own brother fighting for his people? To think that a Catherwood should be
with the Yankees! You, Ben," he shouted, suddenly perceiving an object
for his anger. "What do you mean by coming out of the yard? By G-d, I'll
have you whipped. I'll show you niggers whether you're to be free or
not."

And Mr. Catherwood was a good man, who treated his servants well.
Suddenly he dropped Virginia's hand and ran westward down the hill. Well
that she could not see beyond the second rise.

Let us go there--to the camp. Let us stand on the little mound at the
northeast of it, on the Olive Street Road, whence Captain Lyon's
artillery commands it. What a change from yesterday! Davis Avenue is no
longer a fashionable promenade, flashing with bright dresses. Those quiet
men in blue, who are standing beside the arms of the state troops,
stacked and surrendered, are United States regulars. They have been in
Kansas, and are used to scenes of this sort.

The five Hessian regiments have surrounded the camp. Each commander has
obeyed the master mind of his chief, who has calculated the time of
marching with precision. Here, at the western gate, Colonel Blair's
regiment is in open order. See the prisoners taking their places between
the ranks, some smiling, as if to say all is not over yet; some with
heads hung down, in sulky shame. Still others, who are true to the Union,
openly relieved. But who is this officer breaking his sword to bits
against the fence, rather than surrender it to a Yankee? Listen to the
crowd as they cheer him. Listen to the epithets and vile names which they
hurl at the stolid blue line of the victors, "Mudsills!" "Negro
Worshippers."