Our daily work was very wearisome, having to walk from four to six miles each day. Fresh arrivals daily required our attention, and after wind or rain pneumonia and deaths were frequent. Bible-reading and prayer were also a part of our mission. One day, while sister Backus was opening barrels and boxes, and sorting and arranging their contents in our store, I went with a load, in a recently confiscated stage-coach drawn by mules. One of the mules the colonel said he was afraid to allow me to ride after; but I thought a little mule could do but little harm with the experienced driver, and I ventured the ride, taking in a poor crippled man on the way, who was just coming into camp. He was clad in a few cotton rags that he had patched with old stocking-tops and bits of old tent-cloth, to hold them together, and it was impossible to detect the original fabric. In passing down the "Paradise Road" to the camp in Natchez-under-the-Hill, the unruly mule pranced, kicked, and reared, until both of them became unmanageable, and the dust rolled up a thick cloud, hiding the way before us, as well as the galloping mules. I believed that we should turn over at the short curve near the base of the hill, where was a number of large stumps; and that if we should strike one of them we should be dashed in pieces. But prayer for a guiding hand seemed in a moment to bring relief. We were overturned amid stumps, and were dragged a few rods on the side of the coach, when the canvas covering was detached from the wheels. Our driver was dragged a few rods farther, while the crippled man and myself were doing our best to crawl from under the canvas. By this time fifteen or twenty men reached us. I was out and hauling the canvas off the groaning man, whose head and face were covered with blood. I told one of the men to run for a pail of water, for I thought the poor man must be dying. "O, no, it's all right,--it'll make me a better man," said he, while catching his breath, and wiping the blood from his mouth. "You had better sit down yourself; you are badly hurt," said one of the men. "O no, I am not hurt," was my reply. But as I was getting a little child's shirt ready for the men to wash the crippled man's head, I found the front breadth of my dress torn across, and I had to throw back my bonnet to see; but I knew my limbs were all sound. Although it seemed as if we had turned many somersaults in a second, yet I never felt more vigorous. I knew the surgeon of that camp was within a few rods of us, and requested some one to go for him to care for my comrade. I saw a man carefully washing out the large gashes on his head, and I left for the surgeon, holding my torn dress-skirt in my hand. Just as I reached his office he was jumping on his horse, starting for me. He exclaimed in surprise, "Why, Mrs. Haviland! I've just this moment got the word that you were nearly killed, and I was going to see you."