There were Mother and Father and Jane and the house. Jane was waving a flag. He laughed and called to them. But his voice was stiff in his throat, not like his real voice. This, everything, it was too quick, too crowded, not Phaëton Charging his snarling horses at a black sea, But a numb, hurried minute with legs that marched Mechanically, feeling nothing at all. The white crowd-face⁠—the sweat on the red seamed neck Of the man ahead⁠—“On to Richmond!”⁠—blue shoulders bobbing⁠— Flags⁠—cheering⁠—somebody kissed him⁠—Ellen Baker⁠— She was crying⁠—wet mouth of tears⁠—didn’t want her to kiss him⁠— Why did she want to⁠—the station⁠— halt ⁠—Mother and Jane. The engineer were a flag in his coat-lapel. The engine had “On to Richmond!” chalked all over it. Nothing to say now⁠—Mother looks tired to death⁠— I wish I weren’t going⁠—no, I’m glad that I am⁠— The damn band’s playing “John Brown’s Body” again, I wish they’d stop it!⁠—I wish to God we could start⁠—