ug-out" down one of the rivers. They were
fired upon, again and again, by the pickets along the banks, until
finally every man on board was wounded; and still they got safely
through. When the bullets began to fly about them, the woman shed tears,
and her little girl of nine said to her, "Don't cry, mother, Jesus will
help you," and then the child began praying as the wounded men still
urged the boat along. This the mother told me, but I had previously
heard it from on officer who was on the gunboat that picked them
up,--a big, rough man, whose voice fairly broke as he described their
appearance. He said that the mother and child had been hid for nine
months in the woods before attempting their escape, and the child would
speak to no one,--indeed, she hardly would when she came to our camp.
She was almost white, and this officer wished to adopt her, but the
mother said, "I would do anything but that for _oonah_," this being
a sort of Indian formation of the second-person-plural, such as they
sometimes use. This same officer afterwards saw a reward offered for
this family in a Savannah paper.

I used to think that I should not care to read "Uncle Tom's Cabin" hi
our camp; it would have seemed tame. Any group of men in a tent would
have had more exciting tales to tell. I needed no fiction when I had
Fanny Wright, for instance, daily passing to and fro before my tent,
with her shy little girl clinging to her skirts. Fanny was a modest
little mulatto woman, a soldier's wife, and a company laundress. She had
escaped from the main-land in a boat, with that child and another. Her
baby was shot dead in her arms, and she reached our lines with one child
safe on earth and the other in heaven. I never found it needful to give
any elementary instructions in courage to Fanny's husband, you may be
sure.

There was another family of brothers in the regiment named Miller. Their
grandmother, a fine-looking old woman, nearly seventy, I should think,
but erect as a pine-tree, used sometimes to come and visit them. She and
her husband had once tried to escape from a plantation near Savannah.
They had failed, and had been brought back; the husband had received
five hundred lashes, and while the white men on the plantation
were viewing the punishment, she was collecting her children and
grandchildren, to the number of twenty-two, in a neighboring marsh,
preparatory to another attempt that night. They found a flat-boat which
had been reject