“Why didn’t you open the door?”

“Have I not done so as soon as you rung?  A lady does not open the door to men who beat on it.  Gentlemen usually ring; I thought it might be stragglers pounding.”

“Well,” growing much blander, “we are going to send you some wagons to move; you must get ready.”

“With pleasure, if you have selected a house for me.  This is too large; it does not suit me.”

“No, I didn’t find a house for you.”

“You surely don’t expect me to run about in the dust and shelling to look for it, and Mr. L. is too busy.”

“Well, madam, then we must share the house.  We will take the lower floor.”

“I prefer to keep the lower floor myself; you surely don’t expect me to go up and down stairs when you are so light and more able to do it.”

He walked through the hall, trying the doors.  “What room is that?”—­“The parlor.”  “And this?”—­“My bedroom.”  “And this?”—­“The dining-room.”

“Well, madam, we’ll find you a house and then come and take this.”

“Thank you, colonel.  I shall be ready when you find the house.  Good morning, sir.”

I heard him say as he ran down the steps, “We must go back, captain; you see I didn’t know they were this kind of people.”

Of course the orderly had lied in the beginning to scare me, for General Pemberton is too far away from Vicksburg to send such an order.  He is looking about for General Grant.  We are told he has gone out to meet Johnston; and together they expect to annihilate Grant’s army and free Vicksburg forever.  There is now a general hospital opposite this house and a small-pox hospital next door.  War, famine, pestilence, and fire surround us.  Every day the band plays in front 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.