Very soon thereafter a neighboring pastor called upon me, and with evident anxiety which expressed itself both in his words and in the tone of his voice, detailed what he had heard about the planned assassination of myself. He thought that I was in imminent danger and that perhaps it might be best for me to leave the State. I replied that I suspected that some of these gruesome stories had been invented to frighten me from my post; and, if that was the design, the authors of them had missed their mark. As for myself I had no apprehension of any special danger, and I had settled the question as to what course I should take; it was my unalterable purpose to go right on in the discharge of my duties as a minister of the gospel and as a citizen of Missouri and of the United States, if the heavens fell. What the foundation of these murderous rumors was I never attempted to discover. Society in the city was wrenched from its moorings, and was tempest-tossed. That some cherished wild and bloody purposes was only too evident. Now and then a citizen, under the darkness of night, was done to death in the street, and they who did the deed of blood were never discovered. Men’s minds were filled with apprehension. Their imaginations were weirdly active. No human mind fully understood the situation; none but the divine mind could fathom and comprehend it. No man could see the dangers that stealthily lurked by his pathway; then as ever there was only one safe thing for any true man to do, trust in God and fearlessly do his duty as he saw it day by day. In November of 1861, General Halleck took forcible possession of the main rendezvous of the secessionists of the city and seized the arms, furniture, books and papers that were found there. One book among others stirred up no little excitement. In it were several pages of names of our citizens. One column of names was written in red ink, the rest in black. Upon investigation it was ascertained that it was the declared purpose of the disloyal, who made the place their headquarters, when the city should be taken by the Confederates, to seize those whose names were written in red and, without trial, hang them from the nearest lamp-post or telegraph-pole; while those whose names were written in black were to be thrown into prison and tried by court martial. At the head of the red list stood the flaming name of Frank P. Blair. Beneath his many of us were permitted to read our names upon that blood-red roll of honor.