Diary of Sara Tappan Doolittle Lawrence Robinson, December 5, 1855

-- More than a week has passed since an attack was threatened, and not one blow has been struck yet. I was awakened early this morning -- about four o'clock -- by a loud knocking at the door. It was quickly opened. Mr. P. and our Scotch friend -- whose name has also the same initial letter -- have had narrow escapes from the enemy, and an escape less fearful from a grave in the Kansas. They were dripping wet, and so chilled with the water and the keen air, that the stove heat did little good, and they soon tried a warm bed, leaving me to dry their clothes, papers, and money, which were all thoroughly soaked.

After Mr. N., who arrived here on Monday, left "Fish's," the brave Scotchman started for the mission, to bring his grievances before the governor. He was not at the mission, and, hearing he was at Westport, he followed on, went to the hotels, but could find him nowhere. He learned there, however, that Gov. Shannon had received instructions from Washington, authorizing his proceedings, and that many more are going to his aid from Westport; large numbers having already congregated there from the border towns. He heard many of their plans thoroughly discussed, as he sat by, the substance of which seems to be that there shall be a war, that the rescuers shall be delivered up, that all arms shall be given up, the leaders lynched, and the others driven from the country. He heard men high in authority say, that "now was the time; the river was just about to close; no reïnforcements could arrive for the free-state men; there were only some thirty-five hundred of them in the territory, and if they were not cut off now, they never could be; that slavery must and should go into Kansas; that they would have Kansas, though they have to wade to their knees in blood to get it; that they should fight, and let the Union go to the d -- 1!" Judge Johnson, and a young man who recently came with him, had been arrested, and the threats were not few that they would be lynched in a few days.

Learning that the governor had left Westport, our friend pursued his journey towards Kansas city; and, when about half way there, was again arrested by a band of armed men. They said, to his query, "By what authority am I a prisoner?" "By Gov. Shannon's orders." They seemed a little puzzled at his pertinent remark upon this information, "You forget, gentlemen, that we are in Missouri;" and, in the moment of wavering which followed, our friend hoped that the scales would turn in his favor, and he be allowed to go quietly on his way. But the fiat had gone forth. No one but a known pro-slavery man, or the territorial authorities, who are given over, with all their interests, to the furthering of the nefarious schemes of Atchison and Stringfellow, can travel safely in the territory, or in Missouri. Our friend was conducted to a house a little way from the road, and, as he stood before the fire, hearing their expressions of glee at the capture of some prominent free-state men, and their threats of soon lynching them, also ruminating upon his own chances of escape, he espied upon one of them a sign of membership of an odd-fellow's lodge. He made to him the sign of distress, and, by the rules of the order, he was bound to protect him. This man at once interested himself. He said to the others, the examination of the prisoner must be private, and he must make it. The rest of the ruffians agreed to it, and, in a room by themselves, he took the papers in his hand, which the prisoner gave him, then returned them, and said, "His life has been saved at his own peril."

This examination was made somewhat superficially, and with apologies. The next morning, through the interposition of this brother odd-fellow, the prisoner was released, the odd-fellow taking his hand at parting, and asking his pardon. He said, also, "Don't think hard of me, brother. I have done all I could. You were in danger, and I had two duties to perform. I am a member of another order, and am bound to act, and dare not refuse. Nor do I want to. I am a border ruffian, nor am I ashamed of it. We shall have Kansas -- we won't be cheated out of it. When they passed the Kansas bill, the pledge to us was that the South should have Kansas, and the North Nebraska; but the d -- d emigrant aid societies, and other abolitionists, expect to cheat us out of it. But they can't. We are going to have Kansas, if we wade to the knees in blood to get it."

After reaching Kansas city, our friend, in company with Mr. P., left for Lawrence. As it was impossible to go by Westport, they crossed the river about a mile from Kansas city, and came up the north side, thus being obliged to cross again at Lawrence. As they went into the ferry-boat, two men, whom they had seen hanging about the hotel at Kansas, were sitting on the bank. On seeing them, they arose and hastily took the direction towards Kansas city. The evident plan was to go back to Westport, and there get a crowd to intercept them as they should pass through the Delaware Reserve. By taking the Indian trails, now one, and then another, they reached a friendly mission-house, where an Indian guide was furnished them. At about ten o'clock they left there for Lawrence, twenty-six miles lying between them and the end of their route. As noiselessly as possible they pursued their way through the woods and darkness. They moved on stealthily as men would whose lives were in hourly peril from the enemy seen and unseen. Our young friend, having already been twice in their hands, could have little to hope for on a third arrest. When within three miles of Lawrence, they came upon a camp-fire which had been recently left, but saw no one. The Indian overheard them talking of forcing their way through the guard, should they come upon one, in preference to being taken into their camp, and refused to go further. Every inducement offered was unavailing. So, without a guide, chilled with the keen night air, weary with the excitement and want of rest, they pressed on.

Before this, however, the question of the ford at Lawrence had been discussed. Mr. P. had "never been over, but he thought he knew where it was." The young traveller "had seen people cross, and perhaps he could find it." And now the ford was reached. The ferryman lived in Lawrence, the other side of the river. The enemy might be lurking behind any of these trees. It would not do to halloo for the boat, and the ford must be attempted on horseback.

Mr. P. said to the very slenderly-built young man, who was mounted on a little Indian pony, "You go in first." He replied to the other, who rode a strong horse, and is himself of aldermanic proportions, "I do not know the ford. I have only seen people cross."

But delays were dangerous, and the young man thought "it would not be right to urge such an old man to encounter the dangers first," and gently urged his little pony in. The channel was very deep, and the waters swift. He was carried into the current, and was being borne rapidly down. He was swept out of the saddle, and held on by the pommel. He struggled long in the water, and for a few moments he thought "the Tribune would require another Kansas correspondent." At last, by extraordinary effort, he was again on terra firma, having for several moments only been able to keep his head above water.

Mr. P., in the mean time, went in a little way, but, seeing the desperate condition of his friend, returned to the shore. The young Scotchman said, in his facetious way, "I was so thoroughly chilled and exhausted then, I had as lieve fall into the enemy's hands as die so, and we hallooed for the boat for half an hour."

Word came this morning from Franklin that teams, loaded with freight for our merchants here, had been overhauled at the camp on the Wakarusa. All powder and ammunition were taken from them, while the wagons, loaded wholly with apples, potatoes and flour, were stopped entirely, and not allowed to proceed. So they intend to starve us out, or make us surrender.

The hot blood of some of our men chafes at these indignities, and they can hardly be restrained from an attack upon the camp, leaving not one to tell the tale of the infamous invasion.

A despatch must be sent to Washington, and Mr. P. accepts the mission. He is to go through Iowa, and will leave this afternoon, but thinks he must go to Kansas city first. We attempt to dissuade him, knowing the dangers of the route, which thicken every hour.

Early in the afternoon he left for Kansas city, going through the Reserve, to go thence to Iowa.

Soon after he went, I called upon some new neighbors in the valley west of us. They are western people, and the lady especially has the western peculiarities of speech.

She was sweeping the door-way as I approached the little log cabin; and, never having seen her, I said, "Good-afternoon. Is it Mrs. --?"

"Yes; come in," was the hearty reply.

There was wealth of good-nature and a whole-souled welcome in the very manner of the greeting. As I stepped in, I told her who I was; but, rather in doubt as to who I might be, she said, "Mrs. or Miss?"

Although I replied Mrs., she looked still doubtful, and said, "Do you live in the house on the hill?"

My reply being in the affirmative, and my identity being distinctly understood, we sat down and talked of the war. In the mean time I noticed with how little room one can make comfort and draw enjoyment. There were two beds, one double and the other single, looking so nicely with their white spreads and clean linen There were table, stove and book-case, all in the same small room. There were white curtains at the one little window; and the room was really so small, that at meals they were obliged to sit down around the table before the leaves were spread, having everything placed on the middle of it.

They say they would rather live in Iowa, where they came from. They do not like to live where there is so much disturbance, and, when the husband and father is from home, they are continually fearful lest some evil has befallen him.

He soon came in. He is a tall, blue-eyed man, of most prepossessing appearance, a native of Georgia, and has come to add his influence in the early settlement of his country, hoping to plant all the institutions of freedom. He said "he had looked with indescribable interest upon all the means taken for our defence, and though as a minister he could not bear arms, he still has faith in Cromwell's motto, `Trust in God, and keep your powder dry.'"

As we were talking of the war, Mrs. -- said, with her clear, ringing voice, "What does your old man think of it?"

I answered as well as I could, and am amused at this appellation, purely western, she has given my husband.

The Missourians threaten to kill all our men, and save the women for a more bitter fate; and the black flag, now waving over their camp, is eminently suggestive of their piratical designs, -- plunder, blood and rapine.

The evening was cold and dark, and chilly gusts of wind swept around the house, flapping the flag wildly, while the staff strikes against the roof. The wind creeps in too through the half-inch siding, and the stove continually cries "more wood."

All this reminds us of chilly days coming, and of the cold winds, and snows, against which the unplastered houses are a poor defence; and we realize that this invasion, let it end as it may, is not only a source of suffering in the present, but in the future will be the occasion of distress, to this persecuted people. Now is the time when they ought, and would be, preparing for winter.

As we looked out into the chilly night, we saw the great fires blazing around the forts, and the men busily plying their shovels. Night and day, taking turns by fifties, with unabated ardor, the work goes on. There will be five strong forts commanding the river and all the entrances to the town.

The men, as they work the hard-frozen earth, think of home, wife and little ones. Some are here, but some are far away, not dreaming of the dire evils which threaten the loved one. They think of their country and their God, and courage and the consciousness of doing well fill the heart, and strength nerves the arm. A tyranny less outrageous than this was overthrown by their fathers, and shall they falter when more precious rights are in peril?

As the faithful time-piece says the night is fast waning towards its mid hour, there is a welcome knock at the door, and, opening it, I find our Scotch friend is standing close to the door, with a long rifle by his side. I had tried to persuade him not to go down town after so much excitement and weariness of the last two days and nights; but his enthusiasm in the cause will not let him rest, -- besides, he is one of the general's aids, and has been attending the council of war held this evening. He says, "It is decided to send a messenger to Gov. Shannon, to ask him what is the meaning of this armed body of men quartered near our town; why he allows them to commit robberies upon our people and harass travellers, disarming them and taking them prisoners; requesting him also to order their removal." To my inquiries, Mr. P. said, "There is danger in the undertaking, but L. and B. are going. They are acquainted with the governor, and they know the password." We hope they may get through without detention.

After making beds upon the floor, and putting extra blankets on the lounge for any who may drop in for a nap before morning, replenishing the fire, I leave for my own room. And before sleeping, I wonder if we do indeed live in America, -- the so-much-boasted land, -- or whether, in her prosperity, her love of power and aggrandizement has proved the grave of all honor, patriotism and love of freedom. The question will arise, also, whether Gov. Shannon's heart has become a stony heart, thus to bring a force against his own people. This has puzzled wiser brains than mine, and so I sleep, restlessly. I dream of a royal palace where there are men sitting. They are steeped in wine. There is revelry and confusion. They talk boldly of the evil deeds with which their lives are filled, and they swear they will fill up the measure of their wickedness. They ask aid of one who seems to be in authority; and with the brimming beaker he pledges them he will go with them heart and soul in their deeds of blood. What to him is his plighted honor to a great people, or what murdered innocence and the cries of heart-stricken widows and orphans, whose homes are made desolate by the strong arm of the oppressor? Naught to him are these; so he retains the seat in the royal palace which he has disgraced, and is the representative of the law he has rendered a sad mockery. But the wine-cup falls, his knees knock together, his glaring eyes are fixed, and on the wall are characters written in living colors, unseen by all save him; but the bony, bloodless hand -- death's hand -- writes, and the words burn his soul, "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin."

The dream is over, and with the waking comes a realization that the days of the tyrant will end, as surely as revolution is born of oppression; peace and quiet springing from the broken system of tyranny, as surely as morning cometh from the night, and strength is born of sorrow.