We found Mr. Green an intelligent and pleasant man. Just as our dinner was ready, Captain James Noyce called to see us, and urged us to make our home with his family during our stay on the island. We told him of the kind offer of Mrs. Green. "I know," was his reply, "that Mrs. Green has the nicest things of any one on this island, but my wife and I want you with us." He said he should call for us in two hours, which he did; and we felt that our lots were cast in a pleasant place. There were two lieutenants boarding with them, both of whom, with the captain, appeared like men of sterling principle. While enjoying a very pleasant social visit with our new friends, sister Backus espied the life of Orange Scott on their center table (a goods-box with a newspaper spread). In surprise she exclaimed: "Sister Haviland, here is the life of Orange Scott! Isn't this home-like? away here in the Gulf of Mexico!" "Do you know any thing of Orange Scott?" inquired our hostess. "I guess we do. We know all about him," replied sister Backus. "You are not Wesleyan Methodists, are you?" "Indeed we are, both of us." She almost flew at us, placing her hands on our shoulders. "I don't wonder you seemed so much like relatives. Orange Scott is my father, and Mr. Noyce and I are Wesleyans," and she laughed and cried at the same time. The dear little homesick woman was overjoyed. She had been on the island a long time with her husband, and in poor health, sick and tired of army life, and longing for her Northern home. Yet she would not consent to leave her husband so long as he could stay in one place a sufficient time for her to be with him. But he was fearful it was impairing her health. On her account, as well as our own, we were thankful for the privilege of mingling with kindred spirits. The two lieutenants who boarded with them brought in their new mattresses to make a double bed for the captain and his wife, as they gave up their own bed to us during our stay. This left the lieutenants to sleep on the bare tent floor, with their blankets only. But we did not know of this arrangement until the day we left. April 9th was very windy. We could not go out for the drifting sand, without being thickly veiled. I walked to the beach, near the soldiers' burying-ground, and stood two hours watching the waves as they lashed the bars of sand. Their briny spray bedewed the graves of soldiers, who had fallen far away from their kindred and their loved ones, in their Northern homes. I could not repress the tear of sympathy as these reflections came to me, and I listened to the solemn moan of the ocean. Yet here is the God of peace and love. "He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm."