"Go on!"
"William, it will require all your fortitude to listen to the narrative, for it is a tale of blood!"
"Go on!" replied William, without raising his head.
"I will. After the fall and defeat of the brave General Lyon, at Wilson's Creek, and the consequent retreat of the Union army, our position here was by no means an enviable one. It was well known that we were originally from the East. We were called 'abolitionists,' and this was enough. Other families were equally persecuted, and we resolved to leave the country. A party of Unionists, consisting of all our immediate neighbors, assembled here to make arrangements for leaving on a stated day. We were seated around this very spot, unconscious of danger, conversing upon our present trials and future hopes. We numbered twenty souls, thirteen of whom were women and children. On a sudden a party of rebel ruffians dashed upon us from the surrounding woods. Escape was impossible, and but one of our party was armed. We sat quietly awaiting their approach, thinking this the best course to pursue, as we could not believe unarmed men would be murdered in cold blood, even by those wretches. But we were wofully in error. Their captain, one Robert Branch, rode to the side of Walter Leeman, and clove his skull. I sprang to my feet—so did our comrades. But the conflict was of short duration. Seven unarmed men could not cope long with forty mounted assassins. I saw—your father—fall—"
A groan was the only response from William. He did not raise his head.
"I seized the rifle of my fallen friend, and for a moment used it with terrible effect. I saw three villains fall under the blows I gave, but this could not last. I was stricken down, but not until I had heard the barbarous captain cry out, 'Spare that maiden beauty—she must be mine!' I could not save her—I fainted!"
"Oh! sister—Alibamo!" sobbed William.
"I must have remained unconscious for some hours, as it was dark when I awoke. I could scarcely move, either from loss of blood, or the terrible excitement and exertion I had undergone. I remained quiet until daylight, with the exception of several times calling the names of my friends. But I received no answer. And no wonder. Oh! what a sight met my eyes in the morning. I almost wished it had never come. Even the bright sun must have sickened as it gazed on such a sight."
"Was my father dead?" asked William.
"I could not find his body, although I searched for it everywhere. It is my belief that he was only wounded and then carried off, a prisoner. Five of my friends lay dead and cold by my side. Myself and your father made up the seven men who were present when the fight began. My wife was bleeding at my feet. She was not dead—but only survived long enough to gently press my hand, and look her last farewell. She could not speak. I had but an indistinct recollection of her having thrown herself before me, and the blow levelled at my life was received by her. Oh! God, why was I saved to life—but not to live? For I cannot live without her! I had only been stunned by the blow."