Towards night a distressingly cold breeze, laden with a penetrating mist, set in from the sea, and put an end to future observations by making us too uncomfortable to care for scenery or social conditions.  We wanted most to devise a way to keep warm.  Andrews and I pulled our overcoat and blanket closely about us, snuggled together so as to make each one’s meager body afford the other as much heat as possible—­and endured.

We became fearfully hungry.  It will be recollected that we ate the whole of the two days’ rations issued to us at Blackshear at once, and we had received nothing since.  We reached the sullen, fainting stage of great hunger, and for hours nothing was said by any one, except an occasional bitter execration on Rebels and Rebel practices.

It was late at night when we reached Charleston.  The lights of the City, and the apparent warmth and comfort there cheered us up somewhat with the hopes that we might have some share in them.  Leaving the train, we were marched some distance through well-lighted streets, in which were plenty of people walking to and fro.  There were many stores, apparently stocked with goods, and the citizens seemed to be going about their business very much as was the custom up North.

At length our head of column made a “right turn,” and we marched away from the lighted portion of the City, to a part which I could see through the shadows was filled with ruins.  An almost insupportable odor of gas, escaping I suppose from the ruptured pipes, mingled with the cold, rasping air from the sea, to make every breath intensely disagreeable.

As I saw the ruins, it flashed upon me that this was the burnt district of the city, and they were putting us under the fire of our own guns.  At first I felt much alarmed.  Little relish as I had on general principles, for being shot I had much less for being killed by our own men.  Then I reflected that if they put me there—­and kept me—­a guard would have to be placed around us, who would necessarily be in as much clanger as we were, and I knew I could stand any fire that a Rebel could.

We were halted in a vacant lot, and sat down, only to jump up the next instant, as some one shouted: 

“There comes one of ’em!”

It was a great shell from the Swamp Angel Battery.  Starting from a point miles away, where, seemingly, the sky came down to the sea, was a, narrow ribbon of fire, which slowly unrolled itself against the star-lit vault over our heads.  On, on it came, and was apparently following the sky down to the horizon behind us.  As it reached the zenith, there came to our ears a prolonged, but not sharp,

“Whish—­ish-ish-ish-ish!”

We watched it breathlessly, and it seemed to be long minutes in running its course; then a thump upon the ground, and a vibration, told that it had struck.  For a moment there was a dead silence.  Then came a loud roar, and the crash of breaking timber and crushing walls.  The shell had bursted.