“Miss,” asked an elderly gentleman, “were you ever acclimated here?  Because if you were not, we cannot let you pass, for you would only get the fever yourself, and become a care instead of a help to us.  Not only that, but you would surely be a corpse inside of twenty-four hours.”

Agnes explained to the firm but kind gentleman, her New Orleans experience, and he relaxed and said: 

“In that case, Miss Arnold, I sincerely welcome you, and in the name of the sick and dying people here, pray God that you may be spared to help them.  Pass through, and heaven bless your brave and noble heart!”

Reader, if you are a man, possibly you have been in the army, and then possibly you have been in a column, to which has been assigned the task of storming a well-served battery of pieces.  If so, you may remember the feelings that were within your heart as you left the last friendly cover of woods, and double-quicked across the open space up hill, and saw the artillery-men waiting till you got close up before pulling the primer lanyards, so as to make sure work of you all.

To Agnes Arnold going into Shreveport, the emotions must have been very much like yours in front of that battery.  Yet there was no fluttering of her pulse.

“Where shall I go first?” asked this splendid heroine of the gentleman in charge of the district in which she chanced to find herself.

“Not far; right across the street there into that grocery store at the corner.  We haven’t been able to send any one there.  Just been able to look in now and then and give them all their doses.  Please give me your name, and don’t leave there till I come, and I’ll look after your baggage.”

“My name, sir, is Agnes Arnold.  I have no baggage except this one small trunk, and I would rather you let this young man bring it along directly with me.”

“Very well, take it, Ned, and follow Miss Arnold, and see you don’t ask anything for the job.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the negro porter, and shouldering the trunk he strode on hastily after Agnes.  He would not go further into the house, however, than the little room immediately in the rear of the store.

“Surely you are not afraid, you who live here!” exclaimed Agnes.

“De Lor’ bless your soul, missus.  Youse couldn’t haul dis yer niggah furder inter dis yallah house with an army muel team.  Don’t yer smell dat ‘culiah scent.  O, Lor’, good-by missus.  Dat’s de rele Jack, suah!”

And without waiting for any further argument or remark upon the subject, the terrified fellow clapped his hand over his mouth and nose, and actually bounded out into the street to where some men were burning tar and pitch as a disinfectant.  Nor did he seem to consider himself safe until he had nearly choked himself by thrusting his head into the dense black Fumes.

Agnes would have laughed at the silly man, but at this moment such violent and agonized groaning fell upon her ears, that she started and trembled.  But it was only for a moment.