The telegraph had reached us in 1862, and we kept pretty well posted on what was going on in the States. On the 14th of April, 1865, it was flashed over the wires that President Lincoln had been assassinated, and the excitement was intense. Men studiously avoided the subject, for fear of being misunderstood and being drawn into deadly conflict. The news was not credited at first, but soon became confirmed, and generally accepted as true. The Union men determined that some public demonstration should be made to recognize the event. A meeting was held, and a committee appointed to formulate a program. It was decided to put the town in mourning, have a procession and mock funeral, an oration and appropriate resolutions,--all of which was the correct thing. An evening or two before the ceremony was to take place the committee came down to the Magnolia, to announce publicly what it had decided upon. The chairman mounted the bar and made his proclamation, adding that anyone who failed to hang out some emblem of mourning on his house or place of business might expect to be roughly handled. The room was crowded, and with the most inflammable material. Had a bomb been exploded on one of the billiard tables the effect would not have stirred the rebels to greater depths. Among them was an old Virginian, whom we will call Captain Jones. He almost immediately accepted the challenge, and speaking up loudly, he said: "I am damned glad Lincoln was killed, and if any man attempts to put mourning on my house, or interfere with me for not doing so, there will be a good many more killed." Everybody knew that the old man meant just what he said, and was always equipped to make good his promises. The effect was remarkable. Instead of precipitating a fight, it seemed to paralyze the crowd, and nothing came of it that night; the captain was wise enough quietly to disappear. Captain Jones had a small brick building on the main street of the town, a block or two from the Magnolia, where he had his office, and lived in a back room.