The Capitol in imminent danger!
Gen. Scott in convulsions, the President crazy, and Seward threatened with softening of the brain!
Women and children fleeing for their lives!
Beauregard marching on with 500,000 men!
The Baltimoreans in ecstasies, and the Philadelphians in despair!
Such were some of the exaggerated reports which ran like lightning through the streets of Rockland on the first arrival of the news, throwing the people into a greater panic than was said to exist in Washington. Hints of some terrible disaster, the exact nature of which could not be known until the arrival of the evening papers, had early in the afternoon found their way from the telegraphic station into the village, creating the most intense excitement. Men left their places of business to talk the matter over, while groups of women assembled at the street corners, discussing the probabilities of the case, and each hoping that her child, her husband, her brother had been spared.
Prominent among these was Widow Simms, holding fast to Susan’s hand, and occasionally whispering a word of comfort to the poor child, whose eyes were red with weeping over the possible fate of John. Rose Mather’s carriage drove up and down, and from its window Rose herself looked anxiously out, her face indicative of the anxiety she felt to hear the worst, if worst there were. She knew her husband could not have been in battle, for he was still in Washington, but she was conscious of a feeling as if some dire calamity were impending over her, and among the crowd collected in the street there was none who waited more impatiently for the coming of the evening train than she. She had taken Annie Graham to ride with her, and the two presented a most striking contrast, for where Rose was nervous, impatient and excited, Annie, though feeling none the less concerned, was quiet, submissive and resigned, exhibiting no outward emotion until the shrill whistle was heard across the plain, when a crimson flush stole into her cheek, deepening into a purple as the carriage drew up in front of the office, where the throng was growing denser,—men pushing past each other, and elbowing their way to a stand-point near the door, where they could catch the first item of news, and scatter it among the eager crowd. The papers came at last, and the damp sheets were almost torn asunder by the excited multitude.
“Me one,—me, please,” and Rose Mather’s hand was thrust from the window in time to catch a paper destined for some one farther in the rear, but ere she had found the column sought, she heard from those around her that the worst was realized.
There had been a battle. Our troops were utterly defeated, and worse than all, disgraced.
“But the 13th?” Annie whispered faintly. “Does it speak of the 13th?”