The Prisoners.

Yesterday I visited the prisoners of State, now under confinement at Lecompton. It was my second visit to that forlorn little Virginia town. I call it thus because the whole sensation is that of the Old Dominion. Instead of the rising school-houses and churches of Lawrence, the little street is lined with bar-rooms, whereof the chief is the “Virginia Saloon.” The tavern is true Virginia—bacon, corn-bread, and dirty negro boys and girls to wait at table. Southern provincialisms strike one’s ear at every moment, and the town is garrisoned by Colonel Titus’s militia, re-enforced yesterday by twenty-five precious youths from Georgia, in a high state of whiskey.

The Governor disavows all control over the prisoners, but Marshal Donelson was very ready to admit me to see them. In fact, they were very visible, being allowed an area of a square rod or so before their prison door, guarded by a few young Missourians, who paced up and down with loaded muskets. I met one of the poor fellows, allowed for some reason to cross the street, pursued by an evil-looking scoundrel with fixed bayonet. It is singular how much alike all Slavery’s officials look. I saw half a dozen times repeated the familiar features of my Boston friend, Mr. Asa O. Butman.

The hundred and five prisoners lounged about, looking as prisoners everywhere do. They are kept in a large unfinished wooden building, without an atom of furniture of any description. They do their own cooking, with very scanty utensils, and such provisions as I shall hereafter describe. They have obtained with great difficulty fifteen straw pallets for the whole company. Some have no blankets; but the majority possess the luxury of one apiece. It was an exceedingly cold, windy day, when I was there; the exposed side of the house was unfinished, and about half its superficial extent consisted of great gaps through which the wind whistled. A few of the men lay about on the floor sick with fever and ague.

Most of them are young men, the flower of the youth of Lawrence. They are a light-hearted set of boys, and are resolved to avenge themselves on their captors by perfect indifference to captivity. It comes hard, however, on some fathers of families and owners of farms, which are alike suffering from their absence. Three weeks labor of a hundred men, all lost, in the busiest season of the year, for it is the only time to get in the hay for the Winter’s supply.

One man had left six children, all sick, and his wife accidentally absent from home; he said he supposed some of the neighbors would look after them! Another carried in his arms a child, who was, I was told, the first child born in Lawrence, and was christened with the name of the town. The poor little thing looked rather forlorn, as its pallid father carried it up and down the bare prison room; an early initiation into the sorrows of Kanzas.

Among the crowd I found two of the best emigrants whom Worcester had sent, and others who belonged to companies which I had organized. Not one of these seemed depressed, but all appeared proud of being there. At first, they said, while in the care of the United States troops, and encamped on the prairie, there were many escapes; now the guard was so close that it was almost impossible. Colonel Titus, who has charge of these men, is the head of one division of Kanzas militia, his force being chiefly from Missouri and other Southern States; he is the man whose life was humanely spared by the Free State men when they broke up his camp of outlaws. He showed his gratitude by informing his Free State prisoners that if one of them attempted to escape, he should blow the building to atoms. I looked and saw the cannon actually pointed, not upon the entrance, but so as to command the main portion of the building. There stood the emblem of despotism, with its conical pile of balls beside it. I never saw but one cannon, before, that looked so detestable. That was employed in the same cause, but in Boston instead of Lecompton.

Even now, the men say that some could escape by killing a few sentinels; but this they will not do, for a true Kanzas reason—they would lose their rifles; whereas, if liberated, Governor Geary assures them that they shall be restored. I doubt this prospect, however, from the fact that out of fourteen horses, possessed by different individuals of the number when captured, only three can now be found; and a horse ranks second to a Sharp’s rifle in the affections of a Kanzas man.

All these prisoners are bound over for trial in October, on the charge of murder in the first degree. You are aware of the brilliant series of engagements in which the freemen of Kanzas had driven the invaders from their borders before Governor Geary appeared. In most of these a few Missourians were killed. In return for this, every Free State man who is accused by anybody of having taken part in those engagements is in danger of arrest. The greater part, however, were taken after the battle at Hickory Point, while of the Pro-Slavery men, who still had the black flag flying when these were taken, not one was captured.

If each of these prisoners had, in broad daylight, deliberately murdered a man, they could have been placed in no worse position than they are now, for simply defending the liberties of their country under most fearful provocation.

For instance, in the attack on Osawkee, the Free State men, on entering the Pro-Slavery fort, found a man chained to the floor, by a heavy log chain, about eight feet long, which was riveted to his leg. In this position he had been kept for six weeks, on the charge of stealing a horse. In all the exasperation produced by this discovery, no man was killed; but the Missourians were compelled to perform the labor of detaching the chain from the leg. My informant saw it done. For this affair, some of those whom I saw at Lecompton were imprisoned, and others in this place are hiding from arrest, or working on their farms with a horse ready saddled for instantaneous escape from any suspicious visitors.

All these arrests have been made by the United States troops, whom it is the present policy of the people not to resist. But this patience cannot last forever; and I only repeat, what I have every day asserted, when I say that the election of Fremont is the only thing that can avert a bloodier conflict than has ever yet stained this soil. For myself, I do not believe that even that will do it. When not a single Pro-Slavery man is arrested, how can men help seeing that the power of the Union is sustaining Missouri?

The Governor excuses himself by saying that the Free State men make no complaints. But he does not wait for complaints on the other side, and he admitted to me that he sent up to arrest the leaders of our train of emigrants without an affidavit from any one. He has been repeatedly informed of the reason why the Free State men do not make complaints—namely, that they repudiate the bogus laws and despise the Judges. But he never will understand it, if it is stated to him every day during his stay in Kanzas.

I think he means to be kind to the prisoners, and he readily consented to order some additional blankets for them, and to suggest some improvement in their fare; he also, on being requested, directed the Marshal to close up the chinks in the building above referred to.

I took down a list of the prisoners. They came from the following States: Maine three, New Hampshire one, Vermont three, Massachusetts twelve, Rhode Island two, Connecticut one, New York thirteen, Ohio twelve, Michigan five, Indiana twelve, Illinois twenty-three, Wisconsin five, Iowa nine, Missouri six; total, one hundred and seven. I took pains to collect their names and origin, from their own lips, that we of the Free States may see that these are our own fellow-citizens.

The first prisoners were captured September 10, kept by the United States troops ten days, (having on one occasion but one biscuit each for thirty-six hours,) and then transferred to their present position, of which I add a further illustration from another source.