"Beauregard's dead!" he shouted, rushing toward the train to board it for home. "Johnston's dead. Bee's dead. Bartow's dead. They're all dead—piled in heaps—fur ez ye eye kin see. Take my advice and get out of here quick."
Without waiting for an answer he scrambled into the coach from which the President had alighted.
The station swarmed now with shouting, gesticulating, panic-stricken men from the front. They crowded around the conductor.
"Pull out of this!"
"Crowd on steam!"
"Save your engine and your train, man!"
"And take us with you for God's sake!"
The President pushed his way through the crowd.
"I must go on, Conductor—the train is the only way to reach the field—"
"I'm sorry, sir," the conductor demurred. "I'm responsible for the property of the railroad—"