On the next day dawn’s early light found Jacob already seated in his office. His face was cocked to the side with his chin resting on his left hand. His face was grim as he contemplated his next move. Things had been very quiet on the southern front over the past few months. Jacob’s scouts had reported that Jones was building a city much bigger than their own, and this task had most likely distracted him from further harassment of the abolitionist band. But now the buildings were built and the settlers were settled, and Jacob feared the start of a new campaigning season would soon be upon them.
Their last dance of destruction had resulted in a great deal of bloodshed. Jacob wanted to avoid that if at all possible, but how best to go about it? Jacob tapped the side of his cheek with his index finger and fretted. Last time Jones had made all the moves, and Jacob had been forced into adopting a merely reactive stance. Each move upped the ante, bringing larger and larger threats of violence until finally exploding into all-out war. This time, Jacob thought, he should be the one to make the first move and adopt a more proactive stance. His moves should be diplomatic ones, and violence should be reserved only as a last resort. Yes, that was it. Jacob laid a sheet of paper out on his desk, picked up a pen and began to write.
“Dear Mr. Jones,I have been thinking long and hard about last year’s unpleasantness. I deeply regret the loss of your men, and I would like to offer you an olive branch. I propose that we both agree to cease using violence as a means to political change,
80 and that we table the question of slavery until such time as a general election may be called in the territory at large. We are not so different, you and I. We have each shouldered the responsibility for other men’s lives. We cannot let the conflict between us lead to further bloodshed, or else we shall prove ourselves unworthy of our positions. I await your reply.
Humbly Yours,Rev. Jacob Channing”
Jacob sealed the letter into an envelope. When the young man who had volunteered to serve as church secretary arrived, Jacob pressed him into service as a messenger. He handed his eager young recruit the letter. Jacob gave him instructions to go walking into Jefferson, carrying no weapons, under a white flag of truce. He was further instructed to give the letter only to Jones, wait for his response, and say as little as possible. The younger man took the letter, touched his hand to his brow by way of salute, and went walking right into the lions den. Jacob watched him leave, and then he returned to his desk and buried his face in his hands. He prayed for the safety of his secretary, and he sincerely hoped that he had not just sent the young volunteer off to his death.
Later that day a pair of sentries came walking into Jacob’s office. They were helping along his messenger, who was quite visibly bruised and shaken. They reported to Jacob seeing a group of riders coming in from the south. They rode up to just outside the range of the sentries’ weapons and dropped the young man to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Then they went riding back the way they had come. The messenger was found bound and gagged. When the sentries removed the rag from his mouth, they found Jones’ reply stuffed inside. They handed the somewhat moist piece of paper to Jacob.
Jacob thanked them and sent his secretary home for the day. The guards returned to their posts and Jacob inspected the reply he had received from Jones. It was short and to the point.
“Dear Goody Two-Shoes,I am going to ride you right out of Kansas on a rail. I always get what’s mine. Yours,
M. Jones.”
Well, at least he was honest. Jacob wadded up the grim missive and tossed it into the corner. He returned his chin to his hand and his index finger to his cheek. Jacob resumed fretting. Things were bad, and they were about to get a whole lot worse.
