ut off
from the world, for the soldier, reckless in battle, has a shuddering
horror of this loathsome disease. Rosa instantly resolved that she would
herself nurse the plague-smitten rebels. She had no fear of the disease,
the truth being that she had only the vaguest idea of what it was. With
great difficulty she obtained permission to visit the outcast colony.
She was forced to enter the noisome purlieu alone, even the maid's
devotion rebelling against the nameless horror small-pox has for
the African.

Once within the long marquee, however, Rosa was relieved to find that
the casual spectacle was not different from that of the other seriously
sick-wards. A melancholy silence seemed to signalize the despair of the
twoscore patients, each occupying a cot screened from the rest by thin
canvas curtains. Double lines of sentries guarded each opening of the
marquee, so that no one could pass in or out without the rigidly _vised_
order of the surgeon-in-chief. Braziers of charcoal burned at the foot
of each bed, while the atmosphere was heavy with a strong solution of
carbolic acid, then just beginning to be recognized as a sovereign
preventive of malarious vapors, and an antiseptic against the germs of
disease. Rosa inquired for the _proteges_ she was seeking. They were
pointed out, on one side of the tent, the steward accompanying her
to each cot.

"All have the small-pox?" she inquired, shuddering, as she glanced at
the white screens, behind which an occasional plaintive groan could
be heard.

"Oh, no! there are some here that have no more small-pox than I have."

"Then why do you keep them here?" Rosa asked, indignantly.

"Oh, red tape, miss. There's two men that were brought here three months
ago. They'd no more small-pox than you have, miss; but they were
assigned here, and I have given up trying to get them taken to the
convalescent camp. The truth, is the surgeon in charge is afraid to show
up here. The others make by the number they have in charge, for we are
allowed extra pay and an extra ration for every case on hand."

"Why, this is infamous!" Rosa cried. "It is murder. Why don't you write
to the--the--head man?"

"And get myself in the guard-house for my trouble? No, thank you, miss.
I wouldn't have spoken to you if it hadn't been for the sympathy you
showed coming in, and to sort o' show you that you are not running so
much danger as folks try to make you believe."

Rosa had a basket on her arm filled