Shortly after the firing on Fort Sumter, when the North was roused to the utmost pitch of excitement, the democratic members of the legislature together with certain citizens of Madison, arranged for a peace mass meeting in the assembly chamber for the purpose of devising some compromise which should suffice to avert the impending war. At the appointed time the chamber was thronged with citizens, and a number of speeches were made by legislators and townsmen conveying various proposals of compromise which should be tendered the southern people. These addresses were vigorously applauded by a large proportion of the audience. Before the close of the meeting, however, there were calls for Senator Dean, a republican whose loyalty to the government was unquestioned. Greeted with tumultuous applause, he proceeded, after a few stirring sentences about the duties of citizenship, to say: “Compromise? Yes, we will compromise with them! We will send a million free men down through the southern states and drive the whole confederate army into the Gulf of Mexico!” The applause which greeted this sentiment shook the building, and lasted ten minutes or more. The meeting immediately adjourned, leaving the peace advocates without a program. As the war progressed, and the future seemed dark indeed, another peace meeting was called at Madison, to be held in Capital Park. Noted speakers were engaged, and it was expected that a great demonstration in favor of ending the war would be staged. By this time Camp Randall had come into being as the principal military encampment for Wisconsin’s soldiers. Naturally the men did not look with enthusiasm upon the impending peace meeting. On the appointed day two or three hundred soldiers, having secured leave of absence from camp, dragged a six-pound cannon to capitol square; loading it with canister, they planted it in front of the speaker’s stand, with the quiet assurance to those in charge of the meeting that as soon as a treasonable word should be uttered the orator and all on the platform would be blown to hell. Under these circumstances the meeting proved very tame, the speeches being confined to deprecating the necessity for the war and hoping it would soon be over. The Copperheads, as they had come to be called, did not omit any opportunity to flaunt their sentiments before the supporters of the government. In Madison alone probably hundreds of old-fashioned copper cents (a coin nearly an inch and a quarter in diameter) were filed down so as to leave only the Indian head in profile. To this a pin was affixed for attachment to the coat lapel, and the coins were worn to afford evidence that the wearer was a Copperhead in sentiment. Loyal citizens responded to this challenge by filing the eagle out of the silver quarter and wearing it as a badge. One prominent citizen, who wore the copperhead for over a year, lived to say that it was the one action of his life of which he was heartily ashamed.