without a blow, the incident was attended with considerable bloodshed.
A mob of Rebel sympathizers, consisting largely of half-grown boys-I was in the midst of the throng at the time-with their pistols opened fire on a German Union regiment and killed several of its men. The troops, in return, poured a volley into the crowd of spectators from which the shots had come, killing or wounding over forty persons, the most of them, as is usual in such cases, being inoffensive onlookers.
A man standing beside me and, like myself, a spectator, had the top of one ear clipped off by a Mini6 ball as cleanly as if it had been done with a knife.
I found when, soon afterwards, I reached the business center of the city, where the Rebel
element then largely predominated, that the story of the tragedy had swelled the number of the victims to one thousand.
Intense excitement and the most furious indignation prevailed.
Hundreds of men, with flaming faces, were swearing the most dreadful oaths that they would shoot Frank Blair
, whom they seemed to regard as wholly responsible, on sight.
Many of them were flourishing pistols in confirmation of their bloody purpose.
Just then the attention of the crowd was drawn to an unusual spectacle.
Down Fourth Street, which was then the leading business avenue of St. Louis
, and at that time densely packed with the excited people, came the Union
soldiers with the prisoners from Camp Jackson on their way to the United States Arsenal grounds.
At the head of the procession marched the men of the First Missouri volunteer regiment, their guns “aport” and ready for immediate service, and at their head-the