ilies. And while they joked of German boorishness and Yankee cowardice
they held rifles across their knees to avenge any insult to the strange
banner that they had set up. In the hall, through the open doorway, the
mouth of a shotted field gun could be seen. The guardians were the Minute
Men, organized to maintain the honor and dignity of the state of
Missouri.

Across the street from the house was gathered a knot of curious people,
and among these Stephen paused. Two young men were standing on the steps,
and one was Clarence Colfax. His hands were in his pockets, and a
careless, scornful smile was on his face when he glanced down into the
street. Stephen caught that smile. Anger swept over him in a hot flame,
as at the slave auction years agone. That was the unquenchable fire of
the war. The blood throbbed in his temples as his feet obeyed,--and yet
he stopped.

What right had he to pull down that flag, to die on the pavement before
that house?

CHAPTER XVII

CAMP JACKSON

What enthusiasm on that gusty Monday morning, the Sixth of May, 1861!
Twelfth Street to the north of the Market House is full three hundred
feet across, and the militia of the Sovereign State of Missouri is
gathering there. Thence by order of her Governor they are to march to
Camp Jackson for a week of drill and instruction.

Half a mile nearer the river, on the house of the Minute Men, the strange
flag leaps wildly in the wind this day.

On Twelfth Street the sun is shining, drums are beating, and bands are
playing, and bright aides dashing hither and thither on spirited
chargers. One by one the companies are marching up, and taking place in
line; the city companies in natty gray fatigue, the country companies
often in their Sunday clothes. But they walk with heads erect and chests
out, and the ladies wave their gay parasols and cheer them. Here are the
aristocratic St. Louis Grays, Company A; there come the Washington Guards
and Washington Blues, and Laclede Guards and Missouri Guards and Davis
Guards. Yes, this is Secession Day, this Monday. And the colors are the
Stars and Stripes and the Arms of Missouri crossed.

What are they waiting for? Why don't they move? Hark! A clatter and a
cloud of dust by the market place, an ecstasy of cheers running in waves
the length of the crowd. Make way for the dragoons! Here they come at
last, four and four, the horses prancing and dancing and pointing
quivering ears at the tossing sea of hats