Some of the panic-stricken fled into the country and found shelter in outside villages and farmhouses. A gentleman, who lived several miles northwest of the city, told me that these frightened fugitives filled all his spare beds, and lay all over the floors of his upper and lower hall and parlor. He was a Union man and poked fun at his unexpected secession guests on their senseless terror, but finding them just then incapable of mirth, and seeing that they were still keenly suffering from imaginary horrors, he mercifully desisted. The scene at this farmhouse was representative of many similar scenes on that night in all the country about St. Louis. But many of the fugitives crossed the river on the ferry-boats and sought refuge in black-Republican Illinois. A host of them also filled the steamers at the levee and went north to Alton and Quincy, and South to Cairo and Columbus, while some of them refused to land till they reached Memphis. It is difficult for any one not an eye-witness to believe that such a stupid stampede could ever have taken place. But some of the terror-stricken, who did not flee, acted with equal folly. A secession acquaintance of mine, living but two squares from my door, early in the day transformed his house into a fortress. He invited under his roof a dozen or more of his southern friends. Among them they had sixteen guns of various kinds. They barricaded the door and windows of the house, leaving loop-holes through which they could shoot. And there behind these hastily constructed defences, during all that Sabbath day, they waited with shivering apprehension for the coming of the dreaded foe, determined, if they should be called to lay down their lives, to sell them dearly. But evening came. During the day no one had been injured. Nothing had transpired to justify the abject fear of so many thousands of people. Yet many of the terrified, who still remained in the city, were apprehensive lest the expected blow might fall under the cover of the gathering darkness. At the hour of evening service I was, as usual, in my pulpit. Only about sixty or seventy were in the pews. Only one officer of the church was present. Three neighboring pastors of other denominations were there. My wife and my sister were the only women in the congregation. I preached without making the slightest reference to the events of the day, believing that to be the wisest course. When the last word was spoken, the little company quickly and quietly dispersed. I learned the next day that we were the only Protestant congregation in the city that publicly worshipped on that anxious evening, and that the most prominent men in my church and congregation, belonging as they did to the Home Guards, were absent because engaged in military duty. With their muskets they were endeavoring to protect their terrified fellow-citizens against imaginary foes.