Moved yesterday into a house I call “Fair Rosamond's bower”
because it would take a clue of thread to go through it without getting lost.
One room has five doors opening into the house, and no windows. The stairs are
like ladders, and the colonel's contraband valet won't risk his neck taking
down water, but pours it through the windows on people's heads. We shan't stay
in it. Men are at work closing up the caves; they had become hiding-places for
trash. Vicksburg is now like one vast hospital — every one is getting sick or
is sick. My cook was taken to-day with bilious fever, and nothing but will
keeps me up.
SOURCE: George W. Cable, “A Woman's Diary Of The Siege Of
Vicksburg”, The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXX, No.
5, September 1885, p. 775
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