"No; good by, you villain. I'm out of town, and so you had better be, very quick." And on he flies.
The Zouaves are now crossing the bridge,—now they enter the town,—and as they pass through street after street, with hats off, they bow politely to the colored people, who cheer them from doors and windows. Now every fear is dissipated. Colored knees are bent, and colored lips praise the Lord. The hope that had all along predominated over fear is more than met, and the town is full of gladness. The tidings spread, and the place is soon thronged with colored people from the country around.
But how different with the white inhabitants! Go with me to the Sinclair estate—a mile or two north of the town. One of the officers rides up to the house, and says,—
"Do you own this place?"
"Yes."
"Well, deliver up all your horses."
Sam Simpson, the colored foreman, says, "Boys, bring up the horses."
"Oh, sir, spare an old man!"
"Hurry out those horses!"
"Oh, Sam, stand by me! Oh, dear, I shall die! Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"