The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton (28 page)

In the meantime, the Missourians continued to gather at the border, preparing their assault. It was the same rumor every day, and we ceased paying any attention to it. People who talked about it got to be known as newcomers or panicked. We all knew what the Missourians were really capable of, with all their big talk, and it was only an occasional brutal act, nothing concerted. Even so, I began to think that every circumstance was pushing us back toward our claim—the warming weather, the situation with Louisa, the dangers of living in Lawrence. Things would look different out there when the sun was shining and the ground was dry and ready to be planted. Frank was so alarmed by these signs that he began trying to soften me up to the idea of his staying in town.

Building in Lawrence and round about was like a pot that is boiling, its lid held down. The winter put the lid on it, but at the very first signs of spring, the lid popped off. New houses made new streets, new settlers had new money, everyone with anything to sell was busy selling it. Charles and Thomas raised their hauling prices, then raised them again. I was glad I’d saved my two bolts of sailcloth—I could get the same for two lengths, enough to sew up one bed tick, as I had gotten in the winter for a whole bolt. Frank brought in nails he found in the streets, hammered them out straight, and sold them for a penny apiece. The dullest man in the world could make some money if he was willing to split shakes. Anytime we worried about Missourians massing on the border, we looked around us at all the activity, all the new faces. They could mass all they wanted, but they could never put a stop to this, could they?

March turned into April much faster than December had ever turned into January or January into February. Thomas and I got behind in our plans to return to our claim, but we told ourselves that there was so much business to do every day—when things slackened, we would get out there.

NOW I WILL TELL in proper sequence what happened to the congressional memorial for statehood, even though it took a while longer for us to hear about it. And it was very Jim Lane, very Jim Lane, indeed.

When he first got to Washington, "Senator" Lane had a hard time finding someone to present the memorial to Congress, but he managed to find General Cass. The oldest man still working, General Cass must have been quite dim of sight, because after he presented the memorial, the other members of Congress told him that it was full of crossings-out and interlineations. And all the signatures were in one person’s handwriting! General Cass was embarrassed, of course, but Jim Lane wasn’t. He told them in an affidavit that he’d been given the authority by the Topeka convention to revise some of the phraseology, and then, well, he had lost the signatures, so he and his assistant had put their heads together and tried to remember who had signed and just appended those names.

The southern congressmen were incensed, of course. On the one hand, they declared the whole thing a forgery, and on the other, they said that the names appended were all names of "fugitives from justice."

"Senator" Lane continued unembarrassed. He now turned in another document, and this time he got the attention of Senator Douglas himself, who saw that he had crossed out some bits about the exclusion of free Negroes from the state, something Thomas, of course, was glad he crossed out, even if he had done so just to win some northern senators’ votes and not out of principle. But Senator Douglas’s views were different from Thomas’s, and he pronounced the whole procedure a fraud and roundly chastised "Senator" Lane, and the whole effort made the Free State party in K.T. look both wrong and foolish. The Robinsons and their friends were said to be royally upset, but there was nothing for it. Jim Lane was Jim Lane, as Louisa and Charles and everyone else said. If the Robinsons wanted it done their way, they should have left off building their house and gone to Washington, D.C., themselves.

Jim Lane would never admit that he’d done a thing wrong. He did what he had to do, he told everyone, and in the end, he did get Congress to vote for admission, because the northern states were more populous and had more congressmen than the southern states. "But," he said when he came back, "no one can get around the ’Little Giant,’ or, as I prefer to call him, the ’Little Tyrant,’ or the weight of the slave power in the Senate and in the cabinet." Everyone knew this was true, even the Robinsons and their supporters. We all ended up agreeing that no doubt we looked somewhat foolish, after all, but "Senator" Lane had gotten as far with his memorial as anyone else would have, given what he was trying to do and where. The result was that Jim Lane went on as before, and so did everyone else. You couldn’t get rid of Jim Lane. What some senators and congressmen said of us began to trickle back, through newspapers, letters, and talk. More than one thought the Free Staters were moving toward treason, were acting outside the law, were criminals, but this was so patently untrue that we looked to the source—always a voice from the southern side—and laughed. Mr. Thayer, in Boston, and the other men back in Massachusetts thought sentiment was flowing, even surging, our way in the north, especially the northeast. We just had to sit tight and wait, they said. Do this, don’t do that. And there was a lot of discussion in Lawrence, especially once the Free State Hotel was completed and everyone had a place to gather.

Could things have gone another way? I’ve often wondered that since. What if Jim Lane had not been a factor, or if he’d been a quieter, less flamboyant man, never carried into bungling by his own rhetoric? What if instead of Lane and Robinson there had been two like Robinson—two conservative, thoughtful, and cautious men, content to wait, build, and do business? But then, when I think this, I realize that there could never be two like Robinson; there always has to be a Lane, because there’s a position open for a Lane in any controversy. As for doing this and not doing that, not everyone is equally well instructed in what they should do, or equally willing to do or not do. I have since thought that five Robinsons could not have directed the people of Lawrence in a course of action wise in every particular, because the people of Lawrence could not be directed. That was why most of them had come to K.T. in the first place, because they expected less direction here than elsewhere. And anyway, some people just wanted a fight. Some people always want a fight, and they aren’t always the men. There were times when I just wanted a fight myself. Thomas, though, Thomas never just wanted a fight. What he wanted most was time to think things through.

CHAPTER 16

I Am Hopeful, and Receive a Surprise

Women, European contempt for, 30. American esteem for, 30. Influence if, on individuals and nations, 37. Exercise taken by English, 45. Responsibleness of, 53. Eating without being hungry, 98. Responsibility of, as to intemperance, 106. Precedence given to, in America, 141. Importance and difficulty of their duties, 155. General principles for, 158 ; frequent inversion of them, 160. Men engaged in their work, 164, 165. On their keeping accounts of expenditures, 173, 174. Imagining themselves domestics, 205. See American women. —Index

IN APRIL, Thomas got into the habit of taking Jeremiah out to the claim every so often and thinking things through out there. He cleared away the destruction bit by bit, put things away, assessed what was left and what it would take to put it back together. He built some more fence and cleared a few acres of prairie. We talked about what we might plant there: some flax? some vegetables for local consumption? oats? rye? buckwheat? Different men had different advice, and we listened to it all. The fact was, we were doing so much business in town that the claim seemed as remote as California. I took my profits from my two bolts of sailcloth and sent them back to Thomas’s brothers, who sent me eight more bolts as well as a lot of good rope. Even though we knew lots of things were being confiscated in Missouri, these managed to get through—there was no rhyme or reason to what got through and what didn’t, though there were always rumors of Sharps rifles not getting through. I found it amazing how many uses men could find for good rope, and my rope was in high demand. Charles bought another wagon and another team of mules and let Frank drive them. On the days when Charles and Thomas were out of town, Frank went around from job to job in his wagon, with his mules, shouting things like, "Watch the mules, there! Careful, now! Wagon coming through!" He continued to sleep in the shop downstairs, but with the mild weather and the sunshine, I couldn’t say how much he was actually there. The school started up again, over on Vermont Street, but Frank wasn’t in attendance.

One thing that happened was that three congressmen came to town to look into things. There was a man from the north, Howard, of Michigan, another man from the north, Sherman, of Ohio, and this man Oliver, from Missouri, who was said to be one of the worst of them. They set up in the Free State Hotel, and all kinds of people went over to testify, and even more went over just to have a look. It seemed like while they were there, they surely would end up seeing our side. Even Oliver was friendly enough in his official capacity, and none of them ever turned down one iota of Lawrence hospitality.

And so everything in Lawrence was business and making money, until Sam Wood came back to town. Sam Wood was the husband of Mrs. Wood, who had made the celebrated dash for powder and balls, and he had been away most of the winter after the killing of Dow and the freeing of Branson, which started the Wakarusa War. Mrs. Wood and I maintained a cordial acquaintance, as I always admired her enterprise in substituting that shot and powder for the wadding of her dress, and she always admired my willingness to outrun any and all pursuers in the same endeavor. She was much older than I was and spent a lot of time in her sewing circle, so our paths didn’t often cross, but I knew, as did everyone, that Sam was coming back, and why shouldn’t he?

Except that in the eyes of the tyrant Jones, the so-called sheriff, Sam Wood was a fugitive.

Frank happened to be on the scene with his wagon, as some furniture was being moved from the house across the street to a house at the other end of town. But Frank had a knack for being on any scene, so I was hardly surprised to hear all about it only an hour or so after it occurred.

Jones hadn’t been around much, and whatever official functions he performed away from Lawrence were performed by our own authorities in and around Lawrence. Mostly this would have amounted to keeping the peace and limiting the brawls and fights that accompanied arms and drink wherever you were (though the New Englanders, of course, always maintained that brawls and fights were something visited upon them by settlers from other parts of the country, never their own folks). Anyway, Jones and some men he had with him came up to Sam Wood on the street and laid hold of him, saying, "I’m taking you prisoner."

Wood shrank back and asked by what authority that was, and Jones called out, "I’m the sheriff of Douglas County, by G—!" (This is what Frank said, though all of it was reported later in much soberer terms.)

Wood threw off Jones’s hand and exclaimed right back, "Well, by G—, I don’t recognize that authority," and turned on his heel and walked away. He was very cool, said some, and very hot, said others. The tyrant Jones grabbed him again, and then some of the Free Staters who’d been standing around jumped in. One man—Mr. Speer, Frank thought— grabbed Jones by the collar, and another took away his pistol, and then there was a general melee, with men getting knocked down and hit and even throttled, but no shots were fired. Some of the other bystanders started shouting things. Frank said that he shouted, "Put ’em in the river!" as a joke, but they didn’t do that. Jones said he’d be back to arrest them all for "resisting the duly constituted authorities," and the Lawrence men shouted, "Try it!" "Come back anytime!" and other, ruder imprecations. The whole thing was quick, lasting maybe ten minutes. After the Missourians rode away, Frank and everyone else went back to their business, as if nothing had happened, but by later that afternoon and evening, people began to believe that something had happened, partly through talking it over and partly because a party of traders who’d met Jones on the road (one of them, I was interested to hear, was our old friend David Graves) declared that he was hopping mad and only going out to find more men before returning.

"You know," said Charles that night, "everyone knows he’s got a list of all the members of the Branson rescue party. That’s why he went after Wood. Once he’s got him, then he’s going to go after all the others, too."

"So tell us at last," I said, "were you one of the rescue party that night?"

"Yes, he was," said Louisa. "That’s how we met." She smiled at him. "The first place they hid Branson was right here in this shop, while some men went out to look for a better spot. Charles stayed with him, and—who was it?—Sam Tappan and I brought them all tea for an hour or two, and then the next afternoon, Charles came by to thank me."

"I don’t care two straws about being on the tyrant Jones’s list, that’s for sure. If he’s got the right list, then it’s got quite some names on it, I’ll say," exclaimed Charles. But then, a while later, he and Thomas went out to a meeting at the Free State Hotel, and they didn’t get back until we’d all gone to bed.

The next day, being Sunday, was a natural day to hold services, though of course services were held rather intermittently in Lawrence. This service was an interesting one, because they held it right in the middle of town, at the church closest to Sam Wood’s house and therefore closest to the Free State Hotel, where plenty of others who didn’t manage to get a seat for the services were loitering. All of the attendees at the services happened to be men, and all, including Thomas, Charles, and Frank, happened to be carrying their weapons with them. So did the Reverend Lum, who was doing the preaching. The service lasted quite a while beyond the customary time, and the congregation sang many hymns, which they later said did their souls good, and presently the tyrant Jones appeared with his henchmen. The band of Missourians rode down the street and drew up in front of the Woods’ residence. According to Thomas, it was pretty clear that the whole party was drunk—"in their official capacity as Border Ruffians," said Louisa.

Sam Tappan came sauntering down the street, as planned, and the tyrant jumped on him himself. Sam gave a holler, and all the men came pouring out of the church, the Reverend Lum in the lead. Tappan turned on Jones and knocked him flat to the ground. Jones just looked up at him and smiled. Then he got up and dusted off his pants and got back on his horse. The Missourians rode off.

Now, our men had expected a little more of a fight, and yes, this behavior was as suspicious as it looked, because Jones, we later found out, ran straight to Lecompton and reported to the governor that he’d been attacked while discharging his duty, that Lawrence was therefore in revolt against the state and federal governments, and that the governor had better call out the federal troops! And the governor agreed to do it!

This was how the slave power sorted themselves out: The senators and cabinet members, for example Jeff Davis, told the President what to do, and then the President told men like Shannon and Jones that they could do what they wanted, using his men. This was how they made the illegal and immoral look decent and necessary. But in Lawrence that Sunday, we didn’t know yet what was up. The men who were there thought a fight had been averted, and some were relieved and some were disappointed. Thomas and I were to go have our supper at the Bushes’ new house on Sixth Street, and we walked out easy as you please, talking again about going to the claim for good on Wednesday. I was reluctant; it still seemed a bit as if I could avoid some evil fate if I stayed in town, but the roof was mostly repaired, the weather was good, something had to be planted, everything was for it, and I partly wanted to go—the Smithsons, the Holmeses, the Laceys, and Mr. James were all out there. We missed Mrs. Jenkins and Susannah, who had gone home to Massachusetts, and of our friends, besides Louisa, only the Bushes remained in town. I’d been out there myself twice and cleaned the stove and set the kitchen in order. Thomas and I agreed that trading was good business but not reliable, nothing to build a life around, and so on. We chatted as we walked down Massachusetts Street, making plans and feeling generally sanguine. As usual, Massachusetts Street was popping with activity, which was always enlivening. I was not yet in the same condition as Louisa, but I thought I might be soon.

By the next day, Monday, most people knew something was up, and by Tuesday, everyone was talking about something being up. And one thing I learned in K.T. was that four out of five rumors are true, even those as unbelievable as the one we learned then, that the governor was calling out the troops against the citizens of Lawrence.

The troops numbered ten dragoons, and they showed up with the tyrant Jones on Wednesday, just about daybreak ; which is not to say that the Free Staters weren’t ready for them.

It was a gloomy, chill, and overcast day, portending rain but holding off from the time we got up. Charles was out already, Louisa not saying where. The dragoons came pounding at the door to the shop just as we were sitting down for our breakfast. Thomas and Frank went down the stairs. Louisa got up from the table and went back to her bed, drawing the curtain to her room behind her. I followed Thomas in time to hear the captain of the dragoons say, firmly but politely, "I have a warrant for the arrest of Charles Bisket here. Are you Mr. Bisket?"

And Jones said, "G— d— it, he an’t Bisket! Bisket’s a skinny fellow!"

"Are you Mr. Bisket?" repeated the captain.

"No, sir. Mr. Bisket is away," said Thomas.

"Is he aware Sheriff Jones and the United States Army are looking for him?"

"Well," said Thomas, "this is the first we’ve seen of you, and I haven’t seen Mr. Bisket all—"

Frank interrupted, "What are you arresting him for, then? He an’t done nothing."

"He has not done anything," said Thomas, correctively.

The captain said, quietly, "Is Mr. Bisket attempting to evade capture—"

"Well, d— ya, an’t they all? You sound like you’re on their side! The governor sent you to help me!" brayed Jones.

They stepped back from the door, which Thomas closed. Then he and Frank put their ears to the door and soon were smiling. After a moment, Thomas looked at me. "They haven’t managed to find anyone. Jones is mad as Tucker." We all laughed. There was another knock. Thomas opened the door. The captain of the dragoons, backed by two of his men, cleared his throat and said, rather fiercely, "You are required hereby to inform Mr. Bisket when he returns that he is subject to arrest and that any further evasive action on his part will result in prosecution for resisting arrest and a sentence in the county jail."

"What is he being arrested for?" asked Thomas, mildly.

"Aiding in the escape of a prisoner. This is a felony under the laws of the Territory of Kansas." He cleared his throat again.

Frank said, "You must be joking," but Thomas pushed him back and began to close the door. He said, "I’ll tell him. Thank you, sir."

We turned and ran up the stairs to watch them out the windows. We were just in time to see Jones throw down his hat and stamp on it. The dragoons ignored him and got back on their horses. Their uniforms were clean, their sabers shiny, and their horses good ones. They looked uncomfortable in the company of Jones and his men, who were dirty, hairy, and unkempt.

They kept at it all day, returning to us again (Thomas was extraordinarily polite and thanked them for being so assiduous in their duty "as they saw it"). The men on the list, those who knew who they were, anyway, skipped from house to house, sometimes only just sitting down for a cup of tea or a bite to eat when the knocking came. They looked for Sam Wood everywhere, because he was the one the tyrant Jones was angriest at. Up and down the street, up and down the street, up and down the street, all day long. And I have to say, most people’s business, no matter what it was, took them outside, just to watch. But that doesn’t mean any of us saw any of the fugitives fleeing out back doors and running off here and there.