Can the reader imagine the scene in that upper room in Rives’ house, when a female servant announced that Gaston was at the door below, urging the presence of Judge Rives at the court-room, as Gen. Baker and his clients were waiting there; though the hour had not yet arrived? Noiselessly the entire group descended to the ground floor, and, screened from view, listened breathlessly to the collocution which, however, was brief and courteous, as the young man naturally wished to conciliate the favor of the Judge. He was dismissed with the assurance that the court should be opened promptly. Prince Rives (the Judge’s baptismal name was Prince—it might seem sacrilege to designate a name given in slavery as “Christian”) stepped quietly into his sitting-room—a perfect bower of flowers, ferns growing under glass, and singing-birds, where his wife and eldest daughter were anxiously watching the crowd gathering in the streets. “I’m going down to the office now,” said he, “and if any trouble should occur, stay right here in the house, and keep the children in, and you will all be safe.” Alas! these were assurances false even to the heart of him who made them. Has the reader ever laid a kiss upon a loved one’s brow, and then watched the dear form passing beyond recall, perhaps, (oh, that terrible _perhaps_!) if returning at all, to come a lifeless thing—an uninhabited tenement—or in agony and blood; while the ever active imagination chafed and chid the hands and feet that fain would do its bidding and follow that loved form, though duty fettered them to inactivity? Or has he gone out under the benediction of love, to meet a hate that might hold him in its deadly grasp, forbidding his return? To such we need not describe the adieus exchanged in that little sitting-room; for the sweet influences of love take no cognizance of complexion. Trial Justice Prince Rives soon issued from the front door of his house, book in hand, erect and commanding, looking the true ideal African General as he was, and walked leisurely up the street, unattended, and apparently unarmed; as if to show the mob that at least one negro was not afraid. Tall, straight, powerful, his black and shining visage perfectly calm, he strode through the throng of armed and angry men that surrounded the door of his office, and crowded the court-room. Kanrasp and Springer followed at some distance to witness should any disturbance arise; and while attention was thus attracted towards the court-room, the officers all made their way to the armory, whither many other members of the Company and other citizens had already hastened for safety behind its strong walls, doors and window-shutters. Women and children fled across the long bridge to the city, or to the surrounding country; though many remained to guard their small possessions, and share the fate of husbands and fathers, should the worst come.