It was agreed that William’s brothers should go with a wagon to bring them. They reached Kansas city in safety, and the boxes were delivered to them. Passing through Franklin, on their return, they found fifty or sixty Missouri ruffians carousing round a rum-shop, built of logs. A man with ragged trowsers and dirty checked shirt, too tipsy to stand alone, was leaning against a corner of the shop, scraping a fiddle, while his comrades sung:
“We’ve camped in the wilderness,
For a few days, for a few days;
And then we’re going home,
We’ve a right up yonder.
We’ll vote, and shoot the Yankees,
For a few days, for a few days;
And then we’re going home,
We’ve a right up yonder.”
As soon as this drunken crew espied the baggage-wagon, wending its way toward Kansas, they set up a frightful yell, and, making a rush at the horses, called out, “Hallo, stranger! whar are you going? and what are you toting?”
“To Lawrence, with a load of household goods,” they replied.
“That’s a damned nest of Yankee abolitionists!” cried one.
“We’re gwine to wipe it out,” shouted another.
“The goods must be overhauled, boys!” bawled a third.
It was vain to remonstrate, and useless to fight against such desperate odds. They unloaded the wagons, tore open the boxes, and pulled out the home treasures, which would have been so precious to Alice. The young men pleaded hard for the letters; but the mob said they must carry them to the Governor, to see if there was treason in them.
“The Governor shall be informed of this, and if there’s justice to be obtained in the land, we’ll have it,” said the brothers.
“Shut up, you damned rascals!” shouted the rabble. “ Git into yer waggin and be off, or we’ll stop yer jawing!”