“They were in Lawrence when it was sacked in 1856. Or was it ‘57?” Robert shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. She was fine then, she’ll be fine now. Leave her safety out of the equation.”
“That I can’t do.”
“What you can’t do is base United States policy on my sister and the other two women, Sam.”
Grant slapped the desk with his palm. “Damn Rosecrans. I halfway hope that Quantrill commits some outrage and the blame falls on his head.”
“Let’s not start wishing the Devil well.”
“The next time I have the President’s ear I’m going for Rosecrans’s throat.”
Robert stood up. “I guess that means you’ve made your decision.”
Grant nodded. “I have very little choice. Please make sure that Secretary Stanton has a copy of Quincy’s wire and your reply stating that we’re recalling the African Brigade based upon the order from Rosecrans.”
Robert started to leave, then turned back and looked closely at Grant. “Just to be clear, we’re recalling Quincy and the African Brigade, right?”
“No. We’re recalling the African Brigade. The order from Rosecrans was that the brigade couldn’t cross the border. He didn’t say that Quincy couldn’t.”
Robert nodded. “Okay. I’ve got it now.”
August 20, 1863
Lawrence, Kansas
Anna climbed the steps to the porch of the Griswold house and handed a telegram to Chrissy.
“Bad?” Urilla asked. She was sitting in a cane chair next to Chrissy. Jefferson was asleep in Urilla’s arms.
“Not too bad,” Anna replied, “but Abe’s brigade’s been ordered back to Louisiana. Quincy’s unsure of what he’ll do now, so we may have to make our own way home.”
“Home?” Urilla pronounced it as if it was a foreign word. “To Washington?”
“My grandmother left a cottage on the Hudson to my mother.” Anna said. “My mother left it to me. Although I’ve never seen it, I’m told it’s charming. I’ve paid a caretaker to keep it up. It should accommodate us until the war’s over.”
Chrissy handed the telegram back to Anna. “You and Urilla can go wherever you like. I’m going to join my husband in Louisiana or Mississippi or wherever he is.”
“He specifically asks you not to do that.” Anna pointed at the telegram.
“I know what he asks.” Chrissy folded her arms and looked away.
“Fine.” Anna started down the steps. “I’ll make arrangements for Urilla and me to leave tomorrow. You’re on your own.”
“Fine.”
Mrs. Griswold watched Anna walk down the steps and turn toward the ferry landing, then she went out onto the porch. “You do know that Anna’s sister-in-law just died, don’t you missy?”
“Yes, of course I know,” Chrissy replied. “And my name’s Chrissy not Missy.”
“Nancy and Anna were closer than any sisters.” Mrs. Griswold sat down on the other side of Chrissy.
“You knew Anna before now?” Urilla asked.
Mrs. Griswold nodded. “I was just a girl when Anna and Nancy first came out here to Kansas. I idolized the both of them. Educated, cultured, independent, beautiful, wealthy and very, very brave.”
“Anna didn’t mention that she knew you,” Urilla said.
“Like I said, I was just a girl,” Mrs. Griswold replied. “She doesn’t recognize me and I didn’t want to bother her by reminding her of those days.”
“Well I just met her,” Chrissy said, “and I don’t like the way she tries to boss me around.”
“She’s your mother-in-law,” Mrs. Griswold said with a chuckle. “Mothers-in-law are bossy by nature.”
“I don’t even know my mother-in-law,” Urilla said. “All I know about her is that her name is Jane and she lives in Texas.”
“I know that she’s half Indian,” Chrissy offered. “At least my mother-in-law won’t scalp me. Maybe.”
Urilla shook her head. “You’re wrong. Johnny’s not part Indian. Anybody can see that.”
Chrissy shrugged. “Ginger introduced me to your brother-in-law, Paul, when we were in New York. He looks kinda Indian.”
Urilla shook her head. “Johnny’s brother’s name is Pea.”
“His nickname’s Pea,” Chrissy corrected, “but his real name is Paul. Ginger told me.”
Urilla looked at her sleeping child. “My baby’s Indian?”
“Half the folks in America are part Indian,” Mrs. Griswold said. “Those that aren’t all Indian.”
“Why didn’t Johnny tell me?” Urilla asked.
“He probably didn’t think it was important,” Chrissy said. “If he’s anything like Quincy, he doesn’t pay much attention to a person’s race.”
“I always feel like an outsider,” Urilla complained.
“It takes a while for newlyweds to get acquainted with one-another’s families,” Mrs. Griswold said. “Even in the best of circumstances. And a war that has brothers fighting against each other makes it even more difficult.”
“Who’s going to win this damned war?” Urilla asked.
The other two women just looked at her.
“Johnny thinks the Union will,” Urilla said. “My father’s not going to survive if the South loses. He can’t run the plantation without slaves.”
“Boo-hoo,” Chrissy said.
Urilla carefully put Jefferson over her shoulder, then got up and went into the house.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Mrs. Griswold said to Chrissy. “She’s going through a lot. You should try having a little empathy for others.”
“You want me to have empathy for Urilla? What about Urilla having some for me?”
“Why do you need it?”
“Because I’m colored.”
Mrs. Griswold gasped. “No. Not really?”
Chrissy nodded. “Really.”
“You don’t look colored.”
“That’s the cross I have to bear.”
Mrs. Griswold shook her head. “Perhaps it is. I won’t pretend to understand. But being rude to everyone isn’t going to make it any lighter to bear.”
“I’m not rude to everyone,” Chrissy argued.
Mrs. Griswold got up. “Well, I better see how things are in the kitchen.”
August 20, 1863
Near Aubrey, Kansas
The sun was setting when Quincy rode into the United States Army camp. “Where’s your commanding officer?”
“Here, sir.” A young captain hurried from a large tent. “J.A. Pike, sir.” He saluted.
Quincy pointed over his shoulder. “See that dust cloud? It’s William Quantrill.”
“Yes, sir. We know.”
“Then why are you just sitting here?”
“We’re not authorized to attack civilians, sir.”
“Quantrill’s been commissioned as a captain in the Confederate Army.”
The captain shrugged. “I sent a wire to Kansas City and was ordered to stay here.”
Quincy turned in his saddle. “If I ordered you to follow me, would you?”
“Of course, sir. But I’d protest. Quantrill’s got four or five hundred well-armed men. I have sixty-three. Half are recruits.”
“That’s about the same as the garrison in Lawrence. What’s going to happen to them when Quantrill attacks?”
“I’m sure that Command in Kansas City will warn the garrison at Lawrence and send reinforcements, sir.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir – what’s a general doing in the field without any troops?”
“I had a brigade, just across the border in Missouri. I was ordered not to take it into Kansas so I came alone.” He looked at the dust cloud on the horizon again. “I’d rather that no one else in your chain of command knows that I was here. Of course if you feel compelled by your duty to report me...”
“Unless I was asked a direct question, I don’t think I’d have to mention meeting you, sir.”
“Thank you
, Captain.”
“Good luck, sir.”
August 21, 1863
Captain’s Creek, Kansas
When the moon set at about 3:00 AM, Quantrill roused the occupants of a farm house and kidnapped the eldest boy to guide the raiders through the dark toward the unsuspecting village of Lawrence.
At about 5:00 AM, Quantrill and his men rode through the village of Franklin, four miles east of Lawrence. Two miles farther, they stopped briefly at the farm of S.S. Snyder, a minister and a lieutenant of colored troops whose name was on the Raiders’ enemies list. After shooting Snyder dead, watering their horses and stealing Snyder’s horses, they rode on leaving two men behind to watch for anyone following.
At about 5:20 AM, Quincy was approaching the Snyder farm when a rifle shot struck his horse in the neck. Quincy kicked free of the stirrups and rolled off the saddle before the horse fell. Using the dying animal for cover, he fired two quick shots in the direction of the muzzle blast. A moment later, a man screamed in pain. Quincy peered into the darkness for several minutes until a rider left the farm at a fast pace, leading a riderless horse behind him. Quincy stood up, took several shots at the sound of hoofbeats and then started walking toward Lawrence.
A mile beyond Snyder’s farm, Quantrill’s vanguard encountered sixteen-year-old Hoffman Collamore, the son of the mayor of Lawrence. One of the pickets asked the boy’s name and his business. Hoffman told him who he was and that he was going hunting. After finding the boy’s father’s name on the enemies list, the picket drew his pistol and shot the boy.
Quincy found young Collamore in a pool of his own blood and, after a moment of indecision, stopped to try to save the boy.
As they reached the outskirts of Lawrence, Quantrill’s lieutenants led their squads into the residential section to search for men on the enemies list. Quantrill continued on with the main body to the training camp of the Kansas Fourteenth Regiment where the new recruits were answering reveille. In the initial attack, seventeen of the twenty-two unarmed recruits were killed. Quantrill left a small detail to hunt down the rest of the soldiers, then proceeded down Rhode Island Street.
His men, most with a pistol in each hand, took up the Rebel yell and began shooting at any man who dared show his face. Panic spread ahead of the raiders. Half-dressed women and children were running among men who lay dead or wounded. No women were shot, but if they tried to protect their husbands and sons, they were forcibly dragged aside while the Raiders’ target was executed.
Quantrill rode ahead to the Eldridge House Hotel on Massachusetts Street, where he planned to establish his headquarters. “Hello in the house.”
“Hello in the street,” replied a male voice from within. “Identify yourself.”
“Captain William Quantrill, Confederate States of America. Who be you?”
“Captain A. R. Banks, provost marshal of Kansas. I’ll surrender the hotel if you’ll guarantee the safety of the guests.”
“Why would I do that?”
“They’re mostly strangers.”
“Very well. They won’t be harmed.” Quantrill waited patiently while his men robbed the guests, then he ordered that the hotel be put to the torch.
August 21, 1863
Washington, D.C.
Abraham Lincoln was asleep on the couch in his office when the door opened. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” John Hay said.
Lincoln unwrapped his long frame from the couch and stretched. “That’s all right. I hadn’t intended to sleep here all night. What time is it?”
“Not quite seven AM, sir.”
“Is it? Well, I guess I did sleep here all night, didn’t I? Is Mrs. Lincoln up yet?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lincoln rubbed his eyes, then looked at Hay. “You didn’t come in here to wish me a good morning, did you?”
“No, sir. The War Department just received a wire. Lawrence, Kansas is, or soon will be, under attack by William Quantrill’s guerrillas.”
Lincoln stood up. “Damn Rosecrans. Stanton will be here soon, bubbling over with I-Told-You-Sos, and demanding that I fire Rosecrans.”
“Anna is in Lawrence, sir,” Hay said. “In case you’d forgotten.”
Lincoln looked at him in surprise. “Yes. I had forgotten. Don’t tell Mrs. Lincoln about the raid. Since the accident, Anna has gone from Mother’s worst enemy to become her best friend.”
“I’m afraid the First Lady already knows, sir.”
“How does she know?”
“There’s nothing that happens in the White House that Mrs. Lincoln doesn’t know, sir.”
~
Mary Todd Lincoln was pacing her bedchamber while Elizabeth Keckly listened patiently to the First Lady’s monologue. “I think Anna Lagrange has done this in order to avoid helping me. First, it was her friend’s death, then her nephew’s wedding. Why in God’s name did the nephew choose a place like Lawrence, Kansas to get married?”
“His wife is colored,” Mrs. Keckly said, knowing full well that Mrs. Lincoln was already aware of every detail.
“Kansas isn’t the only place where a white man and a colored woman can legally be married.”
Mrs. Keckly’s response was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Mrs. Lincoln called.
The door opened and the President came in. “Good morning, Mrs. Keckly.”
Mrs. Keckly curtsied but Mrs. Lincoln glared at him.
Lincoln walked closer to his wife. “Are you well, Molly?”
“Why should I not be?” she asked.
The President shrugged. “I thought that the news from Kansas might have upset you.”
“Why should I be upset?” There was a sarcastic edge to Mrs. Lincoln’s voice. “Anna’s son must have had a good reason to abandon my cousin in Lawrence.”
Lincoln gave Mrs. Keckly a baffled look.
“Mrs. Lincoln’s cousin, Urilla Murray, is married to Mrs. Lagrange’s nephew, Johnny Van Buskirk,” Mrs. Keckly supplied.
“Is that so?” Lincoln said in surprise.
“Surely you knew that,” Mrs. Lincoln said in an accusatory tone.
“I don’t think I’d have forgotten,” Lincoln replied.
“Well, you obviously have forgotten,” Mrs. Lincoln said shrilly, “because I told you.”
“What do you want, Molly?” The president’s voice betrayed his frustration.
“I want to know why Quincy Van Buskirk has left my Cousin Urilla, his mother, and his brand-new wife undefended,” Mrs. Lincoln said.
Lincoln sighed. “It’s very complicated.”
“Do you think me a simpleton who’s unable to grasp complicated ideas?” she asked. “Or do you still think that I’ve gone mad?”
Lincoln shook his head. “I think nothing of the kind.”
“Then please answer my question.”
“Very well,” he said, after a moment. “To get young Quincy and Chrissy away from Mississippi, General Grant asked Secretary Stanton to transfer Quincy to Kansas.”
“Yes, yes. I know all about that. My question was about Quincy leaving Kansas.”
“General Rosecrans ordered Quincy’s cavalry to Missouri and then ordered them to stay there – expressly forbidding them to return to Kansas.”
“Why?”
“General Rosecrans and Secretary Stanton are political enemies.”
“Why hasn’t General Grant or Secretary Stanton countered Rosecrans’s order? Or you for that matter. Why haven’t you?”
“Politics,” Lincoln said with a shrug.
“Politics?” She made a face. “If Anna, her daughter-in-law and Urilla are killed by that cretin Quantrill, do we blame their deaths on politics?”
“This war is about politics, Molly. Politics is to blame for everything.”
August 21, 1863
Lawrence, Kansas
Anna slipped quietly out of bed and parted the curtain of the dormer window. A block to the west, a house that Anna knew belonged to Jim and Mary Lan
e was smoldering. As she opened the window and leaned out, she could hear gunfire. A moment later, a large group of riders, some dressed in butternut, appeared at the end of the street.
Anna closed the window and rushed to Urilla’s bed. “Wake up. Quantrill’s coming.”
Urilla sat up and blinked stupidly. “What?”
“Quantrill’s coming. Get dressed. Take Jefferson out the back way and head for the ferry. There’s a cornfield on this side of the road, across from the landing. Hide there. I’ll find you.” She hurried from the room and crossed the hall to Chrissy’s room.
“What’s wrong?” Chrissy was already dressing. “I thought I heard gunfire.”
“Quantrill,” Anna said. “Help Urilla get out. I’ll go downstairs and try to stall them.”
“Put something on over your nightgown or you’re likely to get raped.” She handed Anna a bathrobe.
Anna shrugged the bathrobe over her arms and rushed into the hall, down the stairs and onto the front porch to face a dozen armed men on horseback. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“Jerome Griswold, Jo Trask, Harlow Baker and Simeon Thorp,” one of the raiders answered.
“What do you want them for?” Anna asked.
“Tell the sons of bitches to come out,” another man shouted.
The first man raised his hand. “Now hold on. We come here to take back all that’s been robbed from Missouri. If these citizens here surrender quietly, it might just save the town.” He looked up at the open second story windows. “If Doctor Griswold, Editor Trask, Mr. Baker and Senator Thorp will come on down here, I’ll guarantee their safety.”
“I’ll go tell them,” Anna said.
“No.” The man pointed his pistol at her. “You stay here, Miss Van Buskirk. They heard me.”
Anna squinted at him. “That’s not my name.”
“I’m not likely to forget somebody that wrote filthy lies about my momma in the New York papers.”
Anna wrinkled her nose. “Ah-ha. You must be Zerelda Samuel’s boy. I heard you were part of Quantrill’s gang.”
“That’s right. I’m Frank James.” He pointed to a boy on a big horse. “This here is my brother, Jesse.”
Freedom (Gone For Soldiers) Page 9
