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Hold Reunion and Recall Wild Exploits Men Who Sacked Lawrence and [Terrorized the Border Proud of HTheir Early Deeds Foreword BACK in old Missouri, where the sumac leaves are redden? ing and the Osage oranges turning to gold, in a certain grove in the Blue Ridge hills of Jackson County, there assembled in the latter days of August one of the jtrsngest reunions of war veterans the world has ever known. Its mem hers were the survivors of th? fa nous guerrilla band that once rode under the black flag with William Clarke Quantrill, whose exploits in the border lands of Missouri and Kansas made the most lurid chap? ters in the history of the great con? flict between the North and the South. Barely more than a dozen of the original members of the band now remain?feeble, gray, grim-featured octogenarians the most of them? but still in their ashes smolder the fire3 of that far day, more than half a century ago, when their deeds made the name of Quantrill mere widely known and more dreaded than that of any other chieftain as? sociated with the Civil War. Every year for many years past they have met there among the war? time oaks that shade the.ir favorite grove, once a rendezvous of the band, and sat in the peaceful shades to renew their grim memories. Each year finds the muster roll depleted by death, yet they vow that they will continue to hold their yearly re? muons while two veterans remain to clasp hands. Nearly all of the old familiar faces are gone?the Jameses, Cole Yomjger, Fletcher Taylor, Dave His ton, Crptain Bill Gregg, John Koger, Ben Morrow. Only one who was by the side of the guerrilla chief at his death in Kentucky remains, Allen Palmer, now a Texas ranchman, who taotored to the last reunion a year ago from Texas, bringing with him the rusty pair of "Colt navies" that he had worn throughout the border days. Amazingly strange and anachron? istic seem the reminiscences indulged in by these grizzled old "bushwhack? ers" of a long gone time when over? heard by one of the present, genera? tion, as they were by the writer, for their familiar tales run to deeds and sames linked with a four years' reign of terror along the borders of lansss and Missouri, whose bitter ?emories still survive through the lapse of three generations. And most of all they love to re? call, in tones that are still vibrant with awe and admiration and loyal? ty, their personal memories of that ruthless, long necked, yellow haired, Roman nosed, blood and iron captain who ruled the destinies of the fuerrilla band from 1861 to 1864 and ?ade for himself a name that was more dreaded and more talked of, perhaps, than that of any general an either side of the great conflict. And yet Quantrill was a man about whose personality but little is to-day generally known. Mystery wrrounded him when he rode the border, and much of myth and mys? tery still vlouds the records of Ms deeds and the always-partisan esti U?tes of his character. Two historians, William E. Con i M?ey and Major John N. Edwards, ?niong a host, of pamphleteers, have ???yed the task of painting a pic tore of the man and produced each a ?orantinous tome ballasted with ?eticulous detail?one of them hpld b)g a brief for the prosecution, the other for the defense. Connelley, writing for Kansas and Kansans, toons him in such lurid colors as these: "Quantrill, the Border Ruffian, the Bsndit, the Guerilla, the Freebooter, ?be Degenerate, the Depraved, the George and Terror of the Border, tb? crudest, cowardliest, bloodiest ?ten of the Civil War." Edwards, writing for Missouri **d Missourians of the old days, ??self one of the men who rode W* Jo Shelby, the Confederate b^dier?invest? him with the W*?seent hues of romance: "Quantrill became a guerrilla be ****e he had been most savagely ?Hit with"?thus he epitomizes, with * cinematographic pen?"and he be **? a chief because he had pru **tee, firmness, courage, audacity Wd common sens?. By precept and ????Pie he inculcated the devotion m comradeship; fought desperately; ___** * black, flag i killed every rbSTl made the idea of surrender j^Wkms; snapped his finger at **&? was something of a fatalist; iS?*** i<w tornen, Irot these with |*Wa? played high at cards; be gy ? religion; respected its ordl $**?? went at intervals to church; ??? ?marreled; wa? generally taci P* ersd one of the coolest ?vnA dead? ly Wen in a personal combat B!P* to the border. He rod? like ?_**? carved from the horse be wjfr hi? and shot with a ??volver jP^ths?wrtock?ng shot with a rifle, l^eagth of hi? blow was in it? ^p?eas atrito fury. Based upon skill, energy, perspicacity and un? usual presence of mind, his fame as a guerrilla Will endure for genera? tions." Somewhere between these two ex? tremes of portraiture lies the truth about this half-masked and mystery clothed night rider of the border, whose self-assumed task it was, as Edwards luminously puts it, "to weave the sable fringe upon the blood-red garments of Civil War." Let us see if we can step softly be? tween the partisan camp and find some neutral ground of biographical fact, for, whether demon or hero, the story of Quantrill is still as fasci? nating as a Waverley romance. CHAPTER I Quantrill the Sentimentalist THAT there was a dual nature in the man is attested by his lineage. There was good and bad stock along the line. He always claimed that his family was of Eng? lish origin, settling before Revolu? tionary days in Maryland, at Hagerstown. Thomas Quantrill, the grandfather of the guerrilla, was the captain of a company raised for service in the War of 1812, was wounded at the battle of North Point and left a record as a brave and patriotic sol? dier. He left a brood of sons, in whom the roving, adventurous streak began to develop. One of them was said to have be? come a pirate operating in the Gulf of Mexico; another a steamboat gambler and a man of many love affairs, for he was said to have been a handsome man; another, Archi? bald, was a steady-going printer and newspaper man who married a loyal ALLEN PALMER, now a **? Texan, who made the last wild ride with Quantrill and saw him shot TXflLLIAM ANDERSON, one of QuantriWs lieutenants, "' who led the raid on Centralia, Mo. Northern woman, Mary A. Sands who, it is claimed, was the womar who really waved the flag at Stone^ wall Jackson's men in Fredericks town, an incident that inspired Whittieris "Barbara Frietchie." Quantrill's father was Thomas Henry Quantrill, of the group oi old Captain Thomas's sons, and ap? pears to have been an inoffensive old gentleman, a tinner by trade. After his marriage to Caroline Cor? nelia Clarke he moved to Canal Dover, Ohio, where William Clarke Quantrill, the man of border history, was born. \ About five years before the out? break of the Civil War Quantrill, then a youth of eighteen, left Ohio for the West and the lands of his dark destinies, and it is in his let? ters of the next few years, written back to his mother in Ohio, that there is revealed a sentimental strain in the man that is hard to harmonize with his later reputation. Writing from Stanton, Kan., in 1857, he strikes this Byronic strain: "Dear mother: It is now too dry to work at the corn; this is why I bav? leiiure time to write during the week. I have taken my atlas and went to the bank of the river in the shade to write. Everything feels and looks happy; the wood is full of birds of ?very kind seeing which can sing the beet and sweetest The fish are playing' in the water of the river, which is clear as crystal; ?nd the squirrels bound from tree to tree, till seeing me they stop, and, after eying on curiously, then aeampor on ?gai? till I elroo?t envy their happi? ness. I have bat one wish, and that ic that you were here, tot X eannot be happy here all alone; and it seems that I ?at tbf only person or thing that is net happy along this bssutif ul stress?. Bat I saust ?los? ?y letter er I Wit! make ye? ?ad? and In caring for three helpless children yon have troubles enough without add? ing to them." A kind, considerate, nature-loving, melancholy-mooded Quantrill this, undreaming of the bloody days in the womb of 'the future. And there were many other letters in the same vein. Some written when he was teaching school and "boarding around" at Stanton, show quite a literary vein and real depths of feel? ing. Fancy Quantrill in this picture drawn in one of his home letters? just one year before the Sumter shot: "It is a pleasant morning, thjs; the eun is just rising, its light caus? ing the trees, bushes and grass to glitter like brilliants, while the hang? ing sheets of frost drop from them, announcing his warmth, then silently melting away. I stood in my school house door, and viewing this it made mo feel a new life, and merry as the birds. But these feelings and thoughts are soon changed and for? gotten, by the arrival of eight or ten of my scholars who come laugh? ing and tripping along as though their lives would always be like this beautiful morning, calm and serene. And I wish that I could elways be as these children. But I have been so no doubt, and I have no reason to expect it a second time.'' None, indeed. Four years from the time he penned those tender lines he was riding on his death dealing expedition to Lawrence, where there was no laughter of children and the music of the birds was not heeded on one day of doom. CHAPTER II Charley Hart, a Quantrill Pro? totype of Our Own Bill of the Screens BUT even while he was penning these beautiful letters to his mother, the dual nature was working within him. The roving streak was cropping rapidly to the surface. He would make mysterious disappearances?sometimes to the Indian camps, where he learned much of woodlore and of other things; sometimes to the gold fields of Colorado, and there was one long trip across the desert to Utah, where the future raider was foreshadowed in Charley Hart, gambler and em? bryo desperado of the mining camps. Charley Hart was William Clarke Quantrill. Why he assumed the name has never been known. There were many secret dark gaps in his history?often he disappeared and never explained when he turned up again. There were stories afloat of "nigger stealings" and underground railroad transactions in and around Lawrence, where he" spent much of his time just before the outbreak of the war. There were stories of kill? ings also linked wtth Charley Hart's name that came back as an aftor W ILLIAM rr CLARKE QUANTRILL, terror of the Kansas and Missouri bor? der during the Civil War, whose follow? ers still meet every year at one of their old time rendez? vous and glory in their wild exploits. The picture is from an old daguer? reotype. One of the stories often told is that Quantrill escaped and is still alive, but one of his still surviving fol? lowers tells of his death math of that Utah trip, but it is all hazy, uncertain history. There are no doubts, however, of the wild, roystering life he led in the Far West. He was noted at this period for his reckless gambling; he played to the limit and backed his play with his gun ; but perhaps that was a necessity of the times. Here is a picture of Quantrill as he ap? peared in 1858 to a soldier in one of the companies at Fort Bridger, R. M. Peck, now a resident of Whit tier, Cal.: "While sauntering through a big gambling tent a day or so after pay day, watching the game at the vari? ous tables, I heard some one re? mark, 'There's Charley Hart,' and having heard of his fame as a wild plunger in gambling, I took a good look at him. He was apparently about twenty-two or three years old, about 5 feet 10 inches in height, with an ungraceful, slouchy walk. He had on a pair of high-heeled calfskin bocts of small size-; bottoms ' of trousers tucked into boot-tops; a navy pistol swinging from his waist belt; a fancy blue flannel shirt; no coat; a colored silk handkerchief tied loosely around his neck; his yellow!, hair hanging nearly to his shoulders, topped out by the inevitable cow? boy hat. This is the picture of Charley Hart as my memory presents him now. "As he entered the tent he car? ried in his left hand a colored silk handkerchief, fathered by the four corners, which apparently contained coin. Advancing to one of the tables where the banker was dealing monte, he set the handkerchief on the table and opened it out, showing the con? tents to be gold coins. Hart then asked, 'Take a tap, pard?' meaning would the banker accept a bet of Hart's pile against the dealer's, on the turn of a card. The banker accepted the challenge, shuffled the cards, passed the deck to Hart to cut, then threw out the lay-out of six cards. Hart set his handkerchief of gold on a card, at the same time drawing his pistol, saying, 'Just to insure fair play,' seeing that the banker had his gun on the table con? venient to his hand. The banker dealt, and Hart won. As the banker lcoked up with a muttered oath, he found himself looking into the rouz y.](! of Hart's pistol held in one hand, while with the other he swept his winnings into his handkerchief. Handing the banker a twenty-dollar gold piece for a stake, he sauntered away looking for new banks to 'bast.' The next day I was told Hart's mar? velous luck had deserted him and he lost every dollar h? had." On his return to Kansas from thi West he made Lawrence his head quarters, where he was still know] as Charley IJart, and his life am operations there were shrouded ii much mystery. For a while he live? with the Delaware tribe of Indian on. Mud Creek, about four mile from Lawrence, and claimed to be secret agent of the tribe pn the quea of horse thieves. Then hi? name be, gan to bsveonnedted "with the bord? o NE of the Quantr?i band was Jesse James, who later won fame as the most daring bandit ever known to the West ruffian gangs, whose exploits kept the borders of Kansas and Missouri in a constant state of terror. Whatever his real convictions about the impending struggle, it seems certain that at this time he was playing a double r?le, like many others of that day, between the abolitionists and the slavery ex? ploiters?he had "friends" on both sides. The time had not yet struck for the fates to loose the thread that changed the current of his life and turned the picturesque, roving, sentimental adventurer of the Wild West into the most desperate, re? lentless and crafty guerrilla leader that ever followed the ambushed trails of war the world over. CHAPTER III Quantrill Under the Black Flag THE scene shifts across the Kansas border line into the wild woodlands of the Sina bar Hills in Jackson County, Mis? souri. It was here that Quantrill's day of fate dawned, and it was a day of blood, the guerrilla's baptism. The armies of the North and South were mustering, and Quantrill made his cholos. In the latter part of 1860 he crossed the border into Missouri with a raiding squad of four men, ostensibly for the purpose of setting free the slaves of on? Morgan Walker, a farmer near Blue Spring?, in Jackson County. Arrived at Morgan Walker's place, Quantrill betrayed the men to Walker and joined a squad con? cealed in the house to ithnsfr' ttMfr down. One was -tiled outright, one wounded and another slain, it is stated, by Quantrill himself the next day. The fourth escape This was Quantriil's first "battle" on Missouri soil, soon to be stained with many such crimson streaks. It was an act of dastardly treachery, say the Kansas historians. "They were nigger stealers and deserved their fate," say the Quantrill apolo? gists. Anyway, it was the event that sent Quantrill to mustering his lit? tle army of guerrillas, recruited mostly from wild and reckless young farm boys in Jackson County, aflame with the fumes of war and the ad? venturous lure of a roving life un trammeled by the discipline of army regulations. In the woods of Jackson County he gathered his clan, picking them with a rare judgment of the stuff 'that he wanted in his men, trained them to be ambidexterous gun fight? ers and the most daring and skillful horsemen. Then he raised the black JX/OOT HILL and Tuck? rr Hill, typical members of the Quantnll band of guer? rillas flag and bound them with a slogan, "No quarter. Death to all men of the North." Then began a series of raids and forays, sudden and deadly ambus? cades, scenes of pillage and slaugh? ter, that soon made the name of Quantrill a synonym for death and destruction. Men like JeBse end Frank James, Cole Younger, Bill Anderson, Arch Clements, George Todd, Dick Mad dox, George Shepherd?wild spirits as reckless and daring as Quantrill himself?rallied to hi3 sable stand? ard and yielded him a loyalty that could only have been given to a man with the magnetism of command and the genius of organization?and these qualities, by all accounts, Quantrill must have possessed. But it was not all brush fighting for Quantrill. Time after time he was hunted from his lairs and made to give battle in the open and often came off victor. Time and again he was trapped like a fox in his hole and made wonderful escape? through fire and streams of lead. And every now and then that strange streak of sentiment would come to the surface at unexpected moments. Once when completely surrounded in a house at the out? skirts of Kansas City by the Fed? eral soldiers, he parleyed with them through the window, asking leave to let the civilian householder and his ffcmQy jpsas out?which was granted. Survivors Have Sworn to Meet EacK Year at an Old Rendezvous as Long as Any Survive Then three of his men, seeing the hopelessness of the situation, asked leave to surrender. Quantrill opened the door for them and allowed them to walk out, hands up. Then he opened fire on his besiegers, made a bold dash out of a rear door, ran through a str??am of bullets to where his ever-ready horses were tethered in the brush and made his escape. The blackest page in Quantrill's history is the one that deals with the Lawrence Raid, or the Lawrence Massacre, as it is named by Kansas historians?yet even on that gory day some curious things happened that seemed to hark back in associa? tion to the man who had noted the singing of the birds and the gam? bols of the children in his school teaching days?a flare of the other man that had sunk to the depths of him. Four hundred men?the greatest number he ever had under his com? mand?rode with Quantrill into the doomed town that summer day of 1863. There was no military gar? rison in the town. What really prompted that raid is not known to this day. The objects of plunder and reprisal do not entirely account for it. The . deeds done could only have been the offspring of long nursed dreams of vengeance, root? ed, perhaps, in some of Quantrill's early experiences there. But this is what happened: Stop? ping his band just before entering the town, Quantrill passed the word to "kill the men without quarter,'' and then added, "but I don't want s woman touched." And it is a fad that all through that bloody day though husbands were shot down while their wives clung to them ant pleaded, the women were invariably spared, and many of them wen' about the streets in the midst oj the murderous fire, begging clem ency for their men and trying t< save their homes from fire an? plunder. Once in the midst of the deadly work Quantrill recognized the whit? flag, displayed from the Eldridg? Hotel, and took the guests of th< house under his protection and re moved them to a place of safety? and then burned the hotel. Anothe: itime, finding his men firing into the house of e man named Stone, Quan trill dashed up and called them off, saying: "Old man Stone did me a kind? ness in times gone by, and I won't see a hair of his head injured." But that was all?it was not a day for sentiment?the order to kill was obeyed to the letter. When the guerrillas rode away a hundred and fifty dead bodies lay in the streets of Lawrence, and the mourning cries that went up from the deso? lated homes re?cho to the present day. CHAPTER IV The Raider's Last Ride SITTING under a great oak tree on the reunion ground?a tree that bore in its breast bullets from a fight that had taken place in that very grove between the guer? rillas and the Jayhawkers?Allen Palmer, the only surviving guerrilla who was by the side of his leader when he died, told the writer the story of Quantrill's last ride? set? ting at rest the numerous stories still afloat that Quantrill had escaped and was still living in hiding. Thia is his story: "After the Battle of Westport? that was in the latter part of 1864?the old band was pretty well shot to pieces. Quantrill himself was not in that battle. George Todd commanded us up until he was killed, about three miles below In? dependence, Mo., and Dave Pool led the Quantrill men at Westport A?tar t_? battle mm all scattered oui over the country, keeping pretty weS to the brush, for they were sharp Ulf our trail. Quantrill met us at Har risonville and passed the word for a .rendezvous at the farm of Mrs? Duprex, a few miles below Lex? ington. * "About forty of the men met him there, and by his orders every man had provided himself with a Federal uniform. Quantrill himself had ase sumed the neme of Captain Moses, i and told us to answer every chai? lenge with the information that we belonged to the 2d Colorado Cavalry* "None of us knew exactly what our destination was. Quantrill wasn't much of a hand to take hi? men into his confidence. He ordered and we had the habit of obey? ing. But on the march he did teH us that the game was up and that he was going to try to get us in touch with some Southern command of regulars and get terms for the boys when the end came. "Riding mostly by night, we reached the Mississippi River, cross? ing at Devil's Bend, about twenty? five miles above Memphis, and rode on into Kentucky. When we got to Kentucky Quantrill dropped the name of Moses and took the name of Captain Clarke, who had been the real captain of the 2d Colorado Cav? alry and had been killed by Quan trill himself. It was Captain Clarke's Federal uniform that Quan trill wore. ?-?'? "We got into trouble at Houston ville trying to get some horses, at ours were pretty well worn out. We got the horses all right, but had to kill a Federal major, Houston, in getting them out, and the word went out that we were Quantrill men in Federal disguise, and we had to take to the brush again. Pretty soon the whole country was astir and hot ox the hunt for us. "We started to go up Salt River, in the south part of Spencer Coun? ty?and it turned out to be a real Salt River for us. One night we pulled up with what was left of the band at the farm of Jim Wakefield. It had been raining hard for three days, and we were mighty glad to hunt shelter. "Wakefield was friendly, and we thought we were in safe quarters. We turned our horses loose and were sitting around in the barn, in our stocking feet, playing cards and throwing corn cobs at one another, when all of a sudden we heard whoops and yells outside and Ter rill's men came down on us with a regular fusillade. "Quantrill himself was in the hay loft asleep when the charge came. Every man rushed for his pistols, and there was a wild scramble to get to our horses. Bill H?lse, Henry Porter and myself were the onlv ones that got away on our horses and we did that by leaping the fences. "Quantrill, running afoot, gol nearly three-quarters of a mil? away from the house, firing back ai he went, when they got him with t rifle shot through the spine. He fel in Wakefield's pasture. "The next night Frank James John Ross, Bill H?lse and mysei went back to Wakefield's house fe see what had become of Quantrill We found that Terrill had left hin there to die end had gone away, no knowing it was Quantrill. Abou daylight we went in the house t see him. He was propped up witl pillows on a sort of couch. H couldn't lie down. His legs wer paralyzed. "We wanted him to make an ei fort to get away with us, but h seemed to know it was all up, an told us it was only a question of few days?that nothing could b done for him. He told us to ele? Henry Porter as our captain an Frank James as our lieutenant an to keep some sort of an organisa tion until we got a chance to sui render with some of the reguli Southern troops. "The next day Terrill came hac and took Quantrill away to the Si tens' hospital at Louisville. It seen that Terrill had taken away Quai trill's saddle and some of the won en folks at Louisville had rec?j nised it. I never saw Quantri again. He died about six weel after that. Mrs. Ross, the moth? of one of our hoys, was at his be side when he died. "We hung around in the bra for some time, and one day al came out and told us that the ca tain was gone,"