About the first of September, 1861, the writer commenced the mission at Fortress Monroe, under the auspices of the American Missionary Association, and was quartered in a building called the _Seminary_. Three months before this, the Union troops entered Hampton from Old Point. The exciting scenes connected with this event have been narrated to me by eye-witnesses. Among these troops were Duryea's Zouaves, called by the people "red men," from the color of their dress. The utmost consternation seized the inhabitants of Hampton, when they found the Union troops were approaching. Many of the colored people even were in a state of suspense. All kinds of stories had been told in regard to what the Yankees would do with them. Yet hope predominated over fear. They could hardly believe that the Yankees meant them any harm. But unmitigated fear filled the breasts of the secessionists. There had been loud boasts of what they would do; but when the red trowsers approached, their bravery all ran down into their nimble feet. The battery of several large guns which they had planted, and which might have done great mischief to the Union troops, had they been bravely manned, was drawn off. In their confusion, the bridge was first fired, and then the fire extinguished. Men, women, and children ran screaming in every direction, crying, "They come! they come! What shall we do?" 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."