The unarmed Pennsylvania troops, taking the alarm, were sent back, though not without injury from the infuriated mob.
The band of the glorious Sixth, consisting of twenty-four persons, together with their musical instruments, occupied a car by themselves from Philadelphia to Baltimore. By some accident the musicians’ car got switched off at the Canton depot, so that, instead of being the first, it was left in the rear of all the others, and after the attack had been made by the mob upon the soldiers, they came upon the car in which the band was still sitting, wholly unarmed, and incapable of making any defence. The infuriated demons approached them, howling and yelling, and poured in upon them a shower of stones, broken iron, and other missiles; wounding some severely, and demolishing their instruments. Some of the miscreants jumped upon the roof of the car, and, with a bar of iron, beat a hole through it, while others were calling for powder to blow them all up in a heap.
Finding that it would be sure destruction to remain longer in the car, the poor fellows jumped out to meet their fiendish assailants hand to hand. They were saluted with a shower of stones, but took to their heels, fighting their way through the crowd, and running at random, without knowing in what direction to go for assistance or shelter.
As they were hurrying along, a rough-looking man suddenly jumped in front of their leader, and exclaimed: “This way, boys! this way!”
It was the first friendly voice they had heard since entering Baltimore; they stopped to ask no questions, but followed their guide, who took them up a narrow court, where they found an open door, into which they rushed, being met inside by a powerful-looking woman, who grasped each one by the hand, and directed them upstairs. The last of their band was knocked senseless just as he was entering the door, by a stone, which struck him on the head; but the woman who had welcomed them, immediately caught up their fallen comrade, and carried him in her arms up the stairs.
“You are perfectly safe here, boys,” said the brave woman, who directly proceeded to wash and bind up their wounds.
After having done this, she procured them food, and then told them to strip off their uniforms and put on the clothes she had brought them, a motley assortment of baize jackets, ragged coats, and old trowsers. Thus equipped, they were enabled to go out in search of their companions, without danger of attack from the mob, which had given them so rough a reception.
They then learned the particulars of the attack upon the soldiers, and of their escape, and saw lying at the station the two men who had been killed, and the others who had been wounded. On going back to the house where they had been so humanely treated, they found that their clothes had been carefully tied up, and with their battered instruments, had been sent to the depot of the Philadelphia railroad, where they were advised to go themselves. They did not long hesitate, but started in the next train, and arrived at Philadelphia just in time to meet the Eighth regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers.
Contrast this generous act with that of an old gray-haired man, aged more than sixty-five years, who saw one of the Massachusetts soldiers in the act of levelling his musket, when he rushed in his shirt sleeves from his shop, disarmed the man by main force, and killed him with the bayonet—and you have some idea of the conflicting elements which composed the Baltimore riot.
Increasing by what it had fed on, the lawless spirit ran still more high; its black waves rolled and surged, and no power could be found strong enough to control them. The demon spirit that ran riot during the days of Robespierre, and the fiendish hours of the “Reign of Terror,” appeared in the streets of Baltimore, and foul lips sang rebellious songs. Secession and murder mingling together in rude discord.