Here is a man within doors, gun in hand, pacing the floor in consternation, ever and anon rushing to the window, and casting a frightened glance in the direction of the road from the fort, till he espies the Turk-like looking forms, moving "double quick," when he darts from the house, screaming, "They are coming! they are coming!" Off he flies, with the fleetness of fear, and in a few moments is seen no more.
But in one house there are two individuals, fearless and calm: Mrs. Peake and her little daughter Daisy sit alike unalarmed; the one in child-like faith, the other in child-like simplicity. Mrs. Walker, Mrs. Peake's mother, is in a neighbor's house. Some time previous, the lady of the house, an intimate friend, having great confidence in sister Walker's prayers, said to her, "Sally, you must pray harder."
"Oh," said she, "I do pray as hard as I can."
"How do you pray, Sally?"
"I pray that the Lord's will may be done."
"You don't pray right, Sally," said one of them; "you must pray for Jeff. Davis."
"Oh," said she, "I pray as well as I can, and as hard as I can. I am praying all the time."
"That's right," said the other; "pray on, Sally—your prayer will surely be heard. You can't pray any better prayer than you do. Pray that the Lord's will may be done: I am sure it is the Lord's will that the Yankees should not come here to disturb us; and I have faith to believe they will not. Pray on, Sally; pray as hard as you can."
"I will, ma'am."
Time passed on; and now, on that fearful morning, just after the sun has peeped above the horizon, lo, the Yankees! The strong faith above expressed fails the possessor; and she, who would scarcely have set foot on the ground for very delicacy, and who would not have been seen riding out, unless in a fine carriage, drawn by fine horses, elegantly harnessed, is now heard calling for any old horse or mule, and any rickety wagon or cart, with rope harness—any thing—any thing to take her out of the reach of the Yankees! Masters and mistresses are now turned fugitives.