e myrtles, and bringing out in
bright distinctness the railing of the terraces where drooped in fragrant
wreaths the clustering passion vine. The next day the news came that
the little village of Warrenton had been burned by shells thrown from
the boats. Then followed the tidings that a battle was going on between
the Federal troops and General Pemberton's forces at Black River. And so
the days passed full of rumors and excitement.

The seventeenth of May dawned, and Vicksburg was thrilled to the centre by
the news of a battle and the tidings that the Confederates were beaten.
Soon the streets were filled with bands of tired, worn-looking soldiers.
Wan, hollow-eyed, ragged, footsore and bloody the men limped along
unarmed but followed by siege guns, ambulances, gun carriages and wagons
in aimless confusion. At twilight the bands began to play "Dixie,"
"The Bonnie Blue Flag," and other martial airs on the court-house hill
to rally the scattered army.

"Mr. Huntsworth," said Jeanne as they were for a few moments out of
ear-shot of the lamenting Bob. "I heard a man say that the Yankees would
be here before long. Do you think it can be true?"

"I don't know, child. Let us hope so," was the answer.

But the day passed and no Yankees made their appearance and the citizens
settled once more into a semblance of quiet. But from that time the
regular siege of Vicksburg began. Utterly cut off from the world and
surrounded by a circle of fire, the fiery shower of shells went on day
and night. Regular occupations were discontinued, and people did nothing
but eat what they could get, sleep when they could and dodge the shells.

For some time Aunt Sally, Bob, Dick, Jeanne and Mr. Huntsworth, and the
servants had been living in the commodious cave prepared for them. The
girls no longer sewed or walked about. They were content if they could
keep out of range of the shells. Once every day some one of them ran the
gauntlet of shells to buy the meat and milk. Mule meat was the staple
article of diet, but this Bob and Jeanne utterly refused to touch and
confined themselves to rice and milk.

"It is not at all bad," declared Mr. Huntsworth as he sat at the door of
the cave one evening a piece of the meat in his hand. "Come here, girls,
and let me show you the difference in the shells. There goes a Parrott.
That's a mortar shell that curls so beautifully down yon hillside.
This"--as he dodged back into the cave to escape one--"is a rifle