“Where could we go?” asked Bob when her father tried to combat her decision to stay. “You say the country is overrun with soldiers, and where is there a place safer than Vicksburg? The Yankees can never take it!”
“No; they cannot,” returned the Colonel. “I don’t know but that you are right, Bob. I will have a cave dug in the hill back of the house to-morrow, and you can retire to it when the shelling becomes too bad.”
And so it was arranged. Men began work the next day and soon dug a cave in the hillside back of them. Cave residence had become quite the thing since the shelling of the city had begun, and the hillsides were so honey-combed with excavations that the streets looked like avenues in a cemetery.
Bob and Jeanne settled themselves into a happy and quiet existence. They sewed in the morning and sometimes took excursions to Sky Parlor Hill to view the Federal fleet that lay on the river, and to look through a glass at the Federal encampment near the head of the abandoned canal. Rumors were rife in the city of the advance of the Federal troops. One night heavy cannonading was heard for an hour or two, ceasing and then commencing again early in the morning. All day the noise continued. That night the sky in the South was crimsoned by the light of a large fire.
The lurid glare fell in red and amber light upon the houses, lighting up the white magnolias, paling the pink crape 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.