Quantrill's Destruction of Lawrence Kansas


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Civil War Harper's Weekly, September 19, 1863

Welcome to our online collection of Civil War Harper's Weekly newspapers. This collection contains a wealth of original material on the war. Reading the news that was written within hours of the battles and events can yield new insight into this important event in American History.

(Scroll Down to See Entire Page, or Newspaper Thumbnails below will take you to the page of interest)


Trenton Falls

Trenton Falls

British Pirates

British Pirates

Capture of Knoxville

Charleston Siege

Quantrill's Destruction of Lawrence Kansas

Brandy Station

Battle of Brandy Station

Remington Advertisement



Siege of Charleston

Lawrence Kansas Ruins

Lawrence, Kansas Ruins

Warrenton Sulphur Springs

Warrenton Sulphur Springs, Virginia

Southern Exiles

Southern Exiles



SEPTEMBER 19, 1863.]



am here. Oh Jane, when God means to comfort me, He will show me he is alive; till then words are wasted on me, even Bible words."

"Tell her your news, my dear," said Mrs. Dodd, quietly. She was one of those who take human nature as it is, and make the best of it.

"Julia dear," said Jane, "your fears are extravagant, indeed: Alfred is alive, we know."

Julia trembled, but said nothing.

"He has written to-day."

"Ah! To you?"

"No, to papa."

"I don't believe it. Why to him?"

"But I saw the letter, dear; I had it in my hand."

"Did you read it?" asked Julia, trembling now like an aspen, and fluttering like a bird.

"No, but I read the address, and the date inside, and I saw the handwriting; and I was offered the letter, but papa told me it was full of abuse of him, so I declined* to read it; however, I will get it for you."

Mrs. Dodd thanked her warmly; but asked her if she could not in the mean time give some idea of the contents.

"Oh yes, Mrs. Dodd: papa read me out a great deal of it. He was in Paris, but just starting for London: and he demanded his money and his accounts. You know papa is one of his trustees."

"Well, but," said Mrs. Dodd, "was there nothing—nothing about—?"

"Oh yes there was," said Jane, "only I—well then for dear Julia's sake—the letter said, 'What wonder the son of a sharper should prove a traitor? You have stolen her money, and I her affections, and'—oh, I can't, I can't." And Jane Hardie began to cry.

Mrs. Dodd embraced her like a mother, and entered into her filial feelings: Mrs. Dodd had never seen her so weak, and, therefore, never thought her so amiable. Thus occupied they did not at first observe how these tidings were changing Julia.

But presently looking up they saw her standing at her full height, on fire with wrath and insulted pride.

"Ah, you have brought me comfort," she cried. "Mamma, I shall hate and scorn this man some day, as much as I hate and scorn myself now for every tear I have shed for him."

They tried to calm her, but in vain; a new gust of passion possessed the ardent young creature, and would have vent. She reddened from bosom to brow, and the scalding tears ran down her flaming cheeks, and she repeated between her clenched teeth, "My veins are not filled with skim-milk I can tell you: you have seen how I can love, you shall see how I can hate." And with this she went haughtily out of the room, not to expose the passion which overpowered her.

Mrs. Dodd took advantage of her absence to thank Jane for her kindness, and told her she had also received some letters by this morning's post, and thought it would be neither kind on her part nor just to conceal their purport from her. She then read her a letter from Mrs. Beresford, and another from Mr. Grey, in answer to queries about the $14,000.

Sharpe, I may as well observe, was at sea; Bayliss drowned.

Mrs. Beresford knew nothing about the matter.

Mr. Gray was positive Captain Dodd, when in command, had several thousand pounds in his cabin: Mrs. Beresford's Indian servant had been detected trying to steal it, and put in irons; believed the lady had not been told the cause—out of delicacy: and Captain Roberts had liberated him. As to whether the money had escaped the wreck—if on Captain Dodd's person it might have been saved; but if not, it was certainly lost: for Captain Dodd to his knowledge had run on deck from the passenger's cabin the moment the ship struck, and had remained there till she went to pieces; and every thing was washed out of her.

"Our own opinion," said Mrs. Dodd, "I mean Edward's and mine, is now, that the money was lost in the ship; and you can tell your papa so, if you like."

Jane thanked her, and said she thought so too; and what a sad thing it was.

Soon after this Julia returned, pale and calm as a statue, and sat down humbly beside Jane: "Oh, pray with me," she said: "pray that I may not hate, for to hate is to be wicked; and pray that I may not love, for to love is to be miserable."

Mrs. Dodd retired, with her usual tact and self-denial.

Then Jane Hardie, being alone with her friend, and full of sorrow, sympathy, and faith, found words of eloquence almost divine to raise her.

With these pious consolations Julia's pride and self-respect now co-operated; relieved of her great terror, she felt her insult to her fingers' ends: "I'll never degrade myself so far as to pine for another lady's lover," she said. "I'll resume my duties in another sphere, and try to face the world by degrees. I am not quite alone in it: I have my mother still—and my Redeemer."

Some tears forced their way at these brave, gentle words. Jane gave her time.

Then she said: "Begin by putting on your bonnet, and visiting with me. Come with one who is herself thwarted in the carnal affections; come with her and see how sick some are, and we two in health; how racked with pain some are, and we two at ease; how hungry some, and we have abundance; and, above all, in what spiritual deserts some lie, while we walk in the gospel light."


*This was one of those involuntary inaccuracies which creep into mortal statements.

"Oh that I had the strength," said Julia; "I'll try."

She put on her bonnet, and went down with her friend: but at the street door the strange feeling of shame overpowered her: she blushed, and trembled, and begged to substitute the garden for the road. Jane consented, and said every thing must have a beginning.

The fresh air, the bursting buds, and all the face of nature, did Julia good; and she felt it: "You little angel," said she, with something of her old impetuosity, "you have saved me. I was making myself worse by shutting myself up in that one miserable room."

They walked hand in hand for a good half hour, and then Jane said she must go: papa would miss her. Julia was sorry to part with her, and almost without thinking accompanied her through the house to the front gate, and that was another point gained. "I never was so sorry to part with you, love," said she. "When will you come again? We leave to-morrow. I am selfish to detain you; but it seems as if my guardian angel was leaving me."

Jane smiled. "I must go," said she, "but I'll leave better angels than I am behind me. I leave you this: 'Humble yourself under the mighty hand of God.' When it seems most harsh, then it is most loving. Pray for faith to say with me, 'Lead us by a way that we know not.' "

They kissed one another, and Julia stood at the gate and looked lovingly after her, with the tears standing thick in her own violet eyes.

Now Maxley was coming down the road, all grizzly and bloodshot, baited by the boys, who had gradually swelled in number as he drew nearer the town.

Jane was shocked at their heathenish cruelty, and went off the path to remonstrate with them.

Instantly Maxley fell upon her, and began beating her about the head and shoulders with his heavy stick.

The miserable boys uttered yells of dismay, but did nothing.

Julia uttered a violent scream, but flew to her friend's aid, and crying "Oh, you wretch! you wretch!" actually caught the man by the throat and shook him violently: he took his hand off Jane Hardie, who instantly sank moaning on the ground, and he cowered like a cur at the voice and the purple gleaming eyes of the excited girl.

The air filled with cries, and Edward ran out of the house to see what was the matter; but on the spot nobody was game enough to come between the furious man and the fiery girl. The consequence was her impetuous courage began to flag, and her eye to waver; the demented man found this out by some half animal instinct, and instantly caught her by the shoulder and whirled her down on her knees: then raised his staff high to destroy her.

She screamed, and was just putting up her hands, woman-like, not to see her death as well as feel it, when something dark came past her like a rushing wind, a blow, that sounded exactly like that of a paving ram, caught Maxley on the jaw; and there was Edward Dodd blowing like a grampus with rage, and Maxley on his back in the road; but men under cerebral excitement are not easily stunned, and know no pain: he bounded off the ground, and came at Edward like a Spanish bull. Edward slipped aside, and caught him another ponderous blow that sent him staggering, and his bludgeon flew out of his hand, and Edward caught it; lo! the maniac flew at him again more fiercely than ever: but the young Hercules had seen Jane bleeding on the ground: he dealt her assailant in full career such a murderous stroke with the bludgeon, that the people, who were running from all quarters, shrieked with dismay, not for Jane, but for Maxley; and well they might: that awful stroke laid him senseless, motionless, and mute, in a pool of his own blood.

"Don't kill him, Sir; don't kill the man," was the cry.

"Why not?" said Edward, sternly. He then kneeled over his sweet-heart and lifted her in his arms like a child. Her bonnet was all broken, her eyes were turned upward and set, and a little blood trickled down her cheek; and that cheek seemed streaked white and red.

He was terrified, agonized; yet he gasped out, "You are safe, dear; don't be frightened."

She knew the voice.

"Oh, Edward!" she said, piteously and tenderly: and then moaned a little on his broad bosom. He carried her into the house out of the crowd.

The poor old doctor, coming in to end his days in the alms-house, had seen it all: he got out of his cart and hobbled up. He had been in the army, and had both experience and skill. He got her bonnet off, and at sight of her head looked very grave.

In a minute a bed was laid in the drawing-room, and all the windows and doors open; and Edward, trembling now in every limb, ran to Musgrove Cottage, while Mrs. Dodd and Julia loosened the poor girl's dress, and bathed her wounds with tepid water (the doctor would not allow cold), and put wine carefully to her lips with a tea-spoon.

"Wanted at your house, pray what for?" said Mr. Hardie, superciliously.

"Oh, Sir," said Edward, "such a calamity! Pray come directly. A ruffian has struck her, has hurt her terribly, terribly."

"Her? Who?" asked Mr. Hardie, beginning to be uneasy.

"Who? why Jane, your daughter, man; and there you sit chattering, instead of coming at once."

Mr. Hardie rose hurriedly and put on his hat, and accompanied him, half confused.

Soon Edward's mute agitation communicated

itself to him, and he went striding and trembling by his side.

The crowd had gone with insensible Maxley to the hospital; but the traces of the terrible combat were there. Where Maxley fell the last time, a bullock seemed to have been slaughtered at the least.

The miserable father came on this, and gave a great scream like a woman, and staggered back white as a sheet.

Edward laid his hand on him, for he seemed scarce able to stand.

"No, no, no," he cried, comprehending the mistake at last; that is not hers—Heaven forbid! That is the madman's who did it; I knocked him down with his own cudgel."

"God bless you! you've killed him I hope."

"Oh, Sir, be more merciful, and then perhaps God will be merciful to us, and not take this angel from us."

"No! no! you are right: good young man. I little thought I had such a friend in your house."

"Don't deceive yourself, Sir; it's not you I care for: I love her."

At this blunt declaration, so new and so offensive to him, Mr. Hardie winced, and stopped, bewildered.

But they were at the gate, and Edward hurried him on. At the house door he drew back once more; for he felt a shiver of repugnance at entering this hateful house, of whose happiness he was the destroyer.

But enter it he must; it was his fate.

The wife of the poor Captain he had driven mad met him in the passage, her motherly eyes full of tears for him, and both hands held out to him like a pitying angel.

"Oh, Mr. Hardie," she said, in a broken voice, and took him by both hands, and led him, wonder-struck, stupefied, shivering with dark fears, to the room where his crushed daughter lay.


WE publish on page 593 a reproduction of a photograph taken by Mr. W. J. Baker, of Utica, New York, representing THE HON. WILLIAM H. SEWARD SURROUNDED BY THE MEMBERS OF THE DIPLOMATIC CORPS AT TRENTON FALLS. Mr. Seward and the various foreign Ministers left Washington a few weeks since for a tour to the Watering-places, and visited Niagara, Trenton Falls, Sharon, etc., etc. While at Trenton Falls they were caught by Mr. Baker, and persuaded to sit for the photograph which he has kindly permitted us to copy. The personages represented in the picture are the following, and may be identified by the numbers affixed to them:

1. WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.

2. Baron DE STOECKEL, Russian Minister.

3. M. MOLINA, Nicaraguan Minister.

4. Lord Lyons, British Minister.

5. M. MERCIER, French Minister.

6. M. SCHLEIDEN, Hanseatic Minister

7. M. BERTINATTI, Italian Minister.

8. Count PIPER, Swedish Minister.

9. M. BODISCO, Secretary of Russian Legation.

10. Mr. SHEFFIELD, Attache of British Legation.

11. Mr. DONALDSON, State Department, U. S.

Mr. Baker, whose success is taking this picture has been very remarkable, is selling large numbers of copies, both in the large size at $3.00 and in card form at $0.30. They may be procured of Goupil & Co., in this city.


WE publish on pages 596 and 597 three illustrations of General Gilmore's operations before Charleston, from sketches by Mr. Theodore R. Davis. Mr. Davis writes:


"MORRIS ISLAND, Aug. 31, 1863.

"May be that the readers of the 'Journal of Civilization' will say, as they read the caption to this letter, 'Sunrise gun; so the night is passed in quiet repose.' Not so, as the reader would certainly know, could he but see each morning the lifeless clay borne from the trenches, all its record being 'Killed in the saps.'

"The firing at night is not, however, quite so heavy as during the day—may be the men are fatigued, may be the gunners are not so sure of their aim. The break of day is often the time for a salvo that seems to make the whole island quake.

"The sketch shows, I think, the most comprehensive obtainable view of the 'situation,' as we now see it. The extreme difficulty of 'approaching' an enemy's work on a sand beach will strike every one, as well as the admirable tact and skill used by the engineers in availing themselves of each swell and rift of sand for cover. The material and work are so vastly different from that at Vicksburg that I find myself wondering, when in the trenches, 'Where shall I dodge next?'


"Since the assault upon Fort Wagner the rebels have planted quantities of torpedoes in front of their works. As we come to these with our saps they are removed with care and safety.

"A few nights since, by the accidental explosion of one of these machines, a negro corporal of the Third United States (colored) Regiment was blown out of the saps, and the next morning was seen, dead and entirely nude, evidently placed as a bait by the rebels for one of their torpedoes, they undoubtedly thinking that we would attempt his removal for burial on the coming night, and explode the trap. Not so: the saps went quietly on; and when at last the body was reached the whole affair was dug out—the negro buried, and the torpedo reserved for use, if need be.


"One of our batteries upon Morris Island, built under exceeding difficulties, is looked upon with so much pride and interest by our brave soldiers that

this sketch of it, by the light of a just full moon, will no doubt please the anxious ones at home, who look with glad eyes upon the rapid progress of this siege.

"Who built the battery and where it is is a sort of a secret that we are keeping from the rebels; so for a time the names, place, and kind of batteries are withheld."


WE devote pages 600 and 601 to an illustration of SOUTHERN REFUGEES FLYING NORTHWARD. This is a scene which may be witnessed almost daily on any highway in Tennessee, Kentucky, and Missouri. Vast portions of those States have been absolutely desolated by the war. Houses, barns, bridges, fences, gardens have been obliterated by the ravages of the soldiers, and countless families, many of them bred in affluence, and delicately reared, have been thrown upon the world, without food, money, clothing, or shelter. We hear daily of tales of suffering among these Southern exiles which harrow the soul.


OUR artist, Mr. Waud, is enjoying the rest which has been vouchsafed to the Army of the Potomac; he has, however, made some sketches of visits to the Warrenton Sulphur Springs, which we reproduce on page 605. He writes:


"This famous resort of bogus aristocracy was laid in ruins by Sigel's division at the time when Pope made his brilliant backward movement upon Washington. The Hotel proper is entirely destroyed; but the building known as 'Rowdy Hall,' and the dwellings in the grounds remain—the former occupied as a hospital. In the grounds, under the grateful shadow of the trees—some of which show the marks of shell or shot—are the First Division Head-quarters of the Third Corps, forcibly reminding the spectator of an Arab encampment at the foot of some ancient ruin. This is especially the case at night, when the moon, lighting up the shattered columns and white tents, gives a ghostly and myeterions effect to the scene, the flickering shadows falling with softening influence on the harsh outlines of the ruin.

"The Springs attract a great number of officers and men by their supposed beneficial effect on the blood. The water is cold and clear, but not pleasant, tasting strongly and smelling worse of sulphureted hydrogen. It has occasionally been taken mixed with Old Rye; but it is justly remarked that, though the water might be improved in that way, the whisky is certainly spoiled.


"During General Patrick's absence from camp this pretty bower was raised, as a token of esteem, by two Companies of the Twentieth New York Volunteers. These men had been misled by the officers who enlisted them as to the length of time they were to serve. They had been told that they should, and expected to, go home with the rest of the regiment; being left behind they refused to do duty, and were tried and sentenced. General Patrick, Provost Marshal of the Army, feeling that they were harshly used, procured their pardon and dismissal from service. These poor Germans had not the means to offer any costly present, but their humble offering was as acceptable to the General as if it had cost thousands. They at said to be a superior set of men, and propose to enlist again as soon as they have seen their friends."


WE illustrate on page 604 the RUINS of the once flourishing city of Lawrence, Kansas, which was destroyed a fortnight since by Quantrill and his fellow-brigands. The attack on the place and the massacre of the citizens is unparalleled in history, and even casts into the shade the famous massacre of Cawnpore. We condense from the Herald the following account of the outrage:

The massacre took place at the noon of night, and the startled peaceful citizens were sent to their last account by the bullets of murderers in the glare of their burning houses, and in the agonized embraces of their wives and children. One hundred and eighty persons are said to have fallen victims. These comprise the principal citizens, with the Mayor and his son at the head of the list. There does not appear to have been any resistance whatever offered. It was a sudden incursion of fiendish guerrillas—a repetition of the scenes that used to be enacted on our borders by the savage Indians, when villages were given to the flames by some Monster Brandt, With all his howling, desolating band.

One incident is related of twelve men having been driven into a building and there shot, and the house burned over them.

Another is reported where twenty-five negro recruits were shot dead.

The bodies of the murdered people were thrown into wells and cisterns.

There was but one hotel left standing, which was spared by Quantrell because he had been entertained there some years ago without expense. Its proprietor, however, was shot. The principal part of the city has been reduced to ashes, the loss being set down roughly at two millions of dollars. Two banks were robbed, and the third only escaped because the safes could not be forced quick enough. Of course, whatever valuables the guerrillas could lay their hands on they carried off, and it is supposed that they are now safe with their plunder in their Missouri homes, where they assume the character of Union men, and whence they will be ready to start on a new marauding and murdering expedition whenever they are called upon by their leader.

Next to Leavenworth, Lawrence was the most thriving town between the Missouri River and the Rocky Mountains. It is situated about thirty miles west from Leavenworth, on the right or western bank of the Kansas River, which is here about eighty yards wide. The ford has been known as the Delaware crossing. The river is crossed by of a large, flat-bottomed ferry-boat, operated by ropes that are suspended between the bluffs on each side. A substantial stone bridge was being built at this point, and a railroad was also in course of construction between Leavenworth and Lawrence—the first link of the Pacific road.




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