Before Lawrence: September 21

Chapter thirteen of Before Lawrence, Jayhawks arrive six miles outside of Osceola. Their presence is reported and the town prepares for an attack.

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This is the thirteenth chapter of Before Lawrence. To learn more about the purpose of writing this story, check out the “Forward.” Before Lawrence is part of The Missouri Chronicles. Follow the story by subscribing on Substack, contribute your thoughts, and check out the added resources.

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Saturday morning arrived and the town square was already being filled with people. They had all come as soon as daybreak. Most came to buy up food and supplies, fearing the worst. Some men began to mill about the courthouse where John Weidemeyer was attempting to organize the militia. And some were customers of McClain’s bank, waiting for their gold. Unbeknownst to many, the wealthy depositors at the bank had obtained their holdings during the night as their attorneys saw to it that the gold was transferred discretely. But before noon, most everyone had a portion of their savings recovered. The bank vault was empty. But it was not to say that everything else in the bank was of no value. There was a considerable amount of silver coinage and, just as important, the legal documents that established the bank’s interest in property.

David Anderson had no money at the bank. Hearing the value of the gold that was sent back to St. Louis and later hearing rumors about the gold that was distributed from the bank that morning, he was stunned that so much wealth resided in the area. He was heading to the school to meet with the board in the afternoon. His home was a block southeast of the town square and he had to walk through the town square to arrive at Market Street, where he turned left and walked south up a steep hill to the school house. He was surprised to see two horsemen rapidly rounding the corner.

The two horsemen were Francis Chouteau and Phillip Jackson. They rode to the courthouse and found John Weidemeyer.

“John, we have spotted the Jayhawks. An advanced guard arrived at the Sac River crossing at Waldo Ford. We counted 200 men. They stopped at the same place where the Missouri State Guard camped a couple of weeks ago. We waited to see if more would follow. John, there are probably more than a thousand of them, followed by wagons. They have at least two cannon.”

The three men were alone, so Weidemeyer felt free to speak frankly. “A thousand men? Artillery? How are we to fight against so many? So they have not yet crossed?”

“They were all on the opposite side of the river when we left. We couldn’t wait for them to cross because they could have cut us off from the road.”

“Thank you both. I know you spent a lot of your time watching for the Jayhawks, time you could have better spent harvesting your crops.”

Francis nodded his head, “Appreciate that, John. I’m returning back to my farm. Need to protect my family. Good luck, John.”

With that Francis remounted his horse and rode off. Phillip remained.

“Well, Captain, what do we do?”

“We are going to fight.”

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Francis’ ride back to his farm was exhausting. It had already been a long day, spying out the Red Legs in the early morning light, riding six miles back to Osceola, and now returning to his farm another six miles. The road to Waldo crossing was rough, following the hilly terrain with numerous blind curves. His worst fear was running across the Jayhawks suddenly and not having a way to veer off the road and flee cross-country. As he left the village his frontier instincts took over. He steered his horse to the southwest and headed across a field. He was soon weaving through the forests. The hills were steep and progress slow. But he would eventually arrive at his farm. It was early evening and he had little time to waste. Gathering his family, he sent them off to a remote hollow under the care of his oldest son and his most trusted farmhand. With a couple of other farmhands, he gathered his horses and livestock and headed toward the nearby terrain where deep ravines would hopefully conceal them. He then returned to his farm and waited at the edge of the woods. All this under a full moon. Chouteau was soon asleep under a clear, September sky.

Meanwhile, within the town, things were astir on the Johnson estate. U.S. Senator Waldo Johnson, several months previous, had resigned from the Senate and moved his family to Richmond, Virginia to join the new administration of the confederacy under Jefferson Davis. It was indeed one of the ironies of slavery that the grandest home in the town was under the care of a slave woman. Cindy not only ran the house staff, she also managed the barn, an ice house and the orchard. When she heard the news that the Red Legs were coming, she stood in the parlor and looked out the window and considered her options. The house had been quiet these past few weeks. Some of the furniture upstairs had been covered in sheets to protect it from dust and bugs. She looked about the house and realized that she could not hide the furniture. What few pictures hung in the mansion she had little regard for. What she did appreciate, however, was the silver. She had set it out on the dining table countless times and she knew how Mrs. Johnson cherished it. She waited till dark, found a large flour sack and deposited the silver into the bag. She quietly exited the house and went downhill toward the ice house. It was a long walk as the ice house resided near the river. She entered into the building and buried the sack under the sawdust insulation. With the full moon, she found it rather easy to walk up the path, ascending Market Street until she arrived near the top at the Lewis house. Mary Lewis answered the door.

“Miss Lewis. I’m so scared. I had to come to you to tell ya somethin’.”

“Cindy, I understand. Dr. Lewis is out of town tending to some folks.”

Cindy almost broke into tears, but held them back. “Goodness Miss Lewis, here we are two women alone with those Red Legs bearing down on our town!”

“We will need to stay together, Cindy. I can only assume that there will be trouble, and with trouble people will be hurt. They will need help.”

“I fear the Red Legs, Miss Lewis. I hear they do awful things.”

“Yes. They have. I, too, am fearful. I am here alone with my two children. I can only pray that Dr. Lewis will return.”

“Miss Lewis, I want you know somethin’. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, so I want you to know that I hid the silver in the ice house. It is against the back of the left wall as you enter.”

“Goodness, Cindy. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Master and Miss Johnson are good people. I will do all I can to protect their home.”

“Be careful, Cindy. And remember, come to me if you must.”

Not all white folks were fortunate to have such loyal slaves. When the Merchants’ Bank started returning their holdings in gold back to the depositors, $10,000 was provided to a young lawyer by the name of Leck Walmsley. Having such a large sum of money sitting in his office was fearsome enough in the best of times. But he knew he had only hours before Lane’s raiders would arrive. He loaded up the gold onto his horse’s saddlebags and trotted casually out of the town and proceeded on a long journey south to Brush Creek. He judged that heading south would keep him well out of reach of the Red Legs.

He approached the farm of his Uncle Jake. Jacob Coonce knew exactly where to put the money. He drew a map for Leck. “There is an island in Brush Creek and I can bury it there. The current will wash away my tracks. No one can track me.” So no one can, except overhearing the entire conversation on the other side of the parlor door was Jane. She despised being a slave and did not fare well with Jake. But, alas, that was one of the curses of slave ownership. Troublesome slaves were not always marketable.

Covered in the conversation was the invasion of the Red Legs. When Jane heard that, she took a breath. She knew what she had to do.

© Copyright 2024 to Eric Niewoehner

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