The Other Side of Lincoln. Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.

      Ma, on the other hand, was of a more fiery nature. She was quick to anger, strident to maintain a viewpoint...vigilant to win at any game, even if it meant to take an edge. Ask Ma a question and you got an answer, direct and to the point. She would not gloss over the issue, color the facts or be unwilling to admit that she could be wrong. She was basic, honest, hardworking and most definitely the lioness of the Lenahan family.

      Perhaps the most salient answer to Leck’s consternation on the issue of slavery versus the north’s seeming tolerance of the brutality of the native Americans and its centuries old lifestyle came in a remark from his earnest while friend and neighbor, Gabe Russell who very often waxed eloquently on issues of morale character. It was Gabe’s theory that the Northerners were more consolatory toward the position of the African for two basic reasons: first and foremost, the northerner had accepted the widely discussed concept that the white man had evolved from the monkey as a genetic malfunction, the mutating offspring manifesting itself over millions of years as an African.

      “In short, Leck.” Russell intoned in the most scholarly manner possible, “The European believes that he is a descendant of the ape through the African.”

      “Does that mean that the Indian is a descendant of the African?” Leck asked “Or is the African a descendant of the Indian who got hold of that monkey and used it to relief?” Leck laughed.

      “Or, testing the God theory...we must all be descended from the Jew...because they are the chosen people...so a Jew got hold of the monkey and performed the old dirty bogey, who begat the Indian, the African, the Chinese, the European and every mother’s son and daughter!” Gabe laughed and punched at Leck.

      “Come on Gabe...where were you when Sister Mary Iona explained that God created all the creatures of the earth...and then he created man in his own image?” Leck asked.

      “Your brain is dead Leck if you believe that bit of hogwash...just as you still believe that it is a mortal sin to wiggle yourself or look up the petticoat of Sally Rodgers...it’s ok to accept the goodness of religion but this whole thing of one God in being with the spirit is nauseous.” Russell had said.

      “I don’t have to look up the petticoat of Sally Rodgers...you know it all, I see my sisters bathing every Saturday...and that reminds me, the knothole you have used to watch has been discovered and repaired.” Leck laughed.

      “I believe the second reason that the north favors the African is the fact that the northern families came to this country, seeking freedom from oppression in their homeland. They were willing to provide the major source of men, money and equipment to defeat King George and win the independence for the Colonials. The victory over the world’s greatest power at the time has contributed to the belief that they in effect won the rights to all the marbles...including the land occupied by the Indians for hunting, fishing or erection...of Tepees.” Russell said.

      “As the story goes the Colonials came here landing at Plymouth...they had very little...they knew nothing...were dismal failures at farming and had it not been for the Indian teaching them how to plant, grow and harvest they would have perished.” In gratitude...they see to the needless killing of millions of buffalo essential to the lifestyle of the Indian family, they change the natural habitat of various other species from which they feed their families in the winter and they send their war machines against rocks killing several hundred thousand men, women and children all over this country.” Leck said in a tone that was approaching anger.

      “Leck, that is the nature of man since the beginning of time...they have always been warring and to the victor goes the spoils...like it or not.” Russell said.

      “Maybe so...but I don’t want to hear any pious and contrite breast pounding about the abuse of the African by the Southerners. Leck injected.

      “Well, let’s not leave them out of the picture...who do you think the Southerner stepped on to carve out those plantations and holdings of five thousand acres...in our neighborhood Leck?” Russell said.

      “It is true...but the Southerner lets you know up front they are coming for you, not some coy backstabbing double talk.” Leck said.

      But even as Leck pondered these issues with his family in Kentucky, his best friend Gabe Russell and his Calvary comrades, no one knew the twist of fate, which had placed the young Kentuckian in the eye of conflict and history as it was happening.

      After Russell’s ill-fated wound and release from the military, Lenahan continued his tour of duty serving in the west at Fort Laramie at the junction of the Laramie and the North Platte Rivers under the commands of General Stephen Kearney and special assignment to General John C. Fremont, a candidate for President in the elections of 1856. Fremont was handsome... with an aristocratic air, demanding a personal guard and escort of thirty Kentuckians no less than six feet tall or older than twenty.

      This guard was specifically trained in the more gentile methods by lesser European nobility surrounding the General with the pomp of a king or president, befitting Fremont, born in 1818 at Savannah, Georgia...educated and refined... considered himself a gentleman of destination and certain to assume the Presidency of the Union or other fanciful post in the future. He wanted no one with access to him to be less desirable. Lenahan was selected because of his size, youth and because the Generals special secretary knew of Lenahan does Kentucky heritage...know as well, that he would be trainable in the mode of Fremont’s choice.

      Lenahan excelled and became a close confident of Fremont’s western campaign and under the tutelage of the Fremont operatives, Lenahan was groomed for special service involving inside covert activities providing communication expertise to keep the military informed of political and social discord of any kind from sources he knew to be unimpeachable.

      Picture of John Brown

      In 1856, an incident occurred which Fremont regretted, in-as-much-as, it occurred in eastern Kansas while under his command and protection. Just before midnight of May 24 the James Doyle family received surprise visitors at their remote farm. The knock on the door was loud and persistent...Doyle rushed to answer the door while rousing his family. He opened the visual trap door and saw his neighbor from Osawatomie on horseback. He made the judgmental error to open the door.

      “James Doyle...I am John Brown... the Angle of the Lord...come for penance and retribution for your sinful degradation against fellow human beings.” Brown shouted while sitting erect in his saddle and pointing his long arm and willowy yellow stained finger with equally long fingernails at Doyle.

      Five other horsemen backed up Brown, two of them with flaming torches, tried to soothe their mounts, pranced and nickered at the fire and the frenzy. The flames cast a strange glow across the countenance of John Brown, wiry, stiff short gray hair which stood about the head as unreasonable as was the root of its existence, bony faced and gaunt frame. His voice had a deep and religious tone that went to the very marrow of Doyle, who was stricken with fear by Brown’s very sight, frozen so that Doyle could not be pulled into the house by his son’s who labored to extricate him from the evil that lurked in the darkness, now illuminated by torches waved by horsemen outside the door.

      “Hell hath no fury or even a space for a slaver of your disgusting reputation Mr. Doyle...you have been previously warned to amend your despicable mistreatment of human kind.” Brown continued to rant in an almost demonic cadence. “But you have refused to recant or to cease the demonic occupation of the body, the heart and spirit of the slaves you oppress.”

      “Vengeance is mine seethe the Lord...his messenger has arrived for your sins and the brutal canning of one of his precious children whose name I leave for you to remember and pray over the spirit of Charles Sumner, his servant, will surely be in heaven one day.” Brown swore loudly.

      No sooner than he had completed the chastising, Brown rode up on the porch and slashed out at Doyle with a saber slashing his neck and head as his two sons, continued their effort, to pull their father into the safety of the house.

      Doyle could not speak but finally screamed the name of his wife... “Mahala!”