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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
There it is, Reuben thought as he rounded a bend and first gazed on Montgomery’s place. It was built against a hillside and was larger than most frontier cabins. The only visible window was on the attic level. The little window offered a commanding view of the approaches to the cabin. As Reuben rode closer the building appeared ever more formidable and foreboding. No wonder the locals called it Fort Montgomery.
Two men were lounging on the porch. Alerted as Reuben drew near, both stood to eye him. One grabbed the barrel of a rifle that was leaning against the wall.
Everyone in Kansas thinks he’s a fighter, Reuben thought. One of the men appeared to call for someone inside the house. Then he stepped toward Reuben. The man with the rifle continued to watch Reuben cautiously. Reuben noted that the weapon was one of those Sharps breechloaders he had begun to covet.
“State yer business.”
“I’m Reuben DeLay. Mr. Montgomery invited me here.”
James Montgomery abruptly emerged from the doorway.
“Well, hello there young fellow. I see you made it.”
The other two men relaxed. Dismounting, Reuben tied the reins to a hitching post.
“Good to see you, Mr. Montgomery. You’ll be pleased to know I’m your new neighbor. I made a deal on the Bayliss place.”
“That’s good to know. Glad that rascal finally saw the light.”
“He seemed to have had a bit of help in reaching his decision,” Reuben smirked. “I traded him a worn-out wagon and an old horse for it. He couldn’t wait to load up and leave.”
Montgomery chuckled. “The Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn’t He? Why, a year ago Bayliss was trying to run me off. I saw him with the Border Ruffians when they burned down my old cabin.”
“That makes me feel better about the deal I got,” Reuben said as the two men approached the door.
“Gentlemen, meet Reuben DeLay from Iowa,” said Montgomery introducing him to the two men on the porch. “We’re going to make a Free-Stater out of him.”
The men exchanged greetings and shook hands.
“Come on in! The Misses is making some coffee. We’re still waiting on some of the company before we start the meeting.”
Reuben noted that the wall was about a foot thick as the two men approached the door. Unlike any cabin he’d ever seen, the logs were hewn square and set vertically. He paused for a moment to admire the work.
“Bulletproof,” said Montgomery pointing to a hole near the top of the door where a fifty-caliber ball had hit but failed to penetrate.
Reuben was impressed. Inside, the room was dark, the only outside light coming from some slits in the thick walls. They were gunports. This house really is a fort, Reuben thought. A small pile of red-hot coals glowed in the stone fireplace on the back wall of the house. Montgomery’s wife, Clarinda, picked up the coffee pot from the hearth and poured Reuben a cup.
“Milk, sugar?”
“No Ma’am, I’ll take it black,” Reuben responded. He’d need the pick-me-up if the meeting lasted into the night. He sat down at the table with Montgomery and took a sip. The aroma filled his nostrils as he touched the hot tin cup to his lips. He looked forward to what Montgomery had to say.
“Have you thought any more about getting better healed?” Montgomery queried, tapping his revolver with his fingers.
“Yes Sir, I’m off to Trading Post next week to get one. These Missourah folks are makin’ me nervous.”
“Trading Post? Be careful there. A bunch of those ruffians from Missouri hang out there.”
“I’m gittin’ good at fittin’ in with that crowd, bein’ from Putnam County, Missourah and all.”
“You’re a quick learner there, DeLay. Just be careful you don’t get someone from our side to burn you out. Best we get you acquainted as soon as possible. You will meet most of your Sugar Creek neighbors this afternoon. They are a good bunch who have hung on through some tough times. They aren’t afraid to stand up to the pro-slavery scum from Missouri.”
“Good to know Sir.”
More men had arrived outside. They were talking and making loud boasts.
“I pulled my gun on that son-of-a-bitch and told him to get the hell off of mah property.”
“Shot that bastard’s horse right out from under him!”
Reuben noted that some of the men were smoking and chewing tobacco. A flask was passed between a couple of them. These were rough frontiersmen, accustomed to course behavior and strong words. Then it occurred to him, he had never heard Montgomery swear. He was different from the men outside, but he was their leader. At Montgomery’s beckoning, the men stopped their raucous conversation and moved to the doorway, removing their hats as they entered. No one dared smoke or cuss in James Montgomery’s home.
There was a steep set of stairs into the upper loft. One by one, the men climbed through the opening above. With the lone window in the front, the loft was better lit than the ground floor. Montgomery took his place by the stone chimney. The other men grabbed chairs or stools or stood against the wall. There were a dozen men in total.
“Let us begin with prayer.”
The men bowed their heads and waited for Montgomery.
“Dear Heavenly Father, we beseech you to bless this noble group and its mission. May you empower us to drive the stain of bondage forever from this good land that you have given us. Give us, Dear Lord, the strength, and the tools we need to accomplish your will…”
Reuben felt like he was listening to one of Uncle Jacob’s sermons.
“…and protect each of us as we do your work.
In the name of the Savior, Amen!”
There was a chorus of amens from the group.
“Now let us get on with our business. Brother James, you may take the roll.”
As the Secretary called out the names, Reuben noticed something was amiss. The men were answering to different names from the ones they had just been introduced to him as. Why the pseudonyms? He wondered. Were these men in fear of associating their given names with their activities?
“Has anyone heard from Brother Walker?” asked Montgomery after the roll had been completed.
“He went to Lawrence to sell a hog,” was the answer.
“How is the plowing going? Anyone in need of help?”
Reuben figured it was too early to ask for help and didn’t answer. It was good to know that these men were available when needed. He had been to many brandings, harvests, and barn raisings in Iowa. It was encouraging to see such community efforts in Kansas. The men continued with a discussion of topics mostly of interest to farmers. Reuben cataloged this useful information in the back of his mind. It would help him make a go of his new place.
With the talk of farming in Kansas over, everyone turned toward Reuben. Montgomery’s eyes bored into him.
“Not to cause you any unease Brother DeLay, but we need to get to know you better. We will survive and hopefully prosper here because we support each other.” Montgomery swept his hand across the room. “These men have all sworn an oath to uphold our sacred cause and defend each other. Each one will gladly lay down his life to make Kansas free. Is this a cause you are willing to die for?”
“Yes,” Reuben stammered without thinking. It was a commitment that would shape the next decade of his life.
“These men have questions for you,” Montgomery said as his eyes scanned the room. A man named Bern stepped forward from his position on the wall.
“Yer from Iowa. Any kin in the South?
“No Sir, My family once lived in Virginia before moving to Ohio about 1800.”
“Any of them ever own slaves?”
“No, my Grandpa was a Methodist preacher who hated slavery. My Uncle Jacob is a conductor on the Underground through Iowa. He’s pretty good at it too.”
“How do you feel about the Fugitive Slave Act?”
“It’s a damnable law that makes us all slave-catchers. I’d go to jail before turning in someone.”
“Good. Now tell us why you came to Kansas?”
Well, mostly to find some land and get set up in life. It looks like the land in these parts comes with a few strings though. I can’t settle here without taking a side. I will be throwing my lot in with the Free-State faction.”
“Here! Here!”
“Are we ready to vote on Brother DeLay? asked Montgomery.
The men nodded. Montgomery handed out pieces of paper and a couple of pencils for a secret ballot. The men scribbled on the paper scraps and put them in a hat. Montgomery began pulling out the papers to tabulate the vote. Then he looked sternly at Reuben.
“To be admitted to this company requires a unanimous vote.”
Reuben shuddered, not daring to look around.
“Congratulations brother DeLay, you are in.”
Reuben breathed a sigh of relief.
“Administer the oath, Brother James!”
Mr. James fumbled in his pocket and brought out a sheet of paper. He beckoned Reuben to rise and stand by a small table where a Bible was sitting.
“Raise your right hand and place the other on God’s word.”
“Repeat after me, I, Reuben Delay, do solemnly swear to serve the Lord in defense of the free territory of Kansas.”
“I, Reuben DeLay do solemnly, swear…,” Rueben repeated.
“I will take up arms, as necessary, to remove the abomination of slavery.”
Reuben thought about his aging musket as he repeated this part of the oath.
“I solemnly covenant that I will never reveal the signs, grips, or secrets of this combination on pain of death…”
“I promise I will never speak ill of my fellow warriors in the fight against slavery. Nor will I reveal their names to the enemies of the Lord…”
“I take this obligation of my own free will and will suffer unto death for the cause of human liberty, so help me God.”
“…So help me God!” Reuben swore as he thought about the implications. This was a blood oath, much like the Masons and the Mormons allegedly swore. In this case, there was no doubt that the men were willing to risk their lives and fortunes for the cause.
Then Brother James demonstrated the secret signs and grips of the order to Reuben.
“Your name on the rolls will be Isaac Smythe. You will use this name any time you are conducting business with or on behalf of the company. The challenge is, ‘Where has your brother gone?’ The password is ‘Up! Up! Up!’
With Reuben’s initiation over, Montgomery called for new business.
One of the men raised his hand and asked, “When are we goin’ after that no-good tyrant Judge Davis?”
“Good question,” answered Montgomery. “We need to keep an eye on him, but right now, he’s too well placed. He has the ear of the territorial governor. I hear he’s been appointed as a captain in the militia. He’s tied in with the crowd from across the line and those bushwhackers from Bourbon County too. If we watch his place, we’ll know more about who the ruffians are and what they are up to. Meanwhile, I’ll tell Davis that if anything happens to us, his place goes up in smoke first. He needs to know we mean business.”
“I’m good with that, but a late-night visit might be fun.”
“We don’t want to escalate the trouble any more than we have to,” counseled Montgomery. “Retribution brings on more retribution; an eye for an eye. Our goal here is to overcome them at the ballot box. That means making this place safe for more Free-State settlers. Then, and only then, the pro-slavery crowd might return to whatever part of Sodom and Gomorrah they came from. If we prevail in Kansas, the slave states will lose their power. That is how we win. We only fight to protect what is ours and see God’s will fulfilled.”
“What if they attack us again?”
“If that happens, we go after them as always. We must be careful to only go after the real enemies. I’ve got a list started.”
“Any chance we’ll get some more Bibles and Testaments from Beecher?” asked one of the men.
“Any day now.”
“Bibles and Testaments?” Reuben muttered out loud.
The man next to him elbowed him in the ribs. Smiling, he said, “You’ll find out about Beecher’s Bibles soon enough son.”
It was after dark when the meeting broke up. Mrs. Montgomery offered the men more coffee and some biscuits before they left. They took them outside where the men could smoke and swear. Montgomery remained inside.
“So, how does it feel to be sworn in for the good fight?” asked one of the men of Reuben.
Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies 