There were many men and women, worn with care and gray with sorrow, who would read those words to-morrow, and then, with closed eyes, bow their heads in thought; and there were many men and women with the weight of the great defeat upon their shoulders, who, in stubborn courage and infinite pain, would restore the long-lowered symbol of the Union to their hearts and homes. Then the colonel took the Stars and Bars that hung above his desk and kissed it and threw it into the fire, and from a drawer underneath a mass of rubbish drew forth the great eagle over whose breast was the American eagis, and over whose young waved the Stars and Stripes. The snows of the North were upon her neck, and the fire of the South flashed in her eye, and he hung it again above his desk and said:
“My country—my flag—my all!”
There was a hurried trampling of feet on the stairway, and looking up he saw a squad of men in blue entering his office.
“Hello, here he is!” said the leader, advancing. “Is this here where the damned rebel sheet is bein’ published?” He held in his hand a copy of the Chronicle.
“This is the office of the Charleston Chronicle, sir.” The colonel’s control was complete.
“Well, who are you?”
“I am Charles W. Masters, the editor.”
“Editor of the worst sheet of infamy and rebellion in the cradle of it all. Damn you, we have come in here to publish a Union paper! Here, read this.”
The editorial the colonel had written had fallen to the floor and floated to the fire, where one corner began to crumple in the heat.