“Three cheers for Jefferson Davis—the savior of Southern liberties!” shouted the fugleman.
Again a burst of frenzied acclamation that made the windows rattle.
I could see the leader of the riot—a big fellow who stood close to our window. He was bareheaded, and he rested one hand on the side of the car, swinging his hat with the other, far above his head.
“Three groans for Carlisle!”
Nothing else that has ever pained my ears has given me the impression of brute ferocity that stopped the beating of my heart for one awful moment.
From the mob went up a responsive bellow of execration and derision.
“All aboard!” shouted conductor and trainmen.
The hoarse call and the shriek of the engine were welcome music to the travellers.
My husband’s eyes met mine.