and chilly nights, and under a burning sun by day, and notwithstanding very many had no faith in the success of the great undertaking. The scene presented in the vicinity of the dam was novel and interesting. Oak, elm, and pine trees, whose gigantic growth dated from the days of the daring De Soto, were falling to the ground under the blows of the stalwart pioneers of Maine, bearing with them in their fall trees of lesser growth; mules and oxen were dragging the trees, denuded of their branches, to the river's bank; wagons heavily loaded were moving in every direction; flat-boats carrying stone were floating with the current, while others were being drawn up the stream in the manner of canal-boats.

Mean

Iran Bars.

while hundreds of men were at work at each end of the dam, moving heavy logs to the outer end of the tree dam, throwing in brushwood and branches of trees to make it tight, wheeling brick out to the cribs, carrying bars of railway iron to the barges, and in various other ways contributing to the completion of the work, while on each bank of the river were to be seen thousands of spectators, consisting of officers of both services, groups of sailors, soldiers, camp-followers, and citizens of Alexandria, all eagerly watching our progress and discussing the chances of success.

At night the scene was even more striking and picturesque, the fires burning on both banks of the river and at

different points on the dam; the thousand swarthy figures at work on land and water, passing to and fro; the campfires of the army which surrounded us on every side; the loud commands of the officers superintending the work; the noisy shouts of the teamsters; the sound of the falling trees, and the roaring of the rushing waters, formed in its tout ensemble one of the most impressive scenes we ever witnessed. Mingled with these sounds we often heard, as we passed on our rounds among the men, the sweet strains of " Annie Laurie," or the martial notes of the "Battle Cry of Freedom;" while at the other end of the dam, among the dusky members of the Corps d'Afrique, the popular refrain of “John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the ground," and some of those peculiar and plaintive plantation melodies of the South, would greet us as we pursued our way. It was while on duty one night, when such a scene as we have attempted to describe presented itself to the looker-on, that a silveryheaded contraband, who had just come into our lines, approached us, and throwing up both his hands in perfect amazement, exclaimed: Well, 'fore God, what won't de Yankees do next!" He was the same sprightly old slave of about seventy, although he asserted that "I'se mor' dan a hundred year old," who, when I told him a few days previous that he was then free, fell on his knees, exclaiming in the most sincere and heartfelt tones, "Bless de Lord! bless de Lord! O massa, dat's what I'se been a waiten for so long!"

Passing on our rounds one morning about three o'clock, a colored soldier caused considerable delay by carelessly allowing his wheelbarrow load of brick, which were being used in the cribs, to run off the long track or gangway, thereby detaining for a few moments a line of forty or fifty African citizens, following behind. "Hit dat hundred-dollar nigga in de head wid a brick!" "Git dat wheelbarrow out ob de way!" "What doin' dar, nigga? "Kick dat blind child into de ribber!" "Smash dat black man ober de shin!" "Now den, you be quick dar, mighty

quick!" "What de debble de matter wid dat nigga?" "Mis'ble nigga, don't you know you's a working for your sculp? De rebels git you, you is done gone, shua!" Such were some of the utterances of which his sable fellow-laborers delivered themselves, while the captain of the squad assailed the culprit with certain pithy expressions not proper to be recorded. Feeling some sympathy for the unfortunate subject of this deluge of abuse, we kindly inquired if he was tired. "Oh! Lordy, yass, Massa Cunnel, I'se werry tired toten brick. It's a heap harder dan picken cotton."

During the construction of the dam, daily and almost constant skirmishing was carried on with the enemy, who were around us in strong force, and not only anticipated the capture of Admiral Porter's entire fleet, but made it their boast that the army would be forced to surrender to General Kirby Smith. The dam they looked upon as a huge joke, and the salutation with which Union prisoners, whom the chances of war occasionally threw into their hands, were met, was: " Well, Yank, how's the dam?" Even the rebel prisoners whom we captured during its construction could not avoid chaffing their captors by the question: "How's your big dam progressing?" The ridicule was not, however, confined to the camp of the enemy or to the rebel citizens of Alexandria. We think we can safely assert that, until the work had progressed for a week, not ten per cent. of the officers and seamen of the navy had the slightest faith in our saving their fleet. Indeed, we cannot now remember any officer, with the single exception of Lieutenant Langthorne, who, from the inauguration of the work, believed it would be the means of saving the squadron. The percentage of unbelievers in the army was much less. Perhaps one-half had faith in its ultimate success. With many, the building of the dam was an endless subject of mirth, and numberless were the witticisms to which it gave birth. But the projector paid no attention to their jeers or jokes, nor did he ever for a moment lose heart or hope, but worked on manfully.

On the morning of the 8th of May, the water had risen