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The Quantrell Raids |
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The Quantrell Raid (Lawrence, Kansas) (account by Harriet Ann Adams Fronk, hand written) I was a small child, 5 years of age, living with my parents in Lawrence, Kansas, on the Kaw, or Kansas, River in 1863. There were six children of us, one younger than myself. My father, a carpenter by trade, labored at any kind of honest work by which he could provide a living for his large family, and during the summer of 1863 he, with the help of my eldest brother, herded cattle on the open prairie west of Lawrence. He came home on the evening of August 20th, spent the night with us and early on the morning of the 21st, he had eaten an early breakfast, had his horse saddled and bridled at the gate, ready to leave for his work. Mother went with him to the gate, and just then they heard heavy shooting toward the main part of town. This caused some uneasiness to them both but father said he supposed it must be fireworks left over from the Fourth of July. However, he decided to ride up the street and see if he could find out. He went only a short distance when he met a neighbor named Shaw, who told him the rebels (pro-slavery group) had seized the arsenal at day-break and were killing every man they could find. Mr. Shaw himself was running to a hiding place and advised father to get out of town, that they were not harming women nor children. At that father returned quickly and instructed mother to stay in, keep the children inside, and the house closed. He also said he would try to arouse the farmers and, if possible, to get arms and ammunition in the country to come to the relief of the town. He started off at a gallop and just as he reached the street leading out to the country, a squad of guerrillas came full tilt behind him. They were chasing a man who had run into a large ravine just ahead, and my father turned west, crossing a bridge on the the ravine while the band of murderers went on north, yelling to father to “head him (the fugitive) off.” They evidently took father to be one of them because he was on horseback. Shortly afterward some of the men came to our home, which was a rented one, and demanded matches. They were given a full box, which the leader divided among his men, and he then allotted to each of them certain houses to burn. The one who burned our house was only a youth about 19 or 20 years old. He told mother she might carry out all the furnishings she could until he was ready to light the fire. Mother sent two brothers (about 7 and 9 years of age) up stairs to throw feather beds and bedding downstairs, but in their hurry, they pitched a chaff-tick down the stair-way and immediately the out-law set it a-fire penning my brothers upstairs. There was a lean-to kitchen and they climbed out to the roof and jumped to the ground. We lost everything we had in the house, even our best clothes. (We lived in the barn until sometime…) The ruffians rushed to accomplish their murder and arson and were just leaving the place when General James H. Lane came from the cornfield where he had taken refuge and, rallying all the able-bodied men and accoutrement he could find with farmers, my father among them, who had come to help, he followed them and when they were close to the Missouri line, killed about 40 of them. Pen cannot describe the terror and havoc created by those cold-blooded, drunken, murderous cut-throats, nor the weeping and wailing (of) families over their dear ones, who were shot down before their very eyes or burned in the business buildings, but I who was only a child received a shock from which I have never fully recovered and now, although so many years have passed, I sometimes dream of the old horror and anguish. Every year the little remnant of that old Quantrell band celebrate the anniversary of that cold-blooded massacre and I often wonder if they ever think of the widows’ and orphans’ tears, stored up in the Great Beyond, to be ready to greet them at the bar of the Lord’s judgement.
Song of Quantrell’s
Raid Come all ye young people I pray lend an ear Of Quantrell the runnian You quickly shall hear He, with his gand of robbers Marched double-quick time To plunder and burn Lawrence Just over the line
Chorus With a routing and scouting And raising a yell Like so many demons From where I can’t tell They were intoxicated With brandy and wine When they came to plunder and burn Lawrence Just over the line. |