and oil will not waste. As to wardrobe, I have learned to
darn like an artist. Making shoes is now another accomplishment. Mine were
in tatters. H. came across a moth-eaten pair that he bought me, giving ten
dollars, I think, and they fell into rags when I tried to wear them; but
the soles were good, and that has helped me to shoes. A pair of old
coat-sleeves--nothing is thrown away now--was in my trunk. I cut an exact
pattern from my old shoes, laid it on the sleeves, and cut out thus good
uppers and sewed them carefully; then soaked the soles and sewed the cloth
to them. I am so proud of these home-made shoes that I think I'll put them
in a glass case when the war is over, as an heirloom. H. says he has come
to have an abiding faith that everything he needs to wear will come out of
that trunk while the war lasts. It is like a fairy-casket. I have but a
dozen pins remaining, I gave so many away. Every time these are used they
are straightened and kept from rust. All these curious labors are
performed while the shells are leisurely screaming through the air; but as
long as we are out of range we don't worry. For many nights we have had
but little sleep because the Federal gun-boats have been running past the
batteries. The uproar when this is happening is phenomenal. The first
night the thundering artillery burst the bars of sleep, we thought it an
attack by the river. To get into garments and rush upstairs was the work
of a moment. From the upper gallery we have a fine view of the river, and
soon a red glare lit up the scene and showed a small boat towing two large
barges, gliding by. The Confederates had set fire to a house near the
bank. Another night, eight boats ran by, throwing a shower of shot, and
two burning houses made the river clear as day. One of the batteries has a
remarkable gun they call "Whistling Dick," because of the screeching,
whistling sound it gives, and certainly it does sound like a tortured
thing. Added to all this is the indescribable Confederate yell, which is a
soul-harrowing sound to hear. I have gained respect for the mechanism of
the human ear, which stands it all without injury. The streets are seldom
quiet at night; even the dragging about of cannon makes a din in these
echoing gullies. The other night we were on the gallery till the last of
the eight boats got by. Next day a friend said to H., "It was a wonder you
didn't have your heads taken off last night. I passed and saw them
stretch