They were passing a graveyard, and Mrs. Corbin touched Helen’s arm. “Look!” she exclaimed, in amazement. They were opening the graves.
They laid Bessie down on the grass, not far from the old convent, and as they looked up they saw nuns and girls filing sadly out, the priest, with uplifted crucifix, leading the way. The convent had been fired.
“I must see General Sherman!” Helen cried. “Auntie, stay here. I will go for a doctor and get aid, too.”
“I will stay and guard the lady,” said “Old Secesh.”
“I’ll go wid Miss Helen.”
They turned and looked. Old Joe had found them. So they went in search of aid and a physician. They had gone scarcely a block, when Helen recognized Mandy, a neighbor’s cook. She was sitting on top of a great wagon full of furniture and household goods—mahogany chairs, china, paintings—and the coachman was driving the wagon. Thinking that Mandy had bravely rescued her mistress’s goods, Helen cried:
“Mandy, where are you going?”
“Laws a-massy,” came back the answer of the fat negress from over the top of the pearl-handled fan she was using, though it was the dead of winter. “Laws a-massy, chile, I sholy is gwine back into de Union.”
And almost simultaneously Helen heard a moaning voice call to a neighbor in the darkness:
“They have broken the chimes of St. Michael’s! What will Charleston do?”