“Oh, you don’t know! you don’t know!” she sobbed. “Capt. Baker just now told me, as I was coming to bid you good-bye,” (here her sobs interrupted her speech) “he told me,” she resumed, “if I wanted to save my children from getting killed, to go into the house and lock the doors. And so I must go and save my poor babies. Duck got scared and ran off and left me all alone,” and she placed her cold trembling hands on either side of her husband’s face, and kissed him. Then pressing them upon her heart, she descended the stairs, moaning aloud. “Great heavens! Am I a _man_?” exclaimed Marmor, “to let my wife go like that, and I hiding to save my own life!” and he sprang to the stairs to follow her. Quick as thought, the Jew placed himself before him, and held him back. “She be not cry for self; just for _you_. You co da, she cry more. Man not touch her, noh leetle kinder. Yo’ co hide now, quick!” Five minutes later, the same Col. Baker, her husband’s enemy, rapped loudly upon Mrs. Marmor’s door, with the loaded handle of his riding-whip. Almost too much frightened to stand, she opened the door, and peeped out. “You must take your children, and leave this house if you do not want to be killed,” said the gallant Colonel. “Oh, where shall I go? What shall I do?” cried the distracted mother. “You must get out of here, and that is all I can tell you,” said he, with an oath. “No use to lock your door—leave it open, I tell you, and go!” Nearly all the colored people had, by this time, taken the advice of Judge Kanrasp, or of their fears, and fled the streets. Like timid conies, some sought the vain shelter of their homes, others that of the neighboring cornfields or river-banks and bridges, and still others fled to the surrounding country. Doc, Watta and Sems went across the street after Kanrasp left, taking about thirty or forty men with them to the drill-room on the second floor. About this time four colored men were seen to issue from an humble dwelling, and, with heroic purpose as their only visible weapon, they quietly made their way along the fortified streets. They were frequently halted and their business demanded, when their uniform reply was “To see Gen. Baker;” and the moral sublimity of their position seemed to impress even the conscienceless rioters, for only verbal abuse was hurled at them. Arm-in-arm walked Gen. Justice Rives and the Methodist preacher—Elder Jackson—(visibly quaking within his spotless linen, and coat of snowy whiteness). Behind this worthy pair came Springer, the chief man of money and of business in the town, with Lem Picksley, a well-known, peaceable, and long-time resident; the best educated and best-liked citizen. At length they found the man they sought—armed, mounted and surrounded by cavalry arranged in warlike attitude, who appeared to reverence him as their chief. “Gen. Baker,” said Rives, “we have come to ask if there is _anything_ we can do to make peace.”