In May we were at Warrenton, 10 miles below the city, where the two ladies were quartered with old Mr. Withington and his good wife, in one of the most independent and comfortable plantation homes in the land. When our brigade, under command of the brave but ill-fated Gen. Ed. Tracy, was ordered to Grand Gulf, I was left under orders to take the ladies to Vicksburg and send them home out of danger. But before we could get away from Mr. Withington's news came that a battle was raging at Bayou Pierre. I told the ladies that I could not stay away from my command while it was engaged in battle and that they would just have to do the best they could where they were. Their cheeks never blanched; nor was a protest uttered. After the battle I hurried back and got them to Vicksburg, hoping to have them beyond Jackson before Grant's flanking army could reach it. The idea of having them shut up in Vicksburg during a siege was a horror to me. What was my chagrin when, on reaching the railroad station, I was informed by the officials that not another train would be allowed to go out. There were numbers of officers' wives and other women all round the depot, eager to go. They bore their bitter disappointment even cheerfully. Their courage and cheerfulness soon took another happy turn when under orders I passed around to whisper to them, "Be ready to jump quickly and quietly on a train which has been provided to carry off soldiers' wives in a few minutes." Away they went and reached their homes safely, though we at Vicksburg never learned this until after the surrender. The siege lasted forty-seven days. Day and night, not only the entrenchments but the entire city was exposed to artillery and rifle fire day and night. Many a man was killed far away from the front lines. Many a private house was torn by shells from Grant's rifle cannon or Porter's mortar fleet. While the shot and shell did not fall incessantly at any one point there was no place they did not reach. I knew several poor fellows to receive fresh wounds while lying on their cots in the hospitals. Porter did not spare the city hospital, although carrying the yellow flag. In it I had an old college friend, Capt. Ben Craig, of Alabama, sick with fever, whose wife and venerable father had remained to nurse him. Just before one of my visits a thirteen-inch shell came down through the roof, leaving an ugly hole in the floor within six inches of poor Craig's bed. His brave little wife, (formerly Miss Eliza Tucker, of Milledgeville, Ga.) never flinched. A great many families of the city had dug caves in the soft clay of the Vicksburg hills and could hide in them in perfect safety. Many did not avail themselves of this refuge, but bravely remained in their houses and took chances. Even the cave dwellers had to come out to cook their food. Nobly did these good women render whatever attention they could to our sick and wounded. They were as brave and as calm as the soldiers.