Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies

Cybertruck Blues

Bought me a Cybertruck, One Hundred Thou,

Before Elon crashed the DAQ and the Dow.

I gotta admit I just kissed a toad,

It’s the ugliest truck on the damn road.

I hate to be seen in my Cybertruck,

Purchased from such a stupid dumb cluck.

I trusted Elon when I made that deal,

Now I’m embarrassed to take the wheel.

The screen tells me the steering has failed,

“Sorry Sir, but your trip is curtailed.”

The windshield wiper don’t work so well,

The auto-pilot is scary as hell.

While running late and down to the wire,

These butt ugly trucks often catch fire.

I get flipped off while I’m on the road,

That stupid trunk won’t carry a load.

A body panel is falling off,

While Elon’s rockets can’t get aloft.

Everyone hates my electrical car,

And it won’t get me very damn far.

I can’t sell it, the value has sunk,

I should wreck it or drive around drunk.

Now I am stuck with this piece of shit,

How will I ever get rid of it?

LDT March 22, ‘25

FULL DISCLOSURE: I don’t own a Tesla, but I flipped one off the other day.

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Chapter 9: 1857

“This court is now in session. Would the defendants please rise?”

The three men looked around as if seeking allies in the crowd. Two of them slowly began to stand.

“Git yer sorry ass up!” demanded the farmer serving as both guard and bailiff. He nudged the reluctant man with the butt of his Sharps rifle. The Squatters Court of Linn County was in session. The judge was another free-soil farmer, Ben Searles.

“State your name and residence,” ordered “Judge” Searles pointing toward the first man.

”Isaac Jones, Linn County,” said the first man.

“You are charged with stealing and butchering three hogs from the Silas McKay farm on or about March 25, 1857. How do you plead?”

“I am innocent and I don’t recognize the legitimacy of this court. Try me at Fort Scott before Judge Williams if you must.”

“The good citizens of Linn County do not recognize the authority of slave courts. I will record your plea as not guilty.”

The remaining defendants also plead not guilty.

“Is there anyone here that will speak for the defense?” Searles asked.

“I will.”

“And you are?”

James Snider of Clinton County, Missouri.”

“How do you know the defendants?”

“Two of them were my neighbors back in Missouri. I was partners in business with the other, Mr. Jones.”

“Place your hand upon this here Bible. Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

“Would you please tell the court why you think these men are innocent?”

“These men are good, God-fearing citizens. I have never known them to steal, lie, or cheat. They cannot possibly be guilty of this crime.”

“Where were you during the last week of March of this year?”

“Home in Clinton County.”

“Did you see any of these men on or about March 25, 1857?”

“No Sir.”

“Sit down. Are there any other witnesses for the defense?”

The crowd looked around, but no one stepped forward.

“Alright. Does the prosecution have any witnesses?”

“We do, Your Honor,” said a man acting as the prosecuter.

“Where is he!”

“Here, Your Honor,” said a man in the crowd.

“State your name and residence.”

“Mel Wagner, Linn County, Kansas.”

“Put your hand on the Bible and swear to tell the truth”

“I, Mel Wagner, do solemnly swear to tell the truth.”

“How do you know the defendants?

“I’m a neighbor of Isaac Jones. I’ve seen the others around Sugar Mound. I’m the owner of the hogs they stole.”

“Describe the theft.”

“On the night of March 25^th, I was awakened by my dogs barking. I checked my place and found the gate open to the hog pen. Three hogs were missing. The next day I confronted Jones, who had given me some trouble before. He sneered at me and acted pretty damn guilty. Then I checked his barn and found the other two rascals there busy butchering three hogs.”

“Did anyone see them take the hogs?”

“Yessir. Ab Jenkens came along on the road as they were herding them into the Jones place.”

“Is Jenkins here?”

“Here I am Your Honor.”

“Come up here and get sworn in. Do you swear to tell the truth on this here Bible?”

“Yep.”

“Tell the court what you saw.”

I come up the road early that mornin’ and saw three men herding three hogs onto the Jones place.”

“Are those three men here now?”

“Yep. Them thar’s the ones,” Jenkins said pointing to the defendants.

Someone in the crowd slapped his leg and shouted, “Guilty! A few protested with “No!

Searles banged the butt of his revolver on the table and hollered, “Order! We will decide the guilt or innocence of these men by secret ballot after we’ve heard all the evidence. Every man here is empaneled as a juror. Are there any more witnesses?”

There was no answer.

Searles banged his pistol on the table again. He looked sternly at the assembly. “Each of you will come forward one at a time and mark your ballot. We’ll use my hat.”

Reuben took his place in the line to vote. It was the first time he had voted on anything. When his turn came, he wrote guilty on the paper, folded it in half, and dropped it into the hat. The final vote was sixteen to five. The five were relieved that Davis had let them vote by secret ballot. Maybe their farms wouldn’t be visited by the Sugar Creek Company that night.

“You men are guilty of the theft of the hogs as charged. I sentence you to pay fair restitution to Mr. Wagner. I also assess ten dollars in court costs, payable immediately.”

There were cheers from the free-state men in the group. They knew that “court costs” meant they would soon enjoy a jug of Searles’ whiskey. Reuben stayed for the party but didn’t imbibe.

His civic duties finished, Reuben left for Westport a few days later to pick up his bride. He was there as the steamer Paul Revere was docking. He studied the passengers anxiously. The slaves who served as deck hands tossed a rope to men on the shore. Soon it was tied up fast and the ramp lowered. Margaret was one of the first to disembark. She dropped her satchel as Reuben ran through the crowd.

“Reuben, I missed you so much!”

There was a long embrace and warm kisses. “Did you have a good trip?”

“The boat stopped at a few places in Missouri where I didn’t feel welcome. They even searched my cabin looking for guns and abolitionist newspapers. Telling them I was from Polk County, Missouri helped.”

“I’ve got a lot to show you when we get to our place. I think you are going to like it.”

“Oh, I can’t wait. I’ll have so much to do turning our cabin into a home.”

Reuben gulped and said, “Well it’s still pretty rough. The walls are up and the roof is near done.”

“It will do just fine. Did the stock make it through the winter?”

“It was a bad one, but the grazing association got them all through. We’re getting some calves now.”

“I can’t wait to see the place.”

Soon Reuben had the luggage loaded in the wagon. There was so much he wondered what the fare had been but didn’t ask.

The trip back to Linn County helped them catch up on the news. All was well back in Iowa. Reuben had plowed another ten acres. The neighbors were nice. The wagon rolled on.

“Oh my, it’s beautiful!” exclaimed Margaret as she got her first glimpse of the farm. The cabin was set near the sugar maples that lined Sugar Creek. There was a lush green carpet of new grass in the pasture. The freshly plowed fields were neat and orderly. Margaret could see the small front window she had insisted upon. She frowned a bit knowing she’d have to shorten the curtains she had brought with her. Reuben had made the window just the right height to place his Sharps on the sill if he had to defend the cabin from bushwhackers. There were small rifle slits in the other walls. He had started a wall of rocks around it to provide further protection. The daffodils he had gotten from Clarinda Montgomery were now in bloom.

“I love it!”

Reuben picked her up playfully and carried her across the threshold. They were home. The next few weeks would be a buzz of activity as they improved upon the place. Margaret learned to cook on the hearth of the stone fireplace. The neighbors came to meet her and finished the roof.

By summer the couple had the cabin livable. The furniture was crude but functional. The crops were doing well and livestock were thriving. It was all thanks to their hard work. The threats from the pro-slavery faction continued to diminish as more and more free-state settlers poured into Kansas. Southeastern Kansas, including Linn and Bourbon Counties, remained contested ground.

Twenty miles to the south of Linn County was the town of Fort Scott. It had become the center of pro-slavery agitation. It was full of drunks, gamblers, and other hangers-on who were quick to use the pro-slavery cause as an excuse to abuse and rob the free-soil settlers. The federal judge at Fort Scott, Joseph Williams, demonstrated his pro-slavery sentiments in his rulings. He protected the men who raided Linn County when they returned to their sanctuary. The Sugar Creek Company was constantly on alert for raiders whether they came from Fort Scott or Missouri. They had to be ready to counter any threat.

“I have information that our ‘friend’ George Washington Clarke is planning another raid,” Montgomery told his assembled company. They’ll be coming from Bourbon County on Monday afternoon. They plan to catch us off guard in the night. I’m going to stop them. Who is with me?” Montgomery calmly asked his men.

Reuben joined a chorus of “I am!” responses. It was time to stand up to Clarke. A spot on the Leavenworth to Fort Scott Road was selected for the confrontation. The men went home to gather and clean their guns. They would reassemble on Monday morning and await the raiders.

The site for the company to make its stand was a narrow passage through a grove of trees. Montgomery issued strict instructions to the men before they took their places behind rocks and bushes.

“Remember men, we are not here to commit murder. No one shoots unless we are fired on. Once Clarke’s men fall into our trap, I will go out on the road and explain their peril. If they agree to lay down their arms, I want two men, you, Schmidt, and you, DeLay, to come out and help me disarm them. We’ll take their horses and guns. They can walk back to Fort Scott. Any questions?”

“I’d sure like to settle a few scores,” said one of the men.

“We are not here to start further trouble. If we teach them a lesson, that will be enough. We don’t want another Pottawattamie Massacre. If we start shooting with the advantage of our position and arms, we’ll kill or maim most of them. That will bring the Federal Army down on us and alienate our friends and the papers. We win by showing restraint and voting in larger numbers than they do. Kansas will never be a free state if we overreact.”

Montgomery’s men took their hiding places. With their Sharps rifles at the ready, each man had a commanding view of the road. In-spite-of Montgomery’s admonition, a massacre remained a possibility. All eyes were focused on the road coming from Fort Scott.

“Let them pass that dead tree over there. Then show yourselves, but don’t shoot,” commanded their leader.

Reuben stared down the sights of his rifle, practicing aiming at rocks and b ranches along the road. If he had to shoot, he was ready. He understood why Montgomery urged caution though. He hoped for a peaceful outcome. Then he saw the column of riders approaching. It looked like about twenty-five mounted men. Some carried rifles and shotguns across their saddles.

The invaders had almost reached the dead tree when one of the defenders’ horses reared and whinnied. Clarke raised his hand to stop the column. He motioned his men to fan out and envelop the ambush site from the sides. The element of surprise had been lost.

Ka pow! One of Montgomery’s men fired a warning shot. Clarke’s horsemen began to retreat. A few tried to get off a shot before they left. Montgomery’s men fired a few shots after them.

“Hold your fire!” roared Montgomery.

Fortunately for Kansas history, the frightened riders had skedaddled out of range. None had fallen from their saddles. It was good, however, that they had been driven off. Perhaps they were now forewarned of the dangers of raiding into Linn County. The Sugar Creek Company had faced down the bushwhackers from Fort Scott. No blood had been shed. Perhaps, they wouldn’t come back.

The best hope of the settlers of Linn County was that a legislative solution might resolve the slavery issue once and for all and ease the tensions. That would be a long and convoluted process. That Fall, some Kansas delegates were toiling away in Lecompton. They were working on a constitution that would see Kansas enter the Union as a slave state. In typical Kansas fashion, the Free-Soilers had boycotted the election for the convention delegates. This gave the opposition a free hand to draft a pro-slavery constitution. In the middle of their deliberations, a new state legislature was elected. This time, the Free-State side won both houses. The Lecompton Convention began to realize public sentiment was no longer on their side.

“I’m confused,” Margaret said quizzically. “Why are there two votes on Lecompton?”

“That’s an easy one,” answered Reuben. “Kansas has two governments, one slave and one free. We don’t vote in their elections, and they don’t vote in ours. If we all voted together, we’d probably have to shoot each other. The exception was the vote for the legislature. We knew they’d cheat, but we won anyway. Shucks, they turned in a whole bunch of votes from people on the Cincinnati, Ohio City Register. Then, wonder of wonders, Governor Walker threw out those votes. That pulled the rug out from under the Lecompton cabal. They know they are outnumbered, but they’re holding a rigged election on their slave constitution anyway.”

“Rigged? How so?

Reuben frowned, “The way it is worded we lose either way we vote. It should be a straight yes or no vote, but it isn’t. We’re boycotting it and we’ve scheduled our referendum for January 4^th.”

“Let me see if I understand. The December vote is for the Lecompton Constitution with or without slavery. What’s wrong with voting for the Constitution without the slavery clause?”

“The way the proposition is written, a vote for the Constitution with the no slavery clause doesn’t prohibit slavery.”

“Doesn’t prohibit slavery? It says Constitution with no Slavery. How does that mean Kansas keeps slavery?”

“It’s a trick. The clause only prohibits the importation of slaves. It lets the enslavers keep the slaves they have and there is nothing to keep them from sneaking more in. The vote we scheduled in January has three options; No on Lecompton, Lecompton with Slavery, and Lecompton without Slavery. If we turn out the vote, the Constitution will be defeated. We won’t get to become a state, but at least we can go back and write a better Constitution.”

“Politics,” fumed Margaret. “So exasperating. If women could vote we’d fix this nonsense in a heartbeat.”

Reuben chuckled but didn’t take the bait. Women’s suffrage wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

The first vote on the Lecompton Constitution was held on December 21, 1857. As expected, the Free-Soil Kansans boycotted the vote. The Constitution with the Slavery Clause passed overwhelmingly. The Free-State side remained confident that their vote scheduled for January 4^th would be far more decisive. The three options seemed fair to both sides. Perhaps Popular Sovereignty would work after all.

Before the vote, Reuben and Margaret would have Christmas to celebrate. They made little things for each other; a knitted scarf to keep out the cold; a pair of carved wooden candleholders. Life would get even better for them in the new year. It had to. They were expecting their first child!

Index: Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman- https://azrockdodger.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=6662&action=edit

To Die in the Street

Is it better to die in the street,

Or be crushed ‘neath some autocrat’s feet?

Should I defy unwarranted rules,

Or put up with the fakes and the fools?

Should I blow up a Tesla or two,

Or concede that their lies are all true?

Should I quietly fall into line,

Or block their path with a protest sign?

Should I chain myself up to a fence,

Would that really make any sense?

Is it better to stand on my feet,

Or to quietly take a backseat?

Do I ignore this cabal of crooks,

Or be interned for reading banned books?

Do I defend the weak and the poor,

Or forget the just oath that I swore?

Should I throw a self-righteous fit,

Or meekly accept their bullshit?

Must I live with their hate and their fear,

Or give them all a kick in the rear?

These are the questions we must ask,

If we want our freedom to last.

Is it better to die in the street,

Or to give up in utter defeat?

LDT March 16, ‘25

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Women’s Sports

**San Jose State University Volleyball (2024**)

Some of Americans were so incensed over a handful of trans athletes in women’s college sports that they took their eye off the ball. There are half a million collegiate women athletes. Estimates of the number of trans athletes playing women’s sports range from ten to fifty. San Jose State University is one of the few teams we know that has a trans player on their women’s volleyball team. Some people are totally outraged. If they care about women’s sports, they need to calm down.

Much of the excitement and growth of women’s college sports in recent years has been made possible by a federal Law called Title IX. This 1972 law applies to the athletic departments at all colleges and universities receiving government funds. It states, “No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.”

Why does that matter? President trump has issued an Executive Decree banning DEI in activities supported by the government. Title IX is the quintessential example of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion in women’s sports.

In fact, the NCAA’s webpage on Tittle IX has the heading “INCUSION”. Any questions?

Who enforces Tittle IX you ask? The Office for Civil Rights (OCR) of the U.S. Department of Education enforces Title IX.

Are you still with me? The entire US Department of Education, including OCR, is being dismantled by the Musk/Trump Administration. If you go there today, March 12, 2025, you will find the doors locked. No one is answering the phone. No one is ensuring women’s athletics gets a fair shake in funding.

Yes, there is an Executive Decree banning trans athletes from women’s sports. How does that matter when there are no women’s sports to play? https://www.cnn.com/…/poli…/department-of-education-cuts

Margaret

There she was, her long dark hair flowing behind her as she ran toward the approaching wagon.

“Reuben!” she exclaimed as the long months of worry washed away.

The runabout rolled to a stop as Reuben leapt out. They ran toward each other in great anticipation, nearly colliding as Reuben’s arms folded around her. Margaret put hers around his waist and snuggled before looking up to meet his warm kiss. It was a lover’s kiss; long, deep, and passionate. Worried her mother might be watching, she briefly tried to pull away. It was useless, her desire to be held exceeding her modesty. Reuben could feel the heat of her body through the thin gingham dress.

“I missed you so much!” she cooed softly.

“Me too. It gets lonely out there on the prairie. It’s a fine country though. I can’t wait to show it to you.”

“We’ll be so happy.”

“Things are still a little rough out there. My friends on Sugar Creek have promised to help raise us a cabin as soon as we get back.”

“I don’t care if we have to live in a teepee, as long as I’m with you.”

Reuben chuckled under his breath. The canvas cover he’d been sleeping under was a step down from a teepee. Margaret would have a lot to learn about roughing it in Kansas.

“How are the folks, yours and mine?”

“They are doing well. I was over at your Ma and Pa’s place last week. Harriet gave me some recipes you like.”

“I think she is gonna like her new daughter. Are you ready to go in and face your folks?” Reuben said giving her a playful squeeze.

“Cut that out you rake! We’re still not married well and proper.”

Inside, Reuben shared some of his adventures with Papa Thomas. Things, he claimed, weren’t as bad in Kansas as folks said. It was filling up with Free-State settlers and the border troubles had subsided. There was no mention of Sam. The Underground Railroad survived on secrecy. Only Uncle Jacob and a couple of conductors knew about Reuben’s involvement in Sam’s escape. It would not be until years later that Reuben learned that his friends, the Holbrook brothers, had spirited Sam’s family out of Missouri on the last leg of their journey.

The early November weather was still good, so the couple took a ride in the runabout.

“Is this ours?”

“No, one of my neighbors loaned it to me for the trip. He had me drop something off along the way.”

Margaret looked back at the meager possessions Reuben had brought with him.

“I wish you had just ridden a horse. Now you’ll have to return this rig and I don’t see anyway it will hold my trousseau.”

“Don’t worry, you will be traveling in style. I’ll have Papa take you to Keokuk where you’ll board a steamer. I’ll pick you up at Westport.”

“But I wanted to go with you,” she pouted.

“Sorry, but the farther west you get the worse the trail and accommodations are. I’ll be traveling light so I’ll get there in plenty of time.”

The next two months were a whirlwind of activity as the lovers prepared for the wedding. There were parties and dances. Everyone wanted to know about Kansas. Reuben’s younger brother, Willis, was in awe of Reuben’s new revolver.

“How’s that thing shoot?”

“Damn well. Six shots in no time. I’m thinking about getting an extra cylinder for faster reloading. I’ve got a Sharps back in Kansas.”

“A Sharps? I hear they are quite the rifle. Them Missouri Ruffians better watch out!”

Reuben chuckled, but said nothing.

Reuben spent the winter helping his father and his future father-in-law on their farms. Occasionally, he took odd jobs to earn extra money. He had big plans for his return to Kansas, and they wouldn’t come cheap. His place needed lots of improvements. Margaret deserved no less than a comfortable, prosperous life.

As time permitted, the couple spent their spare time together. Sunday after church was a gift of togetherness that they both cherished. They spent those precious hours planning their lives together. One day the discussion turned to politics.

“Will Buchanan be good for Kansas? Margaret asked.

“That’s a tough one. He will be better than that drunkard Pierce. Had Pierce not signed the Kansas-Nebraska Act, there would be a whole lot less trouble in Kansas. Then he appointed pro-slavery men to territorial offices. It was like he was afraid to face up to the power of the South.”

“So, what will Buchanan do?”

“Well he’s a Democrat, so he’s still beholden to the South. Maybe he’ll appoint good men to territorial office. I hope he keeps Governor Geary. The man stood up to the Lecompton Legislature.”

“How would you have voted?”

“Being a Kansan now, I couldn’t very well vote for president. Had I voted, it would have been for Fremont. He would have repealed the Kansas-Nebraska Act and stopped the spread of slavery.”

“I was glad that Iowa went for Fremont. Maybe next time he’ll win.”

“Freemont or anyone who stands up to the South would work for me. Meanwhile, we’re filling up Kansas with Free-State men. By next year we’ll have a free-state legislature. Ifg Buchanan doesn’t fail us by appeasing the south, we’ll become a free state.”

“So you think the troubles are over?”

“I figure they are. We’re gonna spend our time growing crops and making babies.”

Margaret blushed and slapped his arm.

In December a letter arrived. It was from a pastor in Canada. Sam and his family made it safely in Toronto. The two older boys were already in school, learning to read. In the Spring the family would be locating to the Free Black community of Buxton, Ontario where good land was available. Reuben smiled when he read that the family had taken the surname of Dillay. Sam Dillay had become his friend, now they were like family.

The wedding was set for January 24, 1857 at the Centerville Methodist-Episcopal Church. Reverand Jacob DeLay would officiate. Invitations had been sent far and wide. With the bride and groom coming from two of the county’s most prominent families, the wedding promised to be the social event of the season. The winter weather was atrocious, but no one let that deter them from attending.

Reuben stood impatiently at the altar as the music began to play. The guests settled on the benches that served as pews and cast anxious looks at the door. Outside, a pathway in the snow had been cleared from the neighboring house to the church. Uncle Jacob had carefully placed the wedding party in their positions.

Everyone gasped in awe as the bride, escorted by her father, entered. She was stunning in her white wedding dress. Her radiant smile lit up the sanctuary. Uncle Jacob beckoned them forward as the bridal music played. Soon the happy couple was standing side-by-side.

The congregation shared in the couple’s joy from the Dearly beloved to the I do’s. At the conclusion of the service, the couple retreated to the neighbor’s home amidst applause and the tossing of rice. The sanctuary was quickly transformed into a meeting hall for the reception. The good food and good music lasted well into the evening.

The party broke up about 10 PM. The weather was still fearful and some of the guests had a long ride home. Reuben had booked a room at the Jefferson House for the night. As the last guests left, they bundled up and headed out in the cold for the short walk to the hotel.

“Wait,” Margaret cautioned him as he unlocked the door. She went inside, closed the door, and lit the lamp. Outside, Reuben wondered what was taking in so long. Finally, she opened the door and greeted him in her nightclothes.

The fell into each other’s arms and kissed. Reuben slipped his heavy coat off his shoulders while Margaret began unbuttoning his shirt. Clutching each other, they fell across the bed. The cold, howling wind outside was forgotten in the heat of their passion. The night was filled with exploration and ecstasy.

Plump, plump! It was the sound of snowballs pelting their window. The shivaree had begun. Outside the room, someone was banging pots and pans. The couple dressed hurriedly and let the intruders in. Two men grabbed Reuben and drug him down the stairs while their wives escorted Margaret. Outside, they dumped Margaret unceremoniously into an old wheelbarrow and made Reuben push her down the street. Though it was all in good fun, the couple was embarrassed and annoyed. Both knew the ritual hazing had its purpose. It was simply their first trial as man and wife. It would help prepare them for the many trials they would face in their married life on the frontier. The bitter cold made the ordeal mercifully short. After a tongue-in-cheek lecture, they were allowed to return to the hotel. There, they found the incident had rekindled their passion.

Index: Unbowed: The Saga of Civil War Cavalryman- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies (azrockdodger.com)

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Red Chevrolet

**Dad’s ’50 Chevy P/U. Broken windshield is where his head hit it.**

We had an old truck, a red Chevrolet,

I remember it well to this very day.

A Stovebolt Six and a four on the floor,

That leaky old muffler could sure make it roar.

Both of my brothers had driven that truck,

And to drive it someday might be my luck.

I thought I was bold at eleven years old.

Though if truth be told I fit not the mold.

We were at a ranch and Dad was bored,

For Malta town we headed toward.

Stopped at a bar where cowboys hung out,

Buy them a drink and stories they’ll spout.

They’ll spin some tales ‘bout the broncs they all rode.

The bull that they sling would make quite a load.

I sat in a corner sippin’ on coke,

While those old cowboys told joke after joke.

After some time, they were pretty well lit,

Drunker than seven barrels of owl spit.

It was finally time for us to leave,

I grabbed the old man by the shirtsleeve.

Then I ushered him out to that old truck

Parked out there in the mud and the muck.

The starter it groaned as it fired up,

We’d make it on home if dad sobered up.

We wobbled and weaved and left out of town,

Then dad pulled over and shut her on down.

“There’s just one way to keep us alive,

Today is the day I’ll teach you to drive.”

I took my place behind that big wheel,

Drivin’ this truck was not a big deal.

I sat in the seat and put the clutch down,

And put it in gear and looked all around.

We’re off with a lurch, like sinners in church,

I wear a big smirch from my lofty perch.

As I shifted on up, the gears they did grind,

That worn out engine was startin’ to whine.

I kept all four tires upon the blacktop,

Had her a-goin’ but I couldn’t stop.

Soon it was clear I was doin’ quite well,

I wasn’t ready when it all went to hell.

When we came upon the Godfrey turnoff,

I knew it was here we had to get off.

I spun the wheel like it was no big deal,

Hit the bar ditch where the terror got real.

It wasn’t that long ‘til we were airborne,

Three barb wire strands the grille did adorn.

Dad hit the windshield, passenger side,

This might not have been his favorite ride.

I rolled to a stop in Godfrey’s pasture,

I’d gotten us there, that was for sure.

Somehow, I knew there’d be hell to pay,

For what I had done to dad’s Chevrolet.

I’d bent the axle and tore up the fence,

But managed to land without any dents.

That broken windshield never got fixed,

My drivin’ career was totally nixed.

That is my story, it’s sad but it’s true,

I’d wreck a few more before I was through!

LDT March 12, ‘25

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Senator

He drove an old green truck,

That he stopped was just my luck.

Then he offered me a ride,

And I gladly climbed inside.

I knew that old truck weren’t much,

With grinding gears and slipping clutch.

We made our way to Havre town,

Where he showed me around.

He pointed out the Silver Dollar,

Where the cowboys hoot and holler.

He warned me ‘bout Nixon’s plan,

To take the freedom from this land.

JFK was the man for him,

But the margin would be slim.

In High School, he trucked no fools,

Always fought those stupid rules.

Thought he’d give Debate a try.

Quanbeck was our Civics guy,

Stood up for our Union Rights,

Took the team to new heights.

On the stage, he acted well,

At oration he was swell.

Then came the time to part ways,

Joined the Corps in my malaise.

Came on home in Sixty-Six,

Didn’t fit with college cliques.

Spent my nights drinkin’ beer,

Without a clue why I was here.

He put me on a better road,

Signed me up, a full load.

At night he toiled at GN Shops,

Where the Builder often stops.

And while he was there, what the heck,

He even put up with old Joe Zeck.

How he did it, I don’t know,

He weren’t nor ordinary Joe.

If you need a friend that’s true,

Lawrence Black is the one for you.

LDT March 7, ‘25

Happy Birthday Lawrence!

Surviving Fascism

The dark clouds of Fascism are once again engulfing the world. History tells us that, once Fascism is in place, it will not leave willingly. Mussolini lasted over 20 years before being strung up by Partisans at a gas station in Milan. Hitler’s Thousand-Year Reich ended in violence and destruction. Making aggressive war doomed both regimes.

In some places where Fascism took root, it died a natural death. Franco had the good sense to stay out of WWII and ruled Spain until his death in 1975. Argentina has flirted with Fascism for decades with Peronistas and Military Juntas coming and going. Leaders practicing modern forms of Fascism have been very clever in controlling the levers that keep them in power. None have been more successful than Vladamir Putin, the former Communist KGB Officer, who discovered that Fascism pays better than Communism did. He has amassed a great wealth and power since he first took over in 2000. He’s not going away anytime soon.

I have to confess there is a certain allure in Fascism. Everyone likes a dynamic Leader who seemingly addresses their fears and places the blame for their failures on someone else. The Fascist Fuhrer can generate a great deal of public support in the beginning. Few notice, in their euphoria, that as others are singled out for persecution, their own liberties are also being infringed upon.

“We don’t know what we had until its gone,” is more than just a trite old saying. Under Fascism our liberties are eroded away until they are gone. The Legislative Branch abdicates its role in serving as a check on executive power. The influence of the Judiciary is muted. Those who are “different” are singled out for special abuse. Dissent is quashed. Freedom of the Press, Speech, and Assembly is suppressed.

So, how does one stand up to the abuses of a Fascist Regime? Perhaps you are thinking of steps like these:

Vote. Good luck with that. Once in power, the Fascist will do everything possible to make it difficult for you to vote. Opposing candidates will face legal consequences. Armed thugs will show up at polling places. The mechanics of voting will be under a cloud. Elections, if they are held at all, will serve only to anoint the Leader.
Legislative solutions. In a divided government the legislature becomes totally irrelevant. Nothing gets done, except by Executive Decree. There are no overrides of the Leader’s vetoes, no censures and certainly no impeachments.
The Courts. Forget them. Unchecked by the electorate and the legislature, the Unitary Executive can simply ignore the courts. He controls the Justice Department that would presumably enforce them. Given enough time in power, the Leader can reshape the courts to sustain his power. A divided and weak legislature will simply rubber-stamp the Leader’s appointments.
Direct Action. OK, you can take to the streets. How does that work when the Leader controls law enforcement and the military? I think Emilio Zapata said it best, “It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.”
Leave. You can give up and just leave. All you need to do is find a country that will accept asylum seekers. Belarus? Whoops, that’s worse. Canada? Better find a sponsor. As many displaced Jews learned in WWII, it is hard to escape an aggressive dictatorship. Those who fled to Holland, France, or Denmark, wound up in the ovens. Sadly, America kept its gates only partially open.
Prayer. Unhappily, Fascism is often sustained and supported by people of faith. They love that the Leader forces their values onto those who don’t share them. Jesus would tell you that that prayer without action is empty bullshit.

My conclusion is this. Once you go down the path toward Fascism, there is no easy road to redemption. We are screwed. Only a catastrophic event like a war, revolution, or economic collapse will end this nightmare. It will be up to our Grandchildren to figure out what happens then. I hope they act wisely.

LDT March 4, ‘25

Chapter 7: Sam

“Sam?” Reuben asked dumbfounded.

“You heard me Brother DeLay. You are taking Sam with you,” Montgomery retorted.

Many thoughts ran through Reuben’s mind as he pondered Montgomery’s demand. Sam was the slave he encountered on his first day in Linn County. How could he get him safely out of Kansas? What would happen if they were caught? The Bogus Laws of the Lecompton legislature prescribed the death penalty for anyone caught smuggling a fugitive slave. Not to mention it was also a crime under the federal Fugitive Slave Act. It was a huge risk.

“What makes you think I can pull it off?”

“Well, for one thing you have managed to get that central Missouri accent down pat. We’re going to give you a cover story that will get you all the way to Tabor. Then your friends in the Iowa Underground Railroad will take over.”

“What about Sam’s family back in Misourah? He won’t go without them.”

“We’ve got their escape all figured out. Sam will run away on the same night. They will be guided up the line to join Sam in Iowa. There’s a preacher in Centerville that will handle things from there.”

Reuben knew of only one preacher in Centerville who was involved with the Underground. It had to be Uncle Jacob. Then he remembered telling Montgomery about his Uncle’s activities. The two had been corresponding with coded letters for months as they plotted the escape of Sam’s family. It was now up to Reuben to make Sam’s escape a success.

“If Uncle Jacob’s involved, I’ll do it. He has never failed to pass someone through to freedom. Mind you, I have to close out my affairs here before I leave. When are we talking about springing him?”

“Mid-October. The harvest will be done and the slaves will get some free time on Sundays. Sell what you need to and our grazing association will take care of your remaining stock for the winter. It will all be here when you return in the spring with that new wife of yours.”

Reuben gulped. What if Margaret found out that he was placing himself in such danger? Then he remembered how she had admired the courage of the locals who were participating in Appanoose County’s leg of the Underground. No, she wouldn’t mind. Especially if no one told her until it was over. She might even see her fiancé as a hero.

“It better be a real good plan,” he declared.

“It is. With your accent and the story we are concocting for you, it can’t fail.”

Montgomery’s comment sent a shiver up his spine. A story? He didn’t consider himself much of a fibber. Six months in Kansas had, however, improved his lying skills along with his ability to mimic a southern accent.

That night he lay in his shelter and thought about retracing his steps back to Iowa. How would he get past Leavenworth with its pro-slavery sheriff? Would Montgomery’s cover story hold up? Then, there were the hundred little tasks he would still have to do before starting the journey. Put up hay for the grazing association. Sell the hogs. Prepare more logs for the cabin. Build a cache to keep his equipment and possessions in. The list went on.

It was late Sunday afternoon on October 12 when Reuben arrived at Montgomery’s fort. Clarinda ushered him in quietly. The kids looked up, but said nothing. Montgomery was sitting at the table.

“Is he here?” Reuben asked.

Montgomery leaned down to move a badly worn rug on the floor. Then he lifted a trap door. So that was how the wily old man had escaped from the Ruffians so many times, Reuben speculated.

“Sam, come on up!”

A second later a black head with big eye whites emerged from the hidden tunnel. When his white teeth flashed in a smile, Reuben knew it was Sam.

“Howdy Massah DeLay,” I’s about to get mah freedom.”

Reuben smiled and gripped the Black man’s hand.

“Let’s have some supper and I’ll fill you in on the plan,” said Montgomery.

Well, aren’t we an odd trio, Reuben thought as Clarinda ladled out the stew and placed fresh bread on the table.

“You any good with a whip?” asked Montgomery.

“Ah, I suppose so. I can get an ox team’s attention with one.”

“Good! After supper you are going to whip Sam.”

Reuben was horrified. “Whip him? Whatever for?”

“Because you just caught him and you are taking him back to Missouri for the reward.”

Reuben looked over at Sam who was calmly savoring his stew. Then it dawned on him. He would be masquerading as a slave catcher as he took Sam through hostile territory. It was a good cover story, but there was one catch.

“But I’ll be taking him north!”

“That’s all been figured out. You just caught him and now you are after his companion who is headed north. You’ll have warrants and newspaper clippings from Missouri to prove it. Each one of them is real, except for the one that mentions Moses here.” Montgomery said pointing at Sam.

Reuben nodded. Montgomery had this all figured out. After supper, the three men went outside. Sam stripped off his shirt and wrapped his arms around an oak tree.

“Do it!” Montgomery commanded, handing Reuben the whip.

Wincing, Reuben took the whip and uncoiled it behind him.

Crack! He missed.

“It’s Ok Massah, I’s used to it.”

Montgomery looked at Reuben and jerked his head toward Sam.

“This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.” This time the whip struck Sam’s shoulder. It raised a six-inch welt.

“Harder Massah!”

The whip cracked again striking home. Sam flinched in pain, but continued to grasp the tree. Reuben administer six blows in all, some drawing blood.

“That will do,” Montgomery said approvingly. “Next come the shackles. I had them made especially for Sam. The pins can be knocked out with a hammer or a rock.”

By then it was dark. They took the shackled Sam over to a runabout and helped him into the back.

“The Leavenworth Road is too dangerous, so you’ll have to head northwest and turn when you hit the Topeka Road. Use the North Star as a guide. In Topeka, you’ll stop at the Scales house. He’ll hide Sam until it is safe to continue the journey north. He’ll likely route you through a station in Holton. You’ll cross the Missouri at Tabor, Iowa and go to the house of Reverand Todd. Got it?”

Reuben nodded.

“Now be off with you! Get as far away from Linn County as you can tonight. You can rest when you’re dead.”

Reuben launched himself into the runabout’s seat and took the reins. They headed west along Sugar creek for a few miles before turning northwest. As they traveled the two men chatted.

“I sure ‘preciate what yer doin’ Massah.”

“We don’t need that Massah stuff out here. You can call me Reuben or Mr. DeLay if you please.”

“How far is Topeka?”

“About seventy miles if we don’t get too lost.”

“What’s Iowa like?”

“Like Kansas without all the Bushwhackers. Good corn country.”

“You reckin mah wife and kids will make it there?”

“Uncle Jacob never fails. He’s got a whole network of folks helping.”

“I sure hope so. If’n mah wife and chillen don’t make it, I’ll hafta go back. Massah Morgan will sell mah family down the river if I runs away without them.”

Reuben shuddered at the thought of Sam returning to slavery. He had to make his part of the plan work. Would the conductors and station masters on the Underground Railway do theirs? It was complicated. The two men were going to have to do a lot of serious praying.

Two days later, they were on the Topeka Road when a wagon approached. The driver, a rough-looking character with a brace of pistols and a whip reined in.

“Whatca doin with that darky?”

“Going to Topeka to find another one.”

“Got a warrant?”

Reuben now understood that his first impression of the man was correct. He was a man-stealer.

“Course I do. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Reuben and the other man pulled out their ads and warrants. Some were identical, except for the one for Moses and his escape partner.”

That one read,

Runaways

From the subscriber near Glasgow, Howard County, Mo. Ttwo Negro boys aged 26 and 29 named Moses and Jim. Moses is 5 feet 10 inches and wide build with heavy black beard. Insolent of character. Has marks from repeated whippings. Jim is 5 foot 8 inches, pointed beard, balding head, slender build, long sharp nose and missing upper front tooth. A liberal reward of 15 Dollars each, plus expenses, for their return is offered.

S.A. McTavish

October 3, 1856

“Looks to be in order,” said the other man comparing “Moses” to the flyer Reuben had presented him. I got flummoxed by them cursed abolitionists in Topeka. Now I’m comin’ back empty hopin. to spot a stray runaway on the road.”

“There is always that chance. I had to use the whip to git Moses here to tell me whar his pardner was headed.” Reuben said, pointing to the blood spots on the back of Sam’s shirt.

“I got lucky hereabouts last summer. Found a group of three. One of ‘em was a purdy Quadroon wench. I figured she was worth a lot of money in one of them New Orleans sportin’ houses. Had some fun with her myself.”

The comment sickened Reuben. He could almost feel Sam’s anger boiling up behind him. He had to do something about this evil man.

“Chew?” Reuben asked pulling out a plug of tobacco.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

The two men got down from their wagons. Reuben cut off a big chunk of tobacco and handed it to the man. Then he cut a smaller piece for himself. He didn’t smoke or chew, but the tobacco added to his credibility of his southern slave-hunter persona. Their conversation was one-sided with the man complaining about the abolitionists who were trying to ruin the South. After a few minutes, the slave-catcher walked over to a tree to relieve himself. Seeing his opportunity, Reuben grabbed the man’s warrants and slipped them to Sam. They would be far down the Topeka Road before the man noticed.

It was getting dark when their rig pulled into Topeka the next evening. It took a while, but they found the Scales place. Mrs. Scales ushered them inside while her husband prepared the hiding place. It was a large barrel in a hidden space under the floor. Sam took one look at it and laughed. He would never fit. He’d just take up a place in a dark corner of the cellar. Fortunately, they didn’t have to stay long. They were off to Holton the next day. From there it was only a day’s ride to the Nebraska border.

“You’re in a free territory now Sam,” Reuben exclaimed as they passed a small marker. “It won’t be long now before we’re in Iowa.”

“I’s hoping I stays free. Them slave-catchers can still come after me.”

“That’s true, but the people here are more likely to protect you. We’ll have to trust in the good Lord to keep findin’ them for us. Tabor is full of good folks.”

Indeed Tabor, Iowa was more than welcoming. Reverand Todd’s big house was easy to find. He greeted them warmly. The weary travelers washed up before being treated to a sumptuous meal.

“Normally the line would take Sam to Des Moines,” remarked the reverend. “From there, it’s easy to get to Chicago and on to Canada. Are you sure you want to leave the railroad and go to Appanoose County?

“That’s our plan, Sam has his family waiting for him there,” said Reuben.

“What if they have already been caught? Todd asked. “Wouldn’t Sam be better off heading for Des Moines?”

“No Suh, if’n mah family gets catched, I gotta go back to Missourah. They’ll be sold down the river if’n I don’t.”

“I suppose so. I’ll pray for your family’s deliverance and that you have made the right decision. Good luck in your journey.”

Nearly two weeks later, Reuben reined in. They were less than a mile from Uncle Jacob’s place. He had San sit on the end of the wagon while he knocked the pins out of the shackles. Sam looked up quizzically.

“It’s your turn to drive.”

A broad grin swept across Same’s face. Then, the apprehension returned. “Lordy, I hope mah family’s there.”

“They will be,” Reuben assured him.

Fifteen minutes later they were approaching Jacob’s house. A young lady seated on the porch crocheting looked up. A flash of amazement crossed her face as she recognized her cousin seated next to a Black man. She jumped up dropping her work and dashed into the house. Seconds later three little Blak children followed by their mother emerged.

“Papa!”

Sam was free at last. Well, almost.

Index: Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman– Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies (azrockdodger.com)

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Chapter 6: Retribution

Kapow! Kapow! Kapow!

Reuben had just settled down for a good night’s sleep when he heard the three shots. There was trouble, but where?

The gunfire obviously came from one of his Sugar Creek neighbors. Reuben scanned the night as he exited his canvas shelter. A red glow came from Mace Johnson’s place. Fire! Had there been a raid?

He grabbed his pistol and saddled up. He didn’t know if he would be fighting fire or Missouri Ruffians when he got there. Just before reaching the main road, he heard pounding hooves. He paused as the riders went by. He couldn’t tell if they were friend or foe, but he suspected they were the latter.

Arriving at the Johnson place, he quickly dismounted. Johnson was beating what was left of his burning cabin with a wet blanket. His distraught wife and three small children looked on in anguish.

“What happened?” asked Reuben as began pitching dirt on the burning cabin with his bare hands.

“Damn Ruffians! I recognized one of them. It was George Clarke from Fort Scott.”

“The government land agent?”

“Yep. First, he did everything he could to keep me from filing my claim. Then he led a mob to burn me out.”

“I just missed the mob on the way here. They were headed up Sugar Creek.”

Both men paused. The fire had consumed most of the cabin and was dying down. They looked to the west. There was another fire glowing in the night sky.

“Them bastards are gonna hit every place on Sugar Creek!” Johnson lamented. “This cabin is a lost cause. Let’s head toward Montgomery’s and see if we can stop them.”

Reuben didn’t wait for Johnson to saddle his horse. If he caught up with the raiders he might be able to pick one of the rear guard off. He rode as hard as he could. As he passed the second burning cabin, he spied another one on fire up ahead. Soon there was a line of burning cabins and barns along the creek. By the time he reached Montgomery’s fort the fires had stopped.

“Did they try to get you?” Reuben asked as he swung down from his lathered-up mount.

“They filled my wagon with hay, rolled it to the top of the hill and set it afire. It missed the house on the way down. I think my Sharps might have winged one of them.”

“Should we organize a pursuit?”

“No, they’re moving too fast. Probably half way to Missouri by now.”

“Mace Johnson said one of them was George Clarke.”

“Clarke? That figures. I already had him on my list. Vengeance will be mine.”

“When will we go after them?”

“We need intelligence. I might just head over to Missouri and do some snooping around. Meanwhile, you and the boys need to rebuild and stay calm.”

The raid had been a shock to the Free State settlers of Linn County. Some gave up in disgust, but most stayed, vowing revenge. There was much rebuilding to do. Some fortified their houses like Montgomery’s. A wall of piled rocks provided quick protection.

Montgomery’s next move was to infiltrate the Missouri Ruffians. He boldly rode into the state and stopped at the house of a border ruffian named Burnett. Burnett’s wife let him in and even nursed him through an illness until Captain Burnett returned from a raid. Montgomery convinced Burnett that he was a teacher from back East.

This ruse got him a teaching job. He taught the Three R’s for two weeks; Reading, Writing and Revenge. He kept his eyes and ears open until the raiders dropped their guard and began to boast of their exploits. As the two weeks ended, he had a list of the ringleaders of the Sugar Creek raid. He returned to Linn County to organize his men. Only seven men, including Reuben, had been summoned. They assembled at Fort Montgomery to get their instructions.

After the prayer and roll call, Montgomery pointed to an oblong wooden box on the table.

“Beecher’s Bibles, Gentlemen.”

He grabbed a pry bar and began opening the crate. Reuben was about to get one of Henry Ward Beecher’s Bibles. As the top came off, he could see a layer of straw cushioning the contents. Montgomery reached in and pulled out a Sharps riffle.

Reuben finally understood what Beecher’s Bibles were. The good pastor had smuggled the most advanced rifles in the country past the prying eyes of Missourians in boxes labeled Bibles. Beecher’s Testaments turned out to be boxes of cartridges. The Lord does work in mysterious ways, Reuben thought.

The raid was planned for the next night. Montgomery didn’t want the Missourians to have time to notice the disappearance of their teacher. His plan was simple. Montgomery would take over Captain Burnett’s home. Two of the men would dress as Indians and ride through the settlement to create a distraction. This would bring the Sugar Creek raiders to the home of their leader.

Reuben was assigned to the group that would watch the house as the Ruffians made their way to the assembly point. Before the raid began, he spent some time familiarizing himself with his new Bible. It was quick to load and deadly accurate. His revolver would serve as a backup if things got too hot.

The men dressed as Indians went in first. They slipped about the periphery of the town making sure they were noticed. As the alarm began spreading, Montgomery went up to the Burnett house and knocked. He was hurriedly admitted. A minute later, he opened the door and signaled to the men outside. They were shortly reinforced by the “Indians.” The trap had been set.

“Hold up there! Put your hands in the air!” Reuben demanded as the first victim rushed to the house.

“Who are you?” queried his dumbfounded captive.

“Never you mind,” Reuben said, disarming the man. “Just go inside with this feller.”

The scene was repeated many more times until the house contained twenty-one prisoners. The captives couldn’t believe they had been tricked into surrendering by a handful of men.

“Set your cash and your valuables on this table,” Montgomery ordered as each new captive arrived. Soon the table was covered with watches, rings, and a mound of cash. Montgomery scooped the booty up. The cash alone came to $250.

“My force is watching this house. You men stay here until daybreak. Anyone leaving sooner will be shot.”

The prisoners looked on sullenly. Outside, Montgomery’s men selected eleven of their best horses to take back to Kansas. It was just compensation for the damage caused by the Sugar Creek raiders.

The company met again at Montgomery’s place on Thursday. By then the captured horses had been sent off to Topeka for sale. Montgomery divided up the cash from the raid. Those who had been burned out got most of it. Reuben got eleven dollars for his participation. That seemed fair.

The company compared notes on what had made the raid successful and what they could do better the next time. Then Montgomery brought out a newspaper.

“We’re famous boys, the Leavenworth Times called us ‘Robbers and ruffians of the worst character, practicing their rascality under the pretense of defending the Free State cause.’”

The men laughed heartily. They saw themselves as pious farmers, not robbers and ruffians.

Then they began planning activities that were closer to home. It was time to make sure the remaining pro-slavery settlers in the area learned that their power had waned. Montgomery insisted on warning each before any direct action was taken. No one who didn’t pose a threat would be burned out.

He formed groups and gave them lists of pro-slavery settlers to visit. Reuben rode with Montgomery’s squad. They called on about a dozen of the pro-slavery men. After the raid into Missouri, their task turned out to be easy. At each cabin, the owner came out and professed his desire to avoid trouble.

Last on the list was Judge Davis, one of three county officials who had appointed pro-slavery men to every Linn County position. He was also a territorial militia captain who was eager to enforce the “Bogus Laws” of the Lecompton Legislature. Being on the pro-slavery side had made him wealthy by local standards. He had large place with a big barn and a comfortable house.

“Did you ride with George Clarke?” Montgomery demanded. Davis’s face went white.

“No!” he protested.

Then Montgomery exploded, “I think you did! The shoe is now on the other foot. This is going to be a free state. We are the majority. As punishment for committing violence against the free state settlers, you are hereby banished. Pack up and get out, bag and baggage.”

With a large force of well-armed men backing Montgomery up, Davis caved to the inevitable. As it happened, an English immigrant bought him out at a bargain price the next day.

Word of the company’s visits to their neighbors spread quickly. The Lawrence Republican reported, “Captain Montgomery was called upon by the Free State men of Bourbon and Linn County to aid them in the defense of their lives and property…Every man whose name was given as one who would sustain the Blue Laws of the pro-slavery Lecompton government by fraud, violence, and murder was warned to leave the territory. Those who did not were visited again, and houses searched and their arms, ammunition, and horses taken. Only those who had been formerly active in robbing his neighbors were ordered off.”

As time went on, Montgomery’s force grew to fifty mounted men, each armed with a Sharps rifle. The “Immortal Fifty” were some of the first Kansans to be called Jayhawkers. The term referred to an Irish bird that raided the nests of other birds. Not considering himself a thief, Montgomery was not fond of the term. His men, on the other hand, loved it.

One day Montgomery led his force to Trading Post. The tiny settlement was known for its saloons which were frequented by bawdy ruffians from Missouri. Dividing his force, Montgomery attacked both of the settlement’s saloons simultaneously. The imbibers inside were caught totally off guard.

“Throw up your hands!” Montgomery roared. Reuben and the other men quickly lined the drinkers up against the wall and disarmed them. Reuben searched his man and found a hidden derringer. Small caliber, single shot. The other weapons seized were not much better.

“No wonder you scoundrels only attack at night,” Reuben chided as he took another man’s gun. “This pea shooter ain’t much good against my Sharps.”

The men stared back glumly as they were led outside. There, the Immortal Fifty broke the stocks on the guns and threw them into a pile. As they were pondering what to do next, Montgomery emerged from the saloon rolling a barrel of whiskey. He grabbed an ax from a nearby woodpile and broke the end open. Some of his men looked on in horror as their teetotaler leader poured the spirits on the stack of weapons. Soon a hot fire was blazing. Everyone retreated when the unexploded rounds in the guns started going off.

Montgomery then turned his wrath onto the Missourians, “You men don’t belong here. You do nothing for Kansas except cause trouble. Go back to where you came from and let Kansas choose its own path. If ever you return, all your possessions will be consecrated to our cause and you will be run off with hot tar and feathers.”

By the end of the summer of 1856, the worst of the pro-slavery faction were gone from Linn County. The tide was turning, but the fight was far from over.

Index- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman– Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies (azrockdodger.com)

Main Menu- http://www.azrockdodger.com