ANNA E. BOHER MACKEY (MRS. WILLIAM H. SR.)
In thinking of our friends there is always some
characteristic in looks or manner we recall as soon as their name is mentioned. Sometimes it is in the eyes that
seem best remembered; or the mouth or the smile that means the most to us. Again it is the hands, be they pink
and soft or rugged and knotted by hard work, that touch the heart strings most as we think of some dear one. So
it when I think of my dear friend, Mrs. William H. Mackey, Sr., of Junction City. The thought of her dear, loving
hands, that have given me so many sweet and happy hours, brings loving thoughts of her; for she is "the friend
who smiles when she smooths down the lonely couch, or does other kind deeds." Hundred of people she has thus
blessed since her coming to Kansas in 1855 will truly say, "Blessed are those beautiful hands and the loving
heart that prompts their every action."
Mrs. Mackey is a native of Pennsylvania, and as
Anna E. Boher was born in Shippensburg, in that State, November 25, 1830. At the age of sixteen she moved with
her parents to Covington, KY., where later she met and married her husband, William H. Mackey, July 20, 1853. Five
years ago this month they celebrated their golden wedding in Junction City, and in the State Historical rooms at
the state-house hangs a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Mackey and two of their devoted friends, Mr. and Mrs. Geo. W. Martin,
taken at this time.
The love of Mr. and Mrs. Mackey for each other
was truly ideal; and it is only the hope that soon the good King will send for her to come to the "beautiful
country" and be with her loved one that enables her to bear with patience his death, which occurred February
last. Hand in hand for over fifty-four years, one in hope, love and sincere trust in the Father of all - they came
through pioneer trials as gold from the refinery. They emigrated to Kansas in the spring of 1855, members of the
Kentucky - Kansas colony. The chosen route was down the Ohio river and up the Missouri, on what was then called
a "high-water boat." They left the boat at Westport landing, now Kansas City, Mo. Sorrow overtook the
young couple on the boat in the death of their little girl baby, only a few months old. The little body was buried
in Westport, and after the home place was decided on, Mr. Mackey returned to remove the remains, but imagine their
sorrow when no trace of the grave could be found. The many deaths so soon after the victims of the cholera made
the people very careless about marking the graves. Six weeks were spent by Mrs. Mackey in Westport getting things
together for their new home in central Kansas. They lived in a house of two rooms with some friends. It was then
that the terrible epidemic of cholera raged, and Mrs. Mackey, having no dread of the disease, became a welcome
nurse to many of the sufferers. And her hands - dear, beautiful hands, did many acts of mercy. She has said that
during the prevalence of the disease sleep was almost impossible, as the sound of making rude coffins was heard
at all hours of the night and day.
At the end of six weeks the Mackeys started with
five friends for Ashland, the town established for the new colony. Their wagon was drawn by mules, and the weather
added nothing to the pleasure of the trip. At one time they were lost on the prairie, and for hours they wandered
with no idea of location. When about to give up in despair they found a pole fence, and it appeared to them the
most beautiful thing they had ever seen and the most welcome. Following this they came to a lone cabin and the
inmates set them on the right road to Ashland, where they finally arrived in 1855. Here during the summer months
they tried to make a home, but it was rough pioneering. They met for the first time the terror of prairie fires.
All the corn they could raise was sod corn, and it was not very large or plentiful. Mrs. Mackey soon learned to
make bread by first grating the corn. Housekeepers nowadays think it is hard to make bread even with a bread-mixer
and a fireless cooker.
Mr. Mackey was a blacksmith and carriage builder
by trade, and in September left Mrs. Mackey with friends in Ashland and went to Fort Riley, where he was foreman
of the smith shops. Before his going to the fort cholera had raged there for a time.
The little town of Pawnee, where the first territorial
legislature was held, was within two miles of the fort, and when the government survey was made it was found that
the town was on government land. The houses were ordered to be removed from the town site, and some were torn down
over the heads of those who would not comply with the order. Mr. Mackey was wont to say that he forged the iron
hooks with which the United States officers tore down the offending buildings. Tiring with what he thought was
tameness in the land, he went to Ashland for his wife, and December found them in Easton, a small town twelve miles
northwest of Leavenworth. There he found plenty doing, and anxious times were the lot of his poor wife for a while.
Mr. Mackey, being a free-state man, found many enemies there. In the spring of 1856, the present United States
marshal for Kansas, Mr. W. H. Mackey, Jr., appeared on the scene. After hearing the story of his mother's hardships
during those troublesome times, one will understand where the marshal gets his bravery and his Sherlock Holmes
keenness for criminals.
On one occasion, at Easton, Mrs. Mackey and baby,
with a hired girl, were left alone while Mr. Mackey and three other citizens of Easton followed Col. James A. Harvey's
command in an effort to recover the horses recently stolen by the free-state company from the citizens of Easton.
A few days after Mackey's party had left, the girl went to the spring for water and there met a friendly pro-slavery
man, who told her that Mr. Mackey would be killed if he returned home. The girl told Mrs. Mackey, and the wife
at once began to plan how she could save her husband. She finally took her baby on the arm, and with steps quickened
by the thought of her husband's danger started for Minard's on the side of town she thought her husband would return.
Meeting a Campbellite minister, her burden was made heavier by his prophecy that her husband and his companions
were probably already killed. Staggering along with sorrowful heart she at last reached her friend's home, and
there grieved for her loved one, until the next day an old man came to her with a message from Mr. Mackey.
His escape from his enemies at the time was almost
a miracle. He and his partners had been eating their dinner and resting their horses in a grove, when suddenly
they were surrounded by a gang of pro-slavery men. The latter wasted little time, held a mock trial and had ropes
ready for the free-state men, when a friendly pro-slavery man, a friend of Mackey's ordered the thing to go no
further and the would-be lynchers let the free-state men go. Before he could get home he was taken very sick, and
sent his wife the message that was so welcome to her. She gathered up a few belongings and with the baby and her
faithful girl went to where her husband was, and nursed him back to health. Before this was accomplished though,
other trials came that showed Mrs. Mackey's mettle. The free-state men of the neighborhood had all been obliged
to leave Easton at this time, and the women had all gone to Fort Leavenworth for protection. Mr. Mackey was too
sick to be moved, so Mrs. Mackey and her girl stayed with him. Mrs. Mackey planned her line of defense in case
the ruffians should come to bother them. She had the girl bring in a store of wood and fill the tubs with water,
which she kept boiling hot, to throw on any one who dared to disturb them. She says she is glad that no one came,
for she should would have used it if they had. When the new governor and his proclamation made things more safe,
no one was happier than Mrs. Mackey.
Another interesting story she tells is of the pursuit
of a young man who worked for Mr. Mackey by the pro-slavery crowd. One day he came hurriedly in the front way and
scarcely pausing a moment, asked her to put his clothes out on the bank of the creek that night as the "hellions"
were after him and passed on out the back door. Soon a crowd of men appeared at the front door and wished to search
the house for him. This Mrs. Mackey allowed them to do and delayed them all she could. That night the boy came
to the window and told them good-by, and said he would write to them if he reached a certain place alive, but he
was never heard of again.
Seemingly worn out with so many troubles, the Mackeys
went back East; but she said they could not get a breath of air there, and so came back to Kansas. This time, in
1859, they took up a claim six miles east of Manhattan, and lived in a double log house with friends till theirs
was finished. A company was trying to build a new town, Kosciusko, and they persuaded the Mackeys to live on the
town site to prevent a man from jumping the place. The log cabin, partly built, had no roof, and so they set up
their high poster bed and covered it over with comforts from post to post. In spite of this, in the morning the
bed was covered with snow and it was bitter cold. Happily a neighbor remembered their plight and came and took
them to his house.
In this same December they moved to Junction City,
where they have lived ever since, except the years from 1885 to 1888, when they lived at Manhattan while their
daughters attended college. Mrs. Mackey is mother of six children, four of whom are living: William H. Mackey,
Ella R., Mrs. J. E. Clemons and Milton, all of whom live in Junction City, near or with their mother. For forty-five
years she has resided in Junction City, and as a member of the First Methodist Church, of which she and her husband
were charter members, she has lived a life of true Christian piety. Every one loves her, and she has always been
a friend of rich and poor, through health and wealth, in sickness and in trouble. Always ready to do for others,
her dear hands are blessed forever. She has watched the state grow from a desert peopled with a quarrelsome lot
of wanderers to the most beautiful, prosperous and united commonwealth in the Union, and we say she has done what
she could to make it so. And as the time draws near when she will go to the "Beautiful Country," she
may be comforted by the thought that the good she has done in this wonderful state will live after her, and she
will not be forgotten.
Mrs. Mackey died at the residence of her son-in-law,
Mr. J. E. Clemmons, near Junction City at four a.m. Thursday, August 18, 1908. (Transactions of the Kansas State
Historical Society 1907-1908, Vol. X, edited by Geo. W. Martin, Secretary, State Printing Office, Topeka, 1908,
pages 651-654)
WILLIAM H. MACKEY,
SR.
Miss Zu Adams, assistant secretary of the Kansas
State Historical Society, has kindly requested me to give a retrospect of my early experiences in Kansas, which
I will do to some little extent. I am not much struck on writing of myself, of what I have done, or left undone,
but will write of the interesting experiences I have had in the West.
Our company of about sixty persons was organized
in Cincinnati, Ohio, and at Covington, Ky., about equal numbers from each place. We chartered a steamboat, the
Express, at Cincinnati, to take us to Ashland, Kan., early in April, 1855, and made the trip to Westport Landing,
now Kansas City. On reaching there we could get the boat no farther, as there was not water enough in the Kansas
river to float it, so we let the boat go back east, and hoofed it over the country to our destination. Quite a
number of the company bought oxen and wagons. I remember of getting a meal at Journey Cake's but we did not sleep
there. I killed two prairie chickens near the Shawnee Mission.
With some others I came out overland with James
Ryan and his family of wife and two children. One of Mr. Ryan's children died the evening we arrived at the Lawrence
town site. We buried the remains the next morning near where we camped. Mr. Ryan also brought out our provisions.
There may have been some sky-scrapers on the Lawrence
town site when we passed through, but the only one I recall was a sod house, with bunks for sleeping purposes,
cooking and housework being one on the outside. We journeyed along west until we found some men cutting house logs
on the river bank. They told us they were intended for a house on the Topeka town site. That was the first we heard
of Topeka. But we did not tarry at that place, for we had another place in view, the town site of Ashland, about
fourteen miles southeast of Fort Riley. We camped at a mill, I think Bourassa's, one night. When we arrived at
our destination we found those who had preceded us camped on the river bank below the cottonwood trees. The wind
was blowing, the sand was flying, and the female portion were rubbing their eyes and crying, and declaring that
they were going home, which a good many did. One man built a raft of logs, put his family on it and "lit out"
for the mouth of the river. How he got away from that place I have no knowledge; but the most of the company remained.
I built a log house on our town site, with the assistance of my good lady, who took hold of one end of a six-foot
saw in order to make clap-boards for the roofing. Well, we thought that fun. But we put up the house and moved
in, which was not much of a job, for our household goods had not arrived. But we enjoyed every bit of it, and still
smile when we think of it - Mrs. Mackey coming out of a large millinery store in the East and taking one end of
a six-foot cross-cut saw. It at least shows the mettle in her make-up.
While we were building our house we boarded with
M. D. Fisher and family. There were several other families boarding there at the same time. We occupied a room
on the first floor. Our furnishings were not numerous but answered for the occasion. The building was a log house,
probably sixteen feet square on the inside, with roof and dirt floor. There were facings split out of cottonwood
timber for the facings of the door, which had not been put on, as they had no boards for the door; instead we used
blankets. The facings we used for a bedstead by placing them end to end across one side of the room, and with cut
poles on this frame and the whole thing covered with prairie grass, it made a comfortable sleeping-place. This
arrangement was made for the married people. We arranged it so that one lady could go to bed at one end, the husband
next, then another husband, then his wife, and so on. I think the bed held several families there being only one
family that had children. The single men slept outside when the weather was good - and it seldom rained in the
early settlement of Kansas. We thought we were entirely out of the rain belt, but one evening there was a sluice
of water about five inches deep on the floor and consequently they did not do much sleeping that night. Some of
the outsiders had been brought up in luxury, and though this was a change for them they all seemed to enjoy the
frontier style of living. They all remained and did well, and some became very prominent in making this state what
it is today, a banner state.
In September 1855, I took charge of the smith shops
at Fort Riley. At the winding up of the cholera at the post, and after Major Ogden's remains were taken up and
sent east, I put an iron railing around the grave to mark the place. Today there is a nice monument on the lot.
During August when cholera was prevalent there, I visited the post daily.
In December I left Fort Riley, intending to locate
in the city of Leavenworth, but instead bought of a Mr. Whorton his shop and good-will in the town of Easton, twelve
miles west of Leavenworth, where I did a good business for four years. The place was so tough that we left at the
end of that time. We arrived there the third day after the murder of Captain Brown's and it was shooting, cutting
and killing all the time, so it was a very pleasant place to live in. While there our eldest son, W. H. Mackey,
Jr., now United States marshal for Kansas was born, July 28, 1856.
When I sold out we returned to Covington, Ky.,
and spent the winter, but being dissatisfied, returned to Kansas. When I left Easton a man near town owed me a
big bill. I went up to his place before breakfast and got a bunch of cattle. These I took down to Leavenworth and
sold, but prices were so low that I did not average over forty dollars a yoke. One yoke of young cattle I could
not sell, and paid twenty dollars to a man to winter them. When I came back, in the spring of 1860, the Pike's
Peak emigration had commenced and I sold the youngsters for $110.
On our trip from Fort Riley to Leavenworth county,
in December 1855, the only means of traveling at my command was by ox-team. The snow was two feet on a level from
Riley to Leavenworth, and the cold was intense. But we were younger then than now. There were two men in our traveling
party, the man who owned the team and myself, together with my wife. We could only travel a short distance each
day, so when we struck a cabin any time in the after part of the day where we could be accommodated we would stop
for the remainder of the day and night. But we often put up where our meals were limited. For instance, at the
stage station at Rock creek, where they were supposed to furnish something for the comfort and welcoming of man,
we found only corn flapjacks and milk. Their teams had gone to Leavenworth for supplies but had not returned. The
next day we struck the Pottawatomie reservation, and to put up at one of those old French stopping places was a
treat. We lingered all through the reserve, although it was a little expensive. We had had no vegetables that winter
except one bushel of potatoes that were frozen harder than cobblestones for which I had paid $2.50. We used them,
nevertheless, and were glad to get vegetables of any kind and at any cost. But we struck it rich at old Chief Le
Fromboise, at Silver Lake. We remained there several days and feasted. The old buck had two wives and a big family
all at home. But he certainly was a good provider.
Our next stopping place was Big Muddy creek, Jefferson
county, at a one room house. The family consisted of a man and wife and children of all sizes. When I asked for
entertainment, the host said, "Oh yes." I looked around and saw no sign of anything to eat. There was
but one room for all of the outfit, with pigs taking up a big portion of the space. I thought it looked a little
squally, for naturally everything was covered with dirt. The good lady commenced to get supper by putting the children
to doing the churning. It was too much for one of our party. He elbowed the little ones from over the churn and
finished that part of the work. In the meantime the lady had been out to a hole in the ground and brought in a
nice, fresh ham. With that and hot biscuits and good coffee, we fared nicely. All the men and children slept on
the floor, and with the comradeship of a few pigs all kept warm. The two ladies had the use of the one bed. That
night the landlady had some prairie-chickens dressed, or undressed, and put into a stew-kettle and set them in
the corner of the big fireplace, where they cooked slowly all night. They were the best cooked chickens I ever
ate before or since.
This trip was just the initiation we needed to
enter a new territory and now we could say we had had the experiences about all sides of life. It was a tough trip,
but it was the breaking in that we needed. I shall always look back to it with real pleasure. I think to rub up
against the rough corners of the world is the very best education we can get.
Col. James A. Harvey, came through Easton, Leavenworth
county, with his free-state company, in September, 1856. Franklin G. Adams, was one of his men. When I heard they
were coming, I told the storekeeper, John M. Gallagher, whose wife, by the way, is still living, to treat the men
to whatever they wanted in the way of refreshments, sardines, crackers, cheese, tobacco, etc., at my expense. At
that time and place we couldn't run into a restaurant and order refreshments. When the pro-slavery military companies
came through Easton the head of a whiskey barrel would be knocked off and tin cups hung around the brim. Although
I was free-state man, and my neighbors knew it, my having come from Kentucky to Kansas was greatly in my favor
among them, there being but four of my way of thinking in a community of Southern sympathizers.
Harvey's company took all the good horses from
the pro-slavery settlers about Easton. James Willoughby, who had a sawmill on Stranger Creek run by horse-power
saw his horses traces cut and the horses led off by the free-state boys. Reverend Oliphant, a Campbellite preacher,
who lived on a farm about a mile and a half from town, lost a fine horse, which evidently escaped from her captors
and returned to her owner some days later. Although the free-state men had only followed the tactics of the pro-slavery
men before them, I felt sorry for my neighbors, who were kind to me. When Thomas A. Minard, the leading free-state
man of our community suggested that we ought to try and recover the animals, I offered to accompany him. He said
the Easton people could have kept their horses if they had not been cowards. He decided to get two of the pro-slavery
neighbors to go with us. I went up to the house to see my wife, and said: "Anna, I'm going off for a few days,
but will come back all right." She did not like the idea, and said I was going off to get into trouble.
I took an early lunch and we started out. Jim Roberts
and Josh Turner, pro-slavery men, were our companions. When we got about six miles out of Easton we met William
F. Dyer of Osawkee, driving towards town with his wife. He was a good man, though he differed from me in politics.
We told him we were going to get some stock back that Harvey had taken. He said he would go back with us, but his
wife said "No you won't." So they drove on towards Easton. We rode on until we came to where Winchester
now stands, and got down on the grass to rest by the log house and well, for although it was September, the day
had been sultry and we were tired. While we were lying there, a company of Georgians and South Carolinians came
up from a ravine near by. We kept quiet, for we knew we could not escape if they wanted to capture us. We were
unacquainted with any of the party. They questioned us, found we were free-state men, and then the leader said,
"Consider yourselves under arrest." He then got off his horse and stepped in front of us and inquired
each of us our names. When he heard Minard's name he took some papers out of his pocket and selected from the bunch
a commission as captain of a free-state company made out in Minard's name. It had been found in the house of Mr.
Donaldson who lived between Winchester and Holton. He asked Minard if he was the man, Minard acknowledged the commission,
but said he was not always straight, and that it had been given for that reason to Donaldson. (Minard was sometimes
given to drink, which cost him the loss of this commission.) The paper damned the whole party. Our horses were
taken from us. The Captain started his men and we were ordered to fall in behind. We were taken to Hickory Point,
and stopped for lunch at a tavern kept by H. A. Lowe, formerly forage-master at Fort Riley. His military friends
had recommended this station to him as a convenience to them and a place of profit to him. He was an immense man,
and was sitting on his porch in a great chair made of two-by-four lumber, as we came up. He came down when he saw
me. I had been in charge of the smith shop at Fort Riley and had become as well acquainted with Captain Lowe as
with any one in the territory. I was glad to see him. He shook hands with me and asked my politics. I told him
I was a free-state man. He turned on his heel at my reply and never spoke to me the rest of the day.
We were given a mock trial, found guilty of being
spies, and condemned to hang. Lowe's house was a double cabin with a porch in front. The halter-ropes were hung
up underneath this porch. Lunch was then called. We were taken in and seated at the first table, but we had small
appetites. As I went in I noticed as a guard at the door a South Carolinian about seven feet tall and as thin as
a match, and thought if he was cut in tow in the middle he would make two men. On the table, stuck into a ham was
a long bladed butcher knife. I resolved that on rising from the table I would grab the knife and make an effort
to fight my way out. I knew they would shoot us, but that would beat hanging. If we remained quiet we would certainly
hang. Just as we got through eating, Bill Dyer, who had left his wife at Easton and returned to go with us, came
up. Our captors told him they were going to furnish a little fun by hanging us. He said, "No, I'll be damned
if you," and told them to bring up our horses. As he was the leading pro-slavery man of that county they obeyed
him, though with a bad grace, and stood open-mouthed when we rode away. We left Hickory Point immediately, and
proceeded towards Lawrence by way of Lecompton. On reaching Lecompton I went up to the hotel and to bed. I slept
all night, and after an early breakfast we proceeded towards Lawrence. We met Governor Geary and his escort on
the road. He inquired who we were, evidently seeing that we were a mixed company, and told us to go on and behave
ourselves. Any one with one eye could tell a pro-slavery man as soon as he saw him.
At Lawrence we found that Harvey's camp was about
a mile from town, and went out to it. There I found Mr. Adams and had an introduction to Colonel Harvey whom I
had already met at Easton. He told us to come to him in the morning, and that we should then have all of our horses
that we could identify. We then returned to town and found all was in a hubbub. An expedition was being gotten
up for Hickory Point to reinforce Lane. I wanted to go with the company, as we would then be with Harvey in the
morning. But as I was really too ill to travel the men induced me to wait over. The next morning we started on,
crossing the river at Lawrence intending to go home, as Harvey had gone to meet Lane, and taken the horses we had
hoped to recover. I was miserable and too ill to travel far, so that my party decided to leave me at a house on
Buck creek in southern Jefferson county. When I awoke the next morning a woman was standing over me. I asked her
where her husband was. She replied that he was hiding in the brush, which convinced me that they were free-state
people. After eating a bowl of chicken broth I felt greatly revived, and continued my journey on horseback, cutting
across country in the direction of Easton.
When I was about three miles from home I heard
some one call, "Halloo." I looked about but could not see no one. Soon the call was repeated, followed
by my name. I then saw a man's head sticking out of the bushes near me, and upon investigation found it was my
partner James Comstock, a free-state man who was too outspoken regarding his abolition views. A pro-slavery man
military company had been organized in Easton during our absence, headed by Capt. Marsh Comstock, a citizen of
the town and my partner had been run out of Easton the night before - Saturday night - and was in hiding. He told
me it was worth my life to go on to town; that I was proscribed. I made light of his warning but he insisted that
I join him in the brush. As I was about to continue my journey, he called my attention to a party on horseback
on the brow of a hill at some distance and said that was the party that was hunting for me, and that I had better
take his advice. I took to the brush at once. I was ill, and as soon as I could picked my way to Josh Turner's
house and went to bed.
My wife was in great trouble about me. John M.
Gallagher, who had promised me to look after her wants during my absence, tried to induce her to eat her meals,
which she refused to do. On Sunday she went a half mile up the road to the boarding-house of Tom Minard, thinking
that if we came that way she could warn us that Captain Comstock's company had threatened to kill us if we returned
to town. While she was at Minard's gate with William, our son, in her arms, Mr. Oliphant rode up. She asked him
what he thought of our not coming back. He replied, "I do not want to discourage you, but I believe they are
every last one killed. They have become so hellish on both sides that I think they have all been killed."
There had been fighting at Hickory Point the day before, and the pro-slavery company had talked of going up to
help their side, but they had got drunk and remained in town. John Turner let Mrs. Mackey know where I was by Monday
morning, September 15, and as soon as I could be moved, I was taken home and was sick in bed for three months.
Soon after I was taken home Henry Simons, a young
wagon-maker in my employ, a nice fellow who made his home with us, was chased through our house by a party of ruffians.
Later he crept up to our window and told my wife to roll up his clothing in a bundle and put it down on the creek
bank, where he could get it, as he was going to leave the country, and that if letters came to him to send them
to him at a certain address. This we promised to do. Later two of our pro-slavery townsmen, Samuel J. Kookogey,
a clerk and constable and J. C. Pearson, who seemed to be friendly, offered to escort him beyond the danger line,
and departed with him. We received mail for him for at least a year after he left, which we forwarded as requested
and answered the replies from his friends. We finally came to the conclusion that these two pretended to be friends
and had taken him away and killed him. His only fault seemed to be that he had served in an artillery company in
Lawrence when he had been run out of Easton.
While I was living at Easton I had a man by the
name of Evans working in my shop. He was married to a Southern woman. In order to keep him and please his wife,
I fitted them out with household furniture, enough to make them comfortable and bought his wife a pony. It was
the custom for women in those days to ride about on horseback. Farmers rarely had buggies. C. C. Linville, a carpenter
of Easton, was given to telling mean stories, manufactured from whole cloth, about his neighbors. He told one on
Evan's wife which so enraged Evans that he threatened to kill him. He went home, got his revolver, and started
to hunt up Linville, whom he met on the road, and asked if he had told the story. Evans drew his pistol at Linville
and Linville knocked it up. This feat was repeated by the two five times. Then they both turned and ran. They left
town permanently. Evan's wife went to him later, and this left the household goods and pony unclaimed in the town.
To secure myself, I decided to attach them, and to do this was obliged to go down to Leavenworth not a very safe
place for a free-state man. I started on horseback. As I approached Leavenworth on the Salt creek road I noticed
a group of Kickapoo Rangers approaching the town on the road from Kickapoo. I wanted to escape their company, which
I should surely have done had I not reached the junction of the two roads before they did. Still I did not dare
to appear afraid, and they soon came up with me. The leader accosted me with a question as to my name and another
where I came from to Kansas. To the latter I replied "from Kentucky," which seemed to satisfy him, at
least for the moment.
I was not much of a talker, but I kept him talking
on non-political subjects until we reached town. Here I soon selected a vacant lot to lariat my horse, and the
rangers rode on, none the wiser in regard to my politics. I then walked on into town, had my dinner, and was looking
for the office of a justice of the peace, when the leader of the rangers again met me, and remarked on a disturbance
going on at the levee, suggesting that I go down there with him. We found a steamboat just coming in loaded with
pro-slavery men who had been "fighting Jim Lane" so they said. I was a little timid about meeting any
pro-slavery men I knew, on account of my abolition sentiments which were pretty well known among my acquaintances.
The first man to step off the boat was one whom I had often done work for, and was on good relations with. I called
him by his first name, Elihu (I do not remember his last). He always called me "Old Kentuck," which he
did this time, greeting me with great cordiality, being about half drunk. I told him what I wanted. He took me
under his charge and conducted me to the office of R. R. Rees, then an elderly man and told him that I was a friend
of his and to help me to anything I wanted. Rees made out my papers and as I started to go asked if I was armed.
I told him I carried none. He said it was too dangerous times to go unarmed, and pointing me to a pile of guns
in the corner of his office told me to select the best I could find. Fearing more to offend him than the dangers
I might meet on my homeward way, I went to the pile and selected the least rusty one, and provided myself with
a few cartridges and caps. I found my hose and took a cut across the country for home, avoiding the roads. When
I got out as far as the government farm I dismounted and hid my gun, etc., in the grass by the fence. Some years
afterwards, while living at Junction City, having taken the first degree in masonry I took my wife with me a public
installation. Who should I see sitting on the platform but my old friend Rees, the justice of the peace of Leavenworth
county in 1856. His visit to Junction City was in 1862-63. I did not make myself known to the old gentleman, as
I did not care to refresh my memory of border days.
In March, 1865, I went to Fort Larned and took
charge of the smith shops at the post for the quartermaster. Each company had a horseshoer to do post work, so
I had nothing do for the companies unless they came with an order from the quartermaster. This was when freighting
with New Mexico was done with Mexican teams, and no train was allowed to pass Larned with less than fifty wagons,
and then they were allowed an escort of soldiers to take them to the line of Mexico. I had the privilege of doing
their repair work while they were at the post, which was a pretty fat job, as my pay went on at the same time.
About this time there was a company that came to
the post, I don't know where from, we called the "galvanized company." One of the officers of this company
was a Dutch lieutenant built like a beer keg, and very pompous. He came to my place one day and tapping me on the
shoulder and pointing out his horse, ordered me to shoe the same, and left the shop. When he returned, he found
his horse where he had left him and not shod. He came into the shop snorting. I told him I had no time to shoe
his horse, and he left. In the afternoon he came back and told me his horse was outside and he must have it shod.
I then told him to bring me an order from the quartermaster. He said, "No, I will get one from the commander
of the post," which he did. As I was working for the quartermaster, I did not recognize his order. The next
morning he came in and handed me a five dollar gold piece and asked me to shoe his horse, which I did and would
have done on his first call if he had not commanded me to do it. So you see I always get some mirth besides pay
for my work.
In the latter part of August the commanding officer,
I think Colonel Cloud, sent four messengers out to Fort Zarah, about three miles of where Great Bend now is, on
the east bank of the Walnut, a half mile above the mouth. They were attacked by Indians. I think they must have
been surprised at Ash Creek, the first stream north of Larned, as the arrows indicated and started back to the
post, but there was but one got in to report. The garrison was called to the parade-ground immediately. I was standing
in the door of my adobe hut as a chap was passing. I thought he looked as though he did not care for that trip.
There were not many soldiers to go out, so I hailed him and said I would give him a two-dollar and a-half gold
piece for the use of his horse, and would take his place in the ranks. He threw me the bridle and I took the horse
and was off with the squad of men.
Three miles east of the fort we found the first
body, literally filled with arrows. About two miles further on we found another body filled with arrows, the hands
taken off at the wrists, the feet taken off at the ankles, the heart taken out and the head scalped. The third
body was found within about 500 yards of the crossing of Ash creek, filled with arrows, hands and feet taken off,
the head skinned and heart taken out and laid on the body. About a hundred yards off a wolf was scampering off
with one hand. One of them shot the wolf and we got the hand. While we ere gathering up the last body we spied
the Indians making a dash for a trail that was just passing Pawnee Rock. We made a dash for them. The trail formed
its corral at once, and the Indians, seeing us coming up on the opposite side of the corral, bore off the Arkansas
river and we after them. But they had too much advantage in the start, and were all on the opposite bank among
the sand-hills by the time we struck the river. We returned to the Rock and escorted the train into Larned. We
had our dead with us, which were buried next day with military honors.
During the summer I bought a bunch of cattle, mostly
calves, some of which were too young for a long trip, so I left the cattle until the latter part of November. I
left the fort in October. On my return for the cattle, I met one of my townsmen, Mr. G. E. Beates, at "Oxhide,"
a noted camping place. Mr. Beates was in charge of a freighting outfit for Messrs. Streeter & Strickler of
Junction City. His train had stopped for dinner on their return from Larned. He tried to persuade me to not attempt
to go farther as I was alone. He said it would be almost impossible to pass Cow creek without being taken in. But
I had no intention of turning back. I continued West, passed Cow creek and nothing happened. That night I camped
at Fort Zarah and next day lit out for Larned. When within a couple of miles of Ask creek I began to think of the
Indian raid in the summer previous, and the more I thought of it, the more my hair would raise. Finally I thought
I saw any number of the heads of Indians along the creek bank, and began to think of my running the gauntlet. I
had a splendid pony for cattle, but I knew he was not fast enough for Indians, and as I saw just the heads of the
enemy above the tall bluestem and they did not move, I was satisfied they had me spotted. I made up my mind to
go on, and when I saw them make a move I would slide off the pony and take to the grass. Meanwhile I was closing
up on them and finally go so close I could see they were stumps of trees that had been cut for use at the fort.
So the fright left me and I went on to the fort and proceeded to gather up my cattle.
The second day after my arrival I started the cattle
just at noon and at dusk I had only gotten to the lower crossing of Pawnee river. But I had the cattle pretty well
worn out, as well as myself, and while I was rounding them up rain commenced to fall and the wind began to blow;
then it changed to snow. I knew it would not do to make a fire, for that camp-ground was a favorite resort of the
Indians. So I tramped and rode around the cattle all night, mostly to keep from freezing, for the rain and snow
kept up most of the night. The next morning I started out and had no trouble. The third night out I made camp about
two miles east of where Great Bend is now located. The next morning about daybreak the ground began to tremble,
and the vibrations increased so that for a considerable time I thought a heavy earthquake was on; but the vibrations
seemed to pass and by the time it began to get light I realized that it was a tremendous herd of buffalo just over
the bluff to my left. Finally they made their appearance east of me, coming around the point of the bluff and made
direct for the Arkansas river, which was not far off. By this time it was light enough for me to see them plunging
into the river. I could not leave my stock to go and investigate, but I knew there must have been hundreds of them
drowned, for they went pell-mell over the bank into the river. I made the round trip without accident. I met my
friend, Mr. Gurdon E. Beates on my return. He remarked that it could hardly be done the second time so successfully,
but I had no occasion or desire to repeat that feat, for I never thought myself a very brave chap. But I had my
cattle home with but little difficulty, but some experience.
Notes:
1. William Henry Mackey was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, September 15, 1828. His father, William Mackey was born in
Scotland and his mother, Elizabeth Henry in Virginia. He was married to Anna E. Boher, at Covington, Ky., July
20, 1853, by Rev. J. J. Hill of the Methodist church. A portion of his boyhood he served in a printing office,
but the trade he finally adopted was that of carriage-builder. They celebrated their golden wedding July 20, 1903.
He died in Junction City at 8:05 p.m., Wednesday, February 26, 1908, seventy-nine years and five months of age.
His wife and four children, William H. Mackey, Jr., United States Marshal for the district of Kansas, Miss Ella
Mackey, Mrs. J. E. Clemens and Milton Mackey are still living.
2. Johnson S. Williams, of Manhattan has recently
given the Historical Society the record-book the Kentucky Kansas Association, the company referred to by Mr. Mackey.
It contains the names of eighty members. Just when the party reached Kansas is not shown, but a receipt dated "Ohio
river, Steamboat express, March 27, 1855," shows that at least the locating commissioner, N. B. White, and
probably the pioneer committee, c. L. Sandford, J. S. Williams, H. J. Adams, M. Weightman and Franklin G. Adams,
were on their way west. The account of these six in the handwriting of the last named, is folded in the little
volume, as is also a plat of the town of Ashland, which had been filed in the probate court of Davis county August
22, 1857, as attested by E. L. Patee, clerk. The records of the Ashland Town Association are also written in this
book.
3. Our oldest child, Georgia Alice May Mackey died
on the boat April 8, 1855, the day before we reached Westport Landing. She was nearly a year old. We were both
old enough to take things as they came, but it was hard for my wife. She remained at Westport Landing for nine
weeks, during the cholera epidemic, and nursed a number who died of cholera. She had no fear of it.
4. Rees P. Brown, of Leavenworth, was killed the
night of January 18, for participating in an election held at Easton, June 17, for state officers under the Topeka
constitution.
5. The volume of Kansas claims published in 1861
contains affidavits by he administrator of the estate of James Willoughby, from whom mules and harness to the amount
of $1300 were taken by Harvey's free-state company about the 8th of September, 1856. Willoughby had operated a
horse saw mill near Easton. He had died in May, 1857, leaving a wife and two children. Marshal H. Comstock, of
Easton, was one of the witnesses.
6. James Comstock, of Easton, made an affidavit
before the committee to adjust claims for losses during the Kansas troubles of 1855-56 in which he claims that
Capt. A. B. Miller took from him a horse worth $110. - Report, 1861, pp. 1485, 1487.
(Transactions of the Kansas State Historical Society
1907-1908, Vol. X, edited by Geo. W. Martin, Secretary, State Printing Office, Topeka, 1908, pages 642 - 651)
JENNISON, CHARLES
RANSFORD
Jennison, Charles Ransford, physician and soldier, was born in Jefferson county, N.Y., June 6, 1834. He was of
English descent, some of his father's ancestors having settled in Vermont in the colonial days and fought in the
Revolution. He was educated in the common schools until he was twelve years old, when his parents went to Wisconsin.
At the age of nineteen years he began to study medicine. After completing his medical course he practiced for a
short time in Wisconsin and then came to Kansas, settling at Osawatomie in 1857. Within a short time he removed
to Mound City, where he remained for three years, and then went to Leavenworth. Dr. Jennison was one of John Brown's
stanch supporters. Gov. Robinson commissioned him captain of the Mound City Guards on Feb. 19, 1861, and on Sept.
4 he was commissioned lieutenant-colonel of the Seventh Kansas cavalry, which became known as "Jennison's
Jayhawkers." He was assigned command of the western border of Missouri with headquarters at Kansas City. He
determined to clear the border of querrillas and his name soon became a terror to lawless bands. His conduct was
such that Gen. Hunter appointed him acting brigadier-general, and he was placed in command of "all the troops
in Kansas west of and on the Neosho." At the time of the Lawrence massacre Gov. Carney called up Jennison
to raise a regiment, of which he was made colonel on Oct. 17, 1863, with headquarters at Leavenworth massacre Gov.
Carney called upon Jennison to raise a regiment, of which he was made colonel on Oct. 17, 1863, with headquarters
at Leavenworth. While in command at Fort Leavenworth he was authorized on March 5, 1864, to raise and organize
a post battery. On July 20, 1864, he was placed in command of a regiment in the field and had command of the district
of southern Kansas. During the summer he made a foray into Platte and Clay counties, Mo., against bushwhackers
who had been committing depredations in Kansas, and in other ways he successfully protected the border until Price's
raid. At the time of this raid he met Price's forces at Lexington, Mo., while reconnoitering under orders from
Gen. Curtis. With his regiment he took part in the engagement at the Little Blue, where he was in command of the
first division. In the fall of 1864 he was elected a member of the Leavenworth council, was made president of that
body and ex-officio mayor. In 1865 he was elected to the legislature from Leavenworth county; was re-elected in
1867 and in 1872 was elected to the state senate. He died at Leavenworth June 21, 1884. (Kansas Cyclopedia, Volume
II, Edited by Frank W. Blackmar, A. M., Ph. D., 1912, page 27)
SHAFER, EMELINE
Mrs. Emeline Shafer, of Lee township, was born
in Kingston, Luzerne county, Pennsylvania, December 9, 1808. Her father was Peter Shafer and her mother was Elizabeth
Shoals, both of Pennsylvania. Grandfather Shoals and his wife both came from Germany and both were sold for their
passage, as was the custom in those days, that their time for one year should be sold to pay their passage. Being
sold to the same man in Philadelphia they became acquainted, and when they left this place they were married and
walked the whole distance from Philadelphia to the Wyoming valley along the banks of the Susquehanna river. Here
they soon became tenant farmers, and by industry and economy they became owners of a good farm there. Mrs. Shafer
had grown up in the same neighborhood with her husband, and though marriage did not change her name, she was not
related to him. Of course their means were very small, but their neighbors were in the same condition. After nine
years they moved to Ohio by team. This was a pleasant trip of two weeks in 1834. They lived four years in Union
county, four more in Madison county, and then traded their nice farm of 100 acres with good buildings and orchard
for 160 acres of timber, two miles west of Mt. Sterling village, getting $200 in cash. They again took up the line
of march, bringing with them their four children. They moved into an old log stable near their land, which they
made tenable for a short time. Mr. Shafer was tired of his trade when he found that much of the fine timber had
been cut, and upon making inquiry he found that the man who had taken much out of this timber had used it to fence
eighty acres near what is now Fargo. They settled this by trading an eighty of Mr. Shafer's for the improved eighty
that had been fenced with his timber. This was the place where Mrs. Shafer now lives, on which there was a comfortable,
but rough house 16 x 16, with a fireplace and stick-and-mud chimney. They have lived here ever since. Here Mr.
Shafer died in 1864, aged sixty nine years.
They had buried three small children in Ohio and
had eight living at his death, although all had gone from home but three. Charles Shafer and his brother Hiram
D. were soldiers in the One Hundred and Seventeenth Illinois Volunteers Infantry from Brown county; Charles returned
to die at his brother's at Mound Station at the age of twenty eight years. Hiram was in active service as a musician
for over three years; Francis was in the ranks from February, 1864, to September of the same year. Of the eleven
children born to Mrs. Shafer, seven are still living. Benjamin and Francis are at home conducting the farm for
their venerable old mother. She has 170 acres in this farm. She has three motherless grandchildren with her, Maude,
Cora and William. Perry Shafer, the eldest son, is a farmer in Kingman county, Kansas; Denison is a farmer in Smith
county, Kansas; Wealthy Ann is the wife of Thomas Crabb, a farmer in Smith county, Kansas; Emeline, wife of Jordan
Madison, a farmer in Leavenworth, Kansas; and Caroline, wife of James Wilson, a farmer in Kingman county, Kansas.
This grand old lady is now nearly eighty-four years
of age and is still as vigorous as most women at fifty years. She thinks nothing of walking three or five miles
and attends church regularly in the village. She has a lively recollection of much of her experience in pioneer
life. She tells how they shelled the corn by driving the horses over it on the barn floor and drew it sixteen miles
to the river market and then sold it for ten cents a bushel. She tells her children that a person can live entirely
on corn meal, because she has tried it. All of her experiences, with many of her rough ones, are told with a zest
which shows the stuff that this old heroine was made of, and it is refreshing to hear her speak of it as a rich
romance in which she took part. ("Biographical Review of Cass, Schuyler and Brown Counties, Illinois 1892",
by Biographical Review Publishing Company, Chicago, Illinois; pages 169-170, a reprinted by Stevens Publishing
Co., Astoria, Ill., 1971, is sold by the Schuyler County Historical Society, Rushville, Illinois. Submitted by
Sara Hemp)
