I say, 'describe'," he 
 continued, laughing, "but where is the tongue to do justice to Jane 
 Smith's biscuits?" 
 
 "Mrs. Bronson," cried Lincoln, "tell your aunt to worry no more. 
 Depending on the train, we could arrive no earlier." He dropped a 
 bony hand on the senator's shoulder. "But the long and the short 
 of it is, we are here." 
 
 Amid smiles, laughter, greetings and polite gestures with chairs 
 the company proceeded to settle themselves on the wooden benches 
 either side the long tables. Debbie Williams, Hettie Cooper, Mattie 
 Bronson and half a dozen other girls and young matrons floated 
 their big hooped skirts back and forth between the tables and the 
 summer kitchen whence came hot coffee and the famous biscuits 
 heaped on platters and wrapped in clean napkins to keep them 
 piping hot. 
 
 As a member of the Lyceum committee on arrangements I found 
 opportunity to visit the summer kitchen where Aunt Jane was in a 
 flutter. 
 
 "I declare," she kept saying, "I haven't drawn a long breath since 
 I knew that man was coming." 
 
 The fact that Aunt Jane referred to Mr. Lincoln, whom she greatly 
 admired, as "that man" is an indication of her state of nerves. Like 
 
190 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 many another before and since her time, she was feeling the awful 
 responsibility of living up to a reputation. When I lifted a delicious, 
 biscuit, dripping with butter, from a plate destined for Mr. Lincoln, 
 she washed me out of the kitchen on a deluge of outcries. 
 
 Mrs. Daniels had kept a seat for me, and as I stopped now and 
 then for a bite between errands, I overheard some of her low-toned 
 comments to her niece. 
 
 "I'm glad to see Jane Smith. She keeps over Bethel way too much 
 in her friendships these days. The Willard family doesn't forgive 
 John D. Cooper for the second marriage. He married the nurse girl, 
 you know. In less than a year!" 
 
 The niece took a quiet observation of Mrs. Cooper seated at the 
 head of one of the long tables, between young George Risley and 
 Doctor Burnham, her physician and particular friend. 
 
 "She doesn't look like a nurse girl now, Auntie." 
 
 "Far from it." 
 
 The doctor and young Risley leaned close to exchange confid- 
 ences with Mrs. Cooper. The three were well entertained with one 
 another. 
 
 "She has a great deal of elegance, Auntie." 
 
 "Yes, indeed. She has nothing to do nowadays but outdress the 
 ladies of the neighborhood. And entertain her gentlemen friends. 
 Mrs. Cooper has gentlemen friends. In a very nice way, of course. 
 They are just . . . friends. Mr. Daniels would not like me to play the 
 married belle. But I believe that is quite the custom in the South." 
 Mrs. Daniels lowered her voice, with a guarded glance in my 
 direction. "She likes to have a following of young admirers." 
 
 "Lewis?" 
 
 "Among the train, yes." 
 
 The niece changed the subject. 
 
 "Judge Douglas is a very distinguished looking man, isn't he, 
 Auntie? Uncle John says the South will put him in the Presidency." 
 
 "He looks well, seated," replied Mrs. Daniels tepidly. "His head 
 is too big for his body. What do you think, Lewis? Will Judge 
 Douglas be our next President?" 
 
 But I was looking at Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 Most of the leading men of the neighborhood had deserted their 
 wives and families to occupy a long table where Mr. Cooper 
 presided with Judge Douglas one side and Mr. Lincoln the other. 
 Mr. French sat beside Mr. Lincoln, and Mr. Daniels was there, with 
 old Mr. Withington, Peter Gilbert and a dozen more. They were 
 all smiling as Mr. Lincoln finished some story whose point I could 
 not catch. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 191 
 
 The lines in the face, the deep melancholy eyes we have grown 
 to associate with Abraham Lincoln, these were, for the moment, 
 transformed. Just for the moment past and future fell away from 
 him, leaving him utterly free. A sort of radiance came from his 
 face, making him appear years younger. This is my picture, my own 
 individual picture to carry a lifetime, of Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 Excusing myself to Mrs. Daniels, I went to the guest table to be 
 near Mr. Lincoln, handing round a platter of cold ham for Mattie 
 Bronson while she lifted the pink slices on to the men's plates. 
 
 Samuel French was telling Mr. Lincoln of the notes on the "Lost 
 Speech". 
 
 "Don't show those notes to Steve, here," exclaimed Mr. Lincoln, 
 thoroughly enjoying himself. "He's got evidence enough on me to 
 hang me right now." 
 
 Later I heard him explaining to Samuel French and several other 
 strong Union men, "I never made a note for that speech, and it's 
 just as well I didn't. The letter of it may be lost, but the spirit of 
 it is in the hearts of the men of Illinois. And the spirit is what 
 gives life." 
 
 At the moment, Mr. Lincoln changed the subject to praise of the 
 wonderful hot biscuits, each as delicate as a snownake, and seem- 
 ing to melt with all the ease of a snowflake on the tongue. But 
 Samuel French was too filled with zeal to neglect politics for mere 
 food. He asked between absent-minded mouthfuls, "Is it true, Judge 
 Douglas, that you were standing in the ante-room of the Senate 
 Chamber when the foul attack was made on Charles Sumner?" 
 
 "I was indeed." The voice of Judge Douglas positively thrilled 
 with regret. "I was talking with Senator Slidell when someone 
 rushed up to say a man was attacking Mr. Sumner. My first impulse 
 was to hurry to the senator's assistance. But how could I? I saw in 
 an instant it would be political suicide for me. After the Kansas 
 speech when Sumner attacked me so violently, my relations with 
 him were naturally strained. If I had rushed into the Senate chamber 
 while Brooks was caning him, no subsequent word of mine could 
 have saved me. I'd have gone down in history as one of Sumner's 
 assailants." 
 
 "Your forethought was admirable," announced Mr. French dryly. 
 "If you had gone to his assistance, however, you might have saved 
 one of the few great minds in our Senate." 
 
 "You did well to keep away," interposed Peter Gilbert. "You owe 
 it to the country to avoid any calamity to your reputation. Your 
 career belongs to the nation." 
 
 "That reminds me of a story," began Mr. Lincoln. 
 
192 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 What the story was, I did not learn. I was called away. When I 
 again dropped into my seat beside Mrs. Daniels, and glanced at 
 Abraham Lincoln the radiance was gone. The world, as the poet 
 laments, again was too much with him. 
 
 Mrs. Daniels was pointing out the three younger Cooper children 
 to her niece. At their mother's table but a little removed from her, 
 they were Mary who was well grown, Hardy, about Charley 
 French's age, and the baby Ida. Waiting on Ida was Bridget 
 McShane, a young Irish girl from the settlement by the tracks. 
 
 "Mr. Daniels does not like me to gossip, my dear, so never 
 mention my telling you this. Margery Ann Cooper intended to set 
 Hettie the task of raising little Ida. Strange situation. The petted 
 darling has a nurse girl. The nurse girl marries the father, and 
 presently the petted darling is nursing the nurse girl's baby." 
 
 "Poetic justice, Auntie." 
 
 "I see no justice in it." 
 
 "Auntie, where is the young man I saw when I visited you three 
 years ago? He must be well grown by now." 
 
 "William!" Mrs. Daniels scanned the diners. "Gone to Jacksonville, 
 I'll be bound. He's dancing attendance on Miss Lula Van Zandt." 
 
 I was amused at this refutation of Mr. French's prophecy. William 
 was missed! 
 
 Debbie Williams presently ran across the lawn to where I was 
 chatting with Aunt Jane in the summer kitchen. Debbie with a blue 
 muslin gown like an inverted morning glory as she cried, "Mrs. 
 Smith!! Mr. Lincoln has eaten seventeen of your biscuits. And he 
 says he can hold three more!" 
 
 Aunt Jane herself brought a fresh plate of biscuits to Mr. Lincoln. 
 
 "They aren't what they should be," she explained in a worried 
 way. "Not as light as some I made last week." 
 
 "There!" 
 
 Steve Douglas assumed a commiserating tone. "I knew there was 
 something wrong with them. I can hardly eat them." 
 
 "Is that so," cried my good Aunt Jane. "Well, Steve Douglas, I'm 
 sure nobody obliges you to eat them." 
 
 Much mortified, she retired to the kitchen where she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 Douglas, informed of her upset, left the table in a hurry to make 
 his peace by explaining that he was only attempting a small joke. 
 
 The moment was come when well stuffed picnickers deserted the 
 littered tables to stroll about in couples and groups, settling their 
 suppers. The older women on the arrangements committee cleared 
 away, thriftily salvaging what was left unbroken of the eatables. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 193 
 
 Several boys and men, I was among them, began arranging the long 
 benches for the Lyceum meeting. Into this pleasant scene came 
 J. N. Ebey, escorting his son Will. 
 
 My heart plunged dizzily as I beheld Mr. Ebey making his 
 sanctimonious way through the crowd in the direction of John D. 
 Cooper. Will, avoiding the eyes of his schoolmates but casting a 
 look at me, followed his father. Too late I realized that Abraham 
 Lincoln and his "Lost Speech" had dissipated my plan to acquaint 
 my trustees with the affair of the morning. I could only wait in 
 dismay as Ebey, nodding to acquaintances in a pompous manner 
 peculiar to himself, reached Hettie's father. 
 
 "Mr. Cooper!" 
 
 Ebey cleared his throat, the better to gain universal attention. 
 
 "Mr. Cooper, may I speak to you and to Mr. French?" 
 
 Everyone standing near knew by that request that school business 
 was to the fore. The whipping of Will Ebey had, of course, already 
 been discussed far and wide. It was the topic at Wildwood until 
 the arrival of Judge Douglas and Mr. Lincoln gave a better point 
 to the occasion. Some of those near me now began to cast sly 
 glances in my direction. I was regretting the absence of William 
 Cooper. In this matter he would have been an ally. 
 
 Mr. Ebey was talking. 
 
 "Unprovoked assault. . . . boyish prank. . . ." 
 
 I saw Mr. French, always my friend, beckoning me. Before I 
 could reach him, Hettie Cooper swept up to her father. 
 
 "Father! Mr. French! I can tell you all about the whole thing!" 
 
 How pretty she was, talking so earnestly while the Lyceum mem- 
 bers crowded closer to hear. Her voice, which she had from Southern 
 ancestresses, was bell-like, and her faint slurring of final "r's" and 
 "g's" I thought very pretty. 
 
 "Thank you, Hettie," said Samuel French when she finished her 
 story with the declaration that, "Vassey isn't strong, either. This 
 might make her sick." Mr. French turned to J. N. Ebey. "Mr. Ebey, 
 you're a newcomer among us, and we like to be cordial to new- 
 comers. Won't you and Will have seats with us for the program? 
 Have you met Judge Douglas? And Mr. Lincoln? Not often we 
 have two such celebrities with us. They've turned our meeting into 
 an occasion to be remembered." 
 
 Mr. Daniels stepped forward to second Mr. French, shaking 
 hands cordially and starting a definite movement to the benches. 
 The evening sun threw long, bright rays at us from his momentary 
 throne above the horizon. Time to start the speaking, said everyone 
 
194 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 in hearing, careful to suppress smiles and to comment only in 
 lowered voices. 
 
 "Perhaps Will would rather stand," remarked Peter Gilbert to 
 Mary Williams, with a glance at me. 
 
 Mrs. Cooper, standing nearby, exclaimed to her friend Doctor 
 Burnham, "What next? That child grows bolder every day she 
 lives." 
 
 "Don't allow that to worry you, Margery Ann," requested Mattie 
 Bronson, sweeping by with a trayful of plates. She snapped her 
 black eyes at her young stepmother. "Next winter she will go in to 
 Jacksonville to the Seminary. She will be in a proper atmosphere 
 there to acquire finish." 
 
 Mrs. Daniels murmured to her niece, "You can see how things 
 are going." To me she said aloud, "Yes, indeed, Lewis, take the 
 bench." As Corny Chapin and I carried away the bench she had 
 occupied with her niece, she was saying, "A constant struggle 
 between Mattie and Margery Ann. I wanted you to see William. 
 Willie, we always called him, but he has come into his money now, 
 and he insists on William. Conceited? There are no words! He 
 spends a great deal of his time in Tennessee." She finished what she 
 had to say in a horrified whisper. "Secessionist!" 
 
 The Green Meadow Lyceum came to order. 
 
 The prize essay of the morning, subject, "Inspiration", was read 
 by Miss Debbie Williams. We then voted by acclaim to postpone 
 the balance of our program, and to hear instead from our dis- 
 tinguished guests. Mr. Lincoln spoke first. He kept away from 
 politics, telling stories of his boyhood, making us laugh and cry. 
 
 I can see us now on those hard benches beneath the oaks of 
 Wildwood, but especially I see Samuel French studying Lincoln. 
 To most of the members of the Lyceum Abraham Lincoln was a 
 Springfield lawyer who had failed to defeat the great Judge Douglas 
 for the United States Senate, a politician gone into limbo. Of all 
 that gathering probably only Samuel French saw with certainty 
 what lay ahead. Before many months should pass a committee of 
 Northern business men and political leaders would travel to Spring- 
 field to ask this homely man to accept the nomination of the young 
 and untried Republican party for the office of President of the 
 United States. 
 
 Was there one other in that gathering who looked ahead? 
 
 During the debates of the senatorial contest, Lincoln had asked 
 Douglas a great and fatal question: Can the people of a United 
 States territory, prior to the formation of a state constitution or 
 against the protest of any citizen of the United States, exclude 
 
A UNION FOREVER 195 
 
 slavery?" Douglas answered that they could thus exclude slavery, 
 and so he won the contest in Illinois where the overwhelming 
 number of voters ardently desired thus to exclude from Kansas the 
 "peculiar institution" of the South. Had Little Doug already caught, 
 on his sensitive political antennae, the deadly reaction of the 
 South? 
 
 There was no care on his beaming face when he came forward 
 to speak. On his arm he brought my smiling Aunt Jane, to seat her 
 gallantly on a bench near the speakers' table. Douglas had his 
 talents. 
 
 "I'm not going to make a speech," he declared. "This is a literary 
 coterie. I shall contribute a recitation." 
 
 A chorus of approval and brisk handclapping. We knew this 
 talent. His beautiful voice was at its best, rolling out verse. Does 
 this occasion seem very simple to another generation? Enjoying hot 
 biscuits and declamation on a country lawn? We were a simple 
 people in Illinois those years, trying to find an answer to a big 
 question, plowing into it or hammering it out at white heat, like the 
 farmers and artisans we were. 
 
 "Lincoln," said Little Doug, so graceful and gallant in his manner 
 one could not help admiring him, "when we were young fellows 
 together in Springfield, you once told me you admired some verses 
 of William Knox." He began to roll out the familiar lines in his 
 magnificent voice that was always a surprise coming from the Little 
 Giant. 
 
 "O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 
 
 Like a swift-flying meteor, a fast-flying cloud, 
 A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
 He passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 
 
 "The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, 
 Be scattered around and together be laid; 
 As the young and the old, the low and the high, 
 Shall crumble to dust and together shall lie." 
 
 There were no smiles now in his audience. Were we reflecting 
 the sadness on the face of Abraham Lincoln? In a deep hush 
 Douglas finished the poem. 
 
 "Yes, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, 
 Are mingled together in sunshine and rain; 
 And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge, 
 Still follow each other like surge upon surge. 
 
196 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 ' Tis the wink of an eye : 'tis the draught of a breath 
 
 From the blossoms of health to the paleness of death, 
 From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud; 
 O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?" 
 
 A little evening breeze ran under the trees and over the grass 
 to us. I, for one, felt a goose stepping on my grave. Suddenly there 
 was a concerted exclamation over the final departure of day. I rose 
 at once. It was my office to lead the closing music. While our 
 quartette came forward I struck the tuning fork and called the 
 tune: "Old Hundred". We sang well together in Chapin in those 
 days. 
 
 The evening star came out above the trees before the last carriage 
 and wagon and chaise-cart passed through the gates of Wildwood. 
 I who had no home ties urging, lingered on the gravel drive. Ac- 
 companied by Hettie, Judge Douglas went away to the stables to 
 superintend the hitching of an elderly mare who was to draw him 
 and Mr. Lincoln back to Jacksonville twelve miles away. Mr. 
 Lincoln walked back and forth between two great elms, his head 
 lowered and his great hands laced behind his back. 
 
 "Mr. Lincoln!" 
 
 He turned to survey me in the fading fight. 
 
 "You're the school teacher," he said. "One that whipped the 
 jokester. Did I hear your name?" 
 
 "My name is Lewis Hanback." 
 
 "Lew," he said, taking my hand in a firm clasp of his enormous 
 hand. "I'm glad to know you." 
 
 I had a question to ask. 
 
 "Mr. Lincoln, some of us are organizing a Morgan county guard. 
 The Hardin Light Guard, we plan to call it. If the need arises, we'll 
 be ready to go at the first call. Will the need arise, Mr. Lincoln?" 
 
 Oh, the sadness of his eyes! 
 
 "Lew, the Union is in danger. I wouldn't counsel a young man 
 out for a walk with his girl to cross the road to knock down every 
 man that gave her a look. But I wouldn't think much of him, if he 
 failed to fight for her when the need came. Now the Union is the 
 sweetheart of us all. Without her, the purpose and meaning of our 
 lives is lost. Keep up your drill, Lew." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Lincoln. I've made up my mind to stand with 
 you. 
 
 "Not with me, Lew. I don't matter a great deal in the world. But 
 the American Union does matter to all mankind. Stand by the 
 Union, Lew. . . . These friends of yours," he said abruptly, with a 
 
A UNION FOREVER 197 
 
 glance toward the opened front doors of Wildwood. "In any great 
 struggle their interests will be opposed to yours and mine. Have 
 you thought of that?" 
 
 I gazed at Mr. Lincoln dumbly,— had he guessed a secret I only 
 just began to know myself? I thought I saw a twinkle in his serious 
 eyes, but I couldn't be sure in the gloaming. Then I felt that con- 
 founded goose again at the grass on my grave, but I answered Mr. 
 Lincoln as steadily as I could, "I'll stand by the Union." I finished 
 in a firm voice, "Always." 
 
 Mr. Lincoln smiled. 
 
 Oh, many weary miles I'd march, and dying men and thirst, 
 nights beneath the open heaven and days of agony and toil, before 
 again, and for the last time, I was to see that smile on the face 
 of Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 Mattie Bronson came from the hall, running down the steps. 
 
 "Mr. Lincoln, what are you doing out here? I thought Cousin 
 Steve and Mr. French were with you." 
 
 John D. Cooper followed his daughter, but more leisurely, to say 
 goodbye to Douglas and Lincoln. There came the clop-clop of 
 elderly hoofs, and Judge Douglas drove up with Hettie beside him. 
 Hettie, jumping down before I could reach her, exclaimed, "Mr. 
 Lincoln, up to this afternoon I wanted Cousin Steve to be the next 
 President of the United States. But now I'd rather have you." 
 
 "Hettie," begged her father in a patient voice, "what are you 
 talking about?" 
 
 "Why, father, William says Cousin Steve will be President. But 
 Mattie says it will be Mr. Lincoln. I've decided to support Mr. 
 Lincoln." 
 
 "Lincoln," asked Douglas, moving over to make room for his 
 tall companion, "how do you do it? You have a fatal charm for the 
 petticoats." 
 
 Amid laughter and a chorus of pleasant amenities the two men 
 drove away. The last words that came back to us through the still 
 country night darkness were from Mr. Lincoln. 
 
 "That reminds me, Steve! Did I ever tell you about Zeb Tolliver? 
 One-legged rascal, kept tavern over on the Kentucky shore. . . ." 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 Fearful and Exciting Intelligence! 
 
 Negro Insurrection at Harper's Ferry! 
 
 Extensive Negro Conspiracy in Virginia and Maryland! 
 
 Seizure of the United States Arsenal by Insurrectionists! 
 
198 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Arms taken and Sent into the Interior! 
 The Bridge Fortified and Defended by Cannon! 
 Trains Fired Into and Stopped! 
 Several Persons Killed! 
 Telegraph Wires Cut! 
 Contributions Levied on Citizens! 
 Troops Despatched Against the Insurgents from 
 Washington and Baltimore! 
 
 John Brown lay stretched at full length on his back on a hastily 
 produced shakedown on the floor of the engine house at Harper's 
 Ferry, Virginia. In three years his grey hair had grown to shoulder 
 length, and a mighty beard clothed his face. His locks were tangled 
 now, matted from blood and neglect. His hands were blackened 
 with blood and grime, effect of long exposure to smoke and powder. 
 Beside his leader, on a second miserable pallet, Captain Aaron 
 Stevens groaned occasionally. His wounds were serious. In the 
 midst of the enemies whose territory he had invaded, John Brown 
 remained calm while a small army of officials and as many onlookers 
 as could crowd the scene, gazed upon him lying at their feet. 
 
 The local doctor finished an examination, rose. 
 
 He said deferentially, "You may question him, governor." 
 
 Henry Wise, governor of Virginia, vigorously chewed tobacco as 
 he glanced toward Senator Mason. The senator bent over to study 
 Brown's face closely as he asked, "Can you tell us who furnished the 
 money for your expedition into this state?" 
 
 "I furnished most of it myself." John Brown's tone was firm and 
 courteous. "I cannot implicate others. It is by my own folly I am 
 taken. I could easily have saved myself if I had exercised better 
 judgment. Rather than yielded to my feelings. I should have gone 
 away, but I had thirty odd prisoners, and their wives and daughters 
 were in tears for their safety. I felt for them. Besides, I wanted to 
 allay the fears of those who believed we came here to burn and 
 kill. It was for this reason, sir, I allowed the train to pass the bridge, 
 and gave them full liberty to pass on. So they rushed on, seeking 
 for aid against us, throwing those letters out of the windows to 
 rouse the countryside. But I had acted to spare the feelings of those 
 passengers and their families. And to allay the feeling that you had 
 got in your vicinity a band of men who had no regard for life and 
 property. Nor any feeling of humanity." 
 
 "But you killed some people who were passing along the street 
 quietly." 
 
 "Well, sir, if there was anything of that kind done, it was without 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 199 
 
 my knowledge. Your own citizens who were my prisoners, will tell 
 you that every possible means were taken to prevent it. I did not 
 allow my men to fire, or even to return fire, when there was danger 
 of killing those we regarded as innocent persons. They will tell you 
 that we allowed ourselves to be fired at repeatedly, and did not 
 return it." 
 
 One of the bystanders interposed hotly, "That ain't so. You killed 
 an unarmed man at the corner over there by the water house. And 
 there was another— " 
 
 Governor Wise squelched the bystander with a gleam from the 
 gubernatorial eye, while the reporters standing across the prisoner's 
 pallet from Mason, exchanged looks. 
 
 Mason continued, "If you would tell us who sent you here,— who 
 provided the means,— that would be information of some value." 
 
 "I will answer freely and faithfully about what concerns myself. 
 I will answer anything I can with honor, but not about others." 
 
 A bustle of important arrival, a United States marshall making a 
 path through the crowd, an imperious voice exclaiming, "Allow me 
 to pass, please!" 
 
 "Senator Mason, Vallandigham is my name, from Dayton. I've had 
 the pleasure of meeting you in Washington." 
 
 "The gentleman from Ohio," replied Mason with perhaps a shade 
 of reserve in his voice. "Governor Wise, let me introduce Congress- 
 man Vallandigham." 
 
 "Just stopping between trains," the Congressman explained as 
 they shook hands. "I have some questions to put to this fellow." 
 He lowered his voice. "Between ourselves, Northern Ohio is a hot- 
 bed of abolition activity. It's my duty to find out who is back of 
 this man. And whether he has any accomplices from my end of the 
 state." 
 
 "I yield to the gentleman from Ohio," said Senator Mason. 
 
 Instantly Vallandigham bent toward the prisoner and shot his 
 first question. 
 
 "Mr. Brown, who sent you here?" 
 
 "No man sent me here. It was my own prompting, and that of my 
 Maker." A sudden gleam from those grey eyes, and he added dryly, 
 "Or that of the devil. Whichever you please to ascribe it to. I 
 acknowledge no master in human form." 
 
 "Did you get up the expedition yourself?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "Did you get up this document published in the papers? This 
 document called a 'constitution'?" 
 
200 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "I did. They are a constitution and ordinances of my own con- 
 triving." 
 
 "How long have you been engaged in this business?" 
 
 After a brief moment of consideration, John Brown answered. 
 "From the breaking out of the difficulties in Kansas. Four of my sons 
 had gone there to settle, and they induced me to go. You under- 
 stand I didn't go there to settle. I went because of the difficulties." 
 
 "Just a moment, Vallandigham," interposed Senator Mason. "How 
 many are engaged in this movement of yours?" he asked the 
 prisoner, "I ask these questions for your own safety." 
 
 The prisoner replied calmly, "Any questions I can honorably 
 answer, I will. Not otherwise. So far as I, myself, am concerned, I 
 have told everything truthfully. I value my word, sir." 
 
 Mason shifted his attack. 
 
 "What was your object in coming to Virginia?" 
 
 "We came to free the slaves. Only that." 
 
 A young man in the uniform of an officer of Virginia volunteers 
 stood beside Governor Wise. He now burst out, "How many men 
 did you have? In all." 
 
 "I came to Virginia with eighteen men beside myself." 
 
 "What in the world did you suppose you could do in VIRGINIA 
 with that amount of men?" 
 
 "Young man, I don't wish to discuss that question with you." 
 
 "You couldn't do anything," decided the officer. 
 
 "Well, son, perhaps your ideas and mine on military subjects 
 would differ materially." 
 
 "How do you justify your acts?" asked Mason. 
 
 John Brown's face lighted up, as he said earnestly, "I think, my 
 friend, you are guilty of a great wrong against God and humanity— 
 I say this without wishing to be offensive— and I think it would be 
 perfectly right for anyone to interfere with you so far as those you 
 willfully, wickedly hold in bondage. I do not say this insultingly." 
 
 "I understand that," replied Mason in a softened tone. 
 
 "I think I did right, and that others will do right who interfere 
 with you at any time, at all times. I hold that the Golden Rule— Do 
 unto others as you would have them do unto you— applies to all 
 who help others to gain their liberty." 
 
 "But you don't believe in the Bible," blurted out the young 
 officer. 
 
 "Certainly I believe in the Bible." 
 
 Vallandigham broke in impatiently, "Where did your men come 
 from? Did some of them come from Ohio?" 
 
 "Some of them." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 201 
 
 "From the Western Reserve, of course. None of them came from 
 Southern Ohio." 
 
 "Oh, yes. I believe one came from Steubenville, not far from 
 Wheeling." 
 
 Somewhat dashed, Vallandigham left the subject for the query, 
 "Have you been in Ohio this summer?" 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 "How lately?" 
 
 "I passed through on my way to Pittsburg in June." 
 
 "Were you at any county or state fair there?" 
 
 "I was not there since June," replied Brown, answering the ques- 
 tion since county and state fairs take place later than June. 
 
 "Pardon me, Vallandigham." Mason bent over the prisoner. "Did 
 you consider this a military organization, in this paper?" He glanced 
 at folded sheets he held. "I have not read it yet." 
 
 John Brown replied, "I did in some measure. I wish you would 
 give that paper your close attention." 
 
 "You considered yourself commander-in-chief of this provisional 
 military force?" 
 
 "I was chosen, agreeably to a certain document, commander-in- 
 chief of that force." 
 
 Mason asked suddenly, "What wages did you offer your fol- 
 lowers?" 
 
 Brown replied, "None." 
 
 The young officer struck in with, " 'The wages of sin is death'." 
 
 John Brown answered with a direct gaze into the young face 
 above him, "I would not have made such a remark to you, if you 
 had been a prisoner, and wounded, and in my hands." 
 
 The young officer would have replied, had opened his mouth for 
 that purpose, when the lean hand of Governor Wise closed firmly 
 on his upper arm, and he got from piercing eyes an admonishing 
 glance that closed his mouth. Congressman Vallandigham seized 
 the moment to resume the search for data he considered important. 
 
 "Were you ever in Dayton, Ohio?" 
 
 "Yes, I have been there." 
 This summer? 
 
 "No. A year or two since." 
 
 Senator Mason interrupted to ask the prisoner, "Does this talking 
 annoy you at all?" 
 
 "Not in the least," replied the man on the pallet. 
 
 Impatiently Vallandigham continued, "Have you lived long in 
 Ohio?" 
 
202 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "I went there in 1805. I lived in Summit county, which is now 
 Trumbull county." 
 
 "Do you recollect a man in Ohio named Brown, a noted counter- 
 feiter?" 
 
 "I do. I knew him from a boy. His father was Henry Brown, of 
 Irish or Scotch descent. The family was very low." 
 
 Both Mason and Wise colored angrily at this paltry attempt to 
 smear the prisoner. Vallandigham, conscious of having gone too far, 
 asked several more or less relevant questions, all answered with 
 perfect composure by John Brown, then began on a new line, very 
 impressively. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Brown, I want you to answer this question very care- 
 fully. Did you go out to Kansas under the auspices of the Emigrant 
 Aid Society?" 
 
 "No, sir. I went out under the auspices of John Brown, and nobody 
 else." 
 
 Vallandigham flushed with annoyance, especially as he saw the 
 reporters biting on grins. While he was biting his own lip, the 
 bystander who had spoken before cut in. 
 
 "Did you consider this a religious movement?" 
 
 John Brown answered clearly, "It is in my opinion, the greatest 
 service a man can render to his God." 
 
 The other persisted, "Do you consider yourself an instrument in 
 the hands of Providence?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 A reporter asked suddenly, "Upon what principle do you justify 
 your acts?" 
 
 "Upon the Golden Rule. I pity the poor in bondage that have 
 none to help them. That is why I am here; it is not to gratify any 
 personal animosity, or feeling of revenge, or vindictive spirit. It is 
 my sympathy with the oppressed and wronged that are as good as 
 you. And as precious in God's sight." 
 
 An angry murmur stirred the onlookers. 
 
 "Why did you take the slaves against their will?" called a voice. 
 
 "I never did." 
 
 Stevens interrupted, trying to turn his head and ending in a 
 groan. 
 
 "Captain, the gentleman is right. In one case I know of a negro 
 who wanted to go back." 
 
 Instantly Vallandigham demanded of Stevens, "Where did you 
 come from?" 
 
 Stevens replied simply, "I live in Ashtabula county, Ohio." 
 
 "How recently did you leave Ashtabula county?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 203 
 
 "Some months ago. I never resided there any length of time. I 
 have often been there though." 
 
 "How far," demanded Vallandigham, "did you live from Jef- 
 ferson?" 
 
 "Be very cautious, Stevens, about an answer to that," interposed 
 John Brown. "It might commit some friend. I wouldn't answer it 
 at all." 
 
 Stevens evidently decided to take the advice of his chief. Groan- 
 ing, he managed to turn slightly away from Vallandigham, and 
 thereafter was silent. Vallandigham went back to Brown. 
 
 "Who are your advisers in this movement?" 
 
 "I cannot answer that. I have numerous sympathizers throughout 
 the entire North." 
 
 "In Northern Ohio?" 
 
 "No more than anywhere else. In all the free states." 
 
 "But you are not personally acquainted in Southern Ohio." 
 
 "Not very much." John Brown allowed his eyes to desert Vallan- 
 digham for a journey round the circle above him. "I want you to 
 understand, gentlemen, that I respect the rights of the poorest and 
 weakest of the colored people, oppressed by the slave system, just 
 as much as I do those of the most wealthy and powerful. That is the 
 idea that moved me. That alone. The cry of distress, of the op- 
 pressed, that is my reason. The only reason that prompted me to 
 come here." 
 
 One of the reporters asked, "Why did you do it secretly?" 
 
 "Because I thought that necessary to success. For no other 
 reason." 
 
 "You call that honorable, do you?" called a voice from the by- 
 standers. "What about that letter of Gerritt Smith?" 
 
 "What letter is that?" Brown asked a reporter. 
 
 "The New York Herald carried a letter from him yesterday. He 
 says it's folly to attempt to strike the shackles off the slave by moral 
 suasion or legal agitation. Predicts an insurrection in the South." 
 
 "I agree with Mr. Smith that moral suasion is hopeless. I don't 
 think the people of the slave states will ever consider the subject of 
 slavery in its true light till some other argument than moral suasion 
 is resorted to." 
 
 Again that stir and angry undertone. 
 
 Vallandigham glanced at his watch. He now bent forward for 
 final questions. 
 
 "Did you expect a general rising of the slaves, in case of your 
 success?" 
 
204 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "No, sir. I did not expect, nor did I wish it. I expected to gather 
 strength from time to time. Then I could set them free." 
 
 "Did you expect to hold possession here till then?" 
 
 "Well, I probably had a different idea. I do not know that I 
 ought to reveal my plans. I am here a prisoner, and wounded, be- 
 cause I foolishly allowed myself to be so. You overrate your strength 
 when you suppose I could have been taken if I had not allowed it. 
 I was too tardy, after commencing the open attack. In delaying my 
 movements through Monday night. And so, up to the time the 
 government troops attacked. It was all occasioned by my desire to 
 spare the prisoners and their families. And the community at large." 
 
 The doctor now stepped forward and knelt beside the prisoner, 
 taking his pulse. He asked curiously, "Were you in the party at 
 Kennedy's house?" 
 
 "I was head of that party. I occupied the house to mature my 
 plans." 
 
 "What was the number of men at Kennedy's house?" inquired 
 Dr. Biggs. 
 
 "I decline to answer that." 
 
 "Who lanced that woman's neck? The woman on the hill?" 
 
 "I did. I have sometimes practiced surgery. When I thought it 
 was a matter of humanity, or necessity. But I have never studied 
 surgery." 
 
 The doctor, rising, said to the three politicians, "It was done well 
 and scientifically." He went on, "These men have been very clever 
 to the neighbors. We had no reason to suspect them, except we 
 couldn't understand their movements." 
 
 One of the reporters had taken advantage of the conversation 
 between the doctor and the politicians to drop on a knee beside 
 Brown. 
 
 "I am from the New York Tribune," he said quietly. "Our paper 
 will publish any statement you have to make." 
 
 John Brown looked into the sorrowful eyes of William Phillips. 
 
 "Only one thing," he said finally. "Make it clear in your paper 
 why my plan failed." A gleam of humor fled across his face. "I 
 would not wish to lose my reputation for military genius." 
 
 "I will do that, sir," replied William Phillips in a choking voice, 
 and he allowed his hand to lie for an instant on that of John Brown. 
 
 "I am a little tired," murmured John Brown. "My memory grows 
 confused." 
 
 Instantly Governor Wise exclaimed, "Captain Stewart, kindly 
 
A UNION FOREVER 205 
 
 clear the room. This questioning has gone on a damned sight too 
 long." 
 
 Outside the engine house Vallandigham tarried only by shorten- 
 ing his steps as reporters thronged him. 
 
 "Vain to underrate either the man or the conspiracy! This fellow 
 is as brave and resolute a man as ever headed an insurrection. In a 
 good cause, with a sufficient force, he would have been a con- 
 summate partisan commander. Notice his characteristics. As we 
 saw him in there. Coolness, daring, persistency. The man's a stoic 
 in faith and patience. He shows a firmness of will and purpose . . . 
 unconquerable! He's the farthest possible remove from the ordinary 
 ruffian. Fanatic? Madman? No." Vallandigham laughed, looking 
 back as he hurried away to his train. "Certainly this was one of the 
 best planned and best executed conspiracies that ever failed." 
 
 Failed? 
 
 Mason and Wise conferred, walking away together. 
 
 "The charge of insanity," began Mason. 
 
 "Hell!" interposed the governor. "That cock won't fight. Damn it! 
 That's the gamest man I ever saw. And the sanest." 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Having come from North Elba by carriage as close as practicable, 
 I made my way up the slender cart track to the Brown farm in the 
 Adirondacks. With hasty strides over the first snow fall of the 
 season, I gained a clearing and paused to take a dozen deep 
 breaths while I gathered the details of the scene. The little farm 
 house, unpainted and without ornamentation, is set in a girdle of 
 blackened stumps, very startling against the background of snow. 
 Deep forest on a high hillside back of the clearing. A picture of 
 utter loneliness. 
 
 After the briefest pause following my climb, I strode up to the 
 door and knocked firmly. Waiting response, I began to read the 
 lettering on a large granite slab propped beside the door. The slab 
 bore two inscriptions. The first: "Captain John Brown who died 
 during the Revolution in a barn outside New York City attended 
 only by one faithful subordinate." Below this was lettered: "Fred- 
 erick Brown, murdered at Osawatomie for his adherence to the 
 cause of freedom." 
 
 The door opened not widely. A girl of perhaps sixteen years 
 looked out. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "My name," I said, "is Lewis Hanback." 
 
206 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "You are Mr. Phillips's friend. You came to father's camp in 
 Kansas." The door swung wide. "Do please come in. I'm Annie." 
 
 I stepped into the farmhouse kitchen of Captain John Brown. 
 
 The effect of that kitchen was comfort maintained by toil and 
 thrift. A fire of logs burned low but steadily in the great fireplace, 
 nursing a black, covered kettle that sang a bubling song of content- 
 ment. Pots and pans gleamed from the walls, and a well scrubbed 
 table was set out for tea. A clock on a shelf ticked away with all 
 the dignity of a well fed judge. Beneath the clock shelf hung a 
 calendar with the dead days marked off by x's. Stools and chairs 
 filled every corner, with two straight arm chairs occupying the two 
 corners of the cheerful hearth. All was scrupulously clean, not a 
 wisp nor a stain to mar the quiet comfort of the scene. 
 
 "If it is not intruding," I began, "I should like to see you all." 
 
 For answer Annie went toward the inner door, exclaiming, "The 
 girls are in the loft, quilting. And mother is lying down, for once. 
 They'll all want to see you." 
 
 Left alone, I had only time for one comprehensive look at the 
 details of the scene when a little girl of four or five years came 
 from an inner room, carrying a book. 
 
 "I'm Ellen," she announced sedately. "I want you to see the Bible 
 father gave me." She extended a morroco case covering a small 
 Bible. "You must read the inside cover." 
 
 She raised large, deeply grey eyes, trusting me to comply. 
 
 I opened the pretty book carefully and read: "This Bible pre- 
 sented to my dearly beloved daughter Ellen Brown, is not intended 
 for common use, but to be carefully preserved for her and by her, 
 in remembrance of her father, (of whose care and attentions she 
 was deprived in her infancy), he being absent in the Territory of 
 Kansas from the summer of 1855." 
 
 "May the Holy Spirit of God incline your heart, in earliest 
 
 childhood, 'to receive the truth in the love of it', and to form your 
 
 thoughts, words and actions by its wise and holy precepts, is my 
 
 best wish and most earnest prayer to Him in whose care I leave 
 
 you. Amen. From your affectionate father, John Brown. 
 "April 2, 1857." 
 
 While I was mastering the message from John Brown to his little 
 daughter, the outer door opened and Solomon Brown entered 
 hurriedly, he having seen the arrival of a stranger from where he 
 was chopping in the woodlot. Pulling off a great woolen mitten he 
 shook hands heartily, recalling me from having seen me in the 
 Kansas Blackjack. 
 
 Annie now returned with her younger sister, Sarah, and with two 
 
A UNION FOREVER 207 
 
 young women whom she introduced as, "Oliver's wife, and this is 
 Watson's wife". These were the young widows of the two sons 
 killed at Harper's Ferry. 
 
 "Mother is coming," Annie assured me, and she set the kettle 
 singing for tea. "People are surprised," she exclaimed, cutting bread 
 from a crusty loaf, "at father's daring to invade Virginia with 
 twenty-three men. But I think if they knew what sort of men he 
 had with him, there'd be less surprise. I never saw such men." 
 
 "All except Cook," remarked Oliver's widow. 
 
 "All except Cook," agreed Annie. "He was not a man of principle." 
 
 "You know," put in Solomon, "mother leaves in the morning for 
 Virginia. There has been a gentleman here from Boston to make 
 the arrangements. A Mr. Higginson." 
 
 "Thomas Wentworth Higginson! I hadn't heard, but of course he 
 would do just that. Will he accompany your mother all the way?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Brown spoke from the inner doorway. 
 
 Mary Brown, second wife of John Brown, was at this time forty- 
 three years of age. It can be said of her that she was morally and 
 spiritually strong, fitted to play the grand and agonizing role into 
 which she was cast by the anti-slavery struggle. Of a good height 
 and figure, she wore her plain gingham with a certain grace. Her 
 dark hair was brushed to satin over her ears and caught in a 
 skillful coil on her neck. She came forward with outstretched hand. 
 
 "Mr. Hanback! Have you met everyone here?" 
 
 I took her hand, held it. 
 
 "Mrs. Brown, my country is about to lose one of the supreme 
 military geniuses of this age. In her coming agony this is a tragic 
 loss. When I stop to realize this, my personal sorrow is swallowed 
 up in sorrow for the Union." 
 
 We gathered round the table. Mary Brown repeated grace in a 
 controlled, low voice. Then she said, "We only began having tea or 
 coffee after my husband was in Kansas. He always drank milk or 
 water, but he found this sometimes embarrassed people on the 
 frontier. Where cows are few." 
 
 "I want to know all these intimate details," I declared. "You have 
 no idea how many thousands of men, women and children in the 
 North are praying for John Brown's deliverance, almost worship- 
 ping him. Everything he ever said or did is precious to them now." 
 
 "You might tell them," said Solomon, "how early he got us up 
 in the morning. Four o'clock in summer. And he always found 
 plenty of work for everyone. We boys felt a little pleased, some- 
 times, when father left the farm for a few days." 
 
208 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "We girls never did." 
 
 Annie gave her brother a cup of tea and a reproachful look. 
 
 "Well, we were always glad to see the old man come back again. 
 If we did get more holidays in his absence, we always missed him." 
 
 "Can you tell me something of his church life?" 
 
 Solomon answered. 
 
 "He read sermons. Brooks of Boston and Beecher of Brooklyn. 
 He couldn't endure a church where there was no earnest prayer 
 offered for the Southern slave. Sometimes he occupied the pulpit of 
 the little church below here, in North Elba. And when father did 
 that, the Lord heard the slave mentioned pretty regularly." 
 
 Mary Brown took up the story. 
 
 "My husband once told me that he had to train himself to tell 
 the truth. His mother died when he was very young. He was made 
 sensitive by unhealed grief. He couldn't bear censure, and this led 
 to his telling what are sometimes called 'white lies'. As he grew 
 older, he took himself in hand. This is perhaps the reason he is so 
 particular about the truth in himself and others." 
 
 "And so particular to take the responsibility for his acts," added 
 Solomon. 
 
 "Like his saying," put in Watson's widow unexpectedly, "that he 
 went out to Kansas under his own auspices." 
 
 "Yes, that was like father." 
 
 "It surely was." 
 
 For a moment there was tender laughter round the table. I set 
 down my cup, afraid to drink past the lump in my throat. With these 
 people, I realized, immortality was not, never would be based on 
 physical testimony. 
 
 "Mr. Hanback," said Mary Brown, "I wish you would quote me 
 on the subject of my husband's 'insanity'. As the South is pleased 
 to call it. I have lived twenty years of my life with Captain Brown, 
 and I truly believe I would have noticed it in all that time, if he 
 had shown tendencies to mania." 
 
 Annie observed Ellen's Bible, lying on a chair by the fireplace. 
 She now disappeared to fetch a treasure of her own, a letter from 
 her father. He wrote: "Annie, I want you first of all to become a 
 sincere, humble, and consistent Christian— and then to acquire 
 good and efficient business habits. Save this to remember your 
 father by, Annie. God bless and save you all." 
 
 I wanted very much to guide the conversation in order to learn 
 what financial resources this high-souled family might have. Mary 
 Brown helped me by remarking, "My husband's father died in '55. 
 He left his affairs to be administered by Mr. Brown's older brother. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 209 
 
 He is a good man, but he cannot bear the thought my husband 
 might give away the family property to help the cause of freedom. 
 He helps us from the estate occasionally. I shall write him about 
 the taxes. They're very high this year, on the farm. I believe they 
 amount to eight dollars. And Oliver's wife has a small property. 
 She owns ten sheep. But of course we cannot touch that." 
 
 "Mother! I'm sure you're welcome to my money a thousand 
 times." 
 
 "We can manage, child, without that." 
 
 Solomon and Annie were concerned to explain why the attack 
 on the Ferry had failed. 
 
 "People will never understand how wonderful his plan was," 
 said Annie. "If he only had not had one traitor in his band. And 
 that forced him to strike a week too soon. Before the band who were 
 to help him could arrive." 
 
 "And his desire to save those Southern women from anxiety about 
 their men folks," added Solomon. "That kindly feeling betrayed 
 him into their hands." 
 
 Mary Brown looked far away into some inner memory, and the 
 others looked at her while silence fell. She came back to them at 
 last, to say with a little half-sad smile of triumph, "My husband 
 always believed he was to be an instrument in the hand of Pro- 
 vidence. I believed that, too." After a moment she added, "But I 
 always hoped he might be killed in battle. And not fall into slave- 
 holding hands." 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 A Last Will and Testament 
 
 "Charleston, Jefferson Co., Va., Dec. 1, 1859 
 
 "I give to my son John Brown, Jr., my surveyor's compass and 
 other surveyor's articles if found; also my old granite monument 
 at North Elba, N. Y., to receive upon its two sides a further in- 
 scription, as I will hereinafter direct; said stone monument, how- 
 ever, to remain at North Elba so long as any of my children and 
 my wife may remain as residents. 
 
 "I give to my son Jason Brown my silver watch with my name 
 engraved on the inner case. 
 
 "I give to my son Owen Brown my double-spring opera-glass, 
 and my rifle gun (if found), presented to me at Worcester, Mass. 
 It is globe-sighted and new. I give also to the same son fifty 
 dollars in cash, to be paid from the proceeds of my father's 
 
210 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 estate, in consideration of his terrible suffering in Kansas, and 
 his crippled condition from childhood. 
 
 "I give to my son Solomon Brown fifty dollars in cash, to be 
 paid from my father's estate, as an offset to the first two cases 
 above named. 
 
 "I give to my daughter Ruth Thompson my large old Bible, 
 containing the family record. 
 
 "I give to each of my sons, and to each of my daughters, my 
 son-in-law Henry Thompson, and to each of my daughters-in-law, 
 as good a copy of the Bible as can be purchased at some book- 
 store in New York or Boston, at a cost of five dollars each in cash, 
 to be paid from the proceeds of my father's estate. 
 
 "I give to each of my grandchildren that may be living when 
 my father's estate is settled, as good a copy as can be purchased 
 ( as above ) at a cost of three dollars each. 
 
 "All Bibles to be purchased at the same time, for cash, on the 
 best terms. 
 
 "I desire to have ($50) fifty dollars each paid out of the final 
 proceeds of my father's estate to the following named persons, to 
 wit: To Allen Hammond, Esq., of Rockville, Tolland County, 
 Conn., or to George Kellogg, Esq., former agent of the New 
 England Company of that place, for the use and benefit of that 
 company. Also, fifty dollars to Silas Havens, formerly of Lewis- 
 burg, Summit County, O., at Canton, who sued my father in his 
 lifetime, through Judge Humphrey and Mr. Upson of Akron, to 
 be paid by J. R. Brown to the man in person if he can be found. 
 His name I cannot remember. My father made a compromise with 
 the man by taking our house and lot at Manneville. I desire that 
 my remaining balance that may become due from my father's 
 estate may be paid in equal amounts to my wife, and to each of 
 my children, and to the widows of Watson and Oliver Brown, by 
 my brother. John Brown." 
 
 "John Avis, Witness." 
 Captain John Brown was writing at a table in his cell in the 
 Jefferson county jail at Charleston, Virginia. Now recovered from 
 his wounds, he manifested his usual neatness of attire. His flowing 
 beard and long locks were washed and combed and brushed until 
 they glittered with vitality. Snowy linen and polished boots offset 
 darns and neat patches on the coat he had worn during the raid. 
 Altogether he offered an appearance of dignity and incisive vigor. 
 A chain round his left ankle bound him to a ring in the wall. To 
 prevent his chain from chafing his ankle, he wore two pairs of 
 woolen socks. John Avis, his jailer, studied the chain sadly while he 
 
A UNION FOREVER 211 
 
 conferred with its wearer. They had just completed the business of 
 the condemned man's will. The elderly lawyer appointed to defend 
 John Brown in court, and who had become a friend in the process, 
 was gone, leaving a fair copy of the will, attested by Avis. 
 
 "Would you care to see a Methodist minister, Mr. Brown? The 
 Reverend March is in my parlor, asking to see you." 
 
 "Show him in. Only give me time to finish this letter to Gerritt 
 Smith. I might not have opportunity to get back to it." 
 
 Color flooded the jailer's face and neck at this quiet statement. 
 He almost ran from the cell. Back again a few minutes later, he 
 came to announce the Reverend James H. March. John Brown rose 
 to greet the clergyman. 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 "Mr. Brown," began the minister, "at a conference of the men of 
 God in this community I was chosen to bring you spiritual comfort 
 in your last hours. Shall we kneel in prayer?" 
 
 "Just a moment, Mr. March. I am, and always have been, a man 
 of prayer. Many years ago while I was attending a prayer meeting 
 with my father, a man rushed into the meeting house to tell us of 
 the death of the martyr Love joy. He was killed, you may recall, by 
 a pro-slavery mob." 
 
 "A regrettable incident, sir." 
 
 "More than regrettable, sir. It was damnable. That night my 
 father prayed in that meeting as never before. And after his prayer 
 I rose and made a vow to devote my life to the abolition of slavery. 
 That being the case, I now ask you, before we pray together, do 
 you believe the institution of slavery is sanctioned by God?" 
 
 "I do, sir." 
 
 "By what Scripture do you justify this belief?" 
 
 "By authority of Moses, sir, who declared that God turned Ham 
 black for his sins, and set him to serve his brothers." 
 
 John Brown stood for a long moment, his hand resting on the 
 table, his piercing eyes searching the countenance of the minister. 
 
 "My dear sir," he said at last, "you know nothing about Chris- 
 tianity. I find you entirely ignorant of the meaning of the word. 
 I cannot kneel in prayer with you. Forgive me! I respect you as a 
 gentleman; but it is as a heathen gentleman." 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 General Taliaferro who had acted as escort to Mrs. Brown from 
 the moment when she entered the state of Virginia, stood in Cap- 
 
212 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 tain Brown's cell. Mary Brown had been received by Captain and 
 Mrs. Avis, and searched by order of Taliaferro, by Mrs. Avis. 
 
 "Captain Brown," demanded the general, "how long do you 
 desire this interview to last?" 
 
 John Brown answered in a lowered tone. 
 
 "Not long. Three or four hours will do." 
 
 "I am sorry, Captain Brown, but I will not be able to oblige you. 
 Mrs. Brown must return tonight to Harper's Ferry." 
 
 "General, execute your orders. I have no favors to ask of the state 
 of Virginia." 
 
 "That is considerate, sir, taking into account the great wrong you 
 attempted to do to her." 
 
 John Brown's voice rose to its normal resolute pitch. 
 
 "Let us leave that wrong to future ages, sir. Time and the honest 
 verdict of posterity will approve every act of mine." 
 
 General Taliaferro wheeled abruptly and left the cell. John Brown 
 saw him no more. 
 
 A moment later Captain Avis led Mary Brown into her husband's 
 cell. John Brown rose to receive her in his arms. She rested her head 
 on her husband's breast. Avis quietly closed the door, leaving 
 husband and wife together. 
 
 After a timeless passage Mary Brown raised her head. 
 
 "My dear husband! This is a hard fate." 
 
 John Brown smoothed her hair with a gentle hand. 
 
 "We must all bear it in the best manner we can. I believe it is all 
 for the best." 
 
 "Oh, how can you say that?" 
 
 "I mean for the Cause." 
 
 He led her to one of the two chairs in the cell, they were drawn 
 up to the table in anticipation of the farewell meal Mrs. Avis had 
 got permission to cook for the Browns. Putting Mary into a chair, 
 John Brown anxiously studied her face for signs of a weak surrender 
 to fate. Finding none, his eyes glowed. 
 
 "Wife, I am glad to see you." 
 
 Still clinging to one of her husband's hands, Mary Brown sighed, 
 "Our poor children! God help them." 
 
 After a painful silence John Brown said brokenly, "Those that 
 are dead in this world are angels in another." Already looking into 
 the experience beyond death, did the thought of welcome strengthen 
 him? "How are the children at home?" 
 
 "They send you love. They understand that you did not fail. You 
 were betrayed." 
 
 "You must tell them for me, their father died without a single 
 
A UNION FOREVER 213 
 
 regret for the course he pursued. I am satisfied I am right in the 
 eyes of God. And of all just men." 
 
 John Brown walked to the barred window of his cell, looked out 
 while he collected his thoughts. Mary Brown filled her eyes with 
 this last picture of him, to recall during the years. 
 
 "Mary?" 
 
 He came back to her. 
 
 "Mary, I would like you to get the bodies of our two boys who 
 were killed at the Ferry." She nodded. "And the bodies of the two 
 Thompsons." She nodded. "After I am dead, place us all on a 
 woodpile and set fire to the wood. Burn the flesh, then collect our 
 bones and put them in a large box. Have the box carried to our 
 farm in Essex county. Bury us there." 
 
 A pause followed while Mary Brown gazed at her husband in 
 horror. Had his mind really failed under his trial? No, he was 
 looking at her with his usual earnest look." 
 
 "My dear husband! I really cannot consent to this. On this sub- 
 ject, at least, you must, you really must change your mind." She 
 gained confidence as she spoke. "I don't think permission would be 
 granted to do any such thing. For my sake, think no more of such 
 ideas." 
 
 John Brown looked abashed. 
 
 "Well, well," he comforted her, smoothing her hair and brow, 
 "don't worry or fret about it. I thought the plan might save con- 
 siderable expense. And we have so little money." 
 
 At this moment Mary Brown looked downward, and for the first 
 time she saw the chain about her husband's ankle. 
 
 "O-o-o-h!" A gasping moan. 
 
 "Don't mind it, Mary. See, I have it well padded. No one can 
 chain my mind." 
 
 "I wish I had this chain," exclaimed Mary Brown with flashing 
 eyes, "to put with the one the slave-holders used on John out in 
 Kansas." 
 
 "I thought of that, and asked for it. The request was denied." 
 
 A slight noise in the corridor outside, and presently Mrs. Avis 
 entered, walking ahead of a young girl who bore a loaded tray. 
 Mrs. Avis bustled up to the table to oversee the disposal of the 
 plates and cups and silver to her liking. The colored girl, deftly 
 setting the table, rolled eyes toward John Brown that contained 
 terror, sorrow and worship in about equal proportions. 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Brown, I want you to make a good meal. You have a 
 long, cold ride ahead, remember that. This spoon bread is mighty 
 nice. And I have a reputation for my fried chicken, if I do say it 
 
214 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 that oughtn't to speak. Promise me, now, you'll try the spoon 
 bread." 
 
 Mary Brown tried to smile, as John Brown gravely thanked Mrs. 
 Avis for her trouble. 
 
 "And I'm sure it's no trouble. For a finer man—" 
 
 Here Mrs. Avis lost her courage-to-cheer. Suddenly she threw her 
 apron over her face and hurried blindly from the cell. 
 
 The supper occupied the man and wife but a few minutes. They 
 could not eat. Sadly the colored girl who had remained to wait on 
 them, gathered up the dishes. She curtsied. 
 
 "Good night, ma'am. Good night, suh." Her eyes beseeched John 
 Brown. "Might I touch yo' han'?" 
 
 When John Brown held out his hand she sank on both knees. 
 She clung with both her slender brown hands to his great hand, 
 her tears falling fast, her thin shoulders heaving convulsively. 
 
 "There, there," said John Brown, while his Mary broke down and 
 wept with the girl, "you must be brave. Mop up, now! And look 
 at me." 
 
 "Yes, suh." 
 
 "We must not think of me. We must think of the Cause. Your 
 people will be free. All over the country, way down to the gulf, 
 their agents are working. Your own people, five hundred of them 
 now every year, travel through the South on the errands of the 
 underground. These are the colored folks who have their liberty. 
 They are educated, some of them. Some of them are wealthy now. 
 But they do not forget you, and you must be brave. When the time 
 comes, you must help them." 
 
 "Yes, suh." She rose, her eyes steadfastly meeting his. "Ah won' 
 fo'get." 
 
 She gathered up her tray. 
 
 "Goodnight, all." 
 
 They echoed, "Goodnight. Goodnight." 
 
 John Brown now hastened to spread out his will on the table, 
 inviting Mary to read it. 
 
 "Now as to those bills," he began when she had finished reading, 
 "if any attorney for anyone tries to collect them, have nothing to do 
 with him. Pay the money directly to the parties involved. You 
 understand, Mary?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Captain Avis knocked on the cell door and entered. 
 
 "Is there any last thing we can do for you, Mrs. Brown?" 
 
 "I should like to speak to Captain Stevens," replied Mary. "To 
 the others, too, but especially to Captain Stevens." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 215 
 
 John Avis flushed. 
 
 "It's a shame, Mrs. Brown, but General Taliaferro gave particular 
 orders you are not to see any of the others. There's no sense in 
 that," he burst out. "I'll take you to see them." 
 
 "No," said Mary quietly, "if those are your orders, I will abide 
 by them." 
 
 She and her husband turned back to the will, but John Avis said, 
 almost below his breath, "Mrs. Brown, orders have come for you 
 to leave." 
 
 Then that husband and wife looked at one another, and all 
 eternity flashed between them, ages past and ages yet to come. 
 John Brown opened his arms, and Mary came to him and clung 
 against his heart. 
 
 "Mary," he said quickly, "I hope you will live in Essex county. 
 I hope you will be able to get all our children together. That way 
 you can impress right principles on each succeeding generation. 
 I give you all the letters and papers sent me since my arrest. Captain 
 Avis and his wife have my clothing in a bundle for you. I want you 
 to carry them home. Goodbye. . . . Goodbye. . . . God bless you." 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 The last morning, December 2, 1859. 
 
 The sun rose clear and cast a bright beam into John Brown's cell, 
 imperative summons to immortal glory. John Brown rose, it was 
 just daybreak, and resumed his correspondence with undiminished 
 vigor. 
 
 "He slept as peacefully as a child during the night," Captain Avis 
 told the sheriff, before they entered John Brown's cell at half after 
 ten o'clock. The sheriff blew his nose violently. When he entered 
 John Brown's presence he spoke in a low, forced voice. 
 
 "I'll say goodbye to you here, Captain Brown. It is my duty as the 
 sheriff of this county, to inform you that you must prepare to die." 
 
 John Brown took his offered hand. 
 
 "Thank you, sir, for your many kindnesses to me. May I commend 
 Captain Avis to you as a brave and able man?" 
 
 "Goodbye, sir." 
 
 Overcome, the sheriff went out followed by his assistants, and 
 they could be heard clearing their throats and blowing their noses 
 as they went away. 
 
 John Avis said to Captain Brown, "By the sheriff's orders, sir, 
 you are to be permitted to say goodbye to your men. Will you come 
 with me now?" 
 
216 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 He stooped to use his key on the leg iron round John Brown's 
 ankle. 
 
 "After all," remarked Brown, "it was a compliment to me, wasn't 
 it? They gave my powers of escape a deal of consideration." 
 
 Arm in arm with Avis he walked to the cell of the colored 
 prisoners, Green and Copeland. 
 
 "Cap'n!" 
 
 "Captain!" 
 
 "My two dear friends, I've only a moment. I want to impress one 
 thing on you, stand up like men. Don't allow any consideration to 
 make you betray your friends." 
 
 While they nodded,— tears streaming,— he took two silver quarters 
 from his pocket. He gave one to each man. 
 
 "I have no more use for money," he said, almost with a smile. 
 
 He shook each man firmly by the hand, walked away. 
 
 His next visit was to the cell of Cook and Coppoc. These two, 
 evidently considered very dangerous by the Virginia authorities, 
 were chained together. After greeting them both, Brown said to 
 John Cook, "You have made false statements." 
 
 "What do you mean, sir?" 
 
 "Why, by stating that I sent you to Harper's Ferry." 
 
 "You told me in Pittsburg to come to Harper's Ferry. To see if 
 Forbes had made any disclosures." 
 
 John Brown said firmly, "No, sir. You know I protested against 
 your coming." 
 
 "Captain Brown, we remember that differently." 
 
 Cook dropped his head. 
 
 "Coppoc, you made false statements, too. But I'm glad to hear 
 you've contradicted them. Stand up like a man." 
 
 He handed Coppoc a quarter, shook both men by the hand, left 
 them weeping as they called after him, "Goodbye. Goodbye." 
 
 His final visit was to Captain Stevens. 
 
 Stevens lay on his cot, still weak and suffering from his wound. 
 Captain Brown spoke to him soothingly, then handed him a silver 
 quarter. The wounded man looked up at him from brimming eyes. 
 
 "Bear up, son. Don't betray your friends." 
 
 "Captain, goodbye. I know you are going to a better world than 
 this could ever be." 
 
 "I know I am." A sudden gleam from those keen eyes. "I am only 
 entering by a gate that has been used by my family in every genera- 
 tion. The gate that is saved for those who die defending the rights 
 of man." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 217 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 A Final Codicil 
 "It is my desire that my wife have all my personal property not 
 previously disposed of by me, and the entire use of all my 
 personal property during her natural life; and that, after her 
 death, the proceeds of such land be equally divided between all 
 my living children; and that a child's share be given to the 
 children of each of the two sons who fell at Harper's Ferry, and 
 that a child's share be divided among the children of my now 
 living children who may die before their mother, (my present 
 beloved wife. ) No formal will can be of use when my wishes are 
 made known to my dutiful and beloved family." 
 
 William Phillips, August Bondi and I stood outside the Charles- 
 ton jail. 
 
 William Phillips said, "There's time for me to read you some 
 verses." 
 
 He drew a newspaper clipping from his breast pocket. In a low 
 voice, as we moved closer he read: 
 
 "You bound and made your sport of him, Philistia! 
 You set your sons at him to flout and jeer; 
 You loaded down his limbs with heavy fetters; 
 Your mildest mercy was a smiling sneer. 
 
 "One man, among a thousand who defied him, 
 
 One man from whom his awful strength has fled— 
 You brought him out to lash him with your vengeance; 
 Ten thousand curses on one hoary head! 
 
 "You think his eyes are closed and blind forever, 
 Because you seared them to the mortal day; 
 You draw a longer breath of exultation, 
 
 Because your conqueror's powers are torn away. 
 
 "O fools! his arms are round your temple pillars: 
 O blind! his strength divine begins to wake. 
 Hark! The great roof tree trembles from its center- 
 Hark! How the rafters bend, and swerve, and shake!" 
 
 On this December day in every part of the Union, men, women 
 and even children, visited in imagination Charleston, Virginia. 
 Northern church bells tolled while whole families knelt in churches 
 and prayed, or listened to the prayers of others. In North Elba the 
 
218 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 inhabitants, white and colored, with many famous men and women 
 who had come to the little mountain town to be with Mrs. Brown 
 and her children, knelt in prayer. They said afterward a beautiful 
 Presence was reflected on every face, as voice after voice arose to 
 pledge the freedom of the Southern slave. In Concord, Massachu- 
 setts, while the church bells tolled, Ralph Waldo Emerson sat at his 
 study table and let the tears roll down unheeded as he wrote: 
 "Today the gallows becomes hallowed with the cross." 
 
 Eleven o'clock. 
 
 The crowd behind us surges closer. 
 
 John Brown is walking out of the Jefferson county jail. 
 
 He seemed to walk out of the gates of fame. His countenance was 
 radiant; he walked with the eye of a conqueror. I brushed away, 
 almost in anger, the tears that blinded from me that glorious figure. 
 On his face an expression of calmness and serenity characteristic of 
 the patriot who is about to die in the living consciousness that he is 
 laying down his life for the good of his fellow creatures. His face 
 was even joyous, and a forgiving smile was on his lips. His was 
 the lightest heart, among friend or foe, in all of Charleston that day. 
 
 END OF PART I 
 
Part II 
 His Soul Goes Marching On 
 
220 
 
 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 One lone foot passenger seemed scarcely worth the trip across 
 the Kaw. So thought Sidney Herd who operated John Baldwin's 
 ferry during the summer of 1860. Lawrence was dead, no doubt of 
 that. No rain, no tourists, no settlers, no invasions to stimulate the 
 interest of the East. Just a brassy sky beneath which the prairie 
 grass cured uncut and the leaves on the trees suffered dusty death. 
 
 "Pretty near walk across dry-shod," remarked young Herd aloud. 
 "If it wasn't for the quicksands." 
 
 The passenger stared coldly at Herd. Conversation languished. 
 
 A slender youth, this passenger, something above middle height 
 and carrying himself well. His yellow hair, worn short, was of a 
 fine smoothness, his blue eyes extraordinarily brilliant but hooded 
 by lids that gave secretiveness to his expression. He wore corduroy 
 trousers tucked into high boots, a woolen shirt of brilliant red, a 
 black slouch hat, a blue neckerchief. He carried his possessions in an 
 oilcloth grip, his hand on the grip handle clenched to reveal nervous 
 tension. 
 
 Leaving the ferry he paid the exact fare, no tip, and started up 
 Massachusetts street with the air of one looking for past landmarks, 
 as well as noticing recent changes. He knew his way, for he took 
 advantage of the first open space between store buildings in the 
 business center to make his way to New Hampshire street, and so 
 to the Whitney House,— proprietor, Nathan Stone. 
 
 The Whitney House, sometimes called the City Hotel, was a three 
 story frame building, gabled and well proportioned, with a com- 
 fortable porch along its entire front. Miss Lydia Stone, the captain's 
 daughter, kept trim beds of petunias and marigolds alive in spite of 
 the drouth. She it was who saw to it the meals served in the care- 
 fully darkened dining room where no fly was allowed to lurk, were 
 well cooked and as varied as possible, not a vast possibility in the 
 year 1860 in Kansas Territory. 
 
 Captain Nathan Stone tilted a porch chair against the wall in the 
 deepest shade to be found on the porch. He was coatless, but in 
 deference to his dignity as a proprietor, he wore a brocaded waist- 
 coat over his nicely frilled white shirt. He brought chair legs down 
 and slowly raised his middle-aged bulk as the stranger reached the 
 porch. 
 
 "I was told I would find excellent accommodations at your house," 
 said the stranger, sweeping off his hat. 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, bub. That's what we offer," announced the 
 captain in a grand voice. "Just step this way." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 221 
 
 He led a march to the desk and opened the register. As the 
 stranger signed under the gaze of one or two loungers, and a com- 
 mercial agent from the East, he and Stone exchanged a low-voiced 
 question and answer. 
 
 "My name," announced the stranger in a carrying voice, "is 
 Charley Hart." 
 
 He signed, then flipped the pages of the register and signed again 
 on the last page. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Hart, welcome to Lawrence. Right now it's a dead 
 dog. Two years ago everybody was getting rich. Land speculation. 
 Now all that's left of the good old days is the lithographs hangin' 
 on the land speculator's walls. And they're gettin' sort of flyblown." 
 
 "What caused the slump?" asked Charley Hart. 
 
 "United States troops." 
 
 Captain Stone paused to deposit his quid in a conveniently placed 
 spittoon, as being a deterrent of earnest conversation. 
 
 "Formerly we had plenty of good healthy excitement round here, 
 fightin' strictly among ourselves. We was always in the Eastern 
 papers. That brought us lots of sightseers. People with means. 
 Everybody wanted to see Kansas. And when they got here, we sold 
 'em land. But the administration in Washin'ton City, they got 
 scared they may lose the election this coming fall. So they sent 
 troops to put an end to the fightin'. When the fightin' ceased, interest 
 dropped off, and the visitors quit comin'. Then this blame dry spell 
 finished us off. We ain't had enough rain since the twenty-ninth day 
 of last September to lay the dust. And mighty little snow during the 
 winter. I'll show you to your room." 
 
 An hour later Charley Hart reentered the hotel lobby, washed and 
 brushed, an attractive figure in spite of his rough clothes. Captain 
 Stone beckoned him to the desk where he was in conversation with 
 a second youth. 
 
 "I want you two boys to meet. This is Holland Wheeler. Mr. 
 Wheeler, meet Charley Hart. Wheeler's another newcomer," ex- 
 plained the captain. "Go on in to dinner, the both of you. Get 
 acquainted over your food." 
 
 Holland Wheeler, a slender youth with an aristocratic air, politely 
 did the honors, leading Hart to a stranger's place,— indicated by a 
 clean napkin with a bone ring laid on it. 
 
 "You're just in time for the fun," he told Hart. "Tonight's the first 
 band concert of the season. There's a couple of young fellows here 
 named Savage, they've organized a band. They used to hold con- 
 certs during the siege. Now they play on Friday evenings in the 
 
222 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 park. Everybody turns out. The girls sit in their family carriages, 
 and the fellows promenade." 
 
 "Are the girls pretty?" 
 
 "They are Kansas peaches," young Wheeler assured him, "with- 
 out flaw or blemish." 
 
 When Charley Hart joined Holland Wheeler in the early dusk for 
 a walk to South Park, young Wheeler saw with some relief that Hart 
 possessed the equipment of polite society. His dark blue coat of 
 fine broadcloth with large pearl buttons, set off pantaloons of fawn 
 color and revealed the finest cambric ruffles below a handsome 
 black satin tie. His yellow hair was brushed to glossy perfection, 
 his large blue eyes sparkled with anticipation, there was a touch of 
 excited color on a cheek guiltless of beard. Young Wheeler, taking 
 in these details, knew a certain amount of satisfaction, sponsoring 
 Hart into Lawrence society. 
 
 In 1860 Lawrence society was very select, with New England 
 families topping the list. The carriages of these first families now 
 began to gather on three sides of the very young park. Through an 
 error in planning, the west side of the park-the Kentucky street 
 side-was plotted into building lots. The homes in this block 
 turned their backs on the park, presenting a choice selection of 
 outhouses and cinder heaps. It was necessary to ignore the contre- 
 temps. This was done by facing the wooden bandstand toward 
 Massachusetts street, and resolutely promenading that way. 
 
 The popcorn merchants-there were two of them-were busy 
 with their poppers over portable stoves filled with glowing coals. 
 Vendors of sweet cakes and taffy cried their wares. The ladies of the 
 Congregational church were offering lemonade at five cents a glass, 
 and they had engaged the services of a waggish youth to bark their 
 drink. 
 
 "Lemonade! Ice cold lemonade! Made in the shade! By an old 
 maid! Ice cold lemonade!" 
 
 "Herb Winchell will yell that old maid line of his once too often," 
 remarked young Mr. Wheeler severely. "He'll hurt someone's feel- 
 ings. He's nephew to old Eldridge that owns the hotel. Herb wants 
 to be an actor. But his uncle thinks there would probably be more 
 of a future in hardware." 
 
 The committee on arrangements were lighting some fifty Chinese 
 lanterns that festooned the bandstand and shed a coy light here and 
 there throughout the park. Settled on the parched grass outside the 
 dusty circle of light from the bandstand, the small servant colony of 
 Lawrence, colored, were prepared to enjoy equally the music of the 
 brothers Savage and the flirtations of white society. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 223 
 
 Holland Wheeler told Charley Hart, "I'm going to present you 
 first of all to Governor and Mrs. Robinson. He isn't really governor 
 yet, but he will be when Kansas gets recognition as a state." 
 
 He led Charley Hart to a carriage drawn by a pair of sedate 
 horses, well content to stand at ease. Mrs. Robinson received the 
 two young men quietly, but the governor was expansive. 
 
 "We're always glad to have young men join us," he declared. 
 "May I ask your state?" 
 
 "I'm from Ohio, sir." 
 
 "Have you any special calling?" 
 
 "I'm a teacher, sir. My father was principal of a school in Ohio." 
 
 "A teacher!" 
 
 The governor appeared delighted, and Mrs. Robinson smiled 
 suddenly. 
 
 "I've been teaching school, yes, sir," rejoined Charley modestly. 
 "Not that I wish to spend a lifetime at it. I suppose I was pushed 
 into it in the first place because my father was a teacher." 
 
 "Teaching is a noble profession," declared Charles Robinson. 
 "Don't desert it lightly. Well, Holland, are you getting acquainted 
 with our young people?" 
 
 While Holland Wheeler answered the governor, Mrs. Robinson 
 asked Hart, "Is your mother living?" 
 
 "My mother? Yes, Mrs. Robinson. She is living. This is quite a 
 gay scene, isn't it?" 
 
 "Gay, yes. I can scarcely believe my own memory when I think 
 that only four years ago tonight the border ruffians were camped 
 all over this park." She sighed. "Before they left, they burned my 
 lovely home." While Charley Hart knitted his forehead, studying 
 her, she looked away from him at old treasures. After a long minute 
 she managed a smile. "I miss my cherished belongings too much. 
 Other women suffered more. I still have my husband." 
 
 The governor said, "Well, Holland, we mustn't keep you. I know 
 you young blades want to make the rounds of the carriages. And 
 I see our bandsmen are beginning to tune up. Mr. Hart, I'll ask our 
 school principal, Mr. Fitch, to speak with you before the evening's 
 over." 
 
 Numerous sawings and scrapings from the bandstand bore him 
 out,— the band was about to strike up an air. 
 
 "Lemonade! Ice cold lemonade! Fi' cents a glass!" 
 
 The corn poppers set up a tremendous activity. A small colored 
 boy darted through the crowd with shrill cries of, "Buy yo' cakes 
 heah! Buy yo' cakes heah!" 
 
 "That's Lil Moje," said Holland Wheeler, laughing. "His grand- 
 
224 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 mother took french leave from over in Missouri. Brought him to 
 Lawrence so he wouldn't be sold South. Here, Moje! I'll buy two 
 of your cakes." 
 
 The black boy rolled up the whites of his eyes comically, flashing 
 beautiful teeth as he pocketed two copper cents in a neatly made 
 butternut pantaloon pocket. 
 
 "How's Auntie?" inquired Wheeler, handing one of his cakes to 
 Hart. 
 
 "She salubrious," replied Lil Moje before he darted away. 
 
 "Auntie's his grandmother," explained Wheeler. "Everybody calls 
 her 'Auntie'. Her cakes are wonderful." 
 
 "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," announced the band in a 
 sudden burst of as spirited melody as the piece allowed. 
 
 "Sounds considerably like the wind whistling through a rail 
 fence," observed Holland Wheeler, finishing his cake. "Now I want 
 you to meet the girls." 
 
 After that the evening for Charley Hart was a feverishly delight- 
 ful blur of laughing eyes and pouting lips, dark curls and glossy 
 braids, hoops and crinolines, black slippers and lacy pantalettes, 
 popcorn, lemonade, cakes and music, all under the romantic in- 
 fluence of Chinese lanterns and summer stars. 
 
 "Better bunk in with me," Wheeler offered with the easy intimacy 
 of youth, when the two young men finally reached the hotel. "I've 
 got the coolest room in the house, and there are two beds in it." 
 
 Charley Hart turned glowing eyes on Wheeler. 
 
 He said with an attempt at nonchalance, "I had a good time 
 tonight." 
 
 When he had fetched his bag to Wheeler's room, Wheeler asked 
 him, "How do you like the Kansas peaches?" 
 
 "I liked the little girl with the big dark eyes. The one you call 
 Lucy." 
 
 "An attractive child," admitted Wheeler. "A bit too fragile for 
 my taste." 
 
 Hart mused aloud: 
 
 "A violet by a mossy stone, 
 Half hidden from the eye." 
 
 Holland Wheeler gaped at Hart. 
 
 "Wordsworth! I'll venture to say you write poetry." 
 
 "That's being a school teacher. School teachers have to write 
 poetry. Otherwise they'd go mad." 
 
 "Just the same I could tell you made an impression on Mr. Fitch. 
 And being a school teacher will raise you to the top of the heap in 
 this town. Now my choice," admitted Holland, reverting to peaches 
 
A UNION FOREVER 225 
 
 as he drew off his boots, "would be that girl visiting Lucy. Hettie 
 Cooper. Pretty and lively. And they say her old man's well fixed. 
 That's always an advantage. But Lucy says she's spoken for. Got a 
 picture and a bit of hair in that big locket she always wears." He 
 sighed. "Ever notice how the best bets are always taken?" 
 
 As Wheeler drifted into sleep memory caught him back to 
 wakefulness, using a tag end of conversation he had overheard 
 between Captain Stone and Charley Hart. 
 
 "Get Ingersol to take you into John Deans wagon shop" 
 
 Ingersol was a lawyer lately come to Lawrence. He was suspected 
 of State's rights sympathies. John Dean mingled religion, esoterics, 
 and underground activities, the last for Captain John E. Stewart, a 
 fighting preacher who maintained a "station" southeast of Lawrence. 
 
 "Get Ingersol to take you into John Deans wagon shop." 
 
 "That's queer," Wheeler told himself, fell asleep, and woke next 
 morning with memory neatly sponged by slumber. 
 
 Immediately Charley Hart became one of the Lawrence youthful 
 set. Holland Wheeler told the girls mysteriously, "His name may 
 not be Hart at all. Captain Stone showed me a name, over in the 
 back of the hotel register. Says Hart's a detective. If you ask me, 
 he's with the Secret Service. Now you girls keep this quiet." 
 
 "Oh, of course we will, Holland!" 
 
 "Oh, how romantic!" 
 
 "Doesn't that just thrill you?" 
 
 To Hart young Wheeler explained his two best friends. 
 
 "As I told you, Herb is helping his uncle at the hotel. What he 
 really enjoys, he gets up theatricals with Mrs. Sam Wood and some 
 of the other folks that aren't too religious. Arthur Spicer's a clever 
 fellow, but he'll never set the North River afire. Nice man to run 
 around with." 
 
 During three gay weeks Charley Hart frolicked the midsummer 
 hours away in riding, driving, picnicking, and playing games. Some- 
 times his spirits rose so high that Wheeler gazed at him in curiosity. 
 
 "He seems to just lap up pleasure," said young Wheeler to his 
 friend Herb. "As though he didn't expect it to last." 
 
 The young people climbed Mount Oread to picnic on the site of 
 the Robinson home in the summer twilight. 
 
 Lucy lifted dark eyes to Charley Hart while she spread a red- 
 and-white checked cloth on a flat stone that was to serve as a table. 
 
 "And just to think," she told him, "Mrs. Robinson was gone East. 
 She left in a great hurry and all her dear things she loved were 
 here. Even the thimble she'd used all her life. And the sewing 
 
226 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 basket she had when she was a child. And the pictures that hung in 
 her room when she was a girl. Everything burned. It's no wonder 
 she looks sad. A woman doesn't get over it easily, losing her 
 treasures." 
 
 Charley brought the conversation back to themselves. 
 
 "Lucy, Mr. Fitch will let me teach, if I like, this fall. I thought I 
 couldn't stand another year of teaching. But I could, if you asked 
 me to." 
 
 "What are you two doing?" called Holland Wheeler. "Get that 
 basket unpacked, Charley. I'm starving." He swung over the rise, 
 drawing a girl by the hand. "And so is Hettie Cooper." 
 
 Hettie came into view laughing as she drew her hand away from 
 Holland Wheeler's ardent fingers. 
 
 "I should say I am hungry! Here are the cookies Holland bought 
 from Auntie." She held out a small basket. "I wouldn't let him carry 
 them for fear he'd eat every one." 
 
 "I'll unpack them." 
 
 Charley Hart sprang up to take the basket and hand Hettie to 
 her place when she suddenly gasped, growing white as she stared 
 at him. 
 
 "Hettie!" 
 
 "Hettie, what is it?" 
 
 "I guess I came up that awful hill too fast," replied Hettie after 
 a moment. "Everything about Charley, even his hair, looked red 
 as blood." 
 
 At the end of three weeks the inevitable. 
 
 Jacob Pike driving the Eldridge House stage up to the hotel door, 
 encountered Hart with Herb Winchell. 
 
 "Hello, there, Charley Hart!" Amazement was plain on Pike's 
 florid face. "What in hell you doing in Lawrence?" 
 
 Charley Hart turned a white, frozen look on Pike. He seemed to 
 shrink together, his shoulders bowed. After a perceptible moment 
 he stepped forward to shake hands with the stage driver. If there 
 was wordless appeal in his eyes, Jacob Pike was not one to recognize 
 a silent plea. 
 
 "How's Tobasco Monte's?" he demanded lustily. "Say, you was a 
 son-of-a-gun that day. We were all scramblin' for the silver you 
 threw on the floor." He began drawing out his wallet, found a coin. 
 "I got my two-bit piece right here." 
 
 Charley Hart managed a smile. 
 
 "I hope it brings you luck," he said. 
 
 He and Herb moved away up Massachusetts street with Herb 
 
A UNION FOREVER 227 
 
 obviously demanding explanations. Colonel Eldridge and Jim Lane 
 had been silent witnesses of the encounter. 
 
 "Pike!" 
 
 "What you want, Colonel?" asked Jacob Pike who was preparing 
 to drive the coach away to the stable. 
 
 The hotel man stroked his chin beard. 
 
 "Pike," he asked finally, "where did you know Charley Hart?" 
 
 Pike grinned. 
 
 "You recall one evening you and I had some words down there 
 by the ferry? I jumped off the stage and took the ferry across the 
 river? Started walking to Leavenworth? Well, I come up with this 
 Charley Hart. He and I teamed in the same outfit to Laramie. 
 Redshirt, we used to call him, on account he always wore a bright 
 red flannel shirt." 
 
 "What's this about some gambling hell where you saw him?" 
 
 "He broke the bank at Tobasco Monte's at Fort Bridger. Shucks, 
 Colonel, you ain't goin' to hold it against the two of us of we did a 
 little gambling?" 
 
 "Was that all you knew against him, the gambling?" 
 
 "Gambling ain't against a man, is it?" 
 
 Jim Lane laughed heartily. 
 
 "He's got you there, Eldridge." 
 
 The Colonel looked annoyed. A certain room number in the Hotel 
 Eldridge had sinister implications for the more militant church 
 ladies of Lawrence. There, it was irately murmured, games of 
 chance were played. 
 
 Eldridge repeated, "Was that all you knew against him, 
 gambling?" 
 
 "Why, you see, most of the time he was pretty much the way 
 you saw him just now, cheerful and orderly as you please. But 
 again, if something happened to get him brooding, he was apt to be 
 free with his gun. He'd shoot anybody got in his way. But, shucks," 
 finished Jacob Pike belatedly conscience stricken, "that might not 
 happen twice in a year." 
 
 He clucked to his horses and the stage moved away toward 
 Donnelly's livery barn. 
 
 The hotel proprietor stroked his beard. 
 
 "Forget it, Eldridge. The young fellow's well enough." Jim Lane 
 glanced across Massachusetts street at a newly painted sign. "I'll 
 wager you right now that lawyer, Ingersol, has a shadier past than 
 anything Charley Hart can show." 
 
 "Probably," agreed the Colonel. 
 
 However, when young Winchell entered the hotel an hour later, 
 
228 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 his uncle called to him from his office, "Come in here, Herb. I want 
 to speak to you." 
 
 Holland Wheeler and Charley Hart took their pistols down into 
 the river woods for target practice. 
 
 "If Jacob Pike had only kept his fool mouth shut," said Wheeler 
 for the fourth time in an hour, miserably conscious that Holland 
 Wheeler had not exactly buttoned his own lips. 
 
 Hart made no answer. His face was white and brooding. 
 
 "What you have to do now," Wheeler instructed him, taking 
 careful aim at their target pinned to a live oak, "is simply stand 
 your ground. Rome wasn't built in a day," he observed wisely. "You 
 just buckle to, make a name for yourself. By the time you have 
 children grown, they'll step with anyone around here." 
 
 Charley Hart turned on Wheeler a pair of eyes filled with a 
 terrifying glow. Wheeler fell back a step, gazing at him. 
 
 "Children! That's something I'll never have." 
 
 He plunged away from Wheeler into the woods. 
 
 After running a quarter of a mile along a faint trail among the 
 oaks, Hart slowed to a walk. The fierce pain in his heart had 
 settled now to a sullen despair. He came out suddenly on the river 
 bank, and found the ferry leaving for the north bank. Mechanically 
 he stepped aboard, handing Sidney Herd a coin. He stared at the 
 approaching bank where a group of men and boys were taking turns 
 at a running broad jump. Loud oaths, delighted cries, and constant 
 betting enlivened the quiet, dusty woods. 
 
 Hart squatted like the other men, but at a small distance. One or 
 two glanced at him curiously, but no one spoke to him. After an 
 hour he stood up. 
 
 "I'd like to have a try at that jump," he said. 
 
 "It's free," replied a great, awkward young fellow widely known 
 for domestic reasons as Cuckold Tom McGee. "Go ahead an' try." 
 
 Hart took his place on the mark while all the men and boys 
 stared at him, some more derisively than others. Without visibly 
 gathering himself, he flashed forward, easily out-jumping his nearest 
 rival. 
 
 Shouts and oaths. 
 
 "Well, I'll be eternally doggoned!" 
 
 Cuckold Tom, as being in some sort sponsor for this marvel, 
 chuckled delightedly. Returning to the mark, Hart laid a careless 
 hand on the big fellow's shoulder, gave him a painful smile. 
 
 "Anyway," he remarked gently, "I can jump." 
 
 A bird flew over their heads. Hart's pistol came into sight so 
 
A UNION FOREVER 229 
 
 quickly no one watching quite explained it afterward. Without 
 stopping to aim, Hart brought the bird, a wood thrush, fluttering 
 earthward. Tom lumbered hastily to fetch the bird for inspection, 
 its head neatly decapitated. 
 
 Into the sudden silence Hart said, "Where I've been you learn to 
 shoot. The city fathers over there,"— he shrugged carelessly toward 
 the south bank,— "wouldn't last out their first day." 
 
 He broke off to call to the ferryman, "Wait a moment. I'm going 
 across with you." 
 
 Lost in bitter thoughts, he made long steps back over the wood- 
 land trail to the oak where he had left Wheeler. A dark-eyed girl 
 on a handsome pony was waiting for him. 
 
 "Oh, here you are!" she called out in a relieved voice. "I'm glad 
 you came back. I couldn't have waited much longer." 
 
 "Lucy!!" 
 
 Charley Hart went up to the pony, and laid a hand on its neck 
 while he studied Lucy's anxious face. The girl leaned toward him, 
 laying a small, light hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "I had to say goodbye." 
 
 Hart gazed at her speechlessly. 
 
 "I'm leaving in the morning," she explained. "With Hettie 
 Cooper." 
 
 Hart's face grew whiter, his eyes clung to hers. 
 
 She went on, "To a girl's school in Jacksonville. I'm to visit some 
 cousins till school opens." She broke off to cry passionately, "Don't 
 look at me that way. I didn't want to go." 
 
 "You didn't want to go. But you went, didn't you? You're already 
 gone." 
 
 Tears that filled her eyes brimmed touchingly. 
 
 "I've got to go." 
 
 Hart clutched her hand on the reins, causing the pony to stir 
 restlessly. 
 
 "Lucy, why do you go? Couldn't you come away with me? We 
 could be married in an hour or two. I know a minister has a place 
 southeast of town. He's an abolitionist, but I reckon that wouldn't 
 make any difference to the ceremony. Lucy, if you marry me I can 
 keep going on day after day like other folks do. I can even teach 
 school, if you're there with me. ..." His voice trailed off. "No," he 
 said under his breath, "you won't do it." 
 
 "I can't," said Lucy faintly. "I'm not brave. I'm just a coward." 
 
 Hart laid his forehead a moment against her hand. Then he 
 stepped back, trying to smile. 
 
230 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Well! I had five weeks. I was deliriously happy five weeks. 
 Goodbye." 
 
 He watched while the weeping girl moved away, her pony 
 selecting each step beneath the trees. When the last glimpse of her 
 was gone, he turned to hurry into the deepest thicket. 
 
 Late that evening Charley Hart came into the lobby of the 
 Whitney House. Oblivious of the few loiterers who turned to stare 
 at him, he passed up the stairs to the room he still shared with 
 Holland Wheeler. Wheeler was in bed, uneasily alert. He said no 
 word as Hart undressed and got into his own bed; but after the 
 candle was extinguished, Wheeler got up quietly and fetched his 
 pistol from the bureau drawer where he usually kept it. He thrust 
 the pistol beneath his pillow. He must have dozed lightly. He was 
 wakened by a wild laugh. He found Hart sitting up in bed, his 
 face agonized in the summer moonlight while crazy laughter shook 
 him. Holland Wheeler seized the pistol, fled with it in hand to 
 bring Miss Lydia and the captain. 
 
 "Brain fever," announced Miss Lydia in a grim voice. "No wonder, 
 the way he's been treated in this town." 
 
 She walked across the room to Charley Hart. 
 
 "You lie down, Charley. This is Miss Lydia. I'm going to take 
 care of you." 
 
 Charley Hart lay down. 
 
 II 
 
 Lawrence, Kansas Territory, drowsed in the late summer heat of 
 midday. The long drouth still held. In the deep dust of Massachu- 
 setts street several lop-eared dogs found whatever shade an oc- 
 casional wagon afforded. A jackrabbit might have loped up the 
 street without stirring their ambitions. In the various business 
 houses proprietors and clerks lounged and chatted and yawned. 
 The real estate men contemplated the fly-blown lithographs on 
 their walls, or totted up columns of sad figures. The little city,— 
 still a sprawling, scattered entity in this summer of I860,— parched 
 outwardly and worried inwardly, for food was growing scarce. 
 
 As John Baldwin brought his ferry in across the diminished Kaw 
 a powerful young colored boy came ashore. 
 
 "Charley! Charley Hart! This young fellow wants to be guided 
 to Jim Lane's house," called Baldwin, at the same time winking 
 behind the negro's back. 
 
 Hart lounged on the ferry landing with Jake McGee, son of Old 
 Man McGee, and Jake's lumbering cousin, Cuckold Tom. 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 231 
 
 "All right, Jim, we'll see he gets there," called back Hart, rousing 
 himself to action. "Come on, fellows." 
 
 The three closed in around the brown boy. 
 
 "What's your name?" asked Hart as they began to walk along the 
 river bank. 
 
 "Name's Ike. Is that the big hotel I done heahed about? Free 
 State Hotel?" 
 
 Ike stopped to gaze southward up Massachusetts street. 
 
 "They call it the Hotel Eldridge now. Or the Eldridge House. 
 What's your last name?" 
 
 "Shucks, mistah. Niggers doan' have las' names." 
 
 "Where did you come from?" 
 
 "Come up th'ough the Delaware Rese've," said Ike cautiously. 
 "Mistah White Turkey, he had his wife to git me some breakfus'. 
 This the way to Mistah Jim Lane's house?" 
 
 "Down this road a piece," Hart assured him, starting eastward 
 on the trail to Franklin. "What made you run away from your 
 master?" 
 
 The colored youth was growing uneasy, then frightened. The 
 three white men had closed in about his person, he knew he could 
 not escape them. The clear brown of his cheek slowly muddied to a 
 grayish tinge. He walked on dumbly, his eyes darting from side to 
 side of the trail. 
 
 Halfway between Lawrence and Franklin, off the road and well 
 hidden by scrub oak and hazel bushes, festered the hideout of Old 
 Man McGee and his gang. A stout blockade filled with rifle holes 
 discouraged strangers, but the gate opened quickly to Charley Hart 
 and his companions. Old Man McGee opened it. When he saw the 
 colored boy he grinned fiendishly. 
 
 Hart waited until the heavy gate was closed. Then he said to the 
 negro, "Are you going to answer my questions?" 
 
 Ike cringed. 
 
 "Yes, suh. Yes, massah." 
 
 "What is your last name?" 
 
 "Mah name Gaines. Ike Gaines." 
 
 "Who owns you?" 
 
 "Widow Gaines." 
 
 "Where does she live?" 
 
 "Jus' outside Platte City. Is you folks goin' kill me?" 
 
 "What made you run away?" 
 
 Ike drooped. He said plaintively, "Ah did so want to be free." 
 
 "Free!" 
 
 Hart's tone was one of immeasurable contempt. 
 
232 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Free! Were free. Do you want to be like us?" 
 
 "No, suh. N-n-no, suh. Not white free. Jes' free." 
 
 "You'll be a lot better off back with Widow Gaines." 
 
 "Yes, suh. You goin' take me back?" 
 
 "There's two-hundred-and-fifty dollar reward for returning a slave 
 into the state of Missouri, Ike. What do you think we are going 
 to do?" 
 
 "Yes, suh," said Ike in a small voice. "You goin' take me back." 
 
 Hart turned to Old Man McGee. 
 
 "Of course we're going to get twice that," he remarked in a voice 
 so devoid of human feeling as to chill most hearers. Old Man 
 McGee, however, was not one to chill. 
 
 "When you goin' a-start?" he asked, suspending operations on 
 his quid. 
 
 "Right away. With Jim Lane in the offing, we've got to hustle." 
 
 Suddenly Hart whirled on the group around Ike Gaines. 
 
 "Put up that knife, Tom." 
 
 His voice was chillingly calm. 
 
 "I don't like a nigger," said Cuckold Tom in a sullen voice. 
 
 "God damn your soul to hell," shouted Old Man McGee. "What's 
 that got to do with it? Put up that damned knife." 
 
 "I'll start now," continued Hart without emotion. "And I'll take 
 Jake with me." 
 
 "You don't leave me behind," whined Tom. "I got a right to 
 collect my part the reward." 
 
 "You'll stay here," announced his hopeful uncle. "You don't go 
 nowheres, nor you don't collect nothin' till you learn to leave 
 valable propity be." 
 
 While hasty preparations were concluded for the return of Ike 
 to the Widow Gaines, the colored boy crouched miserably on a 
 chopping block near the big gate. Once he said aloud, but as if to 
 himself, "Ah did so want to be free." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Miss Lydia Stone, in one of her rare moments of idleness, fan- 
 ned herself briskly with a "pam" fan, while sitting upright on one 
 of the Whitney House porch chairs. Captain Stone, perspiring in 
 his shirt sleeves, read a copy of the Lawrence Tribune, grinning 
 over a letter from Pro Bono Publico, obviously addressed in the 
 general direction of Jim Lane and urging the necessity of letting 
 sleeping dogs lie. 
 
 "John Speer's throwin' in with the business crowd, with his eye 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 233 
 
 on the state printing," observed the captain. "Taint popular at this 
 time for Jim Lane to run niggers up to Canady." 
 
 Miss Lydia said suddenly, "Look, father! Isn't that— It can't be! 
 But it is Charley Hart." 
 
 Charley Hart came up New Hampshire street riding a beautiful 
 mare. A bright sorrel, the setting sun bathed her momentarily into 
 the look of a creature blood red. Captain Stone whose weakness 
 was horseflesh, deserted the Tribune with a whoop, hustling his 
 bulk to the street edge as Hart reined in the mare. 
 
 "Where'd you get her, Charley?" 
 
 "I've been over with the Cherokees. They don't know much about 
 cards." 
 
 Miss Lydia who had come as far as the top step of the porch, 
 primmed her lips. 
 
 Hart laughed. 
 
 "Come and see her, Miss Lydia. Her name is Juanita. She's a 
 perfect lady." 
 
 Miss Lydia came down the steps. Her eyes filled suddenly with 
 tears,— it was inexpressibly touching to her to see Charley Hart 
 relaxed and happy. 
 
 "Well! She is a beauty. May I stroke her neck?" 
 
 "Of course you may. Juanita likes attention." 
 
 The mare plainly enjoyed her position as center of interest, turn- 
 ing innocently pleased eyes on Miss Lydia. 
 
 "I declare," said Miss Lydia, captivated, "she's almost human." 
 
 The captain said, "Looks like a racer." 
 
 "Kentucky running horse," replied Hart. "I stopped over in the 
 Delaware Reserve with John Sarcoxie. He thinks she could beat 
 White Stockings." 
 
 The captain began, "White Stockings is a mighty good—" 
 
 Miss Lydia interrupted him. 
 
 "Horse racing is a mortal sin." 
 
 "Now, Lyddie, what's wrong with horses tryin' to outrun each 
 other?" 
 
 "You know what's wrong with it," declared Miss Lydia. "Charley, 
 I'll get you something to eat." She turned with dignity to disappear 
 into the hotel. 
 
 The captain grinned after her outraged back. 
 
 "Lyddie's mortal determined against betting." 
 
 Charley Hart said, "Look here, captain, I've got a plan. . . . 
 
 Miss Lydia always rolled her pie crust on a marble-topped table. 
 A table minus one leg but neatly propped with a block of wood, a 
 
234 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 table placed at one end of her long kitchen where she could look 
 through the window into the branches of a young silver maple. She 
 worked with deft swiftness, slicing apples into a pan lined with 
 crust. 
 
 "Miss Lydia!" 
 
 "Why, Charley Hart," exclaimed Miss Lydia in a surprised, 
 pleased tone. "I was thinking of you not an hour ago. Where on 
 earth have you been keeping yourself?" 
 
 Hart replied, "I'm in town for an hour. I came mostly to see you. 
 I have a present for you." 
 
 He held out a tiny jeweler's box with a Kansas City firm name 
 on it. 
 
 "I declare," exclaimed Miss Lydia, smiling. She dusted her hands 
 hastily and took the box. "You shouldn't be spending your money on 
 me for store presents. Charley Hart!!! This is a diamond!" 
 
 Hart watched while she slipped the ring on her slender, capable 
 hand. 
 
 "Charley Hart, did you gamble for the money to buy this ring?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "How did you come by it?" 
 
 "Honestly enough, Miss Lydia. I sold Juanita to Theodore 
 Bartles." 
 
 "You sold Juanita? To that Redleg?" 
 
 "Oh, Bartles isn't such a bad fellow. Anyway he knows horse 
 flesh. Miss Lydia, I wanted you to have something you'd keep all 
 your life. Something you'd remember me by." 
 
 "Remember you, Charley?" 
 
 "I'm getting out of Lawrence for good. I ought never to have 
 come here in the first place." 
 
 "Charley, I wish you didn't feel that way." 
 
 Charley Hart turned his strange eyes on her. 
 
 "You know, Miss Lydia, you're the only person in the world who 
 ever showed me a great unselfish kindness." 
 
 "Now, Charley, your folks—" 
 
 "I mean that, Miss Lydia." 
 
 There was a short silence while Miss Lydia turned her ring to 
 catch rainbow gleams from its clear facets. 
 
 Presently she said, "You ought to stay right here, brace yourself, 
 an' fight it out." 
 
 Charley Hart walked away from Miss Lydia, down the long 
 kitchen. He came back to her in three long, gliding steps. 
 
 "Can you tell me one opportunity there is for me in Lawrence?" 
 
 Miss Lydia was silent. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 235 
 
 In a suddenly violent tone Hart cried, "You don't know what it is 
 to be always barred out, no way ever opening to you into a real 
 place in the world. It's like . . . like a prison where you don't see 
 the bars. You only find them when you try to take a step." He 
 glanced at Miss Lydia, perhaps with a last faint hope of finding 
 comprehension of his problem in some fellow mortal's eyes. 
 
 Miss Lydia failed him. 
 
 She only said, "You've done yourself no good, running with a 
 cheap crowd." 
 
 Hart turned away to look through the window into the silver 
 maple. After a pause he turned back to her. 
 
 "Goodbye, Miss Lydia," he said gently. "Goodbye." 
 
 Charley Hart left the Whitney House and walked round the 
 corner into Massachusetts street. There he met White Turkey the 
 Delaware accompanied by a dozen Delaware braves. They were 
 waiting for Hart. They wanted, said White Turkey, the ponies they 
 had lent him weeks ago. White Turkey reinforced this demand by 
 leveling a Sharpe's rifle at Hart. When the bystanders saw Hart 
 raise his hands, when they realized there would be no gun play, 
 they began to close in on this center of interest. 
 
 Charley Hart spoke laughingly to White Turkey, raising his 
 hands. 
 
 "All right. All right. You've got the drop on me. I can explain 
 everything, White Turkey." 
 
 Interested in Hart's explanation, White Turkey slowly lowered 
 his rifle while the crowd pressed closer. Suddenly Hart twisted his 
 slender form between two gaping onlookers. In a moment he 
 disappeared. 
 
 "Into Dean's wagon shop," exclaimed several voices. 
 
 Ten minutes later Captain Sam Walker, the newly elected sheriff, 
 had deputized several citizens. With them behind him he walked 
 into John Dean's shop. Dean glanced up from his work,— he was 
 applying the final coat of bright red to the spokes of a wheel. 
 
 "John Dean," demanded Walker, "did Charley Hart pass through 
 your shop?" 
 
 "He may have at that, Sam," replied John Dean. "This shop seems 
 to be a public thoroughfare this afternoon. Go right through to the 
 alley. Don't let me stop you." 
 
 "Search the place," ordered Sam Walker. 
 
 After several minutes during which the searchers exhausted the 
 possibilities of the little shop, one of the deputies remarked, "You're 
 wastin' time, Sam. We better get on over to the Whitney House. If 
 
236 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 anybody in this town would hide Charley Hart, it would be old 
 Captain Stone." 
 
 At the Whitney House Miss Lydia announced with spirit, "Go 
 right through from garret to cellar, Mr. Walker. But if you or your 
 men track in any dirt, you'll clean it up or I'll take a broom to you. 
 You won't find that poor boy here, if that's any help to you to 
 know." 
 
 The search continued till dark, and half-heartedly through the 
 evening hours. Meanwhile every tale concerning young Hart's 
 crimes and misdemeanors of the summer passed from mouth to 
 mouth, losing nothing in passing. At last the deputies declared 
 Hart must have left town. 
 
 "And after this," commented Sam Walker, "he'll stay out." 
 
 As the months passed, this prophecy fulfilled itself. Lawrence, 
 Kansas Territory, saw Charley Hart no more. 
 
 IV 
 
 "That's a funny thing, Charley Hart come into my mind this 
 morning. And first thing I know, you come in here an' begin askin' 
 me questions about him. Friend of his, are you? We'll, course I 
 don't know if you're a friend of his. Or one these here now secret 
 service men from Washin'ton City. But whoever you are, one thing 
 is sure about Charley Hart. Charley Hart is dead. He was a sensi- 
 tive, Charley was, falsely polarized. You might say he was polarized 
 to evil. Reward of earth, that was what he lived for. I know, be- 
 cause first an' last, I seen a lot of him. 
 
 "When he first come to town he spent his time careless like with 
 the young folks in the social set. He come in here once, with a 
 lawyer named Ingersol. I don't know about this Ingersol. Some- 
 times I think he may be a State rights sympathizer. Charley got 
 introduced to me through this Ingersol, a man I worked with at that 
 time in the underground. I was the big leader of the underground 
 around here. Clabe Jackson, over in old Mizzou, he'd offered five 
 thousand dollars gold for me, dead or alive. I was a key man." 
 
 John Dean paused in his work long enough to hand his visitor a 
 backless chair. 
 
 "Hart told me he was going to work among the border ruffians, 
 going to find out their plans, keep an eye on them. Meanwhile he 
 got friendly with Capn Stewart over southeast of town. John E. 
 Stewart, that is. Used to be a New Hampshire preacher. He's a 
 great one, Stewart is. He's got a fort southeast of town. Steals 
 negroes from Western Missouri, then he starts them to Canada from 
 
A UNION FOREVER 237 
 
 his fort. Fact is, when he visits one these Missouri farms he generally 
 takes all the horses an' mules on the place. And any cash lyin' 
 round loose. But that I wouldn't repeat. For one thing, he's a 
 minister of the gospel. Again, he's abolitionist, and so am I. 
 
 "Charley Hart an' Capn Stewart were the best of friends, an' at 
 the same time Charley hung out with one the worst gangs in these 
 parts, Old Jake McGee's gang. That's a gang I wouldn't want to 
 spend a night with, but Charley Hart, he used to mingle with 'em 
 freely. Of course, in a way, it's different with me. Le' me git out 
 with 'em just once, Clabe Jackson would have my scalp in his 
 collection by sun-up. 
 
 "Now, there's one thing I want you to git, an' git it straight. 
 Charley wasn't as bad as painted. It's the old story o' givin' a dog 
 a bad name. Any dog gits a bad name in these parts, he better find 
 himself a tree, hang himself quick, git it over with. Hart was only 
 six months in these parts. If he'd done half the things people lay to 
 him, he'd have to spend a lifetime here. At that, he done more than 
 enough! 
 
 "Well! As I say, I was closely connected with Charley through 
 our work with the underground. At that time a group of young 
 Quakers was actin' in connection with me, they was all birthright 
 Quakers, but they come under the influence o' Pardee Butler an' 
 other abolition leaders out here. They was willin' to risk their lives 
 to go into Mizzou an' bring out slaves. 
 
 "So late last fall Charley an' I slipped over to a farmhouse this 
 side Leavenworth to a meeting of the underground, an' what 
 should we find but three colored boys we'd passed to Canada 
 months ago. They was back to git their folks, they was owned by 
 Cherokees. Cherokees are divided among themselves. Some own 
 slaves, an' believe in State rights, or anything else will protect 
 their slave propity. Others are for the Union an' willin' to see 
 slavery go. 
 
 "Well, these here three colored boys was William Thompson an' 
 his brother John, an' John Martin. William Thompson spoke for 
 them. He begged us to organize an expedition into the Cherokee 
 Nation to bring out the balance of the Thompsons, an' the Martins. 
 Charley Hart spoke up the minute Thompson quit speakin', an' 
 Charley, he was highly in favor o' the expedition. 
 
 "Says he, 'My work in Kansas is nearly done. John Dean'll tell 
 you,' he says, 'that I got work to do in other parts.' 
 
 "You know, just at the moment, it seemed to me like I did know 
 somethin' he was to do, he had such a convincin' way with him. 
 Course afterward, when all was over, I realized that when he 
 
238 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 talked of his work bein' done, what he reely meant was the McGee 
 gang was through with him. He'd borrowed a rifle from Cuckold 
 Tom McGee, sold it in Kansas City or gambled it away. Then he 
 claimed it was part of his division of the loot from their last raid. 
 An this made Old Jake mad. Jake always divided the loot from 
 the McGee raids. 
 
 "There was four these young Quakers volunteered for the ex- 
 pedition into the Cherokee Nation. They was Charley Ball, Chalk 
 Lipsey, Ed Morrison an' Ransom Harris. Albert South wick didn't 
 reely count, he's a sort of a half-wit. But he come along. These boys 
 was all members of a secret lodge in Salem, Ohio, before they ever 
 come to Kansas, sworn to give their lives if need be to free the 
 slaves. 
 
 "A couple weeks before the expedition was to start Charley Hart 
 come into Lawrence for the last time. He come to say goodbye to 
 Miss Lydia Stone, she'd nursed him through a sick spell during the 
 hot weather. Then he started for my shop, where we was to make 
 the final arrangements for the expedition. But that Indian, White 
 Turkey,— ever see him? He's a good looker, always wears an eagle 
 feather in his hat,— he met Charley. I guess he was lookin' for 
 Charley,— concernin' half a dozen ponies Jake McGee's gang had 
 stole. Hart got away from White Turkey, an' ran through my shop. 
 I held up the sheriff, Sam Walker, a few minutes, an' this give 
 Charley time to git to the Whitney House. Capn Stone, he hid 
 Charley under some sacks in a wagon. When Walker an his 
 depities went into the Whitney House, Capn Stone, he drove over 
 on Vermont street where Capn Stewart was spendin' the night. 
 Charley claimed Capn Stewart would look after him, so Cap Stone, 
 he drove round back of this house on Vermont street, an' Charley, 
 he ducked inside. 
 
 "Charley an' Capn Stewart spent the night in the same bed. John 
 Stewart wasn't the man to care who stole a few ponies from some- 
 body. As I say, he's as sound an abolitionist as I am, myself. So it's 
 best to overlook anything you might call irregular. 
 
 "Early in the mornin', after Walker an' his depities had give up 
 an' gone to bed, Stewart drove Hart out to his fort. An' from there 
 Hart made his way to Osawatomie. He hung around Osawatomie 
 waitin' for the expedition against the Cherokees. We got started 
 three weeks later. There was the three negroes, an' the young 
 Quakers, an' myself. I drove a team an wagon I borrowed from a 
 farmer that's abolition. We made out we was drivin' west, then 
 circled round Lawrence, an' drove over toward Osawatomie to a 
 farm owned by Capn Eli Snyder. When we got to Snyder's, he 
 
A UNION FOREVER 239 
 
 counseled agin goin' into the Nation. Said the Cherokees was up an' 
 armed, waitin' fer us. I finally took the wagon an' young Al South- 
 wick,— he ain't right bright,— an' come along back to Lawrence. 
 An' that's all I got to say. Like the lawyers puts it, further than 
 this deponent saith not. 
 
 "An' you say young Hart had a mother that's tryin' to hear from 
 him? Strange, I never heard him mention her. He was a nice 
 appearin' boy, had a fine laugh, not loud but sort of ripplin' an 
 pleasant. He was eddicated, he'd been a teacher, so he said. Well, 
 that's the first teacher I ever heard of didn't write his folks. He 
 carried himself nice, about five, ten, he was. I know because we 
 measured once, back to back. You can see our mark over there on 
 the wall. 
 
 "Now git this, mister. I don't know what happened after I left the 
 Quakers an' the colored boys at Snyder's farm. Nothing but what 
 I hear talked around. Now the Republican party's in, an' it looks 
 like war any minute. So I'm goin' back to Ioway, soon as I can find 
 a buyer for this shop. I got to think of myself a little, with Clabe 
 Jackson governor now over in Mizzou. Come war, an' he gits an 
 expedition this far into Kansas, I'd be on his list for sure. He's put 
 a price on me, dead or alive. 
 
 "So Charley had a mother livin'? In Canal Dover, Ohio? I'm 
 sorry for her, mister, but you better tell her, so she'll git reconciled. 
 Charley Hart is dead. He was what we call a sensitive, polarized to 
 evil, earthbound in spite of himself. I know, because first an' last I 
 seen a deal of him. You tell his mother John Dean says he was 
 dead." 
 
 Some three months before John Dean's pronouncement concern- 
 ing Charley Hart, after calling, "Who's there?" and receiving the 
 answer, "John Dean," Captain Eli Snyder, a bold man not given to 
 timid imaginings, threw open the kitchen door of his farmhouse 
 with a lamp held high to make him an excellent target. The light 
 brightened the November night surrounding a group of men. White 
 faces and black stared at Snyder while John Dean said easily, " 'Lo, 
 Eli. We come for the key to the cabin." 
 
 Captain Snyder grumbled, "Wonder I heard you. I wouldn't, only 
 I sat up to grease my boots." 
 
 He flung the door wide. 
 
 "Come on in," he said. "All of you." 
 
 The four young Quakers, Dean, and the three colored men step- 
 
240 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 ped gingerly into the immaculate kitchen, and Snyder closed the 
 door against the November night air. 
 
 "Certain you can have the key," he assured them. "There's plenty 
 wood cut for the fireplace. You got your own blankets? What about 
 food?" 
 
 "I could eat a fried alligator, hide an' all," declared Dean. 
 
 The young Quakers laughed, and the colored men shuffled their 
 feet and rolled their eyes. 
 
 Snyder started for his wife's pantry. 
 
 "Women always got things put away so pizen neat," he com- 
 plained, "a man has all he can do to find a crust." 
 
 Before he finished speaking Mrs. Snyder came into the kitchen. 
 She had hastily put a wrapper and a shawl over her night dress, 
 thrust her feet into carpet slippers. 
 
 "I'll set out a lunch," she said grimly. "You men draw up around 
 the table." 
 
 John Dean led the way to the long table, the young Quakers 
 following him. Captain Snyder waved the colored men to places. 
 
 "Sit down," he told them gruffly. 
 
 Their eyes shone with the pride of it as they modestly selected 
 seats at the end of the table farthest from the great fireplace. 
 
 Mrs. Snyder brought bread, cake and pie from her pantry while 
 she set coffee to boil and swung a great pot of beans over the 
 glowing logs. The lamp brightened the kitchen feebly, leaving the 
 low ceiling and the four corners in shadow. From the ceiling hung 
 whole hams, flitches of bacon, sacks containing dried herbs. The 
 firelight rose under Mrs. Snyder's deft attentions, throwing a come- 
 and-go light on the men at the table. 
 
 "What's the news over Lawrence way?" inquired Captain Snyder. 
 Inwardly he was consumed by the presence of this strange company, 
 the young Quakers in their plain clothes, the three colored men 
 with their newly developed self-respect upon being suitably clad, 
 and John Dean with whom he had associated before in under- 
 ground dangers. 
 
 Dean answered through his enormous mouthfuls, "Nothing talked 
 in Lawrence but the election. Jim Lane is struttin' like a big Thanks- 
 giving dinner. They say he's friend o' Lincoln, knew him back in 
 Indiany when they was both boys. Him an' Lincoln think about 
 alike. They'll free the slaves to help the white race. The pore white 
 race." 
 
 "I don't know about Jim Lane," replied Snyder, "but I do know 
 something about Abe Lincoln. I've read all his speeches. What he 
 
A UNION FOREVER 241 
 
 aims to do is preserve the union of the states. He'll free the slaves, 
 if freeing them helps to preserve the Union." 
 
 "Did you know Clabe Jackson is elected governor of Old Mizzou?" 
 Dean asked, using his sleeve across his mouth. 
 
 "That the fellow offered the reward for you?" 
 
 "Yep. He put a price on my scalp. Three thousand dollars/' 
 
 Dean took the cabin key from Snyder. 
 
 "See you in the morning," he told the captain. "That was prime 
 pie, ma'am. Don't know as I ever see punkin flavored better than 
 that." 
 
 His company of men followed him out into the night, bidding 
 gruff goodnights and bobbing their heads toward the captain's wife. 
 When the captain had closed and barred the door he turned to 
 find that wife glaring. 
 
 "Men!" she snapped. "Oh, how mad they make me!" 
 
 "Now what's up?" Captain Snyder inquired mildly. He always 
 grew mild when his wife blew up stormily. 
 
 "That bragging John Dean. Him and his scalp. He's raised that 
 reward another thousand dollars in his imagination since he was 
 here last." 
 
 "Let's go to bed," urged the captain. 
 
 "I'm not going to bed till I get rid of the clutter in this kitchen. 
 Those colored men are out of the Cherokee Nation. Don't you 
 suppose I recognize the one with the top of his left ear gone? We 
 had 'em through here once, and got 'em on their way north. What 
 they're doing back here is something I'd like to know. Some maggot 
 in John Dean's brain, I'll be bound." She scraped a plate noisily. 
 "Him an' his precious scalp." 
 
 "I'll find out in the morning." 
 
 "You better find out. If you don't, I will." 
 
 After his usual early breakfast Captain Snyder rode down to the 
 small cabin, well hid by sycamores and sumac, a cabin that had 
 sheltered more than one group of fleeing slaves. He found the new- 
 comers making coffee. He drew Dean aside. 
 
 "What are you men doing here?" he demanded. 
 
 "First thing we got to do," Dean said by way of answer, "is get in 
 touch with Charley Hart. You seen him?" 
 
 "Charley Hart? You mean a yellow-haired, high-complected 
 young fellow, about my height but slim in the waist?" 
 
 "That's him." 
 
 "Yes, I've seen him," declared the captain grimly. "He hangs 
 around with the postoffice crowd in Osawatomie. Been here three 
 weeks or better." 
 
242 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "That's Charley, all right. Playin' the spy as usual." 
 
 "I don't like it," objected the captain. "That postoffice crowd is 
 pro-slavery. Now that the Republican party is in, they know they're 
 out. From this on, they'll be ready for any sort of meanness." 
 
 "Keep your shirt on your back. Charley Ball's gone in town for 
 Hart with the wagon. They ought-a be here any minute. Then we 
 can talk things over." 
 
 One of the young Quakers approached the captain. 
 
 "My name," he said, "is Morrison." No one had exchanged a name 
 the night before. In the dangerous work of the underground, names 
 often went unmentioned. Morrison had a pleasant face, a face to 
 trust. "Looks like we'd maybe be here a day or two. We want to 
 know if there's any work we could be doing for you. To make our 
 expenses. Have you any wood to cut?" 
 
 "I never have enough wood cut," growled the blacksmith, relent- 
 ing in spite of himself. To have the winter supply of wood piled 
 high was an unexpected fortune. 
 
 "Here comes the wagon," interrupted John Dean. 
 
 The Quaker Charles Ball stopped the wagon as close to the cabin 
 as the bushes would allow, while one of the colored men stepped 
 out to tie the horses to a sapling. Charley Hart swung over the 
 wheel, landing lightly, and came toward the cabin with his catlike 
 stride. 
 
 "Cuss thinks well of himself," observed Captain Snyder. 
 
 "He's an eddicated man," explained John Dean. "An eddicated 
 man always thinks well of himself." 
 
 To this sage summary Snyder made no reply. 
 
 All the men, black and white, now gathered in a close knot under 
 the deep blue of the sunny Kansas sky. They were protected from 
 observers by great clumps of scarlet sumac. 
 
 "Now these men," said Dean impressively to the captain, "come 
 through here a while back." He thumbed at the Thompsons and 
 Martin. "They was rescued out of the Cherokee Nation." 
 
 "That's what my wife said. She recognized 'em." 
 
 "She's a smart woman," declared John Dean, taken aback. 
 
 "She recognized 'em. And so will others. They'd better have 
 stayed up north." 
 
 The three colored men stirred quickly, exchanging looks. 
 
 Dean spoke for them. 
 
 "They come back to git their kinfolks. You can't blame 'em for 
 that." 
 
 "To get their kinfolks! You mean this is an expedition into the 
 Cherokee Nation?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 243 
 
 Dean looked toward Charley Hart. 
 
 Hart said easily, "We have our plans well laid. These men are in 
 touch with their families. We'll be in and out of the Nation between 
 one day's dark and the next day's dawn." 
 
 "Well, young man, it looks to me like your spy work round the 
 postoffice in town ain't brought you much news." 
 
 "What news?" asked Dean. 
 
 "What news? The Cherokee Nation is up. They're patrolling the 
 border. Say the next nigger thief comes that way, they'll burn him 
 at the stake. They mean business, since that last raid in August." 
 Captain Snyder selected a sumac leaf with his eye, and deliberately 
 covered it with tobacco juice as a matter of emphasis. "Nobody but 
 a damn fool would go into the Nation right now." 
 
 Not in that hour, no, nor in several days of intermittent argument, 
 did Captain Snyder prevail with the others against Charley Hart. 
 The captain, a vigorous older man who had done his share of shoot- 
 ing and being shot at in the border war, was accustomed to lay 
 down the law with every success among those with whom he 
 sojourned, but Charley Hart, eager and plausible, baffled him. 
 
 "I can't make that coot out," he told his wife. 
 
 His wife, silent, pressed her lips tightly together. 
 
 "She's fixin' to act," the captain told himself, half uneasily, half 
 with pride. At various times during their life together his wife had 
 untangled knotty situations with an ease that made the captain's 
 eyes bulge. 
 
 Meanwhile the Quakers and the three colored men cut the cap- 
 tain's wood, hauled and stacked it. They boarded with the Snyders, 
 the board to be taken from their earnings. Charley Hart stayed in 
 Osawatomie. The captain's son reported the gossip of the smithy, 
 Charley Hart was a great favorite with the ladies. 
 
 Mrs. Snyder pressed her lips together, silently passing great 
 platters of beans and sowbelly. 
 
 Early in the morning of the fourth day of deadlock between the 
 captain and Charley Hart,— a good two hours before dawn,— William 
 Thompson nudged his two companions awake, if, indeed, they had 
 been sleeping. With infinite caution each of them rolled nearer the 
 cabin door, slipped through one after another, ran into the under- 
 growth where they stopped only long enough to make their blankets 
 into compact rolls. So deep in the night it was,— not even the most 
 ambitious cock had crowed,— there was only starlight to help the 
 three colored men along their way. However, from the Snyder 
 kitchen a beam shone out for them. Mrs. Snyder was tying up three 
 sizable packages of food. 
 
244 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "You're well out of this," she told the men, opening the door to 
 them, hurrying to bring them hot coffee flavored with sorghum. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, we surely is," agreed William Thompson. "That 
 Charley Hart, he got a right strange eye. Bettah he don' know which 
 road we take. We jes' fade. Jes' fade." 
 
 Mrs. Snyder eyed them commandingly, handing over the pack- 
 ages. 
 
 "There's enough in these bundles to keep you till you get back 
 to the Quakers," she told them. "Keep away from towns. Travel by 
 dark, and hide in the deep woods by day. But I guess you know 
 what to do." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," they replied in murmurs. "Yes, ma'am, indeed." 
 
 "Now you listen to me. Like I told you, I got a way to bring news 
 from the Cherokee Nation. There's one baby over there will live to 
 grow up, if the Lord wills it, that owes his chance to me. I'll keep in 
 touch with your folks, and send on news from time to time. What 
 you've got to do is get a place ready for them when they come." 
 
 Her face grew sternly beautiful, illumined by inner vision. The 
 three colored men regarded her with awe, easily caught upward 
 by spiritual fervor. Their beautiful, expressive eyes swam toward 
 her through tears. 
 
 "Your folks will come to you. This Kansas struggle has roused the 
 nation, and the people have sent a man to Washington. I know, and 
 you know, the slaveholders won't have that man. For one thing, he's 
 too lowly born, and they're too high. South Carolina's as good as 
 out of the Union already. Georgia and Alabama not far behind. 
 But Abraham Lincoln aims to preserve the Union. A sick Union, 
 poisoned by human slavery. Slavery with all its agony. Now the 
 poison is stirring up, this Union will have convulsions maybe, trying 
 to throw it off. Perhaps it will look like her death, before the end 
 of the struggle. But she's strong! She's stronger than her enemies 
 think for, and God is with her! The evil is great, it doesn't give way 
 easily." Gazing raptly, this backwoods prophetess looked on future 
 events while her audience hung motionless upon her eloquence. 
 "The power of God will be on every battlefield, in every camp. 
 That power will be with Abraham Lincoln in Washington, it will be 
 with the women who work and wait in every Union home. Before 
 the end slaveholders will see that free state people are better 
 fighters than their poor white slave state people. And as for you! 
 You don't see it now, you can't see it now, but it's true. What I am 
 telling you is true! Your prayers have gone up to the throne of 
 grace. The Lord has set your people free!" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 245 
 
 Captain Eli Snyder halted in the dust of the trail a mile east of 
 his blacksmith shop. He looked up at the sky where a riffle of small 
 clouds partially hid the sun's rising. 
 
 "Coming on for rain," he said. 
 
 Charley Hart and three of the Quakers paused around him, shift- 
 ing the packs they carried on their shoulders. They were Charles 
 Ball, Edwin Morrison and Chalkley Lipsey, all in excellent spirits. 
 
 "Well, boys," announced the captain on a long breath, "I'll say 
 goodbye to you here. I want to shake each one of you by the hand, 
 for I never expect to see a one of you again in this world." 
 
 They grinned cheerfully at the older man, and Charley Hart 
 said, "Oh, this plan is well thought out, captain. We'll get through 
 the border blockade safe enough. We'll say we're on our way to 
 Lafayette county, to work on the Missouri Pacific. The big men in 
 Missouri have given orders to let anyone through that is willing to 
 help build the railroad." 
 
 The captain eyed Charley Hart thoughtfully, studying his reply. 
 
 "Son," he inquired at last, "what do you know about the big men 
 in Missouri?" 
 
 The young Quakers shifted their rifles to shake hands with 
 Snyder, the blacksmith half-shamefacedly muttering a "Godbless- 
 you" to each of them. He watched them almost out of sight, their 
 blanket rolls swaying and a noise of clashing cymbals coming back 
 to him from their cooking utensils. When he returned to his shop he 
 found John Dean waiting for him in the wagon that had brought 
 the raiders to Osawatomie. Young Albert South wick grinned fool- 
 ishly from the seat beside Dean. 
 
 "Dean," said Snyder without preamble, "you've helped to send 
 those young Quakers to their death." 
 
 "Now look here, Capn, they was bound to try some sort of raid. 
 When them niggers evaporated, the boys took hold of this Missouri 
 expedition like hungry trout." 
 
 "And who started this Missouri expedition? Charley Hart." 
 
 "Well, he ain't leadin' it. I had a long talk with Charles Ball last 
 night. My counsel to him was caution. Quick, sharp, decisive action. 
 Give every man his place an' duty, see they kep' their place an' done 
 their duty. I told him, don't place no confidence in Hart till he 
 proves himself. Why, I don't suppose Hart even knows the exac' 
 destination, so far." 
 
 "You don't?" 
 
 The captain gave John Dean the look he reserved for fools. 
 
 "If you expect to get that team back to Lawrence," he observed 
 finally, "you better shoe that off horse on his right fore foot." 
 
246 A UNION FOREVER * 
 
 "That's right," agreed Dean, mightily relieved at the change of 
 subject, "I was just gettin' to that. You shoe that horse, capn. Then 
 Al, here, an me will be gittin' back to Lawrence." 
 
 VI 
 
 Morgan Walker was a weak man who covered his inner qualms 
 with a fine frenzy of bluster in every one of life's emergencies. His 
 wife, worn with years of family explosions, spent her days in anxious 
 conciliation and subterfuge. His son escaped the situation man 
 fashion, by marrying and setting up his own establishment. Only 
 Nancy, the daughter, gloried in her father's temperament, matching 
 it with one of her own, always happily confident of her ability to 
 subdue Morgan Walker in any contest of temperamental frenzy. 
 
 Riding one of his splendid horses along the Independence road, 
 Morgan Walker was trying to recover poise following a scene with 
 Nancy. After a brief experience of marriage Nancy was back home. 
 Her young husband had brought her back to Morgan Walker. 
 White-faced, a suddenly old young husband, he had brought Nancy, 
 momentarily subdued, back to Morgan Walker. Nancy's husband 
 had found her in bed with another man. 
 
 Scene had followed scene in the Morgan Walker home, and the 
 worst of it was, Walker reflected uneasily, slave quarters knew there 
 was something wrong. Outwardly subservient, conciliatory as al- 
 ways, derision lurked behind every carefully reserved colored face 
 on the plantation. 
 
 Morgan Walker was a man of large affairs in Western Missouri. 
 He lived in a fine house on two thousand acres of rich Missouri 
 land. Thirty slaves did the work of the plantation, and there were 
 never less than a hundred horses and mules in stock. Walker was 
 known to keep a sizable sum of gold in his home, a liquid asset 
 always available when there was a chance to turn a quick, advan- 
 tageous deal. But no material advantage can cushion the scandal for 
 a man whose daughter is found in bed, by her husband, with another 
 man. Morgan Walker was on his way to Independence partially for 
 business reasons and partially to settle the matter that troubled him 
 most. Had the slave grapevine brought the news of Nancy's disgrace 
 to Independence? 
 
 From the hour of Nancy's arrival in this world, pretty even in her 
 first crumpled moments, Morgan Walker had begun to spoil her. 
 This in spite of his own mammy, a very aged colored woman who 
 had mothered Walker's father before him. This old mammy, assisted 
 
A UNION FOREVER 247 
 
 up to the big house by a young relative, took a good look at the new 
 daughter. 
 
 "Hmph!" She turned to Morgan Walker. "She ain't goin' to be 
 satisfied with no one man. She goin' want 'em all. Bettah teach huh 
 some good mo'al teachin' whilst she is yet young." 
 
 Walker, uneasily pushing mammy's look and voice out of mem- 
 ory,— she was long dead,— found himself confronted on the highway 
 by four young white men, foot travelers by the look of them. One 
 of the four pulled off his hat politely while he inquired, "Can you 
 direct us to the Morgan Walker home?" 
 
 Instantly antagonized by the unexpected, Morgan Walker said 
 coldly, "I am Morgan Walker." 
 
 "Yes, sir. Are your sons at home?" 
 
 "My son, Andrew, is at home. On his own place. You wish to see 
 him?" 
 
 Walker went on to furnish directions to the four strangers, such 
 and such landmarks they must pass on their way to his son's place. 
 When they had thanked him and had traveled on, he sat his horse, 
 looking after them. He had an ingrained distrust of white men on 
 foot; but he knew very little of his son's affairs. Andrew had learned 
 in childhood to dodge trouble by keeping his plans to himself. 
 Shaking his head doubtfully, Walker spoke to his horse, resuming 
 his troubled thoughts and his journey toward Independence. 
 
 Not until dark was closing in the following evening did the 
 planter ride homeward over this same piece of road. A mournful, 
 howling wind was blowing up, bringing with it spits of rain. Walker 
 pulled his head into his coat collar and stock, holding his large hat 
 against the wind, urging his horse to a gallop since both of them 
 knew the road by heart. 
 
 Business had detained him in Independence beyond his expecta- 
 tion. Afterward, when business no longer claimed him, he made 
 excuse to himself, called on various acquaintances. While he talked 
 of the more and more grim political outlook, he studied each face 
 that confronted him. Did people already know the Walker family 
 disgrace? Or was his imagination too vividly at work, putting a 
 slightly derisive, excited look on every face he met? 
 
 Morgan Walker's house stood a quarter of a mile from the main 
 road that ran north of the plantation. The house loomed large 
 through the dusk, nine great rooms with an eastern frontage of 
 fifty feet. In the Southern style it was built with a porch along the 
 entire front. At the north end of this porch was built a general 
 utility room where loom harness was stored, with saddles, guns, and 
 some hunting equipment. Outside, in the angle of the porch and 
 
248 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 room, stood Mrs. Walker's loom. Otherwise the porch was bare in 
 the December dusk, the summer furniture all stored away. 
 
 Old Cujo, thus by adjective distinguished from his son, young 
 Cujo, heard the approaching horse. He hurried from quarters to 
 meet his master at the front porch. 
 
 Walker called out irritably. 
 
 "Where's all the light around here tonight? Damned funny with 
 all the niggers on this place they ain't one with sense enough to 
 light a few lamps." 
 
 "Yessuh, yessuh," replied Old Cujo soothingly. He seized the 
 horse's bridle. "They's one lamp lit. In uh dining room. Spec' they 
 git some mo' lights, now you heah." 
 
 If Old Cujo's eyes rolled with excitement they rolled in the 
 gloom, and Walker failed to note their extended size. 
 
 "Give Prince a hard rub-down before you feed him, you hear me? 
 I'm coming down to the stable after a while. If I find him damp, 
 I won't leave a piece of skin on your back." 
 
 This was part of an old ritual. 
 
 Old Cujo laughed tolerantly, laying a gentle hand on Prince's 
 neck. 
 
 "Now when did ah evah let Prince go to bed damp?" 
 
 He turned with the horse and disappeared into the gathering, 
 stormy night. 
 
 "I'll get some light, and I'll get it damn quick," muttered Walker, 
 tramping up the steps. He threw open the house door, strode across 
 the center hall to the dining room,— and stepped into drama. 
 
 A china lamp, handsomely painted, placed center of a mahogany 
 dining table, sent out a subdued glow. Above a fireplace where 
 burning logs contributed to the glow, the glass eyes of a mounted 
 stag's head gleamed excitement. Either side the stag's head a pair 
 of three-branched silver candlesticks held unlighted tallow dips. 
 
 "Why in hell don't you light the candles?" began Walker in a 
 high tone of outrage. He stopped suddenly. "What's the matter with 
 Patty?" he demanded in a normal voice. 
 
 Standing at one end of the fireplace was a slender quadroon, not 
 pretty but attractively made and with small hands and feet. Her 
 crimson merino housedress and stiffly starched, lace-trimmed white 
 apron were as neat as garments could be. She leaned weakly against 
 the stonework of the fireplace, and she trembled visibly. 
 
 "What's the matter?" repeated Morgan Walker, looking toward 
 his wife and daughter. 
 
 They stood across the dining table from him. 
 
 "Something has happened," replied his wife, and her left hand 
 
A UNION FOREVER 249 
 
 went against her side, a habit contracted after her marriage to 
 Morgan Walker, an unconscious gesture whenever he approached 
 her and she began to talk to him. 
 
 "What's happened? What's the matter with Patty?" 
 
 Nancy Walker,— so we must call her for her husband's parting 
 word to her was to leave his name alone,— Nancy Walker, then, 
 answered her father boldly and calmly. 
 
 "I am keeping her here right under my eye. She isn't going to get 
 a chance to sneak out to quarters." 
 
 "What's wrong with quarters?" 
 
 "Nothing. Except that every nigger on this plantation is planning 
 to run away tonight." 
 
 "You're crazy!" 
 
 "You think so? Tell him what happened, mother. There isn't much 
 time to lose." 
 
 Mrs. Walker said through suddenly chattering teeth, "Andrew is 
 in the harness room with Jack Tatum. They've got their shotguns. 
 And Lee Coger and Dode Williams are behind my loom. They're 
 waiting for the raiders." 
 
 "Raiders!!" 
 
 Morgan Walker's hand went to the pistol in his coat pocket. He 
 cried impatiently, "Speak up, can't you?" 
 
 Nancy spoke. 
 
 "After you left yesterday a man came to Andrew. It seems he 
 came over from Kansas with a crowd of cutthroats. They're coming 
 here any minute now, to take away our niggers and stock. But this 
 man who came to Andrew to warn him, he's really a Southerner. 
 He's just luring these abolitionists to their death. He'll bring them 
 inside to talk terms, but when they go out, we're to light them to 
 the doorway. Then our boys will kill them." 
 
 Walker stared at his daughter. 
 
 "Look here, was one of those men a sort of pink-cheeked fellow. 
 With tawny hair and lids way down over his eyes?" He saw con- 
 firmation in her eyes. "Why, the dirty mother's bastard, I'll kill him 
 with my bare hands. . . ." 
 
 "No, you won't," interrupted Nancy. "He's the Southerner." 
 
 "Southern hell!" 
 
 Mrs. Walker spoke. 
 
 "Morgan, you must listen. The only chance we have is to trust 
 this man. Either that, or let the raiders walk off with our people. 
 And all our stock." 
 
 "And whatever money you've got in the house," added Nancy. 
 
 As she spoke a moaning wind rose and wailed through the 
 
250 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 crevices and around the angles of the rambling old house. Dashes 
 of rain and sleet beat upon the porch and played rat-tat-tat on the 
 window panes, macabre fingers summoning to death. 
 
 "We'll shoot every damn one of them," declared Walker violently. 
 "Five good men here, we can take care of all of them. I disliked that 
 fellow, the moment he spoke to me. Oh, I saw him on the highway," 
 he threw in impatiently. "I'm going to speak to Andrew." 
 
 Nancy caught her father's arm. 
 
 "You fool!" she said. 
 
 Mrs. Walker, always pressing her hand against her side, leaned 
 across the table. 
 
 "Don't you understand, Morgan? It isn't a matter of a few raiders. 
 Nancy and I have been watching our people all day. They're ready 
 to leave." As her husband returned her gaze, she said earnestly, 
 "Don't you understand, Morgan? If they're ready to leave us, they're 
 ready to kill us." 
 
 The wind rose to a new pitch of violence while Nancy said, "They 
 could have killed us any time today. There was nothing we could 
 do . . . but wait for the boys to get here. They aren't like themselves." 
 She shivered, then rigidly composed her young body. "I always 
 thought our people were happy and fortunate." 
 
 "They are happy and fortunate," asserted Walker. But his bluster 
 ebbed before the quietly awful gaze bent on him by his wife. "Do 
 they know the boys are here?" he asked in a lowered tone, gesturing 
 toward quarters while he glanced at the cowering Patty. 
 
 "They know Andrew came over. The other boys left their horses 
 at Andrew's. Walked over in the dusk." 
 
 "Well. . . ." 
 
 While he hesitated the situation developed itself. Above the noise 
 of the storm came the sound of men's feet, tramping up the gravel 
 driveway, up the front steps, across the wide porch. One of the 
 advancing party dealt a smart rap on the door. 
 
 "Open the door," urged Nancy. "Put your gun back in your 
 pocket," she added hurriedly. She caught up a single candle in a 
 small stick, lighted it at the fire and thrust it into his hand. 
 
 Morgan Walker took time to snarl, "Why weren't you born a 
 man. You'd make a success that way." 
 
 A second, louder rap, and he strode away to throw open his front 
 door. Four men confronted him, each man leveling a Sharpe's rifle 
 at him. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Walker," said Charley Hart. 
 
 Walker, no physical coward, held his position unflinchingly. 
 
 He said on a rising inflection, "Well?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 251 
 
 "We've come to talk to you," explained Charley Hart. "We'll step 
 inside, if you please." 
 
 "I don't please," rejoined Walker, at the same time giving ground. 
 "The callers I like to receive don't come armed with rifles." 
 
 A slight altercation rose among the raiders. Hart was urging his 
 three companions to enter the home with him, but they demurred. 
 
 "Two is enough," decided Charles Ball. "Lipsey and I'll go in 
 with you. Morrison, you mount guard here on the porch. Dean," he 
 called into the wind and rain, "line your men along the yard border 
 there. We won't be inside a great while." 
 
 Walker caught a glimpse of black faces and rolling white eyeballs 
 outside the faint circle of light thrown by the candle he carried. 
 Then he had to precede the three strangers into his dining room. 
 There he turned to them with a curt, "State your business, gentle- 
 men." 
 
 Hart and the Quakers bowed to the silent women who ignored 
 the courtesy. Charles Ball cast a glance of interest mingled with 
 pity at Patty. 
 
 Charley Hart said, "Mr. Walker, we have come for your slaves." 
 
 "You have come for my slaves," repeated Walker. "How do you 
 know my slaves want to go away with you? Have you asked them?" 
 
 Lipsey answered, "We have. They want to go." 
 
 After a moment Walker said, half to himself, "They want to go. 
 All of them?" 
 
 Charles Ball cut in, "Mr. Walker, you seem surprised that men 
 should want to be free. I suppose you figure it these poor colored 
 people ought to value the food you give them, and the clothes they 
 wear, and those poor cabins back of your fine house, more than they 
 could value owning their own bodies. Is that it?" 
 
 Walker flushed with anger. 
 
 "By your clothes," he said, "I take you to be a member of the 
 Friends' sect." 
 
 "Yes, sir. I am." 
 
 "Then how do you excuse yourself for defying Scripture? Has no 
 one ever told you that the Lord turned Ham black for a fearful sin, 
 and set him to serve his brethren? Do you think you are bigger 
 than God?" 
 
 Charley Hart spoke impatiently. 
 
 "We're wasting time. You understand, Mr. Walker, we're taking 
 your horses and mules. And whatever cash money you have in the 
 house. Bring that out first, lay it on the table." 
 
 Walker exclaimed, "This will ruin me!" 
 
 "We aim to ruin you," replied Charles Ball. 
 
252 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Chalkely Lipsey spoke from the background. 
 
 "What would be the use risking our lives to free these people, if 
 we left you the means to buy more of them?" 
 
 "Mr. Walker," said Ball earnestly, "this seems hard to you. But 
 you are only one of the many that will suffer this loss. We seem few 
 to you, and perhaps we are soon to die in this work. But others will 
 take our places. The work will go on. Farther and farther into the 
 deep South, night after night, month after month, year after year. 
 So long as there is a man left in this country who owes his wealth 
 to human bondage." 
 
 "Atchison was right." Morgan Walker stared at this young Quaker 
 in a sort of furious surprise. "He told me years ago we must kill 
 every abolitionist that entered Kansas. Either that ... or see our 
 whole structure fall." 
 
 "A rotting structure, Mr. Walker." 
 
 Morgan Walker ignored this reply. Drawing a key from his pocket 
 he handed it to Nancy. 
 
 "Bring my strong box," he said. 
 
 Nancy turned toward the shivering Patty, and the quadroon 
 hurriedly caught one of the silver candlesticks from the chimney 
 piece. Bending, she lighted the three candles at the glowing fire. 
 She handed the candlestick to Nancy Walker, and Nancy held it 
 quiet until the tallow dips burned with a serene light. The others 
 watched her while she left the room. 
 
 Charley Hart spoke. 
 
 "Better lay your pistol on the table, Mr. Walker." 
 
 Walker glared, making no effort to comply until Chalkley Lipsey 
 stepped forward to search him. Then the planter, unable to bear 
 such handling, brought out his pistol and dropped it angrily on the 
 shining mahogany. 
 
 When Nancy returned with a heavy metal box her father mo- 
 tioned her to lay it beside the pistol. 
 
 "This is all the gold I have in the house. Three thousand dollars! 
 Now, take it and go. But if there is one SLAVE on this place who 
 values his home more than his fancied freedom, leave him here." 
 
 In his anger Morgan Walker had lost sight of the role Charley 
 Hart was to play in the drama. Nancy, however, was calmly 
 watchful. 
 
 Charley Hart assumed full command in one instant. 
 
 He said to the Quakers, "Get the stock and negroes all together. 
 I'll stay here and watch these folks. Save a good mount for me, 
 Chalk. Fire your rifle when you're ready. I'll come out then. Bring 
 the box." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 253 
 
 Chalkley Lipsey picked up Walker's pistol. 
 
 "I'll take this with me," he said. 
 
 As the three young Quakers turned toward the hall, Quantrill 
 motioned with his rifle toward the large candlestick Nancy had set 
 on the table. Nancy touched her father on the arm. 
 
 "Light them to the door, father," she said in the merest of voices, 
 handing him the silver candlestick. 
 
 Morgan Walker followed the Quakers to the front door. Lipsey 
 and Ball stepped out first onto the front porch. The night was now 
 intensely dark below. Clouds like ghosts flitted across the overhead 
 gloom. A wind came round the house with a scream, and flew away 
 to join the uproar in the neighboring grove. Suddenly Morgan 
 Walker held his candlestick high, forgetting everything else in the 
 sight before him. Along the yard border he saw his slaves lurking, 
 their faces revealed in the light as exultant, terrified, defiant. All this 
 lasted but an instant. From the harness room and from the space 
 behind the loom came irregular sheets of flame, accompanied by a 
 terrific burst of noise. At the same instant the screaming wind 
 swooped at the silver candlestick and pinched out the tallow dips, 
 leaving invaders and defenders to darkness and confusion. 
 
 "Treachery!" 
 
 Charles Ball leaped from the porch, shooting at random into the 
 harness room. Lipsey following Ball, received a charge in his hip. 
 
 "I'm shot! Don't leave me, Charles." 
 
 Ball leaned over, caught up the wounded man and staggered with 
 him toward the road. 
 
 "Dean!" he shouted. "Dean!" 
 
 He was answered by the furious sound of wagon wheels and 
 horses on the run. 
 
 "Dean's deserted," he cried bitterly to Lipsey. "Where are you 
 shot?" 
 
 "My hip, I think. I can't walk." 
 
 "I'll have to carry you," decided Ball. "We must get away from 
 here, hide in the woods till morning. I'll figure something to do, 
 come light/' 
 
 Pausing only long enough to transfer the wounded man to his 
 back, Ball made for the looming darkness of the trees. Plunging into 
 deeper recesses of the neighboring thicket, he carried Lipsey with 
 him into the grove. 
 
254 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 VII 
 
 When the wind twisted away the flames of the three tallow dips 
 in the candlestick held by Morgan Walker, Nancy Walker, who had 
 followed her father to the doorway despite a low outcry from her 
 mother, caught the candlestick from his hand. She ran to relight it 
 at the fire, and hurried back with it to the doorway where she 
 cautiously shaded it, allowing its three beams to shine faintly into 
 the storm. Her brother Andrew and his friend Dode Williams were 
 kneeling one on either side of the young Quaker, Morrison. 
 
 "We got one of them," called Andrew to his father in an exulting 
 voice. 
 
 Jack Tatum and Lee Coger who had run a little way into the 
 darkness after the fleeing raiders, now came running back. 
 
 "We heard one of 'em say he was wounded." 
 
 "The other carried him away." 
 
 "Get 'em in the morning." 
 
 All the Missourians surrounded the dead man. 
 
 "Let's carry the body into the harness room," said Andrew. 
 "Nancy, bring us a light through the inside door." 
 
 "What became of the hands?" demanded Morgan Walker, lifting 
 his voice above the shriek of the wind. 
 
 "Reckon they ran back to quarters, Mr. Morgan," replied Jack 
 Tatum. "The raiders escaped in a wagon, most of 'em. We heard 'em 
 going away on the run. They couldn't have taken the hands with 
 them." 
 
 When young Morrison was laid decently on the harness room 
 floor, Mrs. Walker came to look at him. 
 
 "Why, he's only a boy," she exclaimed. 
 
 "Where's that fellow came ahead of the others?" asked Morgan 
 Walker. 
 
 "Right here, Mr. Morgan," replied Charley Hart from the shadows. 
 
 When the others turned to stare at Hart he strode forward and 
 stood gazing down at the dead man. 
 
 "So the game is up, Morrison," he remarked grimly. 
 
 "Up for Morrison, and up for you," Walker told him insultingly. 
 "We hang at dawn in this neighborhood." 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 "Mrs. Walker is ill," interposed Dode Williams as Walker turned 
 to snarl at Nancy. "At least let us get her in by the fire while we 
 investigate this fellow." 
 
 He led the way, his arm supporting Mrs. Walker, while Nancy 
 pointedly brought up the rear with Hart. They traversed a large 
 
A UNION FOREVER 255 
 
 storeroom or pantry, and came out into the dining room where they 
 found the terrified colored girl still crouched against the stonework 
 of the fireplace. 
 
 "You may go to bed now, Patty," said Nancy. 
 
 The colored girl was, then simply was not, in the candle and fire 
 light, so quickly did she avail herself of the permission to leave the 
 room. 
 
 While Dode Williams put Mrs. Walker gently into a fireside chair 
 Charley Hart confronted Morgan Walker across the dining table. 
 
 "Mr. Walker, you wish to hear my story. I'll tell it to you." He 
 paused, seemed to master emotion. "My family are Maryland people, 
 from Revolutionary days. My father is dead, and my grandfather, 
 Captain Quantrill who fought in 1812 with great distinction, raised 
 all us children. 
 
 "Three years ago when I was just a lad I got the idea of roughing 
 it in the far West. Nothing would keep me in Maryland, so my 
 grandfather said I might try the West. But he insisted some older 
 fellow must go with me. Then my older brother,— he was a quiet, 
 dreamy young man,— offered to be my companion. At last it was all 
 arranged. My grandfather sent one of our colored boys along with 
 us. We had a pair of mules and a camp wagon, and our Jim to do 
 the cooking for us. 
 
 "We made a pleasant journey across the country. Stopping here 
 and there to visit old friends who had moved West. But we always 
 had it in our minds to get to Colorado. We thought we might do 
 some prospecting for gold. 
 
 "Our first night in Kansas Territory we camped on the Marais 
 des Cynes. A beautiful summer evening. The water was clear as 
 crystal. We could see the fish clearly from the grassy knoll above 
 the stream. Jim caught several fish and got out his frying pan. My 
 brother and I were in an argument, laughing, you know, but serious, 
 too. Over a passage in Hamlet, and we didn't have a library at hand 
 to settle the question. 
 
 "Suddenly there came a crashing and whooping through the light 
 growth between us and the trail. Before we could move, a company 
 of Kansas free-state ruffians was upon us. They shot my brother 
 first, then I was hit and fell unconscious. 
 
 "When I knew my surroundings again, it was deep in the night. 
 The moon rode high, a half moon. Our campfire had burned itself 
 out. Jim was gone, with our mules and wagon. I was alone with the 
 dead body of my brother. 
 
 "I must have lost consciousness for a while. I was wakened by the 
 long quavering cry of a prairie wolf. Soon I saw half a dozen or 
 
256 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 more of these beasts in the half light. Their eyes were blazing at me 
 from the brush. They were after my brother's body. Dragging 
 myself a little way toward the dead fire I caught up a stout stick, 
 and this I kept brandishing toward the wolves. A little before dawn 
 they slunk away. 
 
 "That was a day of horror. My leg pained me constantly, but I 
 only half felt it. My agony of heart was too great. Over and over 
 the thought came to me, if I had stayed in Maryland on grand- 
 father's place, my brother . . . had not died." 
 
 Charley Hart allowed his voice to trail, deepen, sink to a whisper, 
 while he fought for self control. His audience neither spoke nor 
 moved. He gathered himself, continued. 
 
 "In the awful heat of the day I almost raved with thirst. Once I 
 dragged myself to the river to drink, but I felt I must get back. 
 Get back! Just in time. A pair of vultures circling, circling above 
 my brother's body! 
 
 "Late in the afternoon I had given myself up to die. I lay with 
 closed eyes when I heard a horse's hoofs coming at a gait strange 
 to me then. Now I know it was an Indian pony at a singlefoot. A 
 very old Indian rode into the clearing. He told me in broken English 
 his name was Golightly Spiebuck. He buried my brother's body. 
 He tended my leg. He put me on his pony. He took me to his cabin. 
 There I stayed till I was able to walk. More than all, he told me 
 the names of the border band who assaulted us, killed my brother. 
 He told me they had taken away our colored boy, Jim, and the 
 wagon and mules. 
 
 "From that hour to this I have had only one thought." 
 
 Charley Hart allowed his voice to husk into silence. The group of 
 listeners stirred slightly. Mrs. Walker started to speak, but her 
 husband's voice drowned hers, cutting the silence insultingly. 
 
 "Who ever heard of an Indian named Golightly Spiebuck?" 
 
 Nancy Walker intervened. 
 
 Giving her father a hard-eyed glare, she said to Hart, "You're 
 right. Don't ever stop till you kill them all. Follow them. Kill them 
 all." 
 
 Hart muttered, "I hoped tonight would finish the last of them." 
 
 Mrs. Walker's more compassionate nature rested itself on the 
 tragedy of the lost brother. She spoke pityingly. "Wouldn't you 
 like something hot to drink? And then you'd better get some sleep." 
 
 "No sleep tonight, Mrs. Walker." Hart straightened his shoulders. 
 "This is a desperate gang. They may be back any minute. Mr. 
 Walker, are you going to take an invoice of your slaves and stock?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 257 
 
 Morning found the Morgan Walker place a center of excitement 
 that continued throughout the day. The slaves, all accounted for, 
 formed the least difficult group. One and all they worked indus- 
 triously with little or none of the spirited exchange and high 
 laughter normally a part of their life. If they rolled their eyes at 
 one another behind white backs, this was as much as they attempted 
 in the way of freedom. 
 
 The storm had washed away every trace of the night's struggle. 
 When the sun broke through triumphant, bringing a crisp winter 
 day, neighbors began to arrive, evidence that the eternal slave 
 grapevine was active as usual. The men clustered in slow-moving 
 groups, intent on the scene of recent drama. But the women who 
 accompanied their husbands hurried inside at once to commiserate 
 Mrs. Walker, and to eye Nancy with politely concealed speculation. 
 Nancy remained indifferent to their presence or their glances. She 
 had eyes only for Hart when he was near, thoughts only for him 
 when he stepped outside to confer with the men. 
 
 The body of the dead Jayhawker, "straightened for the grave," 
 lay on the harness room floor to be gazed upon. Man after man who 
 looked at his face, a face that was particularly young and innocent 
 in death, commented on his reckless daring, his evil temper. Several 
 went so far as to declare he had visited their neighborhoods and had 
 carried away slaves. 
 
 Jack Tatum, Dode Williams and Lee Coger kept together, watch- 
 ing the scene and answering questions over and over until the keen 
 edge of active participation dulled. 
 
 They watched Charley Hart. 
 
 "What do you think of that fellow?" Coger asked Tatum. 
 
 "What do I think of him?" exploded Tatum. "I think he's the 
 biggest liar ever hit this country." 
 
 Dode Williams plowed the wet gravel of the driveway with his 
 boot, scowling at his own thoughts. 
 
 "Morgan Walker doesn't believe him," Coger observed. 
 
 "But Nancy does," replied Tatum. They both glanced at Dode 
 Williams, then looked away considerately. Williams had loved 
 Nancy Walker in a hopeless fashion from boyhood. 
 
 Meanwhile the crowd milled in and out of the harness room. 
 
 "I met that fellow in the hollow by the old Lafferty place last 
 week," a tall man with a drooping mustache was telling anyone 
 who would listen. "That's a lonely road since the place got the 
 name of hanted. Yessir, I met him. And at that time," finished the 
 tall man solemnly, "I marked him for an abolitionist. For a Jayhawk 
 abolitionist." 
 
258 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Ain't he got a mean face," exclaimed a woman, peering. "My, 
 my! 
 
 Nancy Walker made a diversion, coming from the house. She 
 spoke pointedly to her father and brother, ignoring the neighbors. 
 
 "Mother is begging for this man's burying. All this excitement is 
 making her sick. Get Young Cujo busy on the coffin right away. 
 Let's get this man under the ground. Then everybody else can go 
 home." 
 
 Indifferent to the affronted glances of the neighbors, she held her 
 ground until Walker shouted a message to a passing hand. This 
 presently brought the boss carpenter up from quarters to take 
 measurements. When she saw him at work with his assistant, Nancy 
 returned to the dining room. Made furious by the gaping swarm, 
 she wanted only to have this stranger to herself. Months had passed 
 since she had felt the slightest interest in her late husband, her 
 intrigue with his friend was simply the result of boredom. Now she 
 was genuinely in flames, time was passing, she would scream soon 
 if she couldn't get these idiotic people out of her way. 
 
 As the day wore fretfully on for her a new complication arose. 
 
 The colored carpenter and his helper sawed and nailed un- 
 hurriedly in the harness room, making the rough board coffin, 
 glancing from their materials to the length of the dead Jayhawker. 
 Meanwhile several knots of men gathered here and there who eyed 
 Charley Hart with cold eyes set in expressionless faces. Hart, 
 closely questioned, repeated his manufactured tale about his brother, 
 always increasing the awful brutality and savagery of the Jay- 
 hawkers, and his sufferings at their hands. Most of the men believed 
 he was lying: the party for immediate hanging increased its num- 
 bers minute by minute. 
 
 Young Cujo's assistant whispered to Young Cujo, "Don' seem 
 like 'is white boy got the face fo' all 'at meanness bein' related on 
 him." 
 
 "Shut yo' mouth, fool," muttered Young Cujo. Aloud he said, 
 "Yes, make it some longah. It ain't right to cramp the daid." 
 
 When at last, in the late afternoon, Edward Morrison began his 
 final journey, carried by six of the slaves he had sought to free, 
 Charley Hart walked well surrounded by Missourians, on the way 
 to the burial ground. The plan was to hang him immediately after 
 the burying. 
 
 Old Cujo became the messenger to change his fate. 
 
 Barely were the soft thuds of muddy earth heaping above Morri- 
 son when Old Cujo hurried from the woodland, running toward 
 his master. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 259 
 
 "Yessuh, yessuh, they in theah." He pointed a trembling old hand. 
 "They done shot a hawg, they tryin' cook it. Old Cujo tumble right 
 a-top of 'em." 
 
 "What are you talking about?" Walker caught the old man by his 
 shoulder, shaking him with a vicious clutch. "Who's in the woods?" 
 
 "Jayhawks. Jayhawks. One of 'em dyin' fo' shuah. Got shot in a 
 laig. T'othah, he ask me kin Ah steal a hoss an' wagon tonight? Hep 
 'em git away. He makin' some leaf tea fo' sick man, but that ain't 
 go hep him. He dyin' awright. . . ." 
 
 Morgan interrupted him furiously, "Show us where these men 
 are. It'll be the worse for you, if you don't." 
 
 "Yessuh, yessuh. Cause what fo' Ah want run away mah time 
 life?" 
 
 Old Cujo set off hastily, and the men of the funeral party set off 
 after him. Thirty minutes later the old man stopped and pointed 
 along a path that ended in a thicket. 
 
 "In theah," he whispered, rolling his eyes at the white men. 
 
 Charley Hart stepped forward. 
 
 "This is my work." 
 
 White-faced and stern he strode forward along the faintly defined 
 path. Bare branches, red-tagged here and there with the last of 
 autumn's leaves, struck at him on either side. The Missourians 
 watched him without speaking, although some said afterward they 
 thought he was seizing his chance to escape. Several minutes passed. 
 
 "Reckon he's goin' t' make his getaway?" the man with the droop- 
 ing mustache asked Andrew Walker. 
 
 Andrew did not answer, staring at the point in the thicket where 
 Hart had disappeared. 
 
 "He'd have to come out near the Lafferty place," said Lee Coger. 
 "We can ride round in a hurry, head him off." 
 
 Two shots. 
 
 Minutes continued to pass until Hart emerged from the under- 
 growth. What happened between the firing of the two shots that 
 killed Ball and Lipsey, and Hart's reappearance? Months later he 
 told the one person to whom he confided all his life and thoughts: 
 I stood alone in the thicket. I said to myself that now Charley Hart 
 was dead forever. I had two selves. I shot one of them in that wood. 
 Now I was irrevocably William Clarke Quantrill. As Quantrill I 
 now had no convictions. I stood for no principles. I was in favor of 
 no state or party. I had no choice of communities. I was a stranger 
 to loyalty, and I did not know such a thing as friendship. 
 
 William Clarke Quantrill, emerging from the wood path, said, 
 "Have your niggers bury the bodies." 
 
260 
 
 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Two hours later he was laughing with Nancy Walker. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Cairo, 111., April 24th, 1861. 
 Dear Hettie;— I embrace this, my first opportunity of writing 
 you to inform you of my whereabouts 
 
 I sat on the levee at Cairo, writing pad on my knee, at a point 
 where I could watch the flood waters of the Ohio meet the flood 
 waters of the Mississippi in muddy swirls, miniature waves and 
 brownish foam. Behind me, where I did not care to look, lay Cairo 
 in a waste of mud; and over my head low-hanging clouds threatened 
 to add their contents to the dreary scene. I had been ten days a 
 soldier, and no letter came to me from Hettie. 
 
 My mind was back in Chapin, mid scenes round Concord Station 
 where I said goodbye to Hettie. 
 
 Early spring twilight was closing in on a beautiful day as I ran 
 up the steps at the Williams home, after a round of farewell calls 
 in the neighborhood. I was to leave on the morning train, for 
 Jacksonville, first, where the Hardin Light Guards would be 
 mustered into the United States army. The hour had come. Abraham 
 Lincoln had called for troops to save the Union, and Governor Yates 
 of Illinois had answered the call. We were enlisting for three months 
 to put down the rebellion of the South. 
 
 Hettie met me on the Williams porch. 
 
 "How is Debbie?" I asked at once, checking my pace. 
 
 "Very low." 
 
 Debbie Williams lay sick of a low fever, and Hettie had been 
 taking a turn in the sickroom. Nursing is a gift, and Hettie had that 
 gift. She knew by a sort of extra sense the condition of a sick 
 person, there was no deceiving her as to the condition of poor 
 Debbie. The eyes she lifted to me were filled with tears, and her 
 lip trembled. 
 
 I trembled, too. 
 
 In the nearly three years since the meeting of the Lyceum made 
 famous by Aunt Jane's biscuits, Hettie was become a fine young 
 lady. Her studies and associations at the Jacksonville seminary had 
 put a very pretty restraint on her impulsive nature, although Hettie 
 would never be less than Hettie. On this particular evening she was 
 wearing a gown of rose and green silk with an almost invisible 
 stripe. Her bonnet was in the Quaker style, but belied its origin by 
 a saucy pink rose beneath the brim. The hem of her great full skirt 
 
A UNION FOREVER 261 
 
 lay on the ground. To walk she must lift it with both little gloved 
 hands. Against the spring evening cool, she wore a magnificent set 
 of sables, Christmas gift from her wealthy father. Her Scotch-Irish 
 eyes looked out from beneath her bonnet frame with forthright 
 courage, and there was vigor and purpose in every line of her small 
 form. 
 
 When Hettie looked up at me with a trembling lip, I trembled, 
 too. During all that winter past I had been Hettie's accepted partner 
 in the sleighing parties, spelling bees, singing society meetings and 
 Lyceum gatherings. In short I had escorted her to whatever gaieties 
 a Methodist persuasion in our neighborhood allowed. But I had 
 never told her my heart. How could I, when she was the daughter 
 of a home where every comfort dwelt, and I only a poor school- 
 master with all my fortune in the future. 
 
 Now, she lifted tear-filled eyes. 
 
 I think I may have just stretched out my arms. Next moment 
 Hettie was sobbing with her head on my shoulder. 
 
 "First it was Vassey went. Now it will be Debbie." 
 
 "Hettie," I begged tenderly, "don't meet trouble till it comes. The 
 little experience I've had in life has taught me that much." 
 
 Hettie lifted her head from my shoulder, gave me a sound look. 
 
 "Lew, has it taught you to meet love when it comes?" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "it has." 
 
 Then and there I kissed her. 
 
 I walked home with her. We took the longest way round, up the 
 railroad track and across the white-painted stile. 
 
 Cornie Chapin broke into my musing. 
 
 "Lew," he declared, joining me there on the levee, "I'm persuaded 
 this Cairo is the dirtiest, muddiest Secession hole on the face of the 
 continent. And I'm heartily sorry I engaged myself to eat off an iron 
 plate, and cook in the streets of this mudhole for the next three 
 months. What in thunder did the War Department mean, putting 
 us here?" 
 
 For answer I pointed to a small steamer pushing the muddied 
 waters of the Mississippi before her. A cannon shot had just an- 
 nounced her approach down the river. We both knew that if she 
 failed to lose speed at the landing for examination of her cargo, a 
 second shot would attempt to sink her. Nothing must go South that 
 could lend aid or comfort to Secessia. 
 
 "Oh, I suppose so," admitted Cornie, answering my gesture and 
 unspoken argument. "Of course this is a strategic spot. What do 
 
262 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 you make of them issuing us twenty rounds yesterday? All that talk 
 about a Secesh force being near?" 
 
 "Perhaps," I replied mildly, "they did it because there was a 
 Secesh force near." 
 
 "Don't you believe it. It was politics. The politicians have got us 
 into this mess, now they have to make it look like they were justified. 
 In my opinion, the South has backed down. Well! I hope the mud 
 around here dries up before my enlistment does." 
 
 I had turned for a good view of the levee. 
 
 "I believe," I said, "that there are, at the least count, fifty places 
 on this levee where Whiskey and all its accompaniment of sin and 
 evil may be procured. Some, no doubt, are the sort of places called 
 gilded saloons, but others are nothing but bawdy houses." 
 
 "Do you see one nearby that looks like the gilded sort?" inquired 
 Cornie. 
 
 "I've no doubt there is one within a stone's heave." 
 
 "I'm going to find it," announced Cornie. 
 
 "Cornie," I said earnestly, "I would think twice about such a 
 performance." 
 
 "Twice! I've already thought about it fifty times." 
 
 "Fifty times! In that case," I said, "I'll go with you." 
 
 When Hettie, on the platform at Concord Station, lost the flutter 
 of my handkerchief from the car window, she began walking down 
 the track toward the stile in the picket fence at Wildwood. Several 
 nights of watching beside Debbie Williams had exhausted her 
 mentally and physically; and my poor darling stumbled wearily over 
 the cinder track and obtrusive ties, as she told me many, many 
 times in her letters. The tears she shed, when she brushed them 
 away, gave place to others from a bottomless well. To her distorted 
 senses a strange eerie pall hung over the scene, although it was 
 mid-morning of a perfect April day. 
 
 She found her father pacing the porch at Wildwood. 
 
 The fact that J. D. Cooper was deserting his armchair for sus- 
 tained motion was, in itself, noteworthy. Even my grief-laden Hettie 
 opened her eyes at this, as she wandered up the footpath beneath 
 the trees. William was there, too, talking angrily to his father. 
 
 "Here she comes now," announced William. 
 
 As Mr. Cooper turned to wait Hettie's arrival, Mrs. Cooper ap- 
 peared from the house and stood very erect, her hands clasped 
 above her neat waist, and a half smile on her lips. Hettie was not 
 left to wonder at this family reception. Her father said, "William 
 
A UNION FOREVER 263 
 
 tells me you have been to the station, to say goodbye to Lew 
 Hanback." 
 
 "To kiss him goodbye," amended William. 
 
 Mrs. Cooper's nostrils showed a slight tremor and her eyes 
 narrowed their gaze on Hettie. 
 
 "Yes, yes," agreed Mr. Cooper hastily. "Hettie, you are too much 
 of a young lady for such demonstrations. Unless you propose to 
 enter into a public engagement with this young man. Is that the 
 case?" 
 
 Hettie faltered. Having her first hours of romance assailed by 
 these three was like having a lovely rose, just opening, torn to bits 
 before her eyes. 
 
 "Public engagement," reiterated Mrs. Cooper. "At her age. Not 
 out of school." 
 
 "Public engagement," continued William bitterly. "To a nobody 
 who cuffs Mr. Daniels's horses. And digs post holes for the Cooper 
 fences." 
 
 Hettie's eyes flashed. She forgot the teachings of the Jacksonville 
 Female Seminary. 
 
 "You may shut your mouth, William Cooper. Lew Hanback will 
 be a big man in this country when you and your training stable are 
 forgotten. He's going to be a lawyer." 
 
 "A likely thing," sneered William. 
 
 "Besides, he's Uncle Wilson Smith's nephew. And his father was 
 an artist. I'm proud of Lew for all the hard work he did to earn his 
 schooling. Digging post holes is quite as good as running a racing 
 stable." 
 
 With this sisterly dig Hettie fled into the house and up to her 
 room, leaving William beside himself with rage. While Hettie 
 wept, prone across her bed, Mr. Cooper deserted the family scene 
 in which he had played a brief, unusual part. Presently, when Hettie 
 went to sit sadly by her window, she saw him pacing back and 
 forth beneath the elms with his head bowed in thought. Not until 
 later did she know that he had received a letter that day from 
 Stephen A. Douglas. Douglas, rejected by the South, was in the 
 Senate when the Southern states, one by one, seceded. He it was 
 who answered each speech of a departing Southern senator, an- 
 swered for the Union! 
 
 Stephen Arnold Douglas lay dying in Chicago. 
 
 A hotel bedroom, even a luxurious hotel bedroom, is a cheerless 
 place in which to die. In the private sitting room that adjoined this 
 black walnut and marble elegance— with its little figure in its big 
 
264 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 bed— a group of the most experienced news men of the city and 
 nation were gathered for the final breath. Political differences forgot 
 for the moment, they spoke in quietly respectful voices, detailing 
 stories and sayings of Douglas. 
 
 "Remember how he said he could have traveled from Boston to 
 Chicago by the light of his own burning effigy? When the Com- 
 promise was repealed?" 
 
 A man whom the others addressed as "Joe" summed up for 
 them all. 
 
 "He tried," said Joseph Medill. "And he almost reached the top." 
 
 "Who is the tall, thin man in there with him? Man with a tired 
 face?" 
 
 "A cousin from down in the south part of the state. From a little 
 place called Chapin." The speaker glanced at his notes. "Just a 
 relative. John Douglas Cooper." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 The enquirer sounded disappointed. Perhaps he had hoped the 
 stranger might be someone of national importance, on from Wash- 
 ington and worth a paragraph. 
 
 The Little Giant was having trouble with his breathing. Mr. 
 Cooper lifted him up and allowed the dying man to rest against his 
 arm. The nurse and the doctor stepped closer, waiting. 
 
 "My boys," murmured Douglas. "Tell them—" By a last mighty 
 rally of the iron will that had carried him almost to the top of his 
 ambitious ladder, he spoke out clearly. "Tell them," he said, "to 
 stand by the Union!" 
 
 His voice flagged. He settled back into the arms of his Southern 
 cousin who was a quietly bitter Secessionist. Secessia used Douglas, 
 Secessia betrayed and repudiated Douglas, breaking his heart and 
 shortening his life, and yet, at the last, he died in her arms! 
 
 When Cornie and I went back to our tent after finding his gilded 
 saloon, I fell swiftly victim to the camp fever that lay in wait for 
 us in the Cairo mud. Sometimes, in my delirium, I was conscious of 
 ministration by my brother Charley who had arrived with the 
 Quincy boys. Once, in a lucid period, I begged Cornie Chapin 
 whose enlistment was up, not to reveal my condition in Chapin. 
 In July I went home, to the only home I knew in those days, the one 
 place I could take harbor when life's tempests were too much for 
 my young strength. I was a sorry sight when I managed to make it 
 off the train, for camp fever had reduced me to something like a 
 skeleton. But there was Aunt Jane, best of nurses. And there was 
 Hettie, telling me I had nothing to do now but get well for her sake. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 265 
 
 As I gradually regained my young health, Hettie and I walked in 
 the evenings with the other young couples, up the railroad track. 
 I have often thought that Hettie was over young, just seventeen, for 
 the cares and decisions of that spring and summer. I, too, was 
 young, walking slowly with my arm round Hettie's waist, both of 
 us fired with plans for our future together. Do worn ties, iron rails 
 and cindery roadbed lend themselves poorly as a setting for ro- 
 mance? Perhaps; but I would like to be again the youth of twenty- 
 two who strolled that heaven-bounded right-of-way in the summer 
 twilights of '61 with Hettie. 
 
 IX 
 
 In Camp at Jacksonville, 
 Wednesday afternoon, August 28th. 
 
 Hettie— I do not know but we will have to leave this place in 
 twenty-four hours for St. Louis. I do not much believe we will 
 go so soon. If we do, I shall not get to see you again. This I much 
 regret, but when I enlisted, I did so expecting to obey all com- 
 mands cheerfully. I shall do so this time, but must acknowledge 
 that I could leave Morgan county with a Lighter Heart could I 
 but see you, if but to say goodbye. 
 
 I am very tired, have had to drill the company for three and 
 one-half hours this afternoon. New business, consequently tire- 
 some. I hope you are having a good time to-day. Should like to 
 be with you so much. 
 
 As I said before, we may not have to leave as soon as it is 
 reported we will. I only write this in order that you may know my 
 whereabouts, and that I may (in case we do leave) say to you a 
 fond goodbye. 
 
 Ever yours, Lewis Hanback. 
 
 In the closely packed throng of friends and relatives that sur- 
 rounded us on the courthouse lawn in Jacksonville, I saw only one 
 familiar face. The Jacksonville Journal printer's devil wriggled 
 between indignant citizens until he reached my side. 
 
 "Gee!! I wanted to say goodbye to you, Mr. Hanback." 
 
 He slept under the Journal counter, never got a bath, and 
 only enough food to keep his sharp mind in his lanky body with its 
 pale face beneath the long undisturbed grime. 
 
 I shook hands with him heartily. As we broke ranks and mothers 
 began to find their sons and cling to them, while fathers laid the 
 
266 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 hand of proud affection on their young shoulders, I was fighting 
 desolation. 
 
 "Do you know where you're going?" asked the boy. 
 
 "We think St. Louis. Of course that's just a rumor." 
 
 "Gee!!" 
 
 His eyes worshipped me. 
 
 "You can do something for me," I said, when the order came to 
 fall in for the march to the station. "Will you mail this letter?" 
 
 I handed him my letter to Hettie, written the day before, but first 
 I wrote hastily across the envelop in pencil. The last I saw of him 
 he was darting through the crowd on his way to the postoffice with 
 my letter. 
 
 Most of the men in our company had rarely, if ever, ridden the 
 steam cars. We were all excited, possibly a bit nervous, and covered 
 our feelings by ribald comments on the Iron Horse panting with 
 eagerness to draw us away to war. Shouts of mirth or disgust rose 
 when we saw the cars. Open cars with boards laid across them for 
 seats. 
 
 "Better than walking," I said to Horace Chapin and young Doctor 
 Jones as we piled aboard. 
 
 "Phew!" Horace brushed the dust of Morgan county from his 
 uniform, the natty uniform of the Hardin Light Guards,— grey 
 roundabouts and pantaloons and blue caps. "Here, Warren! We've 
 saved a seat for you." 
 
 Warren Ticknor,— he was one of many brothers to enlist from one 
 family,— joined us. 
 
 "Hey, Morph!" he greeted me. 
 
 I gave him a very level look. 
 
 During the sleigh rides and skating parties of that gay winter of 
 '60 and '61, I had gained a nickname that was to follow me through 
 three years of war, the title of "Morpheus". 
 
 Little Hettie, beside me in the huge bob-sled where we were 
 bundled in a merry party that was being chaperoned by Mrs. 
 Cooper, fell asleep and, to my delight, her head nodded over on 
 my shoulder. Purely in order to make her nap comfortable, I put my 
 arm behind her, and after that I would have laughed at offers made 
 by kings or potentates to exchange my lot in life for theirs. 
 
 At length Mrs. Cooper, in genuine or feigned concern, exclaimed, 
 "What has become of Hettie?" 
 
 I called out hastily, "Mrs. Cooper, she is in the arms of Morpheus!" 
 
 Now the band is striking up "America". The bell begins to clamor, 
 sending a thrill right through us. The Iron Horse neighs, then snorts, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 267 
 
 and we get puffs of nauseous gas while the wheels beneath us slowly 
 turn! Shouts from the crowd, a cannon fired, a vast flutter of hand- 
 kerchiefs that will soon be drying tears, a last minute rush to hand 
 packages, small boys running beside us, and a cow in the nearby 
 pasture suddenly raising her tail for a ridiculous run. We have 
 started on a journey whose end is unknown. I repeat aloud to the 
 others the message I wrote on the back of my letter to Hettie: "Just, 
 leaving Jacksonville! Off for the war!" 
 
 Sometime during the next six or eight hours we learned that we 
 were on our way back to Cairo! 
 
 Not only did we detrain in Cairo after a tedious trip of over 
 twenty-four hours, but that celebrated plant the Jimson weed was 
 there before us. A three day battle followed, we were victorious, 
 and our camp assumed a civilized look. Meanwhile, in accordance 
 with Illinois state law, we elected officers. I wrote to Hettie: "We 
 held our election this morning. Which resulted in election of Bozarth 
 for captain, Horace for first lieutenant, Doctor Jones for second 
 lieutenant. I am orderly sergeant, G. C. Smith, second sergeant, 
 Warren Ticknor, third." Painlessly the Hardin Light Guards had 
 passed into history, dissolved into Company K, 27th Illinois Volun- 
 teers. 
 
 We five officers of Company K had moved into a large marquee 
 and we had engaged the services of a small darky to keep our boots 
 bright and do our cooking. The pleasure we experienced when we 
 came in hot and dusty after drill to find little Daniel presenting cool 
 drinks was a thing to recall in after years. So here we were gathered 
 in our marquee between dress parade and dinner which we had in 
 the evening as the one time of the day we could all be together. 
 Lieutenant Jones sat comfortably on a pile of straw, strummed his 
 guitar and sang snatches of "Never Forget the Dear Ones". Lieu- 
 tenant Chapin sorted the mail, and I continued my letter to Hettie. 
 "You must not think that I am anywhere near starving. On the 
 contrary, I am as far from so horrible an end as I ever was. Bill 
 Ebey is not a criterion for anybody to go by, so if you should hear 
 anything from which reads like starving, just pass it by for what 
 it is worth. For I can assure you there has not been a single day 
 but what we have had plenty of something to eat. Then do not 
 think of the slightest danger of our diminishing to skeletons. Even 
 if Bill Ebey does write a pitiable letter. That is just . . ." 
 "One letter for Orderly Sergeant Hanback in a feminine hand," 
 observed Horace Chapin, "and mailed at Concord Station." 
 
 I was plunged deep into Hettie's letter when Bozarth in all the 
 dignity of his new office entered the marquee. 
 
268 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Sergeant Hanback!" 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 I snapped to attention, expecting an errand to the colonel. 
 
 "You will proceed at once to the military terminal to look for 
 packages of food and other comforts being sent to Company K by 
 friends in Morgan county." 
 
 "Look here, Bozarth," I protested. 
 
 "Sergeant Hanback!!" 
 
 "Certainly, sir." 
 
 Only pausing to gather up my letter to Hettie and hers to me, I 
 set out on a mission that had taken me to the terminal twice a day 
 during a hot, dusty week of weather, direct outcome of another of 
 Bill Ebey's jokes. But first I went to our cook tent where Daniel 
 sweated over dinner. 
 
 "Better give me a sandwich, Daniel. There won't be anything left 
 for me when those wolves finish." 
 
 "Don't you worry, sergeant. I'm goin' save back some the best 
 bits fo' you." 
 
 Back from a fruitless journey to the railroad, I finished off a hearty 
 dinner, then sat me down to ease Hettie's fears. "I have just got up 
 from dinner," I wrote. "What do you think we had? Pork and 
 cabbage and hominy, fried sweet potatoes, cheese and coffee. Pretty 
 good dinner for soldiers." 
 
 Now the boys have come in and are in earnest debate, one I 
 cannot resist. 
 
 "I went down to headquarters," remarked Horace Chapin. "Heard 
 the captain preach a short sermon. Episcopalians always preach 
 short sermons." 
 
 "Episcopalian? I thought he was Catholic. With that long, black 
 robe. And white neckerchief." 
 
 "He is Catholic. No popery for me." 
 
 "He is an Episcopalian minister," I put in to settle the matter. 
 "He was driven out of Missouri for opinion's sake. They stripped 
 him and tarred and feathered him. Set him adrift in a canoe with a 
 quart of whiskey. I intend to hold up for him. I suspect some of you 
 boys would like to hear the old Methodist twang oftener than 
 you do." 
 
 "You're a Methodist, yourself." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I am a Methodist. But not the kind of a Methodist 
 that can't listen to a sermon preached by a chaplain of some other 
 faith." 
 
 "Are you writing another letter to Hettie Cooper?" asked Lieu- 
 tenant Jones, idling with his guitar. 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 269 
 
 "Jones," I replied in a severe voice, "if you will turn your attention 
 to music, I'm sure we'd all enjoy another go of 'Never Forget the 
 Dear ones'." 
 
 "Certainly, Morph. Certainly." 
 
 I wrote: "You wanted I should write you something in regard to 
 myself and the duties incumbent upon me. It is, as you say, a most 
 responsible office. The Company books are in my hands. I must 
 keep a strict account of everything done by the Company. In one 
 is a morning report to be made. Then there is the clothing book, in 
 which is to be set down every article that is drawn. Next a record 
 book in which is to be kept a daily record of the actions of the 
 Company. Next a descriptive book in which is to be taken down a 
 general description of every member of the Company, for instance, 
 color of hair, eyes and complection. Besides that I have to write 
 from twenty to thirty passes a day. . . ." 
 
 Captain Bozarth stepped in, and asked immediately, "Is he 
 writing again? Or just yet?" 
 
 "Lew," called Horace Chapin, "how about a game of whist?" 
 
 "Presently." 
 
 "Hanback," protested Jones, "you'll wear that poor girl to a 
 shadow. She can't read all that copper plate of yours. All those fancy 
 curlicues. Not and live through it." 
 
 I said with dignity, "Miss Hettie Cooper has requested me to 
 write an article for The Workbasket. After all, if the ladies are to 
 sew and scrape lint for our sakes, they deserve to know something of 
 camp life." 
 
 Groans. 
 
 "Look here, Lew, will you get into this game, fourth of a cent a 
 point? Or do we give you the water treatment right now?" 
 
 Next morning my trip to the terminal was successful. The boxes 
 from the anxious friends and relatives in Morgan county had ar- 
 rived. I got them on a wagon and saw them safely into camp. We 
 had those boxes open in a hurry. What a display of stale cakes and 
 pie and bread! Poor Bill Ebey! He got an elegant cook book con- 
 taining ten thousand recipes; but the chicken he had longed for, 
 nicely roasted, now looked as though it had been boiled in an 
 indigo sack. Among my own gifts was a large potato, contributed 
 anonymously and labeled, "For Morpheus." 
 
270 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 X 
 
 Camp Cairo, Ills., Nov. 6th, 1861. 
 My own dear Hettie;— I write you a note in great haste. We are 
 ordered on a march, I do not know where, have to take two days' 
 provisions with us. I don't think it will amount to much, but then, 
 no one can tell. We may be gone half a month instead of two 
 days. Oh, how anxiously I looked for a letter this morning! But 
 I was disappointed, no letter came. . . . 
 
 Hettie with my letter open in her small hand, hurried toward 
 the house in search of Mattie who was on from Springfield. She 
 encountered William leaning against a porch pillar, his dark, moody 
 gaze centered on nothing in particular. He took his eyes off distance 
 to fasten their black brilliance on Hettie. 
 
 William was in a difficult position these days. His first impulse 
 had been to rush away South to embrace the cause of the Con- 
 federacy, but his father and Peter Gilbert discouraged this. Northern 
 investments made it highly impolitic for the Coopers to take sides 
 openly in the conflict. So William was forced to dangle his finely 
 booted heels at Wildwood, waiting that happy moment, for him, 
 when a victorious Southern army was to invade Morgan county. 
 Meanwhile there was little for him to do, save read the newspapers 
 and make acid remarks to Gilbert and his father concerning the 
 attempts of Samuel French to raise and drill a Home Guard. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" he now demanded a second time of Hettie. 
 
 Too agitated to be discreet, Hettie replied to his question by 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 "Lew has been ordered out of camp. Oh, I'm so afraid—" 
 
 "Tears for the horse cuffer?" 
 
 Hettie's tears dried as her grey eyes shot fury. 
 
 "How dare you talk that way?" 
 
 William laughed in a superior, wellbred manner he knew how to 
 assume, a manner that naturally incensed all who encountered it. 
 
 "These farm boys will soon learn how Southern gentlemen fight. 
 I doubt if there will be enough left of them to indicate the point 
 at which they were annihilated." 
 
 "If the Southern gentlemen have your manners and ways, they 
 can't be much." 
 
 Hettie thus began her lines in an old scene when Mattie inter- 
 rupted them, coming from the house. 
 
 "Hettie!" 
 
 She came closer, put her arms around her sister. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 271 
 
 "Hettie! I've a telegram from Dan. There's been a battle near a 
 little Missouri town called Belmont. The 27th was engaged. Oh, 
 Hettie! Dan says it's reported in Springfield the Union lost." 
 
 William caught the telegram from Mattie's hand. While he read 
 it, Hettie turned a white, stricken face to Mattie. 
 
 "My letter didn't get there in time. Lew went into battle without 
 getting my letter." 
 
 William read the telegram with one loud shout of triumph, tossed 
 it to Mattie's feet and ran round the corner of the house on his way 
 to the stables. While they still stood reading and rereading the 
 telegram, he rushed past them on his mare, bound for Jacksonville 
 to get the news of the battle. 
 
 News of the battle! 
 
 How quickly the tidings spread throughout the neighborhood, 
 bringing everyone to the village where they gathered round the 
 postoffice in the Cooper general store. Hettie and Mattie stood with 
 Debbie Williams, still pale and languid after her long illness. Mary 
 Williams was there, haughtily unconscious of Peter Gilbert with 
 whom she had quarreled. Mrs. Cooper drove up in the Cooper 
 carriage, with little Ida and the Irish nurse, Bridget McShane, 
 beside her. Mike Delaney was with the other boys who had drilled 
 in the old company before the war, and Bridget who had married 
 him before he left, was quietly wan from anxiety. 
 
 "Look!" Mattie caught Debbie Williams and Hettie by their arms. 
 "Here come the Ebeys!" 
 
 Mr. Ebey was bowing right and left as he drew his old horse and 
 phaeton in beside the other rigs. But Will Ebey's mother looked 
 straight ahead, sitting with her hands folded in her lap. 
 
 They gathered and gathered, Chapins, Danielses, Coopers, Wil- 
 liamses, Hobsons, Ticknors,— family after family,— to await the 
 arrival of the afternoon train. At last it came, bringing a sack of 
 mail. The sorting began. 
 
 "Miss Hettie Cooper!" 
 
 Anxious hands relayed the letter to my little Hettie. With all 
 eyes on her and every ear strained toward her, she opened the letter 
 and spread out the crumpled pages. 
 
 "My dearest Hettie," she read, "I sit down to write you that I 
 passed through a perfect shower of death yesterday unharmed. Poor 
 Ebey is—" 
 
 Hettie's voice ended in a gasp. An awful silence filled the sunny 
 village street. Mrs. Ebey broke that silence. 
 
 "You may read on, Hettie. I know Will is dead. He came and 
 stood by my bed last night, to tell me." 
 
272 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 As Corporal Lazenby of our company pitched forward I snatched 
 his gun-mine was unfit for use, having a ball fast in it— and I fol- 
 lowed Captain Bozarth in a furious charge we made on the enemy's 
 camp. Every moment I expected to be shot as the bullets flew over 
 my head and struck on every side. To my astonishment, later when 
 I had time to think about it, I was not excited. As I told the boys, 
 I had been more scared sometimes when I asked a young lady for 
 the pleasure of her company. No, I was cool. I sent the enemy as 
 good as they gave, but I did not needlessly expose myself. 
 
 We were attacking Belmont opposite Columbus. 
 
 Logan's regiment, the 31st Illinois, and Foulke's, the 30th, and 
 the 7th Iowa, supported by cavalry and artillery, had engaged the 
 enemy, while our regiment, under Colonel Buford, marched around 
 and took the Rebels by a flank movement at a time when they least 
 expected it. They were posted in the rear of their camp, behind logs 
 piled up for defense purposes. Charging, we drove them from their 
 hiding place. 
 
 I was just ahead of Ebey when he fell. I heard him cry out, "My 
 God, I'm killed!" Then the force of the battle carried me on. 
 Wherever Bozarth went, we of Company K followed. I expect I said, 
 "Keep together, Company K," "Don't scatter, Company K," "Keep in 
 line, Company K," one hundred times during the fight. Some of the 
 company got lost and fought with others, yet most of us were 
 together when we rallied after the fight. 
 
 Colonel Buford rode up to us as we were reforming. 
 
 "What force is this?" he demanded. 
 
 "Company K, 27th Illinois, Captain Bozarth, commanding," re- 
 plied our captain. 
 
 "Captain Bozarth, you are to be congratulated on your company. 
 It's not only they fight well. They show real discipline in the way 
 they maintain their formation." 
 
 At this moment an aide spurred to the colonel with a message 
 from Grant. The enemy battery in Columbus had got our range, we 
 were to retreat without delay. 
 
 For the first time, as we scattered to find our wounded, I took in 
 the whole scene of our battle. I cannot describe that scene, nor can 
 I ever forget it. Ghastly sight! Some dead, stone dead, lying pathet- 
 ically on an arm just as they pitched forward; others fallen back- 
 ward, lay with opened, glazed eyes staring at the sky. Others, again, 
 were just breathing their last, gasping for that final breath, blood 
 flowing from some dreadful wound. Others, badly wounded, cried 
 out in their agony, suffering death lingeringly. 
 
 Warren Ticknor presented himself anxiously to Bozarth. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 273 
 
 "What are we going to do about Bill Ebey? He's shot bad." 
 
 "Anyone else shot?" 
 
 "Lazenby went down," I said. "I took his gun." 
 
 "He and Norris are missing," said Ticknor. He looked off to where 
 a knot of our boys were gathered round a still form. "Pasly," he told 
 Bozarth. "Dead." 
 
 "Scatter the company to find something to carry Ebey on," com- 
 manded Captain Bozarth. Obeying his own command, he plunged 
 away through the trees. Almost as once he was back leading a horse 
 with an empty saddle. "We'll lift Ebey into the saddle," decided 
 Bozarth. "We've got to go right away." 
 
 Retreat was sounding, and not too soon. A shell whistled over our 
 heads. 
 
 We put Bill on the horse, with one man detailed to lead the 
 animal and one man on either side to hold Bill up. So we started 
 moving slowly along the road, and at intervals we halted to lift him 
 down to rest. He was growing weaker from loss of blood. As I bent 
 over him he said, in the dying echo of his hearty voice, "I wish 
 someone would say goodbye to my mother for me." 
 
 I tried to smile encouragement. 
 
 "Don't say that, Bill. We'll have you at the boat, there'll be a 
 surgeon there." 
 
 At last, within a mile of the river, he died. 
 
 Again our little group of officers held a hurried consultation. 
 
 We took Bill to the side of the road, while our Company un- 
 covered and our bugler sounded taps. We laid Bill behind a pile of 
 logs. I had a thought. 
 
 "Let's take his coat with us." 
 
 "Ought we to do that?" questioned Bozarth. 
 
 "Yes, we must do it." I chucked myself into my uniform, got my 
 face set sternly, before I could finish what I had to say. "He was 
 shot in the breast, in the charge. That coat is his honorable dis- 
 charge." 
 
 Bozarth and Ticknor knelt and gently took away from Bill his 
 coat. We covered him with logs and brush, and there we left him 
 in the deep woods by the river. 
 
 We reached Cairo at eleven o'clock that night, tired out. There 
 is nothing more exhausting than to live for hours in a blaze of 
 excitement; and when the excitement ceases, nothing can approach 
 the reaction that follows. And our victory behind the camp at 
 Belmont went for nothing! We had routed the enemy, numbering 
 7,000, totally routed them from their camp, but the expedition was 
 a failure. General Smith from Paducah, with his ten thousand troops, 
 
274 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 who was to attack Columbus at the same time that we made our 
 attack, failed us. We did our part, but Belmont Park being in range 
 of the batteries at Columbus, we had to fall back to the boats to 
 save ourselves from the shells of the enemy. 
 
 I had an extra dose of suffering. My brother Charley was in the 
 hottest part of the fight, and when he did not get back to Cairo 
 with his company, how miserable was I! And how relieved when 
 he did come! 
 
 To Hettie I wrote: "Wednesday evening before I started on the 
 expedition I took out your picture, laid it on my heart. I felt stronger 
 when, in the battle's worst moment, I knew you were in visible form 
 at my side. And last night, after we reached the boat, I went up on 
 deck alone, took out your dear likeness and gazed upon it. And 
 there I thanked heaven I was safe, free from harm." 
 
 While I signed my letter, some of the company stood outside our 
 tent, excitedly discussing the battle. 
 
 "The Chicago Tribune has come. They have it we were defeated, 
 badly used up." 
 
 "That's a lie. Why, nothing could be damneder. We attacked and 
 defeated a larger force, and they were entrenched on their own 
 ground." 
 
 "Does the Tribune know we drove them from their camp, and 
 burned their tents and equipment?" 
 
 "We came home. We didn't run, we marched to the river in good 
 order. Someone ought to write Joe Medill the facts." 
 
 "Our loss in killed, wounded and missing is around three hundred. 
 But the enemy admits five hundred. To hell with the Tribunel" 
 
 Horace Chapin who was waiting to take my letter with his own 
 to his wife, to the terminal, and I sat listening to the voices. Oc- 
 casionally one or the other of us would glance at Bill Ebey's coat 
 that lay on a cot between us, waiting to be packed up for his family. 
 Here gaped the hole through which the bullet entered, and his life's 
 blood had dyed the right breast with purple. There seemed nothing 
 to say between Horace and me. At last, after months of looking 
 forward with, God forgive us, even jest, we knew the face of War. 
 
 XI 
 
 Fort Jefferson, Ky., 
 
 Saturday night, January 11, 1862. 
 
 Ever my own dear Hettie;— I embrace my first opportunity 
 
 of writing you a line or two, which will leave me in excellent 
 
 health and spirits. We came here last night, pitched our tents in 
 
A UNION FOREVER 275 
 
 the mud, and throwing our blankets on the ground, we were soon 
 locked, "in the arms of Morpheus". In fact, slept soundly, though 
 the ground was so wet we could squeeze water out of it. . . . 
 
 Outside my tent as I wrote to Hettie by the light of a candle stuck 
 in the neck of an old bottle, the bivouac fires burned brightly. The 
 boys were in excellent spirits, I could hear singing and laughter. 
 Someone called out, "Fat bacon and hard crackers!" Warren Tick- 
 nor's voice answered, "Taste fine! I feel like a free man since we 
 left Cairo." 
 
 I interrupted my letter to write passes back to Cairo to the hospital 
 for George Batty and Elam Hobson. Elam and George were to go 
 back with the wagon train, and I entrusted my letter to Elam to 
 mail. 
 
 "It's beginning to snow," said Elam rather miserably as he started 
 for the wagons. 
 
 Big, lazy flakes were falling. I could see them drifting into the 
 light of the fires. Men were gathering near one of the fires. Walking 
 toward the knot of soldiers, I saw one of our pickets who had come 
 in with a man in his charge, a colored man as revealed by the light 
 of the flames. 
 
 "Yessuh, boss, all Ah ask, kin Ah stay heah tonight, keep 'ese heah 
 fi's up fo' you-all? Mawnin' come, Ah be on mah way." 
 
 "Where you going?" asked one of the boys. 
 
 "Followin Nawth Sta'. Wheah at it bring me out, Ah don't rightly 
 know." 
 
 In a zeal to be helpful the negro seized wood and began to mend 
 the nearest fire. He was a tall, muscular fellow of a rich mahogany 
 color with the tightest of black wool on his scalp. 
 
 "Have you come far?" asked another of the boys. 
 
 "No fa'," replied the colored man. "Jus' a right smaht piece." 
 
 "What made you run away?" 
 
 "Sellin' South, boss. Columbus goin' fall mighty soon. 'N' Federals 
 goin' come into Kaintuck. So a heap us critters bein' sold South." 
 
 Putting an end to questions, the negro seized an ax and began to 
 demolish an ancient fallen tree. 
 
 "I suppose it's all right," said Bozarth at my side. 
 
 "He better stay by the fires, if he doesn't want to freeze," I 
 replied. "He hasn't enough clothes on for this weather." 
 
 I shivered; and then I turned my head to listen intently. Far 
 away toward the southeast I thought I heard the baying of a hound. 
 
 "No, I guess not," I said to myself, but after a space I heard the 
 sound plainly. "He better run," I cried, and started across the clear- 
 
276 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 ing toward the man swinging the ax. Before I could reach him, 
 several men broke into the clearing. One of them had two hounds 
 on leash. They strained forward, giving tongue to deep notes that 
 echoed among the trees. 
 
 The colored man swung round from his work. He lifted his ax. 
 
 "Don you let 'em dawgs at me. Ah brain 'em suah." 
 
 "Keep the dogs away from him," ordered a man who was 
 evidently in authority. "Where's your captain?" 
 
 Several boys nodded toward Bozarth. All the singing and laughter 
 and loud, cheerful talk died away to silence. The company made a 
 semi-circle round the slave and his master, the dogs and our little 
 group of officers. 
 
 "That black is my property," announced the stranger, walking up 
 to Bozarth. "I'm here to take him back where he belongs." 
 
 In a voice nicely calculated to reach Bozarth, I asked Warren 
 Ticknor, "Do we take our orders from Secessia?" 
 
 Bozarth heard me. 
 
 "Lieutenant Jones!" 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 "Step to Colonel Buford with my compliments. Explain the situa- 
 tion to him. Say you've come for orders." 
 
 "I'll go with you," announced the stranger. He fell into step beside 
 Jones. They tramped briskly away through the trees, while our 
 whole company watched them disappear beyond the lights and 
 flickering shadows cast by the fires. 
 
 "You must be hungry," I thought to say to the negro. 
 
 Quickly several boys offered him hardtack; and one who had shot 
 a rabbit earlier in the evening fetched him a juicy hindleg. The 
 negro tried to eat, but his heart was not in the effort. He drooped, 
 still clinging to the ax. So we stood or sat about until the messengers 
 returned, and Colonel Buford with them. 
 
 The colonel walked up to the negro. 
 
 "Is your name Jefferson Lovelace?" 
 
 "Yessuh, boss. Ah was born on the Lovelace place. But young 
 marse los' me to Majah Fayette shootin' craps. 'N' Ah was sold—" 
 
 "Shut up," snapped his kindly owner. "You were sold because the 
 only way to keep you from running away is to keep leg irons on 
 you." 
 
 "Yessuh. Ah spec' dat's so. Cause Ah do so hone to be mah own 
 man." 
 
 "Don't you answer me back, you damned nigger." 
 
 The colored man fell silent, looking at Colonel Buford. 
 
 Colonel Buford cleared his throat to gain a second of time. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 277 
 
 "Jefferson," he said, "I have to send you back with your owner." 
 
 "No, boss. No! No!" 
 
 Jefferson Lovelace had begun to shake with terror. Watching 
 him, I felt stomach qualms, and I could see my own feelings 
 reflected on many faces near me. 
 
 "I'm under orders from the War Department. I have no choice." 
 
 Obeying a gesture from the slave's owner, one of the men leading 
 the hounds gave his leash to the other, while he stepped forward 
 with a pair of iron cuffs. 
 
 "Don' put those on me," screamed Lovelace. "How Ah goin' fight 
 dawgs, you bind me thataway?" 
 
 Suddenly Colonel Buford snapped, "Don't put those cuffs on that 
 man." 
 
 The owner gave Colonel Buford a deadly look, but he motioned 
 the man with the cuffs away. "Let's go," he ordered, and the pitiful 
 group moved off into the forest, Jefferson leading, the men with the 
 dogs just behind him and the owner bringing up the rear. 
 
 Without a word to any of us, Colonel Buford strode off toward 
 his own tent. He had carried out orders, explicit orders from above. 
 At that time the battle of keeping Kentucky in the Union was raging 
 in the Kentucky legislature, and even more fiercely in all the 
 countrysides of the state, where recruiting both for the North and 
 for the South was rampant. The vital necessity of the moment was 
 not to antagonize Kentucky citizens by condoning runaway slaves. 
 Hard as his fate was, Colonel Buford dared not save Jefferson 
 Lovelace. 
 
 While we began slowly to seek our tents, we had one final sicken- 
 ing moment. From the direction taken by the slave and his owner 
 there came one long, fearful scream of a man in deadly fear or 
 agony. Then all was still. 
 
 Until late in the night I lay awake. The snow was falling steadily, 
 if softly, and I began to think our cotton houses might prove a poor 
 thing in the way of protection. Warren Ticknor who had the other 
 straw pile in our tent, spoke. 
 
 "Morph? Awake?" 
 
 "Yes," I said. "Awake." 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 "Morph?" 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Do you think we should have sent him back?" 
 
278 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 XII 
 
 I stood at the rail of the steamer "Silver Wave" near Island No. 10 
 in the Mississippi river, and stared at the nearby shore where a 
 group of colored men were loading grain in sacks on a flatboat. 
 They were a miserably clothed lot, and they went about their work 
 moodily. No song came from their lips, no faintest gleam of hope 
 wakened in their faces. I knew they were the property of two 
 brothers named Phillips whose farmhouse could be plainly seen 
 among the tall trees on higher ground. My eyes were on this scene, 
 but my thoughts were far away. 
 
 "To think that Scotsmen should own human flesh and blood as 
 though it were animal!" 
 
 I turned to face an officer who had come to the rail without 
 piercing my introspective gloom. 
 
 "To think," he went on, genuine feeling in his voice, "slave owners 
 should own the name of Phillips. They may even come from Paisley. 
 For all I know, they're kin. I haven't the heart to go ashore and 
 find out." 
 
 "William Phillips!" I cried. "Where did you come from?" 
 
 "Laddie! You're an officer?" 
 
 He had reached a fine maturity. Tall and blue-eyed with his hair 
 worn in a magnificent roach away from a broad forehead. He held 
 his officer's campaign hat in his hand, allowing the breeze to ruffle 
 his hair. After the first greetings he told me, "Jim Lane spoke to the 
 President about my friendship for the Indians. So I've been set to 
 work to organize an Indian brigade." 
 
 "You always got on well with the Indians." 
 
 "I was contemptuous of them until I got to know them. It was 
 Pelathe who opened my eyes. After the war I intend to run for 
 Congress. I shall introduce a bill, or several of them. In connection 
 with land reform. Patterned on the laws of the Cherokee Nation." 
 
 "After the war," I said, "when I finish my law course, I have some 
 thought of settling in Kansas—" 
 
 "In Salina," he finished for me. 
 
 "You founded your town? How many inhabitants have you at 
 present?" I asked, thinking of my future law practice. 
 
 "Twenty families when I left for the fighting. Mostly Scots. With 
 plenty of Campbells among them." 
 
 While I mentally computed the amount of law practice to be 
 extracted from twenty families, mostly Scotch, William Phillips 
 went on to speak in high terms of the Cherokees. Their land laws 
 were the sanest he had ever known. After the war he planned to go 
 
A UNION FOREVER 279 
 
 to Congress for the express purpose of introducing a bill to amend 
 the United States land laws to bring them into line with those of 
 the Cherokee Nation. I said nothing to discourage him, but I had 
 my secret doubts of his success. 
 
 "Scotland," I remarked instead, "is a cradle for liberty." 
 
 "It is that," he agreed. "Every Scotsman is looking, just looking, 
 for the man who will try to snip a bit off his freedom." 
 
 "And I am looking for a Scotsman who promised to have dinner 
 with me," cried a lively voice behind us. We wheeled, and there 
 was the handsomest man I have ever seen in my entire life, before 
 or since, a man whose face sparkled with intelligence and honor 
 and rare humor, and every other good quality, to the utter exclusion 
 of all that is mean in the human makeup. This splendid man threw 
 an arm over William Phillips's shoulder. 
 
 "George," exclaimed William Phillips, "you're going to have me 
 for dinner. And here is my old friend, Lew Hanback. Colonel 
 Roberts, allow me to present Lieutenant Hanback." 
 
 When I had accepted an invitation to dinner they went away, and 
 I turned again to brooding. Before we finally left Cairo I had a 
 letter from my darling in which she told me her father opposed 
 our engagement to marry! 
 
 On the evening of April 1, 1862, a violent spring storm came 
 sweeping down the Mississippi. By midnight what had been a gale 
 turned into a hurricane. The wind-lashed waters of the Mississippi 
 rose in waves. Boats torn from their moorings dashed themselves to 
 pieces against floating houses, or tangled themselves in uprooted 
 trees. From on high descended a deluge to attack the storm-lashed 
 waters of the river. 
 
 Exactly on the midnight hour a little group of men and officers 
 were launching five skiffs from a landing on the Phillips plantation. 
 What the slaveholding brothers, no doubt snugly ensconced be- 
 tween blankets on such a night, would have said to Union troops 
 using their landing, I am not able to record. The owner of the skiffs, 
 a Mississippi river fisherman, expressed himself with American 
 freedom as he helped to steady the last of his craft. 
 
 "All the damn foolishness! Drownin' men is bad enough; losin' 
 five good boats is worse." 
 
 By the very faint glow of a lantern held beneath the jacket of an 
 enlisted man, from my place in the bow of the fourth boat, I could 
 see Colonel Roberts jump into the last skiff; and I could hear his 
 voice as clear as a bell with a hint of laughter in it, a voice to make 
 itself heard, even above the roar of the storm. 
 
280 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "The Father of Waters is working for us tonight." 
 
 The fisherman, suddenly furious as he saw the last of his precious 
 skiffs pull away into the storm, shouted, "Don't you count on this 
 damned ole river. He's meaner'n' hell. He ain't workin' for nobody, 
 not him." 
 
 Roberts's laughing voice blew back to him. 
 
 "We'll return. Like the famous sheep of Little Bo Peep. We'll all 
 come home, dragging your boats behind us." 
 
 While we had idled the days away at Island No. 10, our gunboats 
 and transports chafed to pass the fortified island; but a battery so 
 placed that its guns were but a few feet above water, threatened 
 annihilation to any vessel attempting the passage. Colonel Roberts 
 had repeatedly asked for, and at last had been reluctantly granted 
 permission to take this battery, sometimes known as No. 10 Fort. 
 
 The rain continued endlessly in torrents. In the five boats we were 
 silent. There was no need for speech. Each of the officers and men 
 had volunteered for the work. Each had received the careful re- 
 hearsing of a grand opera favorite. Oars and oar-locks were muffled; 
 the one lantern in each boat was covered with a dark slide. So we 
 proceeded, tensely but in quiet. Each moment it seemed the waves 
 must break over the boats and fill them, must sink our expedition 
 into the drowning depths. Grand and terrible moments they were, 
 with the battery before us, the waves about us, and overhead the 
 lightning our occasional and awful illumination. 
 
 Steadily the five boats neared the battery. 
 
 With stunning suddenness there came a blinding flash. It lighted 
 up the whole surrounding country, and a roar followed as of guns 
 fired in quick succession. 
 
 "We're seen," whispered more than one of us. Some cursed 
 silently, while others may have prayed. All waited for the battery 
 to blow us to bits. Next moment we realized the artillery was 
 heaven's. Its flare served us instead of thwarting our plan. Served 
 to show us how close we were to our objective, and where the 
 enemy's sentinels were posted. 
 
 Nearer we drifted, the oarsmen ready to pull with all their 
 strength when the command should be given. Nearer! But a few 
 rods between us and the shore when Roberts gave the command 
 in low tones, but sufficiently loud for anxious ears, "Now, boys!" 
 Instantly the boats shot across the embattled waves, touched the 
 shore. 
 
 As the Union men leaped to the embankment, the first rebel 
 sentry to see us uttered a howl of terror. He fled babbling, only able 
 to report to the officer of the guard that demons were coming out 
 
A UNION FOREVER 281 
 
 of the river. His alarm had infected others. One, more religious or 
 more superstitious than his fellows,— cried out, "Jedgment Day! 
 Water's givin' up the daid!" 
 
 We of the Union carried strong files and hammers that did quickly 
 the work we came to do. With precision and no loss of an instant, 
 every gun was spiked. Before the Confederate officers who rightly 
 judged that the demons wore blue uniforms, could reach the scene 
 with reinforcements, we were pulling rapidly away. The few shots 
 hastily sent after us failed of their mark. Exulting, we were soon 
 out of range. We had disabled two 64-pounders, three 80-pounders 
 and one 9-inch pivot gun. 
 
 And not a Union life was lost! 
 
 Back at the landing of the brothers Phillips, where the astounded 
 skiff owner wept with excited joy, Roberts put a hand on my arm 
 as we hurried away toward dry clothes and hot drinks. 
 
 "You see now why I chose a night like this? I counted on one, at 
 least, of their sentinels being an ignorant poor white. The greatest 
 weakness of the South is what she has done to the white race." 
 
 Three nights later, the night of April 4th, I stood with Roberts 
 in the pilot house of the "T. L. McGiH", and I held in my hand the 
 excellent watch that had once belonged to my father. With us stood 
 the chaplain of the 27th, the gentleman whose black robe had once 
 been such a novelty to the boys from Morgan county. We were alert 
 for a signal from below Island No. 10. 
 
 During several weeks Commodore Foote commanding the gun- 
 boat flotilla, and our land forces under Colonel Buford had assailed 
 Island No. 10 day and night. With small effect. More than seventy 
 guns, covering rebel fortifications that were almost unassailable, 
 lined the Mississippi. These guns ranged in calibre from thirty to 
 one hundred pounders. Unless some brilliant play should be made, 
 we were stalemated. 
 
 As April 4th, 1862, made ready to depart into historv, the late 
 afternoon sunshine brought anxious looks from the officers who 
 knew an exploit was imminent. The prospect of a clear, moonlit 
 night made more difficult the task ahead. At last, just before dark, 
 clouds came up and we were favored by a change of weather. The 
 wind veered to the northwest, and a set of black clouds, rapidly 
 increasing in width, strongly evidenced the approach of a storm. 
 
 Now the guns were run back on the steamer "Carondelet", com- 
 mander Henry Walke, and the ports were closed. The sailors armed 
 themselves with pistols, cutlasses, boarding spikes and muskets. 
 Hand grenades were provided. Fnally the hose was connected with 
 
282 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 the boilers, held in readiness to drench with scalding water any 
 boarding enemy. The engineer had orders to cut the cold water 
 supply and injector pipes, and sink the boat, if this became neces- 
 sary to save the boat from falling into the enemy's hands. 
 
 "We resort to this, if necessary," explained Captain Walke in his 
 final instructions to the crew, "instead of burning the vessel. It will 
 give those on board a better means of escape. And prevent loss of 
 life in the explosion of the magazines." 
 
 Under cover of first dusk twenty sharpshooters of Company H, 
 42nd Illinois,— this was Colonel Roberts's regiment,— dropped down 
 in cutters from the transports, came aboard the "Carondelet", were 
 mustered on deck, were inspected, received their orders,— to co- 
 operate with the crew in expelling boarders,— and they then took 
 to the gun deck. They were to maintain the strictest silence. 
 
 Eight o'clock came. The "Carondelet" left her anchorage, passing 
 up the shore for a mile. There, partly concealed between two of 
 our transports, was a barge containing coal and hay. This was lashed 
 to starboard, to screen the vessel so far as was possible from the 
 enemy's batteries. The barge and hay came up to the portholes of 
 the "Carondelet", a well designed shield. 
 
 At ten o'clock the moon set. 
 
 The gathering storm now burst, and Captain Walke ordered the 
 expedition to start. In a matter of minutes the vessel was under 
 weigh. The signal to those of us waiting above the fort was to be 
 three guns at one minute intervals, five minutes of silence, then 
 three more guns at the minute intervals. Meanwhile we on the 
 "T. L. McGill" had nothing to do but strain our ears for every 
 sound, although at first the only sounds were rising wind and the 
 fast patter of rain drops. 
 
 For the first half mile everything went well with the "Carondelet". 
 Then the soot in the "Carondelet's" chimneys caught fire! Sending a 
 blaze five feet high leaping from their tops, lighting briefly the 
 upper decks of the vessel and the stormy night. We could not see 
 those fatal chimneys, nor could we hear the alarmed rebel guards 
 discharging their muskets. What we did see was rocket after rocket 
 going up from the mainland and the island, and suddenly came the 
 roar of a cannon from one of the forts. 
 
 One simultaneous groan burst from our group of officers on the 
 "T. L. McGill"; but our chaplain, kneeling quickly with prayer book 
 in hand, prayed in a steady, lowered voice that gave me, for one, 
 great comfort. 
 
 Discovered, Captain Walke took the brave man's course. 
 
 "Full steam ahead!" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 283 
 
 Roar upon roar of guns followed, until more than seventy pieces 
 of artillery were discharged. What an uproar! The reverberations 
 of the guns against the cliffs and hills, aided by heaven's artillery. 
 The sky aflame with lightning and the flash of guns. The air torn 
 with dashing rain and wind. And midst this fury, man and heaven 
 made, the little "Carondelet" churning at her best speed toward 
 General Pope's army waiting for her below. 
 
 Suddenly the guns fell silent. After prolonged detonations, the 
 guns of the enemy fell silent. Then came our most terrible instants 
 of suspense. Could we hear the signal? If it ever came, would it be 
 lost in the storm? The chaplain rose, lifted a hand. Roberts closed 
 a hand on my arm. I had my eye on my watch. Then it came. Clear 
 and distinct, at intervals of one minute, three guns were heard. We 
 had half our signal. After the longest five minutes of my life they 
 came again, one, two, three guns. The "Carondelet" had safely run 
 the gantlet. She was steaming on her way to New Madrid where 
 Pope with twenty thousand men was waiting to receive her. 
 
 April 8th, 5& P.M. 
 
 Dear Hettie;— The Island is ours! The enemy surrendered ten 
 o'clock last night. We went down and took possession, four this 
 morning, in conjunction with General Pope from New Madrid. 
 We have six thousand prisoners, about seventy-five Gaige cannon 
 and several pieces of field artillery. It is a glorious consummation, 
 effecting a great victory. We have lost but three killed and 
 wounded. Who ever heard of so great a success and so little 
 blood? The prisoners are noble looking men, and are well provided 
 for. They are doubtless brave men, but their cause is a bad one, 
 and they would have been overwhelmed if they had given us 
 battle. 
 
 We are now encamped at Island No. 10! 
 
 The glory of this will ring through the land. It is Freedom's 
 fight, and Freedom's victory. I must stop. I will write again in a 
 day or two. Accept all my love. Yours, Lewis. 
 
 xiii 
 
 The girls and young matrons of Chapin were gathered in the 
 parlor at Wildwood. They were scraping lint, rolling bandages, 
 sewing hospital gowns. They gave absorbed attention to Mrs. 
 Horace Chapin who read aloud the final paragraphs of the contribu- 
 tion I had finally finished for the Work Basket. In deference to the 
 Cooper prejudice against me, I had signed myself as "Veritas". 
 
284 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Mrs. Horace read: "We marched back to the boat, and found 
 that we had provisions for another two days' work, so up the river 
 we went, thinking surely now we would have a fight. Chester, sixty 
 miles from Cape Girardeau, was our reported destination. Opposite 
 to Chester, which is in Illinois, is Block's Landing. Here we landed, 
 and found a few Union men from whom we learned a tale of woe. 
 At least they thought so, judging from the length of their faces. It 
 was the same tale that thousands tell, of being stripped of property, 
 robbed of the means of livelihood by Jeff Thompson's clan. Their 
 way did seem dark, and their load of misfortune a heavy one.' " 
 
 Hettie had taken the moment to retire to the dining room in 
 search of the tea tray. 
 
 William spoke to her through a dining room window. 
 
 "Hettie! Come outside!" 
 
 Startled, Hettie began to tremble. She hurried outside. She fol- 
 lowed William along the path to the stables. There stood Thunder- 
 guns, in the shafts of a light buggy piled with William's belongings. 
 
 "William Cooper, where are you going?" 
 
 There was anger as well as terror in Hettie's voice. She knew 
 where he was going. 
 
 William said, "I am going over into Arkansas." 
 
 "What are you going to do in Arkansas?" 
 
 "Hettie, will you kiss me goodbye? I may never come back." 
 
 This from William, the aristocratic and self-contained. At another 
 moment Hettie would have been astonished. Now she only reit- 
 erated, "What are you going to do in Arkansas?" 
 
 "Can you ask me? After the tragedy of Island No. 10? I'm going 
 to fight for the South?" 
 
 Hettie caught one little cold hand with the other, staring at 
 William. 
 
 "You're going to fight against the Union?" 
 
 "Hettie!" He was impatient. "I have to go right away. Will you 
 say goodbye?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Hettie!" 
 
 "No!! You're going to fight against the Union. You're going to 
 fight against Lew." 
 
 At my name William uttered some exasperated comment, but he 
 kept it below his breath. He went to Thunderguns, slipped the 
 hitch rein, leaped into the buggy and caught up the lines. Hettie 
 was a small statue, but tears were pouring down cheeks from which 
 her pretty color was fled. William gave her one last look. Then he 
 
A UNION FOREVER 285 
 
 was gone, driving round the house and out of sight in his usual 
 rapid style. 
 
 Hettie sobbed aloud, her hands over her eyes, when her arm was 
 seized cruelly. 
 
 "Hettie Cooper," ordered her stepmother, "don't you dare to 
 make a scene. Go in there and behave yourself in front of those 
 girls. We don't want anybody to know where William has gone." 
 
 While Hettie was parting in tears from William, Company K 
 trudged wearily along a dusty road twelve miles from Corinth, 
 Mississippi. Early morning freshness had long since disappeared. 
 The afternoon sun beat down upon us, while the dust rose up to 
 choke us. Our Company had the advance, and I was in command, 
 Captain Bozarth being ill and on furlough. Warren Ticknor marched 
 beside me, and interrupted my thoughts of Hettie with occasional 
 remarks. 
 
 "Halleck is appealing to the citizens of St. Louis for provisions 
 for the people of this district." 
 
 "About time," I replied, looking ahead longingly toward a woodsy 
 stretch that would bring the temporary relief of shade. "It's not 
 too much to say the people here are faced with starvation. The corn 
 is already burnt up by this hot weather, if it hasn't been ground to 
 powder by all this marching and countermarching. Wheat and oats 
 are poor, mostly ruined by the rust, what I've seen. And the rebels 
 have made a clean sweep of the hogs and cattle. Not much left for 
 the people to eat . . . except grass." 
 
 "They can eat blackberries," observed Warren, and this did make 
 me laugh. Every wall and fence burgeoned with luscious dark 
 berries, and the regimental cooks took advantage of this free addi- 
 tion to our table. We were served with blackberry roll, blackberry 
 pie, blackberry shortcake, stewed blackberries and blackberries 
 served merely fresh from the vine. 
 
 "Hello!" exclaimed Warren. "What's that woman doing by the 
 side of the road?" 
 
 Beneath the first mighty spreading tree of the woodland, a tall, 
 powerful looking woman in a faded calico dress and a "slat sun- 
 bonnet" of the same material stood beside two barrels that were 
 set on a low trestle. Half a dozen bright tin dippers floated on the 
 surface of the clear water in the barrels. Every eye within seeing 
 distance was on those dippers. 
 
 "Step right up, boys," called the woman in the calico bonnet and 
 gown. "Ice cold spring water. Plenty for all, and it doesn't cost you 
 a cent." 
 
286 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Hastily I called a halt, and we surrounded the barrels, gulping 
 thirstily water so cold it hurt our throats. Meanwhile an officer 
 spurred forward to demand of me why Company K was blocking 
 the line of march. Before I could answer, the woman in calico spoke. 
 She said, "I guess you don't know how hot these boys are, you 
 sitting a horse, that way." 
 
 The officer on the horse was looking down at the woman beside 
 the barrels in a puzzled way. She laughed up at him. 
 
 "Don't I know you?" he asked. 
 
 "I should think you did," she replied in a matter-of-fact way. "You 
 visited across the street from me when you were ten years old, and 
 I was twelve. You ran under a tree where I was, and called out I had 
 on red garters. So I jumped down on you and gave you a licking. 
 I very nearly killed you. Afterward we were in the same debating 
 society at Oberlin." 
 
 Amazement was giving place to recognition in the officer's face. 
 
 "Mary Ann! So you re Mother Bickerdyke? Well, I might have 
 known." 
 
 "That's my name. Thirsty?" 
 
 She held up a shining dipper that dripped entrancingly. The of- 
 ficer took the dipper and drained it, drained it before he noticed the 
 carefully restrained grins of Company K. 
 
 Handing me the dipper he gave me a severe look. 
 
 "Have your men fall in and file by the barrels slowly. No stopping. 
 We can't have this delay." 
 
 With a lift of his hat to Mary Ann Bickerdyke, he cantered back 
 down the line. 
 
 Mother Bickerdyke, who evidently considered me an infant, com- 
 manded me cheerfully to detail enough men to fetch up two reserve 
 barrels that were filled and brimming beneath the spring. How often 
 I recalled that grand woman,— college graduate and trained hospital 
 nurse we learned later,— standing by the side of the road to give cold 
 water to the boys who were defending the Union. We spoke of her 
 especially that evening, when we learned that in our sister regi- 
 ment, the 42nd Illinois, fifteen men had dropped dead that day from 
 marching in the heat! 
 
 In camp near Iuka, Mississippi, I wrote to Hettie: "If you go into 
 any house in this part of the Rebellion, you invariably find the 
 Snuff Box occupying a prominent position among the household 
 gods. How do you think they use it? They dip! The process is 
 simple enough. They take a hickory stick, or some other tough piece 
 of wood, and chew one end of it until it resembles a brush. Then 
 
A UNION FOREVER 287 
 
 they fill the brush with snuff. Into a snuff-loving mouth it goes, and 
 there it remains until the snuff is used up. Now! How do you like 
 this accomplishment of the Southern ladies?" 
 
 For once we were the lucky regiment, for we were ordered to 
 remain at Iuka. We were, of course, in high spirits, but the other 
 regiments swore loud and deep. That only made us enjoy our good 
 luck the more. The great beauty of the place, together with the 
 mineral springs abounding there, made it an ideal resort during 
 most of the summer months. It was, in fact, the Saratoga of the 
 South! Imagine to yourself a beautiful town closely nestling among 
 the hills. Fine stately mansions, coquettish little cottages, elegant 
 bowers, splendid groves, and magnificent springs from which poured 
 forth a mineral water capable of restoring sufferers whose lives 
 hung by a hair. Imagine this, and your picture of Iuka, Mississippi, 
 in the summer of 1862 will be complete and natural. 
 
 Our first task as officers of the 27th, was to make ourselves 
 especially trim and presentable. Horace Chapin called for me in 
 time to make the proper morning walk to the springs. He said, 
 "Lew, there are three beautiful girls across the street from head- 
 quarters." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I met them when we marched through here before. 
 They chew tobacco." 
 
 "Oh, that can't be true," exclaimed Horace. "They're the belles of 
 the place. Their father is a major in the Confederate army." 
 
 "They dip snuff." 
 
 As we walked along to the nearest spring, I explained this 
 Southern custom to Horace. He was subdued. After a little reflection, 
 "Sometimes I wonder why we hang on to these people," he said 
 glumly. "Wouldn't it be better to let them go? Have two separate 
 countries, then we wouldn't have to mix." 
 
 He cheered up, however, when we reached the spring. 
 
 This was the fashionable hour, and Southern beauty from every 
 part of the as. a. was gathered to drink the waters. Horace was soon 
 a busy man, filling the cup each lady carried; and as many of the 
 ladies were under doctor's orders to drink six or eight cupfuls, he 
 had a quantity to do. The ladies eventually melted before such 
 gallantry. At last one of them exclaimed, "Captain Yankee Gentle- 
 man, what on uth fo' did you-all come way off down yeah to make 
 this nasty wah?" 
 
 Horace studied the question while I breathlessly waited his 
 answer. 
 
 "Madam," he replied finally, "we heard you people were going to 
 free all your slaves. Drive them away up North. We couldn't face 
 
288 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 that invasion of labor, so we came right down here to prevent it." 
 After a blank pause while the lady's stare grew more and more 
 haughty, she met the glances of several of her fair companions. 
 Without words, they turned and flounced their elegant costumes 
 out of our vicinity. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Camp of the 27th Illinois Regiment, 
 at Fox Creek, Alabama, August 22nd, 1862. 
 My dearest Hettie;— Since I last wrote you I have marched 
 more than one hundred and fifty miles, and have changed location 
 from Mississippi to Alabama. The last letter I wrote you was 
 from Iuka. Immediately after I had closed the letter the regiment 
 received marching orders with two day's rations in haversacks. 
 We got ready and just at dark Saturday evening the regiment fell 
 in line and the order was given to march. . . . 
 
 "Attention, battalion!" 
 
 "Shoulder arms!" 
 
 "March by the right flank! Battalion, face right!" 
 
 "Right shoulder, shift arms!" 
 
 "Forward! Route step, quick march!" 
 
 Way up in front the colonel was snapping his orders, and they 
 came down the regiment till they came to me, and I automatically 
 repeated them to Company K. I was still acting captain while 
 Bozarth acted as major of the brigade. With the last command we 
 were off over the roughest road I had ever experienced, over hills 
 and across ravines, all the time through a heavy, dense wood of 
 pine and oak. 
 
 Until the moon rose we in Company K took turns falling down. 
 Elam Hobson had just taken a sprawl, and Hod Ticknor was 
 laughing so heartily he failed to notice a great root in his path. 
 Over he went and rolled into a gully. When he got to his feet and 
 found us all laughing, he flew into a tantrum, but I silenced him 
 in a moment. 
 
 "That will do, Hod. You have been enjoying every fall taken by 
 the others. This will be a lesson to you to reserve your enjoyment 
 for things worth while." 
 
 Way out in the country, a distance of fifteen miles, lived an old 
 rebel, one Colonel Mann. A rich plantation owner, he had sup- 
 ported a guerrilla band during the past year. This reaching the ears 
 of the Federal commanders, we were out to visit the wrathy old 
 
A UNION FOREVER 289 
 
 rebel and help ourselves to some of his stores. Company K was 
 detailed to work of confiscation, while the entire regiment acted as 
 escort through a country thickly beset by guerrillas. 
 
 It is a beautiful night. How tenderly does the moonlight fall 
 upon us! How brightly do the musket and the bayonet gleam in this 
 gentle light! Looking ahead you can see a line of troops, moving 
 slowly along, while to our rear there is rumbling of wheels mingled 
 with the loud oaths of teamsters, the cracking of whips and the 
 hoarse braying of mules. The mules pull a train of wagons that are 
 to bear away Colonel Mann's property. 
 
 Once in what seemed a long while we stopped to rest. At every 
 such pause I threw myself on the ground to sleep as though on a 
 couch of roses. 
 
 "Fall in!" 
 
 Up again, and away. 
 
 Sunday morning, three o'clock. 
 
 The moon was in the west now, but still she gave us a loyal light 
 for plunder. Before Mann's mansion we halted, and stacked arms. 
 I sent a heavy detail to load cotton and catch mules and horses. 
 
 "Sergeant Ticknor! Take a squad and visit slave quarters. We 
 have orders to remove all slaves from this plantation." 
 
 The company scattered. Soon on every side could be heard the 
 squalling of chickens and the cackling of geese. Oh, didn't the 
 poultry suffer! 
 
 "Lieutenant!" 
 
 One of the boys calling me. 
 
 "Lieutenant, there's a lady up on the front steps wants to speak 
 to you." 
 
 I turned to face the magnificent pillars and imposing steps of the 
 Colonel Mann residence, where a woman of commanding presence, 
 fully dressed although it was the middle of the night, stood like a 
 statue with her arms folded across her stomacher. As I began to 
 walk toward her I wished Providence had seen fit to make me more 
 than five feet four inches tall. Had the opportunity been mine to 
 go back a few months and do some exchanging, how gladly would 
 I have traded my present plight for a bit of the deck on Captain 
 Walke's famous gunboat, "Carondelet". 
 
 "You wished to speak to me, madam?" 
 
 "What is the meaning of this outrage?" 
 
 "Madam," I began, "I would rather speak to one of the men of 
 your family?" 
 
 "My husband is not at home." 
 
 "No," I said. "I suppose he is away with his command." 
 
290 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 The lady had ceased, momentarily, to dagger me with her eyes. 
 She was looking past me, toward our waiting wagons. 
 
 "It is like that poor white in Washington," she said bitterly. 
 "Sending chicken thieves to attack defenseless women by night/' 
 
 I followed her gaze. Corporal Lazenby,— exchanged and heartened 
 after his capture at Belmont,— was approaching the wagons with a 
 file of our boys following him. Under each arm the corporal hugged 
 a duck that craned an agitated neck in the moonlight. In his hands 
 he grasped the legs of a mighty gobbler that flapped and scolded 
 this outrage to his dignity. The boys behind Lazenby were all 
 laden with fat poultry. 
 
 "Well! What have you to say?" 
 
 I turned back to Mrs. Mann. 
 
 "Madam, the President of the United States has nothing to do 
 with our presence tonight. By order of the War Department we are 
 confiscating your husband's crops and livestock, to keep them from 
 falling into the hands of the enemies of the Union." 
 
 Making her my best bow, I turned and walked away. Behind me 
 I heard the voice of Corporal Lazenby. "Did you get that, boys? 
 Settled her like a gentleman. Ain't he the hell of a little cock?" 
 
 I went to address the colored slaves being assembled near the 
 wagons. In addition to the poultry catchers, squads of men were 
 roaming through the orchards and gardens, helping themselves to 
 apples, peaches, potatoes. Our wagoners were watering their mules, 
 getting ready for speedy departure if the regiment surrounding us 
 should be attacked. 
 
 As I reached the wagons, a colored man who seemed to be a 
 leader, perhaps an overseer for Colonel Mann, asked me, "Wheah 
 we goin' now, boss?" 
 
 I answered in a voice all could hear, "You know that Colonel 
 Mann and the other Southern slaveholders look on you people as 
 property?" 
 
 "Yessuh. 'At's right, boss." 
 
 "Well, we are taking away his property to keep him from aiding 
 the rebellion against the Union. So you are going with the other 
 property." 
 
 "Yessuh. Who we goin' belong to now?" 
 
 The slaves were as still as death, listening. 
 
 "From now on," I said, "you belong only to the United States of 
 America." 
 
 When we had loaded them into wagons— forty of them in all- 
 some were singing, laughing, shouting, "Jubilee!" Others looked 
 
A UNION FOREVER 291 
 
 back at what had been a lifelong home, and they were shedding 
 tears! 
 
 XV 
 
 The household servants of Colonel Mann were not the only 
 Southern slaves to hug their chains. 
 
 After our retreat from Fox Creek, Alabama, to Nashville, Tennes- 
 see, I stood my trick, in company with other officers, on the parapets 
 being constructed by the "contrabands" who swarmed into Nash- 
 ville. We had two thousand negroes constantly at work on Fort 
 Negley. Day after day, toiling in rifle pits on the four forts we 
 quickly brought to life, they saved the soldiers many a hard day's 
 work. They cut the stone, laid the stone walls, wheeled and carted 
 earth, blasted the rock; and they performed their work cheerfully 
 and zealously, and without pay, except for their daily rations, and 
 perhaps some clothing. They had but one complaint. Upper class 
 colored folk had escaped the imprint. 
 
 Chatting with a young master mason who was in charge of a 
 group of colored workers, I interrupted myself as a colored work- 
 man of proportions and dignity approached the overseer. 
 
 "How's everything?" I asked. 
 
 "Well, lieutenant, there is grumbling." 
 
 "Grumbling?" 
 
 "Yes, lieutenant, grumbling." 
 
 He spoke in an educated voice. 
 
 "Same ole story, I reckon," put in the overseer. 
 
 "Same story. My folks say we are working for freedom. But when 
 Mr. Lincoln's proclamation goes into effect, these uppity house 
 servants will get their freedom along with the balance of us." 
 
 "Too bad," I replied. "But you never can tell, they might be 
 joining you yet." 
 
 When he had turned away I finished answering a question from 
 the stone mason. 
 
 "Fourteen days from Fox Creek to Nashville. We stood up to the 
 march like men. And all the way we were being fired on from 
 ambush. By cowards who ran away. Or if we caught them, they 
 claimed immunity as civilians under the articles of war." 
 
 This mason was a Nashville labor leader. He was pro-Union. 
 From him, as we stood together watching the work go on, I had 
 the story of the terrible three hours after word came to Nashville 
 of the fall of Fort Donelson, and before the Union troops marched 
 into the city. 
 
292 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Governor Harris,— the mason told me,— on a beautiful horse, rode 
 up and down the best residential streets of Nashville, shouting, 
 "The Federals are coming! Donelson has fallen! Flee for your lives!" 
 This was terrible news to a people who had gone to sleep the night 
 before under the assurance that a triumphant Confederacy was 
 pushing the Union forces into retreat and rout. Hastily getting 
 together their most valuable possessions, aristocratic Nashville took 
 the road in one long stream to Fayetteville, Shelbyville, or even 
 Hunts ville in Alabama. Left behind were only the most trusted 
 slaves to bar and bolt and watch their Master's properties. 
 
 The retreating Confederate soldiers paused only long enough to 
 bring down,— with saws, hammers, cold chisels, crowbars,— the fine 
 new suspension bridge valued at one hundred thousand dollars. 
 Meanwhile the railroad bridge sank away to a glowing mass of 
 wood and iron. 
 
 Merchants of the city hastily dismissed their clerks, closing and 
 barring and shuttering wholesale and retail stores. Great drays, 
 filled with the families of prominent business people clattered out 
 of town by the southern route. In an incredibly short time beautiful 
 Nashville was deserted by those who customarily bought and sold 
 in her. 
 
 Then from her cellars and her alleys crept her poor whites! 
 
 Timidly at first, then growing bolder as they took in the situation. 
 The women were the most avid, they were first to rattle at the doors 
 of the drygoods houses, first to urge their men on to breaking locks 
 and battering down doors. 
 
 "Come on, you cowards. You want the Yankees to git these yeah 
 goods?" 
 
 Retail and wholesale drygoods and silk houses burst open. Bolts 
 of cloth dragged out. Lengths of silk and satin unwound and 
 trampled in the streets. The air would be filled with flying boots and 
 shoes. Next moment some woman scrambling for shoes would be 
 struck by a roll of carpet thrown pell mell. Women! Screaming, 
 clawing each other for some piece of loot that caught universal 
 fancy. 
 
 The men were looking for liquor. Not the cheap rotgut they 
 usually drank. No, they were after rare wines, imported from 
 Europe. Fine whiskey, too, and brandy. This drink gave them 
 courage. Word flew from one to another. The commissary and 
 quartermaster depots! Hams! Sugar! Clothing! Anything and every- 
 thing that could be carried away. Even the children staggered under 
 the loot. That was the worst of all, said the young labor leader,— to 
 see those starved, dirty, ragged children, clawing and snapping at 
 
A UNION FOREVER 293 
 
 each other like small animals, fighting to keep what each had looted. 
 In three hours the poor whites stole a hundred thousand dollars 
 worth of merchandise. Or left it trampled into the mud of the 
 streets. 
 
 After a pause while we both watched the toiling "contrabands", 
 he said, "When the slave owners evacuated, they mostly left one or 
 two old servants on the place. After a few days, when they got over 
 their panic, they began coming back to Nashville. Course they had 
 their house slaves with them. Then General Negley issued his order. 
 Putting every able bodied colored man on the works. Right away 
 those house servants disappeared. They were plenty ready to hide. 
 They're not like the field hands. Field hands got nothing to expect. 
 They just work till they die." 
 
 I said, "Most of these servants have come out now. They think 
 they're safe. Think the Federal command has forgotten them." 
 
 "Has it?" 
 
 I let an eyelid droop. 
 
 "That I couldn't say." 
 
 We grinned at one another, then mutually turned to look toward 
 what was left of the once beautiful suspension bridge. 
 
 A fine Sunday evening was closing in. As the autumn twilight 
 deepened, a congregation of the pious upper class colored folk, in 
 Sunday array and perfume, gathered outside its church. 
 
 "Good evenin', reverend!" 
 
 "Evenin', sistah." 
 
 "Ah heah President Lincoln is bound to issue us papahs." 
 
 "Reckon that is so, Brothah Shelby." 
 
 "Mistah Lincoln save his trouble, fa' as Ahm concerned. Ole Miss 
 already showed me mah papahs. Ah get 'em when she is daid. Say, 
 fo' mah yeahs o' faithful service. . . ." 
 
 They took their places in church. 
 
 They sang. 
 
 "Jesus, lover of my soul, 
 Let me to thy bosom fly." 
 
 The preacher offered prayer, fervently. He opened his Bible. 
 
 "Fellow sinnahs, my text this evenin'—" 
 
 Sudden apparition in the church doorway. Several apparitions. 
 A guard of blue-coated soldiers, musket in hand, entered. 
 
 "The services of the evening," announced Corporal Lazenby, 
 "will be concluded at Fort Negley." 
 
 He had, he told me later, been pondering the correct form for 
 such an announcement. He produced a sensation. Out went the 
 
294 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 lights. There was a general dive for the windows. Shrieks, howls, 
 prayers to heaven and Jesus filled the night. Fancy bonnets got 
 themselves smashed in the melee, ribbons and laces torn. Some 
 worshippers reached the windows. Crawled out. They landed in 
 the arms of waiting Yankees. 
 
 "Morph!" 
 
 A voice in the darkness, Warren Ticknor's, of course. 
 
 "Elam and Mike have caught the preacher." 
 
 "Let's get some light," I ordered. "Sort the women out and send 
 them home. We'll march the men to the earthworks for the night." 
 I added in a lower tone to Warren, "Think we ought to hold the 
 preacher?" 
 
 Next morning, as I had anticipated, the brethren in their mussed 
 and bedirted finery created a lively mirth among their compatriots 
 on the works. 
 
 "Oh, mah Lawd Jesus, ain't we draggle-tails now?" 
 
 "Whoopee! Goin' wuk fo' Jubilee now, preachah!" 
 
 Before dismissing the company I made a brief talk. 
 
 "Boys, word from home says Will Ebey's mother is suffering such 
 an attack of melancholy she is alarming her family and friends. She 
 can't dismiss the idea of Will's body lying in the Missouri woods. 
 A young lady in Chapin has written me the circumstances. She 
 suggests Will Ebey's company set up a fund that can and will be 
 added to in Chapin. Until there is sufficient on hand to recover 
 the body. 
 
 "Now, I know a soldier's pay is small. I wouldn't want any man 
 to give his all to this cause. I'm leaving the paper with Sergeant 
 Ticknor. Put down whatever you think is right. That is, if you 
 contribute at all. Nobody is obliged to contribute. But Ebey was 
 killed in our first action. It doesn't seem right for him to be left in 
 those woods. Company dismissed." 
 
 An hour after making my speech about poor Will Ebey I sat op- 
 posite Colonel Harrington, commanding the 27th. I held in my 
 hand a copy of General Order No. 6, issued by General Rosecrans 
 when he took over at Nashville, and began to organize the Army 
 of the Cumberland. 
 
 "You understand, lieutenant, this is one of the first appeals from 
 the general to me. Naturally I'm anxious to find just the man he 
 wants for the place." 
 
 "What are the duties, sir?" 
 
 "You'll find them listed on the order. You will visit guards, videttes 
 and out-posts in force. There will be reports to make, of course. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 295 
 
 I don't say there isn't work connected with the appointment." He 
 took the order from me and read: "These appointments will be 
 considered by the commanding general as a mark of appreciation of 
 soldierly qualities in the officers selected.' " Handing the order back 
 to me, he added, "You will be attached to the staff of Colonel 
 George Roberts." 
 
 "Colonel Roberts! I'll accept the appointment, sir." 
 
 Division headquarters, where Colonel Roberts had his head- 
 quarters, was a lively place. Great numbers of civilian complaints 
 and problems were handled there. Meanwhile military matters went 
 forward with swift efficiency. 
 
 "Lieutenant Hanback reporting for duty," I announced myself to 
 Colonel Roberts. 
 
 "Hanback, this is fine." He shook hands with me. "Here is Wood," 
 he said. "He'll show you to your quarters." There stood my fellow of 
 our midnight adventure on the Mississippi, Lieutenant Wellington 
 Wood, looking as pleased as a cream-fed cat. 
 
 "Colonel Roberts," I took time to say, "the opportunity to work 
 with you decided me on this appointment. You have a reputation 
 for getting things done." 
 
 "Hanback," said Colonel Roberts, "I'm working under a great 
 commander. You'll see where my efficiency comes from, when you 
 know Phil Sheridan." 
 
 The hallway and porch of the house commandeered for division 
 headquarters presented a crowded scene. Every chair inside was 
 filled with civilians waiting to see Colonel Roberts or one of his 
 staff. When Wood and I reached the porch, we paused to stare. 
 A fine pair of carriage horses came stepping up, driven by a colored 
 coachman in livery. A lady made ready to alight elegantly on the 
 pavement as an officer who was on the alert, bowed and offered 
 assistance. 
 
 "That's Mrs. Polk," said Wellington Wood. He lowered his voice. 
 "When Rosecrans seized all the horses, hers were spared." 
 
 But I had ceased to observe the ex-President's widow. Near us 
 in conversation with a gentleman was Mother Bickerdyke! 
 
 "The women of Galesburg raised the money," she was saying. 
 "I used it to buy a stock of silk dresses, and plenty of needles and 
 pins and scissors. Gew gaws and fripperies. Things fine ladies think 
 they can't do without. I drove from here to Alabama. Everyone paid 
 me in gold. Now I can start my hospital." 
 
 Mrs. Polk came sweeping up the steps. 
 
 "And I really must see your commanding officer personally," she 
 
296 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 was saying. "My horses simply cannot keep up their spirit and 
 appearance on the ration allowed them." 
 
 She saw the gentleman who was in talk with Mother Bickerdyke. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Huston!" 
 
 What a world of sorrow in her voice! I thought, "He has lost a 
 son." I glanced with respectful sympathy at his quiet face. 
 
 "Mr. Huston, let me be one of many to express my deepest 
 sympathy. When I heard your beautiful home was sacrificed for 
 these absurd forts, I felt Yankee vandalism could go no further. 
 And you a Union man! To think your country would destroy your 
 home." 
 
 "You are mistaken, madam." 
 
 "Mistaken?" 
 
 I gathered from the lady's tone that she was not often accused 
 of being mistaken. 
 
 "Mrs. Polk, my country has done me no harm. My property was 
 destroyed by the first gun fired on Sumter." 
 
 "Really? I'm afraid you and I see things in a different light, Mr. 
 Huston. I'm advising the young ladies of Nashville to send their old 
 hoopskirts to any of our young men who haven't enlisted for our 
 glorious Southern rights." 
 
 Mrs. Polk swept away on the arm of the Union officer. Mother 
 Bickerdyke peered after her into the hallway, chuckling. 
 
 "Pussy swings a long tail now. But she'll find it takes more than 
 hoopskirts to end the American Union." 
 
 If the great lady heard, she disdained to answer. She went her 
 gracious way, in quest of adequate fodder for her handsomely 
 matched, high stepping carriage pair. 
 
 XVI 
 
 "And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of Justice, 
 warranted by the Constitution upon military necessity, I invoke 
 the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favor of 
 Almighty God." A. Lincoln. 
 
 Christmas Day, 1862, found Bragg slowly retreating toward his 
 key position, Chattanooga, with Rosecrans, ready at last for a 
 decisive engagement, following. Colonel Roberts had been to our 
 division commander, General Phil Sheridan, to ask for a position of 
 trust, and in consequence our brigade was well in advance of the 
 main army. 
 
 Even War hesitates on Christmas Day. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 297 
 
 Colonel Roberts entertained at dinner. 
 
 In the big dining room of a deserted plantation home in our line 
 of march, a fire burned in the mighty fireplace with all the cheer of 
 the season, even though it flickered over field rations, instead of the 
 customary delicacies of a Christmas South. Captain Stevenson of 
 General Sheridan's staff was there, and Colonel Harrington of my 
 own 27th Illinois. Wellington Wood and I, become excellent and 
 dear friends, arrived and sat together. A colored cook who had 
 attached himself to Colonel Roberts with a zeal and devotion that 
 might have astonished his former owner, had set out the long table. 
 Mixed with beautiful linen, china and glass left behind by the 
 fleeing owners, was our own camp cutlery. We were all in full 
 dress and, crowning touch for the occasion, the colored boy had 
 unerringly located the wine cellar although it had been transferred 
 to the rear of the garden and planted among the cabbages before 
 the family left. 
 
 Dinner table conversation centered on the Emancipation, now 
 imminent, forecast to the South many weeks before, if they should 
 not lay down their arms by January first. Captain Stevenson, a 
 brilliant young man who was to make his mark in Illinois politics, 
 declared that a growing clique of Northern interests was ready to 
 cry quits. They would, if possible, compromise the struggle in such 
 a manner that the Union would be crippled. Possibly, in the end, 
 destroyed. 
 
 "We must have a victory, and a great one," he concluded. 
 "Nothing but a military decision can bolster the people's confidence. 
 And silence those who secretly fear emancipation." 
 
 Colonel Harrington leaned forward to talk down the length of 
 the table. 
 
 "A major defeat for the Union now will make the Proclamation 
 valueless." 
 
 Colonel Roberts rose, gathered all eyes. We rested our fingers 
 on our fragile glasses, waiting for the first toast, and we knew it 
 would be, "The Union!" 
 
 "Gentlemen," he began, "on this strange Christmas Day we are 
 all far from the ones we love, with a major engagement before us in 
 which it is scarcely possible all of us can survive. In this contest the 
 highest form of popular government ever realized is giving battle 
 to the meanest and most shameless form of Man's enslaving in the 
 annals of history. Two distinct social systems meet on this continent 
 in a life and death struggle. Feudalism challenges democracy. 
 Human slavery seeks to fully and finally crush free labor. 
 
 "The Southern Confederacy began this war ten years ago in 
 
298 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Kansas. And they have fought it year in and year out ever since they 
 struck their first blow. They have driven our national government 
 at last to the point of taking up arms to defend the Union. That 
 was the reason, and the only reason the great majority of our young 
 manhood rushed to arms. But in the background, waiting its hour, 
 was always the Big Question: Shall twenty million free men of the 
 North subordinate themselves for all time to three hundred thousand 
 Southern slaveholders? 
 
 "Up to the present hour we have fought a war of defense. But 
 the situation changes. In this hour, as we sit here, we are changing 
 from a defensive war to a revolution. Under this proclamation that 
 will become effective one week from today, we pledge ourselves to 
 free hundreds of thousands of fellow creatures who now support an 
 economy of unpaid toil. To free these men is necessary to our 
 success. At the same time it is a revolutionary measure." 
 
 What Roberts said, as well as the manner of his speaking, his dark 
 eyes flashing with his thoughts, made me tingle, and I felt the stir 
 in those around me. 
 
 "The Abolitionists have no further complaint." He smiled. "Those 
 in our country, those in England. They cannot tell us now that our 
 war lacks idealism. Lacks humanitarianism. A victory for the Union 
 now is a precondition for the social reconstruction of the world. The 
 workingmen of Europe know this. They realize that the Flag of our 
 Union is on the ramparts of freedom, carrying with it the destiny of 
 every common man. 
 
 "Between here and Chattanooga lies a mighty army, inviting us 
 to struggle. That army is only one part of the gigantic American 
 Slave Power that blocks the progress of the world. The South has as 
 her aim the defense and increase of her 'peculiar institution'. This 
 is her only reason for rebellion. The South glories in the supremacy 
 of the white slaveholder! The North fights a revolution to defend 
 the Union of the free! The supreme issue is now made up. For us 
 the issue lies before us on the Chattanooga road. The grand issue, 
 the necessity of the hour is a military victory for the North, a victory 
 here in the center of the conflict, a victory that will numb the back 
 of the monster Slavery! 
 
 "In the coming engagement I shall take all chances of rebel 
 bullets. To win this battle I am willing, if need be, to die. For I am 
 persuaded no other battle will have such importance for the Army 
 of the Cumberland. The Union for which I am willing to die is the 
 Union that dares to turn a mere defense into a glorious revolution 
 that will cleanse her of the foulest blot a free country ever knew. 
 From now on she becomes in truth a government of free men whose 
 
A UNION FOREVER 299 
 
 just powers are derived from the consent of the governed. For such 
 a government I will dare all!" 
 
 "And IP 
 
 "And I!" 
 
 "And I!" 
 
 We were all on our feet. Roberts lifted his glass as a signal for 
 the toast of the day. 
 
 "The Union," he gave us. "The Union forever!" 
 
 We drained our glasses. Stevenson turned suddenly and tossed 
 his priceless bit of glass into the blazing fire. The look on his face 
 said, No one shall ever drink again from this glass. Instantly we all 
 hurled our glasses into the fireplace. Then we turned and began 
 clasping hands with one another. 
 
 Thus the curtain fell, to rise immediately on the battle of Stone 
 River. 
 
 Suppose a great bird, resting on field, stream and rocky hills as 
 a gull rests on the wave with wings out-stretched. Let its body 
 represent the Center of the Army of the Cumberland, and its wings 
 our Right and Left. Way over on the right wing tip is Johnson's 
 division, with Jeff C. Davis next. And tucked in beside these two, 
 with General Sill adjacent, you might have found the division of 
 General Phil Sheridan, the brigade of Colonel Roberts, the 27th 
 Illinois regiment, commanded by Colonel Harrington, Company K 
 rolled in their blankets on the oozing ground, and Brigade Inspector 
 Hanback guiding his blaze-faced sorrel very carefully between the 
 lines of sleeping men. Two o'clock in the morning of December 
 31st, and I was on my way from Roberts to Sheridan for orders. 
 
 The clouds had wept themselves away. Here and there patches of 
 stars lent me thir distant aid as Baldy and I explored the unknown 
 field. On either side, sleeping men dreamed on as obliviously as 
 though their muddy beds of leaves and straw were heaps of 
 warmest down. 
 
 I came to the first bit of fire I had seen for hours, a small blaze 
 that threw a meager glow on two young officers sitting on the trunk 
 of a fallen tree. They were in earnest conversation, and the smaller 
 of the two was smoking a stubby pipe. 
 
 "Pardon me," I began, leaning toward them from my saddle, my 
 eyes dazzled by the unaccustomed light of the fire, "can you direct 
 me to General Sheridan's headquarters?" 
 
 The little man took his pipe out of his mouth. 
 
 "I am General Sheridan." He grinned, patting the fallen tree. 
 "This is my headquarters." 
 
300 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "General Sheridan!!" 
 
 I was off my horse in an instant, offering my apologies. "I didn't 
 know you," I finished, "in this flickering light. Colonel Roberts's 
 compliments." 
 
 As I handed him a brief report from Roberts, and he bent forward 
 to read it in the flame-light, I studied him earnestly. Already the 
 rank and file had rated Little Phil everything a commander should 
 be; and I think their worship began with the substantial fact he 
 never forgot soldiers must eat. "If he can't keep the rain off our 
 outsides, he does keep our bellies full," said the men. Now I watched 
 with affection his handsome bearded face, his brown eyes with a 
 melancholy even in their smile, the flowing hair on a head with 
 such massive crown he customarily carried his campaign hat in his 
 hand, his erect bearing and the nice proportions of his figure that 
 made me, for the moment, feel tall. 
 
 "Sill," said Sheridan, to his companion, "if every colonel in the 
 army was a Roberts, we could finish this campaign in six weeks." 
 
 "Not unless you gave them generals," replied Joshua Sill. 
 
 Sheridan chuckled. 
 
 "Lieutenant Hanback, Colonel Roberts says you conducted the 
 reconnaisance I requested." 
 
 "That is right, sir." 
 
 "And what did you find out?" 
 
 "There is a great deal of stealthy movement in the enemy's line, 
 sir. So far as my detail could determine, they are moving troops and 
 cannon toward our Right, sir." 
 
 Sheridan and Sill looked at one another. 
 
 Phil Sheridan said, "We'll have to visit the cob house again, Sill." 
 They rose deliberately. "Lieutenant Hanback, I shall want you with 
 us. Confidentially, General McCook has found a cob house. He is 
 having a nap on the cobs." 
 
 Orderlies brought forward the two generals' mounts. We set off 
 immediately. After a brief parley with a staff officer at McCook's 
 headquarters, that general appeared at the door of his cob house 
 bedroom to demand sleepily, "What's on your mind this time, 
 Sheridan?" 
 
 "General McCook! Sir, I'm as convinced as ever, more so since 
 I just had a report from Colonel Roberts. The enemy will attack 
 our right wing as soon as there is light enough for them to move. 
 Lieutenant Hanback made the reconnaisance. I brought him along 
 to you." 
 
 As General McCook turned to look at me, I saluted and said, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 301 
 
 "Stealthy movement in the enemy's line, sir. Seems to be a movement 
 to the right." 
 
 "Sheridan," said McCook, turning back toward his two generals, 
 "Braxton Bragg is a mighty cute fox. If he's out in the night, drag- 
 ging things toward our Right, he's planning to hit either our Center 
 or our Left. Go and get a few hours sleep. You'll need it tomorrow." 
 
 He went back to his cobs. 
 
 Sheridan swore softly and fervently,— his constant habit was to 
 do his swearing, and I never heard any man excel him in cuss words, 
 but they were always in a righteous cause,— to do his swearing 
 below his breath, a gentlemanly concession to his hearers. 
 
 "Sill," he said finally, "I have said everything to McCook that an 
 officer can say to a superior." 
 
 "Everything." 
 
 Sheridan turned to me. 
 
 "I want every man in every company in every regiment in every 
 brigade of my division fed and under arms by the first streak of 
 daylight. You will carry that message to Colonel Roberts." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 General Sill was already moving away toward his own brigade 
 headquarters,— whatever outhouse or fallen tree it was. As he went 
 I heard him call back to his friend of West Point and Indian warfare 
 days, "Goodnight, Phil. I'll see you in the morning." 
 
 Dawn stretched pale fingers up the eastern sky through heaps of 
 ragged clouds. Colonel Roberts galloped down his line, making a 
 final inspection while every hand was on trigger or saber, every ear 
 strained toward the enemy, every eye seeking to penetrate the very 
 first light of a murky morning. Back came Roberts to the position 
 taken by General Sheridan, the sort of position Sheridan was going 
 to occupy for the duration of the war,— well out in front. 
 
 We waited, motionless and silent. 
 
 Was that movement? In the morning mist? 
 
 A just discernible grey mass of silent troops commenced to move 
 as silently as possible in a westerly direction, toward our extreme 
 Right. They came out of the woods, cleared a fence in their front, 
 we could see them crossing a road, then they were in the open field. 
 They came into line, and then they began a right wheel. I see them 
 now, in the pearly light, the sticks of a giant fan, opening back and 
 back, slowly and faultlessly against our Right. 
 
 Braxton Bragg had ordered his men to cook three days' rations 
 while the Union army was coming up on him. Our boys, meanwhile, 
 had no time to prepare rations ahead. On the morning of the 31st 
 
302 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 they had to cook their scanty breakfasts. If those breakfasts were 
 not finished before dawn, they would be off guard at a critical 
 moment. Strangely enough, as afterward appeared from published 
 reports, both Bragg and Rosecrans had the same plan,— to turn the 
 right wing of the enemy. The tragedy for us was that Bragg got 
 into action a precious ten minutes ahead of us. 
 
 First to feel the sweep of the rebel fan was Kirk's brigade on the 
 extreme wing tip of the Union Right. His outposts were alert, his 
 brigade had been some hours under arms. As soon as the rapid 
 firing of the pickets indicated the approach of the enemy, General 
 Kirk rode to the front where imminent disaster met his fearless 
 gaze. Edgarton's battery was paralyzed, the horses had been sent 
 to the rear for water! In this emergency, and seeing the mass of the 
 enemy brushing aside the pickets in their advance, General Kirk 
 rushed an aide to General Johnson to apprise him of the need for 
 reinforcements. After all the years I still feel cold resentment chill 
 me when I recall General Johnson on that fatal morning at Stone 
 River. He could not be found! Ordering the 24th Illinois forward 
 with orders to hold the enemy, General Kirk galloped to Willich's 
 brigade to ask for a couple of regiments to assist him. Willich, also, 
 was gone to the rear in search of General Johnson. The commanding 
 officers of the two regiments dared not move their men without 
 orders from a superior. Desperately, Kirk turned and galloped back 
 to rally his faltering men. 
 
 General Willich's brigade, like Kirk's, had been in line since 
 before daylight. As the light grew stronger and no enemy developed 
 upon his immediate front, Willich decided no attack would be made. 
 General Johnson, his superior, had not been near his line, nor sent 
 him any orders. Willich rode quickly to headquarters for directions. 
 Meanwhile his troops received leave to cook their breakfasts. And 
 they stacked their arms! 
 
 Lulled into a false sense of security by this permission from their 
 commander, the carelessly laughing and talking men scarcely notic- 
 ed the first scattered shots. But the pickets' firing came nearer. Still 
 nearer! Beginning to curse and shout, the men ran to their arms and 
 sought to form in line. Five minutes, only five minutes, would have 
 saved them. Before they could put on their accoutrements and seize 
 their muskets, the rebels reached their line! 
 
 Sheridan's division, meanwhile, lay quietly watching the results of 
 the struggle on our right. One aide after another galloped away 
 from Sheridan's side, and presently they began to gallop back with 
 tidings of growing disaster. 
 
 "General Kirk fell rallying his men, sir. They broke and ran." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 303 
 
 "General Willich's brigade is in full retreat, sir." 
 
 "General Johnson was in the rear, sir. He started for the firing 
 line, but his men are in a panic." 
 
 The little general cursed steadily in a whisper as the extent of the 
 disaster became apparent. General Sill's troops were beginning to 
 fall back against our flank under the new full impetus of the enemy, 
 as two whole divisions on our right began to flee. 
 
 Wellington Wood rode up to Sheridan. 
 
 "General Roberts asks leave to charge the enemy, sir." 
 
 Sheridan responded immediately with one of his enthusiastic 
 orders. 
 
 "Tell him to go ahead. Try the bayonet!" 
 
 As Wellington Wood galloped back to us he waved a hand at 
 me, a preconcerted signal. I knew then what was coming! 
 
 "Lieutenant Hanback," directed Colonel Roberts, "ride over and 
 ask the colonels of the 89th and 21st to cease firing. To charge 
 bayonets we'll have to lower that fence." 
 
 Meanwhile, as Sill's men fell slowly back, pausing to fire, then 
 retiring, our brigade was forming in the open field, facing toward 
 the south. We were the Fifty-first, Forty-second and Twenty-seventh 
 Illinois regiments. Colonel Roberts sent his aides galloping down 
 the lines, passing the word for a bayonet charge. On no account was 
 any man to fire a shot. 
 
 "Good luck, Lew," called Wood after me, as I spurred away on 
 my errand. 
 
 Halfway across the intervening field my horse Baldy went down. 
 I supposed him dead, or dying. Picking myself up I finished my run 
 on foot. The firing was so terrific I could not make the officers of the 
 two regiments hear me, but I pantomimed my message and they 
 got it. When the full import of what was coming dawned on the 
 rank and file, the men along the line of the 89th Illinois and the 
 21st Michigan set up a mighty cheer. 
 
 The Forty-second Illinois reached and passed the kneeling men 
 of the 89th. Quickly they realigned themselves. Colonel Roberts 
 gave the command, "Charge bayonets!" He rode long the rear of his 
 regiments, wheeled round the left wing, galloped down the front 
 line, the entire length, with his cap in his hand, shouting, "Don't fire 
 a shot! Drive them with the bayonet!" 
 
 A roar from our men. Greatest stir agitating the ranks of the 
 enemy. We saw their infantry taking aim at the dashing figure of 
 our too fearless colonel. But perhaps not one of the boys in grey 
 wished to fire the fatal shot at such a gallant figure. Their thousand 
 bullets flew wide. 
 
304 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Our regiments advanced with quick, determined steps, our long 
 bayonets bathed in fearful splendor in the morning sunlight. We 
 heard the command, "Charge!" With a loud hurrah we ran for the 
 enemy! 
 
 The Confederates opposite us broke and fled. It is one thing to 
 face bullets, another to meet bayonets. The Confederates did not 
 wait for cold steel to reach their hearts, they ran with all their 
 might into the wood behind them, through that wood and a corn 
 field to their original position of the morning. During the charge a 
 battery from Manigault's front poured cannister into our ranks, but 
 without doing us serious injury. The shot struck limbs of the trees 
 lining the banks of Stone's river. 
 
 While we were making this successful sally, what was transpiring 
 on our right where the enemy had surprised the divisions of Johnson 
 and Jeff C. Davis? A regiment famous for its courage had been 
 thrown forward and halted in the neighborhood of Edgarton's 
 stranded battery. This regiment, the 77th Pennsylvania, waiting 
 further orders, observed a battery coming toward them in full trot 
 from the east. The word ran from one waiting man to another, 
 "Here comes a battery for us! Hell, it's about time." The color 
 bearers of the Pennsylvania regiment dipped their colors in salute. 
 All watched the unlimbering of the battery with the deepest 
 interest. 
 
 Four hundred feet away the battery unlimbered, with the front 
 wheels toward the west, in echlon. The officer in command ordered 
 his men to load. Again the Pennsylvanians dipped their flag. They 
 cheered, waiting the battery's fire. The command at the battery 
 was, "Double cannister!" The guns were loaded. Then came the 
 loud, triumphant order, "Action to the right! Commence firing!" In 
 ten seconds the battery, Douglas's battery of Ector's Confederate 
 brigade, was turned on the 77th. Shots came tearing through, leav- 
 ing great gaps of wounded, dying men. Pausing only long enough 
 to fire one tremendous volley in return, the Pennsylvania boys turned 
 and fled. 
 
 Meanwhile, what of General Johnson? 
 
 Terrified stragglers brought the first news of the disaster to 
 Johnson and his aides. The enemy's advance was crumpling one 
 regiment after another, until Johnson's whole division fell back, 
 fighting here and there where fences and rocks permitted them to 
 make a stand, until, more like a mob than like organized troops, 
 they reached the Nashville pike. 
 
 "Another Perryville!" 
 
 "Sold again!" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 305 
 
 "We're sold again!!" 
 
 Never will it be known who first gave utterance to the secret 
 fear, the old whispered scandal of the summer past. Men who had 
 always believed Buell sold out to Bragg in Kentucky ran now like 
 madmen through the timber, shouting to one another, "Sold again!" 
 
 Braxton Bragg was watching the battle from an excellent vantage 
 point, the cupola of the courthouse in Murfreesboro. Picture his 
 elation as his spyglass showed him our retreat,— a wild disorganized 
 flight that threatened to make him a precious gift,— the whole 
 ammunition train of the Union Right! 
 
 An aide for Sheridan spurred his horse to where Colonel Roberts 
 was coolly directing those of us who had rallied to him. 
 
 "Confederate infantry advancing on your right and rear, sir. 
 General Sheridan orders you to fall back." 
 
 Back we went in quickstep. I on foot, of course. 
 
 Colonel Roberts with Wood beside him rode to Sheridan for new 
 orders. The position of Sheridan's division was now untenable. 
 Johnson's and Davis's divisions had fled toward the Wilkinson and 
 Nashville pikes, instead of falling back in good order to their left 
 and against Sheridan's division. General Sheridan, although in- 
 furiated by the blunders following one after another, never for an 
 instant considered retreat. He sent his aides spurring in various 
 directions to look for another position. He chose one that masked 
 part of Negley's line, somewhat to the east of our original position. 
 He placed Houghtaling's battery south of the Wilkinson pike. To 
 its left and rear, the 22nd Illinois. Farther to the left he placed the 
 42nd Illinois in the front line. The 27th and 51st Illinois regiments 
 took a position north of the pike, parts of these regiments facing 
 west. The 2nd Missouri and the 73rd Illinois were also moved north 
 of the pike. I name very carefully these heroic regiments, for they, 
 when history shall all be told, will rank with those illumined forces 
 of freedom who have held the line down through the ages in the 
 awful upward struggle of man. 
 
 Now the Confederate general, Cheatham, able and courageous 
 officer, began to see that the troops opposite him had fighting 
 qualities. Soon a magnificent column of Confederates moved across 
 the field, making a right wheel. With the calmness and precision of 
 dress parade they advanced. No time to lose on our part, the 
 Houghtaling sent shells in quick succession into that magnificent 
 advancing column. Great gaps appeared as screeching death went 
 through. Instantly those gaps closed up. And now their artillery 
 opened on us! Followed an artillery duel at the short range of two 
 hundred and fifty yards! 
 
306 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 The enemy fired tremendous charges into the trees that partially 
 masked our new position. Great branches came crashing down on 
 our field pieces. And every few seconds a solid shot struck the peace- 
 ful horses quietly waiting directions from their riders, shot that 
 brought riders and horses screaming to the ground. 
 
 Wellington Wood dashed up to Colonel Roberts. 
 
 "They're silencing our guns, sir. The timber! It's snowing us 
 under!" 
 
 Roberts was away instantly. Marvelous specimen that he was, he 
 leaped from his horse and used his strength to help the men clear 
 away the debris. 
 
 Another aide. 
 
 "General Sheridan asks you to hold your position to the last, sir." 
 
 "Tell General Sheridan we will hold this position." 
 
 Rallying his staff about him Roberts said, "We'll hold this position 
 till the last cartridge is fired. After that, we'll hold it with bayonets." 
 
 From staff to rank and file we responded to his courage. Charge 
 after charge of yelling rebels we repelled. At last the cry rose for 
 ammunition. Over and over rose the shouts, "Ammunition! For God's 
 sake, bring us ammunition!" Alas! The ammunition train of the 
 Right was far in the rear. Just where it was, no one seemed to know. 
 While we shouted in desperation, our muskets one by one fired then- 
 last cartridges, ceased fire. The enemy were quick to realize our 
 plight. They charged the 22nd, drove them toward the pike. 
 
 "Rally them on the north side of the pike," called Roberts to 
 Captain Rose of his staff. "Make a stand there. I'll rally the 42nd." 
 
 With these words he galloped toward his own precious regiment, 
 the 42nd, still south of the pike. The 22nd responded gallantly to 
 Captain Rose's order. They rallied, and took their position along the 
 north side of the pike with the rebels following them, not more than 
 fifty feet in their rear. Here a terrible fight commenced. The wild 
 excitement, the fury of the combatants, the loud commands of the 
 officers seeking to steady men who were firing last precious 
 cartridges, the general uproar, all this made a scene beyond the 
 power of any pen. 
 
 Colonel Roberts reached the 42nd. The happiness he felt as he 
 saw his own beloved regiment standing like a wall of stone, beamed 
 from his face on those who saw it like a ray of light on chaos. But 
 where were Walworth, Swain, field officers he could always count 
 upon. Not a field officer could he see! He was not aware that their 
 mounts had been shot under them. Ah, here was Walworth. His 
 face brightened. He raised his sword in gallant salute to the brave 
 
A UNION FOREVER 307 
 
 officers he now saw rallying their men on foot. The smile on his face 
 those who saw it were never to forget. 
 
 As our brigade fell back, I found Baldy. He had tried to follow 
 the charge, and he came up to me with a loud whinny. He had lost 
 blood from a wound in his head and neck. His bright sorrel shoulder 
 was matted and clotted, his white face dyed with blood. While I 
 stood patting and encouraging him, preparing to mount, my own 
 regiment, the 27th, began falling back all around me, firing as they 
 came, and receiving a murderous fire in return. As I patted Baldy, 
 who laid his bloody face against my arm, I saw Colonel Harrington. 
 On foot,— his horse, too, had been picked off by those skillful 
 Southern marksmen,— on foot he was rallying his men. Not a 
 hundred feet from where I stood he suddenly pitched forward. I 
 ran to him. Half his jaw was shot away! 
 
 Baldy followed me in my rush to the colonel. With the help of 
 the nearest man I got Harrington into the saddle. He lay forward 
 on the horse's neck while I tangled his hands in Baldy 's bright mane. 
 The wounded man had left enough consciousness so that he 
 clenched his hand on the sorrel's locks. We moved off to find a 
 dressing tent. 
 
 Slowly we proceeded through a ghastly wood of all but de- 
 molished trees, to find men bending over a still figure on the ground. 
 
 I caught at the arm of a weeping soldier. 
 
 "Not Colonel Roberts?" 
 
 But I knew it was. In the midst of furious battle men had 
 gathered in a knot. Many were weeping openingly. I handed Baldy 's 
 reins to one of them, went to kneel beside Roberts. I clasped for a 
 moment his still warm hand, then I closed forever the eyes I had 
 so often seen glint with merriment or flash with honest fervor. 
 
 I looked up. A sergeant answered the question in my eyes. 
 
 "The shots knocked him right off his mount, sir. He says, Tut me 
 on my horse, boys'. We tried to do it. He was gone before we could 
 lift him." 
 
 "Who's in charge here?" I demanded hurriedly as a shell whined 
 close. 
 
 The sergeant replied, "Guess I am, sir." 
 
 "Sergeant, get your men across the pike. We're rallying there. 
 Just one second." 
 
 I went quickly to get the colonel's coat from its neat stowage 
 behind his saddle, laid it over Colonel Roberts. This comforted me, 
 and I could see from their faces that it comforted his men. Next 
 moment we were all away, and not too soon, as the first of the 
 enemy appeared through the trees. Pausing only to return their 
 
308 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 fire, we hurried across the pike, and there the men rallied with their 
 comrades while I went on with the almost unconscious Harrington 
 until I found the nearest dressing tent. There I left him. It was at 
 this point I gave up all for lost. 
 
 Back across the pike I started,— to the cedar grove where our men 
 were fighting with such bloody results we ever afterward referred 
 to the gully where we lay that morning as the "slaughter pen." I rode 
 my wounded horse across the pike, and there I saw General Rose- 
 crans! He sat his horse in the exact center of the pike, as calmly 
 as Braxton Bragg occupied his chair several miles away in the 
 cupola of the courthouse. General McCook, commander of the 
 Right to which our brigade belonged, was with Rosecrans. McCook's 
 face, usually so jolly, was grey with anxiety. Death was all about 
 that position. As I rode up, a young aide, white of face, came dash- 
 ing to report the death of Colonel Garexche. The youngster looked 
 sick. Well he might, for he had just seen the colonel's head carried 
 away by a cannonball. When the death of his dear friend was 
 reported to him Rosecrans drooped his head a moment and was 
 silent. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said then to those around him, "brave men die 
 in battle." 
 
 Saluting General McCook, I reported my action in taking Colonel 
 Harrington from the field. I wanted to join Sheridan's command, 
 asked him if he had its present position. Before he could answer me 
 Rosecrans turned to McCook. 
 
 "General," he said, "we are going to make a stand at this point." 
 
 The calm grandeur of his face as he said this I never can forget. 
 Suddenly a wave of hope and courage thrilled me. I straightened 
 in my saddle. Baldy threw up his head and nickered, looking off 
 down the pike. A movement toward us was beginning, not a dis- 
 orderly rout, but a well-considered falling back. 
 
 "What force is that?" 
 
 Coming abreast of us were George Batty and Elam Hobson, then 
 Warren Ticknor shouting commands. 
 
 "The Twenty-seventh Illinois, sir," I said quickly to General 
 McCook. 
 
 "It was, in fact, the Twenty-seventh and Fifty-first Illinois regi- 
 ments, retreating down the pike in the direction of the ammunition 
 train. Their cartridge boxes empty, their officers were marching 
 them toward a fresh supply. 
 
 "Who commands these troops?" asked Rosecrans. 
 
 Colonel Luther P. Bradley, commanding the Fifty -first, was hailed 
 
A UNION FOREVER 309 
 
 forward by an aide. Commanding my own Twenty-seventh was 
 Major Schmitt. 
 
 "Send your regiments into yonder thicket and halt the advance of 
 the enemy at that point," directed Rosecrans. 
 
 "We're falling back in search of ammunition, sir," explained 
 Colonel Bradley, an officer who never liked to put his men in 
 needless jeopardy. 
 
 "Colonel, if we don't halt this advance, there will be no ammuni- 
 tion. The enemy will have it." 
 
 "Very well, sir. We'll drive them with the bayonets." 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 The command ran along the lines, followed by, "Left face!" The 
 officers, mostly on foot, dressed the lines. These officers took fire 
 from Rosecrans, and the weary men caught new hope from the 
 tones of their officers. One and all, we forgot to be exhausted, 
 hungry and desperate. A soldier stepped up beside General 
 McCook's horse. He was holding one hand against his body. He 
 asked, "Who can I give this gun to?" 
 
 "Why do you want to get rid of your gun?" demanded McCook. 
 
 The soldier attempted a smile. 
 
 "I guess I'm going to get a furlough," he said. 
 
 Moving his hand ever so little he allowed the intestines to bulge 
 from a hideous wound. 
 
 "Go that way," said McCook hastily, pointing the direction from 
 where I had lately come. "Nearest dressing tent." 
 
 "Give me your gun," begged a young captain. "If it's half as good 
 as you are, it's good enough for me." 
 
 Many officers were on foot. These seized guns from wounded 
 men and fell into the ranks. We were to charge under the eye of 
 our highest commander. A glorious moment as the order, "Fix 
 bayonets!" ran along the line. 
 
 "Charge bayonets!" 
 
 We reached the top of a slight elevation, and there were the grey 
 troops immediately in our front. Beside myself with excitement I 
 galloped Baldy along the line of Company K, calling to our boys, 
 "Remember Harrington! Remember Roberts! The Union, boys! 
 The Union forever!!!" 
 
 Had I been killed at that moment, I would have entered life 
 beyond the grave without knowing I had left here until I arrived 
 there. 
 
 "The Union forever!" 
 
 A dozen voices took up the cry. A hundred echoed it. Then all 
 was mingled in a mighty shout as we charged. With such a shout 
 
310 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 as I believe mortal ears have rarely heard, the war cry of the boys 
 in blue, we went for the enemy. And the enemy gave way! 
 
 The Confederate generals in their reports declare that the retreat 
 of their men at this point is incomprehensible. Liddel says he went 
 for a few minutes into a Federal hospital, being called on for pro- 
 tection, and in an incredibly short time he found his line breaking 
 rapidly. He galloped to head off the stragglers whom he found to 
 be the Confederate General Johnston's men. Riding to the right he 
 met General Johnston looking for his men. The rebel brigade we 
 charged was becoming demoralized. They infected one another with 
 their panic. We followed them through a thicket and into an open 
 field. Many of us were weeping for joy. The Thirteenth Michigan, 
 relieved of pressure as the enemy fell back, fixed bayonets and 
 charged to help us. Panic seized the brigades of Polk, Johnston and 
 Liddel, one after another. They fled, crying out, "Our flank is 
 turned!" In seven minutes the rout along our front was complete! 
 
 When a weeping aide dashed to Rosecrans with the glorious 
 report, the general exclaimed beneath his breath, "Non nobis, 
 Domine, non nobis, sed nomina tui da gloriam." Did a power 
 beyond frail human understanding sweep us down the Nashville 
 pike in that glorious charge that turned the tide of battle at Stone 
 River? Oh, there must be, there is a Power watching over and 
 defending that flame, now bright, now flickering almost to extinc- 
 tion, now weak, now glorious,— that sacred flame, the freedom of 
 mankind! 
 
 XVII 
 
 Report of Col. Luther P. Bradley, Fifty-first Illinois Infantry, 
 commanding Third Brigade, Third Division, Right Wing, Thirteenth 
 Army Corps. 
 
 "On the morning of January 1 we stood to arms at 3 o'clock, 
 expecting an attack, and after daylight built a breastwork in front 
 of the brigade line. In the afternoon a brigade of the enemy 
 issued from the timber opposite our position and advanced on 
 our line. As soon as they were in range, I opened with small arms 
 and shell, driving them back in disorder. 
 
 "Observing that a part of them had skulked in the rocks, I sent 
 out a strong line of skirmishers under Lieutenant Hanback of the 
 Twenty-seventh Illinois, and captured 2 lieutenants and 117 men, 
 mostly the 3rd Confederate." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 311 
 
 We fell silent as we began our ascent of the rocks behind the 
 Confederate sharpshooters. We were climbing as noiselessly as 
 possible, intent on taking these key men by surprise. The enemy 
 was cannonading, frequently a ball would strike in our vicinity. 
 Mike Delaney brought up the rear in the file of men I had picked 
 from Company K for our manoeuvre. We were just rounding a 
 gigantic outcrop when along came one of those rebel balls, and 
 Mike disappeared, knocked over backward right out of our sight. 
 
 Warren Ticknor caught my arm. 
 
 "Morph, he's in bits and pieces!" 
 
 I looked at Warren who was turning green in the face, and I felt 
 my stomach begin to heave. Nothing for it but to call a low- voiced 
 halt while I slithered round the rock face for a look at Mike. He 
 was sitting just below us. Getting breath I called, "Are you hurt?" 
 Mike jumped up, looked all about him. Then he grinned cheerfully 
 at us, pointing. His knapsack had been carried away by the 
 cannonball. 
 
 "Howly saints," he observed, "if the inimy hasn't flanked me. 
 Siperated me, he has, from me base of supplies." 
 
 For a few hours I took pleasure in the congratulations I received 
 for bringing in those rebel sharpshooters. Then a new sorrow struck 
 me low. 
 
 Wellington Wood was killed in action. 
 
 "Thus saith the Lord; A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, 
 and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping for her children refused to be 
 comforted for her children because they are not." 
 
 Father Trecy, Southern divine from New Orleans who had been 
 forced because of his Union sympathies to flee to our lines, was 
 celebrating a high mass in a rude log cabin on the battle field. 
 Sunday morning after the battle, it was, a beautiful morning, the 
 first sunshine after a week of sorrowing skies. The cabin was 
 crowded with officers of all denominations who knelt on the dirt 
 floor. Through the open door and the two windows we could see 
 the burial parties engaged in their solemn task, out where dead 
 horses and dead soldiers and pieces of equipment strewed the field. 
 
 A nation was in mourning. During those days when I took my 
 share in the burial work, the fancy came to me and would persist, 
 all the tears of all the mothers, North and South, were falling on the 
 battle ground of Stone River. My own heart was overfull. Time 
 and again my eyes brimmed over. Roberts, Harrington, Wellington 
 Wood. Before the assault on the second day of fighting, Wood and 
 I shook hands, wished each other Godspeed. Now he was gone. 
 
312 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 General Sheridan, coming into the crowded cabin where I knelt 
 just inside the door, bent over me to whisper, "They have found 
 Roberts' grave. Take a detail after the service, to exhume his body. 
 You'll find directions at division headquarters." 
 
 "The force which was engaged in this famous cedar brake was 
 composed, at least in part, of regulars; the brigade was commanded 
 by Colonel Roberts, who fell while gallantly attempting to rally his 
 men opposite the center of my line. He was buried Saturday even- 
 ing, and the spot was marked by a stone having his name scratched 
 upon it with the point of a bayonet." 
 
 Report of Confederate General A. P. Stewart. 
 
 Slowly and carefully we removed the earth from above him in 
 his shallow grave. Although he had been gone from us four days, 
 he looked as though he were sleeping. First we saw his calm face. 
 Then, as we uncovered his magnificent body, the men's tears 
 turned to curses. There was not a stitch of clothing on his body! 
 
 Hettie sat on the steps at Wildwood in the sunshine of a pre- 
 mature spring day, reading aloud from one of my letters. 
 
 Headquarters, 3rd Brigade, 3rd Division, 20th a.c, 
 Camp on Stone River, Tenn., January 22, 1863. 
 
 My own dear Hettie;— So long a time has elapsed since the 
 battle, and yet I have not heard from you, I fear you have not 
 received the letters I have written you. I am in very good health, 
 much better than I thought I should be after the exposure I 
 endured the week of the battle. Several nights I lay in the rain 
 with but little fire, and part of the time none. 
 
 During the battle I was in front. Being on the staff of Colonel 
 Roberts I had to carry orders, sometimes in the face of heavy 
 fire. Very often when I started with orders I expected to be shot. 
 But through it all I passed! An unseen Power turned aside the 
 deadly missiles. I came through unharmed. 
 
 Thinking again of all that has happened, my heart sickens at 
 the thought of the many noble hearts that ceased to beat in that 
 unequal struggle. The missiles of death seemed to come from 
 every direction. Roberts was in the thickest of the fight. Every- 
 where he was seen, cheering the braves who fought under him. 
 At ten and one-half o'clock, as he was giving an order to Captain 
 Rose, he fell, pierced by a ball through the heart. At the same 
 time another ball struck Colonel Harrington of the 27th. I saw 
 
A UNION FOREVER 313 
 
 him wounded and immediately placed him on my horse and took 
 him to a surgeon. Since then he has died. 
 
 Orders were finally given for us to fall back which was done in 
 good order. Things looked dark at that time. Defeat stared us in 
 the face. We retreated through a dense growth of cedars to the 
 Nashville and Murfreesboro pike, and there I saw Rosecrans for 
 the first time that day! The sight of him gave me fresh courage. 
 
 Right in our front a brigade of the enemy was advancing, 
 flushed with victory, intent on getting possession of the pike on 
 which was all our train of ammunition, provisions and so on. 
 General McCook who commanded our wing at Perryville came 
 to us and told us we must hold that point to the very last. And 
 we did! With only three rounds of cartridges in the cartridge 
 boxes, the men rushed forward to engage three times their num- 
 ber. The order to charge was given. With a yell the boys went 
 at them, and less than five minutes later the rebels were running 
 as fast as their legs could carry them. McCook says the repulse 
 saved the day. And Rosecrans gives our division the honor of 
 having saved the day! 
 
 We had no more fighting in our front, though heavy cannonad- 
 ing was kept up on our Left until nightfall. Next day, January 
 1st, 1863, we spent quietly. I had charge of a skirmishing party, 
 and had the good fortune to capture one hundred and seventeen 
 rebels, which was the only feature of the day. 
 
 Friday passed away until four o'clock p.m., when the enemy 
 made an attack on our Center, and then commenced the most 
 terrific fight in which the enemy was repulsed with an awful 
 loss. One regiment, the 26th Tennessee was captured, also three 
 flags and three guns belonging to the famous Washington's Light 
 Artillery from New Orleans. Our loss was heavy. Among those 
 killed was my friend, Lieutenant Wood of the 19th Illinois, a 
 brave and noble fellow. 
 
 Saturday night in a violent storm the enemy made their last 
 attack and were again repulsed, and with great loss. That same 
 night they evacuated Murfreesboro. Sunday we marched in and 
 occupied the town. During Sunday I assisted in the solemn duty 
 of burying the dead. 
 
 A sorrowful task! 
 
 It was after the church service we found the grave of Colonel 
 Roberts, for, you know, the rebels buried him,— and we took up 
 his body and sent it to Nashville. He had been buried four days, 
 yet looked as though he were sleeping. We found him without a 
 stitch of clothing on his body! The rebels had stripped almost all 
 
314 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 the dead of their clothing. Not a shoe was left! As to clothing 
 they were destitute; but they were armed as well as we were. 
 
 Company K has lost six men, wounded and missing. We have 
 heard from but two. George Batty is a prisoner, not wounded, and 
 Fred Newman is a prisoner, wounded. The others are Thompson, 
 Holmes, Hayes and Cremer, of whom we have not heard a single 
 word. Sergeant Ticknor commanded the company and did nobly, 
 so the boys of the company say. 
 
 How dreary and sick at heart I felt when the fight was over. 
 Tonight as I think of the dear friends that I have lost, my heart is 
 heavy and my eyes are wet with tears. I try to stop them but they 
 still flow. Oh, what a measure of sorrow this war has made up! 
 How many, many hearts are weeping tonight for the brave men 
 who fell in this battle. How many brave men who fill our hospitals 
 are maimed for life! And yet the war must go on! Must continue 
 until rebellion ceases to live. The sacrifice, bloody though it may 
 be, must still be made until the last vestige is swept from 
 American soil. 
 
 We are still encamped in the same place we were when I last 
 wrote you. Our wounded are being conveyed North as rapidly as 
 they can possibly be. Murfreesboro is still filled with rebel 
 wounded. In all about eighteen hundred, all badly wounded. 
 Many are dying. When Bragg evacuated the place, he left all 
 the wounded who could not possibly be moved. 
 
 From authentic accounts we know about the force that op- 
 posed us. It amounted to one hundred and seventy-five regi- 
 ments of infantry, eighteen battalions of infantry, and one squad- 
 ron of cavalry, and twenty-three batteries of artillery. Altogether 
 their force amounted to 75,000. 
 
 I see that the Richmond papers (as they always do) claim a 
 great victory. But their claiming a victory does not prove that to 
 be the fact. That they suffered a much greater loss than our side 
 did, I have not the least doubt. True, they drove our Right back 
 on the 31st, captured a lot of prisoners and several battalions of 
 artillery. Yet their success stopped there, and in every attack they 
 made after that they were repulsed. Always with great slaughter, 
 and they finally made a precipitate retreat, proof enough to my 
 mind that they were whipped. I hope they will ever be attended 
 by such victories, and the rebellion will soon come to an end. 
 
 I must close for it is late and I am weary, very weary. Good 
 night, my dearest. God bless and protect you is the earnest wish 
 of Your own, Lewis. 
 
 I forgot to say in my account of the fight that the repulse of 
 
A UNION FOREVER 315 
 
 our Right was owing to the fact that Johnson's division was sur- 
 prised by the rebels. Some of the regiments did not have time to 
 get their arms before the enemy was upon them. To Johnson may 
 be attributed the reverse that day, which almost came to defeat. 
 
 Hettie, having elided certain tender expressions designed solely 
 for her ear, finished reading my letter. Samuel French cleared his 
 throat. 
 
 "The importance of this victory can't be estimated." 
 
 "You agree with Lew Hanback in proclaiming a victory?" 
 
 William Cooper shivered in the February sunshine, pulling a 
 shawl more closely round his shoulders. He was back at Wildwood 
 after a fight with pneumonia that revealed a lung weakness to the 
 physicians of the Southern army. 
 
 "I agree with Lew Hanback in many things," stated Mr. French. 
 "Lewis Hanback is no ordinary young fellow. I expect to be proud 
 of the fact that I helped to start him on his career. Did I ever tell 
 you about the time I found him walking along the pike between 
 here and Winchester?" Mr. French launched, not for the first time, 
 into his story. Mrs. Cooper exchanged a glance with William, while 
 Hettie traded a smile with Debbie Williams. He was interrupted. 
 A young officer came from the hall to the porch. 
 
 "Mr. French," said Mrs. Cooper, "you remember my brother, 
 Lieutenant Risley?" 
 
 "Yes. I know George. I understand you were at Stone River, 
 young man. What have you to tell us of the famous charge?" 
 
 "Nothing, sir." 
 
 "Nothing?" 
 
 "I am fighting with the North. But I have no rampant convictions." 
 
 George Risley turned to Hettie. 
 
 "What on earth are you and Debbie up to?" he asked, pointing to 
 a couple of elderly muskets that lay on the steps at their feet. 
 
 "We're learning the manual in case of invasion," replied Hettie 
 with spirit. "That gentleman from Kansas who spoke at the Lyceum 
 said the women of Kansas drilled. They were ready to fight with 
 the men. Debbie and I spend an hour every day with our guns." 
 
 Samuel French cut short the laughter that followed. 
 
 "I think the danger of invasion is now over, young ladies. You 
 may safely return to your knitting and bandages." He rose. "Hettie, 
 my errand is with you. We are holding a meeting at the school 
 house tomorrow evening. We'll expect you to be with us. To read 
 us Lew Hanback's account of the battle. Debbie, if you wish me to 
 drop you off home, I will do so." 
 
316 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Hettie!" 
 
 Mrs. Cooper spoke arrestingly as Debbie and Mr. French started 
 down the drive to his comfortable old buggy. 
 
 "Hettie, you know George's leave is up today. He wants you to 
 take a walk with him. He has something to say to you." 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Major Rust,— he was the young captain who seized the gun from 
 the wounded soldier hero before the charge on the Nashville pike,— 
 was reading aloud from a manuscript. A group of us were gathered 
 round a table at brigade headquarters. Everyone with aspirations 
 toward the literary was engaged on a great work we proposed to 
 have published in Philadelphia,— The Annals of the Army of the 
 Cumberland. That was its stately title. 
 
 "When Rosecrans took over the Army of the Cumberland," read 
 the major, "in the fall of '62, he appointed William Truesdail as his 
 army mail agent. It had become painfully apparent that regular 
 mails could not be supplied to our armies in the field through the 
 usual agency of the postoffice department. Railroads were torn up; 
 river navigation was often interrupted; old mail routes were sus- 
 pended; mail matter destined for the army accumulated at the 
 distributing offices and at the terminals of the regular routes, in 
 hopelessly confused heaps, to be forwarded only at long intervals. 
 Grave complaints arose, and it became necessary to devise a mail 
 system which, independent of, yet acting with the civil department, 
 would supply the deficiency. There is probably no other one thing 
 so useful in elevating the moral tone and maintaining the courage 
 of an army of free men as the regular receipt by its members of 
 letters from home. 
 
 "William S. Rosecrans, incomparable as an organizer, well knew 
 this to be the fact. Under his direction, and with the cooperation of 
 Truesdail, messengers were placed on the boats between Corinth 
 and Cairo. An agent went around to the various distributing offices, 
 Louisville, Cincinnati, Chicago, St. Louis, Cairo, to furnish the 
 authorities with accurate lists of the divisions, regiments and smaller 
 commands constituting the army, and to have forwarded from those 
 offices bushels, and in some instances wagon-loads, of mail matter 
 found piled beneath tables and counters or stowed away in drawers, 
 barrels and back rooms. Thousands of soldiers and their officers had 
 been weeks and months without news from home or friends, while 
 tons of mail matter lay mouldering in distant postoffices. 
 
 "To bring order out of this chaos was the work of Colonel Trues- 
 
A UNION FOREVER 317 
 
 dail. He recommended the appointment of an army postmaster 
 whose duty it was to move with the army and receive and dis- 
 tribute mails, with instructions to operate in harmony with the 
 United States authorities, and to have for his sole object the prompt 
 delivery of mail to the soldiers. 
 
 "At the time of this writing an average of twenty-two thousand 
 letters— amounting in bulk to fifteen bushels— leave our military 
 postoffice daily for Nashville—" 
 
 "Hanback contributes a bushel," interrupted Lieutenant Moody 
 of Colonel Bradley's staff. 
 
 I gave him a silencing look, and Major Rust read on past a gen- 
 eral laugh which he politely held in check with a lifted hand. 
 
 "Leave our military postoffice daily for Nashville, from whence 
 they go over the regular routes to their destinations. Equally large 
 mails are received—" 
 
 "From the young lady in question," put in Moody. 
 
 "Moody," I said, "this committee is engaged in serious work." 
 
 Moody subsided, and Major Rust continued. 
 
 "Equally large mails are received, sorted, and distributed by 
 means of the mail wagons among the various camps and military 
 offices. 
 
 "Of course complaints are numerous and wordy. In the Depart- 
 ment of the Cumberland, embracing Western Kentucky and Middle 
 and Eastern Tennessee, with twelve divisions, thirty-seven brigades, 
 and more than two hundred regiments,— added to which are the 
 independent organizations, such as pioneers, engineers, signal corps, 
 sharpshooters, batteries, scouts, hospitals and convalescent camps,— 
 imagine the perplexity of the army postmaster as he puzzles over 
 thousands of letters addressed after this style: 'J onn Brown, Com- 
 pany A, Rosecrans' Army'; 'Lt. Tom Jones, Third Division'; 'Cap- 
 tain . . ." 
 
 Major Rust broke off. 
 
 "That's as far as we got last time." 
 
 A young captain from another brigade drew a much worn 
 envelope from the breast pocket of his uniform. The handwriting 
 was delicately feminine. 
 
 "Look at this! 'Captain James Robinson, Union Army south of 
 Nashville'." 
 
 We all laughed, then Moody said, "This stuff we're writing is too 
 dry. We want to put in more anecdotes, humorous anecdotes. Like 
 raisins in gingerbread." 
 
 "You and your raisins?" I said. Moody was beginning to fill the 
 
318 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 place in my heart left vacant by Wellington Wood. "For example, 
 give us a raisin." 
 
 "How about this? You all know how the enlisted men raise a 
 cheer when General Rousseau rides out." 
 
 "Well, he's a great old boy," explained Rust. "Besides he started 
 this army corps." 
 
 "Of course. So the other day General Rousseau came riding along 
 just as one of the boys scared up another of these everlasting rab- 
 bits around here. The usual rabbit chase began, with wagers and 
 cheers. Visions of rabbit stew for supper. Finally the noise got 
 simply terrific. And General Sheridan began to notice it. He sent 
 Lamb out to see what was causing the 'damned, infernal racket'. 
 Lamb came back after a while, looking puzzled. He says, 1 can't 
 make out, sir, whether the men are cheering General Rousseau. 
 Or a rabbit.'" 
 
 Laughter at this anecdote of humorous character was cut short 
 by the appearance of an orderly from division headquarters. 
 
 "General Sheridan's compliments to Colonel Bradley. Colonel 
 Bradley's brigade will report in the morning for picket." 
 
 Groans. 
 
 "Let's break up for the night, then." 
 
 "Yes, let's get a little sleep." 
 
 "Somebody tell Johnson to have the coffee ready at five." 
 
 "Johnson! We'll never get that black rascal up in time. When I 
 drink his coffee, I winder what we're fighting for." 
 
 "To preserve the Union, fellow." 
 
 "Good night." 
 
 "Good night, everyone." 
 
 "And let me say to you, Hanback," added Moody in a stern voice, 
 "this is one night you're not going to keep a candle burning while 
 you write to that girl in Southern Illinois." 
 
 Reveille at five o'clock! 
 
 We drank Johnson's coffee, and downed his flapjacks, although 
 we found lumps in them that were not raisins. Colonel Bradley ap- 
 peared, spoke to the bugler who sounded assembly, and we were 
 off. 
 
 The cold wind of a winter morning came sweeping at us very 
 much like one of its frolics on the Illinois prairie. Occasionally we 
 rode past a little mound of earth that told its own sad story. Fences 
 there were none now, they were all used up for fire wood. The open 
 fields made a picture of desolation, spreading out on every side. 
 As we neared the front line we passed a house that always let my 
 spirits down, vacant, the doors gone, the windows broken. Once a 
 
A UNION FOREVER 319 
 
 happy home, no doubt, but war had done his work too well. In our 
 front was a high range of hills, and at their base the line extended. 
 Just inside the line we passed an old cotton mill in full operation! 
 Ginning and milling cotton! 
 
 The colonel commanding the brigade we were to relieve galloped 
 up, exchanging courtesies and advices with Colonel Bradley. Our 
 regiments went marching off, and just at the moment I spied smoke 
 rising from the chimney of a deserted cabin we used for an oc- 
 casional emergency. There I went for a warm up! 
 
 In the little cabin a sight, not so strange to us now but quite as 
 saddening as ever, met me. Shivering over the fire were a negro 
 man, his wife and six children. 
 
 "Yessuh, boss!" exclaimed the man as I entered. "Picket say we 
 kin res* heah a time or so." 
 
 "That's all right. I didn't come to disturb you. It's a cold morning." 
 
 " 'Tis so. Yessuh. 'Tis so." 
 
 I rubbed my hands at the blaze, eying the family all the while. 
 
 "How did you get through the lines?" I asked. 
 
 The woman, an emaciated creature with a deeply lined face, 
 answered. 
 
 "They challenged us, but we kep' on comin'. We couldn't go 
 back, we rathah die." 
 
 The man said in a low voice, "They tied up mah wife, an* 
 whipped huh. She tole all ouah han's Mistah Lincum done set us 
 free!" 
 
 I was looking at the children. 
 
 "Don't you need something to eat?" I asked. 
 
 One of the smaller children began to cry. 
 
 I had time to feel miserably inadequate to this pitiful situation 
 when a young colored woman I had not noticed before, came sud- 
 denly out of the shadows. She picked up the colored baby, cuddled 
 him against her shoulder. 
 
 "Hush yo' cryin'," she said. "Crissie goin' find you somepin to eat." 
 
 She glanced at me. I asked, "How did you get here?" 
 
 "Ah picked 'em up on mah way to the lines," she replied calmly. 
 
 "Do you think," I asked, "you could lead these people back to 
 Colonel Bradley's brigade headquarters? I'll give you a note to our 
 cook, Johnson. He can't read, but you can tell him what's in it. He's 
 to give all of you all you can hold of his cooking. Can you cook?" 
 I demanded, struck by a sudden thought. 
 
 "Yessuh. Ahm a good cook." 
 
 She spoke simply,— modesty raised to the nth degree. There 
 never was a cook like Crissie! 
 
320 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Hastily writing the note to Johnson, I handed it to the colored 
 girl, said quickly, "Don't you leave our headquarters till I can get 
 back. And make that lazy Johnson have something decent on the 
 table for us, when we do get there." 
 
 "Yessuh." 
 
 Then I had to gallop to overtake my duties. 
 
 "Moody," I called to him in passing, "we've got a new cook. 
 We're going to get something to eat." 
 
 Those colored refugees! 
 
 I suppose, to an American school child studying his history book, 
 slavery stopped off neatly January 1st, 1863, like a cow that has 
 been milked dry. The reality was not so simple. To lonely planta- 
 tions, far out of the current of the times, news came in feeble 
 fashion. Masters determined to keep what they considered their 
 property despite pronouncements from Abraham Lincoln, did not 
 relinquish those rights easily, particularly if these masters were of 
 a passionate or grasping nature. Many of the negroes did not dare 
 to claim their freedom until the proximity of our armies gave them 
 courage. 
 
 Among the hundreds who flocked in to follow the fortunes of the 
 Army of the Cumberland was Crissie. 
 
 Thirty years have come and gone, and softened the outlines of 
 slavery. I notice in this year of 1897 while I write these memoirs, 
 a tendency to present slavery as a sort of delightful guardianship 
 by means of which v/hite masters made it possible for colored slaves 
 to sing and dance around some fine old mansion, with frequent 
 pauses for watermelons and other succulent viands. Crissie's master 
 considered his human stock in the same light with his horses, cattle 
 and mules. His slaves were trained to be good workers, fed plain 
 food in sufficient quantities to insure their working strength, doc- 
 tored when ill, and when they reached the point where they began 
 to show signs of age, taken to market and sold South to have the 
 last remnants of work whipped out of them in the cotton fields. 
 
 Crissie was trained to be an excellent cook, and a superlative 
 laundress. Her master never encouraged her to learn musical num- 
 bers to sing round the old plantation; but he did give her an 
 occasional holiday. He did not mind her going to the pasture to 
 ride one of his spirited colts bareback. So! When she heard the 
 Union army was victorious at Stone River, and the Confederates 
 falling back, Crissie, who had seen several older members of her 
 family depart for the cotton fields, went to her master's pasture, 
 straddled the most spirited two-year-old on the place, leaped the 
 pasture fence, and rode away in the general direction of our lines. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 321 
 
 Well away from her master's home she slapped the colt on his 
 flank, sending him back along the country road. 
 
 "Ah knew Marse take plenty trouble come aftah me fo' that colt," 
 she used to say, telling the story of her flight. She readily made a 
 place for herself with us, serving waffles and pancakes to the boys 
 in blue. She was a strong, cheerful girl, seventeen, I think, when I 
 first saw her. As a cook she was superb. I fell into the habit of 
 saying to her, "Crissie, when the war is over, I'm going to be 
 married. Then I'll send for you, and you shall be our cook. 
 
 XIX 
 
 Rebellion Records, Series 1, Vol. vin, p. 57. 
 
 Report of Captain William S. Oliver, Seventh Missouri Infantry, 
 
 to Brig. -Gen. Pope, dated Independence, Mo., February 3, 1863. 
 "General: I have just returned from an expedition which I was 
 compelled to undertake in search of the notorious Quantrill and 
 his gang of robbers in the vicinity of Blue Springs. Without 
 mounted men at my disposal, despite numerous applications to 
 various points, I have seen this infamous scoundrel rob mails, 
 steal coaches and horses, and commit other similar outrages upon 
 society even within sight of this city. Mounted on the best horses 
 of the country, he has defied pursuit, making his camp in the 
 bottoms of the Sni and the Blue, and roving over a circuit of 
 thirty miles. I mounted a company of my command, and went to 
 Blue Springs. The first night there myself, with 5 men, were 
 ambushed by him and fired upon. We killed 2 of his men (of 
 whom he had 18 or 20) and wounded a third. The next day we 
 killed four more of the worst of the gang, and before we left 
 succeeded in dispersing them. . . . 
 
 "Quantrill will not leave this section unless he is chastised and 
 driven from it. I hear of him tonight fifteen miles from here, with 
 new recruits, committing outrages on Union men, a large body 
 of whom have come in tonight, driven out by him. Families of 
 Union men are coming into the city tonight, asking me for 
 escorts to bring in their goods and chattels, which I duly fur- 
 nished. I had a man killed and 2 wounded during the expedition." 
 In the war between the states Western Missouri was tragically 
 
 divided. 
 
 Centuries before the American civil conflict the two classes des- 
 tined to clash on the Missouri frontier began to move westward 
 beneath the star of empire. Exponents of conflicting ideologies 
 
322 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 they renewed their struggle in every generation. At times a nominal 
 truce gave them a fleeting appearance of peace; but at the juncture 
 of the Kansas and the Missouri rivers two peoples met like angry 
 seas, mutually destructive. Here were the folk who, now and then 
 and always, hold themselves a superior race, created by God to 
 rule. These would overthrow a Union that made even a tentative 
 gesture toward abridgment of their privileges, or a dimming of 
 their self-glorification. To these high-whites human slavery was the 
 legitimate, God-ordained institution of their order: equality of the 
 races was unthinkable horror. 
 
 Over against this first class place the thinkers. 
 
 Thinkers, like other beings, value power and property and posi- 
 tion as proper adjuncts of a successful earthly journey. But thinkers, 
 God help them, must sacrifice all worldly goods to their heritage of 
 a mighty struggle. To the thinkers in Western Missouri in those first 
 years of civil war, the destruction of the slaveocracy was a necessary 
 sacrifice to the preservation of the Union, and the Union stood to 
 them for all the human freedom so preciously garnered during 
 many generations. 
 
 Beneath these two clashing landed groups were the human dregs 
 thrown off by every generation of competitive society, sure to ap- 
 pear on any scene where destruction was to be wreaked for profit. 
 Side by side with legitimate warfare by armed forces,— if warfare 
 can ever be that,— came robbery, rape, murder and arson, secretly 
 supported by wealthy Southern sympathizers and wearing the guer- 
 rilla shirt and the hat with the silver star. The greatest outrages in 
 the state of Missouri were committed by Missourians upon Mis- 
 sourians. 
 
 Quantrill on his tall, brown horse, Charley, fled along a back 
 country Missouri road, too closely pursued by Captain Oliver and 
 half a dozen mounted men. At a certain point in the road the 
 guerrilla reined in abruptly, flung himself from his mount, and 
 commanded, "Go on, Charley!" The tall, powerful horse shook his 
 head violently, plunged once or twice, then set off at a run down 
 the tree-bordered road. 
 
 Hastily Quantrill removed two logs that lay against an overgrown 
 hedge. He went swiftly through the aperture disclosed, turned to 
 replace the logs, made his lithe, swift way along a faint path that 
 led him further and further from the danger of Union soldiers. After 
 a walk of some ten minutes he came into a semi-clearing dominated 
 by the ruin of a small log house. 
 
 The guerrilla chief did not immediately enter the clearing. In- 
 
A UNION FOREVER 323 
 
 stead he stood motionless during five or more minutes while he 
 studied the quiet scene. Moving with extreme caution he circled 
 the clearing behind a thick shield of bushes. Finally he crossed to 
 the cabin and jerked open one of its two doors. He stepped into 
 the kitchen lean-to of the cabin and discovered a girl who was 
 replenishing the larder from two large baskets. 
 
 "Good evening, Colonel Quantrill," said the girl in a matter-of-fact 
 tone, lifting a sack filled with meal or sugar, laying it beside a heap 
 of yams and June apples. 
 
 Quantrill swept off his black-plumed hat, bowing extravagantly 
 while his eyes took on their terrifying glow. 
 
 "How do you know my name?" he demanded. 
 
 "I saw you fight the battle of Independence. I stood at an upstairs 
 window, and I saw you charge the Union troops." 
 
 "I'll be damned. You must be a cool one." 
 
 The girl continued to remove stores from her baskets while a rich 
 color rose in her dark cheeks under the guerrilla's gaze. This gaze 
 grew warmer as he noted one after another of her attractions. She 
 wore a close-fitting habit of dark blue, tastefully draped away from 
 her riding boots for greater freedom in walking. On her head was a 
 black-plumed hat very like the one Quantrill wore. Her features 
 were both bold and beautiful, her eyes black and flashing, her 
 teeth especially pretty as she smiled at the guerrilla's exclamation. 
 
 After a brief silence Quantrill asked, "Where is your horse?" 
 
 "I left him half a mile away in a thicket. I couldn't afford to risk 
 losing him to the Union. He doesn't belong to me." 
 
 Quantrill walked over to the table and selected a richly colored 
 June apple. Biting into it he continued to gaze at the girl. 
 
 "May I ask your name?" he ventured at length. 
 
 "You may ask it, yes." 
 
 "But you won't tell it to me?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Look here! You come to one of our best guarded hideouts. You 
 know me on sight. And you aren't willing to tell me your name." 
 
 "Yes, I know a great deal about you. How is Nancy? And that 
 pretty widow,— what's her name? Is she well?" 
 
 Suddenly matching her mood Quantrill said with one of his rare 
 smiles, "Both were doing nicely at last accounts." 
 
 A silence followed during which Quantrill munched a second 
 apple and studied the girl before him with ever deeper interest. The 
 girl brought from the second of her baskets beaten biscuits and 
 cold fried chicken. 
 
 "Better sit down and have something more substantial than 
 
324 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 apples," she remarked in the mock severe tone women reserve for 
 men who touch their hearts. 
 
 Til do that." 
 
 The guerrilla brought forward two of the ancient stools that served 
 the kitchen as chairs. Gallantly he bowed the girl to one of the 
 stools. As she passed him closely both girl and man experienced 
 something like electric shock, a bewildering but delightful ex- 
 change of nerve force. Their color rose, but she tried to ignore the 
 phenomenon, breaking into pointless talk. 
 
 Two hours later she was still talking, this time in the shelter of 
 the wild tangle that surrounded the cabin. An ancient loop of 
 grapevine made a swing for her, and the guerrilla stood beside her, 
 swaying her gently a foot forward, a foot backward. Then William 
 Clarke Quantrill began to do the talking. The girl merely needed 
 to toss in a question here and there. For the first time in his life 
 Quantrill was unreservedly opening his heart to another human 
 being. 
 
 "Now, I've told you all about myself, and I don't even know your 
 name," he finished at last. "How am I ever going to find you again, 
 if you don't tell me your name?" 
 
 "Do you want to find me again?" 
 
 He put a gentle hand under her chin, tipping her face upward 
 until their eyes met. 
 
 "Do I want to find you?" he asked, half boldly, half shyly. For 
 this was no ordinary experience. 
 
 "Then why let me go? If you take me with you, you won't have 
 to find me." 
 
 A thunder of approaching hoofs startled them. The guerrilla drew 
 a brace of army revolvers, as both man and girl froze into union 
 with the undergrowth. The brown horse Charley galloped into the 
 clearing. He neighed loudly, seeing Quantrill, came to his master to 
 lay a tired, drooping head on the guerrilla's shoulder. 
 
 "Charley, you rascal, you jumped that hedge!" 
 
 "What a fine horse!" exclaimed the girl. 
 
 "I took him from Buell in that fight you saw at Independence. 
 Charley, you see this young lady? You're to treat her as a gentleman 
 should. No biting or kicking here, Charley. Understand?" 
 
 For reply the brown horse blew mightily through his nostrils. 
 
 He allowed the girl to stroke his forehead. Watching her, Quan- 
 trill asked, "Did you mean that about going with me?" 
 
 "I didn't say I would go with you." 
 
 "Now, see here " 
 
A UNION FOREVER 325 
 
 "I asked you why you didn't take me with you? There's a dif- 
 ference." 
 
 The girl looked briefly into his eyes, turned back to the horse. 
 
 "Charley couldn't carry us both," worried Quantrill aloud. "He'd 
 never make the climb, tired as he is. What do you want up in those 
 hills anyway? Couldn't I come to see you some place?" 
 
 "No, Colonel Quantrill." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because I am not Nancy. I am not your widow. I am not any of 
 the ladies you call upon when it is convenient. You must take me 
 with you to the hills. And you must take me there to stay." She 
 glanced at the fading light in the cleared space round the cabin. 
 "I must be getting back where I stay. I've been away too long." 
 
 "Fletch Taylor has a fine grey mare he captured yesterday. If he 
 gets here tonight, I'll borrow her for you. But you'll be gone. Must 
 you go away?" 
 
 "I'll tell you the truth. Nobody will make any outcry at my de- 
 parture into the hills. But I'm riding a valuable horse. I must return 
 him. And I want a few personal things. Just a bundle I can carry 
 in my hand." She gave Quantrill a direct look. "You think I may 
 not come back?" 
 
 For reply the guerrilla said, "Isn't it time you told me your name?" 
 
 "Suppose you call me Kate." 
 
 "Plain Kate?" 
 
 "Plain Kate." 
 
 Smiling, Quantrill slipped an arm about her to pull her closer. 
 They gazed at one another ardently. Quantrill quoted in a teasing 
 voice: 
 
 "for you are called plain Kate, 
 And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; 
 But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
 Kate of Kate-hill, my super-dainty Kate." 
 
 Suddenly somber, the girl answered, "Yes, 'Sometimes . . . Kate 
 the curst'." 
 
 She turned in the guerrilla's arms to place her hands against his 
 beautifully worked guerrilla shirt of brown wool. Compelling him 
 with the serious nature of her look, she said, "I'm going with you 
 into the Sni Hills. And only one promise I ask of you. Never, under 
 any circumstances, must you ask me, or try to learn in any other 
 way, what my true name is. You promise?" 
 
 "If I must." 
 
 "You must." 
 
 "Very well. I promise." 
 
326 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Gay in a flash the girl exclaimed, "What a deal of work some poor 
 dear put on that shirt of yours. I'm glad she was ahead of me. I don't 
 love my needle." 
 
 The guerrilla put this pleasantry aside with a smile, thinking out 
 the situation. 
 
 "Kate does very well," he decided. "And for a last name, why not 
 try Quantrill? We've got a minister in camp. Larkin Skaggs. He 
 doesn't work at his trade lately, but he can marry folks, no doubt. 
 Even if he is practicing the guerrilla profession." 
 
 "I cannot marry you." 
 
 Quantrill's eyes began to glow. 
 
 "You mean you refuse to marry me?" 
 
 "I mean I cannot. It's something you must never ask me. Oh, why 
 can't you trust me in this?" 
 
 Tears came into her eyes, not weak tears, but tears of exaspera- 
 tion. Quantrill suddenly swept her close. 
 
 "Bonny Kate," he murmured. "I'll take you on your own terms, 
 Kate." 
 
 After that the silence grew and grew until Charley the tall brown 
 horse, feeling out of it, pawed the soft earth and nickered fretfully. 
 
 XX 
 
 Headquarters, 3rd Brigade, 
 3rd Division, 20th A.C., June 24th, 1863. 
 My dearest Hettie:— We march in half an hour! Orders came 
 at three o'clock this morning to be ready to march at four, but 
 it has been changed to five o'clock. We take the direct road for 
 Shelbyville, where Bragg is said to be strongly posted. I expect to 
 be in another fight before the week is out. 
 
 I shall think of you often, and I will write at every opportunity. 
 
 Ever your Lewis. 
 
 Three miles from the river we halted and made camp, expecting 
 our wagon train would be up in two or three hours. The first news 
 I had to the contrary came to me from our general factotum, 
 Johnson. 
 
 "Lieutenant Hanback! Lieutenant Hanback!" 
 
 "What now, Johnson?" 
 
 "Bridge done swep' away. All ouah wagons in a watah!" 
 
 "Johnson," I asked, "did you by any chance bring a package of 
 coffee and some hard crackers in your roll for our mess?" 
 
 But as usual Johnson was traveling light. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 327 
 
 We, the staff officers of the 3rd Brigade, held a council on the 
 
 now all-important subject of supper. Moody took an orderly and 
 
 started back to our wagons for supplies. Meanwhile I examined the 
 
 roadside nearby. 
 
 "Johnson," I called. He was lingering modestly in the background. 
 
 "That's a cornfield over there. You go strip off a couple dozen ears. 
 
 We'll have a corn bake." 
 
 By the time the corn was nicely ready, Moody was back with 
 
 bread and bacon from our wagons, and we had a big pot of coffee 
 
 boiling. After supper we spread our blankets, laughed and talked, 
 
 listened to the bugles play tatoo. Just before we dozed off I heard 
 
 Moody laugh. 
 He said, "Hanback, do you know the name of this place where 
 
 were camped?" 
 "What is it?" 
 "I'm afraid to tell you. It's so romantic you'll get up and write a 
 
 letter." 
 
 "Moody," I demanded, "will you tell me the name of this place 
 
 so I can get to sleep?" 
 "Certainly," said Moody. "It is called Hog Jaw Valley." 
 Rosecrans' strategy in flanking Tullahoma, had met with brilliant 
 
 success. He had out-generaled Bragg, and the North rang with his 
 
 praise. Meanwhile, despite military fair weather, I carried a heavy 
 
 heart. Hettie had ceased to write. 
 
 Headquarters, 3rd Brigade, 
 3rd Division, 20th A.C., July 16, 1863. 
 My darling Hettie;— Perhaps you would like to know where 
 I am at present? 
 
 On the top of the Cumberland mountains, about half-way be- 
 tween Tullahoma and Chattanooga, is situated what was intended 
 to be an institution to be called, "The University of the South". 
 It was intended to build a strictly modern institution. In the 
 autumn of 1860 the cornerstone was laid, and with that the work 
 stopped. Its situation is magnificent. Off about one mile, from 
 the top of a cliff, there is a succession of splendid views. From 
 some points the sight ranges for nearly fifty miles! 
 
 The country surrounding the college site is densely wooded. 
 Close to our headquarters bubbles up an elegant spring of cold, 
 sparkling water. A log house extending two hundred feet, with 
 a porch running all around it, is our headquarters. It seems good 
 to get in a house once. . . . 
 "I've got her tied up, Hanback," exclaimed Moody, hustling 
 
 through the doorway into the large main room we used for a 
 
328 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 lounge and office. "Unfortunately I can't milk her. They don't teach 
 milking in the Chicago schools." 
 
 "A simple process, Moody," I replied, looking away from the heap 
 of papers I had hastily thrown across my letter to Hettie. "I'll be 
 glad to teach you." 
 
 Moody gave me an enigmatic glance. Lounging to a cot under 
 a nearby window, he opened a Southern newspaper. 
 
 "One of our spies is in," he remarked. "He's going to have dinner 
 with us. He's just been in Chattanooga. Says Bragg admits a loss of 
 ten thousand deserters during his retreat. Says Lee lost 30,000 in 
 Pennsylvania. Holy Scott! Hanback, get your nose out of those 
 papers. Let me read you this editorial." 
 
 Without waiting for my permission he read: 
 
 * 'The Southern people are in most deplorable condition. Their 
 money is not worth anything. It takes $300.00 Confederate money to 
 buy $1.00 of gold. In consequence of this state of affairs things have 
 attained to a price that seems almost fabulous. Just think of paying 
 $60.00 for a pair of common boots, such as customarily sell for five 
 or six dollars. Eighteen to twenty dollars for a pair of ladies' shoes. 
 Common calico selling for $1.50 to $2.00 per yard. A common 
 pocket knife which sells in Illinois for $1.00, now readily brings 
 $15.00 to $25.00. And so with everything else. To remedy this situa- 
 tion great Confederate victories are due, and over due." 
 
 I said thoughtfully, "The poor must be suffering. They can't hope 
 to purchase even the commonest necessities at those prices. But I 
 still say the greatest calamity the South has to face is the loss of 
 Stonewall Jackson. He was a brave and able general." 
 
 "This editor recommends the people to eat only two meals a day 
 as a patriotic effort." 
 
 "Two! They'll be lucky to eat one. What a mountain of sorrow 
 these Southern people have raised up for themselves by their own 
 endeavor." 
 
 I went back to my reports until Major Rust entered hastily. 
 
 "Spy just came in. Brings news. Charleston has fallen." 
 
 "Rust," I said, exasperated, "how many times is the fall of 
 Charleston to be celebrated in this army corps? I seem to recall one 
 evening of celebration recently because of Charleston falling. At 
 Old Sledge, when the sledge ran right over my pay check. And 
 completely flattened it." 
 
 "Charleston fallen! Port Hudson surrendered! Vicksburg, Port 
 Hudson, Lee's defeat, Bragg driven back! Glorious, isn't it?" 
 
 Sergeant Lazenby entered, saluted us all smartly, spoke to 
 Moody. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 329 
 
 "Lieutenant Moody?" 
 
 Moody sat up rather suddenly. 
 
 "You know that cow we brought in, sir?" 
 
 "We brought in twelve 'keows', all belonging to the Secesh." 
 
 "Yes, sir. I mean the cow tied up for the officers' mess here at 
 brigade headquarters." 
 
 Before he could tell us more about Moody's cow, voices ap- 
 proached along the porch in animated talk. Crissie appeared in the 
 doorway. 
 
 " 'Scuse me, Lieutenant Hanback," she began as she entered. 
 "But heah's a po' white trash come invadin' into mah kitchen." 
 
 I can see that Tennessee mountain girl as she stood in the door- 
 way, facing us somewhat in fear but a more than good one-half in 
 defiance. A lank, tallowish female wearing a faded calico gown that 
 hung on her figure with all the grace of a dishcloth on a fork. 
 A little stem of althea, her snuff stick, drooped from one corner of 
 her mouth like a broom from a mop pail. Directed by my too loyal 
 friend Crissie,— who never would address even a general if I were 
 present,— this young lady turned her complaint loose in my direction. 
 
 "You-uns done drove off ou' keow." 
 
 "Moody!" 
 
 There was appeal in my voice, as well as exasperation. Moody 
 responded by bowing gracefully toward the young lady. 
 
 "Let me present Brigade Inspector Hanback," he had the au- 
 dacity to say. "He will listen to your story." 
 
 Arm in arm, he and Rust walked out,— well I knew to find a 
 laughing spot. 
 
 Sighing, I turned to the mountain girl. 
 
 "What is your name?" I asked. 
 
 "Lafayette Thomasina McCoy. You-uns done drove off ouah 
 Mooley." 
 
 Visions of sweet milk floated through my mind, together with 
 bread and butter topped with honey! 
 
 I said, "If you will see the brigade quartermaster, he will give 
 you a voucher for your cow. Provided you can prove loyalty to the 
 Federal government. Southerners who sympathize with the Con- 
 federacy are not going to get Uncle Sam's greenbacks." 
 
 "Reckon Ah don't want no vouchah. What Ah want is ouah 
 Mooley." 
 
 "Are your sympathies with the North, or with the South?" 
 
 She shifted her snuffstick, glaring at me. 
 
 "Mah sympathies is with the McCoys. We-uns don't aim to stahve. 
 All we got left is our keow." 
 
330 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Crissie saw relenting in my face. 
 
 "You give huh back that cow, how'm Ah goin' serve apple 
 dumplin's with cream? Ansah me that. Sides, that cow needs 
 milkin'. She need it bad." 
 
 I jumped up. 
 
 "Crissie," I said, "we'll let Miss McCoy drive her Mooley home. 
 But first I'll milk this 'keow'." 
 
 At the dinner table, while the spy entertained us with accounts 
 of the desperate situation of Bragg, deserted by his men and hated 
 by his officers, I was handed a note from General Sheridan. After 
 dinner I walked over to his headquarters, and found him in con- 
 ference with a civilian. 
 
 "Lieutenant Hanback, Mr. Dana," said Little Phil. While Hal- 
 leck's assistant listened closely, Sheridan turned to me. 
 
 "Colonel Roberts told me, when you were made brigade inspector, 
 that you spent some of your boyhood on the Kansas-Missouri 
 border." 
 
 "Yes, sir. I teamed freight through there, to earn money for my 
 schooling." 
 
 "Then you know the roads. In a general way, you ought to be 
 able to get about? You probably know people you can trust as loyal 
 Unionists." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Looks like what we want," put in Dana. 
 
 They conferred together, studying a map. 
 
 "Very well." Sheridan motioned me nearer. "Here are your orders. 
 Study this map with me. You'll go down the narrow gauge. The 
 engineers have got the tracks repaired. When you leave the railroad, 
 hire the best conveyance possible. Money no object. You're to meet 
 a Union purchasing agent at Fort Gibson. Named Scott. Got that? 
 Scott." 
 
 "You'll be expected by him. You're to look at some horses he's 
 collecting for mounted infantry. But what you're really going for . . ." 
 
 Sheridan broke off, looking toward Dana. 
 
 "This Scott," said Dana, "is a boyhood friend of the border chief- 
 tan, William Clarke Quantrill. Without tipping your hand, you're to 
 get us all the information you can about Quantrill." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 I suppose I looked amazement, for Dana said, "I'll go a little 
 farther with you. General Ewing, at Leavenworth, has been holding 
 back on issuing an order to evacuate the western border of Mis- 
 souri. With an election to win next year, we don't want to do this 
 unless we absolutely have to. You see that?" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 331 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 "On the other hand, if the Missouri plantation owners are support- 
 ing this band of cutthroats, we want to know it. Go right straight 
 through to Kansas City. Scott can tell you who to interview there. 
 The 'J- M. Converse' will pick you up and bring you down to St. 
 Louis. Captain Bowman will have word to wait for you." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I think that's all." Dana handed me an envelope. "Your expense 
 account. Keep a record of it," he added carelessly. "It's Republican 
 campaign money." 
 
 While I counted the greenbacks, and receipted for them, General 
 Sheridan cautioned me, "Tell nobody where you're going." 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "You'll leave tonight." 
 
 "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." 
 
 Back at brigade headquarters, while I cleared up my papers and 
 finished my letter to Hettie, Moody lounged on a cot. 
 
 "Hanback," he observed suddenly," that spy at dinner. He puz- 
 zles me. First time ever I saw a man keep his gloves on while he 
 ate." 
 
 "Perhaps he doesn't like to soil his hands," I replied absently. On 
 an impulse I was enclosing my letter to Hettie in a note to Mrs. 
 Daniels. In the note I asked Mrs. Daniels to hand the enclosed 
 letter to Miss Hettie Cooper in a private manner. From Hettie I 
 had received no letter in eight long weeks. 
 
 XXI 
 
 "If I know Bill Quantrill? If I know Bill Quantrill! I don't sup- 
 pose there's anyone knows Bill like I do." 
 
 Driving along in a buckboard with Scott handling the reins, I 
 uttered the magic word to start him talking. I had nothing to do 
 but throw in a question now and then, and store away every word 
 he said, for my report. 
 
 "Canal Dover. Ever been there? You haven't missed much. It's a 
 one-horse place. About the only claim to interest it'll ever have for 
 the outside world, it's where Bill Quantrill was born. 
 
 "Quantrills, they came from Maryland to Canal Dover. Thomas 
 Henry Quantrill, that was Bill' father, he was a tinker. Right away 
 after he came to Ohio he got on the school board in Canal Dover. 
 Next thing, he used some school funds to print a book he— well, I 
 can't say he wrote it. He devised it, with drawings. It showed how 
 to make all the articles of tin we used on the frontier. Tinman's 
 
332 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Guide, he called it. When folks saw that book they were so tickled 
 they didn't care if Thomas Henry Quantrill had purloined the school 
 funds to print it. 
 
 "That is, nobody cared but H. V. Beeson. Harmon Beeson was 
 the man who discovered Thomas Henry had misapplied the school 
 funds. Beeson was a stern man, and Thomas Henry was high strung. 
 He heard what Beeson was saying, that he ought to be made to 
 return public funds, and Thomas Henry went one evening to 
 Beeson's house to shoot him. Beeson was heating a poker in his 
 fireplace, getting ready to mull some cider. You get a poker red 
 hot, then you plunge it into your drink." 
 
 He glanced at me, and I nodded. 
 
 "Thomas Henry rushed in with his pistol. Beeson up with his 
 poker and laid Thomas Henry flat. Some the neighbors carried 
 Thomas Henry home. He had a mean wound on his head. Beeson 
 was a stern man. 
 
 "Well, sir, Thomas Henry Quantrill was elected principal of the 
 Union School, mostly on account of the Tinman's Guide. Did well 
 by the school, too. But he wa'n't long to live. Consumptive. All the 
 Quantrills were more or less consumptive. There was one boy, 
 Frank, had a white swelling in his leg. Made him a cripple for life. 
 He's got to be a furrier. Doing well, too, by last accounts. And Mary, 
 Bill's sister, she was born with curvature of the spine. Poor girl, 
 never known a well day. Bill had a throat trouble, poor little white- 
 faced tike. No one expected to see him grow up. Seemed like the 
 Quantrill family was played out, time it got to Ohio. 
 
 "Old Captain Thomas Quantrill, Bill's grandfather, he was a fine 
 man to look at. Fought in the War of 1812. Regular hero. Always 
 dressed and lived high. Spent his time mostly in Washington City. 
 He was a professional gambler. Now, I know what you're going to 
 ask. Yes, it's true. The captain did have a brother that took to 
 piracy on the Gulf of Mexico. And one of the captain's own boys 
 was a regular hyena. Saw the penitentiary in four or five states. 
 Jesse Duncan Quantrill, he was. Old Captain Thomas thought the 
 world of him, spoiled him from a little fellow. Jesse was a forger, an 
 all-around confidence man. They say he married and deserted six 
 women. Married them for their money, and one of them that kept 
 following him around when he tried to leave her, that one he tried 
 to murder." 
 
 "How did you happen to be such friends with Bill Quantrill?" 
 
 "Why, my father and mother and the Thomas Henry Quantrills 
 set up housekeeping together in Canal Dover. Lot of young folks 
 came west as far as Ohio, early part of the century. Folks thought 
 
A UNION FOREVER 333 
 
 the chances would be better in Ohio than in the longer settled parts, 
 but that Ohio country was pretty well filled, the chances had got 
 picked over. To save money the two young couples set up together. 
 I was a baby at the time. One morning my mother took me in her 
 arms and carried me up the stairs to the front bedroom. Mrs. Quan- 
 trill lay there in bed. She was a pretty woman, with golden hair 
 and large blue eyes. But even then, when she was so young, her 
 mouth turned down at the corners. 
 
 " 'Look here,' my mother says to me, pulling back a blanket, 
 'here's a little new playmate for you. This is William Clarke Quan- 
 trill. I guess we'll call him Billy. Pretty soon he'll be big enough to 
 play with you. And you must take care of him, be a good friend to 
 him all your life'. That's the first thing I remember in this world, 
 looking down at Bill Quantrill red and squirming beside his pretty 
 mother, The first thing, and I somehow know it'll be the last thing 
 I think about when my time comes to go. 
 
 "Thomas Henry Quantrill didn't like his son. I've heard my 
 mother tell it a hundred times. A first-born child, and a boy at that, 
 but his father didn't want him. 'Jealous!' m y mother used to say. 
 'Jealous of his own son!' But Caroline Quantrill made up for Thomas 
 Henry's indifference. There's no doubt about it, Bill always has been 
 her favorite child. She was a queer one, Caroline Clarke Quantrill. 
 Wore herself out in those days, trying to keep up all the little frills 
 of life. Then took out her tiredness on any person handy. Ambitious? 
 My God, yes! She's been the victime of ambition always,— of mad 
 ambition. Seemed like she just padged her cage. Just padged her 
 cage. All her life she's been trying to push someone into making 
 money enough so she could be really grand. First it was Thomas 
 Henry. Then he died on her, and she put all her schemes on Bill. 
 
 "I can see Bill now, a little fellow. Tow-headed and thin shoulder- 
 ed. He used to roam the woods a lot. Got away from the home 
 jangle that way. There was always a baby on the way at the 
 Quantrills'. Some of 'em died young, an' some of 'em lived. But 
 they came regular, bringing rows ahead of themselves. And leaving 
 bitterness behind. 
 
 "There was one remarkable feature to little Bill Quantrill, that 
 was his eyes. Big and blue, they were, like his mother's. But again, 
 not like hers. Sometimes they took a color and glow that frightened 
 you. And those times,— now get this,— Bill was looking away along 
 into his future. He saw things, those times, Bill Quantrill did. 
 
 "One day I recall, he and I had been swimming. We came through 
 the woods and ran into a black snake. Quick as I'm telling it, Bill 
 broke its back with a stick. I was sorry because a good snake is a 
 
334 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 friend. Now I wanted, in mercy, to finish the critter off. But Bill 
 didn't seem to hear my proposal. He was fastening the snake to a 
 tree, so the poor thing shouldn't wriggle away. Finally, when I got 
 him to look at me, his eyes had that terrible glow. 
 
 " 1 can't kill it,' he says, 1 can't. I got to know something. I got 
 to know how long it takes to die when your back's broke'. 
 
 "Bill Quantrill was far and away the brightest scholar in the Union 
 school. And the most troublesome. He tried his father, no doubt of 
 that. No principal could enjoy having his own son disrupt his 
 school. One day, when Bill was fifteen, as I recollect, his father 
 thrashed him. Whipped him without mercy. Bill came back to class 
 white and trembling. And Lord, the hate in his eyes. No love lost, 
 ever, between those two, father and son, father and son. 
 
 "That was the last time Thomas Henry raised a whip at Bill. A 
 year later Bill was given some classes to teach. Yes, sir, he was 
 teaching at sixteen. And Thomas Henry was dying. 
 
 "After his father's death there was some talk of keeping Bill on 
 to teach at the Union school. But Beeson put a stop to that. Harmon 
 Beeson never had got over Thomas Henry coming at him with that 
 pistol. Bill was dropped, and that hurt him, drove him in on 
 himself. 
 
 "Mrs. Quantrill had a hard time, poor woman, after Thomas 
 Henry's death. There was Bill at a loose end. And Mary, she 
 wa'n't strong. Mary took in plain sewing, day after day, to help out. 
 And there was the younger boys, too little to help, but just the age 
 to eat plenty and wear out their shoes. Bill looked around for work, 
 but Canal Dover was dead. Nothing there for any young fellow 
 that didn't have well-fixed people. 
 
 "About this time a lady teacher left Canal Dover for Mendota, 
 Illinois. Mrs. Quantrill asked her to take Bill along, and help him 
 to get a school. Caroline Quantrill is Bill's mother, and I certainly 
 don't want to cheapen her. But this I must say. She has a brooding, 
 grasping nature. A pretty woman still, after all her poverty and 
 child bearing. Bright golden hair, and blue eyes. A little woman, 
 with a dainty figure. Something catlike in her way of coming 
 toward you, long motions like a tiger. That catlike walk is the one 
 thing Bill takes from her. That and his coloring. His tall build and 
 his aristocratic nose and the way his lids droop over his eyes,— pure 
 Quantrill. 
 
 "Bill went with this lady teacher to Mendota. And that was bad, 
 you can see that. A young fellow ought to start the world on his 
 own, leastways not with one woman handing his over to another that 
 way. Sort of pushed out, he was, given to understand that money 
 
A UNION FOREVER 335 
 
 was expected from him. Money immediately. Caroline Quantrill! 
 All her life she's been reaching for the moon, and always trying to 
 use the other fellow's hand to rake it in for her. Warped away from 
 common sense. She imagines the other fellow can exist without food, 
 clothing or shelter. The amount she expects him to hand over is 
 exactly all he can make. 
 
 "Bill got a school near Mendota. One of those boarding round 
 schools with very little cash money attached. He made some money 
 selling copies of the Tinman's Guide. He told me once he sold 
 thirty copies in one day in Chicago. But he didn't send any money 
 home, and Caroline Quantrill padged her cage. The family was 
 living mostly off Mary's earnings, poor girl. Old Captain Quantrill, 
 he kept to Washington City. I suppose he had his ups and downs 
 in the gambling game. And his tastes were high; they took money, 
 all the money he won. 
 
 "After a while Bill quit writing home. 
 
 "Have you ever thought, lieutenant, how in this world a little 
 kindness to a young person might often change the destiny of a 
 human soul? There was Bill Quantrill, sent away from all the at- 
 tachments of his life while he was still too young to go out under 
 his steam. He used to write to me: 'Tell me the news and fun'. I was 
 young, too, heedless and blind. Sometimes I wonder which was 
 worse for him, times when I forgot to write, or times when I re- 
 collected myself and made him more gosh darned homesick with 
 my letters. 
 
 "Suddenly, as I say, Bill quit writing. Then rag-ends of rumors 
 drifted Canal Dover way. Bill had shot a man and killed him! 
 
 "Seems Bill had given up teaching. Gone to work keeping books 
 in a lumber yard in Mendota. One day he was alone through the 
 noon hour. Someone heard a shot, and they found Bill with a pistol 
 in his hand, standing over the body of a man. Bill said the man 
 tried to rob him. Bill was held, spent weeks in jail. The man was a 
 stranger, there were no witnesses. After a while Bill was turned out. 
 Not cleared in a fair trial, just turned out. 
 
 "I hate to think of that nineteen-year-old sitting in a jail in a 
 strange town day after day, facing a murder charge. No company 
 but his thoughts. That was bad. No one ever got the true story of 
 that shooting. Sometimes I've wondered if the stranger was maybe 
 a professional gambler. And Bill was using company money, 
 desperate to get enough so he could go home. And he caught the 
 fellow cheating! 
 
 "Bill did come home after they let him out of jail. But the murder 
 story was ahead of him. H. V. Beeson said: 'Like father, like son'. 
 
336 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Anyway there wa'n't jobs to go around. Canal Dover is just like any 
 other settled American town. Folks that had jobs to give, had 
 swarms of young kin to give 'em to. Caroline Quantrill kept on 
 padging her cage. And pretty soon she got another big idea. 
 
 "That was in '57. All the talk was Kansas Territory. Folks said 
 now the pro-slavery element was definitely in control, there wouldn't 
 be any fight left in the territory. Harmon V. Beeson and Colonel 
 Hemy Torrey decided to move out there and take up claims. They 
 both owed some money in Canal Dover, but they were sound men. 
 Their creditors knew they'd pay up, once they got started in Kansas. 
 Caroline Quantrill went to them and asked them to take Bill with 
 them and help him to stake out a claim. At first they refused, but 
 she wouldn't take no. At last Colonel Torrey gave in, then he 
 persuaded Beeson. They left Canal Dover at the first sign of spring 
 with Beeson's boy and Bill. 
 
 "She's Bill's mother, so I don't want to say too much. But I can't 
 forget Bill's face as the stage drove away. He was nineteen, but he 
 looked sixteen. His face was white, the saddest expression I've ever 
 seen. 
 
 "The two men and the two boys arrived on the Marais des Cygnes 
 in Franklin county, Kansas Territory in March of '57. Colonel 
 Quantrill took up a claim to hold for the Quantrills in Bill's name. 
 That wa'n't strictly legal, but most things went in Kansas those 
 days. Along in May my father got a letter from Colonel Torrey. He 
 said Bill wa'n't happy, he thought one reason was he'd not had a 
 letter from his mother. After I thought that over I decided to call 
 on Mrs. Quantrill. Course I was just a young squirrel. Sitting there 
 in her kitchen, trying to get my courage up, I could feel my insides 
 fighting one another. Finally I just blurted out, 'Mrs. Quantrill, why 
 don't you write to Bill?' 
 
 "I'll never forget how she turned and came swinging toward me, 
 for all the world like a wild thing coming down a cage. 
 
 " 1 wish,' s' she, 'folks in this town could learn to mind their own 
 business. Just understand this, once and for all. I'm not going to 
 write to William. He's a mother's boy. If I was to write him, and 
 he could read the least wish to see him into my letter, he'd be right 
 back here'. 
 
 " 'Don't you want to see him?' I asked, feeling queer in mind and 
 body. 
 
 " 'That's neither here nor there. He's all I've got to work with, if 
 I expect ever to get out of this awful town. Ever to be somebody. 
 He's all I've got, do you understand? All I've got.' 
 
 "'But,' s' I, 'you might not always have him, Mrs. Quantrill. A 
 
A UNION FOREVER 337 
 
 young fellow Bill's age, he might want to take him a wife'. 
 
 "She stood looking at me like I'd stabbed her mortally. 
 
 " 'He won't do that/ she said. 
 
 "I'd put an idea in her head. Harmon Beeson came east for his 
 womenfolk in May, and Mrs. Quantrill sent Bill a letter by him. 
 A letter explaining to him how foolish it would be for him to saddle 
 himself with a wife. Before all this, however, there had been trouble 
 on the Marais des Cygnes. Harmon Beeson and Colonel Torrey put 
 Bill to work cutting timber and turning sod. Ever try to turn sod, 
 young man? Then, don't. At night, dead tired, the two boys would 
 roll up together in a pair of blankets. On the floor of the small 
 cabin they found on their claim. In his sleep Bill used to roll over 
 and carry away the covers from Beeson's boy. This made Harmon 
 Beeson mad, so he said he'd sleep with Bill. That night he woke 
 up with a strange feeling of something wrong. There was Bill 
 standing over him, with a Mexican dagger belonged to Beeson. Bill 
 was just about to plunge that dagger into Beeson's breast. 
 
 "Beeson shouts at him, Tut up that dagger.' 
 
 "While Bill was hesitating Colonel Torrey woke up. He saw the 
 situation in a hurry. Talked to Bill, and finally got him to give up 
 the dagger. As soon as the boy was disarmed Beeson went outside 
 and came back with a club. He pounded Bill till the boy begged 
 for mercy. 
 
 "Now, there's some men not made for grinding physical toil. 
 They have great mental energy, and when they're tied to a dull 
 physical routine day after day, the mental energy is pent up. Till 
 one hour there comes an explosion. Then it's too bad for themselves 
 and everybody else. 
 
 "Take the animal kingdom, nobody expects to hitch a race horse 
 to a plow. Nobody despises a plow-horse because he couldn't win 
 a race. The little lap dog in his satin-lined basket is cherished with- 
 out an idea of making him into a bird dog. The collie coursing over 
 the moors and keeping watch over the lambs of the flock isn't 
 asked to spend his days in my lady's bedroom. Why is man sane 
 about the animals and insane about his own kind? Because man is 
 not jealous of animal ability. Someday the human race will return 
 to the dust from which it came. Or save itself for substituting 
 honesty for jealousy. 
 
 "After that terrible beating Bill practically left the Beeson-Torrey 
 establishment. One day when he was exploring after he first got 
 his claim, he'd found some squatters named Bennings. John Ben- 
 nings was a pro-slavery poor white trapper and hunter. Came over 
 to Kansas Territory from Pike City, Missouri. Bennings had a brood 
 
338 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 of young ones all favoring him, tall, thin-breasted and consumptive. 
 Adolphus was the boy nearest Bill's age, but Bill liked them all. 
 I suppose they looked up to him, and that sort of healed the ache 
 in him that came from being treated with more or less contempt 
 by the Torrey-Beeson crowd. He took to spending more and more 
 time either hunting and fishing with John Bennings or taking part 
 in the shiftless, sort of light-hearted life at the Bennings cabin. 
 
 "Four of us young fellows from Canal Dover came out next trip 
 with Harmon Beeson and his family. We set up our claims, and 
 named our little settlement Tuscarora Lake. Bill Quantrill was 
 another being when he saw us. He brought his belongings over and 
 joined us straight off. Nobody could have been more steady than 
 he was. Did a lot of the tedious inside work that makes batching 
 such a chore. That was a happy summer. 
 
 "Happy that is, for everybody but Frances Beeson. She paled 
 and drooped, poor girl. Looked like she might go into a decline, 
 she was so homesick for Canal Dover. 
 
 "One Sunday afternoon all of us Canal Dover young folks went 
 for a stroll up the Marais des Cygnes. The air was cool and clear 
 after a storm in the night. Birds of fifty different sorts sang in the 
 oaks and willows and sycamores. Flew from place to place on bird 
 errands. The squirrels were noisy and challenging, until they 
 dodged away from us behind swinging loops of wild grapevine. 
 The river was so clear we could see the fish lurking ten or twenty 
 feet below the surface. We were all in great spirits,— except Frances. 
 She just sat right down on a fallen tree trunk. Buried her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 "We all stopped to look at her. 
 
 Finally someone ventured, 'Why don't you go back to Canal 
 Dover on a visit?' 
 
 " 'Where would I ever get the money for that?' says Frances. It 
 would take a hundred dollars.' 
 
 " 'Could you do it for a hundred dollars?' says Bill. 
 
 "He dropped down beside Frances on the log, and he clasped his 
 hands between his knees, a way he had when he was nervous. 
 
 " 'Of course I could.' 
 
 "Frances looked and sounded cross. 
 
 "'Then I'll tell you what,' says Bill. 'You can give me up and 
 collect a reward. There's a hundred dollar reward offered for me.' 
 
 "S' I, 'Bill, what on earth are you talking about?' 
 
 "He turned to me with that strange look in his eyes. 
 
 "Remember one dusk when I was a little fellow, you met me 
 driving our old Bossy home? There was one big star awfully big in 
 
A UNION FOREVER 339 
 
 the West, and the sweet clover smell came up to us from the road- 
 side? I wouldn't talk, and you kept asking me what was wrong? 
 Why I looked so white and sick? 
 
 "I thought back across ten years. Finally I nodded. 
 
 " 1 remember. That was the night someone locked the priest's 
 housekeeper in the church belfry.' 
 
 " 'And the Catholic church offered a reward of one hundred 
 dollars, they were so mad about it.' 
 
 "Every one of us stared at Bill. We were too astounded to speak. 
 
 "He laughed. 
 
 " I've wished a thousand times I knew some way to collect that 
 hundred.' He turned to Frances, and I'll swear his expression was 
 beautiful. 'You go ahead and tell on me. Get the money and take 
 your trip.' 
 
 "S' I, 'Bill Quantrill, how did you happen to do such a trick? Why, 
 that poor girl was penned in that belfry nearly twenty-four hours. 
 She mighty nigh went crazy.' 
 
 "Bill says, 'I was passing. I heard the bell toll. And I saw the big 
 key in the lock. I turned it." 
 
 "Frances just kept staring at him, horrified. Any sort of tampering 
 with a church was the very last thing among respectable Canal 
 Dover folks. Bill felt the tension, he knew he'd made a false move. 
 He jumped up, laughing sort of wild. He pointed to a tree limb 
 stood well out from a big sycamore. 
 
 "'Look at the length of that limb,' says he. 'I could hang five 
 men on it.' 
 
 "That finished it. Without another word we all began walking 
 back to the Beeson cabin. Bill and I found ourselves walking last, 
 and alone. My mind was back in the past, in Canal Dover. 
 
 "S' I, 'Bill, what made you lock that poor Irish girl into the 
 church belfry?' 
 
 " 'I didn't mean to lock her in. I was after the priest/ 
 
 " 'He was out of town that night,' I says, remembering. 'What did 
 you have against the priest?' 
 
 "He didn't answer. In a moment he went plunging away through 
 the undergrowth. 
 
 "Bill was changed from then on. For one reason, Harmon Beeson 
 forbid Frances to have anything more to do with Bill. 
 
 " 'Crazy as a loon,' says Harmon Beeson. 
 
 "Bill began to spend his time at the Bennings cabin. Meanwhile 
 we Tuscarora boys began to miss articles and money in our cabin. 
 Bill elected himself detective to find the thief. Finally, come spring, 
 our best blankets disappeared. We went on a real search then. 
 
340 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Discovered Bill had sold them to some neighbors. We boys held a 
 conference. Best I could do for Bill was get them to let him off if 
 he'd promise to move. We needn't have held that conference. Bill 
 had already moved. He and Dolph Bennings went away together. 
 Started West in search of adventure, and they were gone a year. 
 
 "When they came back Bill got the school. Taught all winter, 
 orderly as you please. There's young folks in Franklin county will 
 tell you what a fine teacher William Clarke Quantrill was. 
 
 "I didn't see so much of Bill that winter, being East a good part 
 of the time. In late May, when I got back to Tuscarora, Bill was 
 gone again. I never saw him but once after that. 
 
 "When Bill began to be a notorious figure on the border, couple 
 of years back, Ohio folks took to sending marked newspapers to 
 Caroline Quantrill. So she could learn what he was doing. To my 
 knowledge she hadn't heard from him since 1860. Until the papers 
 began coming, she thought he was dead. She sent for me when I 
 was back in Canal Dover, asked me to see him. She still hoped he 
 might someway benefit the family. Seems she'd heard the Con- 
 federacy was giving him a commission. I promised her I'd do what 
 I could, but I didn't have much hope. By this time I was a purchas- 
 ing agent for the Union army; and his affiliations were with the 
 Confederacy. 
 
 "Bill has headquarters in the thick timber on the Blue, with a 
 hideout, according to talk, in the Sni hills. No chance my seeing 
 him there. But I went into Kansas City, and, as luck would have it, 
 I heard someone say, 'Charley Quantrill's in town.' That was the 
 name he had with lots of Missourians. I found Bill in the third 
 pro-slavery bar. Not that he was ever a drinking man for he wa'n't. 
 Nor he don't use tobacco. Women are his weakness. And gambling. 
 It's the same thing. 
 
 "Bill was glad to see me, I could tell that. He was wearing a 
 Confederate officer's uniform. And a wide guerrilla hat with a 
 silver star pinning the brim up in front. He looked handsome. His 
 yellow hair was a little deeper in color than I remembered, worn 
 short though the guerrillas mostly let theirs grow. And his eyes! 
 That wonderful blue. His color was high, his frame had filled out. 
 Yes, he was a handsome man. 
 
 "While we stood at the bar, sort of embarrassed, trying to get 
 reacquainted, a young fellow steps up and says, 'Charley Hart!' 
 
 "Bill turned to look at him. 
 
 " 'Charley Hart! You'll have to let me buy you a drink,' says this 
 young fellow. 'Why, I was in Tobasco Monte's joint in Fort Bridger. 
 The day you broke the bank.' He turned to me for audience, and 
 
A UNION FOREVER 341 
 
 one or two bystanders sort of drew into the group we made. 'Never 
 saw anything so cool,' says the young fellow. 'He come in the 
 gambling hell with a colored silk handkerchief gathered up by 
 the corners in his left hand. He walks up to the banker dealing 
 monte, gambler by the name of Leak. He sets the handkerchief on 
 the table and opens it out. He had gold coins about equal to the 
 stacks in front of the dealer. 
 
 " ' "Take a tap, pard," he says, Hart's pile against the dealer's. 
 
 " 1 was standing right there, and I saw it all. Well, the banker, 
 this Leak, he took the bet. He shuffled the cards. Passed the deck 
 to Hart to cut. Everyone drew in close. We was all as still as 
 death. The banker threw a layout of six cards. Hart set his hand- 
 kerchief full of gold on a card. And just as he done that, he drew 
 a pistol. 
 
 "Merely to insure fair play," he says. 
 
 ' 'The banker had his gun laying on the table, mighty convenient. 
 "Now deal," says Hart. 
 
 "'He was keeping his eyes on the dealer's hands. The banker 
 turned the deck face up and drew off the cards. Hart's card won. 
 It was the dead man's card, the ace of spades. The dealer swore, 
 but when he looked up, he was lookin' into the barrel of Hart's 
 navy revolver. 
 
 ' "Back out," says Hart, just as cool. "Don't touch your pistol. 
 I'll give it back to you," he says, "when I rake in the pot." 
 
 " 'He was just as cool. He swept the banker's pistol and money 
 over to himself. He gathered in the twenties, tens, fives and two- 
 fifties. Then he swept the silver onto the floor. 
 
 " ' "I don't take chicken feed," he says. 
 
 " 'We all went scrambling for the silver. Wanted luck pieces. 
 And Hart, he handed the banker a double eagle. 
 "Stake you, pard," he says. 
 
 "'It was next day you lost your luck. Got cleaned out. Started 
 back East.' 
 
 "The young fellow had swung round on Bill. 
 
 "He says, 'You gotta let me buy you a drink.' 
 
 "Bill's eyes had that terrible piercing steel, blue-fire look they 
 can get. That look, when he turned it on the young fellow, was 
 murder. 
 
 " 'My name,' he says, 'is Quantrill. William Clarke Quantrill.' 
 
 "The young fellow began to squirm backwards towards the 
 swinging doors. 
 
 ' 'You'll have to excuse me,' he says. He fairly ran out of the 
 place. 
 
342 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Bill gave me the saddest smile I ever hope to see. 
 "Says he, 'Let me buy you another drink.' 
 "That's the last time Bill and I got together." 
 
 XXII 
 
 During the late afternoon and early evening hours of the tenth 
 day of August, 1863, horsemen alone and in groups, but never in 
 numbers, converged on the farm of Captain Perdee, on the Black- 
 water in Johnson county, Missouri. Meeting and riding, they ex- 
 changed news and comments. 
 
 "They's a big raid comin'." 
 
 "Good thing, too. This whole summer's been wasted." 
 
 "You know why, don't yuh?" inquired a handsome guerrilla in a 
 brilliantly red shirt. "Charley Quantrill's been layin' up in the Sni 
 hills with a new woman he got." 
 
 "That's right. George Todd, he's been makin' hay in the sunshine, 
 all summer. Mighty near got the men away from Quantrill. Todd's 
 been after the leadership ever since he joined the company." 
 
 "Hell! Charley Quantrill's got a commission. In the army of the 
 Confederacy a colonel's still a colonel. And a second lieut is a 
 second lieut. Todd's mind is gettin' a might to grand for him." 
 
 "Cunnel? Mebbe. They do say Quantrill brought a cunnel's 
 commission West aftah his visit to Richmon'." 
 
 "Don't you believe it. He an' Judah P. Benjamin didn't see eye 
 to eye." 
 
 The group shifted. New riders joined them from an obscure side 
 road. In the realignment a man who found himself riding with the 
 scarlet shirt inquired, "What about this woman of Quantrill's?" 
 
 "Don't ask me about her. The chief keeps her hidden. None of us 
 have seen her except Fletch Taylor. He met Quantrill at a hideout 
 on the Blue one night in early summer. Fletch had his grey mare 
 with him on a halter, an' the chief said he wanted to borrow her for 
 a girl to ride. There was some talk Quantrill carried the girl off 
 bodily, but Fletch says she came willing." 
 
 "What's her name?" 
 
 "Your guess on that is as good as mine. They say Charley wanted 
 to marry her. Asked Lark Skaggs to perfrom the ceremony. But she 
 wouldn't have it. She told him she'd take his middle name without 
 any lines being said. Calls herself Kate Clarke." 
 
 "What makes you call Bill Quantrill out of his name? You call 
 him Charley." 
 
 "Lots of folks call him Charley. Well, there's more than one man 
 
A UNION FOREVER 343 
 
 in this outfit with a mystery round his name. They say Quantrill 
 named that horse of his 'Charley' after himself. That horse is a devil. 
 Quantrill leaves him run loose at night like a watchdog. Bill 
 Anderson went up to Charley's hideout, kind o' sneakin up. An* 
 Charley like to killed him. Quantrill got there just in time to save 
 Anderson. He says to Bill Anderson, in that cold tone he can use, 
 'Next time, Bill, I'll let him finish you'. There's bad blood between 
 Anderson an' Quantrill." 
 
 "Bill Anderson, he's another mystery," declared the first speaker. 
 "For all he looks so tough, all that hair on his face, I've seen him 
 wearin' broadcloth as mannerly as hell in church. Saw him come 
 aboard a river packet with two genuwine ladies, might have been 
 his mother and sister, for all I know. Colored servants with 'em. 
 Captain makin' bows. . . . Say! Don't tell Anderson I told you that. 
 He's so damned high-tempered, might sink his bowie in me." 
 
 "Who the hell you think I am?" demanded the handsome youth 
 in the scarlet shirt. "Mammy at the thimble party?" 
 
 Spurring his horse, he shot by one group after another of the 
 riders, presently disappearing in a haze of August dust. 
 
 The man he had deserted turned to a rider who now joined him. 
 
 "Who is that young fella?" 
 
 "Him? Oh, that's Frank James. Don't pay him no never mind. He's 
 kind o' upset about Perry Hoy. They got Perry prisoner over to 
 Leavenworth. If he ain't been hung." 
 
 "They ain't a-goin' t' hang Perry Hoy," declared another rider. 
 "Quantrill took a Union officer into keepin'. Says if they hang Perry, 
 up goes the blue-belly." 
 
 Assenting oaths and laughter greeted this information. In ex- 
 cellent spirits the riders converged at sunset on the rich fields and 
 woodland of Captain Perdee. The farm place was swarming with 
 guerrillas who centered about equally round a whiskey barrel and a 
 barbecue pit just opened, and fragrant with well-cooked beef and 
 pork. Half a dozen colored servants,— technically they were slaves 
 no longer since the first of the year,— looked after the horses and 
 were very jolly indeed with the guerrillas while they served the 
 whiskey and barbecue, and fetched cool spring water for dusty 
 throats. Freedom had not come to the Blackwater. The position of 
 these colored men and women was, if anything, more insecure than 
 ever it had been in their lives. The faintest hint of equality in 
 manner or speech, and instant death would silence such audacity. 
 
 William Clarke Quantrill used Captain Perdee's office, a ground 
 floor room in one corner of the farmhouse, as a headquarters. Here 
 he met various of his captains, especially those he had reason to 
 
344 
 
 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 believe were disaffected. Billy Gregg, his adjutant, admitted one 
 bearded ruffian after another. 
 
 Bill Anderson brought with him a copy of the Missouri Re- 
 publican, hated and avidly read by such guerrillas as were able to 
 read. He handed it to Quantrill, and would have pointed out a 
 paragraph, but his chief gave him no opportunity. 
 
 "Anderson, I hear you've been over on the Marais des Cygnes, 
 raiding? 
 
 "Hell, Charley you weren't doing anything." 
 
 "Who gave you authority for this raid?" 
 
 Even the ferocious Anderson quailed before Quantrill's blue-glow 
 gaze. He said afterward to Todd, "Might as well try to stare down 
 a rattler." 
 
 Quantrill spoke with deadly lack of emotion. 
 
 "I'm getting ready for the biggest raid of my career. You go 
 across that line again, stirring things up, just don't come back, 
 Anderson. Stay over there with the Redlegs. They'll treat you better 
 than I will." 
 
 The guerrilla Anderson, deliberately and horribly ferocious in 
 appearance, a demoniac in a raid on the defenseless, was no match 
 for Quantrill. He quailed before the cold, merciless stare from those 
 strange blue eyes. 
 
 "That's all, Anderson." Quantrill turned to Billy Gregg. "I want 
 to see Blunt." 
 
 Anderson skulked out, leaving the newspaper behind him. 
 
 Outside loud congratulations on having survived to another birth- 
 day were being extended to handsome George Todd. Todd's birth- 
 day, genuine or brought forward on the calendar, was the excuse 
 of the gathering. The colored help allowed their eyes to roll mean- 
 ingly at one another. But only occasionally and briefly, and mean- 
 while they were obsequious and obliging with the terrifying guests. 
 
 When nothing remained of the barbecue but an empty whiskey 
 barrel and heaps of clammy sacks, the guerrillas mounted and rode 
 across a reaped field and into deep woods that fringed the Black- 
 water. There, in a convenient clearing carpeted with the drift of 
 last year's oak leaves, they threw out pickets and came to attention, 
 sitting their horses and facing Quantrill. These were his leadmen, 
 and, with few exceptions, any one of them would have killed him 
 cheerfully to gain his authority. Now they waited in silence for 
 him to explain his plan. 
 
 Quantrill sat Charley easily, letting his cold stare gather the eyes 
 before him. He allowed the attention to become absolute before 
 he spoke. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 345 
 
 "When I went East last year, to Richmond to see the Secretary 
 of War, he disagreed with me on the way to wage a partisan war. 
 He asked me, 'What would you do, Captain Quantrill, were yours 
 the power and opportunity?' " 
 
 The guerrilla chief had every ear now, every eye, every ounce of 
 attention his captains had to give. 
 
 " 'Do, Mr. Secretary?' I said. 'Why, I would wage such a war, and 
 have such a war waged by sea and land as to make surrender 
 forever impossible. I would cover the armies of the Confederacy 
 with blood. I would invade. I would reward audacity. I would 
 break up foreign enlistments with indiscriminate massacre. I would 
 win the independence of my people. Or I would find them graves/ 
 
 " 'And what of prisoners?' 
 
 " 'Nothing of them. There would be no prisoners. Do they take 
 any prisoners from me? Surrounded, I do not surrender. Surprised, 
 I do not give way to panic. Outnumbered, I rely on common sense 
 and stubborn fighting. Proscribed, I answer proclamation with pro- 
 clamation. Outlawed, I feel through it my power. Hunted, I hunt 
 my hunters in return. Hated and made blacker than a thousand 
 devils, I add to my hoofs the swiftness of the horse. To my horns 
 I add the terrors of a savage following.' " 
 
 The guerrillas stirred in their saddles, self-consciously well 
 pleased. 
 
 " 'Kansas,' I told him, 'should be laid waste at once. Meet the 
 torch with the torch, slaughter with slaughter, subjugation with . . . 
 EXTERMINATION!' " 
 
 Quantrill had caught his company, fired their blood-drenched 
 minds. 
 
 As always his fine diction and expert choice of words added to 
 his authority over them. When he raised a cautioning hand the roar 
 they offered him died quickly. Sitting his tall brown horse, Quantrill 
 held them with his strangely glowing eyes. Even the sulky, hand- 
 some George Todd must feign compliance in this hour, for this hour 
 belonged to William Clarke Quantrill. 
 
 The business of the evening now opened easily. 
 
 "The Kansan has been murdering and robbing our people for 
 two years or more." Quantrill's voice took a sterner tone. "Burned 
 our houses by districts. Hauled away our household plunder and 
 our farming instruments to Kansas. Driven off our cattle. Seized 
 other supplies. Forbearance has ceased to be a virtue. And where 
 is the hotbed of abolitionism in Kansas? LAWRENCE!!" 
 
 He paused to let the name of the doomed town sink into the 
 
346 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 minds of his followers. When he saw them ready to raise a great 
 shout, he went on without allowing this emotional vent. 
 
 "Lawrence! All the plunder— at least the bulk of it— stolen from 
 Missouri will be found hidden away in Lawrence. We can get more 
 revenge and more money there than anywhere else in the state of 
 Kansas." 
 
 His appeal was to their two leading motives, greed and murder. 
 This time there was no restraining the company, and Quantrill 
 waited in motionless silence for the shouting to die. 
 
 George Todd also waited. 
 
 Into the silence that finally came he said, "Too big a risk, 
 Charley." 
 
 "I know the hazard this enterprise bears." Quantrill turned on 
 Todd. "But if you never risk, you never gain. Now, at this point, I 
 want you all to listen to Fletch Taylor. He's just back from 
 Lawrence. Speak up, Fletch. Tell us what you know." 
 
 Fletch Taylor, center of all eyes, eased his embarrassment by 
 removing his guerrilla hat and resetting it at a more jaunty angle. 
 
 "Well, boys, you're lookin' at the big Eastern monied man. Been 
 livin' two weeks at the Hotel Eldridge, seekin' for investments. 
 Hell's bells! Every business man in the place is tryin' to sell out 
 an' go East. They's no fight in that crowd. The fall fashions been 
 comin' in." Taylor paused to pantomine a lady looking at a new hat 
 in a mirror, and his companions guffawed, slapped their riding 
 breeches. "Yes, the fall fashions are a-comin' in, an' the merchants 
 want t' get the country people into town to buy. Old Mayor 
 Collamore, darned ole windbag, well, they've made him collect the 
 rifles from the home guard. Lock 'em up for safe keepin'." 
 
 "They've got a company of recruits in training," put in Todd. 
 
 "Beam's Babes," laughed Taylor. "Sixteen-year-olds. I bet they 
 ain't a boy in the company has shaved yet. They're in camp on 
 Rhode Island street. Say we go in before daybreak, from the south- 
 east, we can finish 'em off in their tents. They won't have a chance." 
 
 Laughter. Delighted oaths. The guerrillas saw themselves killing 
 sixteen-year-olds in their sleep. Quantrill now dared to call for a 
 vote. 
 
 "During the past week," he now told them, "I have been in 
 Eudora. I know Taylor is reporting facts. In my mind I've set our 
 date as not later than the twentieth—" 
 
 "The moon won't be full," interrupted Todd. "We'd be traveling 
 in the dark after midnight." 
 
 "Thank you, George. I have set our date as not later than the 
 twentieth because the moon will not be full at that time. Two 
 
A UNION FOREVER 347 
 
 reliable agents acting for me in Lawrence, are spreading the story 
 that we will raid with the full moon. The Yankees won't get their 
 guns out from under lock and key much before the twenty-first, if 
 at all. Surprise will be our great, best weapon." 
 
 Assenting growls. 
 
 "Gregg, call the roll." 
 
 Billy Gregg, the adjutant, was by far the most normal man of 
 Quantrill's company. Recently come into the band, he was attracted 
 primarily by attachment to the Southern cause. Too, he pictured the 
 guerrilla life as romantic, virile, in itself desirable. 
 
 He called the roll. 
 
 "Jarrette!" 
 
 "My house is in ruins. God damn all Kansans! On to Lawrence!" 
 
 Thus Jarrette the fanatic, his deep-sunk eyes burning in his skull 
 like face. 
 
 "Blunt!" 
 
 "Blood an booty! Count me in!" 
 
 "Skaggs!" 
 
 "As I see it, this is the Lord's work. I vote yes." 
 
 "James!" 
 
 "Anywhere with you, Charley!" 
 
 "Younger!" 
 
 "I want to kill blue-bellies. Any time. Any place." 
 
 "Hockensmith!" 
 
 "Yes! God damn all Yankees!" 
 
 "Todd!" 
 
 "I still think we'll be wiped off the face of the earth. But I'll go 
 with the balance of you." 
 
 "Anderson!" 
 
 "Who says we'll be wiped off the face of the earth? We'll do the 
 wiping. I won't stir a horse's hoof unless the order is, Burn every 
 house, kill every man." 
 
 The yell now rising to the timidly arriving stars completes the 
 poll. Quantrill wins. In the little town of Lawrence, where the 
 manifold tasks of a pioneer day are coming to their close, does no 
 one start, and listen, and tremble, at this moment? Quantrill wins: 
 the town of Lawrence is doomed. 
 
 The meeting in the clearing broke up immediately, the riders 
 going as they had come, starting at intervals and moving in various 
 directions. Quantrill returned to Captain Perdee's office, followed 
 by Gregg. While Gregg busied himself with the muster roll, Quan- 
 trill picked up the copy of the Missouri Republican left by Bill 
 
348 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Anderson. Presently a smothered exclamation from his chief brought 
 Gregg's eyes away from his work. 
 
 "Give me that pen," demanded Quantrill, his face colorless, his 
 eyes glowing. He wrote hastily, as the pen sputtered protest. 
 
 "Catch Blunt. Give him this." 
 
 Outside, Gregg took time to read the order by a convenient 
 candle before hurrying out to the departing Blunt. The order read: 
 As soon as you get back to camp, take Lieutenant Copeland out and 
 shoot him." 
 
 "What does this mean?" Billy Gregg asked, handing over the 
 order to Blunt. 
 
 Blunt read the order, chuckled. 
 
 "Pretty mad, ain't he? Goin' t' shoot Copeland for revenge. Didn't 
 you know? They hung Perry Hoy at Leavenworth." 
 
 Back in Captain Perdee's office Quantrill was writing an order 
 that would send an expedition into Kansas immediately to kill the 
 first ten men they encountered. This as a final tribute to his follower, 
 Perry Hoy. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Colonel William A. Phillips, commanding the Indian Brigade, sat 
 at his desk, a table in one corner of a swept out granary. I sat 
 across from him. Pleading orders, I had left Scott at Neosho, 
 Missouri, on the Kansas border. While Phillips found a seat for me 
 on an overturned box, he exclaimed, "What are you doing here?" 
 In my new character I answered, "Looking for horses for General 
 Sheridan." 
 
 "You won't find them round here. The Confederates are ahead of 
 you." He beamed at me. "They got ahead of us. Swept off most of 
 the supplies in this region. Now the chiefs say the South is offering 
 my starving Indians all the food they need." 
 
 "Your Indians are emaciated." 
 
 Before he could answer a young officer entered and stood at 
 attention. 
 
 "Captain Spring Frog! What news? You must meet my oldtime 
 friend, Lieutenant Hanback." When we had shaken hands, Phillips 
 added, "Bring that box up, Spring Frog. Make yourself comfortable." 
 
 The young Indian, trim in his uniform despite heat and dust, 
 dragged the box forward and sat down with a tired sigh. 
 
 "Well? What luck?" 
 
 "No luck, sir. Or at least, very little. A few lean hogs and a few 
 
A UNION FOREVER 349 
 
 bushels of corn. The Confederates were before us. They swept the 
 country." 
 
 "You did your part. You couldn't find what wasn't there." 
 
 William Phillips reflected on the situation during a brief silence. 
 
 "I'm really glad we didn't get those colored troops we were 
 promised," he said finally. "It would have been just that many more 
 mouths to feed. When Captain Fall Leaf gets back, bring him here 
 right away. We must have a conference." 
 
 Spring Frog left the granary, but reappeared to say, "The scout 
 Pelathe is here, sir." 
 
 "Pelathe? Send him in." 
 
 I said, "I was told you might pick up a scout for me. I must get 
 into Kansas City at the very first moment. I have to see one of 
 General Ewing's staff there. And every moment counts with me. 
 It looks like a big fight in or near Chattanooga." 
 
 "I'm sending a letter to Jim Lane in Lawrence. He's home right 
 now. Pelathe was to carry it, but why not you. You could add a 
 word. I want Lane to take my warning seriously." 
 
 "Warning?" 
 
 Before he could explain Pelathe entered in the garb of a Union 
 scout. As always, he was grave-faced with shining eyes. After the 
 first greetings Phillips said, "I had a woman spy here a while ago. 
 She wore a slat sunbonnet, and she carried her papers in place of 
 one of the slats. She had a list of Quantrill's captains. They were to 
 have a meeting." 
 
 Pelathe nodded. 
 
 "On the Blackwater. Last week. It is Lawrence. The word is, 
 Burn every house. Kill every man." 
 
 Spring Frog was back, accompanied by Captain Fall Leaf. Fall 
 Leaf made his report. 
 
 "Colonel Phillips, the quartermaster at Neosho refused to honor 
 your requisition. Our supplies are cut off." 
 
 "What did he say?" asked Phillips after a moment. 
 
 "He was rude, sir. I think he is angry because some friend of 
 his you did not allow to sell whiskey to your command." 
 
 While his two young officers listened gravely, William Phillips 
 said to me, "You see our desperate situation? Washington politicians 
 think Indians can live on air. While the Confederacy is promising 
 them unlimited supplies. If they will sweep up over the undefended 
 Kansas settlements." He turned to his officers. "Will the Indians 
 stand with us? Or have we lost their support?" 
 
 Spring Frog replied. 
 
 "Colonel Phillips, you are our brother. You have taught us to 
 
350 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 speak your language, like the white man speaks it. You have trained 
 us in the white man's warfare. You eat only when we eat. You sleep 
 warm only when we sleep warm. With you as our friend, we will go 
 forward after this war. We will bring our troubles to you, and you 
 will take them to Washington. If we starve, we starve together." 
 Spring Frog's tone made starving negligible. "That is our answer. 
 That is the answer of the Indian Brigade." 
 
 Phillips turned to Fall Leaf. Fall Leaf nodded. He turned last of 
 all to his friend Pelathe. For once, Pelathe was smiling! William 
 Phillips turned to me. There were tears in his eyes, and in mine. 
 
 "I believe you see I speak only truth when I say that perhaps no 
 commander was ever more beloved than I am by my Indian 
 command." 
 
 This was the man who by his great kindness and sense of brother- 
 hood saved Kansas from the Indian massacres so ardently desired 
 by the Confederacy. When Phillips and I were alone, I peeled a 
 bill of sizable denomination off the roll I carried. 
 
 "Take it for those boys," I said. "Have no scruples. It is Re- 
 publican campaign money." 
 
 I sat in Mrs. Jim Lane's parlor. Mrs. Lane was speaking. 
 
 "Lieutenant Hanback, those guerrillas are plotting revenge for 
 the colonel's expedition to Osceola. Colonel Lane went there on a 
 legitimate errand of warfare, to destroy certain supplies of the 
 enemy. Sterling Price had captured these supplies. I believe from 
 our Captain Mulligan. Entering Osceola, my husband was fired on 
 from ambush. In returning fire, he killed one man. Our men helped 
 the women get their personal effects from the homes they burned. 
 And the colonel took the records from the courthouse before apply- 
 ing the torch. Those records are safe. They will be returned after 
 the war." 
 
 Sighing inwardly over the tit-for-tat excursions of the Kansas- 
 Missouri border, I said, "I'm sorry to miss the Senator. You will be 
 certain to explain the gravity of the situation?" 
 
 "I'll tell him the moment he gets in. Can't you wait for him? Stay 
 for dinner?" 
 
 "I have only an hour in Lawrence. The great point for the 
 Lawrence Home Guard is not to be taken by surprise. If possible, 
 Lawrence forces should ambush the raiders somewhere along their 
 line of march. Keep up a running fire on them. That's what the 27th 
 got when we were retreating through rebel country last fall." 
 
 "You say yours is an Illinois regiment?" 
 
 "Yes. I enlisted from Chapin, Illinois." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 351 
 
 "Chapin! But that is where our Miss Hettie Cooper comes from." 
 
 I could only stare. 
 
 "Miss Hettie is visiting one of our Lawrence girls who went to 
 school with her." 
 
 "Lucy? She's here? Visiting Lucy?" 
 
 "You know Lucy?" Without waiting for a reply, she went on, 
 "Miss Hettie Cooper is far from well. Her brother's condition, and 
 other troubles. She came on with a party of friends. To visit Lucy." 
 
 "Mrs. Lane," I said, rising, "if you'll excuse me, I believe I'll run 
 by Lucy's a moment. Before Pelathe and I start for Kansas City." 
 
 I shook hands while she promised, "The colonel shall have your 
 message and Colonel Phillips' letter the moment he returns." 
 
 One after another the shake shanties and log cabins of Lawrence 
 had yielded to civilized dwellings. Of these newly finished houses, 
 one stood on New Hampshire street, a modest two-story, a bit high 
 and narrow like a rather prim old maid. A white picket fence shut 
 away prowling cattle, hogs and chickens from the gaiety of portu- 
 lacas, scarlet sage, verbenas and sweet scented four o'clocks. Draped 
 curtains of fine muslin behind shining window panes witnessed 
 taste and culture within. Here, said those curtains, is the beginning 
 of a home and family. 
 
 As I came up the brick walk to the steps I thought there was some 
 agitation of the muslin draperies at the parlor window. I pulled the 
 bell several times without effect. At last the door was opened by a 
 tall strong colored woman. 
 
 I said, "Will you see if Miss Hettie Cooper is at home?" 
 
 "Yes, suh. Rest yo' hat on the rack, suh. Kindly step into the 
 pahlah." 
 
 "And Miss Lucy, of course," I added hastily. 
 
 "Miss Lucy ain't to home. She taken the baby ovah to see his 
 grammaw." 
 
 The colored woman went up the stairs. I waited what seemed to 
 me a century. Finally she came tramping down. 
 
 "Ah decla', Ah cain't make Miss Hettie out. She layin' theah on 
 the baid, cryin' huh eyes out. Then she jump up fiercelike. Say Ahm 
 to tell you she is absolutely got no mo' intrus' in men. She got a 
 mission to go some place way off an' gone. Wheah the cannonballs 
 eat san'wiches." 
 
 Twenty minutes later, my ambassadress having failed to bring 
 Hettie downstairs, I went sadly down the brick walk I had trod so 
 briskly. I could wait no longer. The importance of my mission made 
 it imperative for me to leave immediately. My only comfort was 
 
352 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 that Auntie, whom I had fortunately recognized, promised to be 
 my friend. She would enlist Miss Lucy to find out the trouble, and 
 to let me know. When I reached Massachusetts street where Pelathe 
 was waiting with our horses, I bethought me to buy cigars. Coming 
 out of the tobacconist's I lifted a brimstone match to the wooden 
 Indian, who still observed the palefaces coming in and out of the 
 Eldridge House, although his lively colors were somewhat dimmed. 
 Through my pained bewilderment came the memory of that notable 
 figure of the border, Catullus Calhoun Leak. I could almost have 
 liked the guerrilla chief for the scene at Tobasco Monte's. 
 
 Finishing my work in Kansas City, I made my connection with 
 the "J- M. Converse." It was somewhere between Kansas City and 
 Lexington that I struck the rail violently with my clenched fist. 
 Memory came with a shock. 
 
 The spy! 
 
 The spy who wore gloves. And puzzled Moody. 
 
 The spy was Catullus Calhoun Leak! 
 
 With the best speed I could make I only managed to reach our 
 forces as we marched to Valley Head! 
 
 XXIV 
 
 At the rear of Miss Lucy's house, under an arbor bearing Concord 
 grapes a-nestle in their rich green leaves, sat Auntie shelling peas. 
 Her tall gaunt form was lowered into a chair made from half a 
 barrel, placed where she could enjoy the last gasps of the morning 
 breeze, and at the same time avoid what promised to be an over- 
 powering sun. 
 
 She said to the slender young colored woman poised temporarily 
 on the topmost of the three wooden back steps, "Ah want you should 
 heah how Uncle Frank come to be in Kansas." 
 
 The young colored woman turned a very respectful gaze on the 
 ancient colored man who occupied another of Auntie's barrel chairs. 
 
 "Yes, suh, Uncle Frank. You please tell me that." 
 
 Uncle Frank, well pleased, nodded his snowy head. 
 
 "Ahm fum Vuhginny," he began immediately. "An' heahabout 
 some three-fo' yeahs ago, Ah was drivin' our ole mule team erlong 
 a pretty woodsy piece. Haulm terbacco, I wuz, to Mistah DeLong's 
 waliouse. An' 'is tall ole man in a funny cap, he come out the woods 
 an' hoi' up his han' to me. Tall ole man carry in' a rifle." 
 
 Uncle Frank illustrated the commanding gesture of the white 
 man. Auntie paused in her work of rattling peas into an ironstone 
 
A UNION FOREVER 353 
 
 bowl, while a slight stir at her skirts announced the arrival of Lil 
 Moje. 
 
 "So nacherlly I stop," continued Uncle Frank "An he ask me fo' 
 a lift. Say he in a hurry to git down er road shoht piece. Ah touched 
 up Prince an' Duke, an we went to travelin' erlong. 
 
 "Presently this ole white man with all 's beard and long grey hair, 
 he say t' me, lookin' at me earnest fum his bright eyes, he say, 'Do 
 you like to be a slave?' Ah says, 'How come you ask me that?' he 
 say, 'Because Ah been fightin' slavery these twenty yeahs. Ah made 
 a vow,' he say, 'to wipe it out.' 
 
 " 'Praise His Name in glory,' Ah say, lookin' at the tall ole man. 
 'Kin you do that, mistah?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' he say, 'Ah kin do it.' 
 
 "We rode a piece without anothah wud. Then Ah say, 'Seem like 
 the worst o' mah lot been Ah nevah had a chanst to go to chu'ch an' 
 rightly wuship. Ah do so wish Ah could go to chu'ch to mah heaht's 
 fill befo' Ah die.' 
 
 "He say, 'Did you evah heah of Lawrence, Kansas?' 
 
 "Ah rolled mah eye at him. 
 
 " 'Mistah,' Ah say, 'is they anybody ain't heered o' Lawrence, 
 Kansas?' 
 
 " 'You could go to chu'ch theah,' he say. 
 
 "We rode erlong anothah piece. 
 
 " 'Mistah,' Ah say, 'how could Ah evah git to Lawrence, Kansas?' 
 
 "He say, pullin' out a pocketpus, 'You can git down right now, an' 
 staht travelin' wes'wahd. Heah's the money you'll need. An when 
 you git to Lawrence, you go to the home o' Jim Lane. Remembah 
 that, now. Jim Lane.' 
 
 "Ah say, 'What erbout this team an' wagon?' 
 
 " 'Ah'll take keer the team an' wagon,' he say. He thought a 
 minute, lookin' at me serious. 'Nobody much will stop you, a repect- 
 able ole cullud man walkin' the highway. But if anybody asks you, 
 you kin say you on yo' way Wes' on an erran' fo' yo' mastah. An' 
 that is God's truth. Fo' He is yo' Mastah, an' you are on yo' way to 
 wheah you kin worship Him in His chu'ch.' 
 
 "Jes' befo' he druv off Ah thought o' somepin. Ah call out, 'Mistah, 
 when Ah fin' Mistah Jim Lane, who shall Ah say done sent me?' 
 
 "He call back ovah his shouldah, 'Tell him you come fum Capn 
 John Brown.' " 
 
 In the silence that followed the old man's story Auntie said to Lil 
 Moje, "Wash yo' han's at the pump. Then you kin help me shell 
 these peas." 
 
354 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 The young colored woman was gazing at Uncle Frank as one who 
 beholds an awesome halo. 
 
 "You saw Captain Brown!" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, missy." 
 
 A thought struck her. She exclaimed distressfully, "Southerners 
 say he was a horse thief. What do you say he did with those mules 
 and that wagon?" 
 
 "Honey, he wuz on his way to the Ferry. To give his life a 
 ransom fo' you an' fo' me. It wah fitten he should ride." 
 
 "And you came all that long way a-foot?" 
 
 "Mostly a-foot. Ah cut me this stout stick to help me erlong the 
 way. Cose aftah Ah got into South'n Illinois Ah hit the undahgroun'. 
 They wuz one preachah, in a village nigh to Jacksonville, he uhged 
 me to let him pass me Nawth todes Canady. But when he foun' mah 
 heaht wuz fo' Kansas, he let me go. 'You'll be safah in Canady,' he 
 say. But Ah say, 'The time is long gone fo' me to play safe. Ah don' 
 rightly know how ole Ah am, but Ah knows the sweet chahyot goin' 
 swing low toreckly fo' me. Yes, Lawd! Only let it fin' me in Kansas/ 
 Aftah that we panted. Ah come on mah way." 
 
 "You come to Mistah Jim Lane's house?" 
 
 "All cullud folks hits duht fo' Mistah Jim Lane's house," declared 
 Auntie. 
 
 "Some people think he's crazy," observed the colored girl doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 "He slick," Auntie instructed her, "but not crazy. Onct, heah 
 some yeahs ago, they wuz tryin' to git the raidahs out of a sto' wheah 
 they taken covah, down Franklin way. The raiders had Ole Sacra- 
 mento, ouah cannon they done seized. Cunnel Lane, he had a 
 mighty lot o' straw men made, an' he dressed 'em like ouah side. He 
 put these heah straw men on wagons, with jes' a few of ouah men. 
 An' he had the wagons druv ovah the brow the hill, sorta on a 
 slant. When the raiders see all these wagonloads a-comin', they 
 broke out the back way fum that sto'. Took to the woods. That's 
 the way we got back Ole Sacramento." 
 
 Uncle Frank laughed heartily. 
 
 "That 'uz smaht." 
 
 Auntie went on reminiscing as the peas rattled and bounced 
 under her skillful fingers. 
 
 "When it come time to vote on United States Senatah, Cunnel 
 Lane, he got a frien' o' his to ride up to the new legislatah, all out o' 
 breath. He come to tell folks Cunnel Lane jes' won a big fight with 
 the guerrillas. Folks wuz so pleased with the news, they 'lected him 
 hands down, jes' shoutin', 'Lane! Lane!' on the fus' ballot. Cose he 
 
A UNION FOREVER 355 
 
 hadn't been in any fight. Not jes' at that time. But they didn't fin' 
 that out till latah." 
 
 The colored girl looked troubled, but was politely silent. 
 
 "Then folks took to wonderin', would he go to Washin'ton in that 
 ole calfskin vest an' sealskin coat he been wearin' evah since he 
 come to Kansas. Shucks! He got himself a real rigout o' the best, 
 in Kansas City. No, indeed! He ain't crazy, jes' slick." 
 
 Uncle Frank shifted his legs, preparatory to painfully gaining his 
 feet. He was timing his departure nicely to the shelling of the peas, 
 he would not hold Auntie from her work on a busy morning. He 
 said to the colored girl, "You didn't go to Colonel Lane?" 
 
 "No, suh. I came in on the stage. I started making the rounds of 
 the hotels for chamber work. Miss Lydia at the Whitney House 
 needed me. I think she and I going to like each other first rate." 
 
 Uncle Frank had heard the girl's story, but he wanted it from her 
 own lips. He waited politely, and after a moment she continued, 
 "I was born in Missouri, on the Morgan Walker place near In- 
 dependence. Old Miss brought me up herself. She was good to me. 
 But then Miss Nancy and the master got in with the guerrillas. They 
 made our place a sort of headquarters. After the first time, Old Miss 
 wouldn't hearken to I should wait on the table. And she had me 
 to sleep on a trun'le bed in her room. 
 
 "She was failing, Old Miss was, and she knew it herself. One day 
 she sent me to tell Uncle Cujo to hitch up ready to take her into 
 town. She was going to spend a few days shopping and visiting 
 friends, that was what she said. When I come back to her room, to 
 get her ready, she said, Tatty, I want you to put on this cloak and 
 veil. I've got some money here for you. Ride into town, and take 
 the stage to Westport. From there you can get into Kansas. No one 
 is going to stop you. They'll think you a white lady traveling alone.' 
 
 " 'You want me to leave you?' I said, and I felt all gone in the pit 
 of my stomach. 'Yes,' she says, 1 do. I promised your mother the 
 night she died I'd always look after you. This is the last thing I can 
 do for you, to send you away while there's time.' I knew she was 
 afraid of the guerrillas. Specially a man named Anderson." Patty's 
 shoulders quivered suddenly. "And there were others. Todd, he 
 was right handsome. But Colonel Quantrill was the one I terrified 
 at. Sometimes his eyes will glow like a wildcat." 
 
 "Now, Patty, I think you are exaggerating," spoke a new voice 
 from the kitchen doorway. "I'm sure Colonel Quantrill is a gentle- 
 man. He is a Confederate officer. Officers are gentlemen, you know. 
 Here is the pattern for Miss Lydia. Tell her she must make her own 
 allowances for seams." 
 
356 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, Miss Lucy," replied Patty in a subdued voice. 
 
 Uncle Frank was on his feet, bowing with what grace lumbago 
 had left him. 
 
 "Good morning, Uncle Frank. How's your back?" 
 
 "Not too po'ly, thank you, ma'am. Ah mus' be gittin roun' to the 
 chu'ch. Got some dustin' to do. Mawnin', all." 
 
 He went slowly round the house, making full use of his stout 
 stick. 
 
 "Auntie," said Miss Lucy, "we're going to put dinner and tea 
 both ahead an hour today. On account of the meeting in the 
 Eldridge House parlors tonight." 
 
 "Yessum, Miss Lucy." 
 
 "And set Moje to freezing ice cream. We must make Miss Hettie's 
 last day as pleasant as possible." 
 
 "Yessum." 
 
 When Lucy had disappeared into the front region of the house, 
 Auntie said in a low voice, "She won't let anyone say a word agin' 
 'at Bill Quantrill. She speaks up fo' him, the good Lawd knows why." 
 
 "I'll be more careful what I say another time." 
 
 "Mistah Robert cain't unnahstan' it neithah. Ah guess it's jes' huh 
 sweet ways. Likely she could fin' somepin pretty t' say 'bout Ole 
 Hornytail, himself." 
 
 At this blasphemy Lil Moje rolled up his eyes, shelling the last 
 of the peas. 
 
 Patty, preparing to go, remarked, "That's a right nice school Miss 
 Lucy an' the other ladies hold for us colored folks." 
 
 "Is that. Lil Moje is learnin' his a-b-abs as spry as a hoptoad." 
 
 "You think," inquired Patty in a hushed voice, "Lil Moje will get 
 a chance to be something fine when he grows up? Like a doctor, I 
 mean? Or maybe a lawyer?" 
 
 Auntie frowned. 
 
 "Ah don't know. The white folks is given us ouah freedom. But 
 how much farthah they prepared to go, Ah'U have to wait an' see." 
 
 As Patty tripped from sight around the corner of the house 
 Auntie spoke gruffly to Lil Moje. 
 
 "You goin' t' wheel the baby up 'n down in uh shade. His gums 
 frettin' him, but he goin' sleep, time you wheel him jes' nicely back 
 an fo'th." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. Aftah he asleep, kin Ah take mah flowah bokay to 
 Miss Nin Beck?" 
 
 "You an' yo' Miss Nin Beck!" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 Lil Moje cast down his eyes, turning dirt with his toe. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 357 
 
 "An don't fo'git that ice cream freezah." 
 
 "No'm." 
 
 Auntie carried her bowl of peas into the kitchen. Without another 
 word between them Lil Moje understood he was free when the 
 baby slept. He raced to urge Miss Lucy to put the wailing baby 
 into his handsome perambulator, come all the way from St. Louis 
 on a river steamer to Westport Landing, and then by oxcart over 
 the California Road. 
 
 Lil Moje was in love. Dizzily in love with a beautiful stranger 
 staying at the Whitney House these past several weeks. Miss Nin 
 Beck, she was, on the hotel register. Miss Nin Beck who rode out 
 every morning, attended by one or another of the town's masculine 
 youth, notably young Collamore, the mayor's son. For some reason 
 the young ladies and matrons of the town were slow to discover 
 her presence. Miss Nin Beck whose dark eyes sparkled, whose 
 cheeks showed a lovely color through their dusky overtones. Miss 
 Nin Beck who made a gallant figure on a horse, riding, some said, 
 like a man. Miss Nin Beck whose purse had fallen in the dust of 
 New Hampshire street, fairly at the toes of Lil Moje. And when he 
 sprang to hand it back, Miss Nin Beck not only gave him a silver 
 quarter of a dollar, she gave him a lovely smile and thanked him in 
 as pretty a voice as you could find on either side of Mason and 
 Dixon's line. 
 
 Later in that same day of the pocketbook episode, when Lil Moje 
 transacted one of Miss Lucy's many errands to Miss Lydia Stone at 
 the Whitney House, he carried a neat small round of marigolds and 
 yellow daisies from Miss Lucy's carefully tended garden. 
 
 "Fo, you, Miss Nin Beck," he said, shyly presenting his gift, and 
 was rewarded doubly. Miss Nin Beck not only produced another 
 quarter on the instant, she exclaimed with delight over the flowers, 
 their color and freshness making a special appeal in this frontier 
 town where the niceties of life were still painfully few. The bouquet 
 was now an established daily tribute, so much established that the 
 hotel help, on his appearance, called to one another casually, "Heah 
 Lil Moje with his bokay fo' Miss Nin Beck." 
 
 The molten air of an August day in Eastern Kansas increased its 
 mid-morning energy while Lil Moje gently wheeled the baby in his 
 carriage. Auntie in her kitchen dismembered a pair of fat frying 
 chickens, Miss Lucy in her parlor retrimmed a bonnet she would 
 wear to the meeting in the interest of the new railroad, and Miss 
 Hettie Cooper stared out of the parlor window, between the muslin 
 draperies. 
 
 Lucy took up an old argument. 
 
358 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "If you won't write to him, why don't you let me? There must be 
 some explanation." 
 
 "Lucy, if you say another word, I'll lock myself in my room till 
 the stage leaves." 
 
 "Now, Hettie!" 
 
 "Just one more word." 
 
 Down around the corner on Massachusetts street, the dogs who 
 always lay in the dust snapped irritably at the horseflies from 
 Donnelly's livery stable. Young Mr. Donnelly, constant attendant 
 upon Miss Nin Beck, was a Democrat, a neutral Democrat who took 
 no part in the great American struggle. At the moment, unconscious 
 of the winks and grins exchanging between his two stable hands, he 
 unpacked a handsome side saddle of English make, hastily ordered 
 from Kansas City. Across lots from his stable could be seen the 
 drygoods store where nephews of Colonel Eldridge unpacked large 
 cases of drygoods for the fall "opening" of the Eldridge store. Other 
 merchants were busy at the same sort of work, the ox teams having 
 come in late in the evening of the previous day. Word was being 
 carried to all the out-lying neighborhoods, on printed broadcasts 
 distributed by boys a-horseback: MILLINERY, ladies! RIBBONS, 
 and LACES, and SHAWLS! There was even a discreet mention of: 
 CORSETS! and CHEMISETTES! 
 
 In the office of Mayor Collamore his son, taking advantage 
 of a father's absence, struggled to find a romantic rhyme for 
 "Beck",— having rejected as hopeless, "neck", "peck" and "heck". 
 Meanwhile his father, the mayor, was in consultation with several 
 gentlemen who were permitting themselves the additional dis- 
 comfort, in the heat, of high emotionalism. This, in Editor Speer's 
 office. 
 
 "For once, gentlemen, I insist we deal with this harebrain ef- 
 fectively." 
 
 Thus Governor Robinson, worried but firm. 
 
 Carmi Babcock, smooth as always, said, "I don't need to remind 
 you that my affairs are tied up with the Kansas Pacific. If it doesn't 
 come through Lawrence on the north side of the river . . ." He 
 inserted an eloquent shrug. "I'm building a bridge that will see me 
 bankrupt." 
 
 "If Jim Lane twists that road up through the northern part of the 
 state, across his options, it will ruin Lawrence," declared the Gover- 
 nor. "And also Topeka. But that is just what he will do, if trickery 
 can work it out." 
 
 "The thing for us to do," declared Mr. Ridenour, able merchant, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 359 
 
 "is to expose every scheme he advances tonight. Laugh him off the 
 platform every time he leaps up to talk." 
 
 Editor Speer had been a silent listener. Now he spoke quietly. 
 
 "Suppose he knows what he is talking about?" 
 
 "Nonsence," exploded the mayor. "Quantrill is too smart to make 
 such a move. He might get here, but with all the United States 
 troops between here and the Missouri line, he'd be cut to pieces 
 before he got his command back to Missouri." 
 
 Several voices agreed. 
 
 "Certainly he knows that." 
 
 "That's reasonable to suppose." 
 
 "We've been under arms all summer. It's been the worst thing for 
 business could possibly happen. Just when we hope to get out of 
 the doldrums." 
 
 "The only way to put down this invasion hysteria was to lock up 
 the Sharpe's. And I'm glad I did it," declared the mayor. 
 
 John Speer continued to look unconvinced. He disagreed with 
 his advertisers, but he disagreed silently. 
 
 The day advanced. The sun beat down more unmercifully on 
 the drowsy town. 
 
 In the small office on the ground floor of the Hotel Eldridge 
 sacred to Colonel Eldridge when at home, Herbert Winchell played 
 seven-up with Arthur Spicer. In the colonel's absence as a Union 
 purchasing agent, young Herb dispensed juleps with courtly care- 
 lessness as to the colonel's best whiskey. 
 
 "Herb, do you think Charley Hart will have the insane folly to 
 try it?" 
 
 "Pipe down, Art," muttered Herb. He glanced through the open 
 door into the lobby. "We don't want folks to get to remembering 
 how we ran around with that damned fool. No, I don't really believe 
 Charley's got that much hell in him." Herb brooded, rubbling a 
 mint leaf. "God, I don't know what to think! If Jacob Pike's telling 
 the truth, Hart was a son-of-a-gun out West." 
 
 Arthur Spicer shuffled the cards, held them forth for a cut. 
 
 "If Charley does swoop down on us with his pack of hoodlums, 
 old Collamore playing God with those Sharpe's will be a hell of a 
 note." 
 
 "That was business," Herb told Arthur. "Putting away the rifles 
 makes it clear to the dullest mind there is no further danger from 
 William Clarke Quantrill, alias Charley Hart. All Lawrence can 
 now buy its pins and bangles. In perfect safety." 
 
 The street dogs dozed, shifting their tails slightly to accomodate 
 the occasional traffic. Puffs of rich brown dust rose as lazy hoofs 
 
360 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 stirred the street, rose and settled over the dogs; but they only woke 
 to scratch feebly at some flea-infested portion, then fell into deeper 
 coma. 
 
 Over on New Hampshire street Auntie moved composedly round 
 the ovenlike temperature of her kitchen, putting finishing touches 
 on a dinner of fried chicken and rich corn bread. She hummed the 
 tune Uncle Frank had put into her head during the morning. 
 "Ah looked ovah Jawdan, 
 An' wha'd Ah see, 
 Comin' fo' to ca' me home? 
 
 A fo' hoss chayut 
 Comin' aftah me, 
 
 Boun' fo' to ca' me home." 
 
 She wondered where Lil Moje was keeping himself. The ice 
 cream freezer, well packed with river ice and coarse salt, waited 
 him on the back stoop. 
 
 Lil Moje had to wait at the Whitney House some time before 
 Miss Nin Beck could speak to him. She was laughing and talking 
 in a corner of the porch with a very rich stranger from the East who 
 was going to invest a lot of money in Lawrence. The stranger was 
 going down to Kansas City on the stage, but it was understood he 
 vacated only temporarily, in order to cash some securities. He said 
 loudly and frequently in the company of the Lawrence business 
 men that he had no fear of Quantrill, no fear at all. 
 
 "And to prove it," he told his listeners, "I'm on my way to get 
 some cold cash for the investments I have in mind." 
 
 When the stage at length collected this wealthy-talking stranger 
 and departed for Quindaro, Miss Nin Beck turned and found Lil 
 Moje holding out his bouquet. 
 
 "Oh, Lil Moje," she exclaimed, "I haven't anything to pay with 
 this morning but shin plasters. Well, they'll buy you just as much 
 candy as a silver piece." 
 
 "Ah doan' spend mah money fo' candy." Lil Moje raised serious 
 eyes to hers. "Auntie, she lay mah money by fo' me. Ah goin' use it 
 to git me some education." 
 
 Miss Nin Beck had gone suddenly pallid. She seemed to see 
 horror in the air around Lil Moje. Recovering herself with an effort, 
 she laid a hand briefly on the child's shoulder. "Lil Moje," she said 
 through pale lips, "I hope you do grow up. I hope you get a 
 splendid education." 
 
 Abruptly she went away through the hotel lobby, and up the 
 stairs to her room. Lil Moje, well accustomed to the strange ways 
 of white folks, took a cheerful path to the kitchen where Miss Lydia 
 
A UNION FOREVER 361 
 
 remarked, if he would get over on that stool in the corner and make 
 himself small, there would be a hot ginger cookie for him presently. 
 And then he must run along home, Auntie would need him. 
 "Swing low, sweet chariot, 
 
 Bound for to carry me home." 
 
 Noon came. Uncle Frank finished every loving task his mind and 
 heart could devise in and around Plymouth Congregational Church 
 where he proudly filled the office of janitor. Stopping at Woodward's 
 drug store for a bottle of liniment, he helped himself with the 
 support of his faithful stick along various paths and short cuts to the 
 Lane home in west Lawrence. The Lane's colored cook had stand- 
 ing instructions to give Uncle Frank his dinner on the days when 
 he attacked the weeds, and carried the water involved in maturing 
 the Lane vegetable garden. 
 
 "Is Cunnel Lane goin' to the meetin' this evenin'?" he asked, 
 cleaning green corn off the cob with his still remarkably sound 
 teeth. 
 
 "Hmph!" 
 
 Dilsey Jackson, the fat to waddling Lane cook, put truly astound- 
 ing force into that snort. 
 
 "If de cunnel lissen to me, he wouldn't was'e his time at dat 
 meetin'. Dey ain't go pay him no min' at dat meetin'. Lissen me, 
 Uncle Frank, dey is two kind gennelmun runnin' dis town. One kind 
 like Govenah Robimson. He say plenty time, ah heered him mah- 
 self, he abolition. Abolition to de haht's co'. But he don' do nuthin' 
 erbout it. He jes' is one. What reely in his haht, he thinkin' to make 
 Lawrence a big city. An' he aim to be de big man in it." 
 
 Dilsey spooned chicken gravey from a frying pan on the biscuits 
 Uncle Frank had laid open for that purpose. 
 
 "Den heah Cunnel Lane," went on Dilsey. "Fus' off, he come 
 Wes', he jes' want a free state wheah white man don' hab t' wuk 
 agin cullud slave. But when he heered Capn John Brown make 
 talk, Cunnel Lane see a great light. He see dey cain't nobody be 
 free till evahbody free. So he began to git out an' fight, to git de 
 freedom. He say you might ez well try plant pansies endurin' of a 
 twistah storm, ez try to build up dis country till freedom come." 
 
 Uncle Frank pondered Dilsey 's words while he finished the fat 
 leg of a Lane stewing hen. 
 
 "Sistah Dilsey, the cunnel got the right o' that. Howcome Ah 
 knows is fum back in Vuhginny. Whut freedom mah ole massah 
 evah got back theah? Ain't Ah heered him say a mort o' times how 
 his grampaw wuz a free man. Ain't he always talk erbout whut was 
 was'ed on the place in he grampaw's time would feed all er us?" 
 
362 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Hmph!" said Dilsey. 
 
 "Ain't ole massah always got to borrow to keep the place goin'? 
 Even so, they wuz plenty times han's went to bed with lil in they 
 stummicks but baked yams an' greens. Fences wuz fallin' down, 
 paint wuz peelin', dryrot comin' heah and theah, an no cash money 
 to do with. Seem lak the money country kep' gittin' furthah way 
 fum us yeah by yeah. Southwes', down Texas way. 
 
 "Ole Miss, she spleened agin sellin' South, even when massah 
 'splained to huh we wuz slave po\ Onct in a while, howsomevah, 
 one of us had to go. An' hit wuz allays some fine young fellah, with 
 plenty looks an' brains, an' strenth. Th' wuz two reasons fo' that. 
 Fustly, he brought mo' money. Secon' place, a young fellah, he wuz 
 usually plannin' to git away fo' Canady, fus' chanst. Shucks! You 
 cain' expec' a fine, strong young fellah stay put fo' a yam." 
 
 "Hmph!" said Dilsey, and slapped a lone fly with a dishcloth. 
 
 "Oncet ole Massah had an offah fo' Mammy's Sue. As pretty a 
 cullud gal as you'll see this side o' glory. He'd a took it, too, it wuz 
 a good offah. But ole Miss, she stood up to him. You sell Sue, she 
 tole him, Ahm goin' wid huh. An' Ah won' be back. 
 
 "Cose you might think ouah young massah an' his frien's wuz 
 free. Nuthin' to do all day long but ride an' shoot. Nuthin' do all 
 night long but dance an' drink, an' dice, an' cock fight. But sechlike 
 occapations ain' reely freedom, not when they's all you got to do. 
 Marse Randy, he wanted to be a surgeon. A great one, kind 'at 
 goes a long way off to study, an' comes home 'th big ideas. But they 
 wasn't the money, it meant sell the ole place. An' Randy knew that 
 would kill his folks. So he stayed home, took to drink an' cyards." 
 
 "Hmph!" said Dilsey Jackson. 
 
 "That 'uz one reason Ah wuz so quick to run away when the 
 chanst come. Shucks! Ah knew mah room be bettah 'n mah company 
 t' ole massah. Jes' one mouth less t' feed. A mouth on a ole body 
 with not much wuk lef in it. Reckon ole massah went down t' the 
 Ferry t' git Prince an' Duke back. But Ah spec' he nevah look vey 
 pintedly fo' me." 
 
 Dilsey draped her dishtowel over one fat hip. 
 
 "Ain' dat whut Ah tell you?" she inquired triumphantly. "One 
 free, all free. One slave, all slave. An' dat whut Govenah Robimson 
 don' act it out, even if he do preach it. He ain' coppahaided, min' 
 yuh. Jes' blind! Dat whut make him kinduh ginst Mistah Linkum. 
 An dat why Mistah Linkum, he cain't trus' de govenah lak he do 
 Cunnel Lane." 
 
 Uncle Frank finished his rice custard pudding. Pausing only for 
 a silent grace, he rose slowly, straightening his back. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 363 
 
 "Sistah Dilsey, 'at wuz a mos' puhticklah fine dinnah." At the 
 outer door he called back across his shoulder, "Hoppagrasses gittin* 
 ahaid th' cunnel out heah in back. He oughta git him a flock o' 
 tuhkeys. Tuhkeys is a ting fo' hoppahgrasses." 
 
 The committee for bringing the Kansas Pacific railroad through 
 North Lawrence completed arrangements for its public meeting by 
 pushing the long tables in the Hotel Eldridge dining room against 
 the walls, and placing straight chairs in rows, both in the dining 
 room and in the adjacent parlors. Outside, the last light of August 
 20th, 1863, faded into moonlight, "But I advise against lighting up 
 until the last possible moment," urged Governor Robinson. "The 
 night insects are particularly trying just now. Some of them really 
 daunt the ladies. Mrs. Robinson was as brave as a man when we 
 were arrested in Lexington; but the first time one of those brown, 
 hard-shelled creatures lighted on her neck, she fainted away." 
 
 "June flies,— they do pinch," agreed Joseph Savage. He moved 
 toward the front of the house, assembling his orchestra. "We open 
 the meeting," he told them, "with the singing of 'America' by the 
 audience. For our overtures I've arranged a medley. 'Oh, Susannah!' 
 . . . 'When Johnny Comes Marching Home' . . . 'Never Forget the 
 Dear Ones' . . . 'The Girl I left Behind Me' . . . All lively airs, they 
 put folks in a good mood." 
 
 The committee for the railroad murmured together, under cover 
 of squawks and scrapings from the orchestra. "If he attempts to 
 speak, we know what we've got to do." 
 
 "We certainly do. His war mongering has got to cease. Until 
 after our fall openings, at least." 
 
 "I, for one, didn't pay a lady milliner to come all the way from 
 Cincinnati with the latest Paris fashions, mind you, just to have 
 Jim Lane upset my apple cart." 
 
 "Gentlemen! You are forgetting the real issue. Our railroad. We 
 dare not allow Jim Lane to have the floor this evening. If we do 
 we may expect some of his vile trickery." 
 
 "You're right, governor. We'll attend to his case." 
 
 "Here comes Doctor Cordley!" 
 
 "Doctor, good evening. Mrs. Cordley. Ah, Mrs. Wood and Mrs. 
 Reynolds. Wonderful occasion, ladies. Tonight we take our place 
 in our country's railroad plan. From now on it will be Boston, 
 Lawrence and San Francisco!" 
 
 Herb Winchell and his friend Arthur Spicer found seats behind 
 Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Reynolds. After an exchange with Mrs. Wood 
 on the coming season of the amateur theatrical group, the young 
 
364 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 men found themselves very private in an ocean of chatter that rose 
 all around them. Groups were pouring in, every family of con- 
 sequence in town. Not even the orchestra, bursting into something 
 between sound and music, could defeat the gossipers. 
 
 "There comes Lucy," murmured Herb to Arthur. "Remember 
 how Charley Hart used to talk us cross-eyed on the subject of her 
 charms? Do you think she really was?" 
 
 "Don't know. Holland Wheeler says she was." 
 
 "I bet a lot of women have been in love with Charley Hart," 
 observed Herb enviously. "He's the kind women like. Mysterious 
 and pitiful, in need of women's tears." 
 
 "Remember how we thought he was as young as we were?" 
 
 "Well, he looked young. There's Holland Wheeler beauing Hettie 
 Cooper. Wonder what became of the picture she used to carry in 
 her locket?" 
 
 "You mean the man, not the picture. If you ask me, the girl looks 
 sad. Have you noticed?" 
 
 "Grieving about her brother. There's old Cordley making for the 
 platform. Going to ask a blessing on the Iron Horse. Quite a dif- 
 ference between him and Lum. Now, Lum, if he met the devil, 
 he'd snatch the Old Boy's pitchfork, and ram it through his guts. 
 But Cordley would ask him to kneel in prayer." 
 
 "Here comes that Nin Beck with John Donnelley," Mrs. Wood 
 was whispering to Mrs. Reynolds. "Our culture develops. Lawrence 
 has her first demi-mondaine." 
 
 "My dear-r-r!!!" 
 
 Mrs. Reynolds sounded as shocked and looked as pleased as a 
 respectable clergyman's wife should sound and look. 
 
 "Here come the Lanes," she said. "How do you do, Mr. Lane? 
 Oh! Mrs. Lane not coming? Well, this has been a day to give 
 anyone a headache. Mrs. Ridenour! No, Mrs. Bullene isn't coming. 
 Her mother, you know." 
 
 Chatter is dying. Doctor Cordley, pastor of the Plymouth Con- 
 gregational church, is on a small stage at the front of the room 
 where Governor Robinson awaits him. The orchestra is bringing 
 Johnny home with a final bang, and the younger of the Savage 
 brothers begins to distribute the orchestrations for "America". Last 
 whispers die into silence. Fans flutter and cease as the governor 
 raises his hand. People settle themselves on the hard, straight chairs. 
 Every eye considers the governor who is about to announce that 
 Doctor Cordley will lead in prayer. 
 
 Into this silence comes a gaunt, disheveled figure, rushing along 
 
A UNION FOREVER 365 
 
 the center aisle between the chairs, long legs taking a leap to the 
 improvised platform. 
 
 Jim Lane began speaking before the governor could interrupt 
 him. 
 
 "Robinson, I know this is your meeting, but I've got to be heard. 
 Colonel William Clarke Quantrill is massing a considerable force 
 on the border of Johnson county. His destination is either Osawa- 
 tomie or Lawrence. We must make plans immediately for preserving 
 this town. If we're wiped out, we won't do the railroad any good, 
 and the railroad won't do us any good. I beg and pray of you, for 
 once in this town, let us put the horses into the cart between the 
 shafts, where they belong." 
 
 A moment of spellbound silence held as he paused for breath, in 
 his appeal. Undoubtedly there were those in the audience who 
 caught the note of desperate sincerity in Lane's voice. But a dif- 
 ferent sort of voice rose suddenly from the rear of the house, a 
 laughing voice. 
 
 "Pipe down, Jim. No tricks tonight." 
 
 Laughter flared immediately on all sides. There were catcalls, 
 even a few mild boos and one or two hisses. 
 
 "We're here to get a railroad, Jim." 
 
 "Down in front, Jim. You're out of order." 
 
 "Telegraph Abe for help, Jim. He'll listen to you." 
 
 This last sally increased the laughter, brought a round of ap- 
 plause. 
 
 Several minutes passed while Jim Lane patiently allowed the 
 mockers time to settle into quiet. When it finally became evident 
 to him he would not be allowed to speak, he made one dispairing 
 gesture with his long, lean arms. He walked down the aisle between 
 the chairs, strode out of the room while laughter followed him. 
 Governor Robinson, disdaining comment, raised his hand, an- 
 nounced, "We will open this meeting with the singing of 'America' 
 in unison. After which Doctor Cordley will offer the invocation." 
 
 Just a tailend of confusion. Miss Nin Beck is coughing to the 
 extent that she has to be assisted from the room by Mr. Donnelley. 
 Once in the lobby she asks her escort to find a glass of water for 
 her. Then, as he hurries away on the errand, she slips to the street 
 outside the hotel, possibly for the benefit of the slightly cooler 
 outside air. 
 
 Uncle Frank, holding in Lane's beautiful driving mare, peered 
 sharply at Lane in the light that streamed from the hotel. 
 
 "Whut they do to you, cunnel?" 
 
366 
 
 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Nothing to me," replied Lane absently. He got into his high 
 trap, took the lines from Uncle Frank. "God save these poor fools." 
 "Yessuh. Jes' so, cunnel." 
 "I'll have to telegraph the President." 
 
 XXV 
 
 At that moment when the committee for the Kansas Pacific were 
 arranging chairs and discussing June flies, William Clarke Quantrill 
 rose from a farmhouse table near Squiresville, a Kansas village on 
 the border. 
 
 "Mrs. Sims," he remarked to the pallid woman who, with what 
 help she could get from a terrified servant girl, had been serving 
 supper to the guerrilla chieftans, "your food is excellent." He had 
 watched her closely during its preparation to insure against a dose 
 of poison. "Actually I am pleased that Colonel Sims is away from 
 home. He was on our death list, but after such a meal, I should hate 
 to shoot him." 
 
 The guerrilla colonel strolled out into the evening while the two 
 women stared after him, unable to believe themselves safe after 
 an hour spent in cooking under his cold eye. Anderson, Todd, 
 Jarrette and Younger followed their leader into the out-of-doors. 
 There they found Billy Gregg taking the reports of the videttes who 
 were every moment arriving on sweaty mounts. 
 
 Quantrill walked to a slight rise commanding a nearby field. His 
 men, seeing him, began to crowd in from every direction. Billy 
 Gregg, called upon, reported a roster of four hundred and fifty men, 
 this to include Colonel John D. Holt's recruits, a group of boys 
 newly enlisted in the Confederate army. Meeting these boys with 
 their officer four miles from the Kansas fine, "Bring them to Law- 
 rence with us," Quantrill advised Holt. "Give them their baptism 
 right away. They'll train better for a brush with the enemy." Not 
 fully understanding the nature of the expedition, Holt agreed to 
 join it. His charges, they were but boys, were obviously under a 
 spell of glamor, gazing bug-eyed at the guerrillas, attempting to 
 reproduce their every oath and swagger. 
 
 Quantrill stood at ease, his cold gaze on his men until absolute 
 silence complimented him. Then he spoke. 
 
 "You, one and all, know the undertaking we are about to com- 
 mence is one of extreme hazard. It may be the entire command will 
 be overwhelmed, our ranks decimated as they never have been 
 before. For this reason I say to one and all of you, if you refuse to 
 go, you will not be censured." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 367 
 
 His voice died away on the evening, an evening silvered now 
 by a rising moon,— and no man stirred from his place. 
 
 "Very well. Saddle up!" 
 
 The command rang up to outraged heaven, a cry of hatred and 
 triumph. 
 
 At that instant the march on Lawrence commenced in earnest. 
 
 Was there no one to carry a warning to the doomed town of 
 Lawrence? 
 
 When the guerrillas crossed the Kansas line earlier in the day, 
 the crawled across the prairie two miles south of the village of 
 Aubrey where Captain Jacob Pike was stationed with Company K of 
 the 9th Kansas. Jacob Pike dispatched the information to his im- 
 mediate superior, Captain Charles D. Coleman. Then Pike set out 
 with a detachment on a desperate forced march to warn Lawrence. 
 Captain Coleman sent couriers to Kansas City, Westport and Olathe, 
 requesting the commanding officer at Olathe to send couriers on 
 west. By nine o'clock of the moonlit August evening Coleman 
 cantered out of Little Santa Fe at the head of all the men he could 
 muster, a force of eighty, on his way to Aubry. There he found 
 Pike's company, a hundred men. Uniting forces, he took the trail 
 after Quantrill's company. The moon sank, leaving the country to 
 the dim light of summer stars. It was five o'clock in the morning 
 before he arrived at Gardner,— six fatal hours behind Quantrill. 
 
 Two couriers dispatched by Coleman arrived at the headquarters 
 of General Ewing in Kansas City, the first at half after eleven and 
 the second at midnight. Ewing, in Leavenworth, could not be 
 reached. Young Major Preston B. Plumb, chief-of-staff, acted in his 
 stead. Mustering thirty men, all who could be found in Kansas City, 
 he began hurried arrangements to mount them on some heavy horses 
 just arrived from Indiana and Ohio for the use of the Kansas troops. 
 
 The second courier to arrive in Kansas City was the Union scout, 
 Pelathe the Shawnee. Pelathe strode into a room filled with excited 
 men, civil and military, coming and going in mad haste. Plumb, 
 behind his desk, looked haggard. 
 
 "Well, Pelathe! Which way are they heading?" 
 
 "Sir, they are on their way to Lawrence." 
 
 Plumb's face set into deeper lines. The men who overheard 
 Pelathe stared strickenly. Most of them had friends or relatives in 
 Lawrence. Pelathe urged Plumb, "Give me the best horse you have, 
 sir. I am an Indian. I know many short ways across the prairie and 
 through the woods. There is still hope." 
 
 "Pelathe, these mounts we have couldn't make a run like that. 
 
368 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 They're good horses for the ordinary gallop, but you'd want some- 
 thing like fairy hoofs." 
 
 "Very well, sir." 
 
 Pelathe saluted, left the room as Plumb turned again to consult 
 his adjutant. The news that Pelathe was looking for a noteworthy 
 mount ran ahead of him into the bars, hotel lobbies, wherever men 
 were gathered to discuss the impending tragedy. A middle-aged, 
 rugged man addressed Pelathe. 
 
 "You're the Shawnee scout." 
 
 Pelathe studied him gravely. 
 
 "My name is Bartles. Theodore Bartles. You've heard of me. 
 Guess I've got the mare you're looking for. Out on my place. Let's 
 get out there, quick as we can." 
 
 Five minutes later Pelathe and Bartles in a light carry-all, were 
 speeding out of Kansas City bound for the Bartles tavern six miles 
 away. 
 
 Somewhere in the sleeping village a clock struck eleven horrified 
 notes as the guerrillas rode into Gardner, after traveling eight miles 
 over one of many sprawling trails. The moon was now set, and the 
 stretches of timber intensely dark. At Gardner they picked up the 
 Santa Fe trail, and this they followed by starlight until, after only 
 a few miles, they reached the point where the trail for Lawrence 
 left the main highway. 
 
 At this point Quantrill knew himself completely lost. 
 
 The farmer first knocked up out of his bed did not clearly under- 
 stand who was demanding his services. He came from the house, 
 hastily attired, while his wife stood in the doorway, holding a 
 lighted lantern. As the light fell across his face shouts and howls 
 rose from the nearest guerrillas. 
 
 "Missouri free-stater!" 
 
 "Hell, we don't want him," announced Bill Anderson. And shot 
 the man through the head while his wife looked on. She knelt and 
 held her husband while he died. The guerrillas rode heedlessly past 
 their first victim in the famous raid. In this manner Quantrill used 
 and killed ten guides during the next several hours. When a man no 
 longer knew the road he was shot to prevent his taking some short 
 cut to warn sleeping Lawrence. 
 
 Nearing his tavern, Six Mile House, Theodore Bartles broke the 
 silence that had endured during the swift journey. 
 
 "I bought this mare from a chicken thief named Charley Hart. 
 Don't know how he came by her. Stole her, likely. I had big hopes 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 369 
 
 for her, I was going to take her down to Kaintuck, race her there. 
 But the war came along. If there's horseflesh can get you to 
 Lawrence in time, she'll do it." 
 
 Pelathe said nothing. 
 
 "Damned inefficient whippersnappers at headquarters!" 
 
 Bartles resumed the main stream of his talk. 
 
 "I wanted to organize a posse when the first messenger came in. 
 I knew it was Lawrence before you reported. But then I knew my 
 men would have to travel north of the Kaw to keep out of Quantrill's 
 path. By now we couldn't hope to get there in time. Cutting cross 
 country on a swift mare like Juanita, you may make it." 
 
 At Six Mile House he drove directly into the stable, and was 
 greeted by a gentle whinny. 
 
 "Hello, Juanita! She always knows me," he told Pelathe. 
 
 Bartles led out the mare. 
 
 "This is Juanita?" 
 
 "You know her?" 
 
 "I saw Charley Hart riding her in Lawrence." 
 
 "I bought her from him just before he disappeared. Got himself 
 killed nigger stealing. He used to steal niggers, sell 'em South. 
 
 Five minutes later the Indian walked Juanita into the stableyard 
 with Bartles beside him. 
 
 "One o'clock," announced Bartles, looking at his watch in the 
 light of a lantern he carried. 
 
 Pelathe had discarded his uniform. He now wore a breechclout 
 with a knife thrust into his snakeskin belt, and for saddle Juanita 
 carried a folded blanket. The Indian had his Sharpe's rifle laid 
 across the mare's neck. 
 
 Bartles patted the mare gently. 
 
 "Goodbye, Juanita," he said below his breath. He felt a hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "Goodbye . . . friend," said Pelathe. 
 
 Indian and mare were gone into the starlit night as Bartles called 
 after them, "Remember me to White Turkey if you see him!" Listen- 
 ing to the last sound of Juanita's flying hoofs, "My God, that's a 
 likable Indian," he exclaimed,— and found there were tears where 
 tears would have astounded his Redleg compatriots,— on the leathery 
 Bartles cheeks. 
 
 At first Pelathe rode at far less than Juanita's top speed, the mare 
 moving easily in long regular strides, her neck straightened and her 
 nose thrown well forward. The Indian knew every stump and out- 
 crop north of the Kaw. Skillfully he guided the mare between tall 
 trees hung with vines, along paths he knew rather than saw. 
 
370 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 So they topped the first rise of the many between themselves and 
 Lawrence. 
 
 The guerrillas surrounded a well in the farmyard of Captain 
 Jennings. The captain's wife was required to furnish them with 
 every vessel in her house while they fiercely cursed the night, the 
 heat, the dust, the state of Kansas, and the "blue-bellied Yankees" 
 composing her population. The light that shone from the kitchen 
 windows revealed their appearance to Mrs. Jennings in fearful 
 pictures she was never to forget. Their bearded faces and long locks 
 beneath plumed and rosetted hats worn well back on their heads. 
 Their guerrilla shirts, cut low in front with the slit narrowing to a 
 point above the belt and furnished with ruffle-bunches in bright 
 colors. Sometimes the tails of these shirts were tucked into a man's 
 riding breeches, sometimes worn loose to God's breeze. 
 
 Captain Jennings was away with his command, a fact the guer- 
 rillas seemed to take for granted. In the first confusion of their 
 arrival a small colored servant girl had dashed out the kitchen door 
 to hide herself in the roadside weeds. Mrs. Jennings, left alone with 
 her children, handed out cups, pitchers, pans, whatever she could 
 seize that would hold water for the marauders, trying, meanwhile, 
 to silence her terrified children, in mortal fear they might call to 
 themselves notice from the evil company surrounding the house. 
 
 Presently new sound rose on the summer night. Shouts, oaths and 
 commands from the direction of the Stone property across the road, 
 this followed after a brief interval by one awful scream. Almost on 
 the shock of that scream came a command that sent the guerrillas 
 into their saddles. Crouched half -fainting in her doorway, Mrs. 
 Jennings watched the long line of men, riding two abreast, pass and 
 pass long the dusty road. When she made completely sure they 
 were on their way, Mrs. Jennings dragged herself up on trembling 
 legs. She closed and bolted her door against possible stragglers, got 
 the revolver her husband had taught her to use. Then she began 
 with shaking hands to dress her children. 
 
 "Miz Jennings! Miz Jennings! Leave me in! Dis Lissy." 
 
 "Lissy!" 
 
 Mrs. Jennings narrowly opened the door and Lissy tumbled in. 
 
 "Is you-all 'live? Oh, Miz Jennings! Hit's terr'ble ovah to Stones's. 
 Oh, ooh, oh!" 
 
 She grovelled in an ecstacy of terror. Mrs. Jennings brought her to 
 reason by grasping her pigtails for a hearty shake. 
 
 "What happened? Tell me what happened?" 
 
 "One those men, he rap on de do', say he gotta hab a guide. Den 
 
A UNION FOREVER 371 
 
 Miz Stone, she ope de do'. An' she say, 'Yeah ouah lil hard boy. You 
 take him erlong fo' a guide/ " 
 
 "Yes? Go on! What happened?" 
 
 "An' nen Missah Stone, he ope de do' widah, an' he say, 'Sen' 'at 
 boy back in heah. Any guide needed, Ah'll do de guidin'.' " Lissy 
 gasped, rolled up her eyes. "Yes'm! Missah Stone, he step out, an' 
 de light Miz Stone a-holdin', hit shine on him. An' shine on a man 
 'at been do de rappin' on de do'. Mighty han'some man. An' nothah 
 man call out to hurry, dey go' be too late. He call at this han'some 
 man, 'Hurry theah, Todd!' But 'at man, Todd, he lookin' at Missah 
 Stone mighty hateful like. He say, Ah know you.' An' jes' 'at very 
 minute Stone boy, he crawl thoo de weeds. An' he cum right up 
 wheah Ah am. An' we both see whut happen. Oooh!" 
 
 Again Lissy fell to moaning and rocking. 
 
 "WHAT happened?" 
 
 "Oh, Miz Jennings," cried the little colored girl, "Ah cain't nevah 
 fo'git Missah Stone's face. He look so pleadin' like at dat cruel 
 white man. An' 'at white man, he tooken his rifle an' he club po' 
 Missah Stone on a haid. Yessum, he done club him down to de 
 groun'. Oh, yessum, Ah saw hit. Ah cain't . . ." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings did not allow for hysteria. 
 
 "Lissy," she commanded, "pull yourself together. You've got to 
 help me dress the children. Those men are on their way to raid 
 Lawrence. We must find some way to send a warning." 
 
 "Oh, Miz Jennings, honey, Ah cain't go out dis house no mo'. Ah 
 got a failin' in mah laigs." 
 
 "You'll go," rejoined Mrs. Jennings. "Put the baby's sack on him, 
 and wrap him in the light blanket." 
 
 During minutes that seemed hours Mrs. Jennings got herself and 
 her children ready to quit the house. Out in the road where the 
 dust still choked the air after the passing of the guerrillas, she said, 
 "We'll go to the Guests. They weren't bothered. The raiders turned 
 off at the fork." 
 
 Hurrying and guiding she got her sleepy children and the moan- 
 ing Lissy over the half mile of dusty road between her home and 
 the Guest place. Then arose a new difficulty. She could not rouse 
 the Guests. Her cries, added to by the baby who started to scream 
 with fright, finally brought a man around the house. 
 
 "Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Jennings, frightened but severe. 
 
 "Mah name Thompson, William Thompson," said a reassuring 
 voice. "Ahm wukkin' fo' Mistah Guest. Ah cain't rightly unnerstan' 
 why he don' answer you-all. Can Ah do anythin' to hep you, ma'am?" 
 
372 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Before Mrs. Jennings could answer a surly voice called through 
 the closed door, "What the row out there?" 
 
 "Mr. Guest, we Ve got to rouse the country ahead. Raiders are 
 on their way to Lawrence. Several hundred of them." 
 
 "Mrs. Jennings, you talk like a crazy person. What do you mean, 
 rousing decent people at this time of the night with such a tale?" 
 
 "But it's true. They've been drinking from our well. I heard them 
 talk." 
 
 "I don't believe a word you're saying." 
 
 "And they've killed Mr. Stone. Lissy, here, saw them kill him." 
 
 "So you've got me up to tell me a nigger lie. I'm going back to 
 bed, and I advise you to do the same. You'll find out tomorrow those 
 were Union troops." 
 
 The colored man spoke in a lowered tone to Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 "The leadah those men, was he 'bout my height? With light- 
 colored hair, an' mighty strange eyes? Did he dress fine? An' did he 
 walk some like a big cat, a-swingin' an' a-paddin' erlong?" 
 
 "I didn't see his eyes. But he was dressed well, his shirt was brown 
 woolen cloth with fine hand work. And the plume on his hat was 
 elegant. Yes, he did walk gracefully." 
 
 "When he talk, was it eddicated talk, like a preachah?" 
 
 "Yes, educated. He had two names," recalled Mrs. Jennings 
 suddenly. "I heard one man call him Bill. And another of the raiders 
 called him Charley." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, 'at's him, all right. Las' time Ah saw him, he wuz 
 fixin' t' sell me South. If Ah had a hoss Ah could make Eudora ahaid 
 of him." 
 
 "Not one of my horses," announced Mr. Guest through his closed 
 door. 
 
 "No, suh. No, suh. Ah jes' try make it on mah own laigs." He 
 lowered his voice again to speak to Mrs. Jennings. "They's a marrym 
 tonight in Eudora. Those Dutch folks boun' t' keep it up late. Likely 
 be some of 'em on they way home. Someone boun' t' come erlong 
 on a hoss. Ah'll cut through th' woods, git ahaid th' raidahs. You 
 res' yo' haht, ma'am. Goo'night, ma'am." 
 
 An instant later he was across the road and running through a 
 field to the woods beyond. Not exchanging another word with Guest, 
 Mrs. Jennings started her family along the dusty road toward home. 
 
 By the end of their first hour Pelathe and Juanita were going at 
 the mare's top speed. In and out between trees and boulders the 
 Indian guided the mare, using larger objects to advise him where 
 the faint trail lay. Quick to sense when the mare began to falter, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 373 
 
 Pelathe thought best to pull her in for a momentary rest. He dis- 
 mounted. He removed the blanket he used for a saddle. With a 
 large red handkerchief from around his neck he rubbed Juanita 
 down carefully, gently, talking to her meanwhile in a low voice. 
 He rubbed her head, her neck, her legs, her quivering flanks. That 
 she might not become stiff or chilled he led her along all the while 
 that he ministered to her. Coming to a pool in the midst of a stream- 
 let, he washed the foam from her lips, allowed her to drink a little 
 water. As they breasted the crest of a prairie swell, he found her 
 much refreshed. Replacing the blanket, he was up and away. 
 
 The mare soon pushed her own speed to the limit. She had found 
 her second wind. The prairie swam by in the vague light of summer 
 stars. The second hour passed, and then the third. Away to the 
 southwest the Indian's keen eye detected a long dark line of woods. 
 Beyond these woods lay Lawrence. 
 
 The blockhouse in Eudora filled with excited men, women and 
 children. William Thompson had met, as he hoped, a rider,— one 
 Judge Pilla on his way home after marrying the Eudora couple. 
 Pilla rode back furiously to rouse the settlement while William 
 Thompson followed as best he could on foot. 
 
 In the blockhouse Judge Pilla, taking command, called for volun- 
 teers to rouse Lawrence. Three men responded. The judge re- 
 cognized them. 
 
 "David Kraus! 
 
 "Caspar Marfelius!" 
 
 "Jerry Reel!" 
 
 There followed a tremendous but short-spaced stir to choose the 
 three best mounts from the horses being driven away into the brush 
 for safety. Two horses and one mare were selected. The men 
 mounted. They set off at a mad pace. Just outside Eudora there was 
 a tricky rise in the trail. Dashing at this spot full speed, David Kraus 
 was thrown from his horse and seriously injured. The other two 
 dashed on. They knew they could not be more than a few minutes 
 ahead of the raiders. As the first sign of day penetrated the woods 
 that lined the Eudora to Lawrence trail, Crow, the black mare 
 ridden by Jerry Reel stumbled. Jerry went over her head. The mare 
 fell on him, instantly crushing him to death. Marfelius got the mare 
 to her feet, and Jerry to the roadside. Utterly distracted, he started 
 for the nearest farmhouse to get help. As he left the trail he heard 
 the onrushing sound of hoofs. From the shelter of the brush he 
 watched the raiders sweep heedlessly past the spot where the 
 
374 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 winded mare hung her head over the man she had unwittingly 
 crushed to death. 
 
 The prairie swam in the soft light of summer stars. Another hour 
 and Pelathe will save the city. Another hour? Making a long ascent 
 Juanita falters. At the top of the rise she comes to a full halt. Her 
 wonderful powers are spent. Pelathe's voice cannot rouse her. 
 Quickly the Indian slashes her shoulders with his hunting knife. 
 His face a mask of agony, he rubs into her flesh the horribly stinging 
 powder from a cartridge. This is effective. The mare springs for- 
 ward. She races madly a few miles nearer Lawrence, while her 
 agony is reflected in Pelathe's eyes. Rising in one last grand leap, 
 and crying out in a voice almost human, Juanita falls dead. As 
 Pelathe jumps clear of the falling mare, he sees ahead, far down the 
 forest aisle, in the first dawn, a group of cabins. Running toward 
 them he gives the long quavering call that will reach and rouse the 
 sleeping Delawares. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 "Dilsey!" 
 
 Jim Lane ambled into the kitchen where Dilsey was making 
 leisurely motions toward breakfast. 
 
 "Dilsey, I want some hot water for shaving. I'm going down below 
 to telegraph the President." 
 
 "Yessuh," agreed Dilsey in a warm voice, "dat's jes' de best thing 
 you kin do. Ah got plenty scaldin' watah. Ahm fixin' git mah 
 scrubbin' done early. 'Count de heat." 
 
 Lane said as he took the pan of water she handed him, "Tell 
 Uncle Frank to saddle the grey." 
 
 He slopped a few drops of scalding water, leaped suddenly as 
 the drops struck his foot. Clad in nightshirt tucked into trousers, 
 he was,— usual with him in the house,— barefoot. When other Law- 
 rence ladies related the strange ways of their mates, Mrs. Lane 
 always exclaimed plaintively, "But what would you do if your 
 husband refused to wear his lounging slippers? Even his purple 
 velvet ones embroidered with heartsease?" 
 
 "Uncle Frank gone down into town," announced Dilsey, adding 
 lye to a bucket of soft-soap suds. "Been some screamin' an' shootin' 
 ovah deah jes' now. Ah tole him he bettah off heah. Might be a 
 mad dawg, seem like, on a mawnin' like disyeah. Ain't a mite o' air 
 stirrin'. Puts me in mind o' Jedgment Day." 
 
 She carried her bucket into the latticed back porch, then said 
 
A UNION FOREVER 375 
 
 in a lowered voice, "Cunnel Lane!" As Lane stepped to the doorway 
 she asked, "Whut you reckon disyeah?" 
 
 Three strange men at the stable door. 
 
 "Dilsey! Hold em here! I'm going out the front way, through the 
 cornfield. I'll rally all I can of the old company. I'll be back, Dilsey. 
 Just as soon as I can." 
 
 "De guerrillas!" 
 
 "Dilsey, you've got to hold 'em a minute or two." 
 
 "Yessuh." The blood of Congo kings flowed in Dilsey 's veins. She 
 drew herself up, and suddenly a majesty clothed her fat figure in 
 its percale work dress. She said, "Ah'll hold 'em." 
 
 Jim Lane went through the house in a swift, noiseless streak. 
 Dilsey heard the very careful opening and closing of the front door. 
 She caught up a long-handled ladle from the stove. Pushing her 
 bucket nearer the porch steps she called out, "Whut you-all fixin' 
 to do?" 
 
 One of the guerrillas was now holding Lane's two horses. Having 
 in this way blocked any attempt of Lane to escape on horseback, 
 the raiders were moving to surround the house. Dilsey 's voice drew 
 them to the porch, where she stood ladle in hand. 
 
 "Lane at home?" 
 
 "No, he ain't home. If he wuz home, he be out heah, scallup yo' 
 brains loose, foolin' wid his hosses." 
 
 The leader of the guerrilla detail stepped nearer. 
 
 "Let me pass, auntie. We're searching the house. Colonel Lane 
 is an enemy of the Confederate States of America." 
 
 "He sho' is," agreed Dilsey. She filled her ladle from the scalding 
 lye water in her bucket. "An' so is I. Disyeah is hot, scaldin' lye 
 watah. Fus' han' Ah see goin' towardst a gun, Ah goin' slam disyeah 
 hot, scaldin' lye watah right in neares' face. Yessuh," she told the 
 leader, "Ah goin' slam it toreckly at you." 
 
 "For God sake, hold your fire, men," called the object of her 
 choice. 
 
 "Yessuh," repeated Dilsey without a tremor, "fus' man in mah 
 kitchen git some hot, scaldin' lye watah. Red hot." 
 
 "All right, auntie. All right. Keep your kitchen. We'll let you have 
 it a while longer." The men grinned at one another. The leader said, 
 "Always did like a nigger wench would stand up for her white 
 folks." 
 
 They filed off round the house. Dilsey heard them banging on 
 the front door. 
 
376 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 From Eudora the guerrillas had come on at an easy gallop, in a 
 column of fours, under the growing light. They no longer needed 
 the little Dutch boy, Jacob Rote, as Quantrill called out he now 
 knew his way. Billy Gregg asked the boy, sitting before him, "Do 
 you know where we're going? We're on our way to raid Lawrence. 
 We'll get you a suit of clothes there." 
 
 There was grumbling among the guerrillas. 
 
 "Oughta been in Lawrence an hour ago." 
 
 "This is gonna be a dangerous business." 
 
 They made a wide detour of the still sleeping town, arriving at 
 last on the prairie to the southwest of the city limit. There they 
 halted. A few minutes of waiting ensued. 
 
 No one, not even Billy Gregg, knew why Quantrill waited. 
 
 The courage of bullies is ever prone to wane under inaction. 
 George Todd noted the mounting uneasiness. Himself no coward, 
 he took advantage of the queesy spirit abroad to start the remark 
 through the lines, "Charley's lost his nerve." 
 
 Miss Nin Beck, meanwhile, had an engagement with young 
 Collamore, the mayor's son, to ride into the country. Young Mr. 
 Donnelley, who was to accompany them, rode only a block or two 
 when he begged to excuse himself, he had forgot his crop, he 
 would ride on later and overtake them. Nin Beck gave him a look 
 strangely mingled of understanding and contempt, as he wheeled 
 back toward his livery stable. Young Collamore saw him go with 
 perfect ease of heart. 
 
 "I doubt if John will overtake us," observed young Collamore, 
 "our horses are so fresh." 
 
 "No," replied Nin Beck in a low voice, "he won't overtake us." 
 
 They cantered southward, their horses hoofs making an issue of 
 the early stillness. Only here and there a hurrying figure. Mostly 
 these were negroes whose business was the starting of the day for 
 white folks. 
 
 "Look at the riders!" exclaimed the young man. "Wonder what 
 that means?" 
 
 "Oh, you fool, you fool!" Nin Beck turned on his furiously. "Ride 
 away like hell. I can't bear to have you killed, you poor innocent 
 baby." Meeting his horrified gaze, she added, "You god-damned 
 fool, that's Quantrill. Now will you get out? Before they start 
 shooting?" 
 
 Young Collamore spurred his horse, taking the prairie in dizzy 
 leaps. Several horsemen detached themselves from the raiders to 
 cut him off. Nin Beck dried angry tears, trotting her horse to meet 
 the raiders. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 377 
 
 "Hello, Kate." 
 
 Quantrill was entirely casual in his greeting. Apparently neither 
 he nor Kate Clarke saw the astonishment of the nearest guerrillas. 
 Quantrill reached for a bundle behind his saddle, drew out a guer- 
 rilla shirt. Kate Clarke got to the ground and got quickly out of 
 her riding skirt. She stood revealed in trousers and white silk shirt. 
 When she slipped her arms into the guerrilla shirt of bright red, her 
 hat became in a flash a guerrilla's hat, the scarlet plume curling at 
 exactly the right angle above the black velvet brim. 
 
 "I've got a horse for you. You can't ride into town on that side 
 saddle." 
 
 "Jim Lane may have got away," remarked Kate Clarke, making a 
 neat bundle of her riding bodice and skirt. "He planned to ride 
 down to Kansas City. To telegraph Lincoln for troops. He got 
 inside information of our movements." 
 
 "Damnation," swore Todd. "The whole thing's a god-damned 
 piddle-out!" 
 
 Quantrill straightened in his saddle. 
 
 "Men, you can all do as you please. I'm going into Lawrence. 
 Remember, the order is, Burn every house, and kill every man! But 
 there is one exception. Pass this along the line. Governor and Mrs. 
 Robinson live just north of the Eldridge. No one is to step on their 
 premises. She has had one house burned in this struggle. Leave her 
 alone! Forward! To the Eldridge House!" 
 
 He spurred the horse Charley forward. Frank James rode up 
 beside him. Billy Gregg, Cole Younger and Jarrette, uttering blood 
 chilling caterwauls, joined the charge. Kate Clarke darted her 
 mount forward to take her place beside Quantrill. 
 
 "What in hell we waiting for?" demanded Bill Anderson of Larkin 
 Skaggs. "Get those brats on Rhode Island street as we go in! 
 Beam's Babes! Ha, ha, ha! Spit the damned spawn in their cribs!" 
 
 "This is the Lord's work," screamed Larkin Skaggs. He had been 
 arming himself for the sacred task from his demijohn. Finishing its 
 last drop of madness, he flung it to the prairie. Together, he and 
 Anderson swept forward. Behind them came the entire company of 
 guerrillas, yelling as nearly like hell's fiends as their childish imagi- 
 nations suggested. At the crossing of Rhode Island and Qunicy 
 streets they entered the city of Lawrence, riding four abreast in a 
 sweeping column, firing at any animate object that met their eyes,— 
 human beings, dogs, cats, even chickens. Some deployed to take in 
 Massachusetts street, others paused to surround Beam's Babes for 
 indiscriminate slaughter. Ultimately all swept northward to con- 
 centrate on their first objective, the Hotel Eldridge. 
 
378 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Beam's Babes, roused by the tumult, rushed from their tents, met 
 a furious barrage from guerrilla revolvers, and fell in heaps without 
 ever having had the opportunity to fire one volley. The noise of 
 that first terrible fusillade against the boy recruits roused the still 
 half-slumbering city. However, in time of war, rifle practice is so 
 much a part of life as to cause little, if any, surprise. After a 
 moment of startled attention, Lawrence decided it was time to get 
 up and dress. 
 
 For the few already abroad, no more terrifying spectacle ever 
 poured itself down the streets of any town in history than that 
 invasion of demons along Rhode Island and Massachusetts streets 
 on that August morning of 1863 in Lawrence, Kansas. The guer- 
 rillas rode with bridle reins in their teeth or over their mounts 
 saddle horns, horses running recklessly, riders yelling past bridle 
 reins, long unkempt guerrilla locks flying wildly below guerrilla 
 hats, and each rider firing to right and left with equally deadly aim. 
 When they reached the Eldridge House, absolute silence fell. They 
 reined in, waiting developments. 
 
 Quantrill, Kate Clarke and Billy Gregg galloped on to the river 
 and the new bridge, giving the guerrillas time to surround the 
 hotel. As they rode back up Massachusetts street to the hotel a 
 gong began to clamor inside the building. At the same moment a 
 man appeared at an upstairs window on the Massachusetts street 
 side, waving a bed sheet. The man waving the bed sheet put out 
 a cautious head and called, "I want to speak to your leader!" 
 
 Quantrill, making a fine appearance in his embroidered woolen 
 guerrilla shirt, and his low-crowned soft black hat banded with a 
 gold cord, rode forward on Charley. He called out crisply, "Does 
 that sheet mean you are surrendering this hotel?" 
 
 "Yes, if you will guarantee the safety of the guests. Most of them 
 are here because of the meeting last night/' 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "Banks. I'm Provost Marshall of the state. I hereby surrender this 
 hotel to you without attempting its defense, if you will guarantee 
 the safety of its out-of-town guests." 
 
 A look of triumph like a white light swept Quantrill's face. By 
 this cowardly failure to defend the hotel, and thus give Lawrence 
 men the opportunity to rally, Banks and those with him made the 
 guerrilla raid a success. Rising in his stirrups Quantrill cried to his 
 men, "Kill! Kill! You'll make no mistake if you kill these Lawrence 
 bastards. Cleanse the city. The only way to do it is to kill!" 
 
 Bill Anderson was first to take up Quantrill's rallying cry. 
 
 "Kill every man," he yelled. "And burn every house!" 
 
A UNION FOREVER 379 
 
 The guerrillas scattered to their dreadful work, beginning with 
 the main business section along Massachusetts street. This af- 
 forded opportunity to certain of Quantrill's aides who went along 
 the residence blocks, marking the homes of Southern sympathizers 
 and a few others who were to be spared. Quantrill swung his lean 
 legs, clad in Confederate grey thrust into handsome cavalry boots, 
 from Charley's saddle. Accompanied by Billy Gregg and Kate 
 Clarke he entered the Eldridge lobby. 
 
 "This hotel will be burned immediately," he announced to the 
 first man he saw, a lawyer who had once defended him on a grand 
 larceny charge in his days of playing Charley Hart in and around 
 Lawrence. "Have the hotel guests dress and proceed down these 
 front stairs at once. Or they can carry their clothes in their arms. 
 That would be better," he said to Kate Clarke in a low voice. She 
 nodded, pistol in hand. As the guests, half-dressed and wholly ter- 
 rified, came down the stairs, Kate Clarke and Billy Gregg skillfully 
 searched them for small arms, watches, money and jewelry. 
 
 "Do you recall me?" chattered a white-faced young man to 
 Quantrill. "My name is Arthur Spicer." He leaned across the ban- 
 nister. "I used to be one of your friends here in Lawrence. You 
 were Charley Hart then." 
 
 That strange glow appeared in QuantriU's eyes. 
 
 "Billy," he called, "make this fellow show you the way to Jim 
 Lane's house. I want Lane taken alive. You understand? Alivel 
 Afterwards, bring this Spicer to me. I'll attend personally to his 
 case." 
 
 The lawyer who had defended Quantrill as Charley Hart now 
 claimed his attention. 
 
 "Sir, I defended you when you lived around here, got you off a 
 grand theft charge. You've never paid me a cent." 
 
 "I'll be able to remedy that oversight before I leave, sir," rejoined 
 the guerrilla. He smiled,— a smile that chilled the onlookers. 
 
 "I don't want money," replied the lawyer. "What I want is the 
 lives of these innocent people. What do they know about your 
 quarrel with Lawrence? They came here to attend a business meet- 
 ing. Guarantee their safety to me, and we'll cancel your money 
 obligation." 
 
 "Agreed, sir! I'll put them under guard, have them marched to 
 the Whitney House. They can stay in the lobby over there until we 
 leave. Will that satisfy you?" 
 
 The lawyer nodded. 
 
 "Thank you," he said in a low, choked voice. 
 
 Issuing orders during the night Quantrill had arranged for the 
 
380 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 finest horses and the most beautiful open carriage in Lawrence to 
 be found and placed at his disposal as soon as the invasion was a 
 known success. A gleamingly white pair and a luxurious barouche 
 now waited his pleasure outside the hotel. When he and Kate 
 Clarke were seated in this carriage Quantrill said, "Let's follow 
 Billy Gregg over to Jim Lane's. I want to see Lane taken." Folding 
 his arms he sat serene as he was driven by Clarke Hockensmith 
 through a scene of rapine second to none in history while it lasted. 
 On every side rose the screams of women as their husbands and 
 sons fell dead. The wounded mingled their groans with the screams 
 of the living. Children ran, half demented with fear, dodging be- 
 tween burning houses in their effort to reach some place of hiding. 
 Fires sent black columns upward in the still air. The Hotel Eldridge 
 soon added one outstanding column of smoke to the holocaust, a 
 beacon that reached garrisons in neighboring towns, brought them 
 hurrying to Lawrence. 
 
 Arthur Spicer, up behind Billy Gregg, had nothing to do but 
 point out short cuts to Jim Lane's house. Coming and going in 
 occasional agonizing qualms through his preoccupation with his 
 own fate, came the question, What's become of Herb? I didn't see 
 him come down the stairs. 
 
 "Yes, sir," he replied aloud to a question from Gregg, "The stable's 
 on this side of the house." 
 
 When Billy Gregg, after the scene at the Lane back steps, 
 knocked at the front door, it was Dilsey who answered. 
 
 "Whut you-all want now?" she demanded. In the next breath she 
 added, "Gunnel Lane ain't home. You wastin' yo' breff 'round heah." 
 
 Her eyes widened as she saw the magnificent approach of Quan- 
 trill and Kate Clarke. 
 
 "Whut you-all doin' wid Mistah Ridenour's tuhnout?" 
 
 Quantrill stepped gracefully from the carriage. He approached 
 the doorway. 
 
 "Call your mistress," he ordered Dilsey in his coldest voice. "I 
 wish to speak to Mrs. Lane." 
 
 Before Dilsey could answer Mrs. Lane appeared. She had con- 
 trived a decent toilet in the few minutes since the first alarm. 
 Looking Quantrill up and down, she asked, "You wish to speak 
 to me?" 
 
 Quantrill swept off his guerrilla hat, bowing grandly. 
 
 "May I inquire madam, is your husband where I could see him?" 
 
 "I'm afraid not. He left quite hurriedly a little earlier. I heard 
 
A UNION FOREVER 381 
 
 him say something about going to Kansas City. May I inquire your 
 name?" 
 
 "I am Colonel Quantrill of the Confederate army. This is too bad, 
 Mrs. Lane. I would have been very happy to meet your husband." 
 
 "Colonel Quantrill, I am sure Mr. Lane would be very happy 
 to meet you— some other time. And at some other place." 
 
 Several guerrillas now came tramping through Dilsey's kitchen, 
 and on into the front rooms. Billy Gregg asked Quantrill in a low 
 tone, "Do we burn the house and everything in it?" 
 
 "Why not? Stay!" Quantrill took a quick glance into the parlor. 
 "Is that your piano, Mrs. Lane?" He turned to Gregg. "I think we 
 will have to spare the piano. Have it carried outside, to a safe 
 distance." 
 
 Quantrill waited, patiently watchful, while six tall guerrillas got 
 the piano into the open with more speed than skill. Then he bowed 
 once more, very elegantly, to Mrs. Lane. 
 
 "Good day, madam." 
 
 He jumped lightly into the barouche, gave the order, "Drive to 
 Mount Oread!" 
 
 "Come, Dilsey!" 
 
 Mrs. Lane gathered her skirts against the mid-summer dust. 
 
 "Let us step over the way, and watch Southern chivalry at work 
 on our home." 
 
 When the raiders swept along Rhode Island and Massachusetts 
 streets, New Hampshire street heard the yells and shots without at 
 first clearly realizing the danger. Auntie, in the midst of breakfast 
 preparations, sent Lil Moje to the corner. "An doan' you go no 
 furthah an' th' cornah. You jes' take a peek, a-nen you run back 
 heah. You heah me?" 
 
 "Yassum yassum," agreed Lil Moje, wild to be off. 
 
 He came running back presently. 
 
 "Yessum, hit's a many ridahs, one, two th'ee, fo', alongside. Got 
 pistols in each han'. Yessum, big pistols like. Fiah em off evah 
 which ways. . . ." 
 
 ^Mistah Robert," called Auntie, hustling through the house. 
 
 "Yes, Auntie, yes. What is it? Don't wake Miss Lucy." 
 
 "Mistah Robert, th' guerrillas is come!" 
 
 "Are you sure?" demanded Lucy's husband, appearing in night- 
 shirt and carpet slippers. 
 
 "Ah sent Lil Moje to the cornah. Hit's suah, they done come." 
 
 "What you think I better do, Auntie? I've got my revolver. Oh, 
 damn Collamore! Locking up the Sharpe's." 
 
382 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Mistah Robert, you lissen me. Yo' revolvah am go' do no good 
 now. What you gotta do is git out an' hide somewheahs." Urgently 
 she drew him into the kitchen. "Me an' Lil Moje an' Miss Lucy an' 
 the baby, an' Miss Hettie, goin' stay inside th' house till they gone. 
 They ain' go stay long. Jes' kill who they kin fin'. Mebbe burn th' 
 hotel. They hafta git back pretty quick t' the Sni hills. Fo' they git 
 caught." 
 
 "I don't like to leave Miss Lucy unprotected." 
 
 "How you goin' protec' huh res' yo' life, you git yo'self killed 'is 
 mawnin'?" Auntie spoke fiercely. "Ansah me that." She seized a 
 sunbonnet hanging behind the kitchen door. She thrust the bonnet 
 at Lucy's husband, and began peeling off her neat work dress. 
 Petticoats exposed to view, she stood before the horrified gaze of 
 Lil Moje while she fairly threw the dress over Robert's head. "Le' 
 me button you up," she commanded. He turned mechanically. "Le' 
 me tie on 'is bonnet. Now, heah! You take 'is covahed basket. Walk 
 slow till you come 't th' woods." 
 
 Only half convinced by her vigorous domination, Robert hung 
 back to say, "They probably won't bother any of us who stay in our 
 own homes." 
 
 "Lissen me! They killin' now on Rhode Islan' an' Massachusetts. 
 They goin' be heah nex'. Go, AN' GO NOW!!!" 
 
 A moment later Lucy's husband walked out the door and started 
 for the nearest crosslot path to the woods east of town. In his hand 
 he carried the basket into which Auntie had thrust some cornbread 
 and bits of cold chicken. 
 
 "What is it? Auntie, what is it?" 
 
 Auntie turned to find Hettie Cooper with a dressing gown huddled 
 over her nightdress. 
 
 "Miss Hettie, th' guerrillas is come. Jes' lak Cunnel Lane say. 
 They jes' been shoot they way into town. But Mistah Robert goin' 
 git away all right. He walk into thick woods, stay theah till it's all 
 ovah." 
 
 "Auntie, you shouldn't have interfered. You don't understand." 
 Lucy appeared in the kitchen doorway. She pressed her hands 
 together. "I know all I'd have to do would be to ask for Robert's 
 life. . . ." 
 
 "Miss Lucy, you ain' go' even see 'em hell's fiends. You stay right 
 inside 'is house wif yo' baby an' Miss Hettie. Lil Moje an' I stay 
 right heah, take care you." 
 
 Half in pride, half in terror, Lil Moje rolled up his eyes. 
 
 "Oh, no, you mustn't stay. I'm afraid even I couldn't save you. 
 Southerners feel so bitter about escaped slaves." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 383 
 
 At this dire statement Lil Moje crouched whimpering into Auntie's 
 petticoats. 
 
 "Ah mus' git me on a dress," announced Auntie. "You, Lil Moje, 
 you stay right close in 's house wheah you be safe. Ahm go' git me 
 a stout piece o' rope out the shed. Let me see 'em hell's fiends 
 comin' up 'is street, in two seconds Ah goin' hang you down th' 
 well." 
 
 As this choice of evils unfolded to him, Lil Moje's nerveless hands 
 released Auntie's petticoats. She disappeared into the lean-to bed- 
 room she shared with her grandson. Lucy hurried back to her baby, 
 awake now and beginning to cry. She listened with strained atten- 
 tion as she picked up and hushed her baby, but no unfamiliar 
 sounds broke the early morning stillness. The guerrillas were now 
 surrounding the Eldridge House, but Lucy could not know that. 
 
 "Lucy! What will they do?" 
 
 Hettie, buttoning a morning dress, came from the guest room. 
 
 "They probably came for the Sharpe's," Lucy told her. "I heard 
 someone say the South needs rifles. On account of our blockade." 
 
 A few minutes later, as Lucy laid the baby in his crib, she was 
 startled by a hurried thumping on the front door Auntie had taken 
 care to bolt securely on the inside. Going down the stairs to the 
 door, Lucy called, "Who is there?" 
 
 "Major Holt of the Confederate army," came the reply. 
 
 Relieved to learn she was dealing with an officer, Lucy opened 
 the door. She found a tall officer with a paper in his hand. 
 
 "Good morning," he said pleasantly. "I have a list of the families 
 Colonel Quantrill is taking under his protection. If you-all will 
 keep strictly on your own premises, you will be perfectly safe." 
 
 Lucy's eyes widened. 
 
 "Surely Colonel Quantrill isn't making war on civilians?" 
 
 "I believe he intends to burn a certain number of houses. In 
 reprisal for the burning of Osceola." 
 
 The officer bowed and turned away, studying his list, evidently 
 comparing property descriptions with the houses on the street. 
 
 Lucy turned to Auntie who now came to peer across her shoulder. 
 
 "You see! We're to keep on our own premises. Then we'll be 
 perfectly safe." 
 
 "Hmph!" said Auntie. 
 
 "Why, this was an officer, a gentleman." 
 
 Auntie thrust her under lip well forward. 
 
 "You come git some breakfus'," she commanded. "Whilst we got 
 a breathin' spell. Gennelmun! Hmph!" 
 
384 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Herb Winchell hammered the back door of the Episcopal par- 
 sonage, thumped it with panic in his fists. Mrs. Sam Wood opened 
 the door after only a moment, relaxing from haughty disdain when 
 she saw Herb. 
 
 "Come inside!" 
 
 She glanced past him to see if he was pursued. 
 
 In the kitchen Herb leaned against a table, white-faced. 
 
 "They got Arthur," he gasped. "Did you hear the order? It's, 
 Burn every house, and kill every man." 
 
 "We'll have to hide you. But I don't see where. Oh, we're still 
 so unfinished. Our houses have no hiding places." 
 
 Mrs. Reynolds joined them. 
 
 "Could we put him under the potatoes and turnips in the cellar?" 
 
 "But what if they burn down the house?" objected Herb. His 
 teeth chattered. "I d-do'nt w-want to b-be burned a-alive." 
 
 Mrs. Wood interrupted with characteristic force. 
 
 "I think I see how to save Herb. And the house, too. We've the 
 kettle hot for our tea. Herb! I'll bring you shaving water and a 
 razor. You must shave as close as you possibly can. But first of all," 
 she commanded sharply, "you must pull yourself together. Of all 
 times in your life, this is the one when you dare not cut yourself 
 shaving." 
 
 Uncle Frank, hobbling down Pinckney street, reached the center 
 of excitement, the Hotel Eldridge, in time to hear the command of 
 Quantrill taken up by the guerrillas. "Kill, kill! Burn and kill!" In 
 the minds of the raiders the killing of men was but incidental to the 
 pleasure of looting and destroying property. They flung themselves 
 from their mounts, and the jaded beasts were led away by certain 
 of the guerrillas detailed for stable duty. The greater number of the 
 raiders scattered out through the business district, looking for such 
 stores of liquor as might be defying the Maine law favored by 
 Lawrence church members. 
 
 "There's a nigger!" 
 
 Uncle Frank was pushing himself along rapidly with the aid of 
 his stout stick. He had crossed Massachusetts street and was making 
 for New Hampshire, when several shots rang out, all fired with 
 guerrilla accuracy. The shots zipped past the place where the old 
 colored man should have been, but his stick had elected to be his 
 preserver. Thrust into one of the wide cracks in the wooden side- 
 walk, this stick threw Uncle Frank to the ground. There he lay, 
 supposing himself shot. The guerrillas forgot him in the more 
 important business of hunting whiskey. When Uncle Frank realized 
 
A UNION FOREVER 385 
 
 his good fortune, he decided to lie perfectly quiet where he was, 
 devoting himself, meanwhile, to silent prayer. 
 
 Quantrill and Kate Clarke continued their tour of the blazing, 
 tortured city. 
 
 They drove to Mount Oread where a dozen guerrilla pickets 
 scanned the surrounding country for Union troops. Quantrill and 
 his mistress stood on the spot where Charles Robinson had built 
 his home. Beneath their feet as they enjoyed the view were the 
 charred bits and ashes, now overgrown by grass and summer flowers. 
 Quantrill remarked idly, "Robinson knew this Ely Thayer, had 
 visited the blue-belly school Thayer kept in Massachusetts. That 
 gave Robinson the idea of naming this hill Oread. Afterward the 
 people of Lawrence adopted the name. The trail to Laramie and 
 Ft. Bridger goes over that rise." 
 
 When they left the hill, by the long winding back road that was 
 better suited to carriages than the steep eastern face of Oread, the 
 guerrilla told Kate Clarke, "Robinson is on the exempt list. If the 
 people of this town had paid attention to him, there would never 
 have been any border war. He understands the art of compromise/' 
 
 Charles Robinson, at the moment, stood in the shadow of the 
 stable door at the rear of his home on Massachusetts street, waiting 
 for a visit from the guerrillas who, he supposed, would be after his 
 horses. What thoughts filled the mind of this ambitious man who 
 had done so much to leave his townspeople helpless before the fury 
 of a mob? He did not write those thoughts down to make them 
 public with his other recollections; and so far as is known he never 
 confided them to any person of his time. 
 
 The guerrilla hunt for liquor was abundantly rewarded. Stores of 
 whiskey and fine wines, received with whoops of elation, were con- 
 sumed by the simple process of guzzling. Now, fully maddened by 
 alcohol, the guerrillas were ready for their most ghastly work. As 
 Quantrill, sitting with folded arms beside Kate Quantrill in her 
 guerrilla outfit, rode back through the town toward the Whitney 
 House, the screams of women clinging to husbands about to be shot 
 mingled with the groans of dying men, and the piteous begging 
 of the wounded to be carried beyond the reach of flames from the 
 burning houses. 
 
 In one front yard a young matron begged with streaming eyes, 
 "Please give me back just those little bracelets. They belonged to 
 my little girl that died. Oh, please! They're all I have that belonged 
 to her." 
 
 "What in hell? If she's dead, she won't miss 'em." 
 
386 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 The wretch she petitioned lurched callously away to further 
 looting. 
 
 Quantrill turning from the sight to Kate Clarke, said, "I sent word 
 to the captain and Miss Lydia to have the best breakfast ready 
 they possibly could. I'm empty clear down to my spurs, riding all 
 night." 
 
 When the raiders entered the city most of the colored population 
 saved themselves by immediate flight to the woods. Knowing well 
 what their fate would be, they were not caught off guard. They fled 
 to the deep undergrowth of the south bank of the Kaw; and this 
 turned out to be the safest place in Lawrence that morning. A small 
 detail of regular troops were occupying the north bank of the river, 
 as a guard for the ferry. These soldiers, although their numbers 
 were hopelessly too few for an attack, took positions from which to 
 snipe at any guerrilla who ventured near the river. 
 
 The several colored helpers around the Whitney House stable 
 were among the first to rush away to this nearby shelter. Miss Lydia 
 and Patty, busy and absorbed with breakfast preparations, heard the 
 first disturbance. Then, as quiet fell, they went on working. Patty 
 looked uneasy, but Miss Lydia's calmness reassured her. Miss Lydia, 
 laying down thin slices of bacon with a sharp knife, said, "Pretty 
 early in the morning for shooting and fighting. Some of 'em must 
 have been at the bottle all night." 
 
 Patty went on grinding coffee in the small wooden mill she held 
 in her lap. 
 
 "Lydia!" 
 
 Captain Stone hustled into the kitchen. 
 
 "Lydia, the guerrillas are here! They're attackin' the Eldridge 
 House." 
 
 "You mean Charley . . ." 
 
 "I reckon so," said the captain under his breath, with a glance at 
 Patty. 
 
 Miss Lydia followed his glance. Patty was leaning against a table 
 to keep herself from falling to the floor. The nervous tremors of 
 her body rattled the dishes on the table. Her face wore the drawn 
 expression of a pathetic monkey. 
 
 "Patty," said Miss Lydia sharply," pull yourself together. You're 
 coming with me." 
 
 Hastily she caught up some bread and a few sausages. These she 
 wrapped in a clean cloth. She brought her sunbonnet and Patty's 
 from behind the kitchen door. She put the girl's sunbonnet on her 
 head, tied the strings beneath Patty's chin. Tying her own bonnet 
 
A UNION FOREVER 387 
 
 with firm hands, she caught up the bundle of food, drew the girl's 
 arm through hers. 
 
 "Come, now," she ordered Patty, "quit that shaking. Walk along 
 with me, and be sort of unconcerned. Law, child! Quit trembling. 
 I'm going to hide you till these men leave town. I don't doubt the 
 officers mean to control them, but we'll take no chances." 
 
 Patty managed to walk quietly beside Miss Lydia, as the two of 
 them took a crosslots path to the river bank. Miss Lydia made the 
 conversation, her arm locked tightly in Patty's. In an almost im- 
 penetrable thicket of wild blackberry and sumac she left Patty. 
 
 "Don't move from here," she cautioned the girl. "When the last 
 straggler is gone, I'll come and get you." 
 
 Back at the Whitney House she found the half-clad guests from 
 the Hotel Eldridge arriving under guerrilla escort. Before they were 
 safely housed a fierce altercation rose on the sidewalk. Bill Anderson 
 shouted they must all be shot, and Frank James insisted on carrying 
 out the orders of Quantrill. Finally Bill shot one man among the 
 guests as a sop to his own bloodthirsty ego, then lurched away 
 while the terrified prisoners crowded into the Whitney House lobby, 
 and up the Whitney House stairway until Frank James was able 
 to close the outer doors after the last of them. 
 
 When Quantrill and Kate Clarke reached the Whitney House 
 Captain Stone met their carriage in a rage. 
 
 "Look here, Charley, some these rascals o' yours are a-going too 
 far." 
 
 Seeing Kate Clarke his eyes widened with recognition; but he 
 was too intent on his theme to give her full attention. 
 
 "What's the matter, captain?" asked Quantrill, all sympathy. 
 
 "Why, they've been rummaging through the whole place. One 
 the dad-blamed bastards stole Lyddie's ring. The diamond you gave 
 her. She feels awful cut up about it." 
 
 "I'll get it back before we leave," promised Quantrill. "Are we 
 going to get any breakfast?" 
 
 "Oh, sure. Lyddie'll give you some hot cakes. All the damned help 
 cut an' run when they heard you comin'." 
 
 In the dining room Quantrill greeted Miss Lydia with affection. 
 
 "Give me a few cups of your coffee, Miss Lydia, and I'll have 
 your ring back if I have to shoot one of my bully boys to get it." 
 
 As he sat with Kate Clarke, enjoying the excellent food of the 
 Whitney House, Quantrill's various aides came and went, taking 
 and issuing his orders. 
 
 The first to appear was Frank James. 
 
 "Lissen, chief. Lark Skaggs is drunk as usual. An' makin' trouble, 
 
388 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 also as usual. He insists the prisoners in the lobby got to walk out, 
 one at a time, an' get shot." 
 
 "Bring him in here to me." 
 
 "That's our chaplain," Quantrill explained to the captain, and to 
 Miss Lydia who was bringing a fresh pile of hot cakes. "He's 
 usually called Elder Skaggs. A hardshell minister. In fact, about the 
 hardest shell I ever encountered." 
 
 "You'd do better to keep your chaplain sober," Miss Lydia said, 
 outraged. 
 
 "Now, Miss Lydia, if the Lawrence Christians violate the Maine 
 law with liquor caches, don't blame my chaplain for drinking." 
 
 Larkin Skaggs came into the room remonstrating in drunken 
 accents. 
 
 "Hell, Bill I'm only try in' t' carry out orders. George Todd says 
 we ain't to leave nothin' livin' that kin piss agin the wall." 
 
 Quantrill's eyes took on their awful glow, quelling even the half- 
 demented Skaggs. 
 
 "You better give the whiskey fumes a chance to clear away from 
 your brain, Lark. George Todd is not in command. You'd know that, 
 if you were sober." 
 
 Miss Lydia appearing with a coffee pot stopped short to glare at 
 Skaggs. 
 
 "A fine minister you are. Stealin' folks' rings." 
 
 "Is he the one, Miss Lydia?" 
 
 "That's the polecat," put in the captain. "He's got Lyddie's ring 
 in his pocket this minute." 
 
 "Turn out your pockets, Lark." 
 
 Suddenly Quantrill's pistol was leveled at Skaggs. The cold 
 glitter of Quantrill's eye, as well as the chill authority of his voice, 
 completely dominated the elder. Without a word he pushed a dirty 
 hand into his breeches pocket, and the hand came up with half a 
 dozen rings. 
 
 Miss Lydia gasped. 
 
 "That's Mrs. Read's ruby, and . . ." 
 
 "Pick out your own, Miss Lydia." 
 
 Captain Stone reached over and took one of the rings from 
 Skaggs's dirty palm. 
 
 "This is yours, ain't it Lyddie?" 
 
 "Charley Hart, are you going to let that man leave town with 
 those rings?" 
 
 "Now, Miss Lydia, I don't know these other ladies. And you 
 surely recall the old saying, All's fair in love and . . ." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 389 
 
 Billy Gregg interrupted them, striding into the dining room, 
 saluting smartly. 
 
 "Better have some hot cakes, Billy," suggested Quantrill. "You 
 must be damned near starved." 
 
 "All right. I will. But look here, chief. There's a squad of regulars 
 on the north bank of the river. They're protecting the escape of 
 some of the citizens. Our men chased half a dozen men down to the 
 Kaw. Men on the death list. But these snipers made it too dangerous 
 for us. We couldn't shoot from the bank, as the men were swimming 
 away." 
 
 Quantrill pondered the situation. 
 
 "Miss Lydia, you'll have to do an errand for me. You go down to 
 the river bank, call across to those snipers. Tell them I've agreed to 
 spare the Eldridge House guests. But not if these regulars keep 
 firing on my men." 
 
 Miss Lydia rested the coffee pot on the table. 
 
 She said in a low voice, "Do you mean that, Charley?" 
 
 "Yes, I do, Miss Lydia. I'm not bluffing. One more shot from 
 them, and I'll have those hotel guests face a firing squad." 
 
 Lydia Stone looked at Quantrill while love and admiration for 
 him died out of her eyes forever. Without another word she turned 
 and walked through the lobby, out of the hotel and toward the 
 river. She walked like a drunken person, stumbling uncertainly 
 time after time, for she was blinded by a flow of heartbroken tears. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Captain Stone was not the only one in Lawrence that day who 
 recognized Nin Beck in the slender youth playing shadow to Wil- 
 liam Clarke Quantrill. Lil Moje recognized his idol as she passed 
 Miss Lucy's in the Ridenour barouche on her way to the Whitney 
 House with the guerrilla chief. 
 
 Auntie had no time to watch Lil Moje. Miss Lucy hung on to a 
 precarious calm until terrible rumors began to fly through the 
 agonized town. The foremost feature of that August morning in 
 Lawrence was that each family suffered its Golgotha alone. Toiling 
 to put out fires, daring everything in the way of physical peril to 
 save loved ones, the women of Lawrence only cried news to one 
 another in brief moments of respite when the raiders left one 
 household to attack another. These respites did not mean safety. 
 The guerrillas returned time after time to make certain no fire be 
 extinguished, no woman's dead be dragged away from devouring 
 flames. 
 
390 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Mr. Ridenour is shot!" 
 
 "Mr. Gates was shot dead at her feet." 
 
 "Solon T. Thatcher is burned in his house!" 
 
 "No. Not burned. He got away through their cornfield." 
 
 As the scene grew in horror and intensity Miss Lucy at length 
 went to pieces. Unmindful of her baby's screams for attention, she 
 walked the floor, twisting her thin hands one with another cruelly. 
 Hettie sought distractedly to comfort her, to reach her failing reason 
 with hope. And all the while that she assured the wife of her 
 husband's complete safety, Hettie's mind misgave her. Something 
 other than a husband's fate was wringing Lucy's heart. 
 
 Lil Moje grew weary of the indoor scene. While Miss Hettie 
 Cooper rocked the baby and Auntie applied cold compresses to 
 Miss Lucy's head, Lil Moje slipped cautiously out the kitchen door. 
 
 "Be calm, be calm, honey," Auntie's voice followed him, soothing 
 Miss Lucy. "They be gone any minute now. Yes, ma'am, Miss 
 Hettie, you right. Ouah troops be comin' aftah 'em. Sech trash like 
 them cain't be many minutes ahaid the law." 
 
 Lucy's reply was a moan, followed by a suppressed scream, when 
 she darted up and began again her weary pacing to and fro, to and 
 fro across her pretty parlor. 
 
 Lil Moje closed the netting door carefully behind him. 
 
 "Gotta git mah bokay ready fo' Miss Nin Beck," he told himself. 
 "Spec' ole Hornytail Quantrill has-a run mighty quick. 'Nen Ah 
 take mah bokay to Miss Nin Beck." 
 
 Rolling his eyes in terrified delight over his private use of Auntie's 
 pet name for the devil, Lil Moje hastened to select some of Miss 
 Lucy's prettiest blooms, making them into a neat bouquet held 
 by a short piece of twine he drew from his pocket. Bouquet in 
 hand the little colored boy drew near the white gate in the low 
 picket fence, ready to dart for the back premises if any of the 
 invaders entered New Hampshire street. 
 
 Across the way a little white boy named Will Bullene appeared 
 from within doors and stood first on one foot, then on the other, a 
 nervous grin on his face. Ordinarily this rather pale personality held 
 small glamor for Lil Moje; but just for the moment one of life's 
 phenomena lent Will interest. Only as long past as the previous 
 afternoon Will had led Lil Moje mysteriously round the Bullene 
 home, allowing the colored child to climb up a rose trellis for a 
 glance into one of the bedrooms. Now, as Lil Moje watched Will 
 and Will studied the street intersection, several guerrillas came 
 surprisingly around the Bullene house and surrounded the small 
 
A UNION FOREVER 391 
 
 white boy. Lil Moje clung to Miss Lucy's gate, his eyes bulging 
 with terror. 
 
 The leader of the detail asked Will, "Is your pap to home, boy?" 
 
 "No, sir," replied Will, "he's East, buying goods. But my mother's 
 here, if you'd like to speak to her." 
 
 The leader gave Will an up-and-down glance. 
 
 "Kind of a half-wit, I reckon," he remarked to his companions. 
 
 "I am not a half-wit," declared Will. "It isn't half-witted to be 
 polite." 
 
 At this point his mother appeared on the Bullene front porch. 
 
 "And what do you wish?" she inquired of the raiders, very much 
 the great lady. 
 
 "We'll have to ask you to get out of your house, ma'am. We got 
 orders t' burn it." 
 
 "You have orders to burn my house? Who gave you such orders?" 
 
 "Your husband is listed as an enemy of the Confederate States of 
 America." 
 
 "You wish to burn it now?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. Immediately to once." 
 
 Mrs. Bullene asked in a bitter voice, "If you have no consideration 
 for the living, will you at least take mercy on the dying?" 
 
 "Ma'am?" 
 
 She pointed into the house. 
 
 "My mother is dying in there." 
 
 The guerrillas hesitated, conferring in low tones. Finally the 
 leader walked up the front steps. As Mrs. Bullene moved her skirts 
 aside very pointedly, he disappeared into the house. After a tense 
 pause, during which the other raiders shuffled uneasily beneath 
 Mrs. Bullene's aristocratic gaze, the leader came solemnly back to 
 them. He nodded, without speaking. A moment of uncertainty 
 followed. 
 
 "Be damned if I'll roast the old lady alive," said one suddenly. 
 "Damn it all! Holt's men ain't doin' their share o' th' work. They're 
 jest standin' round, up the hillside. I heered Jarrette cussin' 'em out 
 fer helpin' some woman save her furniture." 
 
 Without further parley the guerrillas walked away around the 
 Bullene house. They disappeared just as Quantrill and Kate Clarke 
 in the Ridenour barouche came driving past Miss Lucy's gate on 
 their way to the Whitney House. Kate Clarke looked directly into 
 Lil Moje's eyes, and he recognized her for his idol. The carriage 
 rolled on in the Kansas dust. Lil Moje jerked open Miss Lucy's 
 white gate. He ran after the carriage. 
 
 "Miss Nin Beck! Miss Nin Beck!" 
 
392 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 He ran after the carriage, for the moment unnoticed in the con- 
 fusion of fire and dust and murder. 
 
 When Billy Gregg went into the Whitney House dining room he 
 left Arthur Spicer with the other Eldridge House prisoners in the 
 lobby. The diversion created by Elder Skaggs put Spicer completely 
 out of Billy Gregg's mind. As the minutes passed, Arthur, who knew 
 the Whitney House, nook and corner, began to edge toward the 
 stairway. Fading gradually through the pallid, half-dressed crowd, 
 he mounted the stairs one at a time as he was able to partially 
 displace some other terrified huddler. At last he was able to slip 
 round a turn of the stairs. He darted to the second floor, into Miss 
 Lydia's room. This room, rifled by Elder Skaggs, was a confusion of 
 furniture and the content of bureau drawers. Hustling into a clothes 
 closet Arthur burrowed behind an old-fashioned trunk that now 
 stood with its lid folded back. There he lay motionless, half stifled 
 in the summer heat laden with smoke from the nearby Eldridge 
 House. He whispered to himself, choking back a moan, "I wish I 
 knew what happened to Herb." 
 
 At the moment, Mrs. Wood was saying solicitously, "Now, Aunt 
 Betsy, please be calm. I'm sure these gentlemen wouldn't do any 
 mischief to a harmless old lady like you/' 
 
 Despite this reassurance Aunt Betsy's cap border continued to 
 flutter. Her hands appeared unable to hold the cup Mrs. Wood 
 offered her. 
 
 "My poor aunt is very ill, gentlemen," exclaimed Mrs. Wood. She 
 gestured eloquently toward the invalid table beside Aunt Betsy, a 
 table spread with medicines and other comforts for the sick. "Here, 
 Aunt Betsy, let me put this pillow back of your head. Try to rest 
 back on it while I fan you." 
 
 Mrs. Reynolds came ot Mrs. Wood's assistance, contriving to 
 stand between Aunt Betsy and the guerrilla who was walking into 
 the room. 
 
 "How am I doing?" whispered Herb anxiously, as Mrs. Wood bent 
 over him. 
 
 "Your 're doing fine, Aunt Betsy. Just keep calm. Everything is all 
 right." 
 
 Jarrette crossed the room. 
 
 "Who's this gentleman?" quavered Aunt Betsy. "What's he here 
 for? I'm dying! I can't breathe." 
 
 "Please step back, sir," cried Mrs. Wood, making great play 
 with her fan. "My aunt is too ill to be disturbed." 
 
 After a final murder-flavored glare Jarrette turned away. 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 393 
 
 "You'll have to move the old lady out o' this," he told Mrs. 
 Reynolds. "We'll be back. We're burning this house. You're damn 
 pukin' preacher husband is with the Feds." 
 
 Into this scene rushed Hettie Cooper. 
 
 "Mrs. Reynolds, Lucy's terribly ill. Auntie wants to know if 
 you've any spirits in the house?" 
 
 She stared at Jarrette's skulllike face, at Mrs. Wood, Mrs. 
 Reynolds an a little old lady who seemed to have materialized 
 out of the confusion. 
 
 "Oh," she faltered. 
 
 "Aunt Betsy's had another of her sinking fits," cried Mrs. Wood. 
 
 "She's not sinking so far she can't be fetched out on the lawn," 
 declared Jarrette. 
 
 Hettie flew out at him. 
 
 "She is, too. Look at her tremble! Poor old lady! If you're a 
 gentleman, you'll walk out of here. This minute." 
 
 "Lady, I gave up being a gentleman when the Redlegs burned 
 my home." 
 
 "More shame to you. This old lady isn't a Redleg." 
 
 "Out she goes." Jarrette called to two of his men. "Pick her up, 
 chair an' all, boys." 
 
 "What's the excitement?" 
 
 Jarrette swung round. 
 
 "Hell, Charley. We got to burn this house." 
 
 While Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Reynolds shielded Herb who had 
 given himself up for lost, Hettie demanded, "Are you William 
 Clarke Quantrill?" 
 
 "At your service." 
 
 Quantrill bowed gracefully. 
 
 "I hope I am speaking to a gentleman. Will you have these men 
 leave instantly? Have them stop annoying this old lady?" 
 
 A sudden smile lit the guerrilla chief's eyes. 
 
 "I declare. I knew you the minute I heard your voice. I'm speaking 
 to Miss Hettie Cooper." 
 
 Hettie stared, one hand against a cheek, recognition in her eyes. 
 
 "Oh? Oh! Oh, poor Lucy!" 
 
 Outside rose a cry, "Saddle up! Union troops!" 
 
 Jarrette and his men rushed from the house. 
 
 With a last graceful bow, William Clarke Quantrill followed. 
 
 The pickets on Oread had fired their guns in the preconcerted 
 signal. Now they brought their mounts flying through the town. 
 Billy Gregg reported to Quantrill. "There's a body of horsemen 
 riding in from the west. Regulars approaching from the south." 
 
394 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Taking his horse from an orderly Quantrill rode with Billy Gregg 
 to the Whitney House. 
 
 "Remember a white farmhouse? About four miles south of town?" 
 he asked Billy. "I'm going there. I'll wait an hour to give everyone 
 time to overtake me. You round up the stragglers. Saddle all the 
 fresh horses in town. We'll use the freshest of our own horses to 
 carry whatever the men are hauling away." He turned to Stone 
 who was watching him from the Whitney House porch. "Goodbye, 
 captain. Say goodbye to Miss Lydia. I'm glad I got her ring back 
 for her. I never wanted her to lose anything on my account." To 
 Gregg he said, "Tell Kate I'm ready to go." 
 
 While he waited for Kate Clarke, Quantrill eyed two of his 
 satellites with some amusement but more disgust. Bill Anderson 
 and Larkin Skaggs had reached the stage of drunkenness where their 
 value to any cause was slight. Arms wound round one another's 
 necks, they staggered away from the Whitney House in the general 
 direction of Massachusetts street. Maudlin fashion, they attempted 
 an old air of earlier border days: 
 
 "We've camped in the wilderness, 
 For a few days, a few days." 
 
 On the corner across from the Eldridge House they encountered 
 Lil Moje! 
 
 At the kitchen door of the Whitney House, Lil Moje had met with 
 fierce looking but comparatively merciful guards who merely order- 
 ed him off in gruff tones. Neither of these guards understood his 
 inquiries for Miss Nin Beck. Clutching his bouquet, Lil Moje hung 
 around the back premises of the Whitney House, waiting for the 
 happy moment to arrive when the raiders should leave. En- 
 couraged by the small notice he attracted from such guerrillas as he 
 met, he began to edge around the hotel and finally along the street 
 to the Eldridge House corner. A choking pall of smoke now lay over 
 Lawrence in the still, hot morning air. Most of the business blocks 
 were burned, or burning. The Eldridge House walls had collapsed, 
 but a giant column of blackest smoke poured itself into the sky. 
 Somewhat mazed by the scene Lil Moje arrived at the corner still 
 clutching his bouquet for Miss Nin Beck. Then he saw Uncle Frank. 
 
 "Uncle Frank!" 
 
 Lil Moje darted to his elderly friend. He cried in terror, "Whut 
 you doin' heah in uh street?" 
 
 Before Uncle Frank could whisper an answer the singing drunk- 
 ards, Anderson and Skaggs, appeared out of the smoke. 
 
 "Looka here, Bill!" 
 
 Skaggs broke off singing to point to Lil Moje. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 395 
 
 "Here's one we missed!" 
 
 "Come here, nigger," bellowed Anderson. 
 
 Lil Moje looked at the cruel white men. His eyes grew larger, 
 and limpid with tears. He could no more have moved than a 
 cottontail confronted by a wolf. He had a small with thing's instinct 
 that all was lost: dumbly he waited his fate. At the corner where 
 they stood blazed the wreckage of a small wooden building. At the 
 moment a miner explosion sent the dying flames higher in renewed 
 brilliance. Anderson turned drunkenly at the noise of the explosion. 
 
 "Feed the kitty," he yelled to Skaggs. 
 
 He swooped down on Lil Moje, caught him by an arm. Skaggs 
 sprang to seize the little colored boy by the other arm. The two 
 ruffians began to swing Lil Moje between them. 
 
 "Feed the kitty," they yelled in chorus. 
 
 Uncle Frank struggled to a sitting posture. 
 
 "Oh, fo' Gawd's sake, suhs. Please doan' do that. Leave Lil Moje! 
 Take me! Take me!" 
 
 Shooting casually over his shoulder, using his left hand, Anderson 
 sent two shots into the old negro. In the next instant the guerrillas 
 swung Lil Moje high. As he shrilled one piercing death scream, they 
 threw him into the heart of the fire. 
 
 "Hell! That finishes matters," announced Anderson. "We got to 
 be going." 
 
 "Cain't leave yet," announced Skaggs, attempting to stand 
 steadily. "Got to call on a lady." 
 
 "God damn you," swore Bill Anderson, "always got to call on a 
 lady. Well, I'm going. An' don't say I didn't warn you." 
 
 He lurched away to his horse, and was ready to leave with 
 Quan trill. Skaggs reeled southward on Massachusetts street, telling 
 himself, "Gotta call on a lady." 
 
 Uncle Frank supported himself with his hands while his face 
 slowly changed from agony to radiance. 
 
 "Come on, Lil Moje," he cried in a relieved voice. "You come 
 erlong o' me. Ah goin' take keer you." 
 
 Smiling, he stretched his arms as the chariot swung low. 
 
 "Miss Lucy!" 
 
 Auntie hurried from the kitchen where she was taking tea to the 
 bedroom where Lucy lay with closed eyes, Hettie bending over her. 
 "Miss Lucy, we saved! The troops is comin'." 
 Lucy sat up. 
 "How do you know?" 
 "Wuhd jes' come up th' street. They guerrillas, they saddlin' up. 
 
396 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Lissen!" Auntie peered from behind the white muslin curtains at 
 the bedroom window. "Heah they come now." 
 
 The march of the guerrillas in retreat had begun. With Quantrill 
 at its head the Southern serpent now took its way back to the 
 Missouri hill country. 
 
 Lucy sprang from her bed. She ran down her stairs, white wrap- 
 per clutched round her body, her hair all tumbled and wild. She 
 ran out her front door and down to her little white gate. Hettie ran 
 after her. Not able to draw Lucy back to the house, she put an arm 
 round Lucy's thin shoulders, and faced the on-coming guerrillas 
 with all the dignity she could put into her small frame. 
 
 Grasping the gate with trembling hands as the guerrilla chief 
 came abreast, Lucy's eyes met those of Charley Hart. Quantrill met 
 her searching look without a flicker of recognition. He turned to 
 make a laughing comment to the boyish-appearing guerrilla who 
 rode beside him. 
 
 "The Lawrence women," said Charley Hart, "are heroines. But 
 their husbands are a set of damned cowards." 
 
 Mrs. Reed, exerting strength and endurance impossible to her at 
 ordinary times, put out the fire started in her living room. When 
 word rang through the town, "They're going! Our men are coming!" 
 she sank on a partly scorched chair. Smoothing sweat from her 
 forehead, she nursed a burned hand. 
 
 Larkin Skaggs found her like this. 
 
 "Evenin', ma'am," he hiccoughed, steadying himself against the 
 door frame. "I've come to call." 
 
 Instantly alert, Mrs. Read said coldly," I am not receiving calls." 
 
 Skaggs burst into laughter. 
 
 "Ain't that jes' like a woman?" he inquired of the disheveled 
 furniture. "Wasn't you the lady played the pianner for us a while 
 ago? Sweeter 'n' fly pizen, you was then. So we lef your house 
 standin'. But I see some real mean guys come by after we lef. 
 Smutched things considerable, didn't they?" 
 
 He lurched further into the room, and Mrs. Reed rose, her burned 
 hand wrapped in her dress. 
 
 "Hand burned? Leave me take a look at it?" 
 
 "Thank you, no." 
 
 "Wha's a matter? Some 'eres in my pocket I got a ring I heered 
 wuz yourn. Been tradin' for ladies' rings with the boys. Allays like 
 t' have ladies' rings. Makes the ladies happy t' give 'em back their 
 rings." 
 
 "You are wasting your time here." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 397 
 
 "Jest a minute now." 
 
 Skaggs balanced himself against the scorched piano while he 
 fished into the pockets of his butternut pantaloons. Abandoning 
 the attempt to find the ruby ring, he advanced toward Mrs. Read. 
 
 "Leave me see that hand." 
 
 "Don't you dare touch me." 
 
 "Now, lady, don't act thataway," began the guerrilla, when the 
 voice of Billy Gregg, outside, shouted, "Lark Skaggs!" 
 
 Skaggs turned to listen. The voice was followed promptly by 
 Billy Gregg himself. Gregg who exclaimed gruffly, "Come out of 
 here, you damned fool! You're the last man left in town. Get your 
 horse and follow me'. Unless you want to be left to fight the Yankees 
 single handed." 
 
 Skaggs followed Gregg into the open, staring at him owlishly 
 through the smoke-darkened morning. 
 
 "You heard me, Lark. I'm not waiting for you another minute. 
 I've got to join the command. Where's your horse?" 
 
 "In the Whitney House stable." 
 
 "Will you saddle up and follow me?" 
 
 "Sure I will, Billy." 
 
 "Hurry!" 
 
 Gregg saw Skaggs on his somewhat uncertain way to the Whitney 
 House before he wheeled his own mount and dashed off southward. 
 
 At the Whitney House Skaggs found his mount saddled. He had 
 some difficulty in mounting, but he was so excellent a horseman 
 that even whiskey could not entirely thwart him. Sitting his horse 
 he glared at the Whitney House. 
 
 "Polecat!" he muttered. "Polecat, he says. So I'm a polecat, 
 am I?" 
 
 He rode round the Whitney House to the front porch. Raising 
 his voice to a yell, he ordered, "Everybody out to be shot!" 
 
 For emphasis he fired a shot through the nearest window. 
 
 This brought Captain Stone to the front porch. 
 
 "Be off with you," roared the captain. "You already forgot what 
 Charley said? Another shot from you, I'll write him. He'll fill you 
 so full of lead—" 
 
 Larkin Skaggs was rising in his saddle to achieve a drunken bow. 
 
 "Compliments of a polecat," he screeched, and shot the captain 
 dead. 
 
 This cold blooded atrocity was the final act of his life. Spurring 
 his horse he rode southward on New Hampshire street, only to meet 
 at the first corner a frail little woman, Mrs. Speer, wife of the editor. 
 She wandered vacant-eyed, carrying a hunting rifle. Her youngest 
 
398 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 son, a boy of ten, followed her, white-faced, accompanied by an 
 equally awestruck boy chum. As Larkin Skaggs approached them 
 Mrs. Speer pushed back with a trembling hand the hair that 
 straggled over her eyes. Making a great effort to collect her wander- 
 ing wits as she peered at the guerrilla, she cried out to her son, 
 "That's the man killed Willie!" 
 
 She thrust the rifle she carried into her son's hands. Both he and 
 his chum seized it. 
 
 "He killed your brother. Shoot him," ordered Mrs. Speer. 
 
 Between them the boys pulled the trigger. Dumbfounded, they 
 saw Elder Skaggs tumbling from his horse. Wounded in the 
 shoulder, he struggled to rise, struggled to find his revolver as his 
 terrified horse galloped away up New Hampshire street. Oaths, 
 imprecautions and threats poured from him wildly in the moment 
 while the three on the sidewalk confronted him. But now, at last, 
 after three agonizing hours, comes the first help to the ruined city. 
 The Delawares, headed by Pelathe and White Turkey, have crossed 
 the shallows below the rapids in the Kaw. They are streaming up 
 the south bank of the river and along a short cut to the city streets 
 with White Turkey in the lead. Behind them marches the detach- 
 ment of Union troops under Captain Jacob Pike. 
 
 White Turkey thrusts a rifle into Skaggs' anatomy. 
 
 "Ugh!" 
 
 White Turkey puts all his disgust into the gutteral as he gazes 
 down at the white man. 
 
 "You kill everybody. Now me kill you." 
 
 This he did, scalping the elder before he hurried on through the 
 town in pursuit of Quantrill. So died Larkin Skaggs, the only 
 guerrilla to lose his life in Lawrence during the raid. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 A story in itself, that long August day spent by Lane's partisans 
 and the Union details in pursuit of Quantrill. Always the raiders on 
 their fresher mounts held the advantage. Just inside the Kansas 
 border they felt themselves safe. They halted to rest and care for 
 their wounded. Captain Bledsoe with four or five other men had 
 been carried in a hack the guerrillas seized in Lawrence. 
 
 Billy Gregg reported to Quantrill. 
 
 "Troops advancing on us. Charley, my horse is dying. We got 
 others in the same fix." 
 
 "Get all the men who are dismounted together," ordered Quantrill. 
 "Take to the brush. You to command." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 399 
 
 Quantrill and Kate Clarke walked to a slight rise that commanded 
 the country to the west. Quantrill's aides galloped here and there, 
 collecting the scattered, resting guerrillas. They came slowly, with 
 open grumbling. 
 
 "We don't move," they told each other, "till we rest and eat." 
 
 Turning from the ringleaders of the revolt, Quantrill pointed into 
 the setting sun. 
 
 "Don't you see the Kansas troops? Over there in plain view?" 
 
 "Damn the Kansans," swore George Todd. 
 
 Quantrill eyed him coldly. 
 
 "Damn the Kansans, by all means." He turned to point toward 
 the north. "But what about the twelve hundred Missouri troops just 
 over that hill?" 
 
 "Hell, that's different. We'll saddle up." 
 
 Not the exhausted Kansas troops but the Indians were first to 
 reach the deserted guerrilla camp. Stranded among the trees they 
 found the old hack filled with guerrilla wounded. The rank and 
 file guerrillas began to beg for mercy, but Bledsoe stopped them. 
 He made his voice strong by a great effort. "Stop it! We don't spare 
 others; and we don't expect others to spare us." He made a weak, 
 beckoning gesture to Pelathe, gravely watching him. "Just take us 
 out of this damned trap. Put us on our knees facing you. We aren't 
 able to stand on our feet. But let us see you. Don't shoot us from 
 behind." 
 
 At a nod from White Turkey, Pelathe gave the order. The 
 guerrillas were lifted out expeditiously by the Indians. Under the 
 influence of Bledsoe they repressed even groans of pain. The 
 Indians looked at Bledsoe with a certain respect. Being Indians, 
 thy knew he put a high value on facing his enemies in death. Before 
 the shots were fired, Pelathe said, "We are killing you, but that is 
 only the beginning. We v/ill not rest until we get the man that led 
 you. And every man who crossed the border with you to destroy 
 Lawrence. We will follow. We will kill." 
 
 After the guerrillas were dead, the Indians proceeded to the 
 business of taking their scalps. Theodore Bartles surprised them at 
 this work. Bartles was in charge of three guerrillas who had at- 
 tempted to escape into the brush. When these men saw the fate of 
 their comrades, lying with ghastly, denuded skulls, they set up 
 pleas for mercy. They produced bits of loot from their pockets. One 
 simple fellow brought out marbles, jewsharps, small tops and shoe 
 strings, cheap buttons and bits of pinchbeck jewelry. Had this man, 
 drawn for one or another reason into the guerrilla band, a poor 
 drab wife at home to value the cheap jewelry, and children to 
 
400 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 enjoy the toys he now brought forth with a pleading look at his 
 captors? For these trifles he had committed murder and arson; for 
 these he had put his life in jeopardy. 
 
 Bartles glared at him. 
 
 "God damn it," he yelled. "I'm shootin' you just for bein a damn 
 fool." 
 
 "That makes me feel better," he told Pelathe, returning his Colte 
 to its holster. "Orders from Leland on Ewing's staff, is to take 'em 
 to Leavenworth. T be tried an' hung. Ain't that a hell of a note?" 
 
 Gravely Pelathe related for Bartles the story of Juanita's mag- 
 nificent race. 
 
 The Redleg was silent for a while. 
 
 "I knew I was sayin' goodbye to her," he remarked finally. "Rut 
 I was bound to give her to you. Because if there was horseflesh in 
 Kansas could make that run in time, Juanita was the girl. I won't 
 ever see her like again." 
 
 He walked over to the body of the guerrilla he had just shot, 
 kicked scornfully at the sprawled figure. 
 
 "I'm glad I got a chance to shoot one of 'em. Even if he was a 
 mighty poor specimen. Where you goin' now?" he asked as Pelathe 
 started away. 
 
 Over his shoulder Pelathe replied, "After them." He pointed. 
 "Into the Sni hills." 
 
 The long summer evening gave way slowly to a moonlit summer 
 night. 
 
 Under cover of the deeper shadows the moonlight made in the 
 woods, the guerrillas of Quantrill's main force scattered at his 
 command in many directions. Thus they made their way, singly or 
 in couples, to a safe rendezvous in the Sni country. 
 
 Jim Lane at the head of his partisans rode into Lawrence on an 
 elderly plow horse. When he reached Thad Prentice's farm, an hour 
 later in pursuit of the guerrillas, he got a good mount. Thad who 
 joined the partisans, had another for himself. Maddeningly, these 
 fresh mounts did their riders no good. Their companions, mounted 
 on plow horses, mules and brood mares, held them back. Lane 
 arrived on the border only in time to meet General Ewing who was 
 tardily getting his forces across the river. Lane, still barefoot and 
 with his nightshirt, sweat and dust stained, tucked into his trousers, 
 offered a ludicrous contrast to Ewing's gold braid and excellent blue. 
 Lane swept his long, tousled locks off his forehead. He greeted the 
 general without ceremony. 
 
 "A fine mess you've made of things." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 401 
 
 Ewing, exhausted and troubled, managed to return Lane a dark 
 glare. But he kept silent. 
 
 Young Leland of Ewing's staff rode up. 
 
 "I've found a small cabin," he told Ewing. "Deserted, sir. I sup- 
 pose the occupants ran when they knew the guerrillas were coming. 
 Will you and the senator come there, sir?" Leland glanced briefly at 
 Lane's nightshirt. "You can at least sit down at a table. And we'll 
 bring you some coffee." 
 
 Thad Prentice rode with Lane to the cabin, took charge of Lane's 
 horse. As they rode along Thad explained the Lawrence merchant 
 authorities to Lane. 
 
 "They're monied men, Jim. Now you an' me, we got nothing to 
 worry about but our skins. We haven't got money, an we know 
 we're never going to get any. But a monied man, he's not only got 
 his hide to worry him. He's got to worry about his money. That's 
 what he gets, for being a monied man." 
 
 Outside the cabin Thad Prentice took charge of Lane's mount. 
 He sat at ease on his own mount while the conference began in the 
 cabin, and bivouac fires flared in the outside dusk. 
 
 "I don't know why I don't slit my throat," Lane was saying 
 bitterly. "But if Lincoln can stand the situation, I'll hang on with 
 him. All the damned, pusillanimous, pussyfoot fence sitting in a 
 time of insurrection. With the Union at stake." He wheeled on 
 Ewing after a wild chanrge across the cabin. "You've given the 
 prize exhibition of straddling. Now you're going to act. You'll draft 
 the order right now, evacuating the Western Missouri counties. 
 You'll draft it here and now. You're hopping off the fence, Ewing. 
 And you're landing on the Union side." 
 
 The struggle between general and senator was intense and long, 
 until Ewing broke and begged for mercy. Outside the cabin, late 
 in the night, Lane said a characteristic farewell to Ewing. "I'm 
 leaving for Washington. If you haven't issued that order by the 
 time I see Lincoln, you're a dead dog, Ewing. Understand me? 
 You're a dead dog." 
 
 Thad Prentice had the final word. 
 
 As Ewing and Leland rode away, Thad turned to Lane. 
 
 "You got him, Jim. Everything is lovely, an' the goose hangs 
 
 high.- 
 
 Governor Robinson and Doctor Richard Cordley met briefly in 
 the terrible ordeal of collecting bodies for immediate burial. 
 
 "Cordley, what became of that dead guerrilla? Some colored man 
 was dragging him through the streets behind a horse." 
 
402 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "I gave the man and a friend of his fifty cents each to bury the 
 body down on the river bank. God forgive me, if I sinned. Robinson, 
 I could not give him Christian burial." 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Rosecrans planned to emerge from the Cumberland south of 
 Chattanooga, near the village of Dalton where Bragg had his base 
 of supplies. By capturing Dalton he would compel Bragg either to 
 evacuate Chattanooga, or stand a siege there. To this end he ordered 
 our Left under Crittenden to menace Chattanooga from the north. 
 Bragg was only briefly deceived. After all, we of the Union army 
 were in the enemy's country, where it was considered to be to the 
 general advantage to spy out our movements and hurry the infor- 
 mation to the Rebel commander. At the same time Bragg gave out 
 false information that reached our officers as Leak reached us at 
 our mess,— tales that led us to believe Bragg's army was demoralized. 
 Braxton Bragg was not at this time popular with his generals, nor 
 had he been since their humiliation at Murfreesboro. But there was 
 little or no truth in the information Bragg's agents gave out on the 
 9th of September, information of internal dissention that completely 
 deceived Rosecrans. At the moment when Rosecrans was making 
 his first mistake, sending Crittenden away with the entire Left 
 wing to menace Chattanooga, Bragg was marching his army twenty- 
 five miles south of Chattanooga to Lafayette. 
 
 Rosecrans, certain that Bragg was in trouble, ordered Crittenden 
 to menace Chattanooga on the north; and at the same time he 
 directed Thomas to advance from Trenton to Lafayette, and he 
 ordered McCook from Valley Head to Alpine and Summerville. 
 Three days later Rosecrans realized his terrible plight. The two 
 wings of our army were now sixty miles apart, and Bragg was 
 concentrated opposite our Center under Thomas. 
 
 There they were, two generals who were, each of them, glorious 
 in the eyes of the people of a section. Envy and connivance were 
 to destroy them both. Braxton Bragg, hampered by his own officers, 
 saw the golden moments fly when he might have established him- 
 self as the American Napoleon by annihilating Rosecrans in three 
 separate engagements. Meanwhile, insubordination and reprisals 
 were mounting on the Union side, as our tragic situation became 
 apparent to the ranking commanders. 
 
 As soon as he learned he had been deceived by Bragg's false 
 reports, Rosecrans acted promptly. Crittenden was moved to Ring- 
 gold, and there he was joined by Thomas who had withdrawn with 
 
A UNION FOREVER 403 
 
 great skill from the enemy's front. Our corps, under McCook, 
 caused the fatal delay at Chickamauga. Local guides on whom 
 McCook placed reliance, assured him there was no direct road to 
 McLemore's Cove that would be practicable for our corps. Thus 
 we did not reach the field of action until the 18th, after a tiresome 
 march of five days. This delay was fatal to Rosecrans. He could not 
 withdraw to Chattanooga without his Right. This forced him to 
 make his stand at Chickamauga. 
 
 Halleck in Washington, who had been goading Rosecrans into 
 the terrible situation in which we now found ourselves, had learned 
 the paralyzing news that Longstreet was on his way with one of his 
 crack divisions from Virginia. Since Burnside held Knoxville for 
 the Federals, those Virginia troops must come by way of Atlanta. 
 They could not have reached Chickamauga in time for the battle 
 if McCook had not been delayed. Halleck began frenzied tele- 
 graphic efforts to get reinforcements to Rosecrans. He telegraphed 
 Burnside, who answered at once. He was sending reinforcements. 
 And he telegraphed Grant, from whom came silence. Grant, the 
 horseman, had been thrown by his mount. He was being held 
 incommunicado by his physician. Such was the situation on the 
 morning of the 18th of September, as Sheridan's division began a 
 descent of Lookout Mountain, on our way to take our place in the 
 line. 
 
 Moody and I, waiting for orders, spied a cow. 
 
 "After the engagement we'll have fresh milk," said Moody. "Only, 
 remember, I still don't know how to milk a cow." 
 
 "The decadence of our urban population is one of the alarming 
 features of our era," I observed in a severe tone. "Thank God, the 
 countryside is still producing men." 
 
 "Remember that line for your first speech in Congress," begged 
 Moody. 
 
 That morning we had marched to Crawfish Spring, arriving just 
 at noon. During the last two hours of our march we heard cannon 
 firing. A constant stream passed us of wounded men going to the 
 rear. After a rest of half an hour we marched to the top of a 
 wooded hill and lay under arms for one hour. We then marched 
 east into an open field where we rested fifteen minutes. In company 
 with the entire 20th Corps, our brigade had been on the march 
 constantly during five days, not the best preparation for a major 
 engagement. 
 
 Again we were on the march, this time in a northerly direction 
 for another mile. At last, our brigade under Colonel Bradley were 
 
404 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 formed into two lines, ready for the charge over open ground and 
 up a hill. As we formed into lines with the cool green wood at our 
 backs, the birds twittered cheerfully, butterflies fluttered on erratic 
 wing, and under a tree to our right stood this ancient cow and 
 chewed lazily on her cud, and switched away flies with a languid 
 tail. 
 
 The scene before us was so quiet, so peaceful, that our eyes 
 might have closed sleepily had we not known ten minutes was to 
 change peace to raging hell. Off to our left, softened by distance, 
 came the dull, repeated sound of artillery, but we were used to 
 that sound. In the wood behind us we could hear the tramp of 
 regiments. On the wooded hill, across the flower-pied meadow, 
 brigades of the enemy were coming into position. But in the 
 meadow where that red and white cow placidly cropped a late- 
 blooming daisy, there was sunny peace. One might have crossed 
 that meadow and scarcely have noted the quiet preparations for a 
 bloody struggle. 
 
 Now came the silence that falls upon an army just before the final 
 word of command lights the flame of destruction. This is the silence 
 that makes men turn pale and tremble. If it lasts only five minutes 
 it seems a whole day. There is no loud talk. There is no jesting word. 
 The most reckless man feels the weight of that silence. If a line is 
 to be dressed, the order comes in a low voice, and the men step 
 softly. The horses feel the oppression as well as the men. Some move 
 uneasily on nervous feet; others stand like statues with ears pointed 
 forward and eyes searching the woods on the hill beyond. 
 
 Crash! Crash! CRASH!!! 
 
 The opening of the battle is always as sudden as a thunderclap, 
 and sends an instant of relief up and down the lines. The spell of 
 quiet is broken, men and horses anxious to move. The songs of 
 birds fade into the roar of guns. The September haze drowns in a 
 cloud of smoke. Instead of dancing butterflies comes a shell that 
 strikes our line, scatters men— and fragments of men— over the 
 meadow grass. 
 
 We are ready to move, but stand as if on parade. The regiment 
 to the left, the 42nd Illinois, swings out and is slowly hidden in the 
 smoke. Bullets are screeching over our heads and throwing up dirt 
 at our feet. But we are held motionless until the curses of the men 
 become loud and deep. 
 
 One of Sheridan's aides is talking to Colonel Bradley. 
 
 Colonel Bradley leaves him, rides up to us. 
 
 "Hanback, General Sheridan sends me word General Thomas is 
 hard pressed. Our entire corps is ordered to move as fast as practical 
 
A UNION FOREVER 405 
 
 to fall in behind the Center, to reinforce General Thomas. You will 
 take this message to Colonel Walworth." 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 "Moody, you come with me." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 As I ride away I look back toward Moody framed in a whirling 
 cloud of smoke. He smiles and raises his hand in a gay gesture. 
 I follow this gesture and see our cow. Terrified by cannon fire and 
 bewildered by smoke, she is rampaging down the meadow to a 
 thick clump of trees, and considering her age and build making a 
 most creditable run. Poor thing! She does not know those trees are 
 a screen for death. 
 
 Lieutenant Johnson dashed up to Colonel Walworth where he 
 coolly sat his horse in the midst of heavy fire, entrusting Lieutenant 
 Montague and me with orders for the 27th and 51st Illinois regi- 
 ments. 
 
 "Colonel Bradley seriously wounded, sir. He's been carried from 
 the field." 
 x "Was Colonel Bradley able to send me any last instructions?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. It is necessary for our brigade to recapture the guns of 
 the 8th Battery, Indiana Artillery. And take them to a place of 
 safety." 
 
 As Colonel Walworth picked up the reins that had slipped from 
 Colonel Bradley's hand, I demanded of Johnson, "How seriously 
 wounded?" 
 
 "Not fatally. His arm is shattered." 
 
 "I had time before Colonel Walwarth spoke to me to ask, "Where 
 is Moody?" 
 
 "He left the field with Colonel Bradley." 
 
 Afterward I recalled that he gave me a strange look as he spoke. 
 
 On that first day of the battle nothing was decided. It was a day 
 of fierce encounters, divisions clashing with alterations of fortune. 
 The order of battle, on the Southern part, was progressive echelon. 
 Pivoting, the Confederates sent shock after shock into us. At two- 
 thirty they pierced our line. General Rosecrans sent General Negley 
 to support General Thomas. As dusk dropped down, a few minutes 
 after six o'clock, General Thomas prepared to reform his lines. The 
 Rebels seized this moment for one last attack, but we repulsed them. 
 
 Late in the afternoon our brigade, meeting a fierce fire from the 
 enemy, gained the eminence where the Rebels were turning against 
 us the battery they had captured from the Indiana regiment. We 
 wrenched the battery from their grasp, and made off with it, but 
 
406 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 the scene during the encounter was a dreadful one. The horses 
 attached to one caisson became unmanageable. The 27th was lying 
 flat at the moment, and these wild horses plunged over the defence- 
 less men, draging the heavy carriage across human bodies before 
 they could be checked. 
 
 Dark came at last. 
 
 Colonel Walworth retired our brigade to the hillside below the 
 eminence we had just taken. There, exhausted men slept on their 
 arms. And there I found them just before midnight. No fires were 
 allowed, and the September night air was chill; but so weary were 
 the men, they slept in spite of this discomfort. Well we knew we 
 must have rest. The great struggle was to come, with the morning 
 light. 
 
 Colonel Walworth had sent me to the rear to order up ambulances 
 to carry off our wounded. When I got back to the line, just before 
 midnight, Lieutenant Johnson came searching for me. 
 
 "Colonel Bradley wants to see you," he told me. 
 
 "Is he worse?" 
 
 "No. His wound has been dressed. He says he is very com- 
 fortable." 
 
 Something in the way Johnson turned from me, and disappeared 
 into the night made my heart sink. I hurried off toward the dressing 
 station. In a miserable log hut I found Colonel Bradley. The colonel 
 reached out his hand and took mine cheerfully. 
 
 "I am doing very well," he replied in answer to my question. He 
 dropped his voice. "But here is poor Moody. The doctor says he will 
 not live till morning." 
 
 There, on the next cot, lay Moody! 
 
 I bent over him, and he turned his face to me. 
 
 "Well, comrade, you and I will have to part company this time." 
 
 "Oh, no. Moody! No!" 
 
 But in a voice of calm I never will forget he said, "Yes, I am 
 going." 
 
 Instantly came the thought to me, I must not show my protest 
 against this separation, must subdue my feeling to make it easier 
 for him. Nearby I found a box emptied of its lint and bandages. 
 I brought this box, placed it beside Moody's cot. Sitting down, I 
 laid my hand over one of his, already growing cold. Bitterly my 
 heart rebelled against this sorrow. I who had known so much of 
 loneliness since childhood. And now to lose him! Moody had filled 
 in my heart the place so briefly held by Wellington Wood, but well 
 I knew no one would ever fill the place of Moody. At my heart's 
 fireside there would always be one vacant chair. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 407 
 
 Moody stirred. I bent over him. He tried to smile. 
 
 "We didn't get to milk our cow." 
 
 Behind me I heard the voice of Colonel Bradley, low and firm. 
 
 "Courage, Hanback." 
 
 "Goodnight, Moody," I said, and my tone was cheerful. "Pleasant 
 dreams." 
 
 He closed his eyes, and I was free to let the tears fall behind 
 one hand, while I laid the other back on his. He did not speak 
 again. I stayed beside him till the day began to dawn, but he did 
 not open his eyes or speak again. 
 
 XXX 
 
 Daybreak. 
 
 A strange and terrible morning, one to prefigure the Last Judg- 
 ment. The sky red and sultry, the sun like an evil of flame, the 
 woods all round us enveloped in smoke and mist. 
 
 At half after four General Sheridan reassembled our division. 
 Word was flying from officer to officer as we galloped here and 
 there on one urgent errand after another: "Longstreet arrived at 
 midnight." We knew when the brilliant general arrived. Galloping 
 through darkness in his anxiety to find Bragg for a conference, the 
 Confederate rode into one of our outposts. Longstreet recognized 
 the Federal uniforms in the light of a small sentry fire. Before our 
 weary Union soldiers knew their prize, he wheeled his beautiful 
 horse and disappeared from their astonished eyes like a handsome 
 apparition of man and horse. 
 
 At half past nine came the first assault. 
 
 The Confederates, wheeling on Longstreet's left as a pivot, gained 
 possession of the road to Chattanooga. Orders came to General 
 McCook. 
 
 "Headquarters, Dept. of the Cumberland, 
 "In the field, Sept. 20th, 1863. 10:00 a.m. 
 "Major-General McCook, Commanding 20th Army Corps, 
 General Thomas is being heavily pressed on the left. The general 
 commanding directs you to make immediate disposition to with- 
 draw to the left so as to spare as much force as possible to re- 
 inforce General Thomas. The left must be held at all hazards 
 even if the right is withdrawn wholly back to the present left. 
 Select a good position back this way and be ready to start rein- 
 forcements to Thomas at a moment's warning. J. A. Garfield, 
 Brig.-General and Chief of Staff." 
 To General Rosecrans, under a fearful strain as he saw reinforce- 
 
408 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 ments reaching Bragg while none came to his aid, it may have 
 seemed that certain of his generals were apathetic in carrying out 
 orders. As he received one aid after another from Thomas, asking 
 for help, he spoke with unaccustomed sharpness to one and an- 
 other of his officers. One who received some such rebuke was 
 General Wood. While this gentleman was still smarting from a 
 personal sense of injury out of place in an hour of terrible tension 
 for Rosecrans, new disaster was preparing. A young aide on the 
 staff of General Thomas, one Lieutenant Kellogg, was spurring his 
 horse toward Rosecrans with what he considered to be overwhelm- 
 ing tidings. Arrived at a point where Rosecrans had halted for a 
 conference with his Chief of Staff, Lieutenant Kellogg reported a 
 gap in the line between the divisions of Wood and Reynolds! 
 
 Tragedy is tragedy because it need not have been. 
 
 A hundred years hence students of history will still be asking 
 why William S. Rosecrans did not investigate the panic-stricken 
 report of that young aide before he issued any order. One thing 
 should be remembered. With Stone River in mind, Rosecrans was 
 engineering an orderly retirement of his right wing, had begun it 
 when Thomas was first pressed on the afternoon of the first day's 
 battle. Rosecrans had been issuing one order after another designed 
 to move right divisions by the left flank. His natural response to 
 young Kellogg's alarm was the thought that General Brannan had 
 moved out of his position between Wood and Reynolds. Quickly he 
 wrote an order which General Garfield himself bore across the field 
 to General Wood. 
 
 Now there was no gap in the line between Wood and Reynolds. 
 Brannan's division was between them, had failed to meet the eye of 
 Lieutenant Kellogg for the reason that it was lying almost hidden 
 in a strip of woodland and tall brakes a little to the rear of Wood's 
 and Reynold's fines. 
 
 "The General commanding directs that you close up on Rey- 
 nolds as fast as possible and support him." 
 
 Colonel Starling of General Wood's staff questioned the order. 
 
 "We can't do that," he exclaimed, exasperation in his voice. 
 
 Garfield replied quickly, his tone one of conciliation after the 
 recent unpleasantness, "The object of the order is that General 
 Wood should occupy the vacancy made by the removal of Bran- 
 nan's division. Brannan has been ordered to Thomas's left." 
 
 General Wood reread the order, placed it carefully in the breast 
 pocket of his uniform. 
 
 "I'm glad this is a written order," he remarked to Starling. "It 
 will do for future reference." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 409 
 
 With the utmost dispatch General Wood now withdrew his 
 division from the line, marched deliberately round the rear of 
 General Brannan, and proceeded to place his division in the rear 
 of General Reynolds. 
 
 "By this unfortunate escape," wrote General Rosecrans later to 
 Halleck, "a gap was opened in the line of battle of which the enemy 
 took instant advantage." 
 
 Through that fatal opening Longstreet poured the divisions of 
 Stewart, Johnson, Hindiman, Hood, Kershaw, and the strong reserve 
 division of Preston. In this way the Union Right was almost an- 
 nihilated. 
 
 Dreadful was the struggle that ensued! 
 
 Rosecrans, Garfield and McCook were in conference immediately 
 behind the gap in the Union line, near the rear of General Davis's 
 division. The first onslaught caught them and bore them along 
 with it, part of a melee of men of both sides fighting desperately. 
 Garfield managed to extricate himself and his horse, and get across 
 the field to General Thomas. McCook and Rosecrans galloped into 
 Chattanooga. There Rosecrans telegraphed news of the disaster to 
 Halleck. 
 
 In the midst of din and turmoil Phil Sheridan was everywhere! 
 
 Brilliantly he marched a portion of our division by the left flank 
 to the aid of Thomas. And side by side those two fought their fight. 
 
 When the break through occured I was sitting Baldy near 
 Sheridan, discussing with Captain Stevenson the report of Long- 
 street's incursion into our lines. I was waiting for orders for Colonel 
 Walworth. When the yelling divisions from Virginia came pouring 
 down on us, General Sheridan seemed to comprehend the disaster 
 before it transpired. He had a dozen aides riding for life in as many 
 directions in a matter of minutes. 
 
 "Lieutenant Hanback, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Orders for Colonel Walworth, sir." 
 
 "Colonel Walworth to defend the wagon train. Let's see. What 
 has he with him? The Twenty-seventh. Soldiers must eat, and we 
 may still be fighting tomorrow. General Thomas intends to hold the 
 field. And I intend to support him to the last." 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 As I saluted, Sheridan looked at the ever increasing torrent be- 
 tween us and my own colonel. 
 
 "Do you think you can get through?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. I'll get through." 
 
 Smoke was now drifted down on us till the tenth man to the right 
 or left at any place in our line could not be counted. No one could 
 
410 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 hear orders. Men would cheer, but in that awful roar the voice of 
 a man could not be heard a dozen feet away. Men fell to right and 
 left. The lines stumbled over corpses as they hurried on. There were 
 flashes in the smoke clouds, terrible explosions in the air, men were 
 stepped on or leaped over as they threw up their hands to fall 
 upon the grass and scream out the agony of mortal wounds. 
 
 This was a nightmare of death! The rank and file heard no orders, 
 saw no officers, they were pushed on or driven back, now dressed 
 as if on parade, again bent like a crawling serpent. Bayonets might 
 be fixed, but those who carried them were right upon the guns 
 before they could see their enemies. No one had orders to give, and 
 no order could have pierced that hellish confusion. The lines moved 
 ahead or fell back as if controlled by a lever, and yet no mortal 
 man could tell what swayed them. Each man acted for himself, 
 while, in some strange way, all acted together. There were dire 
 struggles over guns. Men were bayoneted as they rammed home 
 the charges. The guns, meanwhile, were discharged on struggling 
 masses of men not ten feet from their muzzles. 
 
 Now our lines were in retreat. Why, we could not tell. Here a 
 dozen men fought over a field piece, shooting, stabbing, clubbing. 
 Half the enemy's guns were silent. The remainder poured grape 
 into our men across a space of not four hundred feet. No one saw 
 his right or left hand neighbor now. For the moment each man was 
 alone with War. The line bent back, surged ahead, sprang forward, 
 broke at last before that mighty grey horde. Bayonets and sabres 
 clashed. Muskets were clubbed to deal blows after bayonets were 
 broken. Terrible roar, thick, clammy smoke, constant yelling from 
 the rebel hordes,— and in this horrible nightmare every Union man 
 was forced to fight against a dozen foes! 
 
 Two o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 It seemed that Thomas must at last give up his avowed intention 
 to hold his position at all costs. Up a hilly slope charged a division 
 of Virginians! As they passed compatriots from Tennessee they 
 yelled, "Lie down, Tennesseans, an' watch Vuhginia go in!" But see!! 
 What has been a hole in the Union line is changing suddenly to a 
 boiling mass of blue troops! General Gordon Granger, forgotten in 
 the debacle, has rightly judged the situation. Waiting no longer for 
 orders, he hurls his untried reserves into the battle. Those boys who 
 were in their first engagement met the Virginians with a bravery 
 equal to that of the Old Dominion. Presently the Virginians came 
 rushing back down the slope, hunting a place in which to reform 
 their line. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 411 
 
 "Rise up, Tennesseans," yelled a voice from the Tennessee troops, 
 "an' watch Vuhginia come out!" 
 
 This unauthorized move on the part of General Gordon Granger, 
 throwing his men into the breach, saved the Army of the Cumber- 
 land. 
 
 Chattanooga, Sept. 20, 1863-5 o clock. 
 General Sheridan,— Rossville,— Verbal message by Captain Hill 
 
 received. Support General Thomas by all means. If he is obliged 
 
 to fall back he must secure Dry Valley. Right falling back slowly, 
 
 contesting ground inch by inch. 
 
 By order of Major-General Rosecrans— C. Goddard, Assistant 
 
 Adjutant General. 
 
 As the late afternoon shadows grew long there came a lull. Men 
 looked round in astonishment. Wounds unfelt five minutes before, 
 began to bring groans. Gradually the worst of the smoke drifted 
 away, lifted on God's evening breeze, and the scene of man's 
 carnage was revealed. Here were ten acres of meadow covered with 
 dead men, wounded men. Covered with impedimenta of war, knap- 
 sacks, haversacks, canteens, muskets, swords. Our lines were re- 
 forming. All that had passed of hellish conflict might have been 
 deemed the horror of a night dream, but for the awful sights 
 around us, but for the awful cries coming from the wounded as 
 thirst and pain began their fiendish work. The gap opened by 
 Kellogg, Rosecrans and Wood was closed. Closed by Phil Sheridan, 
 Gordon Granger, and George H. Thomas, the Rock of Chickamauga. 
 Closed at a cost of a thousand lives of defenders of the American 
 Union. It had cost the Army of the Cumberland a thousand lives 
 to close that fatal gap! 
 
 Baldy and I made our way slowly along the pike until I found 
 familiar faces round the small fires by the roadside. Elam Hobson 
 and Hod Ticknor sprang up, each with a cup of coffee and a bit of 
 hard cracker, and came to where I sat on Baldy. While I drank off 
 Hod's coffee they told me the news. A dozen boys from Company 
 K were missing. Too soon to know whether they were killed, 
 wounded or taken prisoners. As I started away Elam called after 
 me, "We heard Captain Chapin had his foot shot away." 
 
 Twisting in my saddle, I called back, "Oh, I hope not." 
 
 Gallant, rotund Horace pegging it through life! 
 
 Presently through the dry fall dusk heavy with powder smoke 
 that dimmed the light of the camp fires, I reached a ruined cabin 
 Colonel Walworth had occupied as headquarters for our brigade. 
 Lieutenant Johnson was with him. We shook hands fervently. 
 
412 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Johnson," I said, "thank God you came through." 
 
 Spite of all effort, my tears splashed down. 
 
 Johnson laid an arm across my shoulders. 
 
 "We'll not forget Moody," he said. 
 
 "Have you had supper?" asked Colonel Walworth, glancing up 
 from some writing he was doing while he crouched on a rickety 
 stool at a rough pine board table. 
 
 "A cup of coffee, sir." 
 
 "Get a bite as quickly as possible. I want you to ride into Chat- 
 tanooga to General McCook for orders." 
 
 As I rode into Chattanooga the rain that always seemed to follow 
 a major engagement began to patter softly on the dusty pike. Gen- 
 eral McCook and General Crittenden were with General Rosecrans 
 in a room filled with aides who were coming and going almost tip- 
 toe. One of the aides was an acquaintance of mine. Before he 
 showed me in to General McCook he whispered to me that Rose- 
 crans was in a dazed state when he reached Chattanooga during 
 the battle. Two of his aides were obliged to help him from his 
 horse, get him indoors. 
 
 "I think," whispered my friend, "he feels he was betrayed." 
 
 While General McCook was reading Colonel Walworth's report, 
 I managed a quiet inspection of General Rosecrans. He sat listlessly, 
 chin cupped in palm, his eyes on the table before him. To a report 
 submitted from General Thomas, Rosecrans paid no attention. 
 General Garfield entered the council room. He brought with him 
 pen and ink and paper, laid them before Rosecrans, bent over his 
 general and spoke in a low voice. Rosecrans lifted the pen. With 
 obvious effort he began to write. Lincoln and Stanton sat up together 
 all that night, sharing each other's agony while they waited for that 
 message, filed on the following morning. 
 
 "Chattanooga, 9 A.M. Sept. 21st. 
 "After two days of the severest fighting I ever witnessed our 
 
 right and center were beaten. The left wing held its position until 
 
 sunset. We have no certainty of holding our position here." 
 
 I went into an anteroom, while I waited General McCook's 
 pleasure, to look through a heap of stale newspapers. Marching 
 through the mountain region we had had no news from the North for 
 days. At random I picked up a copy of my old friend, the St. Louis 
 News. A bold-faced headline caught my eye. 
 
 "LAWRENCE, KANSAS, IN RUINS! 
 "GUERRILLAS MURDER INHABITANTS!" 
 I sank on a bench, buried my face in my hands. Dimly I heard the 
 
A UNION FOREVER 413 
 
 voice of the aide who was my acquaintance. He was saying, "He's 
 exhausted. Give him a swallow of this." 
 
 But I was beyond the solace of Kentucky bourbon, double 
 rectified. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 Hettie came into the dining room at Wild wood where John D. 
 Cooper and his wife were having breakfast, waited on by Bridget 
 McShane. Hettie's hands were filled with unopened letters. 
 
 "Father, how do these letters come to be hidden away in a drawer 
 in your desk?" 
 
 John D. Cooper laid aside the Jacksonville Journal to inspect the 
 letters. 
 
 "You found those in my desk?" 
 
 "I certainly did." 
 
 "I have no idea how they came there." 
 
 "I have an idea," cried my little Hettie, her eyes flashing disdain. 
 
 "How dare you?" 
 
 Mrs. Cooper was on her feet. 
 
 "I dare because it's true. And while I wasn't hearing from him, 
 Lew wrote you a letter. And you had it published in the Journal. 
 You're plotting to break us up for two reasons. Vanity! Losing a 
 beau. And greed, trying to marry me off to your brother. To get 
 more of the Cooper money for the Risleys." 
 
 "Bridget, leave the room and close the door," ordered Margery 
 Ann Cooper. When the awestruck girl had complied, Mrs. Cooper 
 turned to Mr. Cooper. "My brother is not good enough for her, Mr. 
 Cooper." 
 
 "I don't love him," announced Hettie. "I'm engaged to Lew 
 Hanback. I intend to marry Lew." 
 
 Mr. Cooper sighed, looked longingly at his newspaper. 
 
 "You cling to that attachment?" 
 
 "Father, how can you? Haven't I engaged myself to marry Lew?" 
 
 "And I want to say to you, Mr. Cooper, that her attitude toward 
 me and my family is a disgrace. Neither she nor Mattie show me 
 anything but contempt. Of course William is always wonderful." 
 
 "Yes, William already has his share of my mother's money," re- 
 plied Hettie. "Now that he's broken off with Lula Van Zandt be- 
 cause he doesn't expect to live long, you've set yourself to get 
 around him. And get his money for your three brats." 
 
 "Br-r-ats!!! Do you hear that, Mr. Cooper?" 
 
414 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Hettie, that was an unfortunate remark." 
 
 "Unfortunate! I should say it was unfortunate. At least, my brats, 
 as you call them, have no Willard blood in their veins." 
 
 "Don't you dare to speak that way of my dead mother, you 
 awful woman. Oh, if only Mattie were here! She'd tear your wicked 
 tongue right out of your mouth." Hettie took a flaming step toward 
 her stepmother. "Do you know why my father freed his slaves in 
 his will? Before any war came? Because he was afraid of what you'd 
 do to them after he was gone." 
 
 "Hettie! Hettie!" 
 
 "A few slaves over in Tennessee are not the question now," an- 
 nounced Mrs. Cooper. "Your precious Lincoln has freed them, and 
 that's the end of the matter. At least for the present. And I'll have 
 you to understand, miss, that I know how to treat a slave. No slave 
 who was behaving himself need ever fear me." 
 
 "I suppose it would be behaving himself to toil all his life for 
 you. If he lifted a hand toward freedom, you'd do plenty to him." 
 
 "Mr. Cooper, do you hear those sentiments?" 
 
 "If you'll leave us now, my dear, I'll endeavor to reason with 
 Hettie." 
 
 Hettie announced, "You'll never get me to trust that woman an 
 inch." 
 
 Mrs. Cooper turned lividly on Hettie. Intrepid Hettie seized the 
 nearest weapon, a two-tined fork. Mrs. Cooper paused where she 
 was, trembling with her fury. 
 
 "I'll have you to know, miss, the Risleys were numbered with the 
 aristocrats when the Willards were wearing smocks. And slopping 
 pigs. Mr. Cooper, either this girl or I—" 
 
 "My dear, you are my wife—" 
 
 "Very well," said my little Hettie. She hammered the table with 
 the fork. "I will leave this damned house!" 
 
 Catching up my letters, all but forgotten in the conflict, she 
 rushed away to her bedroom to pack. An hour later she had left her 
 childhood home forever. 
 
 Having been assigned to division headquarters, I rode out with 
 General Sheridan who was examining the fortifications. We came 
 by the 27th Illinois, and Colonel Walworth called me. I saw him 
 take up a pile of letters, and presently he brought me two of them. 
 One, as I saw at a glance, was from Uncle Wilson Smith. I held the 
 other, looking down at it. After a long minute I got my courage, 
 and I turned it over. It was from Hettie! 
 
 Sheridan was off, and I moved after. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 415 
 
 We rode through the camps of the general's command, then away 
 out to the picket line, I all the time nearly dying to look at that 
 letter. We got to the line, went into a large building known as the 
 tannery, and up the stairs where the general might obtain a good 
 view of the rebel pickets. While Sheridan was looking at the rebels, 
 I broke my letter open. Lieutenant Allen, the general's aide who 
 was at my side, chanced to glance at me. 
 
 "Hanback! From the look of you, something big has happened." 
 
 "Allen! I beg of you . . ." 
 
 "Excuse me, Hanback. I only thought if the millenium has 
 dawned, I wouldn't want to be riding round, not knowing it." After 
 a moment he added, "There's little enough to make me grin. Con- 
 sidering what we've got just ahead." 
 
 What we had just ahead was a military execution, an event so 
 painful to Phil Sheridan, he brought himself only to the briefest 
 mention of it in his memoirs. 
 
 At half after eleven o'clock the brigade to which the condemned 
 men belonged began filing slowly into the execution ground to the 
 sound of muffled arms. Every man knew the significance of the 
 hour as the brigade formed on three sides of a hollow square. Little 
 had been discussed for twenty-four hours past but the fate of these 
 deserters. Now the men stood motionless, many of them white- 
 faced, before one of the sternest realities of war. 
 
 The deserters, Benjamin and Daily, brought back in the summer 
 under arrest, were tried before a court-martial, and sentenced to be 
 shot. The sentence was approved by Major-General Thomas. Still 
 the prisoners took the situation somewhat lightly. When the order 
 was read to them for their execution, they did not believe it. Not 
 until eight o'clock in the morning of the day of their death did hope 
 forsake them. At that hour such preparations began as convinced 
 them they were to die. 
 
 While the awful minutes took their solemn time the death march 
 of the prisoners began. Phil Sheridan, feeling deeply the fact that 
 this stigma attached to our division, yet determined to press home 
 the terrible lesson to all. 
 
 The death march of the prisoners began. 
 
 First came the brigade provost marshall, Captain Carroll. Fol- 
 lowing him walked a brass band playing the Dead March. Behind 
 the band walked the firing party. Then came two plain pine coffins, 
 each carried on the shoulders of four men. Each of the condemned 
 men followed his own coffin. The guard brought up the rear. 
 
 The party moved slowly. Every eye in the brigade turned to catch 
 
416 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 one glimpse of the prisoners. All pitied them, but we could not 
 condemn their sentence. The prisoners bore their part well. Ben- 
 jamin was an older man, perhaps fifty years old. The other, Daily, 
 was a young man just come into his majority. Benjamin appeared 
 much overcome, however he marched with tolerable steadiness 
 beside a priest of the Catholic church. With Daily walked Captain 
 Haigh of the 36th Illinois. Daily seemed to take events coolly. 
 
 By slow and solemn steps the prisoners came to the spot desig- 
 nated for the execution. There, where all watched and many eyes 
 blurred with tears, the Catholic priest administered the dying unc- 
 tion to Benjamin. Chaplain Haigh knelt in prayer with Daily. A 
 moment of tense stillness followed. Then Captain Carroll stepped 
 forward, and read to the condemned men the order that sentenced 
 them to die. 
 
 Next two men approached with bandages. Daily had got up 
 from his kneeling position, and he now sat down on his coffin. 
 Benjamin remained kneeling. The two men carefully tied the 
 bandages round the eyes of Daily and Benjamin. They assisted 
 Benjamin to his coffin. He sat down, leaned a little forward but was 
 quiet and resigned. Daily sat perfectly upright, and several times 
 he laid his hands over his heart, as if to signal to the firing party 
 where he wished to be shot. 
 
 The loading of the guns for the firing party was so arranged that 
 no one man of the party was certain he held a loaded gun. Twenty- 
 four guns were loaded, twelve with powder and ball, twelve with 
 powder alone. All the guns were capped, and the men were al- 
 lowed, each, to choose his own gun. 
 
 Now the final moment. 
 
 Many an eye glistened, many a stout man's cheek was wet. That 
 moment of quiet passed, and out of the stillness broke the com- 
 mand, "Ready!" Every gun came to ready. "Aim!" Every gun 
 sought a vital point. "Fire!" Both deserters were killed instantly. As 
 soon as the execution was ended the brigade was marched past the 
 dead bodies and on to its quarters. 
 
 "Well, Hanback, what do you think of it?" asked Lieutenant 
 Allen. 
 
 "Dailey's friends are the cause of his death," I replied. "When he 
 was at home they kept him. Advised him to stay. Abused the 
 government. As a result of their labors on his behalf he has met an 
 ignominious death." I added as I turned away, "I don't suppose you 
 could hire a man in our division to desert after what took place 
 today." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 417 
 
 In the spring of 1863 while our army was camping near Mufrees- 
 boro, the Copperhead leader, Clement Vallandigham was passed 
 through our lines by order of President Lincoln, sent to join his 
 friends in the South. Some weeks before, General Ambrose Burn- 
 side had issued his famous General Order No. 38, in which he 
 announced, the "habit of declaring sympathies for the enemy" 
 would not be allowed in the military district of Ohio. Vallandigham 
 challenged the order at Columbus, Ohio, where he proclaimed the 
 fight for the Union to be "a diabolical attempt to destroy slavery 
 and to set up a Republican despotism." Following this speech he 
 was arrested, May 5th, 1863. 
 
 "Must I shoot a simple-minded soldier-boy who deserts, while I 
 must not touch a hair of a wily agitator who induces him to desert? 
 This is not the less injurious when effected by getting a father, 
 brother or friend into a public meeting and there working upon his 
 feelings until he is persuaded to write the soldier-boy that he is 
 fighting in a bad cause for a wicked administration of a contempt- 
 ible government, too weak to arrest and punish him if he shall 
 desert. I think that in such a case to silence the agitator and save the 
 boy is not only constitutional, but, withal, a great mercy." 
 
 Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 That night I wrote to Hettie: 
 
 "A great anxiety has been lifted from my mind. When I failed to 
 hear from you for so long a time, I conjured up all manner of 
 reasons, and finally thought some person was meddling with our 
 correspondence. 
 
 "I approve of the course you have taken. I am glad you have 
 left the place ( though it has been your home for many years ) where 
 lives that woman. I think you will live more contented and happy. 
 You will be free from the machinations of the woman who should 
 have been a mother and not an enemy to you. I hope you will 
 forget the past, and live for the future. Leave Mrs. Cooper to take 
 such course as she may deem best to accomplish her design. I 
 assure you she cannot injure you." 
 
 XXXII 
 
 "Headquarters, Price's Division 
 "Camp Bragg, Ark. Nov. 2nd, 1863 
 Col. William C. Quantrill, 
 Commanding Cavalry, 
 Colonel: I am desired by Major-general Price to acknowledge the 
 
418 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 receipt of your report of your march from the Missouri river to 
 the Canadian, and that he takes pleasure in congratulating you 
 and your gallant command upon the success attending it. Gen- 
 eral Price is very anxious that you prepare the report of your 
 summer campaign, alluded to by you, at as early a date as 
 practicable, and forward it without delay, more particularly as 
 he is desirous that your acts should appear in their true light 
 before the world. In it he wishes you to incorporate particularly 
 the treatment which the prisoners belonging to your company 
 received from the Federal authorities; also the orders issued by 
 General Blunt or other Federal officers regarding the disposition 
 to be made of you or your men if taken or vanquished. He has 
 been informed that orders of a most inhuman kind were issued. 
 Indeed, he has some emanating from those holding subordinate 
 commands, but wants to have all the facts clearly portrayed, so 
 that the Confederacy and the world may learn the murderous 
 and uncivilized warfare which they themselves inaugurated, and 
 thus be able to appreciate their cowardly shrieks and howls when 
 with a just retaliation the same "measure is meted to them." He 
 desires me to convey to you, and through you to your command, 
 his high appreciation of the hardships you have so nobly endured 
 and the gallant struggle you have made against despotism and 
 the oppression of our State, with the confident hope that success 
 will soon crown our efforts. 
 
 I have the honor to remain, respectfully your obedient ser- 
 vant, MacLean, Major and Assistant Adjutant General. 
 
 Colonel William Clarke Quantrill, commanding cavalry, laid Mac- 
 Lean's fulsome message on the table before him. Billy Gregg who 
 had brought the mail from Sherman watched his chief from across 
 the table. 
 
 "Compliments," remarked Quantrill finally in the lifeless tone he 
 had used for days. "Just . . . compliments." 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 "Well!" Quantrill roused himself wearily. "What was it you 
 wanted to see me about?" 
 
 "I want a leave of absence." 
 
 "A good thing, too," agreed Quantrill, so quickly that Gregg 
 looked astonished. Quantrill answered the look. "You're a good 
 soldier, and a good officer. Beside that, you're an honest man. I can 
 find no fault with you, but I think it best for you to go away. You 
 have enemies in camp." 
 
 "Who are these enemies?" 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 419 
 
 "Why you denounced Fletch Taylor and James Little as thieves." 
 After a moment of consideration Quantrill added, "And Barker 
 doesn't like you first rate." 
 
 "Aren't those men thieves?" 
 
 "Yes, they are." 
 
 "You say I have been a good officer and soldier. You say I am an 
 honest man. Why do you want me to leave, and the thieves to stay?" 
 
 Quantrill turned on Gregg a dull eye from which the old fire 
 seemed forever departed. He replied listlessly, "You know Todd is 
 electee! captain of their company. Those men are completely under 
 his influence." 
 
 "Because Todd's heart is in the Cause. He's still fighting." 
 
 Quantrill moved his shoulder almost imperceptibly, his only com- 
 ment. 
 
 "Look, Billy, if you can get the commission you're after, take it." 
 
 "I can get the commission. All I need is a release from you. After 
 all, chief, you are a colonel in the Confederate army." 
 
 "Very well. I release you." 
 
 "Will you put that in writing?" 
 
 Quantrill smiled, but oh, so faintly! 
 
 "You don't need anything formal in order to part company with 
 thieves and rascals, Billy. Just walk out as a gentleman should." 
 
 "By God, I will. I'm going into Sherman." 
 
 Saluting, Billy Gregg swung on his heel. 
 
 "Billy!! Look out for ambush from my thieves and murderers. 
 I always do." 
 
 "I've learned to take care of myself. I keep to open country, day 
 and night. Even if it means the long way round." 
 
 Quantrill returned to idle brooding. The bold independence of 
 demeanor and action that characterized his day in Lawrence was 
 completely fled. Almost before his command rallied in the Sni hills 
 after the raid, his leadership waned. With the issuance by General 
 Ewing of Order No. 11, evacuating the Western Missouri counties, 
 it became apparent to those around him that he was lost, confused. 
 The road he had been following, broad and well defined, emerged 
 in an hour on a barren plain in desert sands where no path could 
 be discovered. Without able leadership, as his anxious confusion 
 increased, his men fell quickly into contending groups. 
 
 The first major quarrel gave George Todd his opportunity. 
 
 Fletch Taylor and James Little were in charge of six thousand 
 dollars in gold, taken during raids into several Union towns in the 
 northwestern corner of Missouri. This money they now declared to 
 be entirely their own affair, and George Todd supported them. 
 
420 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Here Quantrill committed a fatal error. He allowed Todd's ruling to 
 stand. Kate Clarke, watching the strange mood of listless depression 
 fallen on Quantrill, offered him no advice. In fact, Quantrill's mood 
 was shared by many of the guerrillas. In Lawrence too much blood 
 was shed, too much even for many of these reckless men. Now 
 indeed they felt themselves cut off forever from a safe return to 
 human society,— their only recourse now was to prey on one another. 
 
 George Todd, handsome and confident, interrupted Quantrill's 
 idle contemplation of the marred surface of a once handsome table 
 in a Texas farmhouse. 
 
 "Asking for me, Charley?" 
 
 "I want to see you and Anderson." 
 
 "Bill just got back from Sherman. You won't know him." As 
 Quantrill lifted his gaze Todd added, "He's had a shave. And a 
 haircut. Our Bill is courting." 
 
 "If he'll just confine himself to courting." There was a note of 
 anxiety in Quantrill's voice, a sign of weakness that brought a gleam 
 of satisfaction into Todd's eyes. "He and his men create too much 
 disturbance on the streets in town. Yelling and shooting." 
 
 "Here he is. Tell him about that." 
 
 Bill Anderson stepped in jauntily, conscious of a fine appearance. 
 He now wore only the well-trimmed mustache of his earlier days. 
 He had discarded his guerrilla outfit for a dark blue broadcloth coat 
 and handsome riding trousers in fawn color. He paused long 
 enough in the doorway to answer an envious inquiry, calling back 
 across his shoulder, "One thousand dollars C.S.A. Fifty dollars 
 gold." 
 
 "I want to see both of you about something else," said Quantrill 
 in reply to Todd. "We have to decide between now and evening 
 what we're going to do with Fletch Taylor." 
 
 The guerrilla captains exchanged glances. 
 
 "What about Fletch Taylor?" asked Bill Anderson. 
 
 "Simply, is he to lead out a robbing and murder expedition into 
 the countryside, and go scott free?" 
 
 "Leave that to the countryside." 
 
 "All able-bodied men round here are in the Southern army. We're 
 the ones to stop this sort of thing. We must courtmartial Fletch and 
 his crew." 
 
 "I don't agree with you." Todd spoke with a cool deliberation that 
 showed his awe of Quantrill was departed. 
 
 "By God! Do you want us asked to move on from here?" 
 
 "We're guerrillas, Charley. We're not regular. We're always going 
 to be moved on. We got to be ferocious. Make people so afraid of 
 
A UNION FOREVER 421 
 
 us they'll move us on to good land further west. That way, they'll 
 hope to make us tame and respectable, like themselves." 
 
 "Even guerrillas respect their own people." 
 
 "You make me laugh, Charley. All these months you've hoped 
 against hope to make a big name for yourself in the Confederacy. 
 I always knew that wouldn't come. Who are you? Who am I? I 
 never even had a chance to learn to read! Look at Bill, here. He 
 could have been a gentleman. Born to be one. Only he didn't get 
 the property that always has to go with the job of being a gentle- 
 man. I want my share of western land, if the Confederacy wins. 
 I'm fighting for those lands. I'm willing to strike out into something 
 new. But you want to get back into the past, to be a big man in the 
 Southern aristocracy. You ain't a chance, Charley. You're hammer- 
 ing on a closed door. I say, let Fletch alone. He's doing all right." 
 
 "Hell, Charley," interposed Anderson who had been flicking dust 
 from his new coat sleeve, "do you suppose we're welcome in Texas? 
 Why've we got this plantation to rest on, like a flock o' blasted 
 buzzards? Because all the Johnstone men old enough to fight went 
 into the army. Then Mrs. Johnstone took her brats away to her 
 sister's, with a couple of family servants. The balance of the niggers 
 left when slave gossip came along about Abe Lincoln's proclama- 
 tion. So we found this place deserted, just a temporary refuge, that's 
 all. Get this, Charley! We're in no position to court-martial one 
 another." 
 
 "What are you planning, Anderson?" 
 
 Quantrill knew the gossip. He asked the question to gain time. 
 
 Todd burst out laughing. He answered for Anderson. 
 
 "Bill's going to marry Miss Bush." 
 
 "What about our oath not to marry till we're mustered out at the 
 end of the war?" 
 
 "Charley, be reasonable." Anderson spoke as to a child. "We made 
 all those oaths and plans in Western Missouri. Up there we had 
 friends and relatives backing us. Backing everything we did. Up 
 there you were a hero, Charley. Still are. But we're in Texas now. 
 These Texans don't give a damn about us. If I get a chance to save 
 my skin by marrying into a prominent family, I'm bound to take it." 
 
 Todd took up the argument. 
 
 "Bill's right, Charley. Here in Texas we're just mouths to feed. 
 That's all you are now, Charley,— just a mouth to feed. And that 
 gives me the chance I've been waiting for. Chance to tell you a few 
 things. When you made that damn bastard Hallar first in command, 
 I hadda take second place. And I don't like second place, Charley. 
 
422 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Counting you, it was even third place. And I like first place. I want 
 you to know, Charley, I ain' afraid of any man on earth." 
 
 "How about me?" 
 
 "I admit I was afraid of you in Missouri. But you're the only 
 damned son-of-a-bitch I ever was afraid of." 
 
 Todd and Anderson waited to see if Quantrill would make an 
 issue of Todd's epithet. When he only sat staring down at the table 
 before him, they relaxed, glancing at one another. 
 
 "Leave Fletch alone," repeated Todd. "Let's have a game." 
 
 While Quantrill brooded silently Anderson brought out a fresh 
 pack of playing cards. At Todd's call half a dozen captains as- 
 sembled in the Johnstone dining room, round the Johnstone dining 
 table, taking hands between various duties. When Quantrill at last 
 roused to accept a hand, Todd and Anderson managed to control to 
 a bare glance the look of satisfaction they exchanged. 
 
 "Feeling luck with you tonight, Charley?" 
 
 Quantrill gave Todd no answer. But his eyes took on the old 
 glow as the gambling fever caught him. Hours passed. The various 
 players came and went, but Quantrill played without food or rest. 
 
 Toward midnight Billy Gregg interrupted the game. 
 
 "Colonel Quantrill!" 
 
 "Hello! Sit in the game, Billy?" 
 
 Quantrill answered without taking his eyes from his cards. 
 
 "COLONEL QUANTRILL!!!" 
 
 There was that in Gregg's tone to claim every eye at the table. 
 
 "What is it, Billy?" asked Quantrill. 
 
 "May I speak to you privately?" 
 
 Quantrill countered impatiently, "Can't you speak to me here?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. If you prefer it, I can speak here. You told me this 
 afternoon you considered me a good soldier and an honest man. 
 Then you dismissed me to take my assignment in Sherman. But you 
 sent me without a written release from you." 
 
 Quantrill turned on Billy Gregg his coldest, blankest stare. 
 
 "I got to Sherman," continued the young officer in a bitter tone, 
 "in spite of the fact I was fired on from ambush. And when I got 
 there I learned I couldn't possibly take my assignment without a 
 release from you. I'd lay myself liable to court-martial for desertion." 
 
 "So you came back for a written release." 
 
 "I did, sir." 
 
 "Write it out and I'll sign it." 
 
 "I have it here, sir." 
 
 Gregg pulled a paper from the pocket of his guerrilla shirt. While 
 
A UNION FOREVER 423 
 
 Quantrill signed the paper, Todd remarked in an aside to Ander- 
 son, "Rats desert a sinking ship." 
 
 Putting the paper in his pocket, Gregg extended his hand to 
 Quantrill. 
 
 "Goodbye, sir." 
 
 "Goodbye, Billy. Good luck." 
 
 As Billy swung about for the door, Quantrill's eye went back to 
 his cards. Billy paused in the doorway. "Sorry to leave you sir. But 
 you can't blame me for not wanting to swing." As he disappeared 
 through the door his voice came back. "With thieves and murderers." 
 
 With his final salute, of extra precision, Billy Gregg had dis- 
 appeared forever from his chieftan's sight; but Quantrill leaned 
 forward in a gambler's oblivion. He said, "I'll take two cards." After 
 the hand was played out Taylor and Little, exchanging a glance 
 with Todd, rose and sauntered from the room. Presently they rode 
 past the windows of the dining room, their figures well lighted by 
 a great bivouac fire in the yard. Anderson and Jarrette took their 
 places in the game. 
 
 George Todd dealt. 
 
 "California Jack," he informed the company. "One hundred dol- 
 lars to play." 
 
 Without a sound except the sudden hard slaps made on the table 
 by each player's cards, the guerrillas played out the hand. 
 
 "Game!" 
 
 George Todd played a final ace of spades. He bunched the cards, 
 tossed them to Frank James for a new deal. 
 
 "Just a moment, George." 
 
 Quantrill who had been keeping his own score on the back of 
 MacLean's letter, slipped a card from beneath the letter. Leaning 
 across the table, he exposed an ace of spades. 
 
 "This deck we're playing with seems to have too many aces. I've 
 been watching for that second ace to come up again, George." 
 
 Quick stir, the players turning toward George Todd. Handsome 
 and self-possessed, Todd allowed himself a slight, superior smile. 
 
 "Where did you get that ace, Charley? Been holding it up your 
 sleeve?" 
 
 His right hand made a barely perceptible move nearer the 
 revolver in his guerrilla belt. 
 
 Jarrette growled in his throat, watching Todd. Anderson's face 
 was inscrutable. He watched Quantrill. 
 
 "You cheat!" said Quantrill to George Todd. 
 
 Instantly Todd drew on Quantrill. The watchers pushed their 
 chairs back, leaving the two men confronted across the table. 
 
424 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Say that again, Charley." 
 
 Momentary suspense, then Quantrill took the cards and began 
 shuffling them. 
 
 "My deal," he said. "Old Sledge." 
 
 "Damnation," swore Jarrette, leaping to his feet. 
 
 Anderson, very much the Southern gentleman in his new coat, 
 rose more negligently. 
 
 "Suppose we call the game off for tonight." 
 
 The others round the table, Younger, Blunt, Hockensmith, even 
 Frank James, studied Quantrill in cold silence. At that moment all 
 realized what Quantrill and Todd had known for days,— leadership 
 had found a new home. Colonel Quantrill felt the icy silence without 
 looking up from his cards. Presently he, too, rose. 
 
 "Yes," he remarked evenly, "we'll call the game finished." 
 
 Glancing at his penciled notes, he laid on the table gold pieces to 
 meet his losses. Amid a profound, motionless silence he walked to 
 the door, turned. In that moment there was something humble, 
 almost imploring in his eyes and his bearing. Not one of the men 
 he faced could in any way be reached by such an attitude. This he 
 must have realized. Without speaking he walked from the room. 
 
 Todd was the first to speak. 
 
 "Whose deal?" 
 
 "God damn it," swore Jarrette. "I'm going to bed." 
 
 "That's right. Settle up," said Anderson. 
 
 While computations were in progress Anderson picked up the 
 letter from MacLean, began to read it, then hesitated as William 
 Clarke Quantrill rode between the dining room window and the 
 dying fire glow outside, on his horse Charley. 
 
 "Don't shoot, anybody," ordered Todd in quick command. He 
 laughed evilly. "Let him go back to Kate." 
 
 After a moment, Anderson, reading again, swore softly, "I'll be 
 damned!" He read a few lines silently while the others turned to 
 watch him. "Sterling Price," he explained finally. 'Desires ... to 
 convey to your command ... his high appreciation . . / " 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 There was now a conjunction of stars of the first magnitude in 
 the military heavens of Chattanooga. Grant arrived on the 23rd of 
 October and met with Thomas in the pretty cottage Thomas had 
 taken over as his headquarters. Fighting Joe Hooker, detached from 
 the army of the Potomac, brought his peerless bully boys to the 
 coming struggle in the West. William Tecumseh Sherman was 
 
A UNION FOREVER 425 
 
 making all haste to get his army across the Tennessee. Grant, 
 always prudent, designed to wait until Sherman had completed his 
 crossing before opening an attack. 
 
 I finished my fourth waffle, sitting up at the rude counter of 
 Crissie's eating house in Chattanooga. After riding across the moun- 
 tains in one of the wagons of the 3rd Brigade, Crissie went into 
 business for herself; and the fame of her waffles and coffee blazed 
 its way steadily across the Army of the Cumberland. Even in these 
 last moments of the famine, before the first of the home made river 
 steamers arrived to unload supplies, Crissie found meal for the 
 flapjacks she tossed in the presence of her customers while she 
 indulged in friendly chat. Quaffing her coffee, palatable although 
 made from roasted acorns, I remarked, "When I am married, Crissie, 
 you will have a position as cook." 
 
 Crissie flashed a brilliant smile. 
 
 "Don't you-all forget that, lieutenant." 
 
 I answered as I had done a dozen times, "If I forget your cooking, 
 Crissie, may my right hand forget her cunning." 
 
 This was mutually understood to be an extremely witty remark. 
 We parted laughing. I walked up the main street of little Chat- 
 tanooga, lost these days in an army city of tents. As usual my eye 
 flew to a sign that flapped rustily in the autumn wind: "A. Baker, 
 Attorney-at-law. I, the lawyer in prospect, wondered, not for the 
 first time, what had become of A. Baker? 
 
 A seemingly endless procession of wagons, all going toward our 
 front lines, occupied the little street, and every wagon bore the 
 same bitter fruit,— grape and cannister. The very air we breathed 
 seemed charged with portent. Not many hours to go before another 
 struggle, perhaps more deadly than any gone before. Outside 
 Bragg's headquarters on the heights, his grey saddle horse stood 
 constantly those days. There was never a moment when glasses were 
 not trained on it from our headquarters. Rumors flew faster than 
 birds. Bragg, said the rumors, was planning to retreat to Atlanta. 
 Many eyes watched that gallant grey. 
 
 I passed one of the small churches of the village. 
 
 Two tall infantrymen emerged with a pew they swung between 
 them. They looked at a passing wagon. 
 
 "Fightin' just ahead," remarked one to the other. 
 
 His companion answered, "I know a better sign than that grape. 
 Mother Bickerdyke come into town under a flag last night." He 
 jerked his head. "She's settin' up a soup kitchen in the minister's 
 study right now." 
 
426 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Kin you-uns tell me the way to Genrul Sheridan's?" 
 
 Confronting the infantry stood Lafayette Thomasina McCoy! 
 
 Uncrinolined, unflounced, unwashed, she presented about the 
 same appearance as when I had seen her in her native mountains; 
 but, in deference to city life, she wore shoes and a poke bonnet 
 ornamented with a rooster's tail feathers. Her jaws worked steadily 
 as she eyed the tall soldiers. They grinned at one another. 
 
 One quoted a refrain popular in the army, "She kin chaw more 
 terbacker than her paw kin chaw." 
 
 "Kin she saw more wood than her maw kin saw?" rejoined his 
 companion. 
 
 The native daughter took deliberate aim, delivering her fire with 
 great accuracy at the exact center of the pew just set down by the 
 soldiers. 
 
 "You-uns think you mighty smaht," she opined. "Ah come clar 
 down ovah the mountains to git back my pappy 's shotes. Ah want t' 
 find this yeah Genrul Sheridan." 
 
 "Miss McCoy," I interrupted, "I'll set you on your way to head- 
 quarters." The privates whirled and came to salute. I returned the 
 salute absently, the while I asked, "How does it happen you're 
 chasing up shotes this time? I thought the last time I saw you your 
 family had nothing left but a cow." 
 
 Lafayette Thomasina refused argument. 
 
 "Genrul Sheridan been payin fo' whut his army done took off us. 
 Ah aims to git back mah pappy's shotes. Or othahwise, pay." 
 
 A pleasing thought struck me. I set her on her way to head- 
 quarters. 
 
 "And when you get there," I told her, "you must ask for Lieu- 
 tenant Lamb and Lieutenant Allen. Can you remember those 
 names? It's very important for you to remember, Lamb and Allen." 
 
 Even on the edge of battle, the mental picture I had of Lamb and 
 Allen when she should arrive asking for them, momentarily raised 
 my spirits. Lafayette Thomasina paused only for a last remark aimed 
 at the tall members of the infantry. 
 
 "If you-uns had half as much sense as a wall-eyed mule, you 
 might be about half as smaht as the jimbah-jawed buzzahd druv 
 off mah pappy's shotes." 
 
 She departed, giving all the swing to her calico skirts a sad lack 
 of crinoline would allow. 
 
 The afternoon of November 22nd, 1863, wore hazily away into a 
 fine evening with a huge harvest moon brightening the scene. If 
 we watched Bragg's grey, the Confederates were equally interested 
 in us. An Indiana regiment marched out to picket duty. "Hello thar, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 427 
 
 Yanks!" came a yell from the rebel line. "So you Yanks think o' 
 fighting do yuh? We see yuh got eighty rounds. An' bread t' match." 
 
 I came late to officers' mess at division headquarters that moonlit 
 November evening, to find Lamb and Allen waiting for me. 
 
 "Say, you!" exclaimed Lamb. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" I inquired, taking my place at table. 
 "What's for dinner, Hans?" 
 
 "Peefstek mit onion," replied our Dutch cook proudly. 
 
 "God bless our commissary." 
 
 "You know very well what the trouble is," said Lamb in a severe 
 tone. "You ought to be court-martialed for conduct unbecoming an 
 officer and a gentleman." 
 
 "Gladly. If you will stand your trial at the same time for some of 
 your tricks with me." 
 
 "He ought to be kicked in the rear," put in Allen. "We'll never 
 live it down. That female! Like a pole dressed in a calico curtain." 
 
 While I was eating my supper General Sheridan sent me word 
 that the enemy was reported leaving our front, and that he wanted 
 me to go to the picket line, instruct our officers to have their pickets 
 on the alert for any movement of the enemy, to note carefully 
 whether any artillery moved during the night. I visited all the sta- 
 tions and came back very tired, very sleepy. Nevertheless at half 
 after ten I was writing: "Good night, and sweet dreams to you, my 
 own darling." 
 
 By midnight General Sheridan had reported to Grant. Between 
 midnight and morning General Grant changed his plan of waiting 
 for the arrival of Sherman before initiating an attack on the Con- 
 federate forces. Sherman, with the army of the Tennessee, was to 
 have taken the lead in the battle for which we were all waiting; but 
 Grant decided that with Bragg threatening withdrawal he could no 
 longer wait for Sherman who was making all haste to get his army 
 across the Tennessee river. Hooker, with his bully boys detached 
 from the Army of the Potomac, had already been ordered to occupy 
 Lookout Valley to prevent Bragg from calling any of the troops on 
 Lookout Mountain to his aid as reinforcements when Sherman 
 should attack. Thus, it was to the Army of the Cumberland under 
 Thomas that Grant turned in accomplishing his first objective, 
 Orchard Knob. 
 
 Around the little town of Chattanooga were the Federal forts of 
 Wood, Negley and Palmer. Off to the southwest lay Missionary 
 Ridge where a strong glass could pick out the headquarters of Gen- 
 eral Bragg. Lookout was on the south, a cone with a craggy crown. 
 Meanwhile the nearer objective, the rise called Orchard Knob, was 
 
428 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 indispensible to our plan, as a base for major activity. 
 
 Early in the afternoon of November 23rd the Army of the Cum- 
 berland marched out on the plain below that bald-topped knob. 
 Astounding innovation in warfare, we took our drummer boys with 
 us. We marched and counter-marched with our bayonets flashing 
 in the sun. We could see Confederate officers watching idly through 
 their field glasses what they evidently took to be a grand review. 
 Lending color to this idea, General Grant with C. A. Dana, and 
 generals Thomas, Hooker, Howard and Gordon Granger, stood on 
 the parapet at Fort Wood. In reality they were waiting for the battle 
 to begin. 
 
 Now in all humanity the drummer boys had received instructions 
 to fall to the rear so soon as they had beat the charge. But who ever 
 heard of a boy willing to fall back in such circumstances? One 
 young imp took the lead, beating the charge with a yell, "Come on, 
 you bully boys!! Were going to the top!" He darted on ahead! A 
 moment passed, and he was joined by a lanky son of New England, 
 one of the tallest men in the army. Beside these two, an instant 
 later, ran a color bearer, holding high the Stars and Stripes! Behind 
 those three rose a mighty cheer. Not only their own company, their 
 own regiment, but the whole command went after them in one 
 wave. Not a straggler! One great, cheering wave! The three main- 
 tained their lead until a rebel bullet took the tall soldier between 
 the eyes. He fell, the first man killed in the series of engagements 
 that carried the victorious Union in three days to the summit of 
 Missionary Ridge. 
 
 We occupied Orchard Knob, Grant's first objective and an im- 
 portant position, near the Ridge. In the hour when Orchard Knob 
 was taken, Sherman crossed the Tennessee at Brown's Ferry and 
 prepared to storm the Ridge. That evening officers and rank and 
 file of the Army of the Cumberland were alike sunk in gloom. After 
 our brilliant exploit of the afternoon the honor of storming the 
 Ridge was to go to the Army of the Tennessee. In addition, rumor 
 flew everywhere to the effect Fighting Joe Hooker was to make a 
 demonstration toward Hardee's forces encamped on Lookout. Gen- 
 eral Grant was leaving it to Hooker's discretion whether or not to 
 develop the feint into a real fight, and no one doubted, knowing 
 Hooker, that the outcome would be a fight. 
 "We fought at Stone River, didn't we?" 
 "What was the matter with us at Chickamauga?" 
 "The upshot of this will be these two armies will take the honors. 
 Itll be told all through history we had to be supplanted with better 
 fighters." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 429 
 
 We grumbled ourselves to sleep. 
 
 Morning came, November the 24th. 
 
 Lamb and I stood outside division headquarters with eyes and 
 ears strained for news of the battle we heard developing on Look- 
 out. Thick clouds veiled the scene from our sight, but we could 
 hear Fighting Joe's guns. Thunderous reverberations from crag to 
 crag, while we below could only conjecture as to the outcome. Sud- 
 denly, while we trained our field glasses on the mist above us, a 
 wind leaped up to tear a brief opening in the clouds. Hooker's men 
 were advancing up the northerly face of Lookout. As the stiffening 
 wind carried away the clouds, we saw Union troops in swift pursuit 
 of fleeing rebels. We sent up such a cheer from thirty thousand 
 throats below as to be heard clearly, even through the battle din, 
 by those fighting above the clouds. Then they were lost to us in a 
 dense growth of timber. Intolerable moments of suspense! 
 
 "We have the hard end of it down here," I exclaimed to Lamb, 
 almost beside myself. 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 The rebels are bursting out of the timber below the summit. Our 
 boys are right after them. Our boys led by a color bearer far in 
 advance of his fellows. Too daringly he advances, waving on his 
 comrades. 
 
 "Look out!" 
 
 "Look OUT!!!" 
 
 We shout. Everyone shouts, forgetting the height that separates 
 us from our hero. While we gaze the rebels make a dash for him. 
 He is too nimble for them! He has run back among his comrades. 
 We see the color squad reach the summit, plant the Stars and Stripes 
 at the very crest of Lookout. We weep, and cheer, and beat one 
 another on the back. Then a cloud bank closes in. We see no more. 
 
 As Hooker's triumph becomes apparent Sherman's troops advance 
 against Bragg's right on Missionary Ridge. They carry the hill 
 Sherman has been told marks the northern extremity of the Ridge. 
 There a disappointment awaits the commander of the Army of the 
 Tennessee. He finds a deep ravine, separating the little hill his men 
 have taken, from Bragg's strongly fortified position. There, as night 
 falls, Sherman is forced to rest under the brilliant light of Southern 
 moon and stars. 
 
430 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 The 25th of November, 1863, dawned clear and cool on the Army 
 of the Cumberland. Beautiful Thanksgiving weather,— but in our 
 army we were grumblers to a man while we lay inactive to watch 
 Sherman's troops in their gallant attempt to carry the heights south 
 of their position. We had splendid seats for the show. We were 
 bowed out across the field at the base of Missionary Ridge. Just 
 before us and parallel with us was a clear-flowing stream. Beyond 
 this a thin growth of trees. Beyond the trees, bare, reaped fields, 
 eight or nine hundred feet across, and beyond the fields, the 
 enemy's first line of entrenchments. At an agreed signal, six guns 
 fired from Orchard Knob, the Army of the Cumberland was to take 
 the first line of the enemy's defense at the foot of the Ridge directly 
 ahead of us. 
 
 The enemy saw our corps making dispositions for an attack. As 
 one and another of us rode to Sheridan and spurred away on his 
 errands we could plainly note Bragg's regiments with colors flying, 
 marching from the left flank to fill up spaces not already occupied 
 in his entrenchment. 
 
 Phil Sheridan swore picturesquely beneath his breath. 
 
 He finished, "If we expect to accomplish much, we'll have to start 
 moving. Captain Ransome, ride to General Granger. Ask him if 
 we are to stop at the first line of trenches, or push immediately to 
 the top?" 
 
 Ransome spurred away. 
 
 At that moment, from Orchard Knob where our corps com- 
 mander, Gordon Granger, stood with Grant and Thomas, all with 
 glasses trained on us, came the signal. Six guns! 
 
 Have I said that our boys had been uneasily discussing the pos- 
 sibility that the great hero of Vicksburg, the new commander of 
 our armies, thought Vicksburg men under Sherman and Gettysburg 
 men under Hooker more to be relied on than we who had so lately 
 suffered defeat at Chickamauga? When those six guns let us off the 
 leash we started yelling like red Indians. We took the little creek 
 at a bound, the men on foot, the staffs on horseback, and our little 
 general right out ahead, waving his campaign hat and adding his 
 voice to the uproar. 
 
 We took the creek at a bound, ran through the woodlot and 
 surged across the open fields. Our guns at Fort Wood opened with 
 a roar. At the same instant the enemy above us on the Ridge opened 
 upon us with a terrible storm of shot and shell. At the double quick, 
 with fixed bayonets, we rushed at the enemy's first line. Not a shot 
 
A UNION FOREVER 431 
 
 from our lines as we gained on our skirmishers who melted into our 
 ranks to become part of an onward pouring wave. All three of 
 Sheridan's brigades went over the rifle pits simultaneously. 
 
 The rebel troops in the pits were disconcerted by this sudden 
 rush. Most of them lay close in the ditch and surrendered. Some 
 fled up the slope to their second line. Our officers were busy order- 
 ing prisoners to the rear. As the fire on the Ridge was now directed 
 straight down on us, these prisoners left with alacrity, without 
 escort, hustling for Chattanooga. 
 
 Our position was now unmerciful, beneath a murderous fire. Back 
 and forth along that first line of rifle pits rode Phil Sheridan. We 
 could see him coming through the smoke by the glitter of his 
 buttons and stars flashing in the afternoon sunlight. Back and forth 
 he galloped. Husky from shouting commands in the smoke, he 
 called to Lieutenant Avery for a flask. Before he tossed off his 
 drink, he waved his hat in the general direction of Bragg's head- 
 quarters. Gallant salute! They, above, were watching him. Their 
 blue flag fluttered in response. A moment later they had his range. 
 Six guns of their battery showered him with earth. 
 
 Sheridan glared up at them. 
 
 "Damned ungenerous!" he remarked, snapping the flask shut and 
 handing it back to his aide. 
 
 We began to get back our wind after our run across the field. 
 Captain Ransome now came galloping to Sheridan with an order 
 from Granger. The Army of the Cumberland was to take only the 
 first line of trenches. 
 
 "I left the word with the officers of the fine as I came along, sir," 
 explained Ransome. 
 
 Phil Sheridan blasted the air with his invective. 
 
 "Hell and damnation," he finished. "I can't leave my whole 
 division here to be slaughtered. He rode up the Ridge out of the 
 smoke into a clear space where we all saw him plainly. Always 
 afterward he said gravely he was riding to recall several regiments 
 already starting for the top of the Ridge. Meanwhile the men who 
 loved and were watching him saw him ride out ahead of them. A 
 yell followed, a mighty yell. A sudden start made here, another 
 there. Phil Sheridan's division was embarking for the heights. We 
 all had one thought,— to get to the top ahead of Wood's division. 
 
 Over on Orchard Knob, General Grant exclaimed, "Who ordered 
 those men to the top? Did you do this, Thomas?" 
 
 Ole Pap grinned happily. 
 
 "Under whose orders are those men going up that hill?" insisted 
 Grant. 
 
432 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Probably under their own orders, sir." 
 
 Gordon Granger, openly weeping while he chuckled, said, "Gen- 
 eral Grant, when the Army of the Cumberland gets started, all hell 
 can't stop 'em." 
 
 With the uneasy memory of Chickamauga and with opportunity 
 to retrieve our glory, how could we stop? Up we went, led by our 
 various color guards. For the first time we who had always fought 
 on a plain, had opportunity to carry the Flag on and up, to plant 
 it on the heights. Every color sergeant in the corps strained forward, 
 determined to have his flag first at the top. 
 
 When we began our charge Sheridan's and Wood's divisions raced 
 neck and neck. Among Wood's troops was a group of fighters who 
 had been many times complimented for their discipline and general 
 excellence. This regiment, the Eighth Kansas, got away to a perfect 
 start. A breath ahead of any others their colors reached the Ridge. 
 
 Those breeze blown flags! 
 
 At intervals, as we rested in our upward struggle against the face 
 of nature and the deadly fire of the enemy, we watched the flags 
 go up before us. Never did the Stars and Stripes touch the ground 
 that day. When the Flag dropped from a dying hand, another 
 caught it upward. When we had no breath left for cheering we still 
 could see, through the sweat pouring down our foreheads into our 
 smoke-dimmed eyes, those colors going on before us to the top of 
 Missionary Ridge. 
 
 My task was to keep in touch with General Sheridan! 
 
 To carry messages, when possible. Meanwhile there were mo- 
 ments when all any of us could do was to fight our way upward and 
 pray to meet each other at the top. Sometimes Baldy scrambled on 
 with me on his back. Again, I was off, leading him past the un- 
 passable. And I wish to certify that horse was as anxious to get to 
 the top as any two-legged soldier in the division. Up and on, up and 
 on! So past the second line of pits, and after that the enemy's fire 
 was not so effective, as it was still directed lower, toward the first 
 line. Up and on, up and on! Until a final heave carried the foremost 
 fighters to the summit. 
 
 There, seated on his horse on the Ridge, was Little Phil! 
 
 When we saw him waiting for us, we covered the last hundred 
 feet in one great surge and went over the works on the crest. Gen- 
 eral Sheridan rode up to the nearest pit. The Confederates were 
 retiring. Several of them, caught in the trench, turned the butts of 
 their muskets toward the general in token of surrender. From 
 Bragg's headquarters where the Confederates were still gallantly 
 fighting, a battery opened fire on the general. Colonel Joseph 
 
A UNION FOREVER 433 
 
 Conrad of the 15th Missouri saw what was coming. He ran to 
 Sheridan urging, "Dismount, sir. For God's sake, dismount." 
 Sheridan leaped from his horse as the charge brought that noble 
 creature down. Conrad went down, wounded in the thigh. 
 
 The wildly cheering Union troops advanced along the Ridge 
 toward Bragg's headquarters, driving the Confederates from their 
 position. General Bragg rode off on his beautiful grey with our men 
 almost at his heels. 
 
 There they were! The Lady Breckinridge and the Lady Buckner! 
 
 The two famous guns! 
 
 Little Phil mounted the carriage of the Lady Breckinridge, the 
 better to oversea the fight. There he stood, cursing softly with 
 mingled delight and fury, cursing in picturesque phrases under his 
 breath, ordering one after another of us away to the officers of the 
 line with instructions to pursue the enemy down the western face of 
 the Ridge. After them we went until dusk fell. Then our little 
 general, unwilling to separate us further from the main body of the 
 army, called us back. 
 
 Fighting continued on the Ridge. 
 
 Over east of us the great golden moon rose into the dusk, en- 
 larged enormously to our eyes by the refraction of the atmosphere. 
 Against this silver-gilt background, the last minutes of fighting on 
 the Ridge showed leaping, gesturing pygmies, hobgoblins of the 
 moon.* 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Dead soldiers lay thick around what had been Bragg's head- 
 quarters. Baldy starting and jumping nervously, picked his way 
 with dainty feet among prone figures Blue and prone figures Grey. 
 Scabbards, broken arms, artillery horses, wrecks of gun carriages, 
 bloody garments, strewed the heights. And what is this? A drummer 
 boy lies here, his pale face upward, a dark stain on the breast of his 
 uniform. I drew rein, staring down at that young face. After a 
 painful pause, I called, "Sergeant!" A man with great dark eyes in 
 a bearded face, turned as my voice reached him. 
 
 * The late William Allen White, when he learned of my intention to write 
 this story, had the Kansas Historical Society searching files for the account of 
 the charge up Missionary Ridge which was always a part of my grandfather's 
 lecture, "Battle Days." The letter in my possession describing the charge had 
 been mutilated, and parts of the script of his lecture lost during the years. When 
 I finally finished, under Mr. White's insistence, the story of the famous charge, 
 I sent the pages to him. He wrote me: "This is the best battle piece I have 
 read." The Author. 
 
434 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Sergeant, will you hand me that drum?" 
 
 As I took the drum he readily fetched me, I remarked, "I knew 
 this boy. But no one told me he was in the army. He was learning 
 the newspaper trade the most difficult way. Started as a printer's 
 devil. I'll send this drum to his mother." 
 
 "Hanpack!" 
 
 Now I did look at the sergeant. 
 
 "Bondi!" 
 
 Grinning, we shook hands. 
 
 "Bondi, what are you doing here?" 
 
 "What inteet? What do we all here?" 
 
 We turned to gaze at the scene. 
 
 In various directions, we could see burial details at work. So great 
 was the task confronting the Union army, having to bury the dead 
 of the enemy as well as our own, that in many instances long 
 trenches were dug, the Confederate soldiers laid in them while a 
 chaplain conducted a prayer service, and after the earth was re- 
 placed, the names of the men thus buried were recorded on 
 boulders, painfully scratched there with bayonet point. The women 
 of the South were deeply embittered by this hasty, unceremonious 
 burial of their dead. They could not realize the awful necessity of 
 the hour. 
 
 "You have a spade?" 
 
 I glanced toward Bondi's horse that cropped the autumn-dried 
 grass nearby. 
 
 "Yes. I came oudt to pury a hero." 
 
 Still he spoke his English like a foreign scholar, with a trace of 
 "p" on his letter "b". 
 
 "What is your command?" 
 
 "Thirt Kansas mounted. I am commanting a detachmendt. We 
 forage for the Eidth Kansas." 
 
 "The famous regiment!" 
 
 By now everyone in the army knew the Eighth Kansas had com- 
 pleted the charge ahead of all others. 
 
 The sergeant's dark eyes flashed. 
 
 "When history is truly to It it is the Thirt Kansas will be famous. 
 In the Thirt Kansas are the men of Cabdain John Prown." 
 
 Bondi stooped to lift the drummer boy. I got hastily off Baldy to 
 help. I looked round until I saw a stunted sycamore at no great 
 distance. 
 
 "Let's bury him at the foot of that little tree," I said. "That tree 
 will never grow to full size. Neither will he." 
 
 As we walked slowly over to the sycamore with his body between 
 
A UNION FOREVER 435 
 
 us, I said, "I know his mother, a poor widow near Chapin. He went 
 into Jacksonville to work on the Journal. I believe he slept under the 
 counter. I'm afraid," I finished soberly, "he didn't always eat well. 
 But he loved the Union." 
 
 We laid the drummer boy to rest, composed as best we could his 
 young body. I covered his face with his cap. Slowly we took turns 
 filling in the earth above him. When all was done, Sergeant Bondi 
 removed his own cap. 
 
 "Ledt us standt quiedly one minude for him, Hanpack." 
 
 When the sergeant uncovered his dark, curling locks it came to 
 me suddenly, his beard was as recent an acquisition as my own. 
 
 When we turned away from the drummer boy I asked, "Which 
 one of Captain Brown's men are you looking for?" 
 
 "A goot soltier. You knew him. We calldt him the Vermondter." 
 
 We walked toward a flat-topped rock, warmed by the sun. There 
 we sat down. Quite naturally the talk came round to Captain John 
 Brown. 
 
 "The Kansas Combany was only one of the combanies on the way 
 to him," mourned Sergeant Bondi. "Put we never godt there. One 
 draidor forces him to strike withoud waiding for us. Even gread 
 genius can be overthrown by one draidor." 
 
 I glanced at the flags along the Ridge, fluttering in the breeze 
 beneath a Thanksgiving Day sun. Changing the subject, I re- 
 marked, "My deepest memory of this war will be the flags going 
 up Missionary Ridge." 
 
 "I have a memory, too, lieudenandt. Mine is differendt. It is in 
 the nighdt, andt a crowt of us are drying to gedt at the flags in the 
 flag-room of the universidy in Vienna. Put the flag-room is lockdt. 
 The keys cannod pe foundt! Then one of our brofessors, Brofessor 
 Stephen Latislaus Endtlicher, graps a cantle from a stutent. A 
 cantle stuck on a pole. 
 
 " Toys! We are all for more lighdt. Ledt this cantle pe the sympol 
 of our wish. Ledt cantles pe our panners tonighdt.' " 
 
 "How old were you then?" 
 
 "Fifdeen. Put I knew the use of fulcrum andt lever. When we 
 godt to the sdreedt fighdting that nighdt, I showdt the olter fellows 
 how to bry ub the having stones for parricates." 
 
 "Brofessor Endtlicher dook the frondt. His stutendts followdt him. 
 We marchdt on the cidy arsenal. I hat no pusiness with them. I was 
 in a lower gradt, you unterstandt. When I lefdt home with a gun I 
 hadt porrowdt from a neighpor, my mother pegged me to come 
 pack into the house. Put when I wouldt go, she kissdt me. And 
 plessdt me. 'Go, then,' she saidt, 'with Gott!' 
 
436 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "We marchdt on the cidy arsenal. We foundt it unguartedt. We 
 proke down the gades at eleven o'clock in the nighdt. Each man 
 seizdt a musked with a payoned. You see, we hadt no ammunition. 
 We musdt rely on the payoned. 
 
 "Turing the nighdt Meddernich net." 
 
 The sergeant bent and plucked a small flower peeping from the 
 sparse grass of the Ridge. 
 
 "I have usdt this liddle fellow since I have commanted my 
 foragers," he remarked. "My uncle was a toctor in Vienna. He 
 exblaindt to me when I was a poy that many compoundts of herps 
 will do wonters in cerdain tisdresses. This liddle one is goot in cases 
 of tysendery. I usedt id for my men in the summer. I savedt all put 
 one man. I couldt have savedt him." 
 
 I turned puzzled eyes from the herb to his face, gone older 
 and stern. 
 
 "This Henry Wiener. Tutch Henry, we calldt him on the porter." 
 I nodded. "When I firsdt saw him, I saidt to myself, I pelieve this 
 man is a Jew. I was lonely, a poy far from my beoble. I asked him, 
 'Are you a Jew?' He saidt, 'Whadt to you mean, asking me thadt? 
 No. I am nodt a Jew/ So when I toctordt my men for tysendery, I 
 gave him color dt wader." 
 
 "You let him die?" 
 
 "He was ashamedt of peing a Jew. I led him tie." 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 For headquarters, we occupied an empty house near Strawberry 
 Plains. 
 
 "Johnson," I said, "do you think you could find a straw pile?" 
 
 Johnson flashed encouragement from his white teeth. 
 
 "Yes, indeedy, lieutenant. Big straw pile out by the barn." 
 
 "Very well. Fetch a good armful of straw and spread it out care- 
 fully. I think," I meditated, "I'll have it over there by the window. 
 Then you put my oilcloth and blankets over it. This is one night I 
 intend to have a sound sleep." 
 
 "Oh, here you are, Hanback!" 
 
 I wheeled to find Colonel Bradley smiling at me from the door- 
 way. His wounded arm was bound against his side. He wore a cape 
 in place of his uniform coat." 
 
 "Oh, sir," I said, "how glad I am to see you." 
 
 The colonel was cocking an eyebrow at my sleeping arrangements. 
 
 "I've come," he said, "to impose myself on your hospitality." 
 
 "Johnson! Bring two more armfuls of straw." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 437 
 
 The colonel and I talked over the Chickamauga experience while 
 one after another of Colonel Harker's aides arrived and staked out 
 a corner, and Johnson hurried back and forth with out-size bundles 
 of straw. Hardtack, coffee and sowbelly occupied us briefly that 
 night. By nine o'clock we were all wrapped in our blankets and 
 sleeping soundly. 
 
 I woke from sound sleep. 
 
 "Who in thunder is making that infernal racket?" I demanded. 
 
 "It's Cushing." 
 
 "He's snoring." 
 
 "Hey, Cushing, wake up. You're snoring." 
 
 "Snoring! I am not. Damn it, I never snore." 
 
 "You're snoring like a grampus. Whatever that is. What is a 
 grampus?" 
 
 "Shut up, you fellows. Let's have a little sleep. Turn over, Cush- 
 ing. Maybe you don't snore on both sides." 
 
 "Damn it, I don't snore on any side. I've been awake for the last 
 two hours, patiently listening to whoever is doing this snoring." 
 
 Silence reigned during a brief interval. Then a low moan was 
 heard from the corner occupied by Cushing. Louder and stronger it 
 grew until, gathering full force, it broke forth,— with all the wild 
 fury of a pentup storm,— into a snore. 
 
 "Damn it all to hell and breakfast," swore poor Cushing, roused 
 by our laughter. "I do snore then. I snore sometimes." 
 
 The enemy had developed a strong force in our front. They were 
 making an attack on our lines. We began falling back across the 
 river. By ten o'clock I had all the regiments in camp save one. 
 Visions of steaming coffee, hardtack and sowbelly began to salute 
 my mental gaze. 
 
 "Hanback, my boy!" 
 
 There was General Sheridan. 
 
 "I was just riding to your headquarters. You'll carry a message to 
 Colonel Harker for me. No camping here tonight. We're falling 
 back." 
 
 "Yes, sir. It feels like rain, doesn't it?" 
 
 Little Phil swore fervently. 
 
 "Yes, that'll be the next thing." 
 
 "Good night, sir." 
 
 This brief encounter made me feel stronger, better able to face 
 the night march, foodless in the winter rain. 
 
 By eleven o'clock we were slumping through the darkness under 
 the cold pelt of a January downpour. Now that I had time to think 
 
438 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 I began to dwell wrechedly on a letter from Mattie telling me Hettie 
 was far from well. I thought too of Lieutenant Johnson wounded 
 and in hospital in Nashville and losing his battle for life. At the 
 exact moment when I felt I couldn't sit my horse any longer, empty 
 of food and filled with sorrow, a beautiful baritone rose into the 
 night and storm. Up ahead a man began to sing: 
 
 "John Brown's body lies a-moulderin' in the grave, 
 John Brown's body lies a-moulderin' in the grave, 
 John Brown's body lies a-moulderin' in the grave, 
 But his soul goes marching on!" 
 All along the line voices caught up the song. 
 "Glory, glory, halleluiah! 
 Glory, glory, halleluiah! 
 Glory, glory, halleluiah! 
 His soul goes marching on!" 
 We all went singing down the road. 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 Headquarters, 3rd Brigade, 
 
 2nd Div., 4th Army Corps, 
 
 Loudon, Tennessee, Feb. 29th, 1864. 
 
 Almost a month, my darling, since I received your last letter. 
 Almost a month, and only think of my waiting and watching. How 
 I have listened as the cars came rattling by, and I said to myself, 
 "Now comes a letter from my Hettie." And how each night for 
 the past three weeks I have besieged the postmaster with the 
 inquiry, "Have you a letter for me?" And when sometimes the 
 answer came back, "Yes," how eagerly I have snatched it from his 
 hands, hoping it was from my treasure. But I never am permitted 
 to hope long. I never lately catch a glimpse of your dear familiar 
 scratch. But I am still looking forward with hope, still watching, 
 still waiting. 
 
 Oh, where do you think I went the other night? Listen! 
 
 I swung off the cars in Sweetwater, twelve miles from Loudon. 
 They had got up a scare in Sweetwater on the 17th. We had 
 intelligence a body of Rebel cavalry was going to make a raid on 
 the place. Our brigade marched down there and stayed five days. 
 We left the 27th Illinois, Colonel Miles commanding, in Sweetwater. 
 I now swung off the cars in Sweetwater on my routine check of the 
 regiment. 
 
 Colonel Miles made his headquarters at the house of a Mrs. Cook, 
 
A UNION FOREVER 439 
 
 a Northern woman with Southern proclivities, a good live Secesh. 
 The colonel, who is very much of a gentleman and a Kentuckian, 
 invited me to dine at his boarding place. He said Mrs. Cook was a 
 very fine performer on the piano, and that several young ladies, all 
 rebellious, were invited in for the evening. Of course I accepted the 
 invitation. Just as the sun sank in winter glory, a young officer might 
 have been seen wending his way toward the dwelling of Mrs. Cook. 
 Colonel Miles was on the watch for me, drew me into his bedroom 
 to freshen up for the evening. 
 
 "The party," said the colonel, "is going to be at the Reverend 
 Mr. Atkins'." 
 
 "A Union man, I suppose." 
 
 "A good Union man now" replied Miles. "He has taken the oath 
 of amnesty." 
 
 As I poured water into the wash bowl I remarked, "Sometimes I 
 think the Union is about to win this war, the way people down here 
 are climbing on the wagon." 
 
 Miles grinned. By way of changing the subject he said, "You're 
 invited to attend the soiree. Mrs. Cook tells me any friend of mine 
 will be welcome." 
 
 We walked out to supper. 
 
 "Mrs. Cook," announced Colonel Miles with a neat bow, "my 
 friend, Lieutenant Hanback from Kentucky." 
 
 While I stood awkwardly amazed, Mrs. Cook was all smiles. 
 
 "Lieutenant Hanback," she exclaimed as I bowed over her hand, 
 "I do love Kentucky. For true gentility I place the Kentucky gentle- 
 man on a pedestal." 
 
 We moved into the dining room. 
 
 I managed to fall behind the lady's back long enough to bestow 
 a telling glare on Colonel Miles. As we began to do full justice to 
 fried chicken and waffles, I launched into an account of my planta- 
 tion in Kentucky. With many an anecdote on the negroes that 
 stocked the place. I had Miles squirming. At the first opportunity, 
 while the lady was giving instructions to the colored boy waiting 
 table, Miles leaned toward me. 
 
 "Don't be so gassy," he muttered. 
 
 After dinner the colonel and I smoked each a good cigar, then 
 joined Mrs. Cook in her parlor. There were two ladies with her, a 
 Mrs. Jones and a Miss Molly Jones. Miss Molly had black eyes and 
 blacker curls. As the colonel presented his Kentucky friend Miss 
 Molly smiled bewitchingly at me. 
 
 "Kentuckians are always gentlemen," she said, "and always wel- 
 come into Southern society." 
 
440 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 I bowed very low. 
 
 "Permit me," I said, "to thank you in the name of all Kentuckians." 
 
 Colonel Miles offered his arms to the two older ladies for the walk 
 to the residence of the reconstructed Atkins. Molly and I fell in 
 behind. I soon found out from her prattle that she didn't know beans. 
 
 "While we were down here before," I said, "I called on Miss 
 Maggie Haskell. A very charming young lady. Do you know her? 
 She is a Union sympathizer." 
 
 "Oh, lieutenant, Maggie is not from one of our first families." 
 
 I said, "I suppose not. If she belonged to one of the first families, 
 she would sympathize with the South." 
 
 "Of course she would," agreed Miss Molly Jones. 
 
 Arrived at the home of the Reverend Rebel, we found a small 
 room packed with young ladies whose ages ranged from sweet 
 sixteen to fading thirty. Sitting in the midst of these damsels and 
 looking very comfortable indeed was my superior, Colonel Harker! 
 
 It seemed that Mrs. Cook was the village music teacher. After 
 some lively conversation and more introductions and compliments 
 for me, the minister and his wife requested Mrs. Cook to favor us 
 with music. 
 
 "A poor article," I muttered to Colonel Miles during the applause. 
 "All noise and no melody." 
 
 With his usual grin he replied under his breath, "Don't disgrace 
 Kentucky by admitting you have no ear for the classic." 
 
 "A song," now cried the reconstructed parson. "Come, young 
 ladies, some of you must favor us. Now that we have our charming 
 Mrs. Cook to accompany." 
 
 Several young ladies responded with, "The Bonny Blue Flag." 
 
 "Poor words," I commented to Miss Molly. "But a pretty melody." 
 
 "The words are wonderful," cried Miss Molly Jones. 
 
 The young ladies around the piano were at it again. 
 "Hurrah, hurrah, for Southern rights, hurrah! 
 Hurrah for the homespun dress 
 Which Southern ladies wear!" 
 
 "They sing with all their might," I observed to Colonel Miles in 
 a rising tone, "but I believe any one of them would gladly accept 
 a calico dress from Yankeeland." 
 
 Miss Molly snapped her black eyes and tossed her black curls at 
 me. 
 
 "You don't understand the feelings of the South," she told me. 
 
 "Miss Molly," I said, "I expect to travel through this part of the 
 country after the war is over. And when I come through Sweet- 
 water, I expect to see the Stars and Stripes floating from every 
 
 
A UNION FOREVER 441 
 
 house. And I expect to hear the people singing, 'Yankee Doodle'." 
 
 Miss Molly erupted like a combination geyser and volcano. 
 Pounding her small fists about in a wild manner and tossing her 
 curls into tangles, she assured me such a thing would never happen. 
 
 "If our men should be defeated in battle," she cried, "the South- 
 ern women will go to their graves unconquered." 
 
 Presently I overheard Mrs. Cook saying to Miss Molly's mother, 
 "I fear our dear Colonel Miles has been taken in by a fraud. In my 
 opinion this young man he introduced to us belongs to an overseer's 
 family." 
 
 Late that night I was writing an account of the party to Hettie. 
 Then, not to leave myself open to attack, I thought best to carry 
 the skirmish into her camp. I wrote: 
 
 "My gracious, I am half inclined to withdraw the permission I 
 gave that you might sleigh ride and so on with your elderly beaus. 
 I am very much exercised about that old widower, Clarke. I do 
 think Dan might have reported proceedings before it was too late. 
 If I get back to Old Morgan, and that old scapegrace comes fooling 
 around, I will— 
 
 "But then, when I return, perhaps Clarke may have been made 
 a happy man, and in place of receiving that welcome kiss from 
 Hettie, a wedding card, 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, 
 may be handed me with a polite note from Mrs. Clarke, asking to 
 call. It is too rough to think about. 
 
 "I was very much interested in your account of the reception 
 tendered to Captain Chapin and others. Would you have given me 
 a reception, if I had stepped into Chapin about eight o'clock that 
 night? I do believe you would have made me a nice speech, but 
 also I may be mistaken. What if I had found you protected by 
 Clarke, the inimical Clarke, the bulldog Clarke who protects his 
 dear little Hettie from the kind attentions of nice young men? And 
 oh, what a tragedy might have been enacted before the assembly, 
 supposing that I (in sublime ignorance of trampling Mr. Clarke's 
 rights under foot) had ventured to press a kiss on the cheek of the 
 dear girl I have not seen for two years and a half, a dear little piece 
 of humanity whose shadow I have carried over my heart a long 
 time? 
 
 "Just imagine the smiling, contented face of dear old Clarke 
 suddenly change to a scowl, while the green-eyed monster whisper- 
 ed in his ear a tale of revenge and blood. Who knows but the 
 jealous Clarke might have pounced upon me, determined to drive 
 me from the position which I had assumed. And just imagine how 
 
442 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 the valorous Clarke would have got piled! I should have taken him 
 just between the eyes! 
 
 "In your last letter you wished to know how Lieutenant Risley 
 treated me? Oh, very clever! He hunted me up at my quarters, and 
 not finding me there,— I had gone over to the battery to see him,— he 
 came over to his battery and we had a long and pleasant chat. 
 I staid until a late hour. Next day his battery moved. Now, tell me 
 in your next letter why you wanted to know how he treated me? 
 Won't you?" 
 
 Way down in Tennessee, I had not realized how proud Hettie 
 was of my letters. 
 
 She went about reading discreet bits of them to any and all who 
 would listen. Finally, with the assistance of Samuel French, she 
 developed a fashion. When Hettie Cooper received letters from Lew 
 Hanback, everyone interested in Company K gathered at the school- 
 house to listen to the latest news from the front. 
 
 One evening in early April of the year 1864, word having gone 
 round, the neighborhood families gathered in the Green Meadow 
 school. Here came rotund Horace Chapin, patient and cheerful as 
 he prepared to peg his way through life. Here, too, came poor Mrs. 
 Ebey, shedding tears at every gathering, yet longing to hear news 
 of the boys who marched away in '61 with her Will. Debbie Wil- 
 liams arrived with Robert, on furlough while he recuperated from 
 a wound. Mary Williams came. More bitter with the passing days. 
 Peter Gilbert was dead. A war casualty among the financiers as he 
 saw his Southern investments disappear. All Debbie's sweet pa- 
 tience was needed now in the Williams home. 
 
 Dan and Mattie arrived with Hettie. Mattie created a flutter of 
 interest, displaying her first baby, a little boy well wrapped in 
 shawls. Uncle Wilson Smith and dear Aunt Jane were there. 
 
 "I didn't want Hettie to come out this evening," Aunt Jane con- 
 fides to Mrs. Daniels. "She's been feverish all day." 
 
 "Probably coming down with a cold." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 Mr. French is chairman of the occasion. When the school room 
 is well filled with neighbors, he asks them to stand and sing 
 "America". Tonight it is the turn of the Methodist minister to offer 
 prayer. After that gentleman comes to the end of his resources in 
 the matter of heavenly supplication, Samuel French, with the as- 
 sistance of Mr. Clarke, the widower who is causing me concern, 
 helps little Hettie mount to the top of the desk behind which I once 
 stood to teach those Green Meadow scholars now fighting in Com- 
 
A UNION FOREVER 443 
 
 pany K. Hettie is such a tiny creature they have made it a custom 
 to lift her up to this vantage point before she reads particulars to 
 make them laugh, or thrill, or weep. 
 
 Tonight, after the usual jokes and the settling into silence, Hettie 
 goes bravely at her task, while the familiar handwriting on the 
 page before her twists and whirls, at times disappears before her 
 eyes. She begins: 
 
 "I read a letter from Major Rust yesterday in which he said he 
 paid a visit to Captain Chapin. Did you see him? He is a good 
 friend of mine. And also that Captain Williams was there at the 
 same time. We always called him 'Old Sweetness'. He was terribly 
 wounded at Chickamauga. 
 
 "You don't know how lazy I am this evening. I lay down a little 
 while ago, but Hamilton and Lamb wouldn't let me sleep. When 
 they were still, after I had thrown my boots at them ,an orderly 
 came in with dispatches. So it goes, and all for the glory of the 
 Union. 
 
 "Next Sunday is Easter and my birthday. Twenty-five years old! 
 My gracious, how old I am getting! I don't believe you will know 
 me for the wrinkles, crow's feet and grey hairs. What a tragic affair 
 that would be if, after three years of absence, I should return and, 
 rushing to meet you, should be met with a cold rebuff by being told 
 that I was not the soldier who left Old Morgan in 1861. And then 
 would come the oft-repeated story in the daily prints: 'Hanback, a 
 Returned Soldier, Found Hanging by the Neck. . . ." 
 
 Hettie struggled to go on reading. No use! She felt herself sway, 
 she would have fallen all the way to the floor if the assiduous 
 Widower Clarke had not leaped to catch her. An hour later she was 
 in bed, talking deliriously of Lew. The old doctor who had known 
 her all her short life called Dan and Mattie into Aunt Jane's back 
 parlor. He said gruffly, "Better telegraph young Hanback." 
 
 I was already on my way to Chapin! 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 "This the girl writes such interesting letters?" 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 Again at division headquarters, this time as Acting Assistant 
 Adjutant General, I sat opposite Phil Sheridan, asking for a fur- 
 lough. In answer to my puzzled, "Sir?" he explained, "Girl that 
 writes the letters you read behind my back." 
 Yes, sir. 
 
444 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "What makes you think she specially needs you right now? This 
 is a poor time to spare you." 
 
 That inner Voice! An hour before it had spoke to me with 
 sudden, clear insistence. "Hettie needs you!" Now I contemplated 
 General Sheridan with a helpless feeling. He was getting impatient. 
 
 "Come! You must have some reason." 
 
 I took the plunge. I told him. He sat a long while looking at me 
 gravely. 
 
 "And you say," he asked finally, "you're not Irish?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "I thought nobody but the Irish— That was your guardian angel 
 speaking. I used to hear mine when I was a spalpeen. Scared I was, 
 until the good father back in our village explained it to me. Well! 
 You can get away to Nashville tonight." 
 
 While I thanked him, he reached into a deep drawer in his desk, 
 brought out a case and pressed a spring that opened it. 
 
 "Here's a friend to comfort you along your journey." 
 
 I exclaimed at the beauty of the pipe he handed me. 
 
 "And while I stop over in Nashville," I finished,— I would have 
 several hours there between trains,— "I'll have my picture taken 
 with the sword you gave me. That was a wonderful gift, sir." 
 
 "You earned it. Carried out orders." He pondered. "I never hear 
 my Voice any more." A pause. "It may be this damned habit of 
 swearing. I've been told the angels don't care for it." 
 
 "Goodbye, sir." 
 
 "Goodbye. Pleasant journey. Happy ending." 
 
 As I hurried away after a stout handclasp, I did not know Phil 
 Sheridan was also leaving that night, leaving the Army of the 
 Cumberland, off to command the cavalry corps of the Army of the 
 Potomac. The son of the Irish immigrants, sturdy John and beautiful 
 Mary Sheridan, would now take his place on that list of com- 
 manders of superlative rank that includes not only Napoleon and 
 Frederick the Great, but all their compeers to the dawn of history. 
 
 I went away to Chapin: he went away to the stars! 
 
 As the train out of Jacksonville for Meredosia began to flit past 
 one after another of the landmarks I had so often recalled with 
 homesick longing in my letters to Hettie, I stared at the countryside 
 with unseeing eyes. Strange premonition, impossible to describe, 
 filled me with uneasiness. A mile from Concord Station I was al- 
 ready standing in the end of the car, ready to leap down as soon 
 as the train should slow. 
 
 The first familiar face was Uncle Wilson Smith. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 445 
 
 "Hullo, hullo," he cried. "Did you get my message?" 
 
 "Message? What message?" 
 
 Others began to crowd around me. Mr. Ebey was shaking hands 
 solemnly, turned away to hide emotion. 
 
 "Message?" I turned to Uncle Wilson. "What message? Where is 
 Hettie?" 
 
 "She's with your Aunt Jane and Mattie," replied Uncle Wilson, 
 trying to relieve me of my bag. "Hettie hasn't been too well. I 
 telegraphed you, like you asked me to if she ever needed you." As 
 I started running toward the line of carriages behind the station, he 
 exclaimed, "If you didn't get my message, how come you're here?" 
 
 "You wouldn't want to hear about that," I replied. 
 
 "Not that Voice talking to you again?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Well, I'll be damned," said Uncle Wilson Smith. 
 
 Aunt Jane met me in the hall. 
 
 When I saw her face I tried to say steadily, "May I see her?" 
 "Yes. Go in quietly." 
 
 "Lew!" How weak her voice was. "Have you come home to help 
 me die?" 
 
 "No, my darling! I have come to help you get well." 
 
 Midnight came. 
 
 Hettie no longer knew me. For the first time, as I tiptoed into the 
 sick room, I heard the moans she had been holding back in order 
 not to hurt me. I wanted to stay, but this Aunt Jane would not 
 allow. 
 
 "You must have your rest," she said. "If it is necessary, I will call 
 you." 
 
 I heard low voices through a vent in the floor between my bed- 
 room and the dining room below. Doctor Skinner and Doctor 
 Burnham were in consultation. I went down to them. I said, "I want 
 to know the truth." 
 
 "Hettie is a very sick girl," said Doctor Burnham at last, with a 
 glance at Skinner. 
 
 "We are trying new fomentations," added Doctor Skinner. "Go to 
 bed, Lew. Try to get some rest." 
 
 Out in the hall Hettie's father had just come through the front 
 door. Aunt Jane who was coming down the stairs confronted him. 
 
 "Jane?" 
 
 "Mr. Cooper," said my good Aunt Jane, "your orphaned daughter 
 is lying upstairs. She is a very sick girl." 
 
446 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Is there something I can do? Any expense to help her— " 
 "There is nothing you can do." 
 
 After a baffled pause and without another word, John Douglas 
 Cooper turned and went out into the night. 
 
 Sunday morning dawned. 
 
 Hettie was easier, but apparently no better. 
 
 Now came friends, but how could I see them? I went to the foot 
 of Aunt's garden, to an old seat beneath a blossom-laden pear. A 
 heartsore thought, going back to the army possessor of a widowed 
 heart. Back to danger and privation, and not to be strengthened by 
 the thought that my darling was thinking of me, writing to me, and 
 praying for my final deliverance from the dangers that beset me on 
 every side. 
 
 Dan and Mattie came down the garden, Dan with his arm around 
 Mattie who was weeping bitterly. I started up in agony. 
 
 "No change/' called Dan. "It's the sympathy of all these friends. 
 Upset Mattie. You two better stay out here." 
 
 He left us together. We sat in silence. 
 
 "Where is he? Where is Lewis Hanback?" 
 
 I turned quickly, and Samuel French was clasping my hand. 
 
 "Oh, sir!" I cried. "Oh, sir!" 
 
 "Lew, I have come to pray with you." 
 
 And pray he did. He knelt before the old bench, and we stood 
 round him with bowed heads, Dan and Mattie and I, while he 
 besought a Higher Power to bring us aid and strength and com- 
 fort. I have many times heard of the power of prayer, but I never 
 felt it as I did that afternoon under a blossoming pear tree in 
 Southern Illinois, where Samuel French pleaded the allness and 
 goodness of God. When he had risen, he sat with Dan and me on 
 the old bench, asking me questions about the boys in Company K, 
 while Mattie went away to her baby. An hour passed. I saw Mattie 
 coming quickly down the garden. Her face was shining. 
 
 "Oh, Lew," she cried in a breaking voice, "Hettie has passed the 
 crisis. Aunt Jane says she is going to get well." 
 
 Late that Sunday evening Dan handed me a telegram. 
 
 "I've had this ever since morning," he explained. "I couldn't give 
 it to you then. I know what's in it. That's the hell of being telegraph 
 agent." 
 
 Reading hastily, I exclaimed, "It calls me back to Chattanooga." 
 
 The march on Atlanta had begun. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 447 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 The sun had shone that day with Southern fervor, but we had 
 marched through mud made deep and sticky by recent rains. In 
 the early twilight we bivouacked on a plantation near an old man- 
 sion that was still handsome in spite of the war. The inhabitants 
 appeared to be a white-haired, very aged man, his elderly wife, a 
 little boy of perhaps eight years, and the usual number of young 
 ladies with the usual number of colored retainers. 
 
 Major Rust and I sat our horses near the gates of the park sur- 
 rounding the mansion. The gates hung askew. Paint was peeling 
 from them and from the high, ornamental gate posts. As I took in 
 these signs of coming decay, Rust examined the colored folks with 
 an experienced eye, looking for an upper servant. Rust wore his 
 head in a bandage because of a recent scalp wound. He looked like 
 a cross between a pirate and a sheik, and he was causing amusement 
 to a group of young ladies who had walked down to the gates. 
 
 "Come here, uncle," called the major. 
 
 "Yassuh, yassuh." 
 
 An old darkey, as bent and as white-haired as his master, came 
 hobbling up to us. When he arrived within confidential speaking 
 distance, the major said in a low, persuasive voice, "Listen, uncle. 
 We want to buy some whiskey. Good whiskey. None of your rotgut. 
 Some of the kind your master drinks." 
 
 He held up a silver dollar. 
 
 Several officers who saw him, guessed his purpose. They hastened 
 to hold up their dollars. Rust collected the money. 
 
 Now, uncle, you'll get all these when you bring us a quart of fine 
 whiskey." 
 
 Protesting that he did not know where to find any good whiskey 
 these days, the butler hobbled away. 
 
 "Will the old fellow bring the whiskey?" asked Lamb. 
 
 Rust replied confidently. 
 
 "He's on his way to consult his master. Or perhaps the old lady. 
 They need these dollars more than they need a quart of whiskey, or 
 I miss my guess." 
 
 Meanwhile there had been a slow, tired procession past us and 
 past the gates. Now a troop of cavalry halted right at hand. To 
 seem oblivious of the merry ladies at the gate, I remarked, "Kansas 
 troops." 
 
 "Yes," said Rust. "Foragers. Take a detail out after they've been 
 by, and see what you find." 
 
 Not realizing what a sight he was under his bandage, he oggled 
 
448 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 the young ladies shamelessly; but they were no longer looking at 
 him. They were watching the jaded horses drooping weary heads, 
 and the men, bearded and mud splashed, staring straight ahead, 
 too tired even for curiosity. 
 
 An officer trotted along the line. 
 
 "Sergeant Bondi, send a detail up to that house with water 
 buckets. We'll make coffee here by the road." 
 
 This was my first glimpse of Sergeant Bondi since Missionary 
 Ridge. I studied his face, his fine nose and a pair of dark eyes from 
 which shone the pathos of a people who have borne long with 
 persecution and misunderstanding. He was saying politely, "Excuse 
 us, letties, blease." He bowed from his saddle, indicating the line of 
 men coming up with buckets. The ladies blazed with anger, stif- 
 fening their always very straight backs as they were forced to give 
 way to the men with the water buckets. One of them turned to a 
 companion, silently mouthing the word, "Jew!" 
 
 The sergeant drooping in his saddle, caught the word, flushed 
 and turned his handsome face away. He continued by the gate to 
 keep a passage open for the water detail. The tired men on their 
 mounts continued to droop quietly, but they were listening now, 
 those within hearing, as the Southern ladies exchanged comments 
 with all the unconcern of visitors at a county livestock exhibition. 
 Presently, while the ladies were cataloguing unkempt beards, filthy 
 uniforms, and what they called "villainous expressions", a yellow 
 dog belonging to the cluster of pickaninnies round the gate ventured 
 into the road. Meechingly, he started an investigation of the heels 
 of Bondi's horse. 
 
 "Come on back heah, you Lion," called the picks in chorus, rolling 
 their eyes at Bondi. 
 
 "Come on back heah, boy!" 
 
 Lion continued his investigation. 
 
 Suddenly Bondi's hand shot down and captured the surprised 
 canine. 
 
 Lifting the agonized victim by his tail before Lion could find 
 voice for a yip, the sergeant aimed a kiss in the general direction of 
 the little fellow's posterior. He dropped Lion who paused not in his 
 ki-yiing retreat up the avenue. Bondi swept off his forage cap, 
 made a graceful bow from the saddle in the direction of Southern 
 bellehood. 
 
 "Letties! Rather than kiss you on the face, I wouldt kiss thadt 
 yellow tawg unter his dail." 
 
 Followed a moment of intense hush. 
 
 Then we began to laugh. Roars of laughter swept up and down 
 
A UNION FOREVER 449 
 
 the line as the joke passed from man to man. Officers joined in, 
 laughed until, weak from laughter, they laid their heads on the 
 necks of their mounts. Men who had drooped wearily now yelled, 
 roared, slapped their mounts hilariously, wept with mirth, forgetting 
 that they were tired, and hungry, and dirty, and lousy, and doomed 
 to spend the night rolled in blankets on muddy soil under vapor- 
 clouded stars and far away from home. 
 
 Midst this unbounded hilarity the ladies from the fine old South- 
 ern mansion executed a military manoeuvre, retiring to a more 
 tenable position, carrying with them in retreat a story to hand down 
 from mother to daughter concerning a perfect example of Yankee 
 atrocity. 
 
 XL 
 
 Headquarters, 3rd Brigade, 
 
 2nd Division, 4th A.C., August 16, 1864. 
 
 Colonel Parkhurst, Provost Marshall General, Dept. Cumberland. 
 
 Sir:— I respectfully ask permission to take one Private Horse 
 to my home in the State of Illinois. The said horse is not and 
 never was the property of the U. S., but was brought into service 
 by Colonel Saiboldt, 2nd Mo. Vols., sold by him to his adjutant, 
 who in turn sold him to me. 
 
 The term of service of my regiment, the 27th Illinois, expires 
 in a few days. And I desire to take my horse home because he has 
 carried me through several hard fought battles, and for the further 
 reason he has lost an eye which renders him unsalable to the 
 government. L. Hanback, Lt. and A.A.A.G. 3rd Brigade, 2nd 
 Div., 4th A.C. 
 
 Headquarters, 3rd Brigade, 2nd Div. 4th A.C, August 16th, 1864. 
 Respectfully forwarded, approved. L. P. Bradley, Brig. Gen. 
 
 H. Quarters, Dept. of the Cumberland, Office, Provost Marshall 
 Genl., August 20th, 1864. 
 
 Approved. Lieut. Hanback has permission to take the within 
 mentioned horse with him. Shipment not to interfere with Govt, 
 transportation. By command of Major Genl. Thomas. H. M. 
 Duffield, Lieut, and Asst. Provost Marshall Genl. 
 
 At Chattanooga I dropped off a troop train bulging with officers 
 and enlisted men on their way home from the war. I went to say 
 goodbye to Crissie. 
 
450 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "How are the waffles and coffee?" I asked as I walked into her 
 little shack. Shack it was on the outside, but Crissie had it as neat 
 and orderly as a wren's nest inside. 
 
 "Fo' Gawd an' his angels! Lieutenant Hanback!" 
 
 We shook hands heartily, and I sat down at her counter that was 
 covered with a spotless cloth. 
 
 "Tommy! Tommy! Bring some fried chicken. An' the sorghum 
 pitchah fo' the waffles." 
 
 In came a young white girl, carrying a well-loaded tray. She wore 
 a nicely fitted blue calico gown, with a clean white apron. Her 
 hair was brushed until it lay in ordered waves beneath a pretty 
 wreath of braids. At her throat a gold brooch fastened a plain white 
 collar. I stared a full minute before I recognized Lafayette Thoma- 
 sina McCoy. 
 
 "We got white folkses' coffee now," Crissie was saying. "Not 
 those pahched akuns we had durin' the siege." 
 
 "Crissie," I demanded, staring at the girl, "who is this young 
 lady?" 
 
 "You know huh," Crissie rejoined in her soft, kind voice. "That's 
 the lil mountain gal come down heah to Chattanooga aftah her 
 folkses' shotes. You remembahs yo'self how we milked huh cow." 
 
 "What have you done to her?" 
 
 "Hmph! She couldn't be left runnin' round heah with all these 
 soldier-boys a-debblin' at huh. Tommy's a good gal, only short on 
 how to act. So Ah took hold to help huh some." She beamed at the 
 girl. "Tommy, say howdy to Lieutenant Hanback." 
 
 Lafayette Thomasina McCoy smiled at me, but her interest was 
 elsewhere. 
 
 "Crissie," she asked, "you-all want I should hash them taters 
 now?" 
 
 "See," demanded Crissie, bursting with pride as the girl dis- 
 appeared into the lean-to kitchen. "She remembahed! She says 
 'you-all' like a nice white lady should. Stid o' that ignorant you-uns'." 
 
 Buttering my wafflle I asked, "What did you do to her hair?" 
 
 "Ah give it one hundred strokes the bresh each night. Tommy's 
 goin' to be married. He's a blacksmith. Left one ear on the Ridge, 
 but that ain't goin' interfere with his trade. He gave huh that pretty 
 brooch." 
 
 "And what has become," I asked, "of the snuff and tobacco?" 
 
 "We gittin' rid o' that, too," replied Crissie cheerfully. "The 
 chewin' is gone. An' the dippin' will follow." 
 
 "Crissie," I said, "you're wonderful!" 
 
 I meant what I said. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 451 
 
 Before I left, Crissie asked me for my address. I wrote it out 
 carefully for her, and she tucked the paper away in the bosom of her 
 gown. I said, "That is my Uncle Wilson Smith's address. Wherever 
 my wife and I settle, he will always forward any communications 
 from you." 
 
 "Don' fo'git," Crissie admonished me, "Ahm goin' come wuk fo' 
 you. Ah aim to git theah anyways ahaid of the fust baby." 
 
 The freight train, seeming to crawl its way, finally pulled into 
 Concord Station, Chapin, Illinois, with me on the steps of the 
 caboose. 
 
 Yes, there is Mattie, waving her handkerchief! 
 
 Yes, there is Dan, holding young Willie up for my approval! 
 
 Yes, there is Uncle Wilson, and Aunt Jane ready to give me a 
 hug! 
 
 But where—? Ah, there she is, there is Hettie with unheeded tears 
 streaming down her cheeks while her eyes fairly shine with joy. 
 
 "My darling, you look so well! Are you really yourself at last?" 
 
 After a moment there are friends pressing round, asking questions, 
 I doing my best to answer, all the time holding one of Hettie's 
 little hands. 
 
 "It was Hod Ticknor who was killed, not Henry. Henry has a 
 scalp wound. Hod was shot through the neck, a fine fellow. Every- 
 one in the company mourns his loss. . . . Lieutenant Nash? Shot in 
 the leg. Not dangerous. Yes, Thomas Frashure was killed. Our 
 worst loss was at Marietta. That was a terrible fight." 
 
 I saw Bridget McShane, as I would always call her, standing 
 quietly in the background. I went to her, standing there in her black 
 gown. I took her hand while everyone fell still. 
 
 "Bridget," I said, "I want you to know poor, brave, glorious Mike 
 had every care. One nurse was with him every moment, and he did 
 so fight to live. He is a hero of heroes. His comrades will never 
 forget what he did. Or cease to honor him." 
 
 Hettie sobbed into her handkerchief. I went quickly to her. 
 
 "You must hold this for me, Hettie." I handed her a great roll 
 of well-wrapped heavy cardboard, something impossible to fit into 
 any traveling bag. "Take care of this for me," I urged. "I have to get 
 Baldy off this train." 
 
 Up ahead the trainmen were adjusting a ramp. At this point Baldy 
 thrust his blazed face into sight, sent an anxious glance in both 
 directions, and nickered joyfully when he located me. 
 
 "There he is?" 
 
 "Come on! Hurry!" 
 
452 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 "Which is his blind eye?" 
 
 "Hurry! They'll put on the wreath as soon as he leaves the ramp/' 
 
 Some word had evidently passed, for, from the shops along the 
 village street clerks were streaming toward us. 
 
 Mattie laid an urgent hand on Dan's arm. 
 
 "Put Willie's fingers right on Baldy's nose. I want that child to 
 say all his life he was the first to welcome Baldy." 
 
 Hettie and I were left standing alone together. 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 I stared, then burst out laughing. An unconscious Bos well, my 
 letters had made a hero out of Baldy. 
 
 "Just as well, too." 
 
 Unwatched by the city of Chapin, I caught Hettie into my arms. 
 
 After an interval Hettie stirred in my arms. She drew away. 
 
 "Lew! What is this I am trying to hold?" 
 
 "That?" I tried to be nonchalant. "Oh, that ! Why, that's my com- 
 mission. Hettie! I've come home the captain of Company K." 
 
 XLI 
 
 George Todd, riding the beautiful horse of a major he had just 
 killed, went up a point of land to reconnoitre the Missouri country- 
 side. Below him in the leafy undergrowth surrounding the old 
 Staples place, a remnant of the guerrilla band watched him. The 
 striking picture of a handsome rider on a handsome horse, like a 
 bronze against the sunset, made a tempting target for a Union 
 sniper. The sniper shot George Todd through the neck, and his 
 terrified horse galloped away as the guerrilla chief fell dead. Mattox, 
 always Todd's admirer, spurred to the spot, careless of his own life, 
 to recover Todd's body. Most of Todd's personal following then 
 went away with the body to Independence where Todd was buried 
 with every honor. 
 
 William Clarke Quantrill and a small company of guerrillas 
 watched the departure. 
 
 When Quantrill rode away from the camp in Texas, he rode into 
 obscurity, forgotten as a one-time factor in the struggle of the Con- 
 federacy. He went back to his old hideout in the Sni hills where he 
 and Kate Clarke lived in almost unbroken solitude. So changed 
 was his personality during these months that men told afterward of 
 meeting and talking with him on the country roads, and failing to 
 recognize the once terrible Quantrill. 
 
 The guerrillas in Texas found their position ever less tenable as 
 months passed. Todd and Anderson, after earnest conferences, de- 
 
A UNION FOREVER 453 
 
 cided to take their followers back to Missouri to the old haunts. 
 There they hoped to stage a series of raids that would at once 
 promote their own fortunes and those of the Confederacy. As the 
 summer of 1864 matured they saw the need of a desperate venture, 
 but they found their men unwilling to fight unless Quantrill could 
 be persuaded out of his retirement. A great conclave followed in the 
 Sni hills. Quantrill was reluctant to act in concert with Todd and 
 Anderson, after having been undisputed chief. Finally agreeing to 
 rally the few he could call his own, he bitterly opposed the strategy 
 proposed by Todd. The battle that ensued was the most disastrous 
 rout of all their lives. As the last of George Todd's men disappeared 
 round a bend of the woodsy road, the fifteen or twenty men left to 
 him surrounded Quantrill in discouraged silence on their drooping 
 mounts. 
 
 Well might they wince away from pictures of their future. Ander- 
 son dead in battle, Todd's body on its way to the grave, Sterling 
 Price's army destroyed, Shelby's command reduced to starving 
 squads. Desolation on every hand in the Western Missouri counties 
 where but two short years ago they had laughed and danced and 
 fought and loved, always the idols of Southern sympathizers among 
 the small farmers and the big planters. 
 
 With something of his old manner Quantrill broke the silence. 
 
 "We'll get out of here before morning. How many would like to 
 ride through to Washington with me? To assassinate Old Abe?" 
 
 "What we want uh do that for?" demanded Hockensmith. 
 
 "To demoralize the Federal army," replied Quantrill, grinning. He 
 added, sobering, "I'll tell you what we are going to do. Make tracks 
 for Lee's army." 
 
 Ves Akers asked, "Why should we follow you to Lee?" 
 
 "If we surrender with Lee, you'll be paroled. Otherwise you'll be 
 hung. I got you into this. I'll try to get you out." 
 
 In the advancing twilight Quantrill took from his saddle roll a 
 large sheet of parchment. While the guerrillas moved their mounts 
 closer for a look, he displayed the commission of a Captain Clarke 
 of the Fourth Missouri, a Union officer Quantrill had killed. 
 
 "From now on," he told them, "I'm Captain Clarke. And you're 
 a detachment of the Fourth Missouri disguised as guerrillas in 
 order to hunt Colonel Quantrill and his men." 
 
 As the beautiful daring of the plan reached them they swore 
 softly, laughing and slapping one another's backs. After a brief 
 jubilation, there being nothing in the way of food left in the old 
 Staples house, and the Union forces just over the hill, they set off 
 at a gallop for their hideout in the Sni hills. There they slept one 
 
454 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 last night. Early in the morning Quantrill put Kate Clarke on her 
 horse, setting her on her way to St. Louis with instructions to wait 
 for him there. Whatever of parting they had was private. At the last 
 moment Kate rode away without glancing back, while Quantrill 
 stood looking after her as long as her scarlet guerrilla plume flashed 
 beneath the oaks and sycamores of the trail. When she had dis- 
 appeared he gave the command, "Saddle up! We'll be a lot better 
 off in Kentucky. If we make it. And we will. I'll see to that." 
 
 XLII 
 
 "The Moodys have invited my Hettie to visit them. If she accepts, 
 you may meet her in Chicago." 
 
 I stood with General Luther P. Bradley in the Albany station, 
 waiting to carry his bag for him into the sleeping car. The closing 
 days of November, 1864, had found me enrolled in the Albany Law 
 School. Leaving Chapin as soon as I had cast my vote for the elec- 
 tion of Abraham Lincoln, after stumping Southern Illinois in his 
 campaign, I paused briefly in Chicago to visit the parents of Moody, 
 to be made much of by them during three or four days. In Albany 
 I engrossed myself in study. I planned to take a two year course in 
 one. Meanwhile Hettie and I continued our exchange of letters 
 while she embroidered endlessly on the items of her trousseau. 
 
 Just after breakfast on the morning of April 9th, 1865, my land- 
 lady handed in a note from General Bradley, informing me he had 
 "stopped over for a little chat with me." When I approached the 
 desk at the Delevan House, I was pleased to note a look of respect 
 on the clerk's countenance as I asked for the general. 
 
 "Lew, my boy, I'm glad to see you." 
 
 "This is a great honor, sir. How is the arm?" 
 
 "Paralyzed at present. The doctors say I may not be too much 
 crippled after a while." 
 
 We fell into talk about the campaigns we had seen together. 
 Strolling round Albany, we arrived at my boarding house in time 
 for dinner. 
 
 "Mrs. McElroy has twelve boarders," I told the general. "Ten of 
 us are Republicans, and two are Copperheads. One of the Copper- 
 heads has very little to say. But the other will soon talk himself into 
 a difficulty with me, if he is not careful." 
 
 General Bradley sighed. 
 
 "We're winning on the battle front. But the wounds are deep and 
 raw. What are your prospects, Lew?" 
 
 "Very bright, sir. In fact, I have two sets of prospects. You recall 
 
A UNION FOREVER 455 
 
 Colonel Smith? He is urging me to come to Topeka. He seems to 
 think they would make me police judge out there." 
 
 "And the other prospect?" 
 
 "Chicago. That does tempt me. You'll recall, poor Moody's parents 
 live there. Mr. Moody has friends who will make an opening for 
 me in a fine law office. I'd be associated with Stevenson who was on 
 Sheridan's staff. Stevenson is a member of the Illinois Assembly. 
 Member from Chicago. I have a letter from him lying on my table 
 right now." 
 
 "Chicago it is," declared the general. "You have a career before 
 you, Lew. Don't bury yourself on the frontier." 
 
 Later in the evening, waiting for the general's train, I exclaimed, 
 "By the way, Major Rust is to be married in Chicago next Wednes- 
 day. You'll want to attend that wedding." 
 
 "I declare! Mars is certainly yielding to Eros!" 
 
 Laughing, I helped him with his bags into the sleeping car, saw 
 him nicely settled. After I was out on the platform, he beckoned to 
 me. 
 
 "The address! Mr. Moody!" 
 
 "Oh, yes. It's 165 Michigan Avenue." 
 
 At the Sunday dinner table next day all the talk was of General 
 Bradley. The Union supporters and Mrs. McElroy were loud in their 
 praises of his geniality. They commiserated his crippled arm. They 
 asked me a dozen questions regarding his abilities as a commander. 
 The Copperheads conducted themselves as usual. The silent one 
 gloomed at his Sunday chicken. But Finck, the other Copperhead, 
 observed for the benefit of the company at large, although with an 
 eye on me, "All the generals on both sides of this fight should be 
 shot." 
 
 "Finck," I said in a cold voice, "you are a sneaking traitor that I 
 can whip at any moment you choose to make the trial." 
 
 Immediately there was a commotion. 
 
 "That's right, Finck. Either stop talking, or back up your words 
 with your fists." 
 
 "Gentlemen, gentlemen! Not at my table, please." 
 
 "Take him between the eyes, Hanback. Knock the little sneak 
 out cold. 
 
 "We'll have the fight back of the carriage house. No objection to 
 that, Mrs. McElroy." 
 
 "Gentlemen! This is Sunday." 
 
 Finck took my challenge as meekly as a spaniel takes a whipping. 
 Walking out with the others I remarked, "In future he will keep his 
 views to himself." 
 
456 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Late that night I was writing to Hettie: "So your brother William 
 doubts my ability to move in Chicago's highest circles. What a 
 shame I could not have had the benefit of his tutelage, at least 
 until I learned to make an awkward bow. . . ." 
 
 Out on the Sunday night air broke the boom of a cannon! 
 Detonation followed detonation. Now came the peal of bells! Seiz- 
 ing my hat I dashed for the street. I found it filling with men and 
 boys from every direction, buttoning clothes as they came. All, 
 without hesitation, converged on the city center. 
 
 The bells rang out! 
 
 Clear and beautiful on the spring night, the bells of the Catholic 
 cathedral played, "Hail, Columbia!" As I ran past Doctor Magoon's 
 church where I had lately attended a mammoth baptismal service, 
 a deep-toned bell saluted the tumult of running boys and men. 
 
 My goal was the office of the Albany Daily Express. I saw I 
 could not hope to make my way inside. The street was blocked 
 against me. A man appeared in the upper window. Someone said 
 he was the editor. He waved a paper at us, then lifted his hand for 
 silence. All in an instant that silence fell. Taking advantage of an 
 interval between guns, the man in the window read the message he 
 held slowly, pausing between words to master overpowering 
 emotion. 
 
 "From our Washington correspondent by telegraph," he called to 
 us. Then he read: 'At a Virginia village called Appomatox Court- 
 house a few hours ago General Robert E. Lee unconditionally sur- 
 rendered the Confederate forces to General U. S. Grant for the 
 American Union. Peace is declared/ " 
 
 XLIII 
 
 Either side Pennsylvania avenue from Fourteenth to Eighteenth 
 streets, the sidewalk is filled with people. They overflow the side- 
 walk into the avenue. Street cars, cavalry patrols, vehicles of any 
 kind pass with difficulty. Lafayette Square has filled completely with 
 silent people watching a double line that moves quietly toward the 
 place that is now above all other places sacred. The people are 
 being admitted to the Executive Mansion grounds through the gate 
 at the eastern entrance. Guards permit mourners to go through only 
 as fast as they go out at the other gate. Since half past nine this 
 morning this solemn procession has been moving. Time passing does 
 not lessen it. Rather, each minute that passes increases the flow of 
 that sad procession. 
 
 Public and private buildings here in Washington, as well as over 
 
A UNION FOREVER 457 
 
 the nation, are dressed in black, but still a dreamlike impression of 
 the tragedy prevails. This, even though the earthly remains of their 
 President are today laid in state, even though these thousands are 
 gathering to see the body which is the solemn evidence that he who 
 was ever the friend of the people lies dead. 
 
 The remarkable feature of this crowd is the universality of its 
 mourning. Old and young, rich and poor, men, women and little 
 children, black and white, are one in this great sorrow. In paying 
 the simple tribute of their tears! Here is no ordinary grief! These 
 people, waiting patiently for a glimpse of that dead face, these are 
 his brothers and his sisters and his mothers. These are the members 
 of his greater family! 
 
 The day is overcast. Even the sun veils what might seem a too- 
 shining face. About the middle of the day the clouds release a few 
 gentle drops, sufficient to moisten the pavements. No splashing 
 shower, only quiet tears for the dead. 
 
 Who are these now marching up the avenue? 
 
 Some have their heads bandaged, others come with arms in slings 
 or unhappily missing. A few are limping, many use canes, some are 
 on crutches, all of them are in tears. These have seen that tall, 
 stooped form any hour of the day or night, passing by their beds. 
 They have looked into his kind eyes, they have heard the concern 
 in his voice. These are the soldiers from the hospitals, all who can 
 march. Let them pass in ahead of all. For they indeed are his, and 
 he is theirs! 
 
 The crowds pour out of the Mansion through a window, the first 
 one east of the portico entrance. A temporary footbridge is placed 
 upon the window sill over the areaway to the sidewalk. Along this 
 bridge passes a steady stream. They go in tears. Many are weeping 
 audibly, surely the saddest tears to fall since those that fell on a 
 still form on a Sabbath eve long years since on the Judean hillside. 
 Surely of all tears gathered up by human history, most precious are 
 those that fall beside the still form of one who has died for the 
 people. 
 
 It is passed among the crowd that the body of the President will 
 be taken to Albany to lie in state in the Capitol. Out in Illinois, in 
 the bare little Springfield cemetery, they are preparing for the home 
 coming of Abraham Lincoln. He will not travel alone. The body of 
 Willie, the small son who died in the Mansion, will accompany the 
 father whose heart all but broke with his death. 
 
 "Somehow it comforts me," sobs a woman in the crowd. "He 
 won't be so alone." And every woman within hearing breaks down 
 to sob heartily in concert. 
 
458 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln, completely prostrated, will not be able to attend 
 the service in the East Room. And little Tad, they say, cannot by 
 any means be persuaded to enter the room where his father lies. 
 Young Captain Robert Lincoln will represent the family. Abraham 
 Lincoln, lonely in life, in death is lonely still. 
 
 Toward evening the clouds begin to thin away. The sun, just 
 before his setting, bursts forth with dazzling brightness on the 
 scene. 
 
 "There!" exclaims little Tad to the older persons who are with 
 him. "He's happy now. He's found Willie! 
 
 An April evening in the year 1865. The scene is a candle-lighted 
 inn, a Kentucky inn. Unusual bustle, loud laughter, oaths and an 
 occasional cheer disrupt the pleasant respectability of the place. 
 A group of ladies descending from the second floor to the main 
 lobby pause in dismay, when a tall, graceful man detaches himself 
 from the noisy group around the bar. He approaches the ladies, 
 hat in hand. 
 
 "Colonel Quantrill," he announces himself, bowing. "You ladies 
 must excuse us. My men are a little in their cups. We are celebrating. 
 You see the grand-daddy of all the greenbacks was shot in a theater 
 in Washington last night. Abraham Lincoln is dead." 
 
 "Come on, come on, Charley. We want a toast," bawled someone 
 of the bar's company. 
 
 "Coming. ,, 
 
 Quantrill bowed himself away from the pleasantly horrified ladies. 
 
 He strode to the bar and lifted his glass high for all to see. 
 
 "Here's to the death of Abraham Lincoln! Hoping his bones may 
 serve in hell as a gridiron to fry Yankees on." 
 
 Before the shout of delight died away, Clark Hockensmith was at 
 Quantrill's elbow. 
 
 "Chief, you're wanted at the stable. Jack Graham wants to see 
 you." 
 
 Quantrill, sobering, asked, "What's the matter?" 
 
 Hockensmith's answer was a frightened stare. 
 
 "Charley? Has something happened to Charley?" 
 
 "Charley wouldn't stand for Graham. He packed up on the knife." 
 
 As they made haste for the stable Quantrill said, "I should have 
 been there myself. Charley doesn't trust anyone but me. And that 
 makes it perfect, because I don't trust anyone but Charley." 
 
 In the stable Jack Graham who had been using a buttress to 
 support Charley's hoof while he pared it for a new shoe, said, 
 "Chief, I'm sorry as hell. He struggled with me " 
 
A UNION FOREVER 459 
 
 Quantrill looked at the horse's leg. 
 
 "Hamstrung!" he said. 
 
 He went to the suffering animal's head, stroking forehead and 
 neck. Charley brightened feebly, laying his head against Quantrill's 
 arm. After a brief, silent communion between the two, Quantrill 
 slipped a pistol from its holster. 
 
 "I'll do it for you, chief," offered Hockensmith. 
 
 "Charley 'd rather have me do it. Wouldn't you, Charley?" 
 
 XLIV 
 
 Shortly before midnight, the train conveying the body of the 
 President rolled into the station. While the people stood silently 
 weeping, packed row on row along his route, he made the journey 
 to the Capitol to lie in state. 
 
 Guard of honor, railroad officials, Washington notables, and a 
 throng of newspaper men swung off the President's special train. 
 One of the news men, a tall, handsome fellow, jostled me as I stood 
 gazing. He turned to apologize, then exclaimed, "Lew Hanback!" 
 
 I shook hands, delighted. 
 
 "Well, if here isn't the man who founded Salina. How did you get 
 away from the Indians?" 
 
 "I haven't got away from the Indians. I'm in Washington to fight 
 for recognition of their claims against the government. Greeley 
 wired me to cover this for him." 
 
 "How is Salina?" 
 
 "Very low. They've had everything from guerrillas to smallpox." 
 
 He tucked his big, friendly hand under my arm. 
 
 "Any place where I can get a bite to eat?" 
 
 "I'll take you to a lunch stand the ladies of the Christian Com- 
 mission have set up to accomodate the out-of-town people." 
 
 As we walked along he said, "I came out of this war poorer than 
 when I went in. Spent my pay trying to keep my men from starving 
 to death. The politicians in Washington still think Indians can live 
 on grass. By the way, when are you coming out to Kansas? To settle 
 in Salina." 
 
 I replied, "There was some talk of my going to Topeka." 
 
 "Topeka!" He laughed. "Shawnee for 'small potatoes'. She'll never 
 live that down." 
 
 While we consumed ham sandwiches and coffee, standing at the 
 pine counter of the Christian Commission, Phillips spoke more 
 soberly. 
 
 "We've won the fight on the military plane. That's half the battle. 
 
460 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 The political reaction is what we have to fear. I hope a great num- 
 ber of promising young men who understand their politics and 
 love human liberty will settle in Kansas." 
 
 Before he went away to write his copy, he said, "Do you recall 
 me reading some lines I had cut from the paper . . . that morning? 
 At Charleston?" 
 
 He knew well that I remembered. He was drawing a clipping 
 from his pocket. 
 
 "Here I'll read you a bit: 
 
 " 'O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, 
 The ship had weathered every rack, the prize we 
 
 sought is won. 
 The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all 
 
 exulting, 
 While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim 
 and daring; 
 But O heart! heart! heart! 
 
 O the bleeding drops of red, 
 Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
 Fallen cold and dead/ " 
 At the foot of the Capitol steps we parted. 
 
 "How orderly this people is," he said to me. "There is sorrow 
 and indignation, but no moral let down. One of the Canadian officials 
 put it very well in a speech he made yesterday. He said, Tf the 
 American people shall still keep their balance under this present 
 exasperation, they will show that they are truly able and worthy to 
 hold the reins of self-government.' " 
 
 Again we shook hands heartily and he disappeared into the night. 
 As I made my slow pilgrimage up the broad steps, I thought how 
 only four years had passed since Abraham Lincoln's feet touched 
 these stairs. Only four years since he stood in this Capitol, receiving 
 the good wishes of friends and admirers, while he was yet an untried 
 man. When he left Albany for Washington he went on a wave of 
 the people's prayers that he might prove strong for liberty and 
 union. Oh, were those prayers not answered? Was he not a giant in 
 the battle of Truth? Did he not exceed the most sanguine expecta- 
 tions of men who had learned his quality through the years? Now, 
 stricken down in his hour of triumph, he was going back to Illinois, 
 not as the honored son of that one state, but as the loved and 
 revered Chief Magistrate of the Union he had saved. 
 
 At this hour, near morning, the great rush was for the moment 
 thinned. I passed up the broad stairway almost alone, into the As- 
 sembly chamber with its guard of honor motionless about the casket. 
 
A UNION FOREVER 461 
 
 My eyes rested briefly on that casket, then I forgot all as I caught 
 my first glimpse of the features of the President. Oh, my heart stood 
 still an instant, as I studied the calm face and caught the smile 
 death could not, would not rob him of. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln's smile! I saw it for the last time through my 
 tears! 
 
 No one was allowed to stop, even for a moment. I soon passed 
 by. But I was not satisfied. I felt I must see his face again. I went 
 around to the gate. I passed up those stairs a second time. Oh, the 
 peace of duty done! Oh, the joy of that smile summoning to my 
 memory the pledge I had made to Abraham Lincoln. Once more I 
 passed, and hastened on. The sun burst out in springtide glory as I 
 hesitated on the outside pavement. Somewhere a robin sang. 
 
 Forever free! 
 
 A third time then, I made my pilgrimage. 
 
 From strife . . . from cruelty of men . . . from daily martyrdom . . . 
 from greed, dishonesty, contempt . . . forever free. Forever . . . free. 
 Forever free to dwell among us an unseen presence in the light of 
 immortal glory. 
 
 I went down the long flight of steps into the full morning sun- 
 light. My path lay clear before me. I walked away with purpose in 
 my stride. I had a telegram to send to Hettie. 
 
 XLV 
 
 William Quantrill lay prone while Captain Terrill exultantly 
 ordered his men to fetch a blanket. On this blanket they carried 
 Quantrill into the house, laid him on a sofa in the living room. 
 Quantrill, calm although he was paralyzed from the waist down 
 and knew his condition, replied to Terrill's first question, "I am 
 Captain Clarke of the Fourth Missouri cavalry." 
 
 "The hell you are," decided Ed Terrill. "You're Bill Quantrill, the 
 Missouri guerrilla. I got orders to take you to Louisville." 
 
 Wakefield and his wife stood in the doorway to watch the result 
 of the encounter. Quantrill began to bargain. 
 
 "I have a valuable gold watch here," he told Terrill, "and five 
 hundred dollars in gold. I'll give you these to allow me to stay with 
 these good people." 
 
 "I can't do that," said Terrill, eying the watch and money 
 eagerly. "If I lose you, I'll be court-martialed." 
 
 At this point Wakefield called Terrill aside. 
 
 "He's so bad hurt he can't move. I've sent for our doctor. Doc 
 McClasky. Better leave him stay here till the doc can see him. Tell 
 
462 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 you what, I've got twenty dollars gold here, an the best jug o' 
 whiskey left in the Confederacy. Nobody can blame you for takin' 
 just twenty gold to leave him lay till the doc sees him." 
 
 Terrill knew the Wakefield sympathies were Southern. He hes- 
 itated, but eventually, relinquishing a plan he had entertained for 
 burning out Wakefield, he accepted the whiskey and the twenty 
 dollars gold. He took Quantrill's parole, and he promised to return 
 the next day. So he and his hopeful command departed, after 
 sampling the whiskey all round. 
 
 Doctor McClasky arrived soon after the departure of Terrill. He 
 made an examination of Quantrill. 
 
 "Sir," he said gravely, "I have to inform you that your hurt is 
 mortal." 
 
 "I knew that," replied Quantrill. 
 
 "Is there any commission you wish me to undertake in your 
 behalf?" asked the doctor. 
 
 Quantrill answered after a moment, "This five hundred dollars 
 gold ought to go to my mother. But that can wait," he added. 
 "There'll be plenty of time. You see, I know how long it takes to die 
 of a broken back." 
 
 The doctor left, promising to return in the morning. Mrs. Wake- 
 field came weeping to Quantrill. Her sympathies were entirely with 
 him, the more that he had been shot by Terrill, hated terror of the 
 countryside. 
 
 "That Ed Terrill," she exclaimed. I've knew him from a baby. 
 He's as wicked as they come. Why, his own father said they'd never 
 draw a free breath till Ed was in his grave." 
 
 She asked Quantrill to allow her to send for her minister. 
 
 "Certainly, Mrs. Wakefield. I can stand it if he can." 
 
 When Quantrill woke from a doze the minister was beside his 
 sofa. Dark night was now fallen. Before the man of God could open 
 his interview with the dying guerrilla, Frank James walked into the 
 room. James had been in a hideout in the hills, nursing a broken 
 arm, when the guerrillas rode into his retreat, throwing themselves 
 from their spent nags and declaring that Charley was shot. Several 
 of the old band had accompanied James to the Wakefield farm, 
 waiting outside or stepping briefly to the long windows to greet 
 Quantrill. 
 
 "We've come to take you away to the hills," said James gruffly. 
 "We've got a new hideout for you." 
 
 "Frank," replied Quantrill in a calm voice, "I'm going away to a 
 hideout I won't leave in a hurry." 
 
A UNION FOREVER 463 
 
 "No, Charley," begged James, tears in his eyes and in his voice. 
 "We'll get you well. See if we don't." 
 
 "In any case," the guerrilla went on to say, "I've given my parole 
 not to leave this farm. If I leave, Terrill will burn the place over 
 Wakefield's head. Wakefield would be ruined. We don't want that." 
 
 When Frank James began to comprehend Quantrill's desperate 
 situation, he exclaimed brokenly, "I can't believe you're going, 
 Charley. Not after all our times together. Remember the big fight 
 in Independence? In '62?" 
 
 "That was the fight-" 
 
 Quantrill broke off to say, "You must get a letter off to Kate. Her 
 address is in my wallet. Feel for it in my pocket." 
 
 The minister cleared his throat. Time was passing, and heaven 
 still waiting. 
 
 "Man," he inquired solemnly, "have you nothing to regret as you 
 lie here?" 
 
 "You wish me to answer with perfect truth, sir?" 
 
 "At a time like this?" The minister spoke in a shocked tone. "If 
 ever in your life, certainly this is the moment for perfect truth." 
 
 "I thought that myself. Sir, I have one deep regret. I regret that 
 I did not take Jim Lane alive in Lawrence. I had planned to burn 
 him at the stake. In the public square at Osceola." 
 
 Kate Clarke stood in the kitchen of Bridget Scally, caretaker of 
 Portland cemetery in Louisville. Two sisters of charity who had 
 walked beside her rigid figure during the interment were gone. Only 
 Father Powers gravely confronted her. 
 
 "My daughter," he began at length, "I asked you to remain be- 
 cause I think it is my duty to inquire your plans." 
 
 "I am going to St. Louis." 
 
 "You have friends in St. Louis?" 
 
 "I have no friends." 
 
 "No? Then why St. Louis?" 
 
 "I am going into business there." 
 
 "I see. Do you mind telling me the nature of your business?" 
 
 "Not especially. I am opening a fancy house." 
 
 "What are you saying!!!' 
 
 The priest flashed a horrified glance at her, color rising in his face. 
 
 "Because that is the quickest way for me to make money," added 
 Kate Clarke. 
 
 "This is unthinkable! Why, this is monstrous! You couldn't love 
 money as much as that." 
 
 "I do not love money." 
 
464 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 Father Powers studied the young rigid figure before him, and his 
 voice softened. 
 
 "Then why do you so wish to make money?" 
 
 "To buy masses for another's soul." 
 
 "What a thought! Impossible! No priest would take such money." 
 
 "You think not? But I will just go to the priest's residence, any 
 priest in the city. And I will say, 'Father, I wish candles burned for 
 a soul/ And he will say, Is the soul dead, my daughter?' And I will 
 say, 'Yes, father, the soul is dead.' . . ." 
 
 Father Powers sank into a chair at Bridget Scally's kitchen table. 
 He motioned Kate Clarke to the only other chair, but she con- 
 tinued to stand. 
 
 "In all my life," said the priest helplessly, "I have never en- 
 countered a situation like this." 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 Kate Clarke had melted from rigidity to glowing passion. 
 
 "The man buried out there, that man we just buried, in all his 
 life he never had but two beings who really understood him. I was 
 one. The other, of course, was a horse." 
 
 The priest managed to echo, hushed voice, "A horse!" Kate Clarke 
 swept on unheedingly. 
 
 "You wanted me to undertake to get money to his mother. You 
 were surprised when I refused. You see, I know the awful hurt he 
 got from his mother. Nights and nights, many, many nights, I've 
 listened to him rave against his mother. All she ever wanted from 
 him was money, money, money! Well! She'll never get it now! If I 
 saw her drawing her last breath of starvation, lying in a gutter, I'd 
 only turn her over with my foot so I could spit in her face." 
 
 Kate Clarke paused, searching for coherence. Father Powers 
 straightened, listening silently. This was confessional, not the poor 
 formal thing of every day, but honest catharsis of the soul. 
 
 "He didn't love me. He was like the eagle, he could love but 
 once. Once, and he gave his heart to a girl who was afraid to take 
 it. She handed it back, and it lay in his bosom dead. Oh, I was 
 bound to use him when I found him ready to my hand. The South 
 needed him, that was enough. We used him, and we killed him 
 physically. But he didn't really die in Kentucky. He isn't buried out 
 there where we laid his body. Lawrence! There's where he died. 
 There's where his stone should rise. 'William Clarke Quantrill. Once 
 known as Charley Hart. I was a stranger, and ye took me not in/ " 
 
 Returning in an instant to her cold, formal manner, Kate Clarke 
 said, "Thank you, father, for all you have done. I have already 
 thanked the sisters, but please thank them again for me. I must 
 
A UNION FOREVER 
 
 465 
 
 say goodbye. I'm afraid that decrepit old cab horse needs full time 
 to get me to my train." 
 
 When she had gone Father Powers sat some minutes in thought. 
 Finally he called Bridget Scally who was hovering nearby. 
 
 "Mrs. Scally," said Father Powers, "the grave your husband is 
 filling in." 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Have him level it off even with the ground. From time to time, 
 do you throw out some slops from your wash on it." 
 
 "Ye-es, father," faltered Bridget Scally. 
 
 Father Powers rose to take his departure. 
 
 "I have sound reasons for this order, Mrs. Scally. The man buried 
 in that grave committed such deeds in his lifetime that, if his 
 grave were ever located, his body would not be left to lie in peace. 
 As for a monument," added the priest, more to himself than to 
 Bridget Scally, "that is unthinkable. I shall divert the money he 
 left for that purpose to masses for the peace of his troubled soul." 
 
 XL VI 
 
 f^t^^!^^^ 
 
 State of Illinois 
 County of Morgan 
 
 ss. 
 
 I HEREBY CERTIFY that on the ninth day of August, 
 A. D., 1865, I joined in the Holy State of Matrimony 
 Lewis Hanback and Hester A. Cooper according to the 
 custom and the laws of Illinois. 
 
 Given under my Hand and Seal this ninth day of 
 August, A. D., 1865. 
 
 E. B. TUTHILL, L. S. 
 
 Printed and sold by Johnson and Bradford, Springfield, III. 
 
 The "New Lucy" ceased making way against the swirling muddy 
 waters of the Missouri. With a slow slap, slap of her paddle wheel, 
 
466 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 she approached the landing of the town that straggled along the 
 Kansas shore. Hettie and I were among the passengers waiting to 
 use the gangplank. We were two weeks wed, having been married 
 in the parlor of Uncle Wilson and Aunt Jane Smith. 
 
 We discussed the wedding, waiting for the lowering of the plank. 
 
 "I was worse scared than at Stone River, until young Mr. Tuthill 
 confided his secret to me. When I found he was contemplating the 
 same move, it cheered me. I felt I was in the hands of a brother." 
 
 Before Hettie and I drove away in a shower of rice and old shoes, 
 after one of Aunt Jane's turkey dinners, I visited Uncle's pasture. 
 To say goodbye to Baldy. He came to the bars to greet me, and 
 when I turned away, he sent a wistful nicker after me. I couldn't 
 look back, though I knew he was watching me out of sight. 
 
 On the Kansas shore, after a hasty survey of the unpalatable 
 shacks along the water front, I said, "Hettie, wait here beside our 
 baggage, while I make inquiries about our stage." I started away 
 under the impetus of that particular sense of important well-being 
 attained in this world by young husbands only, and by them but 
 fleetingly. Before I could enter the most respectable looking of the 
 saloons, an outcry from Hettie brought me back to her on the 
 double. Never will I forget what I saw! Two negro roustabouts had 
 run nimbly down the gangplank, seized Hettie's trunk between 
 them, and were hustling it aboard the steamer. While Hettie cried 
 out and I shouted top-voice, the captain calmly ordered his packet 
 full steam ahead. With several derisive hoots of the whistle, he set 
 the course of the "New Lucy" for Leavenworth, while the negro 
 roustabouts flashed their teeth in amusement as the brown waters 
 widened between us. 
 
 Hettie burst into tears. 
 
 "All my pretty clothes!" 
 
 I was in agony to see her tears, promised her more hats and 
 gowns and gloves immediately. 
 
 "But my beautiful quilt in the wedding ring pattern. That Aunt 
 Jane pieced for me." 
 
 "Aunt Jane will piece you another quilt." 
 
 "It wouldn't be the same thing. This was a wedding gift." 
 
 "Hettie! We've been through terrible times, and we've been pre- 
 served for a life together. Do you think you should waste time cry- 
 ing over that trunk, and what it contained?" 
 
 Obviously thinking over my plea, Hettie dried her eyes, At last 
 she turned to me, her usual vivacious self. 
 
 "No," she replied, "I shouldn't." She gave her eyes a final pat and 
 
A UNION FOREVER 467 
 
 thrust her handkerchief into her reticule. "I'll not shed another tear. 
 Even if I never lay eyes again on that trunk." 
 
 A fortunate decision. Never again did she lay eyes on its brass- 
 bound sides, its high curved top, nor anything that it contained. 
 
 Sudden hand clapping behind us made us whirl in a hurry. 
 
 I said, smiling, "I might have known you two would be on hand 
 to greet us. You got my letter?" 
 
 William Phillips came forward to be presented, while August 
 Bondi gave Hettie one of his courtliest bows. 
 
 "So I did persuade you to try Kansas?" 
 
 While Bondi escorted Hettie to the stage that now rattled into 
 sight with Jacob Pike in his old place on the box, I said to William 
 Phillips, "I was finally persuaded by a promise I once made to a 
 greater American than either one of us." 
 
 We exchanged a long look, and understood each other very well. 
 
 Phillips and Bondi vied in their attentions to Hettie, settling her 
 to advantage in the stage. Jacob Pike spoke to his horses, flicked 
 out his whip. The leaders plunged, the wheelers tugged as we left 
 the street for the trail. The stage gave a series of prodigious lurches, 
 and came out presently between a riot of golden sunflowers and 
 purple iron weed into the California Road. As though by pre- 
 arrangement, Hettie and I turned to smile at one another. 
 
 We were in Kansas. 
 
 FINIS 
 
A UNION FOREVER 469 
 
 Acknowledgements 
 
 Reading the truly historical novel, the reader is entitled to a 
 summary of sources. "A Union Forever" is based primarily on five 
 years of letters from camp, field and the Albany Law School, 
 written by Lewis Hanback to Hester Ann Cooper, and on the 
 lectures and many newspaper articles of his after life. For the battle 
 of Stone River his own account is supplemented by that of Captain 
 Alexander F. Stevenson of General Phil Sheridan's staff. Some in- 
 cidents of the book were adapted from the "Annals of the Army of 
 the Cumberland", original edition. The war correspondent, Benj. F. 
 Taylor, furnished valuable hints for the Chickamauga and Chat- 
 tanooga campaigns, and pictures of the Tennessee mountain whites. 
 Crissie's story, William Cooper's departure for the Southern army, 
 the death of Stephen A. Douglas and the theft of Hettie's trunk, I 
 had during her lifetime from Hettie's own lips. The late Mrs. Frank 
 McKinney (Cousin Tal of the story) wrote me a full description 
 of the famous horse, Baldy, and an account of Hettie's wedding. 
 
 Mrs. Margaret Campbell Hull, of Salina, Kansas, and Van Nuys, 
 California, told me the story of Hettie on the schoolhouse desk, 
 reading Lew Hanback's letters. The late Mrs. George O. Wilmarth 
 of Topeka, Kansas, related to me years ago the particulars of Lew 
 Hanback's mother's funeral and the adoption of little Maggie. The 
 late Frank G. Culp of Salina, Kansas and Eagle Rock, California, as 
 a small boy, at a G.A.R. encampment, heard August Bondi tell the 
 story of the "yellow tawg." 
 
 For the Kansas border scenes I am much indebted to the Journal 
 of Sara T. D. Robinson, and the Diary of August Bondi, lent to me 
 by his son, I. I. Bondi of Galesburg, Illinois. The Battle of the 
 Blackjack I took substantially from Judge Bondi's diary, as being 
 a participant's account by a man who was outstanding for intellect 
 and veracity. Shalor Winchell Eldridge, Doctor Richard Cordley, 
 Leverett W. Spring, Charles Robinson, Eli Thayer, William A. 
 Phillips, the English correspondent James Redpath, all contributed 
 eyewitness accounts. To Captain Redpath I am indebted for the 
 last intimate scenes in the life of John Brown. Scenes between Wil- 
 liam Phillips and his young officers of the Indian Brigade were 
 reconstructed from letters and reports to be found in the United 
 States War Records. Lincoln's "Lost Speech" appeared in McClure's 
 magazine for September, 1896. The account of the Cooper quilting 
 bee was told in Southern Illinois newspapers under date line, 
 August 8, 1902, on the death of John Taylor. Kate Bronson Thomp- 
 
470 A UNION FOREVER 
 
 son, daughter of Mattie and Dan, supplied data from D.A.R. 
 records on the Douglas family. 
 
 Last, but by no means least, undying appreciation is due William 
 Elsey Connelley, Kentucky gentleman and Kansas historian, for 
 his great work, "Quantrill and the Border Wars". His preservation 
 of the Scott papers and his direction of his readers to such source 
 material as the recollections of Billy Gregg, are invaluable. This 
 book by Connelley, now to be found at rare intervals in second 
 hand book shops, is worthy of being brought forward again by the 
 state of Kansas as a valuable part of any celebration that may be 
 made of her coming centennial. 
 
 To Helen M. McFarland and her assistants of the Kansas State 
 Historical Society, gratitude for patient help extending over a period 
 of years. Appreciation for many kindnesses to Henry J. Allen, Arthur 
 Capper and W. C. Simons, Kansas editors and lifelong friends. The 
 value of the final script was greatly enhanced by splendid criticisms 
 from Marco Morrow, Topeka editor, Mrs. Belle H. Longstreet, 
 teacher of American history for many years in the Los Angeles 
 schools, Guy Endore, Hollywood writer, and the late William Allen 
 White of Emporia, Kansas. 
 
 Sweet Charity Baldwin I created from first hand impressions I 
 got of Missouri "cracker" women while visiting in the Missouri 
 "backwoods" years ago. She is not historical. Jacob Pike I knew and 
 interviewed for the Lawrence Journal-World. 
 
 One character in the novel is veiled. I never knew what one of the 
 dear elderly ladies of my young days in Lawrence was loved so 
 tragically by Charley Hart. I named "Lucy" for my own sister, once 
 a Lawrence belle. 
 
 M. C. B. 
 
 Burbank, California, 
 
 March 10, 1949.