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fret and seethe a crowd of citizens, many of them bearing proud, historic names.
General Ogden is here, General Taylor is here, and General Penn is here.
The lame man pushing through the crowd is General Badger, now recovering from his wounds.
The gentlemen near Sheridan, also in plain clothes, are General Emory and Colonel Sheridan, a younger brother of the chief.
Banditti! How the Southern fire darts out, the Southern pride expands, as Senator and General cross the hall, restrained alike by courtesy and policy from rushing on the man who calls them outlaws and is only waiting for a word to string them up!
With what a cold and haughty mien these magnates pass the shaft against which Sheridan leans!
“ Have you no fear of accidents?”
I ask General Penn.
“Not much,” he answers; “we are fiercely tried, but we can bear the strain.”
“ Many of these gentlemen, I suppose, are armed, and some fanatic, vexed beyond endurance, may create a row.”
“ Such things may happen; but the League is under high control.
No leaguer carries a weapon, ”
1875.
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