Many of them were flourishing pistols in
confirmation of their bloody purpose. Just then the attention of the
crowd was drawn to an unusual spectacle. Down Fourth Street, which was
then the leading business avenue of St. Louis, and at that time
densely packed with the excited people, came the Union soldiers with
the prisoners from Camp Jackson on their way to the United States
Arsenal grounds. At the head of the procession marched the men of the
First Missouri volunteer regiment, their guns "aport" and ready for
immediate service, and at their head--the only mounted man in the
regiment, according to my recollection--rode their Colonel, who was
Frank Blair. He was in full uniform, which made him still more
conspicuous. No better target could have been offered. I watched the
audacious man, expecting to hear a shot at any moment from the
sidewalk, or from a window of one of the high buildings lining the
street, and to see him topple from his saddle. He understood very well
the danger he was braving. He knew that in that throng, where
everybody was armed, there were hundreds toying with the triggers of
their guns, and trying to muster sufficient courage to shoot him down.
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