Alice also was brave in her way. She resigned herself patiently to the long and frequent absence of her beloved husband, and no out-of-door work seemed too hard for her to perform. All through the autumn, she and the other women of the household had helped to gather the crops, tend the cows, and feed the horses. When it came William’s turn to patrol Lawrence, or to work at the trenches through the night, she never asked him to stay with her. She only gave him a tenderer kiss, a more lingering pressure of the hand, which seemed to say, “This may be our last farewell.”
Upon one of these occasions, he had been absent several days, and she sat at her sewing, longing, longing to hear the sound of his voice. The tramp of a horse was heard. She sprung up, and looked from the little window. William was not there, kissing his hand to her, as he was wont to do. She ran out of the door, and meeting one of his brothers, said, in a disappointed tone, “I thought William had come. He sent word he would come to-day.” He answered that it was merely one of the horses that had got loose. But as she went into the house, he looked at his wife, and said, “Poor Alice! God grant that it may not be as we fear.”
Alas, it was William’s horse, that had rushed by so fleetly, without a rider, and with the saddle turned. Too soon they learned that he had been shot in the back by a party of ruffians, after he had told them he was unarmed and going home to see his family. He supposed that even Border Ruffians would not be so cowardly as to take his life under such circumstances.
The day passed without any one’s being able to muster sufficient courage to tell the mournful tidings to his widow. She had long expected it, and she met it with a dreadful calmness. She uttered no scream, and shed no tear. She became pallid as marble, and pressed her hand hard upon her heart. She was stupefied and stunned by that overwhelming agony.
Of all the outrages none had produced so much excitement as this. It was so dastardly to shoot an unarmed man in the back, without provocation! Then Mr. Bruce was universally beloved. His justice and moderation were known unto all men. The Indians knew how to respect those qualities, which they so rarely meet in white men. The Chiefs of the Delawares and the Shawnees came to offer their aid; and General Robinson received them with that personal respect, which so peculiarly commends itself to Indian dignity. As the news spread through the Territory, small bands of volunteers came in from all directions. There were five hundred armed men in Lawrence. Every cabin was a barrack. The Free State Hotel was crowded with men earnestly discussing what measures should be taken for the public safety. General Robinson, pale and anxious, moved among them, renewing his advice to be patient and forbearing. Up to this period, the citizens of Kansas had made no aggressions on their merciless foes, and had used no violence in self-defence. But it was not easy to restrain them now. Human nature had been goaded beyond endurance, and men were in the mood to do, or die. When he told them Governor Shannon was coming to inquire into the state of things, some shook their heads despondingly, while the more fiery spirits cursed Governor Shannon, and contemptuously asked what good could be expected from him. Out on the prairie, troops were being drilled to the tunes of ’76. The Wyandotts’ were riding in, single-file, sitting their noble steeds like centaurs. The mettlesome Colonel Lane was in his element. He descanted, with untiring volubility, on the rights of American citizens, and the cruel circumstances attending the death of Bruce. Men clenched their rifles and drew their breath hard, while they listened. There is no mistaking the symptoms. The old spirit of Lexington and Concord is here! They had better not trifle with the Puritan blood much longer!
Anon, they brought in the body of the murdered man. His countenance was placid, as the sleep of childhood. The widow asked to see him, and tenderly they brought her to that couch of death. Oh, what a shriek was there! Father of mercies! it went up to thy throne. Wilt thou not answer it? In view of that suffocating agony, the soldiers bowed their heads and wept.
When Governor Shannon, with his escort, came riding across the prairie, there was none to invoke a blessing on him. General Robinson went out to receive him, and some one suggested that the chief magistrate appointed by the President ought to be received with cheers. The door of the room where the murdered body lay was open, and men saw it, as they passed in and out. The sobs of the broken hearted widow were heard from the room adjoining. His reception was very much like that of Richard Third, who caused the murder of his brother’s children. John Bradford went through a formal introduction to Governor Shannon, but Katie turned quickly away, saying, “If he had done his duty, this would not have happened.” The brothers of William Bruce turned away also, and said coldly, “We have no faith in that man.” The Governor saw plainly enough that the blood of Kansas was up to fever heat, and that it was prudent to cool it down. He was very courteous and conciliatory, and promised to disperse the bands of ruffians at Franklin and elsewhere. General Robinson co-operated with him in these efforts at pacification. He addressed the people in a speech setting forth mutual mistakes and misrepresentations, which he trusted time would correct. He had always shown himself brave in danger, and they knew that he was cautious for the good of Kansas, not for his own interest or safety. Most of them yielded to his arguments, and accepted his invitation to a supper at the Free State Hotel, in honor of peace restored. But some walked away, contemptuously, saying, “Governor Sham!”
The settlers, far and near, formed a procession to escort the body of William Bruce to its last resting place. Alice kept up her strength to witness all the ceremonies, and only low stifled sobs came from her breaking heart when the coffin was lowered from her sight. But after that she broke down rapidly. The long-continued pressure of fears and horrors had completely shattered her nervous system. She rejected food, and seemed never to sleep. As she appeared to feel more at home with Katie, than she did with any one else, they concluded to establish her in the humble apartment where she had first lived with William. Pale and silent she had been ever since she lost him; but gradually a strange fixed expression came over her face, as if the body was vacated by the soul. Soon she was utterly helpless, and Katie fed and tended her, as if she were an infant. The winter proved, as the Indians had predicted, cold beyond any within the memory of man. The settlers, many of them plundered of all their money, and most of their clothing, suffered cruelly. Not a few of them returned to their homes in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New England. Indications multiplied that peace would be of short duration. Poor Kate! How she had changed! Thin as a skeleton, with eyes so large and bright! But thinking always of others before herself, she said, “Mother, dear, worse troubles are coming upon us, than we have ever had. John and I have resolved that, living or dying, we will abide by Kansas. But had’nt you, and Flora, and Tom, better return to Massachusetts?”
The mother looked at her younger children and awaited their answer. “I have lived through scenes that make men of boys,” said Thomas. “I will have a free home, or a grave, in Kansas.”
“And you Flora?” inquired the mother.