"These yere men hez fought in the late war, yer see, plenty of 'um, an'
you bet they don't carry no bokays on _ther_ bayonits."

As the column advanced, I glanced anxiously toward the human sea down
yonder. At first, no additional movement could be detected, then, as the
drums approached nearer, a quick stir, like a sudden gust, struck its
troubled waters; the hoarse, horrible cry tore raggedly through the
summer air. And then I hastily drew the terrified child with me into the
shade of a receding doorway--for the mad flood came raving over its
bounds toward us.

The mob was mostly composed of men in their working-clothes, with bare
arms and gaunt, haggard faces. There were some women among
them--wretched, half-starved creatures--who kept shrieking like furies
all the time. As the regiment, still moving resolutely onward,
approached within a few yards of them, there fell the first volley of
stones, accompanied with hoots and jeers of derision.

"Thuz only two hundred of 'um, boys," shouted a rough voice. "They'll
run quick enough if you give it to 'um good," and a second shower of
missiles fell into the ranks, the mob arming themselves with the
paving-stones at hand.

But the little band of soldiers did not once falter, although here and
there in their ranks you could discover a man leaning against a comrade,
who gave him support as they moved on together. The crowd seemed a
little dashed. The dispersion of the Sixth Regiment had been such a mere
bagatelle, and their own number had, since then, been re-enforced by
half the professional rowdies in town. They redoubled their cries,