by Jane Smiley
Wood shrank back and asked by what authority that was, and Jones called out, "I’m the sheriff of Douglas County, by G—!" (This is what Frank said, though all of it was reported later in much soberer terms.)
Wood threw off Jones’s hand and exclaimed right back, "Well, by G—, I don’t recognize that authority," and turned on his heel and walked away. He was very cool, said some, and very hot, said others. The tyrant Jones grabbed him again, and then some of the Free Staters who’d been standing around jumped in. One man—Mr. Speer, Frank thought— grabbed Jones by the collar, and another took away his pistol, and then there was a general melee, with men getting knocked down and hit and even throttled, but no shots were fired. Some of the other bystanders started shouting things. Frank said that he shouted, "Put ’em in the river!" as a joke, but they didn’t do that. Jones said he’d be back to arrest them all for "resisting the duly constituted authorities," and the Lawrence men shouted, "Try it!" "Come back anytime!" and other, ruder imprecations. The whole thing was quick, lasting maybe ten minutes. After the Missourians rode away, Frank and everyone else went back to their business, as if nothing had happened, but by later that afternoon and evening, people began to believe that something had happened, partly through talking it over and partly because a party of traders who’d met Jones on the road (one of them, I was interested to hear, was our old friend David Graves) declared that he was hopping mad and only going out to find more men before returning.
"You know," said Charles that night, "everyone knows he’s got a list of all the members of the Branson rescue party. That’s why he went after Wood. Once he’s got him, then he’s going to go after all the others, too."
"So tell us at last," I said, "were you one of the rescue party that night?"
"Yes, he was," said Louisa. "That’s how we met." She smiled at him. "The first place they hid Branson was right here in this shop, while some men went out to look for a better spot. Charles stayed with him, and—who was it?—Sam Tappan and I brought them all tea for an hour or two, and then the next afternoon, Charles came by to thank me."
"I don’t care two straws about being on the tyrant Jones’s list, that’s for sure. If he’s got the right list, then it’s got quite some names on it, I’ll say," exclaimed Charles. But then, a while later, he and Thomas went out to a meeting at the Free State Hotel, and they didn’t get back until we’d all gone to bed.
The next day, being Sunday, was a natural day to hold services, though of course services were held rather intermittently in Lawrence. This service was an interesting one, because they held it right in the middle of town, at the church closest to Sam Wood’s house and therefore closest to the Free State Hotel, where plenty of others who didn’t manage to get a seat for the services were loitering. All of the attendees at the services happened to be men, and all, including Thomas, Charles, and Frank, happened to be carrying their weapons with them. So did the Reverend Lum, who was doing the preaching. The service lasted quite a while beyond the customary time, and the congregation sang many hymns, which they later said did their souls good, and presently the tyrant Jones appeared with his henchmen. The band of Missourians rode down the street and drew up in front of the Woods’ residence. According to Thomas, it was pretty clear that the whole party was drunk—"in their official capacity as Border Ruffians," said Louisa.
Sam Tappan came sauntering down the street, as planned, and the tyrant jumped on him himself. Sam gave a holler, and all the men came pouring out of the church, the Reverend Lum in the lead. Tappan turned on Jones and knocked him flat to the ground. Jones just looked up at him and smiled. Then he got up and dusted off his pants and got back on his horse. The Missourians rode off.
Now, our men had expected a little more of a fight, and yes, this behavior was as suspicious as it looked, because Jones, we later found out, ran straight to Lecompton and reported to the governor that he’d been attacked while discharging his duty, that Lawrence was therefore in revolt against the state and federal governments, and that the governor had better call out the federal troops! And the governor agreed to do it!
This was how the slave power sorted themselves out: The senators and cabinet members, for example Jeff Davis, told the President what to do, and then the President told men like Shannon and Jones that they could do what they wanted, using his men. This was how they made the illegal and immoral look decent and necessary. But in Lawrence that Sunday, we didn’t know yet what was up. The men who were there thought a fight had been averted, and some were relieved and some were disappointed. Thomas and I were to go have our supper at the Bushes’ new house on Sixth Street, and we walked out easy as you please, talking again about going to the claim for good on Wednesday. I was reluctant; it still seemed a bit as if I could avoid some evil fate if I stayed in town, but the roof was mostly repaired, the weather was good, something had to be planted, everything was for it, and I partly wanted to go—the Smithsons, the Holmeses, the Laceys, and Mr. James were all out there. We missed Mrs. Jenkins and Susannah, who had gone home to Massachusetts, and of our friends, besides Louisa, only the Bushes remained in town. I’d been out there myself twice and cleaned the stove and set the kitchen in order. Thomas and I agreed that trading was good business but not reliable, nothing to build a life around, and so on. We chatted as we walked down Massachusetts Street, making plans and feeling generally sanguine. As usual, Massachusetts Street was popping with activity, which was always enlivening. I was not yet in the same condition as Louisa, but I thought I might be soon.
By the next day, Monday, most people knew something was up, and by Tuesday, everyone was talking about something being up. And one thing I learned in K.T. was that four out of five rumors are true, even those as unbelievable as the one we learned then, that the governor was calling out the troops against the citizens of Lawrence.
The troops numbered ten dragoons, and they showed up with the tyrant Jones on Wednesday, just about daybreak ; which is not to say that the Free Staters weren’t ready for them.
It was a gloomy, chill, and overcast day, portending rain but holding off from the time we got up. Charles was out already, Louisa not saying where. The dragoons came pounding at the door to the shop just as we were sitting down for our breakfast. Thomas and Frank went down the stairs. Louisa got up from the table and went back to her bed, drawing the curtain to her room behind her. I followed Thomas in time to hear the captain of the dragoons say, firmly but politely, "I have a warrant for the arrest of Charles Bisket here. Are you Mr. Bisket?"
And Jones said, "G— d— it, he an’t Bisket! Bisket’s a skinny fellow!"
"Are you Mr. Bisket?" repeated the captain.
"No, sir. Mr. Bisket is away," said Thomas.
"Is he aware Sheriff Jones and the United States Army are looking for him?"
"Well," said Thomas, "this is the first we’ve seen of you, and I haven’t seen Mr. Bisket all—"
Frank interrupted, "What are you arresting him for, then? He an’t done nothing."
"He has not done anything," said Thomas, correctively.
The captain said, quietly, "Is Mr. Bisket attempting to evade capture—"
"Well, d— ya, an’t they all? You sound like you’re on their side! The governor sent you to help me!" brayed Jones.
They stepped back from the door, which Thomas closed. Then he and Frank put their ears to the door and soon were smiling. After a moment, Thomas looked at me. "They haven’t managed to find anyone. Jones is mad as Tucker." We all laughed. There was another knock. Thomas opened the door. The captain of the dragoons, backed by two of his men, cleared his throat and said, rather fiercely, "You are required hereby to inform Mr. Bisket when he returns that he is subject to arrest and that any further evasive action on his part will result in prosecution for resisting arrest and a sentence in the county jail."
"What is he being arrested for?" asked Thomas, mildly.
"Aiding in the escape of a prisoner. This is a felony under the laws of the Territory of Kansas." He
cleared his throat again.
Frank said, "You must be joking," but Thomas pushed him back and began to close the door. He said, "I’ll tell him. Thank you, sir."
We turned and ran up the stairs to watch them out the windows. We were just in time to see Jones throw down his hat and stamp on it. The dragoons ignored him and got back on their horses. Their uniforms were clean, their sabers shiny, and their horses good ones. They looked uncomfortable in the company of Jones and his men, who were dirty, hairy, and unkempt.
They kept at it all day, returning to us again (Thomas was extraordinarily polite and thanked them for being so assiduous in their duty "as they saw it"). The men on the list, those who knew who they were, anyway, skipped from house to house, sometimes only just sitting down for a cup of tea or a bite to eat when the knocking came. They looked for Sam Wood everywhere, because he was the one the tyrant Jones was angriest at. Up and down the street, up and down the street, up and down the street, all day long. And I have to say, most people’s business, no matter what it was, took them outside, just to watch. But that doesn’t mean any of us saw any of the fugitives fleeing out back doors and running off here and there.
By the time it started raining, which was just before supper, they’d arrested maybe a half dozen or fewer, all men of no importance, who were rather flattered to have been on the list. As for looking for the ones they wanted outside of Lawrence, on this claim or that one, well, they didn’t have the men, or the imagination, or the energy, or the will, or maybe the interest. And they did keep Jones from doing things the way he would have liked to, barging in and knocking people about, or breaking something up or in some other way venting his anger. Thomas said, "I expect the troops haven’t been quite the help Jones thought they would be." Later, we heard that some Lawrence folks were quite a bit ruder than we were—John Speer’s wife threw water into someone’s face, and one or two fired off shots. It all seemed more like a game than anything else, that is, until someone killed Jones.
The Missourians and the troops had set up camp in some trees by the river, and the sun went down. It was a wet night, but the rain cleared off a bit after supper, and some Lawrence men decided to go down by the camp, to keep an eye on it. And, said Louisa, who was beginning to worry a bit about Charles, "to invite trouble." Thomas was asked along but for once agreed with Louisa and declined. Little did we know that Frank did go, with the Lacey boys. We thought Frank was still working somewhere, since his little wagon was in great demand, and he’d been making a considerable sum each week. The fact is, I should have noticed that his rifle was gone, but I didn’t.
Thomas and I spent the evening in our room, making ready for our departure to our claim, which we had put off one day. We had packed all of Thomas’s books, so when we were finished, we asked Louisa if she would like to wait for Charles with us. She seemed worried and down in the mouth, as she and Charles hadn’t actually made much of a plan, so she didn’t know where he was or when he might be back. She knitted, Thomas sat quietly, no doubt pondering our soon-to-commence life as farmers, and I attempted to sew a little bit on the cuff of a shirt I was making for Frank. In fact, I expected Frank to come in, and had just said, "I told him for the last three nights that he had to put his things together, and when I look down there, it looks like he hasn’t done a thing."
Louisa sighed. "You don’t have to leave. I’ve been thinking about it. You’re going to be very lonely out there, is my opinion."
"Lots of folks have moved out there already," I said.
"But they aren’t necessarily your close friends. They don’t necessarily know how to promote your interests. Charles will miss you exceedingly, Thomas. In the business and otherwise." She sighed again and laid her hand over her middle. Her condition was not yet in evidence, but it was very much on her mind.
Thomas didn’t say anything, no doubt feeling that even to discuss the issue was to allow an opening that he wanted to avoid. We had spent a large sum on seed—barley and flax. Having it meant we had to plant it, didn’t it? But town still seemed bright, lively, and open to me, while our claim seemed small, dark, and silent, a rock on the prairie, a home too small in a world too vast. Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to make myself into one of those I saw all around me, who, no matter what their present circumstances, were already living in their futures—bright white clapboard houses with real United States windows looking out on broad, richly cultivated fields, but I thought if I willed myself to improve my character, I would get along well enough.
"Won’t you at least stay until Charles returns? If something unfortunate should befall him ..." She put her hand across her eyes. "I’m a strong woman, and I never flinched, all through Mr. Wheelwright’s painful end, but such a blow at this time, well..."
Thomas looked at me, not sure of what to say, and just then there was another knocking at the lower door. Louisa cried, "Oh, my land! What is that!"
Thomas went down. I stepped over to Louisa’s chair and put my arm around her shoulders. She laid her head against me. Thomas was back up the stairs in a moment. His face was flushed, and he was more upset than I’d ever seen him. He said, "That was Lacey and some others. Jones has been shot!"
"Hurt?" exclaimed Louisa.
"Killed," said Thomas, in a deep, horror-struck voice.
We jumped up in alarm. The danger to all of us in Lawrence as a result of this was only too apparent, and perhaps the danger to Charles was vastly increased. Thomas put on his coat and grabbed his hat. Then he seized his Sharps carbine and some rounds. I looked to the corner by the door where my carbine and one of Charles’s also stood. Thomas and I didn’t say aloud that we expected an attack before morning by the Missourians who had been threatening such an action for months, but we both thought it—we were both certain sure of it. Thomas said, "I have to find out what’s going on, and I have to find Frank, and I’ll try to find out something about Charles, too. But I have to go out. I can’t sit here."
"We’ll be fine, but you do have to find Frank," I said, "and then you have to give him a hiding, because he is scaring me to death."
And he was gone.
"Well!" said Louisa as the door closed after him. "We need to get ready!" She was no longer sighing, at least. She ran down the stairs to the shop, her wrapper flying behind her, and locked the door, then I helped her draw some heavy boxes in front of it. The shop had two small windows, and in front of these we tacked up blankets. Then we dragged all of the goods that might have any value to a back room and locked that door. After that, we ran up the stairs and closed that door behind us, and pushed the bedstead Thomas and I had been using in front of it, then we retreated to Louisa’s room and climbed into her giant rosewood bedstead together and hid down under the quilts. Louisa couldn’t shoot, but I had the two carbines near at hand.
We took somewhat different positions on the shooting of Jones. We both agreed that it had to be done, on the analogy of removing a burr under a saddle or easing an unbearable goad. "Now he’s gone," I said, "things will actually calm down, because he’s been the moving force behind Shannon and the rest of them, even President Pierce, I’ll bet. None of them cares about Lawrence as much as Jones did."
"But now they will," said Louisa. "Now, by killing him, we’ve proved our very lawlessness. They’ll view him as a martyr, if you ask me. This will galvanize them!"
"But everyone, everyone in his right mind, knew what Jones really was!"
"Who is in their right mind? When the K.T. question comes up in certain quarters, it drives people right out of their right mind."
I must say that though we were worried about our husbands and Frank, at the same time our own coziness gave us a deep-down faith in their safety. Louisa, who had followed some of the more advanced thinkers in Boston and the east, even said that should something happen to any of them, we would feel it, a sort of unearthly vibration, communicated to us from the spiritual realm. That sounded reassuring to me.
Mostly what we thought about the killing of Jo
nes was that now things would go one way or the other, that our uncertain spring, all fraught with speculation, would turn into a summer where at least all the parties knew where they stood. We blew out the candle, and then we drifted off, or I did. The next thing I knew, Louisa had let Thomas in, and he had Frank and Roger Lacey with him. Two candles were lit. I sat up in bed. I said, "Is there a war?"
"Everything is quiet," said Thomas. "And I know where Charles is." Louisa nodded. Across the room, the two boys were silent. I thought they were tired. I said, "My goodness, Frank! What do you mean by getting Thomas out at all hours to be looking for you? I am going to have to send you back to your mother if I can’t handle you! You are as wild as an Indian and twice as self-sufficient!"
Thomas said, "Frank was out by the Missourians’ camp."
"What in the world were you doing out there, boy? I thought you were getting some supper."
"We went out there," said Frank.
"Well, we know that."
"Everybody was out there. Governor Robinson was, and Senator Lane. The whole town was out there."
I looked at Thomas. He cocked his eyebrow and shrugged, as if to say he didn’t think so, and then said, "They had their guns with them."
I was shocked. "Whatever for! You are boys! You do not need to go armed about your business!"
The boys didn’t say anything.
I said, "Frank, I’m going to take your gun away from you before it gets you in trouble, I swear! Or I’m going to send you back to Illinois, because another night like this, well... "
But the fact was, Frank was already out of hand, had been out of hand even back in Quincy. As a last insult, I said, "I don’t know what is going to become of you, Frank. You have no schooling to speak of, you run around on your own all the time, I don’t know what you eat or when you sleep. You do not live a well-regulated life!" But whose fault was that?
"I got a hundred dollars, though," he offered.