Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 March 1891 — A Kansas Election in Pioneer Days. [ARTICLE]

A Kansas Election in Pioneer Days.

The next day. to their great discom fiture, our settlers blundered upon a county election. Trudging into Libertyville, one of the new mushroom towns springing up along the military road that leads from Fort Leavenworth to Fort Riley, they found a great crowd of people gathered around a log-house, in which the polls were open. County officers were to be chosen, and the pro-slavery men, as the Borderers were now called in this part of the country, had rallied in great numbers to carry the election for their men. All was confusion and tumult, Rough-looking l men, well armed and generally loud-voiced, with slouched hats and long beards, were galloping about, shouting and making all the noise possible, for no purpose that could be discovered. “Hooray for Cap’n Pate!” was the only intelligible cry that the new-comers could hear; but who Captain Pate was, and why he should be hurrahed for, nobody seemed to know. He was not a candidate for anything. “Hullo! there’s our Woburn friend, John Clark.” said Mr. Howell. Sure enough, there he was with a vote in his hand going up to the cabin where the polls were open. A lane was formed through the crowd of men who lounged about the cabin, so that a man going up to the door to vote was obliged to run the gauntlet, as it were, of one hundred men, or more, before he reached the door, the lower half of which was boarded up and the upper half left open for the election officers to take and deposit the ballots. 13 “I don’t believe that man has any right to vote here,” said Charlie, with an expression of disgust on his face. “Why, he came into the territory with us, only the other day, and he said he was going up on the Big Biue to settle, and here he is trying to vote!” “Well,” said Uncle Charlie, “I allow he has just as good a right to vote as any of these men who are running the election. I saw some of these very men come riding in from Missouri, when we were one day out of Quindaro.” As he spoke, John Clark had reached the voting place, pursued by many rough epithets flung after him. He paused before the half-barricad-ed door and presented his ballot. “Let’s see yer ticket!” shouted one of two men who stood guard, one on either side of the cabin-door. He snatched it from Clark’s hand, looked at it and simply said, “H’ist!” The man on the other side of the would-be voter grinned; then both men seized the Woburn man by his arms and waist, and, before he could realize what was happening, he was flung up to the edge of the roof that projected over the low door. Two other men, sitting there, grabbed the new-comer by the shoulders and passed him up the roof to two others, who, straddling the ridge-pole, were waiting for him. Then the unfortunate Clark disappeared over the top of the cabin, sliding down out of sight on the farther side. The mob set up a wild cheer and some of them shouted, “We don’t want any Yankee votes in this yer ’lection!” Noah Brooks, in 'st. Nicholas.