I ARRIVED at Kansas city on the night of June 3d, at twelve o'clock, after my eastern flying trip, and in hopes soon to join my husband. I had reached Chicago, on the homeward journey, when the first uncertain news of the sacking of Lawrence came. A few hours' delay, in order to gain more certain intelligence, followed, and the unexpected arrival of a friend from the ill-fated city gave to the wearing suspense of uncertainties the vividness and sadness of realities. He was doubtful as to the fate of any prisoners in their hands, yet for them he feared the worst. Still hoping all things good, however, with the habitual buoyancy of my character unsubdued, I pursued my journey, receiving from strangers in Illinois many tangible proofs of their sympathy for Kansas, and for those battling in the cause. The last day or two of the trip on the Missouri river rumors of war became more frequent. Inflammatory extras were thrown upon the boats at different landings. People at Lexington, and other points along the river, were much excited, and preparing for a new invasion. The extras stated the murder of eight pro-slavery men, by the abolitionists, and the cruel mutilation of their bodies; the death of the United States Marshal, of H. C. Pate, and J. McGee. Deeds of blood and violence, of which they were hourly guilty, were charged upon the free-state men. The following is a sample of the incendiary extras which flew through the border counties: "Murder is the watchword and midnight deed of a scattered and scouting band of abolitionists, who had courage only to fly from the face of a wronged and insulted people, when met at their own solicitation. Men, peaceable and quiet, cannot travel on the public roads of Kansas, without being caught, searched, imprisoned, and their lives, perhaps, taken. No Southerner dare venture alone and unarmed on her roads!" Such were the false statements made to arouse the passions of the border men.
A short colloquy on the boat between one of the surveyors in the employ of Gen. Calhoun, and others, will show the bitterness of their feelings. As the boat left Lexington he came into the ladies' cabin, and said to his wife, the daughter of a Wyandot, that "Donaldson was killed."
I said to him, "Will you tell me what Donaldson it is?"
"John Donaldson," was his curt reply.
Not knowing their Christian names, I asked, "Is it the United States Marshal?"
He then said, showing a very evident desire to make no explanations, "He was auditor;" and his wife, showing more animation than from her listless manner one would have supposed possible, added, "He was a very fine man."
To my question, "Were there others injured?" the surveyor said, "Yes, the abolitionists have killed several other persons."
This seemed to me a doubtful story, and I so stated my belief, adding, that "such stories were put in circulation for the purpose of exciting another invasion." Reliable persons had informed me that the sacking of Lawrence without resistance to the "regularly organized militia," was regarded by them as signal a defeat as the Dec. invasion; the invaders having made preparations for a siege, and the want of defence on the part of Lawrence had again foiled their plans. These reports of outrages committed by the free-state party seemed but another scheme to bring about civil war.
The Wyandot lady, with great bitterness, replied, "These stories come from the right side to be true!"
As I was revolving in my mind with what simplicity she had revealed her proclivities, a gentleman sitting by said to the surveyor, "Are these Buford men enlisted in the territorial militia?"
With some hesitancy, yet a half leer of satisfaction spreading itself over his broad, bloated face, he replied, "They are residents of the territory." I suggested their residence was of short duration, when the lady, who was "R. G. Q.," said, "These men and the Missourians went into the territory to make homes, while the eastern people went there to vote, and then returned."
Such astounding developments, coupled with the statement that had fallen from her lips the same morning, "that her husband was the handsomest man on the boat, and because of his beauty she married him," seemed to me all I had better try to believe at once. So I retired to my old seat to ruminate upon wars in Kansas, and the blessings resulting to mankind in general from a large diversity of tastes and dispositions.
There were several pro-slavery families on board, very pleasant people. There was a lovely girl going to her home, in Missouri, from a boarding-school in Illinois. There was a young lady from Kentucky, of intelligence and refinement, pro-slavery, yet with her I had many pleasant talks. A Missourian returning to Missouri with a Texan bride, delicate and pale as the light gossamer robes in which she floated, was very affable and intelligent. The young Shawnee girl, with her white husband, on her bridal tour, was educated, and pleasant, and from all, with the exception named, I received the common courtesies of life. This Wyandot lady also stated, with great satisfaction of manner, that "Gov. Robinson would be hung;"and was not a little displeased that her listeners doubted the statement.
On arriving at Kansas city we found the stage would go to Westport early in the morning. There were four of us to go, and we would attempt the passage together, notwithstanding bands of armed men were infesting the highways. Arrangements were made, and I slept a few hours. As I sat with bonnet and shawl on, the next morning, watching the stage, I saw it leave the door without passengers, and the clerk of the house following after. He asked the driver, "Why he left his passengers? Would he return? Would he wait for them to come where the coach then was?" To all his questions he received sullen, indefinite replies. The gentleman, knowing our anxiety to get into the territory, coaxed and threatened. But it all proved useless. He would not carry us to Westport, where we could meet the stage for Lawrence and no carriage could go from the hotel, because horses were continually taken from wagons, carriages, or riders, and pressed into the service of "law and order." So, until the day after the next, as the stage went out only three days in the week, returning on the alternate days, we would be obliged to remain. This would have been unendurable had not the hotel still been in the possession of Massachusetts gentlemen. Five Massachusetts families were still in the house, also Mr. C., of Philadelphia, who had sometimes made a home with us, had just returned with his wife from the Quaker city.
The threats of destroying this hotel were still frequent, and nightly the danger of attack was imminent. The mayor of the city had kept out a guard one or two nights. But he had declined doing this longer, and, a meeting of the citizens being called, it was decided to ask the "Eldridges" to sell the hotel, to save it from the fury of South Carolinians and border men; they expressed to them at the same time their regret that such was the excitement against it.
Again and again the mob had assembled, and with groans, whose hideousness no one can appreciate who was not forced to listen, and with yells, declared the house should come down. The "Eldridges" proposed their terms, which were accepted, and, on the morning of the tenth, the hotel passed into the keeping of two pro-slavery men. Little curly, woolly heads, sitting in the doorways, proclaimed also the house was under a new rule. One, with skin slightly colored, and fiery red hair, looked oddly, and bore a marked resemblance to the little boy of his own size, whose attendant he seemed to be.
On the second of June a battle was fought near Prairie city. For several days, a portion of the posse, Buford men and Carolinians, together with Missourians, had been committing depredations upon the settlers, taking several of them prisoners. Capt. Brown, on hearing of the outrages, called his company together, and started on the eve of Sunday, travelling all night. At daylight, Capt. Brown made the attack upon Pate and his company, who were arranged behind their wagons. Pate also placed the unarmed prisoners, whom he had taken, in front of them, as a shield. The forces were not far from equal, Pate's party numbering a few more than the other. After a two hours' fire, Pate sent forward one of his men, with a prisoner, and a white flag, and surrendered unconditionally. A few of Pate's company fled to Missouri. Among them was Coleman, the murderer; twenty-six men were taken prisoners by Capt. Brown. A quantity of goods, stolen from Lawrence, was found in their wagons. A day or two after this, bands of South Carolinians were threading their way towards Bull Creek, and men from Independence, Lexington, Westford, and Clay county, generally, were fast going up the Santa Fe road to join the same bands. One hundred and eighty men, who had been camped near Bull Creek, went nearer Palmyra, and camped back of the town, in a ravine. About one hundred free-state men were in camp about two miles beyond. From near Hickory Point and Lawrence one hundred men were marching to reinforce those last named. Whitfield left his seat before the investigating committee, June 2d, at the head of a large body of armed men to conquer, I suppose, his constituents in the territory, his stated object to relieve H. C. Pate. While Gov. Shannon, in every instance, has stationed troops in a town after it has been sacked, he now saw the free-state men rallying to protect themselves, and feared the slave power would lose the ground gained through his servility. He heard, too, of aid coming from out of Kansas, and issued a proclamation on the fourth, "commanding all persons belonging to military companies unauthorized by law to disperse, otherwise they would be dispersed by the United States troops." It required all civil officers of the government to be watchful in enforcing the laws, and protecting the property and persons of all law-abiding citizens. All aggressive parties outside the territory will be repulsed. The President's proclamation of February 11th was appended, and Gov. Shannon stated that it would be strictly enforced. A requisition was also made upon Col. Sumner for a force sufficient to compel obedience to the proclamation.
On the fifth, Col. Sumner broke in upon the free-state camp, and released Capt. Pate and fellow-prisoners. Col. Sumner ordered the free-state men to return quietly to their homes, and then, turning to Pate, said, "What business have you here?"
"I am here by orders of Gov. Shannon."
"I saw Gov. Shannon yesterday, and your case was specially considered, and he asserted you were not here by his orders." He then added, "You are Missourians, all of you, and when you crossed your state line, you trampled on state sovereignty. Now go, sir, in the direction from whence you came;" and, as he closed his remarks, Col. Sumner waved his hand for Pate and his party to leave. So the brave H. C. Pate returned to Westport and Kansas city. He acknowledged the bravery of Capt. Brown, for he said Capt. Brown rode about them sword in hand, and commanded a surrender, and they were obliged to make it. He spoke well of them in their treatment of him while a prisoner but with Col. Sumner's treating him with so little deference he felt quite outraged, and talked of a challenge.
The pro-slavery camp was also visited by Col. Sumner, and ordered to leave the territory. A part did so; but another part of Whitfield's force went towards Osawattomie. On the sixth, at four o'clock in the afternoon, one hundred and fifty of them, fully armed and much intoxicated, entered Osawattomie and commenced their work of house-breaking, burning and pillage. They sacked the town, taking everything of value, money, provisions, clothing and jewelry. Sixteen horses were taken, while the owners looked on. Among them were two from the United States mail coach, running between Fort Scott and Westport.
On the eighth, Capt. Brown's company, having been disbanded at Palmyra, was disarmed. Hearing of the sack of Lawrence, they had again organized, and were deliberating how best to protect themselves, and neighbors, when the troops, who should have protected Osawattomie, came upon them, and took their arms. Word had been sent, previous to the attack, to some of the free-state camps, and messengers were immediately sent to the nearest camp of the dragoons, asking for protection for Osawattomie. The messengers stated that the free-state men had been disbanded with the promise of protection. Now, Osawattomie was calling to them for aid, and unless they would march to their relief, the free-state men would rally, and at once go to their assistance.
Lieut. McIntosh said he had heard rumors of an attack, similar to those brought by the messengers, and that he had sent an express in the morning, to the camps near Osawattomie, informing them of the contemplated attack. The messengers stated that unless they could carry back word that something definite would be done, for the protection of Osawattomie, they would immediately march to that place. The lieutenant then stated that everything that could be done, would be; that he would himself start for the camp below. While he was preparing to leave, he accused the free-state people of being unwilling to obey the Draconian laws of the territory. He was on his way toward Osawattomie.
The free-state men, thinking their friends would be protected, returned to their homes, leaving the field to the dragoons. The next night brought the intelligence of the sack of Osawattomie. The troops could not save Lawrence, because Col. Sumner had no orders to act. They did not save Osawattomie. Neither did they protect Leavenworth, only three miles from the fort, during its reign of terror. While the free-state men showed a disposition to protect themselves, they were not allowed to do it; yet robberies and murders were repeated every day, in the early part of June. Every evening's intelligence was of some fresh outrage.
On the evening of the fourth, Mr. C., counsel for the prisoners, with his wife, returned from Lecompton. Judge C. was also with them, having gone as a witness in the case. At Lecompton both of them were ordered from the town by a bully from Leavenworth, by the name of Kelly. He ordered Judge C. to leave, and when he applied to Gov. Shannon for protection, the reply of the governor of the territory was, "Your people are shooting down our people, and I can give you no protection." The meaning of this is, the free-state people are shooting down the pro-slavery, which was false in reality, and which still further proved the partisan character of the government. After ordering Judge C. to leave, he met Mr. C., as he was returning from the clerk's office (where he was having some papers necessary in my husband's case made out) to Shannon's office.
The following dialogue took place:
Ruffian, in a rough manner, -- "You are ordered to leave Lecompton."
Mr. C., in a very composed manner, asked, "Do you order me to leave upon your own responsibility, or at the suggestion of others?"
"I tell you you are ordered to leave Lecompton."
"Yes, but such proceedings are not usually executed so summarily, and it would gratify me to know who takes the responsibility of ordering me from Lecompton."
"I take the responsibility; so do others. I tell you to leave."
"Well, what may your name be?"
The ruffian demurred at giving his name; but, as Mr. C. assured him that, in all civilized countries, the accused were allowed to know the names of their accusers, he said, " You know me. You saw me at Leavenworth at the first election."
"I do not recollect having had the honor of your acquaintance; but of course you are an honorable man, and are not ashamed of your name."
"Well, my name is Kelly; and you are ordered to leave Lecompton."
Mr. C. retained his seat, while Mr. Kelly, like a witness on the stand, was standing before him, and the highly honorable governor was sitting by.
"In all courts of justice it is customary for the accused to make a defence before judgment is pronounced, and it would please me to know of what I am accused."
After refusing, for a time, to make any charges, Mr. Kelly said, "You have written articles for the Herald of Freedom."
"That is a misstatement. What other charges have you?"
"You have been connected with the free-state movement."
"You are so honorable a man, you will, of course, allow me to bring witnesses to prove this charge untrue."
"Well, you are known to be the intimate friend of Gov. Reeder and Gov. Robinson."
Mr. C., rising, said, "That is sufficient;" and, turning to Gov. Shannon, asked, as counsel for Gov. Robinson, -- having come there expecting an examination in his case, -- if he had no protection to offer him. The governor signified he had none. Then Mr. C., gathering up his papers in a dignified manner, bade him "good-afternoon," and walked out of the house. The governor seemed to have a sudden thought. He stepped out after him, and spoke to some of the ruffians a moment, when one of them told Mr. C. "he could stay in Lecompton as long as he wanted to."
Judge C., with the wife of the counsel, rode out of town a short distance to wait for her husband. They were stopped by three men, armed with U. S. muskets, as they approached Westport, on their way back to Kansas city. The question whether they were armed was asked by one of the foot-pads; to which Mrs. C. replied "No, sir." They were then allowed to pass. Westport was full of armed men, and a large company were drilling in front of Milton McGee's, two miles from Kansas city; but, for some reason, they were allowed to pass unmolested.
The next morning, June 4th, Judge C. was sitting in the parlor, relating to three or four of us ladies his adventures of the three last weeks, his detention at Parkville by a mob, his arrest at Leavenworth by a gang of self-constituted authorities, and his being driven from Lecompton by an Irish bully, the governor acquiescing. We were all laughing merrily at the pictures he drew of his forlorn condition, being marched about at the point of the bayonet, and assuring us, in his own peculiar way, that it "did confuse a fellow's ideas somewhat when he expected a punch from the bayonets every moment." But, at this instant, a rough, burly fellow, red-faced, and with hair of yet more fiery color, came through the reading-room into the parlor. He came a little way towards Judge C., and called him to him. He then asked, "Is your name C.?"
"It is, sir."
"You are my prisoner."
" By what authority?" said Judge C.
The only reply was a rough grasp of the shoulder and wrist of Judge C., with the words, "Come along," as he rudely drew him into the reading-room. Mrs. C., the Philadelphia lady, and a brave Massachusetts woman in the house, were close to Judge C.'s side. The rude law-and-order man stated that Jones had just been shot, and was dead, and that Judge C. was the murderer.
Mrs. C. said, "Judge C. is a friend of ours, and he is an innocent man."
Some men of Kansas city, at work on the levee, in front of the hotel, had gathered near. The official appealed to them for help but not a hand was raised to aid him, while he declared "he would not give a 'fip' for such a town as that." Seeing how matters stood, that he was to get no help, he said "he was mistaken in the man," and spoke of two other free-state men as implicated in the pretended assassination of the day before, who had been in the states since January, and were not yet in the territory.
He then said, "Were you not driven out of Leavenworth?"
"I was told to go, sir."
To Judge C.'s explanation that he was now on his way to Baltimore, his home, the burly fellow said "it was also his home."
"What may your name be? perhaps I may know you," said the judge.
"My name is Hughes." Then Mr. Hughes made his parting address; "Well, C., you go to your home, and do as man ought to do to man."
"I will, sir."
"Don't tell any of your infernal lies when you get to Baltimore."
"I shall tell no lies, sir."
The truth in his case, he doubtless thought, as we did, would be all-sufficient to rouse the feelings of American citizens against the outrages committed here at slavery's bidding. A gentleman from Lawrence, whom Brewerton had pointed out as having shot at a Mr. Cox, in the melee passed directly through the crowd from the office, to a safer place. Another, from St. Louis, was introduced to the same Hughes, a bystander, as a "shipper of Sharpe's rifles." The law-and-order man dilated his eyes, and asked the gentleman if that was his business. He replied, "he was a commission merchant, and whatever boxes came, shipped to his care, he sent forward." "Did he not know he had no right to send rifles to Kansas?" "I have lived several years in St. Louis, and have never broken any law of the state." To such indignities and questions have gentlemen been obliged to submit at the hands of men who have been convicts for years in the penitentiary. It was amusing to see the indignation of the last gentleman, at such an examination, not having been through so thorough a process of breaking-in as Judge C. Every day only added to the enormities of the pro-slavery party.
A Mr. Cantrell, recently from Missouri, but a free-state man, was taken prisoner on the evening of the 5th of June, by one of Gen. Whitfield's scouting parties. On the next day he was carried down the Santa Fe road. At Cedar Creek he was taken out into a ravine by two men. Then there was a shot; -- then a cry, "O, God, I am shot! -- I am murdered!" Then another shot, and a long, piercing scream; -- another shot, and all was still!
A Mr. Bailey narrowly escaped a violent death, and through many sufferings at last reached his friends. He had started from his home to get a load of provisions for himself and his neighbors. When near Bull Creek, Coleman, who had twenty men encamped close by, came and ordered him to stop there over night. Among these twenty men were Buckley and Hargous, his accomplices in the murder of Dow. In the morning his horses were missing, their halters having been cut. The men expressed sympathy for his loss, told him the horses could be found in the camp at Cedar Creek, and they proposed to go with him to find them. Before reaching Cedar Creek they met a company of two hundred men. A consultation was held with them, and Coleman said, "There may be treachery used."
Soon after the company had passed on, three men took Mr. Bailey into the prairie about one hundred yards from the road, and demanded his money; without hesitation, or one word of objection, he gave them forty-five dollars, all he had. Mr. Bailey said, "If you mean to kill me, you will kill a better man than yourself;" to which the ruffian, lowering his gun, replied, "I wish you to take off those pantaloons; perhaps they will get bloody." But Mr. Bailey said, "They are mine as long as I live."
This tool of the administration, armed with a U. S. musket, again raised his gun, and fired. The ball struck Mr. Bailey in the side, glancing along the ribs, and lodged in the back. Mr. Bailey fell, and was struck at again and again with the musket. Then two of the men disappeared, and left this more than demon to finish the work of killing a peaceable man. He jumped on the body of the prostrate man, stamping on his face and head. But as Mr. Bailey caught hold of the musket, and was able to hold on upon it, the murderer ran after the others, calling upon them to return. They, however, were too far away. After lying in the grass three hours, Mr. Bailey attempted to find his way home. In doing so, he passed near their camp the next morning at daybreak, and for a while lay hid in the grass, to learn their movements. While there, he heard a cry, "Are you going to hang me?" and no reply, save the ringing of a bell. In about five minutes, he heard a shot, then a whistle, and six other shots at intervals of five minutes. He lay in the woods all that day, and at night crawled along about two miles; was hid near the Wakarusa all the next day; saw a wagon stopped by five men; heard angry words, and a shot fired. In the night, worn down by his sufferings from the wound and bruises, having had nothing to eat for three days, and nothing to drink but stagnant water, he reached the house of Dr. Still, at Blue Mound.
A young man, by the name of Hill, was going to Missouri, also for provisions, and as night came, he asked two men on the road where he could find water for his horses. They said they would show him, if he would go with them. When he had gone with them to the ravine, where they said he would find water, they searched him, took whatever he had of money, and threatened to kill him. He told them he had a mother, and young brothers and sisters, dependent on him; that day after day, as she looked out for his coming, and night only brought a renewal of the sad suspense as to his fate, in sorrow she would go the grave; but there was no pity in their hearts, no mercy. They tied the young man's arms behind him, and, bending his feet backwards, tied them also to his arms, then put a stick an inch and a half wide in his mouth, prying it open, and tied the string back of his head. Then, more barbarous than the New Zealanders, they cut places in his hat, and tied that also over his face, and laid his face downwards on the stones. They went away leaving him to die.
After a time they came back; and, as one placed his pistol directly over his eye, he feeling its pressure through the hat, the other said, "Don't shoot him; he will not go any further on his journey to-night." They left again to report at the camp, probably, another victim to the vile tools of slavery propagandism.
When this young man found himself again alone, and thought they would not return, he commenced making an effort to extricate himself from his painful position. By working his boot upon the sharp stones, he found the rope loose enough for him to draw his foot out. His feet were thus left at liberty, while one boot was swinging on his back. By working his hat between his knees, he was able to pull it off his face. Then with the strip of board still lacerating his mouth, and hands fastened with strong cords behind him, he set out to find some house in the darkness of the night.
He had come from Iowa in the spring, and was but little acquainted with the country. After travelling eleven miles, he knew, by the barking of the dogs, he was near a house, but was unable to get over the fence. The strange cries he made at last attracted the attention of the family, but, supposing him to be a drunken Indian, they did not at first come to his aid. He was, however, cared for by them. Elliot, who with Titus pledged five hundred dollars for the head of Capt. Walker, when the U. S. marshal, with his usual servility, offered to send a posse for him, was one of the actors in this savage transaction. Other men were continually shot and robbed.
A man, who had a pass from U. S. Marshal Donaldson, with a load of freight, was returning to his home in the territory. The same evening of the day he left, he returned, robbed of his money, wagon and oxen, and saved his life only by a promise to leave the territory. The men who attacked him were encamped about two miles from Westport, armed, as all their men are, with U. S. rifles and side arms.
The questions asked of him were, "Where do you live? Where are you from? What are your politics? How much money did that d--d Emigrant Aid Society give you to come out here? What the h--l did you come out here for? Did you come to make Kansas a free state? Why didn't you go to Nebraska? That's a good country, and you d--d Yankees may have it; but Kansas you'll have to fight for, and we'll whip h--l out of you, but we'll get it, Union or no Union! That's a game that must win, I am thinking." The question was finally asked, "If we let you go, will you take a gun and march with the pro-slavery party?"
"Never!" was the invariable reply. In an instant, the cry resounded through the camp, "The ropes, boys, the ropes!"
It was thrown over his head, and he was dragged to the nearest tree, exclaiming, "You do not intend to kill me in this manner, do you?"
The reply was, "Yes, G--d d--n your abolition heart, and all like you!" He asked, if he was thus to be sacrificed, for time to collect his thoughts, and arrange his worldly affairs. The fiends told him he could have ten minutes to make any disposal of his property, and his peace with God. He then gave a list of his effects to one of the captains, asking him to send it east to his friends; and, at the expiration of the ten minutes, the rope was thrown over a limb, and they jerked him from the ground. After being let down, he was asked, "Will you leave the territory, if we'll spare your life?"
The prisoner objected, stating he had broken no law, and infringed upon no man's rights. The leader, who had ordered him let down when hanging, again interposed, saying he must make this promise, or lose his life. He told the men that this gentleman had a "right to be a free-state man, though no right to hold such views in Kansas; that he was guilty of no crime." With a guard he was sent back to Kansas city.
Others, going out with loaded teams, soon returned, having gone through the same operation of questioning and hanging. In one instance, as one was released, and left the camp, he heard the screams of another man in the camp across the road. Mr. Upton, the sergeant-at- arms of the investigating committee, was also threatened with hanging, but he was very firm in his expressed opinions that they wouldn't do it. When at last he told them who he was, they looked frightened, and were glad to be rid of him.
A young man and his wife, formerly from Iowa, came to Kansas city. They were fearful, and dared not stay longer in the territory. Nine yoke of cattle, which he was going to take into Iowa to sell, were taken from him by a ruffianly band just as he approached Kansas city. Some gentlemen stopping at Kansas, who had lost teams on their way down, were anxious to get back to the territory. They started one day, but returned ere its close. They thought, by going on foot, and keeping off the travelled roads, they should be able to get through without molestation; but when about twelve miles out, they fell into the enemy's hands. They were released after a time, and advised to return to Kansas city, "as they would meet with other bands, where they might fare worse."
A clergyman, from Vermont, whom I met on my tour East, and who spoke to me then of visiting the territory, to look after an insane brother, reached Kansas city on his return, having been in perils many and oft. At Westport, he stated himself a clergyman, his object in visiting the territory, and tried to hire a horse of Mr. Harris, of the Harris House. There seemed to be objections, but the matter was at last arranged. A man proposed to go with him, who also had a sick brother. Coleman stood near them as the arrangements were made. As Rev. Mr. Webster and the other man were travelling along, he noticed another man keeping always the same distance in the rear. A few miles out of Westport, the man proposed watering the horse; and, as Mr. W. dismounted, he was informed by the other man, "that he was taken out here for the purpose of an examination, to see whether the stories he told were true." The papers he found on the minister corroborated his statements, and satisfied the man. The one following had also arrived there, and entered into the examination. Mr. W. was then informed that if he went on to Prairie city, he must do so on foot, as he had orders to take the horse back to Westport. Mr. W. was unable to walk so far, and concluded to go back and make another trial. On retracing his steps, he was taken into a camp of the highwaymen, and marched about at the option of the vile men. He was surprised to find there, also in bonds, two Virginians who had made the passage of the Missouri at the same time with himself. They had promised to travel with him, to be a mutual protection, but by some means they had lost sight of each other. And they, not willing to go all lengths of robbing and shooting, in their defence of slavery, had fallen under the surveillance of these brutes in form of men.
Reports of five men hanging on the trees between Westport and Palmyra came in at Kansas city. One of the pro-slavery proprietors of the house had his information so direct that he said "he had no doubt it was true."
Some free-state families were leaving, but they were mostly those who had but recently come into the territory, and had not established themselves, and become part of the great question of slavery and freedom. Timid men turned back when their feet had hardly pressed the rich soil of Kansas; but the old settlers, undaunted by past disasters and present confusion, stood firmly upon their rights. Having put their "hands to the plough, they would not look back." In some regions, where husbands and brothers were in arms to protect some other settlement, or to drive out marauders, delicately reared and intelligent New England women were busy in the fields. Their horses and oxen stolen they were at work earnestly to get in the crops. Two beautiful and accomplished girls, thus at work, said to a friend of mine, "Those who would think less of us for working in the field, may say what they please; we do not value their opinions."
Forbearance has been the motto of our people. No means have been left untried to arouse them against national authority, but, with the trusting, peace-loving spirit, which has no parallel in history, they have cherished a faith, in the final righting of their wrongs, which indeed "hopeth all things and endureth all things." None but the intelligent, strong-hearted class of people, who have passed into Kansas, could have reached such an acme of endurance. Now another desperate effort is put forth to possess the land. Attempts are made unceasingly to drive off the timid, to harass the settlers generally, by placing the love of life in the scales with a love of freedom; by keeping in prison the leading men, and by preventing the incoming of new free-state settlers by every possible means.