Jennie saw hundreds of these sick and dying men lying on their backs in the broiling sun, waiting for wagons to carry them to the hospital. One had died absolutely alone without a human being near to notice or to care. The girl's heart was sick with anguish at the sight of scores too weak to lift their hands to fight the ravenous flies swarming in their eyes and months. All day and all night Baumstark, the little undertaker, was working with half a dozen aides making coffins. Day and night they died like dogs with no human help extended. The Catholic priest who had not been arrested as yet, passing among them in search of his own, bent for a moment over a dying soldier and spoke in friendly tones. The poor fellow burst into tears and with his last gasp cried: "Thank God! I have heard _one_ kind word before I die!" The Federal pickets were driven in at last, and the guard around the house withdrawn. General Williams insisted that Jennie and her grandmother find a place of refuge more secure than the coming battlefield. They thanked the General but decided to brave battle at home to the terrors of another flight. The little band of twenty-five hundred Confederates struck the town like a thunderbolt and fought with desperation against the combined fleet and heavy garrison. They drove the Federals at first in panic to the water's edge and the shelter of the cannon until a Maine regiment barred the way, fighting like demons, and rallied the fleeing mob. When the smoke of battle lifted the gray army had gone with the loss of only sixty-five killed and a hundred and fifty wounded. The worst calamity which befell Baton Rouge was the death of General Williams, the gentlemanly and considerate Federal commander. Butler's man who took his place lacked both his soldierly training and his fine scruples as a Christian gentleman. There were no more guards placed around "Rebel" homes. The marauder came with swift sure tread on the heels of victory. A squad of officers and men smashed in the front door at Fairview without so much as a knock for signal. To the shivering servant who stood in the hall the leader called: "Where are the damned secesh women? We know they've hid in here and we'll make them dance for hiding--" Jennie suddenly appeared in the library door, her face white, her hand concealed in the pocket of her dress. "There are but two women here, gentlemen," she began steadily--"my grandmother and I. The house is at your mercy--" The man in front gave a short laugh and advanced on the girl. He stopped short in his tracks at the sight of the glitter of her eye and changed his mind. "All right, look out for the old hen. We'll let you know when it's time to pick up the pieces." Jennie returned to the library and slipped her arm about her grandmother's neck standing beside her chair while she set her little jaw firmly and waited for the end.