explained what I had heard; but she angrily slammed the door in my
face! Evidently she was disappointed to find she was mistaken in
her estimate of the rash courage of the best families.

I again turned in the direction of Camp Jackson, my boy Willie with
me still. At the head of Olive Street, abreast of Lindell's Grove,
I found Frank Blair's regiment in the street, with ranks opened,
and the Camp Jackson prisoners inside. A crowd of people was
gathered around, calling to the prisoners by name, some hurrahing
for Jeff Davis, and others encouraging the troops. Men, women, and
children, were in the crowd. I passed along till I found myself
inside the grove, where I met Charles Ewing and John Hunter, and we
stood looking at the troops on the road, heading toward the city.
A band of music was playing at the head, and the column made one or
two ineffectual starts, but for some reason was halted. The
battalion of regulars was abreast of me, of which Major Rufus
Saxton was in command, and I gave him an evening paper, which I had
bought of the newsboy on my way out. He was reading from it some
piece of news, sitting on his horse, when the column again began to
move forward, and he resumed his place at the head of his command.
At that part of the road, or street, was an embankment about eight
feet high, and a drunken fellow tried to pass over it to the people
opposite.

One of the regular sergeant file-closers ordered him back, but he
attempted to pass through the ranks, when the sergeant barred his
progress with his musket "a-port." The drunken man seized his
musket, when the sergeant threw him off with violence, and he
rolled over and over down the bank. By the time this man had
picked himself up and got his hat, which had fallen off, and had