Benjamnin F. Butler, Butler's Book: Autobiography and Personal Reminiscences of Major-General Benjamin Butler

“Wait a while, General, wait a while,” they said, “and we will go out and speak to the people and advise them to go away, and they will disperse.”

“Very well,” I said, “so they do disperse, I do not care as to the means; go out and try your hand at it.”

And so the mayor made them a speech from the balcony, but they jeered him to his face. Then another spoke, and they chaffed him, calling him all sorts of abusive names, and the speech-making rather increased the uproar.

I stood, a little withdrawn from the window, looking across the street, and I saw a man on the sidewalk having a piece of a United States flag in his button-hole. I inquired who he was and was answered that that was Mumford who had torn down the flag, and that it was a piece of it he wore in his button-hole. I told my orderly, who was standing near me, to take a look at the man so that he would know him if he saw him again.

Then the mob raised the cry: “Where's old Butler? Let him show himself; let him come out here if he dare.” The cry was echoed around for a moment: “Where's old Butler?”

I thought it my privilege to answer that call. I stepped forward on the balcony in full sight, with my cap in my hand, and looking on the crowd, as unmoved as possible, said: “Who calls me? I am here.” That answer brought a hush, and just at that time a wonderful noise directed my attention up St. Charles Street. The cause of it was in a moment apparent. The Sixth Maine battery, a finely equipped artillery company with six Napoleons, under Captain Thompson, had been encamped in Tivoli Circle. St. Charles Street, down which the battery was coming, was at that time paved with foot square granite blocks, which were in a very uneven condition. Thompson was one of the most dare-devil furious riders I ever saw, and he was leading his battery down the street as if there were nobody in it, every horse driven at the fullest speed and the bugles sounding the charge. No one who has not seen such a charge can imagine the terrible noise and clamor it makes, the cannoneers clinging to their seats, and the wheels of the guns bounding up inches as they thunder over the uneven stones. As I said, the mob was hushed. They turned their eyes on the approaching avalanche and then sought safety in flight. By the time Captain Thompson saluted