Memory-1856, September 6

George F. Pierce, D. D., Bishop in the M. E. Church South, travelled to attend the Kansas Mission Conference in Kickapoo, Kansas Territory (just north of Fort Leavenworth) which was to begin mid-September 1856. Travelling by train and steamboat he came to Kansas City, then to the Shawnee Mission before the Conference. He reported his observations, published in his book, Incidents of Western Travel: in the series of letters.

   When we took the steam back at Jefferson City on Saturday night [September 6, 1856], it was my purpose to stop and preach at Boonville. The river, however, was low, and though the boats kept moving up and down, none of them could calculate their time exactly. When they would strike, how long they would stick, no man could tell. After many inquiries, and at the request of the captain and the passengers, I concluded to move on and preach upon the boat. The service was informal as to its order. We had no singing. We can sometimes start a tune, and, if others will join me, can hold on to it and carry it through the hymn; But without aid, I am apt to indulge in a little variety—mixing the metres, contrary to science and all the recognized standards. Having no helper, I declined any experiment. Reading the scriptures, prayer and preaching made-up the service. I addressed the irreligious, and pressed the importance of immediate decision and personal conversion. The emotion of my own spirit and seriousness of my audience, with the tears of some, inspired the hope that eternity will reveal fruit, as the result of that day’s sowing.

   We had the board governor Kerry and his secretary, and a committee appointed by a public meeting in Saint Louis to visit Kansas and report the real state of affairs, with some other officials of the general government and the territory. Of course, Kansas and its troubles were the topics of hourly conversation. Before leaving home, and on the route, I had read all the stories of wrong and outrage, blood and death, which had been published to inflame the country and make capital for the political speculators. In such a struggle I knew that partisan reports were not to be relied on, and that rumors grew as they traveled; and with a mind open to receive the truth, I listened to those who claimed to know all about the soil, the people, the parties, the battles, the plans for the future. If I had been perplexed by what I read, I was confounded by what I heard. The thread of history became more knotty and tangled. The nearer I came to the scene of action, the more doubtful, contradictory, and uncertain was all I heard. The honest did not know what was true, and the designing manufactured to order. There was no limit to tales but the power of invention; and the public mind, excited and exasperated, was credulous to weakness. The most fabulous account found ready listeners and believers. If I had been like-minded, the Kansas Mission Conference would not have met, or at least would have been without a bishop.

   One man, who seem to know everybody out there, and to be posted in the history of the past and the prophecy of the future, besought me most earnestly not to put my foot ashore: said the idea of holding a Conference anywhere in the Territory was an absurdity—downright madness—and utter impossibility; That my life would be in danger every step I took; and this he said with emphasis, for you verily believed it. When I told him my route and plan of travel, he pronounced it the very worst I could take: he knew where every foot of it: there was more tender, deeper, darker thickets than anywhere else, and in his imagination there was a rifle and a marauder behind every bush. I said to him, “My friend, you are scared, excited.”

   “No, sir, I speak the truth; and if you go on, you will find it as I tell you. You are not safe, except with a large company, well armed.”

   “Very well, I shall try it without company save my little nephew, and without gun, or pistol, or knife.”

   With a look which seemed to say, “You are a fool,” he said he had given me “fair warning in kindness and truth. You can go, but you will hold no Conference, and most likely will never see home again.” When the time came for us to part, he bade me farewell very kindly and renewed his admonition.

   Governor Geary is a tall good-looking man, without any very striking feature, of easy manners, pleasant in conversation; and he seemed to have very just views of his duties and responsibilities. He impressed me very favorably. At several a towns on the river, as we ascended, he was called out to make a speech, and essayed the task, but did not succeed very well. His talent does not run that way. He is a man of plain, strong common sense; talks fluently and intelligently: has travelled—held office—is decided—has a strong will—thinks for himself, and will command respect and maintain authority anywhere. His appointment was opportune; and if he had been the first governor instead of the last, less blood would have been shed, and the “freedom-shriekers” would have had more patriotic employment.

   When we reached Glasgow, we found a boat at the landing and a crowd upon the bluff. Governor Shannon was in the boat, returning from Kansas. Governor Geary sent for him. They had an interview, and Governor Shannon’s report was indeed alarming, if it had not been apparent that he himself was panic-stricken. He had tried to conciliate when he ought to have punished—to harmonize belligerent factions, when he ought to have stood firm upon the law—until the elements of strife waxed into war, and he, powerless and without authority or influence, was driven from his post. He informed Governor Geary that every road in the Territory was strewn with the dying and the dead; and his opinion seemed to be, that there could be no arbiter but the sword, and no peace but by the annihilation of one of the parties. A man of peace, he was not fitted for the emergency. All—friends and foes—agree that he desired to do his duty, but lacked nerve for the crisis.

   Here a company of Missourians came on our boat, en route for Kansas and the war. They were armed for slaughter—guns in their hands, pistols by their sides, bowie-knives in their bosoms. With courage equal to their resources, they would have made a desperate fight. Having read many hard things of the “Border Ruffians,” I determined to mingle with them, get their ideas, learn their spirit, and find out what manner of men they were. Let me premise: this company of near a hundred men were a fair specimen of those who have gone from Missouri to take part in the territorial strife. They were generally plain, humble, honest farmers, or young men from the country, called out, as they thought, by a great public necessity. They were not adventurers, seeking land or notoriety. Much less were they propagandists, seeking to force an obnoxious institution upon an unwilling people. They proclaimed themselves the friends of law and order, offered their services to Governor Geary in upholding legitimate authority, and declared they would not fire a gun, nor strike a blow, save under the order of those whose business it was to command. On a crowded boat, with everything in the hourly tidings from Kansas to excite them, they behaved themselves with propriety. They were quiet, polite, orderly. There was no drunkenness, no obscenity, no ribald song, no profanity. Governor Geary, who had certainly thought that the name “Border Ruffian” was descriptive—at least meant something not very complimentary to character, manners, or spirit—expressed himself to me as surprised and gratified with what he saw and heard. He felt that his work would be easier, his difficulties less than he had expected. It could not be much of a task to govern such men. Further observation confirmed the good opinion I formed of them, and satisfied me that whatever may have been the outrages of individual desperados, the organized bands of Missouri had been grossly slandered, both as to their intentions and their acts. Exasperated by numberless provocations, some imprudence were committed, I doubt not; but after acquainting myself on the spot with the opinions and temper and wishes of her people, if Missouri needed an advocate before the country, I would volunteer in her defence. The truth of history will be her vindication and her eulogy.

   As far as I can, without mixing myself with parties and politics, in the progress of these letters, I shall give a faithful account of what I saw, heard, and thought in this disputed territory. Very likely, it will appear that if the South loses Kansas, she will be more to blame than those (with all their faults—I may add crimes) who have warred upon her institutions.

   Some time after midnight we reached Kansas City, a thrifty town near the mouth of Kansas river, but in the state of Missouri. Here the volunteers also landed, and immediately set about their preparations for marching in the morning. George and I retreated to the hotel, and, after long delay, succeeded in obtaining a bed.

   The site of Kansas City is about the last place where a common man would have thought of locating a city. Perpendicular hills—hills oval—hills ragged—long slopes—abrupt ascents, with ravines and gorges, deep or yawning wide in wild confusion—all seemed to forbid house-building thereabout. But it is a good point for trade; And so Mammon—or Anglo-Saxon energy, or American enterprise, just as you please—has dug and levelled and built. The houses fronting the river are reared against the bluff, with its summit far above the roof; and in the rear end, and even in the third story, you have the earthy oder peculiar to a newly dug cellar. Yet, with all its ups and downs, trade flourishes, and the city grows.

   Letter XXI

   …After a while, I found Brother Johnson, the superintendent of the Shawnee Mission; and as soon as he could arrange tor it, we set out for his hospitable mission. At Westport we were still in Missouri, though near the Kansas line. This is a flourishing town—trades largely with the whites and Indians, and is one of the points of departure for the Santa Fe mail, and for trade in “the Plains” in the far, far West.

   From this busy town it is two or three miles to where Brother Johnson lives. For a mile or two we journeyed along the road leading to the camp, where the army had been appointed to rendezvous. Presently we overtook a “solitary horseman,” as James would say; that is, he was alone, though many more were in sight, behind and before. As we approached him, the young man who was driving asked me if I ever saw a Sharpe’s rifle. I told him I never did. “That man,” said he, “has one; if you would like to see it, I will ask him for it.” Signifying my desire to see that far-famed instrument, he called the horsemen by name, and told him I wished to see his gun. He rode up and handed it to me, coolly remarking that a few days ago he had killed a man with it at three hundred yards. The driver confirmed the statement by adding, “I saw him do it.” This deed was performed at the battle of Osawatomie. The rifle is short and very heavy, but cannot be shot with accuracy, except at a very long range. Indeed, I was told that they were more to be dreaded at a half mile distance than a hundred yards. This is a pretty tough yarn, but is commonly reported.

   We soon reached the Mission House, dined, and spent the afternoon in conversation, reading the papers, and resting. The school for the Indian boys and girls was just reopened, after a brief vacation, and but few had as yet returned. After a night of sound repose, Brother Johnson brought out his well-fed steeds, and we rode over the finest farm I think I ever saw. Such a combination of water, timber, prairie, and soil is rarely met with. Such a herd of cattle! O the milk, butter, and beef! This is the very country for a lazy man, if he is not too lazy to provide in summer for winter. A tour months’ diligence will secure the material wherewithal to purchase the privilege of shutting himself up to eat, sleep, and toast the rest of the year.

   After dinner, the carriages and mules—which were mules, not in temper but in size—were brought out, and Brother Johnson and his wife and George and I took our seats for an evening jaunt upon the prairies. First, we visited the missionary, Brother Bolles. After pleasant interview with himself and family, we returned, passing by the Mission church and the Shawnee Campground. Here these once wild men meet to sing and pray, and hear the gospel. How obstinate the unbelief of the world and the Church, about the conversion of the Indians! Admit all the difficulties: what then? Must they be cast off, as though never included in the covenant of redemption? Gold preach the gospel to every creature—except the Indians: is that the reading? No, no. Let the Church sow beside all waters, and trust they “Husbandman” for the harvest.

   We passed the Quaker Mission, and found the premises abandoned, under a threat of Lane’s men to attack and burn the houses. I understood the property would be for sale.

It was our purpose in the course of the ride, to visit the camp of the army, and when we learned its location, we steered for that point. By and by we came in sight of the encampment; and, verily, it was a sight to a green one, who had never seen “war’s grim array.” The tents were pitched on the slope of an open prairie, beside a little stream running at its base. As we rolled along on the ridge, the whole panorama was visible. A thousand horses or more, of all sizes, colors, and conditions, were ‘staked out’, and left to graze. This staking out is a very simple and convenient arrangement. A rope, from thirty to fifty feet long, is tied around the horse’s neck, and at the other end is a pin of iron or wood, which is driven into the ground, and the horse can crop the grass within a circle, of which the pin is the center and the rope the radius—where the grass is good—ample scope for night’s feasting.

   The army was computed to muster twenty-seven hundred men; but they were not yet all come in. The chiefs were waiting to concentrate the “host,” before the descent upon Lawrence. As we drew near, some were maneuvering an old cannon; some were cooking, some lounging in the grass, some inspecting their weapons. On reaching the line of encampment, a soldierly-looking man very gravely ordered us to halt, and gave and give the password. We confessed our ignorance. He expressed his regret at having to stop us, but said he must obey orders. Just as we were despairing of entrance, my quondam friend of the gray flannel shirt came to our rescue. Being a man in authority, the sentinel bowed, dropped his gun, and we had the freedom of the Camp. Here I was introduced to Generals Atchison, Clarke, and others, Colonel Titus, Sheriff Jones—still lame from his wounds—with other notabilities. They talked calmly of the wrongs of the Territory—of the outrages upon unoffending citizens, and of the necessity laid upon them to expel, by ball and bayonet, the perpetrators of these lawless deeds. While I was present, a woman of decent appearance came in and made affidavit, that the night before, five men, all the disguised, came to her habitation, rousted her from sleep, ordered her out, and burnt the house, with all its contents. She named two or three, whom she said she recognized by their voices. At the sound of their names, I could hear low murmurs of vengeance from some of the men around. They were well known, it seemed, and were famed for violence and the plunder of the weak.

   We tarried but a short time, as I was anxious to extend my ride into the prairies. On retiring, we ascended a long hill, and on reaching its summit and looking back, the scene was very picturesque. Forget the facts and circumstances which convened those men, and the object they had in view, and there was much of the beautiful in the vision before me. The white tents, the particolored costumes, red and gray predominating; the tethered horses, the patient oxen, half buried in grass; life in various forms, all eager and in motion; the softened hum of the camp, as it came floating on the prairie wind—all made a life-picture, to copy which would make an artist’s fortune. We turned our eyes away to look upon more quiet scenes, the rolling prairies, ·the yellow flowers, the waving grass, and the silent sky.

   From what I heard and from all I saw, I must say that Kansas is a beautiful country. As to land, verdure, and climate, I saw it under very favorable circumstances. The cold in winter is terrible. In September, the thermometer was nearly up to ninety. The weather, though extremely cold sometimes, is variable, and often very warm in the autumn. We closed a pleasant ride near sunset, and found that one of the preachers (Brother Rice) had arrived during our absence. He was on his way to Conference.

George E. Pierce, Incidents of Western Travel, 1857. pp. 168-184. Read the book.