Saw through their mask as they drew near.
“They think,” he cried, “by tricks like these,
To lock our sense and bear the keys—
Look! those are Johnson’s Refugees!”
A deadly purpose in us rose;
There might be quarter for our foes
Of Mingo breed, but none for those.
For cabins fired, and old men slain,
And outraged women pleading vain,
Cried vengeance on those sons of Cain.