accompanied his Excellency,
deserve to be writ in gold on the National Annals.

"Rather than concede to the state of Missouri the right to demand that
my Government shall not enlist troops within her limits, or bring troops
into the state whenever it pleases; or move its troops at its own will
into, out of, or through, the state; rather than concede to the state of
Missouri for one single instant the right to dictate to my Government in
any matter, however unimportant, I would" (rising and pointing in turn
to every one in the room) "see you, and you, and you, and you, and every
man, woman, and child in this state, dead and buried." Then, turning
to the Governor, he continued, "This means war. In an hour one of my
officers will call for you and conduct you out of my lines."

And thus, without another word, without an inclination of the head, he
turned upon his heel and strode out of the room, rattling his spurs and
clanking his sabre.

It did mean war. In less than two months that indomitable leader was
lying dead beside Wilson's Creek, among the oaks on Bloody Hill. What he
would have been to this Union, had God spared him, we shall never know.
He saved Missouri, and won respect and love from the brave men who
fought against him.

Those first fierce battles in the state! What prayers rose to heaven,
and curses sank to hell, when the news of them came to the city by
the river! Flags were made by loving fingers, and shirts and bandages.
Trembling young ladies of Union sympathies presented colors to regiments
on the Arsenal Green, or at Jefferson Barracks, or at Camp Benton to the
northwest near the Fair Grounds. And then the regiments marched through
the streets with bands playing that march to which the words of the
Battle Hymn were set, and those bright ensigns snapping at the front;
bright now, and new, and crimson. But soon to be stained a darker red,
and rent into tatters, and finally brought back and talked over and
cried over, and tenderly laid above an inscription in a glass case, to
be revered by generations of Americans to confer What can stir the
soul more than the sight of those old flags, standing in ranks like
the veterans they are, whose duty has been nobly done? The blood of the
color-sergeant is there, black now with age. But where are the tears of
the sad women who stitched the red and the white and the blue together?

The regiments marched through the streets and aboard the boats, and
pushed off b