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."

Time passed on; and now, on that fearful morning, just after the sun has peeped above the horizon, lo, the Yankees! The strong faith above expressed fails the possessor; and she, who would scarcely have set foot on the ground for very delicacy, and who would not have been seen riding out, unless in a fine carriage, drawn by fine horses, elegantly harnessed, is now heard calling for any old horse or mule, and any rickety wagon or cart, with rope harness—any thing—any thing to take her out of the reach of the Yankees! Masters and mistresses are now turned fugitives.

Here is one of many interviews between masters and slaves.

"What's the matter, master?"

"Oh, the Yankees are coming!"

"Are they? are they? What shall I do, master?" with affected tokens of fear.

"Get out of the town as soon as you can."

"Oh, master, I'm afraid to leave the house. Oh, those Yankees! Do you think they will hurt me?"

"Yes, they'll take you and sell you off to Cuba. Perhaps they'll kill you."

"Will they, master?"

"Yes, I tell you; why don't you leave the town, you rascal?"

"Oh, master, I don't know what to do. You an't a-going to leave us for the Yankees to catch; are you?"

"Yes, I'm off, and you better be off with yourself—if you don't I'll shoot you."

"Oh, master, don't shoot me—don't leave me!"

"There they come!"

"Where, master, where? where?"

"I can't stop—good by—you better be off!"

But Tony laughs in his sleeve, and says, with upturned eyes, "I'm not afraid of the Yankees! Bless God, old master's gone—hope he'll never come back any more!"

The Zouaves, on "double quick," approach nearer, and up rides one of the secessionists, in hot haste.

"What's the matter, master? What's the matter?" inquires an intelligent negro.

"Oh, matter enough, you villain. You brought all this trouble on us. I am disappointed in you; I thought you would stick by us; but you desert your best friends in extremity. You won't find those Yankees what you expect."

"Oh, master, won't you stay and protect us?"

"No; good by, you villain. I'm out of town, and so you had better be, very quick." And on he flies.

The Zouaves are now crossing the bridge,—now they enter the town,—and as they pass through street after street, with hats off, they bow politely to the colored people, who cheer them from doors and windows. Now every fear is dissipated. Colored knees are bent, and colored lips praise the Lord. The hope that had all along predominated over fear is more than met, and the town is full of gladness. The tidings spread, and the place is soon thronged with colored people from the country around.

But how different with the white inhabitants! Go with me to the Sinclair estate—a mile or two north of the town. One of the officers rides up to the house, and says,—

"Do you own this place?"

"Yes."

"Well, deliver up all your horses."

Sam Simpson, the colored foreman, says, "Boys, bring up the horses."

"Oh, sir, spare an old man!"

"Hurry out those horses!"

"Oh, Sam, stand by me! Oh, dear, I shall die! Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"

Poor old man! His ill-gotten riches are taking wings; the day of retribution has come upon him, and, in spite of a sense of its justice, we can not withhold our pity.

The colored people were soon set to work in constructing the battery in Hampton, under the superintendence of Mr. Pierce, of the Massachusetts regiment, since then superintendent of the Port Royal cotton culture. They worked with a will, so that he was obliged to suspend labor during the heat of the day, lest they should over-exert themselves. After a month had elapsed, the battle of Big Bethel was fought, and not won; and soon after, the disastrous defeat and flight of Bull Run occurred.

To reënforce the army of the Potomac a large part of the troops at Fortress Monroe were ordered away. General Butler, concluding that he had not sufficient force to hold Hampton, ordered it to be evacuated. He gave a week's notice to the colored people to leave, and find refuge on the other side of the bridge. But many of them delayed too long, and were able to move but a part of their goods; in consequence of which they suffered serious loss.

Among these was Mr. Peake. He lost a large part of his furniture, as well as his two houses. The order of the rebel General Magruder to fire the place was a gross exhibition of vandalism, without the justifiable plea of military necessity. The incendiary work began on the west side of the village, and spread toward the wharves. Hemmed in by the conflagration on one side, and our firing on the opposite shore, many of the executers of the order fell dead or wounded, and were consumed by the voracious flames. Those who witnessed it said it was an appalling sight.

The evacuation took place on the 7th and the conflagration on the 8th of August. I arrived about a month afterward, and on visiting Hampton, in company with the provost marshal, Captain Burleigh, I found only about half a dozen houses that had escaped. One large house had had its floor fired, but the fire had mysteriously gone out, without doing much damage. A large new building, a little out of town, was also standing uninjured. But the most of the village was a charred ruin; the unsightly chimneys, and a few more or less dilapidated walls, surviving to tell the story of what had been.

Thus the place remained in abandoned isolation during the winter. But with the beginning of spring, the progress of our arms opened Hampton to reoccupation. It was thought proper that those who, during the winter, had been confined in large houses, overcrowded, should at once build up the ruins, and provide themselves homes. To this end, application was made for an appropriation of government lumber for past services. Some lumber was received in this way, and the evacuation of the camps by the soldiers, who had winter quarters here, furnished still more.

Quite a large number of neat cottages have already been built. I encouraged the people to build these small tenements on lots belonging to the most decided rebels, hoping that, if not claimed by former owners, these homesteads would be given to the occupants by government. Thus Hampton is becoming quite a thriving, free settlement, supported by fishing, oystering, huckstering, artisanship, gardening, and farming. Colored people have settled on farms