Part 2

It was upon a stanch old German and his family, settled near the junction of the North and South branches of the Pottawatomie. Old Kepler, as he was nicknamed, had not taken any leading or even active part in the "troubles" (as they were termed), but his strong anti-slavery sentiments had cropped out and were known to the enemy.

They now made directly for his cabin, evidently resolved, as the opportunity might offer, to force him to declare himself for one side or the other. No man, in fact, in those days of the Kansas conflict,—partisan, bitter, bloody,—could long occupy anything like neutral ground. If one undertook to "sit on the fence," he soon became a target for both parties and was relentlessly dislodged.

It was not the nature of the old German to dissemble, when the trial came. On the approach of the Ruffians he prepared for the worst, as he expected no favor. He barricaded his cabin door and refused their demand for admittance. They burned his wheat and hay stacks, and all his outbuildings, and then called upon the besieged to surrender.

It was believed, probably rightly, by the assailants, that the old man was possessed of considerable money, brought with him from the old country. This lent incitement to their attack; while, if true, the fact was undoubtedly an additional motive on his part for keeping the invaders at a distance.

Brave old Kepler was quite advanced in years. He was about three score and ten, but all the old valorous Teutonic blood in his veins was aroused, and he prepared to resist the spoilers even to the death, if need be. His wife, partner of his New World adventures and toils, had succumbed not long before to the frontier hardships and had passed on. He had one son, a chip of the old block, brave, strong, and inured to the rough Western life, equally interested with the father in carving out their fortunes in this new country, and in the making of their Western prairie home.

And there was an only daughter, alike the support and solace of both father and brother;—the light, indeed, of the household and of the neighborhood.

I must interpolate a word here, in passing, descriptive of this daughter,—the worthy heroine of the event, as we shall see. She was a light-haired, blond-complexioned young girl, with all the proverbial German fairness,—bright and handsome as a prairie flower. And she had the German habit of taking a share in the work in the open field. Often was she seen by the passers up and down the creek, "chopping in corn" (as they call it in the West),—keeping even step in the row with her robust brother; or now driving the cattle while he held the plough; then changing work with him, guiding the share while he drove the oxen.

Her household duties, however, were not neglected meanwhile. Doubtless the brother, in return, here gave her a helping hand. Nowhere else on the road (as the writer can testify from personal experience) did the weary and hungry traveler find such bread as when thrown upon the Keplers' hospitality,—bread of this young girl's manufacture.

Besides all this,—and appropriately to be said in this connection,—this fair maiden could handle a rifle on occasion, as we shall presently see. Such ability was often a quite useful accomplishment for the gentler sex on our wild Western border. It proved eminently so in the case before us.

The yelling, hooting, and now drunken mob began at length to fire upon the cabin at its vulnerable points. The heroic inmates returned the shots through the holes between the logs in the loft, and not without effect. One of the assailants was seriously wounded and several others less so. The battle grew warm, the effusion of blood thus far serving only to increase the wild fury of the besiegers.

The father and son stood with their guns at the openings, while the young girl loaded the pieces for them as fast as they were emptied. At length the baffled and maddened crowd changed their tactics. They managed to pile wood, logs, and rubbish against the cabin, hoping to fire the building. There was danger that the dastardly effort would prove only too successful. The flames began to crackle. All now seemed lost, when suddenly the brave daughter unbarred the cabin door and sprang forth with a bucket of water in her hand to dash out the newly kindled flames. This was done from the girl's own impulse at the moment. Had they divined her intention, the father and brother would not have allowed it. The feat, however, strange to say, was as successful as it was heroic and perilous.

The surprised besiegers were not actually cowardly and base enough to fire upon the unarmed, defenseless girl. However, one of them sprang from his covert behind a tree to seize her. But the old backwoodsman father, watching breathlessly the scene below from his post in the loft,—his hand and eye steadied to perfect accuracy by the imminent danger,—sent a rifle-bullet straight to the heart of the venturesome wretch, and he fell forward dead at the maiden's feet.

The girl regained the door and, with the aid of her brother, who hastened to her assistance, rebarred it securely. All was now again safe for the time being,—and permanently, as it proved. The marauders, overawed by this episode and by the generally unexpected course of affairs,—one of their number being actually killed and several others more or less severely wounded,—hastily fell back to a safe distance and finally beat a retreat from the neighborhood.

V

The March Resumed

It did not require the narration of this stirring tale to nerve our forward movement, but it certainly increased our determination to proceed at all hazard.

Our next halt was made at the cabin, some miles further on, from which, as mentioned in the first chapter, the young man whom we all knew and counted as one of us had been borne off a prisoner. As soon as it was made known, by the usual signs, that we were friends, we were joyfully if tearfully greeted. The family, consisting of aged parents, sister, brother's wife and little children, were in despair. Dreadful anxiety filled their minds. It was an illustration of the saying that "to know the worst is better than suspense." If in the great cause then firing their hearts this family had seen that son and brother shot down before their eyes, they would have borne the affliction silently and with submission. But the terrible uncertainty as to his fate wrought upon them. A price had previously been set upon the young man's head, and they had reason to fear the worst for him.

It must be added, in passing, that his beloved ones never saw him again alive. The good fortune fell to us to liberate him the next day from his captors, when we found him bound upon his horse, with his hands lashed behind him and his feet tied together under the animal; but, alas! his liberation gave him only a short respite from death. He fell, only a few days after, heroically fighting at the battle of Osawatomie.

Some miles beyond we had to make that ford of the Pottawatomie river of unenviable fame, and which we looked upon as the danger-point of all others in our journey; for there our enemy, we thought, would most likely be in ambush. But we swam the swift, dark, muddy stream, swelled by recent rains to a flood, with the water up to our horses' backs, luckily without hindrance or serious mishap.

That ford was the notorious Dutch Henry's crossing, so-called,—surely a gloomy, gruesome, and dreaded spot at that dark midnight hour. There, close by, had been enacted, just two months prior, the rightly named Pottawatomie tragedy, which made that locality, on account of this bloody event, verily for the time the "storm center" of the Kansas conflict. But, terrible as it was, it served a great purpose and was speedily followed by good.

The hero of our sketch was the central figure in this tragic act of the Kansas drama, as he was in most others at this trying period. Brown was the cyclonic force, the lightning's flash in the darkness, that cleared and lighted the way for the men of that day.

Despite all delays on the way, we made our forced night-march of twenty-two or more miles in remarkably good time, and arrived at our destination about two o'clock in the morning, as weary, exhausted, and hungry a set of troopers as ever drew rein and slipped stirrup to seek rest and refreshment.

It will be of interest to our readers to learn here that, a couple of miles from the town,—our halting place,—we passed the log cabin of the Adair family, which has such historic interest gathered about it, and which we shall have occasion to mention again later.

It so happened, as we learned afterward, that the hero of our story lodged under that roof that night. He was aroused from his slumbers and watched us from the window as we marched past,—having been reliably assured, by our advanced guard, that we were no threatening foe, but his firmest and safest friends.

A photographic view of the cabin's exterior is given on the opposite page, as it appears to-day; and nearly the same as it existed at that early date, now almost fifty years ago.

The town referred to was Osawatomie, soon to be made famous by the man who is the principal subject of these sketches.

We were challenged by friendly pickets on guard, who escorted us to the old "block-house" reared for town defense, where we were glad to find shelter, and especially to find food, for hungry we were indeed.

To what a sumptuous feast were we welcomed on that occasion! And yet, strange to relate, the recollection of it is not calculated to make one's mouth water. It so happened that a side of bacon and a barrel of hardtack were stored there, for just such emergencies as the present one, and these were now pressed into our service.

Their edible condition was such as naturally to suggest certain Scripture phrases as descriptive thereof;—of the bacon, "ancient of days"; and of the biscuit, "fullness of life." As we crunched the latter between our teeth, the peculiar, fresh, sweet-and-bitter taste, commingling at every mouthful, told us too well of the "life" ensconced therein. No comments were made, however, except the ejaculation occasionally, by one and another, "Wormy!" " Wormy!"

However, nothing daunted, we paused not in our eating till our ravenous hunger was appeased. And then, on the bare floor of boards, rived roughly out of forest trees,—though it was a little difficult to fit our forms to their ridges and hollows,—we gained a few hours of as sweet and refreshing slumber as ever visited mortal eyes.

VI

Seeking the Enemy

It will be asked, perhaps, why we came to this particular place. In this little town were encamped, at this particular time, Captain John Brown and his daring and trusty band of men.

"Old Brown," as he was most often called, was a tower of strength in time of need. He had become by that time a veritable terror to the enemy. Tell a Border Ruffian: "John Brown is coming," and he would shake in his shoes, or would run away had he strength enough left for locomotion. Missouri mothers frightened their babies to sleep or to quietude by the sound of his name.

If our information were correct, the foe we sought largely outnumbered us. What more natural than that we should, under the circumstances, desire the counsel of the stanch old man, and his help, if needed.

He had not looked for an invasion from the direction at present threatened, but was daily expecting one from another quarter. He detailed two small companies, Captain Shore's and Captain Cline's,—two-thirds of his own command,—to join our force; then bade us seek the enemy, with the direction, if we found them too strong for us, to send back word to him, whereupon he would come to our aid. Meanwhile, he said, he would stay with the remainder of his men and guard the town.

We set out in the morning, early and hopefully. Scouts with fleet horses were dispatched in advance, and we rapidly followed after. Rumors of all wild and exaggerated sorts met us as we went. First, it was said, there were three hundred of the enemy, well armed and mounted; then there were five hundred men, strongly intrenched to receive our attack; later, there were a thousand, coming to meet us.

At last we began to be a little apprehensive, possibly a grain frightened. In the uncertainty, a messenger was sent back to Captain Brown to say that probably we should need his help.

But we resolutely pushed on, if with somewhat slackened speed. Presently a scout returned bearing reliable tidings. The position and strength of the invaders had been quite accurately ascertained. They were about three hundred in number, quietly encamped, and as yet unaware of our approach.

Our officers decided not to wait for Captain Brown to come up, but to press forward to the attack and by celerity of movement gain what advantage was possible.

One point was, nevertheless, taken into consideration. We were but about sixty in number, all told. We were prepared and determined to do some hard fighting if necessary; but, it was argued, if we could take the enemy by surprise, victory would be more fully assured us, and much needless spilling of blood might be avoided.

We therefore proceeded cautiously till we arrived within two miles of the hostile force, where our advanced scouts had taken up position and were actually looking down with spy-glasses into the enemy's camp and watching their every movement. The foe seemed wholly unconscious of any impending danger.

VII

The Battle

In less time than it takes to relate it, the plan of battle was arranged.

Our men were divided into three companies. Two divisions were to make flank movements, one on the right and the other on the left of the foe, while the third was to assault directly in front. The plan of attack was well conceived and as successfully executed.

We had a circuit of some miles to make to gain the flank positions. It was quickly and silently traveled. In our division, detailed on the left flank, hardly a word was spoken during a two hours' march. Each man was busy with his own thoughts. It is said that persons in critical situations will sometimes have their whole lives pass before them. I believe that most of us, during this march, recalled nearly all we had ever done or seen, known or felt.

We were suddenly awakened, at length, from such reveries, by the crack of rifles and the clash of musketry, and by bullets actually whizzing about our ears. So closely had we stolen the march on them that when we opened fire we were actually more in danger from the guns of our friends than from those of our foes.

The enemy were taken completely by surprise. As prisoners whom we took told us afterward, they thought that "Old Brown" was surely upon them; and their next and only thought was of escape. They left all, and ran for dear life, some on foot, shoeless and hatless; others springing to their horses, and, even without bridle or saddle, desperately making the trial of flight. Perfectly bewildered, they ran this way and that; and naturally, as our forces were positioned, many ran directly into our hands.

The one thing they did not do well was to fight, except in the case of a few desperate ones and of the leaders, who called in vain upon their men to rally. Then they gave up all for lost, and each looked out for himself. Many discharged their pieces at the first onslaught, but so much at random that not a man of our number was fatally injured, though several were more or less severely wounded. We took many prisoners, and captured some thirty horses, all the enemy's wagons and luggage, and much ammunition and arms. The victory was complete.

Not until all was over did Captain Brown and his reserve come up, though they had ridden hard to lend us a helping hand. He warmly congratulated us, however, upon our good success, saying that he could not have done it better himself, and that he was just as glad and proud of our victory as though he had won it.

VIII

A Scene for a Painter

There were incidents not a few, connected with the day and with the central figure of our sketch, which would add interest to our pages. One there was which especially impressed itself upon all witnesses of it.

This relates to one of the enemy who was fatally wounded in the battle. He desired very much, he said, to see "Old Brown" before he died.

Captain Brown was informed of the wish, whereupon he rode up to the wagon which served as ambulance, and, with somewhat of sternness in his manner, said to the prisoner, "You wish to see me. Here I am. Take a good look at me, and tell your friends, when you get back to Missouri, what sort of man I am."

Then he added in a gentler tone, "We wish no harm to you or to your companions. Stay at home, let us alone, and we shall be friends. I wish you well."

The prisoner meanwhile had raised himself with great difficulty, and viewed the old man from head to foot as if feasting his eyes on a great curiosity. Then he sank back, pale and exhausted, as he answered, "I don't see as you are so bad. You don't talk like it."

The countenance of Brown as he viewed the sufferer had changed to a look of commiseration. The wounded man saw it, and, reaching out his hand, said, "I thank you." Brown tenderly clasped it, and replied, "God bless you," while he turned with tears in his eyes and rode away.

The present writer was standing within a few feet of Brown at the time, and naturally drank in the scene with a boy's eager curiosity and susceptibility to impression.

It was a scene for a painter, and the artist could with appropriateness have called his work, "The Conqueror Conquered."

But it was perfectly illustrative of the man and of the hero. Brown was as brave as a lion. He seemed absolutely not to know fear. Yet withal he possessed a heart tender as a child's or as the tenderest woman's.

IX

Brown's Night Appointment

We gathered together the spoils and took up our march on the backward track toward home, discussing the exciting events of the day and recounting to each other our individual experiences, adventures, and "hairbreadth escapes." When we had thus proceeded some three miles, it was nearing sundown, and we halted for supper and to determine our course for the night.

Meanwhile we had learned an important fact from our prisoners, namely: that we had not met all of our enemies. A part of them, quite a large force, had gone north that morning, and might be at that very moment ravaging our own homes which we had left behind the evening before. Naturally, these unwelcome tidings cast a cloud across our rejoicings. They might after all be turned to mourning!

Having nearly finished our meal, and while we were yet speculating on the situation, Captain Brown hastily rose to his feet and called upon all those, who were ready to go with him, to mount their horses. Forty or more men instantly sprang into their saddles, and others were about to do the same, when the old man cried, "Enough—and too many." He thanked them for their readiness, and then selected thirty of the number, tried and trusted men who had followed him before, and without asking why or whither. In the present instance also they ventured not a question.

Brown seldom disclosed his intention or plans to any one. He wished no man with him who was not absolutely reliable. He required the implicit confidence of his followers and unquestioning obedience to his commands. Whoever put himself under his leadership took his life in his hand and followed whithersoever he was led.

On this occasion some not acquainted with his habits plied him with queries as to where he was going and what he would do. He only answered, characteristically, that he "had an appointment with some Missourians and must not disappoint them." One ventured jocosely to ask further, concerning the appointed place of meeting. He replied, they had not been kind enough to fix upon the precise spot, but he felt bound, out of courtesy, inasmuch as they came from a distance, to hold himself in readiness when wanted. This left us, of course, wholly in the dark as to his movements.

With some words of advice to those of us remaining,—that we would better seek our homes, be prepared to defend them, and ready for any action when needed,—he gave the command, "Ready! Forward!" and, with a wave of his hand, led his Knights Errant away.

After they had departed it was decided that it would be advisible for us to return to the camping-ground of the enemy and pitch our tents there for the night; because, it was argued, when the detached force gone north returned, they would naturally seek their friends in the camp where they left them.

Accordingly, though weary near to exhaustion, we returned and camped there, threw out our pickets, and made every preparation to give the marauders a warm reception should they appear. We slept on our arms, ready for any emergency, but the night passed and we were undisturbed.

The next morning dawned on us clear and beautiful. All our apprehensions of danger had passed with the darkness. Our pickets were withdrawn. The scouts, who had been sent out to gather news of the scattered settlers, had come back with no tidings of the foe we had awaited. Consequently, relieved of all military restraint, we gave ourselves up for the time to the preparation and enjoyment of an early breakfast.

The wagons were unpacked of their provisions. The horses were picketed, or were turned loose for grazing. The prisoners, disarmed, were allowed comparative freedom. Fires were lighted here and there for cooking. And thus we were spread out over a large area, forgetful of the enemy, without a thought of an attack, and bent only on making ready to satisfy the cravings of hunger.

X

An Intrepid Charge

Then occurred the scene which gives us one of the glimpses of John Brown for the sake of which these reminiscences have been written.

Suddenly, over the hill or rising ground some half or third of a mile away, two horsemen came up at full speed.

"Look! look!" was whispered in suppressed voices from one to another of our party, and all eyes were upturned in that direction.

Observing us, the horsemen as suddenly turned on their heels, and disappeared the way they came, leaving us stupefied with doubt and wonder.

In a moment more, however, the heads of a whole troop rose in sight, and the cry, "The Missourians! the Missourians!" rang through our camp in startling accents.

We were in dismay, for we were entirely unprepared for attack and there was no time to make ready. We were apparently caught just as our enemy had been surprised by ourselves. Men sprang, some for their arms, some for their horses. Whether to fight or to try to escape was uppermost in their minds,—each could settle that question only for himself. At any rate, every one felt that a daring and determined foe, apparently numbering a hundred, which was double our own number, could, in the condition in which we were, utterly cut us to pieces and destroy us at a blow.

What grave emotions that thought aroused! It is difficult for one, never thrown into any such situation, to realize or in any degree even imagine the feelings that may surge through the bosom of men thus placed. Accounts have been given of what panic-stricken crowds or armies will sometimes do, but a description of what they _feel_ on such occasions of disaster was never yet fully penned or painted by man.