GENERAL BUTLER’S CANAL AT DUTCH GAP.
(By kind permission of Harper’s Weekly: Appeared Febr. 5, 1864.)
But not a moment was lost. An officer on either side grabbed the hands of Miss Bain and myself and “sans ceremonie,” ran us quickly down the hill until we were safe in a large bomb-proof gopher hole, where we stopped for breath. These gallant officers carried a quantity of “Sacred Soil” on their spotless white trousers and polished boots. Here we waited while the shells continued to fall at some distance.
A large hole had been dug in the side of the hill where a plank floor and roof had been made to prevent falling in. This served as a mess room, while around the side of the high bluff, in small gopher holes, men hived like ants in their earth hills.
Hospitality suggested that a supper be prepared for us, and it was spread on planks with newspaper tablecloth, tin cups and plates, and two-tined forks. An old aunty cook waited on us, and served some rather weighty biscuit. The “pièce de résistance” at this supper and also at the barge dinner, was a rather opaque tumbler filled with peppermint sticks, which had been procured from the sutler.
The firing continued, and shells struck the water in the only channel by which we could return. Night was coming on, and I was at a loss to know what to do. Not wishing to alarm Miss Bain, I took an officer aside and consulted him.
They would do the best they could for us with only gophers for shelter, if we wished to pass the night there. If we attempted to cross the river it must be at our own risk, as the firing would probably continue until nightfall.
I decided at once for myself, but Miss Bain was my guest and must be given a choice. The agency people had always been careful to avoid even an appearance of evil. “Should we brave the comment of staying all night in a strange camp, or must we risk our lives in attempting to escape the shells falling on our route?” Without a moment’s hesitation the courageous girl said firmly and briefly, “I’d rather risk the shells and drowning.”
A boat was ordered at a pistol’s point, and the poor pallid rower was so frightened that he could scarcely hold the oars. We got in with only our two escorts; the others were evidently not at all eager to accompany us back, but stood behind the hill anxiously watching our dangerous passage.