then, a few moments afterwards, began again, louder, more fearful than before; then again they ceased, and all was silent.  I am ashamed to confess that we had not the courage to go out and inquire into the cause of the alarm.  Mr. H.’s room was in another part of the house, too far for him to give us any aid.  We hailed the dawn of day gladly enough, and eagerly sought Cupid,—­who was sure to know everything,—­to obtain from him a solution of the mystery.  “Why, you wasn’t scared at dat?” he exclaimed, in great amusement; “‘twasn’t nuttin’ but de black sogers dat comed up to see der folks on t’ oder side ob de creek.  Dar wasn’t no boat fur ’em on dis side, so dey jus’ blowed de whistle dey hab, so de folks might bring one ober fur ’em.  Dat was all ’t was.”  And Cupid laughed so heartily that we felt not a little ashamed of our fears.  Nevertheless, we both maintained that we had never seen a whistle from which could be produced sounds so startling, so distressing, so perfectly like the shrieks of a human being.

Another night, while staying at a house some miles distant from ours, I was awakened by hearing, as I thought, some one trying to open the door from without.  The door was locked; I lay perfectly still, and listened intently.  A few moments elapsed, and the sound was repeated; whereupon I rose, and woke Miss W., who slept in the adjoining room.  We lighted a candle, took our revolvers, and seated ourselves on the bed, keeping our weapons, so formidable in practised male hands, steadily pointed towards the door, and uttering dire threats against the intruders,—­presumed to be Rebels, of course.  Having maintained this tragical position for some time, and hearing no further noise; we began to grow sleepy, and extinguished our candle, returned to bed, and slept soundly till morning.  But that mystery remained unexplained.  I was sure that the door had been tried,—­there could be no mistaking it.  There was not the least probability that any of the people had entered the house, burglars are unknown on these islands, and there is nobody to be feared but the Rebels.

The last and greatest alarm we had was after we had removed from Oaklands to another plantation.  I woke about two o’clock in the morning, hearing the tramp of many feet in the yard below,—­the steady tramp of soldiers’ feet.  “The Rebels! they have come at last! all is over with us now!” I thought at once, with a desperate kind of resignation.  And I lay still, waiting and listening.  Soon I heard footsteps on the piazza; then the hall-door was opened, and steps were heard distinctly in the hall beneath; finally, I heard some one coming up the stairs.  Then I grasped my revolver, rose, and woke the other ladies.

“There are soldiers in the yard!  Somebody has opened the hall-door, and is coming up-stairs!”

Poor L., but half awakened, stared at me in speechless terror.  The same thought filled our minds.  But Mrs. B., after listening for a moment, exclaimed,—­