It was then customary, when war intelligence arrived in the course of any political gathering, and sometimes of religious gatherings, to suspend all other proceedings until it had been announced and the audience had time enough to manifest its feeling on the subject.
Lane was in the midst of an eloquent passage when he was interrupted by the arrival of the news referred to. He stepped back, and the news-bearer,
taking his place, proceeded to give a graphic description of Ewing's performance, concluding with a glowing eulogy on that personage, and which was received with tremendous cheering. Understanding Lane's feelings towards Ewing, I watched his face while these events were passing. It plainly showed his vexation. It was almost livid with suppressed emotion. But the time for him to resume his address had come. What would he do was the question I asked myself. He answered it very promptly. Jauntily stepping forward with his countenance fairly wreathed in smiles, he exclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, that is glo-o-orious news for us, but it 's ter-r-r-ible for the other fellows."
Lane's enemies were confident they had him beaten as a candidate for the Senate. He had done certain things that rendered him unpopular with his constituents. So certain were they that they did not think it necessary to make an effort, and, in consequence, remained inactive. Not so with Lane. He quietly waited until a few days before the choosing of the Legislature that was to decide on his case, and then he entered on a lightning canvass. Arranging for relays of fast horses—it was before the days of railroads in Kansas—he began a tour that would bring him practically face to face with every voter in the State. He traveled and spoke both by day and by night. Sometimes he addressed as many as a dozen audiences in twenty-four hours. The excitement attending his progress was great. Men came many miles to hear him, sometimes bringing their families with them. He succeeded in completely revolutionizing public opinion. It was
too late for his adversaries to attempt a counter-movement, and the result was that Lane was re-elected by an almost unanimous vote.
There was no doubt about Lane's attitude on the slavery question. He was not only a radical Abolitionist, but the acknowledged leader of the Free-State men of Kansas. He recognized no right of property in man, as many Missouri slaveholders learned to their sorrow. I was present when he congratulated a Kansas regiment that had just returned from a raid into Missouri, bringing many black people with it. "Fellow soldiers," he shouted, "you entered Missouri a white body, but you have returned surrounded by a great black cloud. It is the work of the Lord."
There was another man whose name, the author thinks, properly belongs under the heading of this chapter, and to whom, on account of pleasant personal recollections, he would like to refer. He was not a fighter like Blair and Lane, with whom his life was in striking contrast. He was essentially a man of peace. He was a Quaker. Although born in Kentucky he was an Abolitionist. I now refer to Levi Coffin of Cincinnati, who was credited with successfully assisting over three thousand runaway slaves on their way to freedom, and, in consequence, became distinguished among both friends and foes as the "President of 'The Underground Railroad.'" The most remarkable thing in his case was his immunity from legal punishment. The slaveholders knew very well what he was doing, but so expert was he in hiding his tracks that they could never get their clutches upon him.
I had rather an amusing experience with Coffin. Having when a boy heard so much about him, I was anxious to see him and make his acquaintance. On the occasion of a visit to Cincinnati, with a letter of introduction from an acquaintance of Coffin, I went to his office, but not without trepidation. I found the great man engaged in a conversation with some one, his back being toward me, as I took my stand just inside of his door. How he became aware of my presence I don't know—I certainly made no noise to attract him—but he certainly knew I was there. Suspending the conversation in which he was engaged—he was seated in a revolving chair—he suddenly turned so as to confront me, and silently looked me over. At last he arose, and, stepping up to me, lifted my hat with one hand, and laid the other upon my head. I understood very well what his movements meant. He was looking for outward evidences of negro blood. So far as my complexion went a suspicion of African taint might very well have been entertained. I had been assisting my father in harvesting his wheat crop, and my face and hands had a heavy coating of tan, but my hair was straight and stiff. I could see that the old gentleman was puzzled. Not a word, so far, had been spoken on either side.
"Where is thee from?" was the question that broke the silence.
I answered that I was from Clark County, meaning Clark County, Ohio.