On through the gathering gloom rolled the ponderous train—the only moving thing abroad, on that enchanted night. Within it there was none of the hum of social intercourse one might have expected in the circumstances. Adult passengers were not drowsy, for every figure was upright, and the few faces, dimly visible in the low light of the lamps overhead, were wakeful—one might have imagined, watchful. I learned subsequently that the insufficient light was purposely contrived by conductor and brakemen, and why. But for the touch of my husband’s hand, laid in sympathy or reassurance upon mine, and the sight of my babies, sleeping peacefully—one in the nurse’s arms, the other on the seat beside her, his head in her lap—I might have believed the weird light within, the darkness without, and the motionless shapes and saddened faces about me, accessories to the fantasy that gained steadily upon me. The spell was broken rudely—terribly—at Fredericksburg. We steamed right into the heart of a crowd, assembled to await the arrival of the train, which halted there for wood and water. It was a tumultuous throng, and evidently drawn thither with a purpose understood by all. The babel of queries and exclamations smote the breezeless night-air like a hail-storm. It was apparent that the railway officials returned curt and unsatisfactory replies, for the noise gathered volume, and uncomplimentary expletives flew freely. All at once, a rush was made in the direction of the ladies’ car. Eager and angry visages, dusky in shadow, or ruddied by torch-light, were pressed against closed windows, and thrust impudently into the few that were open. “Three cheers for the Southern Confederacy!” yelled stentorian tones. Three-times-three roars of triumph deafened us. “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. “What Eric S. told us was then true,” he said, without forming the words with his lips. “Virginia has joined her sisters. And the people have got hold of the news. Are they blind, not to see that their State will be the battle-ground, if war should be declared?” How dearly and for how long she was to pay for her blindness, let the history of the next four years say!