of the small-pox hospital. I wonder
if it is to keep up their spirits? One would suppose quiet would be more
cheering.

_May 17th, 1863_.--Hardly was our scanty breakfast over this morning when
a hurried ring drew us both to the door. Mr. J., one of H.'s assistants,
stood there in high excitement.

"Well, Mr. L., they are upon us; the Yankees will be here by this
evening."

"What do you mean?"

"That Pemberton has been whipped at Baker's Creek and Big Black, and his
army are running back here as fast as they can come and the Yanks after
them, in such numbers nothing can stop them. Hasn't Pemberton acted like a
fool?"

"He may not be the only one to blame," replied H.

"They're coming along the Big B. road, and my folks went down there to be
safe, you know; now they're right in it. I hear you can't see the armies
for the dust; never was anything else known like it. But I must go and try
to bring my folks back here."

What struck us both was the absence of that concern to be expected, and a
sort of relief or suppressed pleasure. After twelve some worn-out-looking
men sat down under the window.

"What is the news?" I inquired.

"Retreat, retreat!" they said, in broken English--they were Louisiana
Acadians.

About 3 o'clock the rush began. I shall never forget that woful sight of a
beaten, demoralized army that came rushing back,--humanity in the last
throes of endurance. Wan, hollow-eyed, ragged, footsore, bloody, the men
limped along unarmed, but followed by siege-guns, ambulances,
gun-carriages, and wagons in aimless confusion. At twilight two or three
bands on the court-house hill and other points began playing Dixie, Bonnie
Blue Flag, and so on, and drums began to beat all about; I suppose they
were rallying the scattered army.

XIV.

THE SIEGE ITSELF.

_May 28th, 1863_.--Since that day the regular siege has continued. We are
utterly cut off from the world, surrounded by a circle of fire. The fiery
shower of shells goes on day and night. H.'s occupation, of course, is
gone, his office closed. Every man has to carry a pass in his pocket.
People do nothing but eat what they can get, sleep when they can, and
dodge the shells. There are three intervals when the shelling stops,
either for the guns to cool or for the gunners' meals, I suppose,--about
eight in the morning, the same in the evening, and at noon. In that time
we have both to prepare and eat ours. Clothing cannot be washed or
anything