in the morning till eleven at night, and I sitting on my
bundle all the way. The Yankee soldiers in the car were cursing me,
and calling me a damn rebel, and more ugly talk. I said, 'Mabbe some
of you has got a mother or wife; if so, you'll show some respect for
_me_.' Then they were quiet. I had to walk three miles to Captain
Buckner's headquarters. The family were in a house near the
battle-ground, but the door was shut, and I didn't know who was
inside, and I couldn't see any light. I sat down on the porch, and
thought I would have to stay there all night. After a while I saw a
light coming from under the door, and so I knocked; when the door was
opened and they saw who it was, they were all delighted to see me,
because they were afraid I was dead. I wanted to go to Richmond, but
would not go on a Yankee transportation. When the brigade came down, I
cried me heart out because I was not let go on with them. I stayed
three months with Mrs. Cloyd, and then Mayor Rawle sent me forty
dollars and fifty more if I needed it, and that brought me home to New
Orleans."

Mrs. Rooney is still cared for and cherished by the veterans of
Louisiana. At the Soldiers' Home she holds the position of matron, and
her little room is a shrine never neglected by visitors to "Camp
Nichols."

Upon every occasion when the association of A.N.Va. appear as an
association, Mrs. Rooney is with them, an honored and honorary member.
Neatly dressed, her cap of the real Irish pattern surmounting her
face, beaming with pride in "the _b'ys_."

In fiery patriotism, unfaltering devotion, defiant courage the women
of New Orleans had no rival, save the women of Baltimore. I know no
other place where the fiery furnace was so hot, the martyrdom so
general or so severe. In both instances the iron hand of despotism
failed to crush or subdue.

Women continued to give aid and comfort to Confederate soldiers in
hospital and prison, using every art they possessed to accomplish
their ends. The sick were nursed and fed and comforted. Prisoners were
assisted to escape, concealed until they could be spirited away, while
their fair friends bravely faced and dared the consequences of
discovery, never hesitating to avow their partisanship, crying, "If
this be treason, make the most of it." A dozen arrests among these
devotees did no good, for their name was legion. Every house was a
nest of "treason;" for here dwelt the women whose best beloved were
Confederate sold