It was noon when the company marched to the railroad-station. The town was ready for them. The streets were packed. There were flags and streamers and pictures of Lincoln and Hamlin. The bad little boys climbed up on the trees and yelled, The good little boys had clean paper-collars on, And swung big-eyed on white-painted wicket-gates, Wanting to yell, and feeling like Fourth of July. Somebody fastened a tin can full of firecrackers To a yellow dog’s tail and sent him howling and racketing The length of the street. “There goes Jeff Davis!” said somebody. And everybody laughed, and the little boys Punched each other and squealed between fits of laughing “There goes Jeff Davis⁠—lookit ole yellow Jeff Davis!” And then the laugh died and rose again in a strange Half-shrill, half-strangled unexpected shout As they heard the Hillsboro’ Silver Cornet Band Swinging “John Brown’s Body” ahead of the soldiers. I have heard that soul of crowd go out in the queer Groan between laughter and tears that baffles the wise. I have heard that whanging band.