Poor Alice! The blessed words, warm from her mother’s heart, that would have poured such balm into her own, would be used to light the pipes of Missouri ruffians. The quilts, so neatly made by those dear old hands, would be spread on muddy floors for drunken revels. It was hard to bear; but she knew this was only one of a thousand wrongs, and she said, “I will never murmur while my dear good William is spared to me.”
From the time of her betrothal, her loving heart had dreamed of a neat little wedded home, cozy and comfortable, with a few simple adornments of pictures and vases. The loosely-built cabins of Kansas, with their rough “cotton-board” floors, brown with prairie mud, had driven away the illusion; but still it hovered there over Mount Oread, and the Mountain Spirits seemed to sing a prophetic song of love and peace in a sunny future. She found the new home provided with more conveniences than the one she had left; for William, in the midst of all his cares, never forgot her, and snatched an hour, whenever he could, to work for her comfort.
It was the morning of a sunny day when they entered their new abode, and all things looked neat and cheerful. William, who was reverential by temperament, viewed all the common duties and affairs of life in a religious light. They stood for a moment, hand in hand, gazing at the humble little cabin, with moistened eyes. Then he removed his hat, and looking earnestly to heaven, he threw water on the roof, saying, “I baptize thee the Freeman’s Home. May the blessing of God descend upon thee!” There was a saddened pleasure in thus consecrating their encampment in the wilderness.
In Lawrence, darker, and darker yet, the storm was lowering. Autumn was coming on with heavy dews, and cold winds from the mountains swept across the open prairie, whistling through the loopholes of the fragile cabins, as they went. The dampness and the chill brought with them that dreadful demon of the settler’s life, fever and ague. The arms of strong men were palsied by it, and the little children looked like blossoms blighted by a sudden frost. The active, generous-hearted Katie found time to run hither and thither with gruel and medicine, though her own little one was shivering, as if his joints would fall asunder. Many a murmured blessing followed her footsteps from cabin to cabin, and many a grateful tear fell on her hand, from home-sick souls, sorrowful, even unto death. In the midst of this calamity, rumours of invasion by the Missourians increased daily. In John Bradford’s cabin all slept so lightly, that the slightest unusual sound startled them to instant wakefulness. The distant whoop of Indians on the prairie, and the howling of hungry wolves disturbed them not. They were in dread of a more infernal sound than these; the midnight yell of Border Ruffians. A few weeks after the departure of Alice, they were waked from uneasy slumbers by that frightful noise, at the very walls of their cabin. Katie rose hastily, and laying her sick child on the floor, covered him with a thick cotton comfortable; hoping that the rifle-balls, if they whizzed through the cabin, would either fly over him, or lose their force in the wadding. There was a random shot, but the ball stuck in the boards at their bed’s head. The next moment the door was burst open by twenty or thirty fierce-looking men, armed with bowie-knives and revolvers. Never, out of the infernal pit, was heard such a volley of blasphemy and obscenity, as poured from their foul mouths. The purport of it all was that they had sworn to “wipe out Lawrence;” and that they had come to shoot this “damned Yankee abolitionist,” who had had the impudence to write in the paper that Kansas would yet be a Free State. They attempted to seize Mr. Bradford, but his wife threw herself across him, and said, “If you murder him, it shall be through my heart’s blood.” They struck her with their fists, they tried to pull her away; but she clung with a convulsive power that was too strong for them. Her brother, Thomas, was out that night, watching with a neighbour who was “down” with fever and ague; and it had been previously arranged that young Flora and her mother should remain hidden in the loft, in case of such an emergency. No screams ascended to their ears, for Katie had outgrown a woman’s weakness. But the listening mother heard the scuffle below, and, bidding Flora to hide in the darkest corner, she hastened down the ladder, and threw her arms round John and Katie, saying, “You shall kill me first.” They cursed her, and spit at her, and, knocking the night-cap from her head, made mockery of her gray hairs. The lurid light of their torch fell on the scene, and all the while, the wailing of the sick child was heard: “Mammy! Johnny’s ’faid. Mammy! Johnny’s ’faid.”
How the struggle might have ended, none can tell, had not a tall figure suddenly burst into the room, exclaiming, “Boys! I’m down on all sich fixens. Let the women alone! I’ll be darned if I don’t like to see a woman stick to her husband in trouble, if he is a damned abolitionist. Let her alone, I tell ye! Wait till the time comes for a far fight. It’s all fired mean, boys! Sich a posse arter one man and two women.” Seeing the human wolves reluctant to quit their prey, he brandished a bowie-knife, and exclaimed, in a thundering voice, “I tell ye what, boys, if ye don’t let them ar women alone, I’ll pitch into yer, as sure as my name’s Tom Thorpe!”
This remonstrance excited a feeling of shame in some of the gang, while others were willing enough to avoid a quarrel with such a powerful antagonist.
The ruffians, thus adjured, swaggered away, saying, “We a’nt afeerd o’ Tom Thorpe, or the devil.” They swore frightful oaths, smashed Kate’s small stock of crockery, and seized whatever they could lay hands on, as they went. And all the while, the sick babe was wailing, “Mammy! Johnny’s ’faid. Mammy! Johnny’s ’faid.”
Kate took the poor attenuated child in her arms. Those arms, so strong a few moments ago, were trembling now; and tears were dropping from the eyes that lately glared so sternly on her husband’s enemies. Tom Thorpe lingered a moment, and was turning silently away, when she rose, with the child resting on her shoulder, and took his hand in hers. “I thank you, Mr. Thorpe,” she said. “This is the second time you have protected me from insult and injury. I will never forget it. And if a helpless Missourian should ever need my aid, though he be the worst of Border Ruffians, I will remember Tom Thorpe, and help him for his sake. I am sorry you stand up for slavery; you seem to have a soul too noble for that. I am sure if you lived in a Free State for a while, you would be convinced that slavery has a bad effect on all concerned in it.”
The mother here laid her hand on his arm, and said, “We are a persecuted people, Mr. Thorpe; persecuted without provocation; and, I believe, something in your own heart tells you so. God bless you for what you have done to-night.”
Mr. Bradford, who had been looking through the chinks in the wall, to watch the course the ruffians had taken, now came up to add his thanks, and ask him if he would take any refreshment.