understood. Our trash-gang did very well, except in a certain
instance, when it allowed the fire from the trash to run across a
field of dead grass, and destroy several hundred feet of fence. In
justice to the negroes, I should admit that the firing of the grass
was in obedience to our orders, and the destruction of the fence
partly due to a strong wind which suddenly sprang up. The trash-gang
is usually composed of the younger children and the older women.
The former gather and pile the stalks which the latter cut up. They
particularly enjoy firing the heaps of dry trash.

It was on Saturday, the 13th of February, that our press-gang
completed its labors. On the afternoon of that day, as we were hauling
our cotton to the landing, the garrison at Waterproof, two miles
distant, suddenly opened with its artillery upon a real or supposed
enemy. A gun-boat joined in the affair, and for half an hour the
cannonade was vigorous. We could see the flashes of the guns and the
dense smoke rising through the trees, but could discover nothing more.
When the firing ceased we were somewhat anxious to know the result.
Very soon a white man, an Irishman, who had been a short time in
the vicinity to purchase cotton, reached our place in a state of
exhaustion. He told a frightful story of the surprise and massacre
of the whole garrison, and was very certain no one but himself had
escaped. He had fortunately concealed himself under a very small
bridge while the fight was going on. He called attention to his
clothes, which were covered with mud, to prove the truth of his
statement.

For a short time the situation had an unpleasant appearance. While
we were deliberating upon the proper measures for safety, one of our
negroes, who was in Waterproof during the firing, came to us with
_his_ story. The fight had been on our side, some guerrillas having
chased one of our scouting parties to a point within range of our
guns. Our men shelled them with artillery, and this was the extent
of the battle. The story of the Irishman, in connection with the true
account of the affair, forcibly reminded me of the famous battle of
Piketon, Kentucky, in the first year of the war.

On the next day (Sunday) I rode to Waterproof, leaving Colburn on the
plantation. Just as I arrived within the lines, I ascertained that an
attack was expected. The most stringent orders had been issued against
allowing any person to pass out. Ten minutes later a scout arrived,