een absolut●ely decided against him, but few friend■s were permitted into his presen●ce. If any one conversed with him at all

, the ■conversation of necessity was ●required to be carried on in the pres●ence of an official. Mrs. Ross ■visited him247 t

hus—Christian woman, de●voted to the South, and of a●ctive and practical patriotism 霆and took some dying messages to l■ove

d and true ones in Missour●i. Mrs. Ross left him at one ●o’clock in the afternoon an■d at four the next afternoon the great

■ Guerrilla died. His passing a●way, after a life so singularly fitful and■ tempestuous, was as the passing of a su●mmer cloud. He had been

asleep●, and as he awoke he called for water. A S■ister of Charity at the bedside● put a glass of water to his● lips, but he did not drink. She heard hi●m murmur once a

udibly—“Boys, get ready.” Th●en a long pause, then one word ●more—“Steady!” and then when she d■rew back from bending over the murmu■ring man, she fell upon her knees and pray●ed. Quantrell was dead. Before● his

death he had become a

Catho■lic and had been visited daily ■by two old priests. To one of these he mad■e confession, and such a conf●ession! He told everything. He was too s■erious and earnest a man to do less. He kept■ nothing back, not even the least ju●stifiable of his many homicides. As■ the priest listened and liste■ned, and as year after year of the● wild war work was made to give ●up its

secrets, what manner

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