BOOK II

"I hope to die shouting, the Lord will provide!"

Monday, June 16th, 1862.

There is no use in trying to break off journalizing, particularly in

"these trying times." It has become a necessity to me. I believe I

should go off in a rapid decline if Butler took it in his head to

prohibit that among other things.... I reserve to myself the privilege

of writing my opinions, since I trouble no one with the expression of

them.... I insist, that if the valor and chivalry of our men cannot

save our country, I would rather have it conquered by a brave race than

owe its liberty to the Billingsgate oratory and demonstrations of some

of these "ladies." If the women have the upper hand then, as they have

now, I would not like to live in a country governed by such tongues. Do

I consider the female who could spit in a gentleman's face, merely

because he wore United States buttons, as a fit associate for me?

Lieutenant Biddle assured me he did not pass a street in New Orleans

without being most grossly insulted by _ladies_. It was a friend of his

into whose face a lady _spit_ as he walked quietly by without looking

at her. (Wonder if she did it to attract his attention?) He had the

sense to apply to her husband and give him two minutes to apologize or

die, and of course he chose the former.[6] Such things are enough to

disgust any one. "Loud" women, what a contempt I have for you! How I

despise your vulgarity!

[6] This passage was later annotated by Mrs. Dawson as follows:

"_Friend_ (Farragut). _Lady_ (I know her, alas!). _Husband_ (She

had none!)."

Some of these Ultra-Secessionists, evidently very recently from "down

East," who think themselves obliged to "kick up their heels over the

Bonny Blue Flag," as Brother describes female patriotism, shriek out,

"What! see those vile Northerners pass patiently! No true Southerner

could see it without rage. I could kill them! I hate them with all my

soul, the murderers, liars, thieves, rascals! You are no Southerner if

you do not hate them as much as I!" _Ah ça!_ a true-blue Yankee tell

me that I, born and bred here, am no Southerner! I always think, "It

is well for you, my friend, to save your credit, else you might be

suspected by some people, though your violence is enough for me." I

always say, "_You_ may do as you please; my brothers are fighting for

me, and doing their duty, so that excess of patriotism is unnecessary

for me, as my position is too well known to make any demonstrations

requisite."

This war has brought out wicked, malignant feelings that I did not

believe could dwell in woman's heart. I see some of the holiest eyes,

so holy one would think the very spirit of charity lived in them, and

all Christian meekness, go off in a mad tirade of abuse and say, with

the holy eyes wondrously changed, "I hope God will send down plague,

yellow fever, famine, on these vile Yankees, and that not one will

escape death." O, what unutterable horror that remark causes me as

often as I hear it! I think of the many mothers, wives, and sisters who

wait as anxiously, pray as fervently in their faraway homes for their

dear ones, as we do here; I fancy them waiting day after day for the

footsteps that will never come, growing more sad, lonely, and

heart-broken as the days wear on; I think of how awful it would be if

one would say, "Your brothers are dead"; how it would crush all life

and happiness out of me; and I say, "God forgive these poor women! They

know not what they say!" O women! into what loathsome violence you have

abased your holy mission! God will punish us for our hard-heartedness.

Not a square off, in the new theatre, lie more than a hundred sick

soldiers. What woman has stretched out her hand to save them, to give

them a cup of cold water? Where is the charity which should ignore

nations and creeds, and administer help to the Indian and Heathen

indifferently? Gone! All gone in Union versus Secession! _That_ is what

the American War has brought us. If I was independent, if I could work

my own will without causing others to suffer for my deeds, I would not

be poring over this stupid page; I would not be idly reading or sewing.

I would put aside woman's trash, take up woman's duty, and I would

stand by some forsaken man and bid him Godspeed as he closes his dying

eyes. _That_ is woman's mission! and not Preaching and Politics. I say

I would, yet here I sit! O for liberty! the liberty that _dares_ do

what conscience dictates, and scorns all smaller rules! If I could help

these dying men! Yet it is as impossible as though I was a chained

bear. I can't put out my hand. I am threatened with Coventry because I

sent a custard to a sick man who is in the army, and with the anathema

of society because I said if I could possibly do anything for Mr.

Biddle--at a distance--(he is sick) I would like to very much. Charlie

thinks we have acted shockingly in helping Colonel McMillan, and that

we will suffer for it when the Federals leave. I would like to see any

_man_ who _dared_ harm my father's daughter! But as he seems to think

our conduct reflects on him, there is no alternative. Die, poor men,

without a woman's hand to close your eyes! We women are too _patriotic_

to help you! I look eagerly on, cry in my soul, "I wish--"; you die;

God judges me. Behold the woman who dares not risk private ties for

God's glory and her professed religion! Coward, helpless woman that I

am! If I was free--!

June 17th.

Yesterday, and day before, boats were constantly arriving and troops

embarking from here, destined for Vicksburg. There will be another

fight, and of course it will fall. I wish Will was out of it; I don't

want him to die. I got the kindest, sweetest letter from Will when

Miriam came from Greenwell. It was given to her by a guerrilla on the

road who asked if she was not Miss Sarah Morgan.

June 18th.

How long, O how long, is it since I have lain down in peace, thinking,

"This night I will rest in safety"? Certainly not since the fall of

Fort Jackson. If left to myself, I would not anticipate evil, but would

quietly await the issue of all these dreadful events; but when I hear

men, who certainly should know better than I, express their belief that

in twenty-four hours the town will be laid in ashes, I begin to grow

uneasy, and think it must be so, since they say it. These last few

days, since the news arrived of the intervention of the English and

French, I have alternately risen and fallen from the depth of despair

to the height of delight and expectation, as the probability of another

exodus diminishes, and peace appears more probable. If these men would

not prophesy the burning of the city, I would be perfectly

satisfied....

Well! I packed up a few articles to satisfy my conscience, since these

men insist that another run is inevitable, though against my own

conviction. I am afraid I was partly influenced by my dream last night

of being shelled out unexpectedly and flying without saving an article.

It was the same dream I had a night or two before we fled so

ingloriously from Baton Rouge, when I dreamed of meeting Will Pinckney

suddenly, who greeted me in the most extraordinarily affectionate

manner, and told me that Vicksburg had fallen. He said he had been

chiefly to blame, and the Southerners were so incensed at his losing,

the Northerners at his defending, that both were determined to hang

him; he was running for his life. He took me to a hill from which I

could see the Garrison, and the American flag flying over it. I looked,

and saw we were standing in blood up to our knees, while here and there

ghastly white bones shone above the red surface. Just then, below me I

saw crowds of people running. "What is it?" I asked. "It means that in

another instant they will commence to shell the town. Save yourself."

"But Will--I must save some clothes, too! How can I go among strangers

with a single dress? I _will_ get some!" I cried. He smiled and said,

"You will run with only what articles you happen to have on." Bang!

went the first shell, the people rushed by with screams, and I awakened

to tell Miriam what an absurd dream I had had. It happened as Will had

said, either that same day or the day after; for the change of clothes

we saved apiece were given to Tiche, who lost sight of us and quietly

came home when all was over, and the two dirty skirts and old cloak

mother saved, after carrying them a mile and a half, I put in the buggy

that took her up; so I saved nothing except the bag that was tied under

my hoops. Will was right. I saved not even my powder-bag. (Tiche had it

in the bundle.) My handkerchief I gave mother before we had walked

three squares, and throughout that long fearfully warm day, riding and

walking through the fiery sunshine and stifling dust, I had neither to

cool or comfort me.

June 19th.

Miriam and I have disgraced ourselves! This morning I was quietly

hearing Dellie's lessons, when I was startled by mother's shrieks of

"Send for a guard--they've murdered him!" I saw through the window a

soldier sitting in the road just opposite, with blood streaming from

his hand in a great pool in the dust. I was downstairs in three bounds,

and, snatching up some water, ran to where he sat alone, not a creature

near, though all the inhabitants of our side of the street were looking

on from the balconies, all crying "Murder!" and "Help!" without moving

themselves. I poured some water on the man's bloody hand, as he held it

streaming with gore up to me, saying, "The man in there did it,"

meaning the one who keeps the little grog-shop, though it puzzled me at

the time to see that all the doors were closed and not a face visible.

I had hardly time to speak when Tiche called loudly to me to come

away,--she was safe at the front gate,--and looking up, I found myself

in a knot of a dozen soldiers, and took her advice and retreated home.

It proved to be the guard Miriam had roused. She ran out as I did, and

seeing a gentleman, begged him to call the guard for that murdered man.

The individual--he must have been a "patriot"--said he didn't know

where to find one. She cried out they were at Heroman's; he said he

didn't believe they were. "Go! I tell you!" she screamed at last; but

the brave man said he didn't like to, so she ran to the corner and

called the soldiers herself. O most brave man! Before we got back from

our several expeditions, we heard mother, Lilly, Mrs. Day, all

shouting, "Bring in the children! lock the doors!" etc. All for a poor

wounded soldier!

We after discovered that the man was drunk, and had cursed the woman of

the grog-shop, whereupon her husband had pitched him out in the street,

where they found him. They say he hurt his hand against a post; but

wood could never have cut deep enough to shed all that gore. I don't

care if he was drunk or sober, soldier or officer, Federal or

Confederate! If he had been Satan himself lying helpless and bleeding

in the street, I would have gone to him! I can't believe it was as

criminal as though I had watched quietly from a distance, believing him

dying and contenting myself with looking on. Yet it seems it was

dreadfully indecorous; Miriam and I did very wrong; we should have

shouted murder with the rest of the women and servants. Whereas the man

who declined committing himself by calling one soldier to the rescue of

another, supposed to be dying, acted most discreetly, and showed his

wisdom in the most striking manner.

May I never be discreet, or wise, if this is Christian conduct, or a

sample of either! I would rather be a rash, impetuous fool! Charlie

says he would not open his mouth to save a dozen from being murdered. I

say I am not Stoic enough for that. Lilly agrees with him, Miriam with

me; so here we two culprits stand alone before the tribunal of

"patriotism." Madame Roland, I take the liberty of altering your words

and cry, "O Patriotism! How many base deeds are sanctioned by your

name!" Don't I wish I was a heathen! In twenty-four hours the whole

country will be down on us.

O for a pen to paint the slaves

Whose "country" like a deadly blight

Closes all hearts when Pity craves

And turns God's spirit to darkest night!

May life's patriotic cup for such

Be filled with glory overmuch;

And when their spirits go above in pride,

Spirit of Patriotism, let these valiant abide

Full in the sight of grand mass-meeting--I don't

Want you to cuss them,

But put them where they can hear politics,

And yet can't discuss them!

(I can't say worse than that!)

June 26th.

Yesterday morning, just as I stepped out of bed I heard the report of

four cannon fired in rapid succession, and everybody asked everybody

else, "Did you hear that?" so significantly, that I must say my heart

beat very rapidly for a few moments, at the thought of another

stampede. At half-past six this morning I was wakened by another

report, followed by seven others, and heard again the question, "Did

you hear _that_?" on a higher key than yesterday.--It did not take me

many minutes to get out of bed, and to slip on a few articles, I

confess. My chief desire was to wash my face before running, if they

were actually shelling us again. It appears that they were only

practicing, however, and no harm was intended. But we are living on

such a volcano, that, not knowing what to expect, we are rather

nervous.

I am afraid this close confinement will prove too much for me; my long

walks are cut off, on account of the soldiers. One month to-morrow

since my last visit to the graveyard! That haunts me always; it must be

so dreary out there! Here is a sketch of my daily life, enough to

finish me off forever, if much longer persisted in.

First, get up a little before seven. After breakfast, which is

generally within a few minutes after I get down (it used to be _just_

as I got ready, and sometimes before, last winter), I attend to my

garden, which consists of two strips of ground the length of the house,

in front, where I can find an hour's work in examining and admiring my

flowers, replanting those that the cows and horses occasionally (once a

day) pull up for me, and in turning the soil over and over again to see

which side grows best. O my garden! abode of rare delights! how many

pleasant hours I have passed in you, armed with scissors, knife, hoe,

or rake, only pausing when Mr. This or Mr. That leaned over the fence

to have a talk!--last spring, that was; ever so many are dead now, for

all I know, and all off at the war. Now I work for the edification of

proper young women, who look in astonishment at me, as they would

consider themselves degraded by the pursuit. A delicate pair of hands

my flower mania will leave me!

Then I hear Dellie's and Morgan's lessons, after which I open my desk

and am lost in the mysteries of Arithmetic, Geography, Blair's

Lectures, Noël et Chapsal, Ollendorff, and reading aloud in French and

English, besides writing occasionally in each, and sometimes a peep at

Lavoisne, until very nearly dinner. The day is not half long enough for

me. Many things I would like to study I am forced to give up, for want

of leisure to devote to them. But one of these days, I will make up for

present deficiencies. I study only what I absolutely love, now; but

then, if I can, I will study what I am at present ignorant of, and

cultivate a taste for something new.

The few moments before dinner, and all the time after, I devote to

writing, sewing, knitting, etc., and if I included darning, repairs,

alterations, etc., my list would be tremendous, for I get through with

a great deal of sewing. Somewhere in the day, I find half an hour, or

more, to spend at the piano. Before sunset I dress, and am free to

spend the evening at home, or else walk to Mrs. Brunot's, for it is not

safe to go farther than those three squares, away from home. From early

twilight until supper, Miriam and I sing with the guitar, generally,

and after, sit comfortably under the chandelier and read until about

ten. What little reading I do, is almost exclusively done at that time.

It sounds woefully little, but my list of books grows to quite a

respectable size, in the course of a year.

At ten comes my Bible class for the servants. Lucy, Rose, Nancy, and

Dophy assemble in my room, and hear me read the Bible, or stories from

the Bible for a while. Then one by one say their prayers--they cannot

be persuaded to say them together; Dophy says "she can't say with Rose,

'cause she ain't got no brothers and sisters to pray for," and Lucy has

no father or mother, and so they go. All difficulties and grievances

during the day are laid before me, and I sit like Moses judging the

children of Israel, until I can appease the discord. Sometimes it is

not so easy. For instance, that memorable night when I had to work

Rose's stubborn heart to a proper pitch of repentance for having

stabbed a carving-fork in Lucy's arm in a fit of temper. I don't know

that I was ever as much astonished as I was at seeing the dogged,

sullen girl throw herself on the floor in a burst of tears, and say if

God would forgive her she would never do it again. I was lashing myself

internally for not being able to speak as I should, furious at myself

for talking so weakly, and lo! here the girl tumbles over wailing and

weeping! And Dophy, overcome by her feelings, sobs, "Lucy, I scratched

you last week! please forgive me this once!" And amazed and bewildered

I look at the touching tableau before me of kissing and reconciliation,

for Lucy can bear malice toward no one, and is ready to forgive before

others repent, and I look from one to the other, wondering what it was

that upset them so completely, for certainly no words of mine caused

it. Sometimes Lucy sings a wild hymn, "Did you ever hear the heaven

bells ring?" "Come, my loving brothers," "When I put on my starry

crown," etc.; and after some such scene as that just described, it is

pleasant to hear them going out of the room saying, "Good-night, Miss

Sarah!" "God bless Miss Sarah!" and all that.

June 27th.

A proclamation of Van Dorn has just been smuggled into town, that

advises all persons living within eight miles of the Mississippi to

remove into the interior, as he is determined to defend his department

at all hazards to the last extremity. Does not look like the Peace I

have been deluding myself with, does it? That means another Exodus. How

are we to leave, when we are not allowed to pass the limits of the

corporation by the Federals? Where are we to go? We are between the two

armies, and here we must remain patiently awaiting the result. Some of

these dark nights, bang! we will hear the cannon, and then it will be

_sauve qui peut_ in a shower of shells. Bah! I don't believe God will

suffer that we should be murdered in such a dreadful way! I don't

believe He will suffer us to be turned homeless and naked on the world!

"Something will turn up" before we are attacked, and we will be spared,

I am certain. We can't look forward more than an hour at a time now,

sometimes not a minute ahead (witness the shelling frolic), so I must

resume my old habit of laying a clean dress on my bed before going to

sleep, which I did every night for six weeks before the shelling of

Baton Rouge, in order to run respectably, as muslin cross-bar

nightgowns are not suitable for day dresses.

June 28th.

I am afraid I shall be nervous when the moment of the bombardment

actually arrives. This suspense is not calculated to soothe one's

nerves. A few moments since, a salute was fired in honor of General

Butler's arrival, when women, children, and servants rushed to the

front of the houses, confident of a repetition of the shelling which

occurred a month ago to-day. The children have not forgotten the scene,

for they all actually howled with fear. Poor little Sarah stopped her

screams to say, "Mother, don't you wish we was dogs 'stead o' white

folks?" in such piteous accents that we had to laugh. _Don't_ I wish I

was a dog! Sarah is right. I don't know if I showed my uneasiness a

while ago, but certainly my heart has hardly yet ceased beating rather

rapidly. If I knew what moment to expect the stampede, I would not

mind; but this way--to expect it every instant--it is too much! Again,

if I knew where we could go for refuge from the shells!--

* * * * *

A window banging unexpectedly just then gave me a curious twinge; not

that I thought it was the signal, oh, dear, no! I just thought--what, I

wonder? Pshaw! "Picayune Butler's coming, coming" has upset my nervous

system. He interrupted me in the middle of my arithmetic; and I have

not the energy to resume my studies. I shall try what effect an hour's

practice will have on my spirits, and will see that I have a pair of

clean stockings in my stampede sack, and that the fastenings of my

"running-bag" are safe. Though if I expect to take either, I should

keep in harness constantly. How long, O Lord! how long?

June 29th, Sunday.

"Any more, Mr. Lincoln, any more?" Can't you leave our racked homes in

repose? We are all wild. Last night, five citizens were arrested, on no

charge at all, and carried down to Picayune Butler's ship. What a

thrill of terror ran through the whole community! We all felt so

helpless, so powerless under the hand of our tyrant, the man who swore

to uphold the Constitution and the laws, who is professedly only

fighting to give us all Liberty, the birthright of every American, and

who, nevertheless, has ground us down to a state where we would not

reduce our negroes, who tortures and sneers at us, and rules us with an

iron hand! Ah! Liberty! what a humbug! I would rather belong to England

or France, than to the North! Bondage, woman that I am, I can never

stand! Even now, the Northern papers, distributed among us, taunt us

with our subjection and tell us "how coolly Butler will grind them

down, paying no regard to their writhing and torture beyond tightening

the bonds still more!" Ah, truly! this is the bitterness of slavery, to

be insulted and reviled by cowards who are safe at home and enjoy the

protection of the laws, while we, captive and overpowered, dare not

raise our voices to throw back the insult, and are governed by the

despotism of one man, whose word is our law! And that man, they tell

us, "is the right man in the right place. _He_ will develop a Union

sentiment among the people, if the thing can be done!" Come and see if

he can! Hear the curse that arises from thousands of hearts at that

man's name, and say if he will "speedily bring us to our senses." Will

he accomplish it by love, tenderness, mercy, compassion? He might have

done it; but did he try? When he came, he assumed his natural rôle as

tyrant, and bravely has he acted it through, never once turning aside

for Justice or Mercy.... This degradation is worse than the bitterness

of death!

I see no salvation on either side. No glory awaits the Southern

Confederacy, even if it does achieve its independence; it will be a

mere speck in the world, with no weight or authority. The North

confesses itself lost without us, and has paid an unheard-of ransom to

regain us. On the other hand, conquered, what hope is there in this

world for us? Broken in health and fortune, reviled, contemned, abused

by those who claim already to have subdued us, without a prospect of

future support for those few of our brothers who return; outcasts

without home or honor, would not death or exile be preferable? Oh, let

us abandon our loved home to these implacable enemies, and find refuge

elsewhere! Take from us property, everything, only grant us liberty! Is

this rather frantic, considering I abhor politics, and women who meddle

with them, above all? My opinion has not yet changed; I still feel the

same contempt for a woman who would talk at the top of her voice for

the edification of Federal officers, as though anxious to receive an

invitation requesting her presence at the Garrison. "I can suffer and

be still" as far as outward signs are concerned; but as no word of this

has passed my lips, I give it vent in writing, which is more lasting

than words, partly to relieve my heart, partly to prove to my own

satisfaction that I am no coward; for one line of this, surrounded as

we are by soldiers, and liable to have our houses searched at any

instant, would be a sufficient indictment for high treason.

Under General Williams's rule, I was perfectly satisfied that whatever

was done, was done through necessity, and under orders from

Headquarters, beyond his control; we all liked him. But now, since

Butler's arrival, I believe I am as frantic in secret as the others are

openly. I know that war sanctions many hard things, and that both sides

practice them; but now we are so completely lost in Louisiana, is it

fair to gibe and taunt us with our humiliation? I could stand anything

save the cowardly ridicule and triumph of their papers. Honestly, I

believe if all vile abusive papers on both sides were suppressed, and

some of the fire-eating editors who make a living by lying were soundly

cowhided or had their ears clipped, it would do more towards

establishing peace, than all the bloodshedding either side can afford.

I hope to live to see it, too. Seems to me, more liberty is allowed to

the press than would be tolerated in speech. Let us speak as freely as

any paper, and see if to-morrow we do not sleep at Fort Jackson!

This morning the excitement is rare; fifteen more citizens were

arrested and carried off, and all the rest grew wild with expectation.

So great a martyrdom is it considered, that I am sure those who are not

arrested will be woefully disappointed. It is ludicrous to see how each

man thinks he is the very one they are in search of! We asked a

twopenny lawyer, of no more importance in the community than Dophy is,

if it was possible he was not arrested. "But I am expecting to be every

instant!" So much for his self-assurance! Those arrested have, some,

been quietly released (those are so smiling and mysterious that I

suspect them), some been obliged to take the oath, some sent to Fort

Jackson. Ah, Liberty! What a blessing it is to enjoy thy privileges! If

some of these poor men are not taken prisoners, they will die of

mortification at the slight.

Our valiant Governor, the brave Moore, has by order of the real

Governor, Moïse, made himself visible at some far-distant point, and

issued a proclamation, saying, whereas we of Baton Rouge were held

forcibly in town, he therefore considered men, women, and children

prisoners of war, and as such the Yankees are bound to supply us with

all necessaries, and consequently any one sending us aid or comfort or

provisions from the country will be severely punished. Only Moore is

fool enough for such an order. Held down by the Federals, our paper

money so much trash, with hardly any other to buy food and no way of

earning it; threatened with starvation and utter ruin, our own friends,

by way of making our burden lighter, forbid our receiving the means of

prolonging life, and after generously warning us to leave town, which

they know is perfectly impossible, prepare to burn it over our heads,

and let the women run the same risk as the men. Penned in on one little

square mile, here we await our fate like sheep in the slaughter-pen.

Our hour may be at hand now, it may be to-night; we have only to wait;

the booming of the cannon will announce it to us soon enough.

Of the six sentenced to Fort Jackson, one is the Methodist minister,

Mr. Craven. The only charge is, that he was heard to pray for the

Confederate States by some officers who passed his house during his

family prayers. According to that, which of us would escape unhung? I

do not believe there is a woman in the land who closes her eyes before

praying for God's blessing on the side on which her brothers are

engaged. Are we all to cease? Show me the dungeon deep enough to keep

me from praying for them! The man represented that he had a large

family totally dependent on him, who must starve. "Let them get up a

subscription," was General Butler's humane answer. "I will head it

myself." It is useless to say the generous offer was declined.

June 30th.

As a specimen of the humanity of General Butler, let me record a threat

of his uttered with all the force and meaning language can convey, and

certainly enough to strike terror in the hearts of frail women, since

all these men believe him fully equal to carry it into execution; some

even believe it will be done. In speaking to Mr. Solomon Benjamin of

foreign intervention in our favor, he said, "Let England or France try

it, and I'll be ---- if I don't arm every negro in the South, and make

them cut the throat of every man, woman, and child in it! I'll make

them lay the whole country waste with fire and sword, and leave it

desolate!" Draw me a finer picture of Coward, Brute, or Bully than that

one sentence portrays! O men of the North! you do your noble hearts

wrong in sending such ruffians among us as the representatives of a

great people! Was ever a more brutal thought uttered in a more brutal

way? Mother, like many another, is crazy to go away from here, even to

New Orleans; but like the rest, will be obliged to stand and await her

fate. I don't believe Butler would _dare_ execute his threat, for at

the first attempt, thousands, who are passive now, would cut the brutal

heart from his inhuman breast.

Tuesday, July 1st.

I heard such a good joke last night! If I had belonged to the female

declaiming club, I fear me I would have resigned instantly through mere

terror. (Thank Heaven, I don't!) These officers say the women talk too

much, which is undeniable. They then said, they meant to get up a

sewing society, and place in it every woman who makes herself

conspicuous by her loud talking about them. Fancy what a refinement of

torture! But only a few would suffer; the majority would be only too

happy to enjoy the usual privilege of sewing societies, slander, abuse,

and insinuations. How some would revel in it. The mere threat makes me

quake! If I could so far forget my dignity, and my father's name, as to

court the notice of gentlemen by contemptible insult, etc., and if I

should be ordered to take my seat at the sewing society--!!! I would

never hold my head up again! Member of a select sewing circle! Fancy

me! (I know "there is never any _gossip_ in _our_ society, though the

one over the way gets up dreadful reports"; I have heard all that, but

would rather try neither.) Oh, how I would beg and plead! Fifty years

at Fort Jackson, good, kind General Butler, rather than half an hour in

your sewing society! Gentle, humane ruler, spare me and I split my

throat in shouting "Yankee Doodle" and "Hurrah for Lincoln!" Any, every

thing, so I am not disgraced! Deliver me from your sewing society, and

I'll say and do what you please!

Butler told some of these gentlemen that he had a detective watching

almost every house in town, and he knew everything. True or not, it

looks suspicious. We are certainly watched. Every evening two men may

be seen in the shadow on the other side of the street, standing there

until ever so late, sometimes until after we have gone to bed. It may

be that, far from home, they are attracted by the bright light and

singing, and watch us for their amusement. A few nights ago, so many

officers passed and repassed while we were singing on the balcony, that

I felt as though our habit of long standing had suddenly become

improper. Saturday night, having secured a paper, we were all crowding

around, Lilly and I reading every now and then a piece of news from

opposite ends of the paper, Charlie, walking on the balcony, found five

officers leaning over the fence watching us as we stood under the

light, through the open window. Hope they won't elect me to the sewing

society!

Thursday night, July 3d.

Another day of sickening suspense. This evening, about three, came the

rumor that there was to be an attack on the town to-night, or early

in the morning, and we had best be prepared for anything. I can't say

I believe it, but in spite of my distrust, I made my preparations.

First of all I made a charming improvement in my knapsack, _alias_

pillow-case, by sewing a strong black band down each side of the centre

from the bottom to the top, when it is carried back and fastened below

again, allowing me to pass my arms through, and thus present the

appearance of an old peddler. Miriam's I secured also, and tied all our

laces in a handkerchief ready to lay it in the last thing.

But the interior of my bag!--what a medley it is! First, I believe, I

have secured four underskirts, three chemises, as many pairs of

stockings, two under-bodies, the prayer book father gave me, "Tennyson"

that Harry gave me when I was fourteen, two unmade muslins, a white

mull, English grenadine trimmed with lilac, and a purple linen, and

nightgown. Then, I must have Lavinia's daguerreotype, and how could I

leave Will's, when perhaps he was dead? Besides, Howell's and Will

Carter's were with him, and one single case did not matter. But there

was Tom Barker's I would like to keep, and oh! let's take Mr. Stone's!

and I can't slight Mr. Dunnington, for these two have been too kind to

Jimmy for me to forget; and poor Captain Huger is dead, and I _will_

keep his, so they all went together. A box of pens, too, was

indispensable, and a case of French note-paper, and a bundle of Harry's

letters were added. Miriam insisted on the old diary that preceded

this, and found place for it, though I am afraid if she knew what trash

she was to carry, she would retract before going farther.

It makes me heartsick to see the utter ruin we will be plunged in if

forced to run to-night. Not a hundredth part of what I most value can

be saved--if I counted my letters and papers, not a thousandth. But I

cannot believe we will run to-night. The soldiers tell whoever

questions them that there will be a fight before morning, but I believe

it must be to alarm them. Though what looks suspicious is, that the

officers said--to whom is not stated--that the ladies must not be

uneasy if they heard cannon tonight, as they would probably commence to

celebrate the Fourth of July about twelve o'clock. What does it mean? I

repeat, I don't believe a word of it; yet I have not yet met the woman

or child who is not prepared to fly. Rose knocked at the door just now

to show her preparations. Her only thought seems to be mother's silver,

so she has quietly taken possession of our shoe-bag, which is a long

sack for odds and ends with cases for shoes outside, and has filled it

with all the contents of the silver-box; this hung over her arm, and

carrying Louis and Sarah, this young Samson says she will be ready to

fly.

I don't believe it, yet here I sit, my knapsack serving me for a desk,

my seat the chair on which I have carefully spread my clothes in order.

At my elbow lies my running- or treasure-bag, surrounded by my cabas

filled with hair-pins, starch, and a band I was embroidering, etc.;

near it lie our combs, etc., and the whole is crowned by my dagger;--by

the way, I must add Miriam's pistol which she has forgotten, though

over there lies her knapsack ready, too, with our bonnets and veils.

It is long past eleven, and no sound of the cannon. Bah! I do not

expect it. "I'll lay me down and sleep in peace, for Thou only, Lord,

makest me to dwell in safety." Good-night! I wake up to-morrow the same

as usual, and be disappointed that my trouble was unnecessary.

July 4th.

Here I am, and still alive, having wakened but once in the night, and

that only in consequence of Louis and Morgan crying; nothing more

alarming than that. I ought to feel foolish; but I do not. I am glad I

was prepared, even though there was no occasion for it.

While I was taking my early bath, Lilly came to the bath-house and told

me through the weather-boarding of another battle. Stonewall Jackson

has surrounded McClellan completely, and victory is again ours. This is

said to be the sixth battle he has fought in twenty days, and they say

he has won them all. And the Seventh Regiment distinguished itself, and

was presented with four cannon on the battlefield in acknowledgment of

its gallant conduct! Gibbes belongs to the "ragged howling regiment

that rushed on the field yelling like unchained devils and spread a

panic through the army," as the Northern papers said, describing the

battle of Manassas. Oh, how I hope he has escaped!

And they say "Palmerston has urged the recognition of the Confederacy,

and an armed intervention on our side." Would it not be glorious? Oh,

for peace, blessed peace, and our brothers once more! Palmerston is

said to have painted Butler as the vilest oppressor, and having added

he was ashamed to acknowledge him of Anglo-Saxon origin. Perhaps

knowing the opinion entertained of him by foreign nations, caused

Butler to turn such a somersault. For a few days before his arrival

here, we saw a leading article in the leading Union paper of New

Orleans, threatening us with the arming of the slaves for our

extermination if England interfered, in the same language almost as

Butler used when here; three days ago the same paper ridiculed the

idea, and said such a brutal, inhuman thing was never for a moment

thought of, it was too absurd. And so the world goes! We all turn

somersaults occasionally.

And yet, I would rather we would achieve our independence alone, if

possible. It would be so much more glorious. And then I would hate to

see England conquer the North, even if for our sake; my love for the

old Union is still too great to be willing to see it so humiliated. If

England would just make Lincoln come to his senses, and put an end to

all this confiscation which is sweeping over everything, make him agree

to let us alone and behave himself, that will be quite enough. But what

a task! If it were put to the vote to-morrow to return free and

unmolested to the Union, or stay out, I am sure Union would have the

majority; but this way, to think we are to be sent to Fort Jackson and

all the other prisons for expressing our ideas, however harmless, to

have our houses burned over our heads, and all the prominent men

hanged, who would be eager for it?--unless, indeed, it was to escape

even the greater horrors of a war of extermination.

July 5th.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Think, that since the 28th of May, I have not walked three squares at a

time, for my only walks are to Mrs. Brunot's!

It is enough to kill any one; I might as well be at Ship Island, where

Butler has sentenced Mrs. Phillips for laughing while the corpse of a

Federal officer[7] was passing--at least, that is to be the principal

charge, though I hope, for the sake of Butler's soul, that he had

better reasons. Shocking as her conduct was, she hardly deserved two

years' close confinement in such a dreadful place as that, because she

happened to have no sense of delicacy, and no feeling.

[7] Note by Mrs. Dawson in 1906: DeKay, our relative.

"The darkest hour is just before the day"; we have had the blackest

night for almost three months, and I don't see the light yet. "Better

days are coming--" I am getting skeptical, I fear me.

I look forward to my future life with a shudder. This one cannot last

long; I will be "up and doing" before many months are past. Doing what?

Why, if all father left us is lost forever, if we are to be penniless

as well as homeless, I'll work for my living. How, I wonder? I will

teach. I know I am not capable, but I can do my best. I would rather

die than be dependent; I would rather die than teach. There now, you

know how I feel! Teaching before dependence, death before teaching. My

soul revolts from the drudgery. I never see a governess that my heart

does not ache for her. I think of the nameless, numberless insults and

trials she is forced to submit to; of the hopeless, thankless task that

is imposed on her, to which she is expected to submit without a murmur;

of all her griefs and agony shut up in her heart, and I cry Heaven help

a governess. My heart bleeds for them and--

1 o'clock P.M.

Thus far had I reached when news came that our forces were attacking

the town, and had already driven the pickets in! I am well now.

We all rushed to make preparations instantly. I had just finished

washing my hair, before I commenced writing, and had it all streaming

around me; but it did not take a minute to thrust it into a loose net.

Then we each put on a fresh dress, except myself, as I preferred to

have a linen cambric worn several times before, to a clean one not

quite so nice, for that can do good service when washed. The excitement

is intense; mother is securing a few of father's most valuable papers;

Lilly running around after the children, and waiting for Charlie who

cannot be found; Miriam, after securing all things needful, has gone

downstairs to wait the issue; and I, dressed for instant flight, with

my running-bag tied to my waist, and knapsack, bonnet, veil, etc., on

the bed, occupy my last few moments at home in this profitable way.

Nobody knows what it is. A regiment has been marched out to meet our

troops, some say commanded by Van Dorn, which I doubt. The gunboats are

preparing to second them; we hear the Garrison drum and see people

running, that is all. We don't know what is coming. I believe it will

prove nothing, after all. But--! The gunboat is drawn up so as to

command our street here; the guns aimed up the street just below, and

if a house falls, ours will be about the first. Well! this time next

year, we will know all of which we are now ignorant. That is one

consolation! The house will either be down or standing, then.

6 P.M.

We have once more subsided; how foolish all this seems! Miriam and I

laughed while preparing, and laughed while unpacking; it is the only

way to take such things, and we agree on that, as on most other

subjects. "They say" the affair originated from half a dozen shots

fired by some Federal soldiers through idleness, whereupon the pickets

rushed in screaming Van Dorn was after them at the head of six thousand

men. I have my reasons for doubting the story; it must have been

something more than that, to spread such a panic; for they certainly

had time to ascertain the truth of the attack before they beat the long

roll and sent out their troops, for if it had been Van Dorn, he would

have been on them before that. Whatever it was, I am glad of the

excitement, for it gave me new life for several hours; I was really

sick before. Oh, this life! When will it end? Evermore and forevermore

shall we live in this suspense? I wish we were in the Sandwich Islands.

July 7th.

As we have no longer a minister--Mr. Gierlow having gone to Europe--and

no papers, I am in danger of forgetting the days of the week, as well

as those of the month; but I am positive that yesterday was Sunday

because I heard the Sunday-School bells, and Friday I am sure was the

Fourth, because I heard the national salute fired. I must remember that

to find my dates by.

Well, last night being Sunday, a son of Captain Hooper, who died in the

Fort Jackson fight, having just come from New Orleans, stopped here on

his way to Jackson, to tell us the news, or rather to see Charlie, and

told us afterwards. He says a boat from Mobile reached the city

Saturday evening, and the captain told Mr. La Noue that he brought an

extra from the former place, containing news of McClellan's surrender

with his entire army, his being mortally wounded, and the instant

departure of a French, and English, man-of-war, from Hampton Roads,

with the news. That revived my spirits considerably--all except

McClellan's being wounded; I could dispense with that. But if it were

true, and if peace would follow, and the boys come home--! Oh, what

bliss! I would die of joy as rapidly as I am pining away with suspense

now, I am afraid!

About ten o'clock, as we came up, mother went to the window in the

entry to tell the news to Mrs. Day, and while speaking, saw a man

creeping by under the window, in the narrow little alley on the side of

the house, evidently listening, for he had previously been standing in

the shadow of a tree, and left the street to be nearer. When mother ran

to give the alarm to Charlie, I looked down, and there the man was,

looking up, as I could dimly see, for he crouched down in the shadow of

the fence. Presently, stooping still, he ran fast towards the front of

the house, making quite a noise in the long tangled grass. When he got

near the pepper-bush, he drew himself up to his full height, paused a

moment as though listening, and then walked quietly towards the front

gate. By that time Charlie reached the front gallery above, and called

to him, asking what he wanted. Without answering the man walked

steadily out, closed the gate deliberately; then, suddenly remembering

drunkenness would be the best excuse, gave a lurch towards the house,

walked off perfectly straight in the moonlight, until seeing Dr. Day

fastening his gate, he reeled again.

That man was not drunk! Drunken men cannot run crouching, do not shut

gates carefully after them, would have no inclination to creep in a dim

little alley merely to creep out again. It may have been one of our

detectives. Standing in the full moonlight, which was very bright, he

certainly looked like a gentleman, for he was dressed in a handsome

suit of black. He was no citizen. Form your own conclusions! Well!

after all, he heard no treason. Let him play eavesdropper if he finds

it consistent with his character as a gentleman.

The captain who brought the extra from Mobile wished to have it

reprinted, but it was instantly seized by a Federal officer, who

carried it to Butler, who monopolized it; so _that_ will never be

heard of again; we must wait for other means of information. The young

boy who told us, reminds me very much of Jimmy; he is by no means so

handsome, but yet there is something that recalls him; and his voice,

though more childish, sounds like Jimmy's, too. I had an opportunity of

writing to Lydia by him, of which I gladly availed myself, and have

just finished a really tremendous epistle.

Wednesday, 9th July.

Poor Miriam! Poor Sarah! they are disgraced again! Last night we were

all sitting on the balcony in the moonlight, singing as usual with our

guitar. I have been so accustomed to hear father say in the evening,

"Come, girls! where is my concert?" and he took so much pleasure in

listening, that I could not think singing in the balcony was so very

dreadful, since he encouraged us in it. But last night changed all my

ideas. We noticed Federals, both officers and soldiers, pass singly, or

by twos or threes at different times, but as we were not singing for

their benefit, and they were evidently attending to their own affairs,

there was no necessity of noticing them at all.

But about half-past nine, after we had sung two or three dozen others,

we commenced "Mary of Argyle." As the last word died away, while the

chords were still vibrating, came a sound of--clapping hands, in short!

Down went every string of the guitar; Charlie cried, "I told you so!"

and ordered an immediate retreat; Miriam objected, as undignified, but

renounced the guitar; mother sprang to her feet, and closed the front

windows in an instant, whereupon, dignified or not, we all evacuated

the gallery and fell back into the house. All this was done in a few

minutes, and as quietly as possible; and while the gas was being turned

off downstairs, Miriam and I flew upstairs,--I confess I was mortified

to death, very, very much ashamed,--but we wanted to see the guilty

party, for from below they were invisible. We stole out on the front

balcony above, and in front of the house that used to be Gibbes's, we

beheld one of the culprits. At the sight of the creature, my

mortification vanished in intense compassion for his. He was standing

under the tree, half in the moonlight, his hands in his pockets,

looking at the extinction of light below, with the true state of

affairs dawning on his astonished mind, and looking by no means

satisfied with himself! Such an abashed creature! He looked just as

though he had received a kick, that, conscious of deserving, he dared

not return! While he yet gazed on the house in silent amazement and

consternation, hands still forlornly searching his pockets, as though

for a reason for our behavior, from under the dark shadow of the tree

another slowly picked himself up from the ground--hope he was not

knocked down by surprise--and joined the first. His hands sought his

pockets, too, and, if possible, he looked more mortified than the

other. After looking for some time at the house, satisfied that they

had put an end to future singing from the gallery, they walked slowly

away, turning back every now and then to be certain that it was a fact.

If ever I saw two mortified, hangdog-looking men, they were these two

as they took their way home. Was it not shocking?

But they could not have meant it merely to be insulting or they would

have placed themselves in full view of us, rather than out of sight,

under the trees. Perhaps they were thinking of their own homes, instead

of us.

July 10th.

A proclamation is out announcing that any one talking about the war, or

present state of affairs, will be "summarily" dealt with. Now, seems to

me "summarily" is not exactly the word they mean, but still it has an

imposing effect. What a sad state their affairs must be in, if they

can't bear comment. An officer arrived day before yesterday, bringing

the surprising intelligence that McClellan had captured Richmond and

fifty thousand prisoners; that is the time _they_ talked. But when we

received yesterday confirmation of his being finally defeated by our

troops, and the capture of his railroad train twelve miles in length,

they forbid further mention of the subject. I wonder if they expect to

be obeyed? What a stretch of tyranny! O free America! You who uphold

free people, free speech, free everything, what a foul blot of

despotism rests on a once spotless name! A nation of brave men, who

wage war on women and lock them up in prisons for using their woman

weapon, the tongue; a nation of free people who advocate despotism; a

nation of Brothers who bind the weaker ones hand and foot, and scourge

them with military tyrants and other Free, Brotherly institutions; what

a picture! Who would not be an American? One consolation is, that this

proclamation, and the extraordinary care they take to suppress all news

except what they themselves manufacture, proves me our cause is

prospering more than they like us to know. I do believe day is about to

break!

If our troops are determined to burn our houses over our heads to spite

the Yankees, I wish they would hurry and have it over at once. Ten

regiments of infantry are stationed at Camp Moore, and Scott's cavalry

was expected at Greenwell yesterday, both preparing for an attack on

Baton Rouge. If we must be beggars, let it come at once; I can't endure

this suspense.

July 11th.

A letter from George this morning! It was written on the 20th of June,

and he speaks of being on crutches in consequence of his horse having

fallen with him, and injured his knee. Perhaps, then, he was not in the

first battle of the 25th? But bah! I know George too well to imagine he

would keep quiet at such a moment, if he could possibly stand! I am

sure he was there with the rest of the Louisiana regiment. The papers

say "the conduct of the First Louisiana is beyond all praise"; of

course, George was there!

And Jimmy is with him at Richmond; but whether in the army, or navy, or

what rank if in the first, he does not say; he only says he is looking

remarkably well. Gibbes he had heard from in a letter dated the 16th,

and up to then he was in perfect health. His last letter here was dated

10th of March, so we are thankful enough now. I was so delighted to

read the accounts of the "gallant Seventh" in some paper we fortunately

procured. At Jackson's address, and presentation of the battery they

had so bravely won, I was beside myself with delight; I was thinking

that Gibbes, of course, was "the" regiment, had taken the battery with

his single sword, and I know not what besides. Strange to say, I have

not an idea of the names of the half-dozen battles he was in, in June,

but believe that one to be Port Republic.

June 12th [_sic_].

Brother writes that rumors of the capture of Baton Rouge by our troops

have made him very uneasy about us; and he wishes us to go down to New

Orleans if possible. I wish we could. The impression here, is that an

attack is inevitable, and the city papers found it necessary to

contradict the rumor of Ruggles having occupied it already. I wish

mother would go. I can see no difference there or here, except that

there, we will be safe, for a while at least....

I grow desperate when I read these Northern papers reviling and abusing

us, reproaching us for being broken and dispersed, taunting us with

their victories, sparing no humiliating name in speaking of us, and

laughing as to what "we'll see" when we vile rebels are "driven out of

Virginia, and the glorious Union firmly established." I can't bear

these taunts! I grow sick to read these vile, insulting papers that

seem written expressly to goad us into madness!... There must be many

humane, reasonable men in the North; can they not teach their editors

decency in this their hour of triumph?

[Illustration: JAMES MORRIS MORGAN]

July 13th, Sunday.

A profitable way to spend such a day! Being forced to dispense with

church-going, I have occupied myself in reading a great deal, and

writing a little, which latter duty is a favorite task of mine after

church on Sundays. But this evening, the mosquitoes are so savage that

writing became impossible, until Miriam and I instituted a grand

extermination process, which we partly accomplished by extraordinary

efforts. She lay on the bed with the bar half-drawn over her, and

half-looped up, while I was commissioned to fan the wretches from all

corners into the pen. It was rather fatiguing, and in spite of the

numbers slain, hardly recompensed me for the trouble of hunting them

around the room; but still, Miriam says exercise is good for me, and

she ought to know.

I have been reading that old disguster, Boswell. Bah! I have no

patience with the toady! I suppose "my mind is not yet thoroughly

impregnated with the Johnsonian ether," and that is the reason why I

cannot appreciate him, or his work. I admire him for his patience and

minuteness in compiling such trivial details. He must have been an

amiable man, to bear Johnson's brutal, ill-humored remarks; but seems

to me if I had not spirit enough to resent the indignity, I would at

least not publish it to the world! Briefly, my opinion, which this book

has only tended to confirm, is that Boswell was a vain, conceited prig,

a fool of a jackanape, an insupportable sycophant, a--whatever mean

thing you please; there is no word small enough to suit him. As to

Johnson, he is a surly old bear; in short, an old brute of a tyrant.

All his knowledge and attainments could not have made me tolerate him,

I am sure. I could have no respect for a man who was so coarse in

speech and manners, and who eat like an animal. Fact is, I am not a

Boswellian, or a Johnsonian, either. I do not think him such an

extraordinary man. I have heard many conversations as worthy of being

recorded as nineteen-twentieths of his. In spite of his learning, he

was narrow-minded and bigoted, which I despise above all earthly

failings. Witness his tirades against Americans, calling us Rascals,

Robbers, Pirates, and saying he would like to burn us! Now I have

railed at many of these ordinary women here, for using like epithets

for the Yankees, and have felt the greatest contempt for their absurd

abuse. These poor women do not aspire to Johnsonian wisdom, and their

ignorance may serve as an excuse for their narrow-mindedness; but the

wondrous Johnson to rave and bellow like any Billingsgate nymph! Bah!

He is an old disguster!

July 14th, 3 P.M.

Another pleasant excitement. News has just arrived that Scott's cavalry

was having a hard fight with the Yankees eight miles from town.

Everybody immediately commenced to pick up stray articles, and get

ready to fly, in spite of the intense heat. I am resigned, as I hardly

expect a shelling. Another report places the fight fourteen miles from

here. A man on horseback came in for reinforcements. Heaven help poor

Howell, if it is true. I am beginning to doubt half I hear. People tell

me the most extravagant things, and if I am fool enough to believe them

and repeat them, I suddenly discover that it is not half so true as it

might be, and as they themselves frequently deny having told it, all

the odium of "manufacturing" rests on my shoulders, which have not been

accustomed to bear lies of any kind. I mean to cease believing

anything, unless it rests on the word of some responsible person. By

the way--the order I so confidently believed, concerning the

proclamation, turns out not quite so bad. I was told women were

included, and it extended to private houses as well as public ones,

though I fortunately omitted that when I recorded it. When I read it,

it said, "All discussions concerning the war are prohibited in

bar-rooms, public assemblies, and street corners." As women do not

frequent such places, and private houses are not mentioned, I cannot

imagine how my informant made the mistake, unless, like me, it was

through hearing it repeated. Odious as I thought it then, I think it

wise now; for more than one man has lost his life through discussions

of the kind.

July 17th, Thursday.

It is decided that I am to go to New Orleans next week. I hardly know

which I dislike most, going or staying. I know I shall be dreadfully

homesick; but--

* * * * *

Remember--and keep quiet, Sarah, I beg of you. Everything points to an

early attack here. Some say this week. The Federals are cutting down

all our beautiful woods near the Penitentiary, to throw up breastworks,

some say. Cannon are to be planted on the foundation of Mr. Pike's new

house; everybody is in a state of expectation. Honestly, if Baton Rouge

_has_ to be shelled, I shall hate to miss the fun. It will be worth

seeing, and I would like to be present, even at the risk of losing my

big toe by a shell. But then, by going, I can save many of my clothes,

and then Miriam and I can divide when everything is burned--that is one

advantage, besides being beneficial by the change of air. _They say_

the town is to be attacked to-night. I don't believe a word of it.

Oh, I was so distressed this evening! They tell me Mr. Biddle was

killed at Vicksburg. I hope it is not true. Suppose it was a shot from

Will's battery?

July 20th, Sunday.

Last night the town was in a dreadful state of excitement. Before

sunset a regiment, that had been camped out of town, came in, and

pitched their tents around the new theatre, in front of our church. All

was commotion and bustle; and as the pickets had been drawn in, and the

soldiers talked freely of expecting an attack, everybody believed it,

and was consequently in rather an unpleasant state of anticipation.

Their cannon were on the commons back of the church, the artillery

horses tied to the wheels; while some dozen tents were placed around,

filled with men who were ready to harness them at the first alarm. With

all these preparations in full view, we went to bed as usual. I did not

even take the trouble of gathering my things which I had removed from

my "peddler sack"; and slept, satisfied that, if forced to fly, I would

lose almost everything in spite of my precaution in making a bag.

Well! night passed, and here is morning, and nothing is heard yet. The

attack is delayed until this evening, or to-morrow, they say. Woman

though I am, I am by no means as frightened as some of these men are. I

can't get excited about it. Perhaps it is because they know the danger,

and I do not. But I hate to see _men_ uneasy! I have been so accustomed

to brave, fearless ones, who would beard the Devil himself, that it

gives me a great disgust to see any one less daring than father and the

boys.

I have been so busy preparing to go to the city that I think if the

frolic should intervene and prevent my departure, I would be

disappointed, though I do not want to go. It would be unpleasant, for

instance, to pack all I own in my trunk, and just as I place the key in

my pocket to hear the shriek of "Van Dorn!" raised again. This time it

is to be Ruggles, though. I would not mind if he came before I was

packed. Besides, even if I miss the fun here, they say the boats are

fired into from Plaquemine; and then I have the pleasure of being in a

fight anyhow. Mother is alarmed about that part of my voyage, but

Miriam and I persuaded her it is nothing.

If I was a man--oh, wouldn't I be in Richmond with the boys!... What is

the use of all these worthless women, in war times? If they attack, I

shall don the breeches, and join the assailants, and fight, though I

think they would be hopeless fools to attempt to capture a town they

could not hold for ten minutes under the gunboats. How do breeches and

coats feel, I wonder? I am actually afraid of them. I kept a suit of

Jimmy's hanging in the armoir for six weeks waiting for the Yankees to

come, thinking fright would give me courage to try it (what a seeming

paradox!), but I never succeeded. Lilly one day insisted on my trying

it, and I advanced so far as to lay it on the bed, and then carried my

bird out--I was ashamed to let even my canary see me;--but when I took

a second look, my courage deserted me, and there ended my first and

last attempt at disguise. I have heard so many girls boast of having

worn men's clothes; I wonder where they get the courage.

To think half the men in town sat up all night in expectation of a

stampede, while we poor women slept serenely! Everybody is digging pits

to hide in when the ball opens. The Days have dug a tremendous one; the

Wolffs, Sheppers, and some fifty others have taken the same precaution.

They may as well dig their graves at once; what if a tremendous shell

should burst over them, and bury in the dirt those who were not killed?

Oh, no! let me see all the danger, and the way it is coming, at once.

To-morrow,--or day after,--in case no unexpected little incident occurs

in the interval, I purpose going to New Orleans, taking father's papers

and part of Miriam's and mother's valuables for safe-keeping. I hate to

go, but they all think I should, as it will be one less to look after

if we are shelled--which I doubt. I don't know that I require _much_

protection, but I might as well be agreeable and go. Ouf! how I will

grow homesick, before I am out of sight!

Midnight.

Here we go, sure enough. At precisely eleven o'clock, while we were

enjoying our first dreams, we were startled by the long roll which was

beat half a square below us. At first I only repeated "The roll of the

drum," without an idea connected with it; but hearing the soldiers

running, in another instant I was up, and was putting on my stockings

when Miriam ran in, in her nightgown. The children were roused and

dressed quickly, and it did not take us many instants to prepare,--the

report of two shots, and the tramp of soldiers, cries of

"Double-quick," and sound as of cannon moving, rather hastening our

movements. Armoirs, bureaus, and everything else were thrown open, and

Miriam and I hastily packed our sacks with any articles that came to

hand, having previously taken the precaution to put on everything fresh

from the armoir. We have saved what we can; but I find myself obliged

to leave one of my new muslins I had just finished, as it occupied more

room than I can afford, the body of my lovely lilac, and my beauteous

white mull. But then, I have saved eight half-made linen chemises! that

will be better than the outward show.

Here comes an alarm of fire--at least a dreadful odor of burning cotton

which has set everybody wild with fear that conflagration is to be

added to these horrors. The cavalry swept past on their way to the

river ten minutes ago, and here comes the news that the gunboats are

drawing up their anchors and making ready. Well! here an hour has

passed; suppose they do not come after all? I have been watching two

sentinels at the corner, who are singing and dancing in the gayest way.

One reminds me of Gibbes; I have seen him dance that way often. I was

glad to see a good-humored man again. I wish I was in bed. I am only

sitting up to satisfy my conscience, for I have long since ceased to

expect a _real_ bombardment. If it must come, let it be now; I am

tired of waiting. A crowd of women have sought the protection of the

gunboats. I am distressed about the Brunots; suppose they did not hear

the noise? O girls! if I was a man, I wonder what would induce me to

leave you four lone, unprotected women sleeping in that house,

unconscious of all this? Is manhood a dream that is past? Is humanity

an idle name? Fatherless, brotherless girls, if I was honored with the

title of Man, I do believe I would be fool enough to run around and

wake you, at least! Not another word, though. I shall go mad with rage

and disgust. I am going to bed. This must be a humbug. Morgan came

running in, once more in his night-gear, begging Lilly to hear his

prayers. In answer to her "Why? You have said them to-night!" he says,

"Yes! but I've been getting up so often!" Poor child! no wonder he is

perplexed!

One hour and a half of this nonsense, and no result known. We are told

the firing commenced, and the pickets were driven in, twenty minutes

before the long roll beat.

July 21st.

It is impossible to discover the true story of last night's alarm. Some

say it was a gang of negroes who attacked the pickets in revenge for

having been turned out of the Garrison; others say it was a number of

our soldiers who fired from the bushes; and the most amusing story is

that they took alarm at an old white horse, which they killed,

mistaking him for the Confederates. One regiment has refused to do

picket duty; and the story runs among these poor soldiers that our

army, which is within a mile, is perfectly overwhelming. The excitement

still continues.

I have been writing to the Brunots the news confirming the death of

McClellan, the surrender of his army, and the good tidings of our Ram's

recent exploits above Vicksburg, and her arriving safely under the guns

there. If we could keep all the dispatches that have passed between us

since the battle of the forts, what a collection of absurdity and

contradiction it would be! "Forts have been taken." "Their ships have

passed; forts safe; Yankees at our mercy." "Ships at New Orleans. City

to be bombarded in twelve hours." "Forts surrendered." "City under

British protection." "No, it isn't." "City surrendered." "Mistake."

"Baton Rouge to be burned when Yankee ships come." And so on, sometimes

three times a day, each dispatch contradicting the other, and all

equally ridiculous.

The crowd here seems to increase. The streets are thronged with the

military, and it will soon be impossible to go even to Mrs. Brunot's,

which will be a great privation to me.... Five thousand are to come

next week, and then it will really be impossible to go in the streets.

July 22d, Tuesday.

Another such day, and there is the end of me! Charlie decided to send

Lilly and the children into the country early to-morrow morning, and

get them safely out of this doomed town. Mother, Miriam, and I were to

remain here alone. Take the children away, and I can stand whatever is

to come; but this constant alarm, with five babies in the house, is too

much for any of us. So we gladly packed their trunks and got them

ready, and then news came pouring in.

First a negro man just from the country told Lilly that our soldiers

were swarming out there, that he had never seen so many men. Then Dena

wrote us that a Mrs. Bryan had received a letter from her son, praying

her not to be in Baton Rouge after Wednesday morning, as they were to

attack to-morrow. Then a man came to Charlie, and told him that though

he was on parole, yet as a Mason he must beg him not to let his wife

sleep in town to-night; to get her away before sunset. But it is

impossible for her to start before morning. Hearing so many rumors, all

pointing to the same time, we began to believe there might be some

danger; so I packed all necessary clothing that could be dispensed with

now in a large trunk for mother, Miriam, and me, and got it ready to

send out in the country to Mrs. Williams. All told, I have but eight

dresses left; so I'll have to be particular. I am wealthy, compared to

what I would have been Sunday night, for then I had but two in my sack,

and now I have my best in the trunk. If the attack comes before the

trunk gets off, or if the trunk is lost, we will verily be beggars; for

I pack well, and it contains everything of any value in clothing.

The excitement is on the increase, I think. Everybody is crazy to leave

town.

Thursday, July 24th.

Yes; that must be the date, for one day and two nights have passed

since I was writing here. Where shall I begin the story of my

wanderings? I don't know that it has a beginning, it is all so hurried

and confused.

But it was Tuesday evening that the Federals were seized with a panic

which threw the whole town in alarm. They said our troops were within

eight miles, ten thousand in number. The report was even started that

the advance guard was skirmishing with the Federals; the shots were

heard distinctly, a dozen people were ready to swear. The Yankees

struck their tents, galloped with their cannon through the streets with

the most terrific din, troops passed at double-quick on their way to

the Garrison, everything was confusion. Mr. Tunnard told us yesterday

he was present when part of them reached the gate of the Garrison, and

saw one of the officers spring forward, waving his sword, and heard him

cry, "Trot, men! Gallop, I say! Damn you! _run_ in!"--with a perfect

yell at the close; whereupon all lookers-on raised a shout of laughter,

for the man was frightened out of his wits. A Federal officer told him

that their fright was really a disgrace; and if one thousand of our men

had come in town, the whole thirty-five hundred would have been at

their mercy. Even the naval officers denounce it as a most arrant piece

of cowardice; for instead of marching their troops out to meet ours,

they all rushed into the Garrison, where, if attacked, their only

retreat would have been into the river. The gunboats were ordered into

the middle of the stream, in front of the Garrison; and cooped up

there, these valiant men awaited the assault in such trepidation that

yesterday they freely said the force could be purchased for fifty

cents, they are so ashamed of their panic.

Imagine what effect this had on the inhabitants! Soon, an exodus took

place, in the direction of the Asylum, and we needs must follow the

general example and run, too. In haste we packed a trunk with our

remaining clothes,--what we could get in,--and the greatest confusion

prevailed for an hour. Beatrice had commenced to cry early in the

evening, and redoubled her screams when she saw the preparations; and

Louis joining in, they cried in concert until eight o'clock, when we

finally got off. What a din! Lilly looked perfectly exhausted; that

look on her face made me heartsick. Miriam flew around everywhere;

mother always had one more article to find, and the noise was dreadful,

when white and black assembled in the hall ready at last. Charlie

placed half of the trunks on the dray, leaving the rest for another

trip; and we at last started off. Besides the inevitable running-bag,

tied to my waist, on this stifling night I had my sunbonnet, veil,

comb, toothbrush, cabas filled with dozens of small articles, and

dagger to carry; and then my heart failed me when I thought of my

guitar, so I caught it up in the case; and remembering father's heavy

inkstand, I seized that, too, with two fans. If I was asked what I did

with all these things, I could not answer. Certain it is I had every

one in my hands, and was not _very_ ridiculous to behold.

Seventeen in number, counting white and black, our procession started

off, each loaded in their own way. The soldiers did not scruple to

laugh at us. Those who were still waiting in front of the churches to

be removed laughed heartily, and cried, "Hello! Where are you going?

Running? Good-bye!" Fortunately they could not see our faces, for it

was very dark. One stopped us under a lamp-post and wanted us to go

back. He said he knew we were to be attacked, for the Confederates were

within five miles; but we were as safe at home as at the Asylum. He was

a very handsome, respectable-looking man, though dirty, as Yankee

soldiers always are, and in his shirt-sleeves besides. We thanked him

for his kindness, and went on. All stopped at the Brunots', to see that

they were ready to fly; but the two parties were so tremendous that we

gladly divided, and Miriam and I remained with them until they could

get ready, while our detachment went on.

Wagons, carts, every vehicle imaginable, passed on to places of safety,

loaded with valuables, while women and children hurried on, on foot. It

took the Brunots as long to prepare as it did us. I had to drag Sophie

out of her bed, where she threw herself, vowing she would not run; and

after an interminable length of time, we were at last ready and

started, with the addition of Mrs. Loucks and her sons in our train.

The volunteer, whose sole duty seems to be to watch the Brunots, met us

as we got out. He stopped as he met the first, looked in silence until

Sophie and I passed, and then burst out laughing. No wonder! What a

walk it was! Nobody hesitated to laugh, even though they meant to run

themselves, and we made fun of each other, too, so our walk was merry

enough.

When we reached there, the Asylum was already crowded--at least, it

would have been a crowd in any other place, though a mere handful in

such a building. The whole house was illuminated, up to the fifth

story, and we were most graciously received by the director, who had

thrown the whole house open to whoever chose to come, and exerted

himself to be accommodating. It looked like a tremendous hotel where

every one is at home; not a servant or one of the deaf and dumb

children was to be seen; we had all the lower story to ourselves.

Wasn't it pleasant to unload, and deposit all things in a place of

safety! It was a great relief. Then we five girls walked on the

splendid balcony which goes around the house until we could no longer

walk, when I amused myself by keeping poor Sophie standing, since she

would not sit down like a Christian, but insisted on going to bed like

a lazy girl, as she is. When I finally let her go, it did not take her

many minutes to undress, and soon we were all ready for bed. The

Brunots had beds on the parlor floor; across the wide hall, we had a

room opposite; and next to ours, Lilly and the children were all

sleeping soundly. I ran the blockade of the hall in my nightgown, and

had a splendid romp with the girls after rolling Sophie out of bed, and

jerking Nettie up. Mother and Mrs. Brunot cried, "Order," laughing, but

they came in for their share of the sport, until an admiring crowd of

females at the door told us by their amused faces they were enjoying

it, too; so I ran the gauntlet again, and got safely through the hall,

and after a few more inroads, in one of which Miriam accompanied me,

and on which occasion I am sure we were seen in our nightgowns, we

finally went to bed. I won't say went to sleep, for I did not pretend

to doze. All our side of the house had bars, except me; and the

mosquitoes were unendurable; so I watched mother and Miriam in their

downy slumbers and lay on my hard bed for hours, fighting the torments

with bare arms.

Every now and then I heard a stir among the females above, indicating

that some few were anticipating a panic. Once they took a rush from the

fourth story, and cried they heard the cannon; twenty guns had been

fired, etc. I lay still, determined not to believe it; and presently

all subsided. I lay there for hours longer, it seemed, when Nettie at

last wandered in disconsolate to find if we were asleep; for with the

exception of Sophie, they, too, had been awake all night. I went to the

parlor with her, when she, Dena, and I, decided to dress at once and

sit on the balcony, since sleep was hopeless. Behold me in a blue

muslin flounced to the waist, with a cape, too! What a running costume!

Miriam only had time to take off her white dress before starting. All

dressed, we went to the northwest corner, as far as possible from the

rest of the household, and sat in a splendid breeze for hours. It was

better than fighting insatiable mosquitoes; so there we sat talking

through the greater part of a night which seemed to have borrowed a few

additional hours for our benefit. We'll have no Leap Year in '64; the

twenty-four extra hours were crowded in on that occasion, I think.

We discussed our favorite books, characters, authors, repeated scraps

here and there of the mock sentimental, talked of how we would one day

like to travel, and where we would go; discussed love and marriage, and

came to the conclusion neither was the jest it was thought to be. (O

wise young women!) Poor Nettie retired in despair, and we two watched

alone for hours longer. The sun must have been arrested by some Joshua

on the road; couldn't make me believe it was doing its duty as usual.

We wandered around the balconies, through the grounds in the dim

starlight (for it was cloudy), and finally, beholding a faint promise

of morning, sat still and waited for the coming of the lazy sun. What

was still more aggravating was that every time we looked in at the

others showed them sleeping peacefully. Miriam lay her full length with

outstretched arms, the picture of repose, looking _so_ comfortable!

When the sun finally made his appearance (he was out on a spree, I

found, for his eyes were not half opened, and he looked dull and heavy

as he peeped from behind his bed curtains), others began to stir, and

in an hour more, we were ready to leave. Those who had slept, came out

with swelled eyes and drowsy looks; while we three, who had been up all

night, were perfectly calm, though _rather_ pale; but I am seldom

otherwise.

Were we not thankful to see home still standing! I did not feel tired

_much_, but somehow, when it struck half-past six, and I found myself

alone here (Miriam having stopped at Mrs. Day's), I suddenly found

myself divested of my flounces, and most other articles, and

involuntarily going towards the bed. I could not sleep, wasn't thinking

of such a thing; meant to--there was an end of my soliloquy! Where I

went, I don't know. As the clock struck eight, I got up as unaccountably,

and discovered I had lost all idea of time in sleep. If it had not been

for the clock, I should have said I had slept a day and a night, and it

was now Thursday morning. A giant refreshed, I rose from my slumbers,

took a hasty cup of coffee, and set to work packing Lilly's trunk, for

I was crazy to see the children off as soon as possible.

It was no short work, but we all hurried, said good-bye, and saw them

go with a feeling of relief. By the experience of the night before, we

knew that when the real moment came it would be impossible to get them

off in time to escape danger. Poor Lilly! We miss her sadly; but are

thankful to know that she is out of danger with her poor little

children. She looked heartbroken at the idea of leaving us alone; but

then, when one weak woman has five small babies to take care of, is it

fair to impose three big ones on her? I'd never stay here, if she

sacrificed her children to take care of us who need no protection. I

was very lazy after they left; and sat reading until a note was brought

from Charlie saying they were safe beyond the lines.

Last night came another alarm. Some fifty cannon were fired somewhere

above, reports came that a body of our troops were a few miles out, so

a thousand of these men took courage and went out to reconnoitre. Mrs.

Brunot and mother insisted on going again to the Asylum for protection

against the coming attack, though we at first begged and pleaded to

stay at home. But we had to follow, and I don't think any of us were in

the best of humors, as we were all conscious of doing a foolish thing.

We were cordially received again, and got quite gay. Sleeping

accommodations no better than before, as far as I was concerned.

Sophie, Miriam, and I had but one bar between us, so we placed two

mattresses side by side, and by dint of chairs and strings, stretched

the net as far as possible over them. Those two were well enough; but

to my share fell a baby's mattress two feet by four, placed between the

wall and the other great bed, with the end of the bar a foot above my

face, and one sheet to do the duty of two--however, they had only one,

also. Well! I believe I am tall, so my bed did not fit me. As it was

two inches higher than theirs, there was no sharing. In spite of a

heavy rain that was now pouring, my warm place was intolerable, and the

perspiration streamed from my face so as to be disagreeable, to say the

least. It drove me to walk in my sleep, I am afraid, for I have an

indistinct recollection of finding myself standing at the window trying

to breathe. It was a very, very little piece of sleep I got after all,

and that little by no means refreshing.

Up at sunrise again, but it took some time to get ready, for I had to

get some clothes out of the trunk, to send home. Well, ever since I

reached here I have been writing, and I am ashamed to say how long it

is. As the time grows more exciting, my book grows shorter, to my great

distress. What will I do?

We all vowed that would be the last time we would run until we heard

the cannon, or had some better reason than a Yankee panic to believe

the Confederates were coming; though if we listened to mother, she

would go there every night if this lasted for a whole year. Kind

Phillie Nolan wrote insisting on our staying with them on the

plantation until it was over, but we cannot do it; the time is too

uncertain; if we _knew_ it was to come this week, we might stay that

long with her; but to go for an indefinite period, Miriam and I would

not hear of.

I have kept for the last a piece of news I received with thankfulness,

when I finally heard it; for, though known to the whole family and all

the town on Tuesday night, no one thought it worth while to tell me

until I heard it by accident last evening. It was that a Mr. Bell,

writing to his wife, says Gibbes asked him to send word to mother that

he, George, and Jimmy were in the fight of the 10th and 11th, and all

safe. God be praised!

July 25th.

An old gentleman stopped here just now in a carriage and asked to see

me. Such a sad, sick old man! He said his name was Caldwell, and that

passing through East Feliciana, Mrs. Flynn had asked him to deliver a

message to us. Had we heard from our brothers? I told him the message

from Mr. Bell. He commenced crying. There was one of them, he said, who

got hurt. I held my breath and looked at him. He cried more still, and

said yes, it was Gibbes--in the hand--not dangerous--but--Here I

thought he meant to tell me worse; perhaps he was dead; but I could not

speak, so he went on saying Lydia and the General had gone on to

Richmond instantly, and had probably reached there before to-day. He

took so long to tell it, and he cried so, that I was alarmed, until I

thought perhaps he had lost one of his own sons; but I dared not ask

him. Just then one of the horses fell down with sunstroke, and I begged

the old gentleman to come in and rest until they could raise the horse;

but he said no, he must go on to the river. He looked so sick that I

could not help saying he looked too unwell to go beyond, and I wished

he would come in. But he burst into tears, saying, "Yes, my child, I am

very, very sick, but I must go on." Poor old man, with his snow-white

beard!

July 27th.

I have my bird back! As I waked this morning, I heard a well-known

chirp in the streets, and called to mother I knew it was Jimmy. Sure

enough it is my bird. Lucy Daigre has had him ever since the shelling,

as a negro caught it that day and gave it to her.

July 29th.

This town, with its ten thousand soldiers, is more quiet than it was

with the old population of seven thousand citizens. With this

tremendous addition, it is like a graveyard in its quiet, at times.

These poor soldiers are dying awfully. Thirteen went yesterday. On

Sunday the boats discharged hundreds of sick at our landing. Some lay

there all the afternoon in the hot sun, waiting for the wagon to carry

them to the hospital, which task occupied the whole evening. In the

mean time these poor wretches lay uncovered on the ground, in every

stage of sickness. Cousin Will saw one lying dead without a creature by

to notice when he died. Another was dying, and muttering to himself as

he lay too far gone to brush the flies out of his eyes and mouth, while

no one was able to do it for him. Cousin Will helped him, though.

Another, a mere skeleton, lay in the agonies of death, too; but he

evidently had kind friends, for several were gathered around holding

him up, and fanning him, while his son leaned over him crying aloud.

Tiche says it was dreadful to hear the poor boy's sobs. All day our

_vis-à-vis_, Baumstark, with his several aids, plies his hammer;

all day Sunday he made coffins, and says he can't make them fast

enough. Think, too, he is by no means the only undertaker here! Oh, I

wish these poor men were safe in their own land! It is heartbreaking to

see them die here like dogs, with no one to say Godspeed. The Catholic

priest went to see some, sometime ago, and going near one who lay in

bed, said some kind thing, when the man burst into tears and cried,

"Thank God, I have heard _one_ kind word before I die!" In a few

minutes the poor wretch was dead.

July 31st.

I believe I forgot to mention one little circumstance in my account of

that first night at the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, which at the time struck

me with extreme disgust. That was seeing more than one man who had no

females or babies to look after, who sought there a refuge from the

coming attack. At daylight, one dapper young man, in fashionable array,

came stepping lightly on the gallery, carrying a neat carpet-bag in his

hand. I hardly think he expected to meet two young ladies at that hour;

I shall always believe he meant to creep away before any one was up;

for he certainly looked embarrassed when we looked up, though he

assumed an air of indifference, and passed by bravely swinging his

sack--but I think he wanted us to believe he was not ashamed. I dare

say it was some little clerk in his holiday attire; but I can't say

what contempt I felt for the creature.

Honestly, I believe the women of the South are as brave as the men who

are fighting, and certainly braver than the "Home Guard." I have not

yet been able to coax myself into being as alarmed as many I could name

are. They say it is because I do not know the danger. _Soit_. I prefer

being brave through ignorance, to being afraid in consequence of my

knowledge of coming events. Thank Heaven, my brothers are the bravest

of the brave! I would despise them if they shrunk back, though Lucifer

should dispute the path with them. Well! _All_ men are not Morgan boys!

They tell me cowards actually exist, though I hope I never met one. The

poor men that went to the Asylum for safety might not have what Lavinia

calls "a moral backbone." No wonder, then, they tumbled in there!

Besides, I am told half the town spent the night on the banks of the

river, on that occasion; and perhaps these unfortunates were subject to

colds, and preferred the shelter of a good roof. Poor little fellows!

How I longed to give them my hoops, corsets, and pretty blue organdie

in exchange for their boots and breeches! Only I thought it was

dangerous; for suppose the boots had been so used to running that they

should prance off with me, too? Why, it would ruin my reputation! Miss

Morgan in petticoats is thought to be "as brave as any other man"; but

these borrowed articles might make her fly as fast "as any other man,"

too, if panic is contagious, as the Yankees here have proved. One

consolation is, that all who could go with any propriety, and all who

were worthy of fighting, among those who believed in the South, are off

at the seat of war; it is only trash, and those who are obliged to

remain for private reasons, who still remain. Let us count those young

individuals as trash, and step over them. Only ask Heaven why you were

made with a man's heart, and a female form, and those creatures with

beards were made as bewitchingly nervous?

August 2d, Saturday.

I had thought my running days were over; so little did I anticipate

another stampede that I did not notice the report of the attack that

was prophesied for night before last, and went to bed without gathering

my clothes. But to-day comes a hasty note from Charlie, telling us to

leave instantly as General Breckinridge is advancing with ten thousand

men to attack us, and at 12 M. yesterday was within thirty-four miles.

He begged us to leave to-day; there would be trouble before to-morrow

night. It was so earnest, and he asserted all so positively, that we

are going to Phillie's this evening to stay a week, as they say eight

days will decide. Ah, me! our beautiful town! Still I am skeptical. If

it _must be_, pray Heaven that the blow comes now! Nothing can be

equal to suspense. These poor men! Are they not dying fast enough? Will

Baumstark have orders for an unlimited supply of coffins next week?

Only Charlie's family, ours, and the Brunots know it. He enjoined the

strictest secrecy, though the Brunots sent to swear Mrs. Loucks in, as

she, like ourselves, has no protector. I would like to tell everybody;

but it will warn the Federals. I almost wish we, too, had been left in

ignorance; it is cruel to keep it to ourselves. I believe the Yankees

expect something; "they say" they have armed fifteen hundred negroes.

Foes and insurrection in town, assailing friends outside.--Nice time!

Our cavalry has passed the Amite. Poor Charlie has come all the way to

the ferry landing on the other side to warn us. If we do not take

advantage, it will not be for want of knowing what is to come. How

considerate it was in him to come such a long way! I am charmingly

excited! If I only had a pair of breeches, my happiness would be

complete. Let it come! I lose all, but in Heaven's name let us have it

over at once! My heart fails when I look around, but "Spit fire!" and

have an end to this at once! Liberty forever, though death be the

penalty.

Treason! Here lies my pass at my elbow, in which has been gratuitously

inserted that "Parties holding it are considered to give their parole

not to give information, countenance, aid, or support to the so-called

Confed. S." As I did not apply for it, agree to the stipulation, or

think it by any means proper, I don't consider it binding. I could not

give my word for doing what my conscience tells me is Right. I cross

with this book full of treason. It "countenances" the C.S.; shall I

burn it? That is a stupid ruse; they are too wise to ask you to

subscribe to it, they just append it.

August 3d,

WESTOVER.

_Enfin nous sommes arrivées!_ And after what a trip! As we reached the

ferry, I discovered I had lost the pass, and had to walk back and

search for it, aided by Mr. Tunnard, who met me in my distress, as it

has always been his luck to do. But somebody had already adopted the

valuable trifle, so I had to rejoin mother and Miriam without it. The

guard resolutely refused to let us pass until we got another, so off

flew Mr. Tunnard to procure a second--which was vastly agreeable, as I

knew he would have to pay twenty-five cents for it, Yankees having come

down as low as that, to procure money. But he had gone before we could

say anything, and soon returned with the two-bits' worth of leave of

absence. Then we crossed the river in a little skiff after sundown, in

a most unpleasant state of uncertainty as to whether the carriage was

waiting at the landing for us, for I did not know if Phillie had

received my note, and there was no place to go if she had not sent for

us. However, we found it waiting, and leaving mother and Miriam to pay

the ferry, I walked on to put our bundles in the carriage. A man

stepped forward, calling me by name and giving me a note from Charlie

before I reached it; and as I placed my foot on the step, another came

up and told me he had left a letter at home for me at one o'clock. I

bowed Yes (it was from Howell; must answer to-morrow). He asked me not

to mention it was "him"; a little servant had asked his name, but he

told her it was none of her business. I laughed at the refined remark,

and said I had not known who it was--he would hardly have been

flattered to hear I had not even inquired. He modestly said that he was

afraid I had seen him through the window. Oh, no! I assured him. "Well,

please, _any_how, don't say it's me!" he pleaded most grammatically.

I answered, smiling, "I did not know who it was then, I know no more

now, and if you choose, I shall always remain in ignorance of your

identity." He burst out laughing, and went off with, "Oh, do, Miss

Morgan, forget all about me!" as though it was a difficult matter! Who

can he be?

We had a delightful drive in the moonlight, though it was rather long;

and it was quite late when we drove up to the house, and were most

cordially welcomed by the family. We sat up late on the balcony

listening for the report of cannon, which, however, did not come. Baton

Rouge is to be attacked to-morrow, "they say." Pray Heaven it will all

be over by that time! Nobody seems to doubt it, over here. A while ago

a long procession of guerrillas passed a short distance from the house,

looking for a party of Yankees they heard of in the neighborhood, and

waved their hats, for lack of handkerchiefs, to us as we stood on the

balcony.

I call this writing under difficulties! Here I am employing my knee as

a desk, a position that is not very natural to me, and by no means

comfortable. I feel so stupid, from want of sleep last night, that no

wonder I am not even respectably bright. I think I shall lay aside this

diary with my pen. I have procured a nicer one, so I no longer regret

its close. What a stupid thing it is! As I look back, how faintly have

I expressed things that produced the greatest impression on me at the

time, and how completely have I omitted the very things I should have

recorded! Bah! it is all the same trash! And here is an end of it--for

_this_ volume, whose stupidity can only be equaled by the one that

precedes, and the one that is to follow it. But who expects to be

interesting in war times? If I kept a diary of events, it would be one

tissue of lies. Think! There was no battle on the 10th or 11th,

McClellan is _not_ dead, and Gibbes was never wounded! After that, who

believes in reliable information? Not I!