From my sick bed, this 15th day of January, 1863.
LINWOOD, Thursday.
Am I not glad to get another blank book! On Sunday my old one gave out,
to my unspeakable distress, and I would have been _désolée_ if I had
not had three or four letters to answer, as writing is my chief
occupation during my tedious illness. O that unfortunate trip to Port
Hudson! Have I not cause to remember and regret it? Two months last
Sunday since I have been lying here a cripple, and I am not yet able to
take a step. However, on Monday mother sent Dr. Woods as my fourth
physician, and I have made up my mind that either he or Nature will
effect a cure before long. Wonder how it feels to walk? It makes me
weary to see others try it; I always fear that the exertion must be
very painful--an absurd idea which I endeavor to keep to myself....
Monday, January 19th.
That blessed Mr. Halsey like an angel of mercy sent me "Kate Coventry"
yesterday, just when I was pining for a _bonne bouche_ of some kind, I
did not care what, whether a stick of candy or an equally palatable
book. It is delightful to have one's wishes realized as soon as they
are made. I think it rather caused me to relent towards Mr. Halsey; I
did not feel half so belligerent as I did just the Sunday before. At
all events, _I felt well enough to go down in the evening when he
called again_, though I had been too indisposed to do so on a previous
occasion. (O Sarah!)
Wheeled into the parlor, there I beheld not my friend alone, but
several other individuals whose presence rather startled me. I found
myself undergoing the terrors of an introduction to a Colonel Locke,
and to my unspeakable surprise, Major Buckner was claiming the
privilege of shaking hands with me, and Colonel Steadman was on the
other side, and--_was_ that Mr. Halsey? O never! The Mr. Halsey I knew
was shockingly careless of his dress, never had his hair smooth; let
his beard grow as it would, and wore a most ferocious slouched hat.
This one had taken more than one look at the glass, a thing I should
have imagined the other incapable of doing. He had bestowed the
greatest care and attention on his dress, had brought his beard within
reasonable limits, had combed his hair with the greatest precision, and
held lightly in one hand an elegant little cap that I am sure must be
provokingly becoming. Why, he was handsome! _Ah ça_! some mistake,
surely, I cried to myself. _My_ Mr. Halsey was not, certainly! "If it
be I, as I hope it may be, I've a little dog at home who will surely
know me," I kept repeating. I resolved to test the little dog's
sagacity, so I pretended to know this apparition, and thanked him for
the pleasure he had afforded me by sending me "Kate Coventry." He
looked conscious and pleased! The "little dog" had found out his
identity! I was more puzzled than ever. How account for this wondrous
change?... But metamorphosed "John" talked! He was expatiating at a
most extraordinary rate, and had been doing so for an hour after
supper, when Gibbes drew his chair near me (Gibbes likes to hear what
visitors say to his little sister); whereupon timid Mr. Halsey drew his
slightly back, and very soon after asked for his horse. O Gibbes! you
wretch! what an amusing tête-à-tête you spoiled, you innocent! And the
General, of course, only waited for his exit before beginning to tease
me unmercifully. I must put an end to this; they shall not bring such
unjust charges against him. Yet how am I to make them see reason?
NIGHT.
I am more pleased to-night than I could well express. I have been
talking to an old and dear friend, no other than Will Pinckney! His
arrival was as unexpected as it was agreeable. The cry of "Here comes
Will Pinckney" sent me back to August, '60, when the words were always
the forerunner of fun and frolic.... He told me what he called his
secrets; of how he had been treated by the War Department (which has,
indeed, behaved shockingly towards the Colonel).
Thursday, 22d January.
What a rush of visitors last night! One would imagine they had all come
by appointment, expressly to have an impromptu dance, which they
certainly enjoyed, by the way. There was little Captain C----, the
Susceptible and Simple, who so innocently says "I seen" and "I done
it," without the faintest suspicion of the peculiarity, and looks so
sweet, and guileless, and amiable, and soft, that I can't help
wondering if he would be sticky if I touch him. Indeed, I think his
hands stick, at least; for when he told me good-bye, it was with the
greatest difficulty that I extracted mine from his grasp (he having
forgotten to return it during a long farewell address), and even when I
succeeded in recovering it, by being almost rude, it was not released
without a _very_ sensible pressure from the _putty_, or whatever it is
that is so tenacious. I am afraid it is rather a habit of his, which
has lost all force or meaning by being too frequently repeated. Then
there was a horrid little wretch, vulgar and underbred (to my idea), to
whom I was introduced as Mr. G----.... But here is Lieutenant Dupré,
whom I have not yet introduced, though we have met before. Tall,
good-looking, a fine form, and not a sparkling face, I am inclined to
believe that his chief merit lies in his legs. Certainly when he dances
he puts his best foot forward, and knows it, too. Miriam, who adores
dancing, is flirting openly with this divinity of the "Deux Temps" and
polka, and skims around with his arm about her (position sanctified by
the lively air Lydia is dashing off on the piano) with a grace and
lightness only equaled by his own. And Lieutenant Duggan, with his
good, honest, clever face which so unmistakably proclaims him "Tom," we
know already, so no further description is needed. Captain Fenner, too,
is well known, with his short, though graceful figure, his
good-humored, intelligent face, irresistible imperial, and that roguish
expression about that large mouth which displays such handsome teeth,
and seems to say, "Don't trust me too far."
Little Captain C---- tells me a long story about how Colonel Steadman
had come to him and asked if he believed it possible that Miss Morgan
had put her life and happiness in the hands of a homoeopathic
physician; how he considered her fate sealed; and what a shame it was
to trifle with such a sad affair, at my age, too, ruined for life! It
was dreadful! Too sad! Hereupon, as continuing the story, he remarks
that being asked his opinion by the Colonel, he agreed perfectly and
thought with him it was an appalling sacrifice, and oh, all sorts of
things! Anything, just to make me miserable and unhappy!
Well, what is written will come to pass. First comes a doctor with a
butchering apparatus who cups and bleeds me unmercifully, says I'll
walk ten days after, and exit. Enter another. Croton oil and strychnine
pills, that'll set me up in two weeks. And exit. Enter a third. Sounds
my bones and pinches them from my head to my heels. Tells of the
probability of a splinter of bone knocked off my left hip, the
possibility of paralysis in the leg, the certainty of a seriously
injured spine, and the necessity for the most violent counter-irritants.
Follow blisters which sicken even disinterested people to look at, and
a trifle of suffering which I come very near acknowledging to myself.
Enter the fourth. Inhuman butchery! wonder they did not kill you! Take
three drops a day out of this tiny bottle, and presto! in two weeks you
are walking! A fifth, in the character of a friend, says, "My dear
young lady, if you do, your case is hopeless." What wonder that I am
puzzled? A wiser head would be confused. I want to believe all, but how
is it possible? "What will be, will be."
* * * * *
_Bon_! here comes a note from Mr. Halsey! _Ah ça!_ Lend him "Zaidee"?
Certainly! Here is a postscript three times the length of the note;
_voyons_. Will Miss Sarah make the annotations he requested, in "Kate
Coventry"? He is anxious to have the lady's opinion on the questions of
taste and propriety which so frequently occur in the book.... I'll not
attempt such a display; yet there are several passages I am dying to
mark. One in particular, speaking of the peculiarities of men, of how
they are always more at ease when they have their hands employed,
drawing confidence and conversation from a paper-knife and book to
tumble, a pair of scissors and a thread to snip, or even from imbibing
the head of a cane, I am anxious to call his attention to. If I dared
add to the list, "or a cord and tassel to play with"! This nervous Mr.
Halsey is wearing out my pretty blue tassel that Frank admires so much;
he says he can talk better when he dangles it. Think the hint might
save it in the future!
Friday night, January 23d.
I am particularly happy to-day, for we have just heard from Brother for
the first time since last July. And he is well, and happy, and wants us
to come to him in New Orleans so he can take care of us, and no longer
be so anxious for our safety. If we only could!--To be sure the letter
is from a gentleman who is just out of the city, who says he writes at
Brother's earnest request; still it is something to hear, even
indirectly. One hundred and fifty dollars he encloses with the request
that mother will draw for any amount she wishes. Dear Brother, money is
the least thing we need; first of all, we are dying for want of a home.
If we could only see ours once more!
During this time we have heard incidentally of Brother; of his having
taken the oath of allegiance--which I am confident he did not do until
Butler's October decree--of his being a prominent Union man, of his
being a candidate for the Federal Congress, and of his withdrawal; and
finally of his having gone to New York and Washington, from which
places he only returned a few weeks since. That is all we ever heard. A
very few people have been insolent enough to say to me, "Your brother
is as good a Yankee as any." My blood boils as I answer, "Let him be
President Lincoln if he will, and I would love him the same." And so I
would. Politics cannot come between me and my father's son. What he
thinks right, is right, for him, though not for me. If he is for the
Union, it is because he believes it to be in the right, and I honor him
for acting from conviction, rather than from dread of public opinion.
If he were to take up the sword against us to-morrow, Miriam and I, at
least, would say, "If he thinks it his duty, he is right; we will not
forget he is our father's child." And we will not. From that sad day
when the sun was setting for the first time on our father's grave, when
the great, strong man sobbed in agony at the thought of what we had
lost, and taking us both on his lap put his arms around us and said,
"Dear little sisters, don't cry; I will be father and brother, too,
now," he has been both. He respects our opinions, we shall respect his.
I confess myself a rebel, body and soul. _Confess?_ I glory in it! Am
proud of being one; would not forego the title for any other earthly
one!
Though none could regret the dismemberment of our old Union more than I
did at the time, though I acknowledge that there never was a more
unnecessary war than this in the beginning, yet once in earnest, from
the secession of Louisiana I date my change of sentiment. I have never
since then looked back; forward, forward! is the cry; and as the
Federal States sink each day in more appalling folly and disgrace, I
grow prouder still of my own country and rejoice that we can no longer
be confounded with a nation which shows so little fortitude in
calamity, so little magnanimity in its hour of triumph. Yes! I am glad
we are two distinct tribes! I am proud of my country; only wish I could
fight in the ranks with our brave soldiers, to prove my enthusiasm;
would think death, mutilation, glorious in such a cause; cry, "War to
all eternity before we submit." But if I can't fight, being
unfortunately a woman, which I now regret for the first time in my
life, at least I can help in other ways. What fingers can do in
knitting and sewing for them, I have done with the most intense
delight; what words of encouragement and praise could accomplish, I
have tried on more than one bold soldier boy, and not altogether in
vain; I have lost my home and all its dear contents for our Southern
Rights, have stood on its deserted hearthstone and looked at the ruin
of all I loved--without a murmur, almost glad of the sacrifice if it
would contribute its mite towards the salvation of the Confederacy. And
so it did, indirectly; for the battle of Baton Rouge which made the
Yankees, drunk with rage, commit outrages in our homes that civilized
Indians would blush to perpetrate, forced them to abandon the town as
untenable, whereby we were enabled to fortify Port Hudson here, which
now defies their strength. True they have reoccupied our town; that
Yankees live in our house; but if our generals said burn the whole
concern, would I not put the torch to our home readily, though I love
its bare skeleton still? Indeed I would, though I know what it is to be
without one. Don't Lilly and mother live in a wretched cabin in vile
Clinton while strangers rest under our father's roof? Yankees, I owe
you one for that!
Well! I boast myself Rebel, sing "Dixie," shout Southern Rights, pray
for God's blessing on our cause, without ceasing, and would not live in
this country if by any possible calamity we should be conquered; I am
only a woman, and that is the way I feel. Brother may differ. What
then? Shall I respect, love him less? No! God bless him! Union or
Secession, he is always my dear, dear Brother, and tortures could not
make me change my opinion.
Friday, January 30th.
A whole week has passed since I opened this book, a week certainly not
spent in idleness, if not a very interesting one. For I have kept my
room almost all the time, leaving Miriam and Anna to entertain their
guests alone. Even when Mr. Halsey called on Sunday, I declined going
down. Why, I wonder? I felt better than usual, was in a splendid humor
for talking, yet--my excuses took my place, and I lay quietly in bed,
dreaming by the firelight, and singing hymns to myself. Once in a while
the thought would occur to me, "Why don't I go down?" But it was always
answered with a wry face, and the hymn went on. Yet I knew he had come
expecting to see me.
On the table near me stood a bunch of snowdrops that Miriam had culled
for her _beloved_ Captain Bradford. An idea struck me so suddenly that
my voice died instantly. The spirit of mischief had taken possession of
me. Laughing to myself, I caught them up, drew three long bright hairs
from my head--they looked right gold-y in the firelight--and tied them
around the flowers--I thought I should never get to the end while
wrapping them. Thus secured, a servant carried them into the parlor
with "Miss Sarah's compliments to Mr. Halsey." Poor Miriam's cry of
surprise at finding her flowers thus appropriated, reached my ears and
caused me to laugh again. It _was_ rather cool! But then it was better
fun than going down. And then didn't it flatter his vanity! O men! you
vain creatures! A woman would receive a whole bunch of hair and forty
thousand bouquets, without having her head turned; while you--Well! I
heard enough from Miriam to amuse me, at all events.
And a day or two after, Captain Bradford had a long story to tell
her--what he called a good joke on Mr. Halsey. Of how he had found him
kissing three long bright hairs in rapture, and on asking where he got
them, received as an answer--"From the God-_blessedest_ little angel
that ever wore long hair!" This _blessedest_ little angel did not
intend it as a souvenir, and is consequently annoyed about stories of
three hairs, intended as a string and nothing more, being wrapped in
tissue paper and treasured up--so goes the tale--instead of being
thrown into the fire as I certainly expected.
* * * * *
Last night Anna and Miriam sat on my bed at twilight, playing cards
while I tried my guitar, when Captain C----, Major Spratley, and
Lieutenant Dupré were announced. Quick, down went the cards as they
sprang to their feet to throw off their neat calicoes. Where was
Miriam's comb, and grenadine, and collar, and belt? Good gracious!
where was her buckle? On the bureau, mantel, washstand, or under them?
"Please move a moment, Anna!" In such a hurry, do! There was Anna,
"Wait! I'm in a hurry, too! Where is that pomatum? You Malvina! if you
don't help me, I'll--There! take that, Miss! Now fly around!" Malvina,
with a faint, dingy pink suddenly brought out on her pale sea-green
face, did fly around, while I, hushing my guitar in the tumult, watch
each running over the other, in silent amazement, wondering if order
can come out of such confusion, and if the people downstairs were worth
all that trouble.
When I finally made my appearance in the parlor, it was with the
conviction that I would have a dreadfully stupid time, and Captain
C---- too. However, though at first I had both, soon only the last was
left me. Some one suggested calling the Spirits, which game I had
imagined "played out" long ago; and we derived a great deal of
amusement from it. Six of us around a small table invoked them with the
usual ceremony. There was certainly no trick played; every finger was
above the board, and all feet sufficiently far from the single leg to
insure fair play. Every rap seemed to come exactly from the centre of
the table, and was painfully distinct though not loud. When asked if
there was a writing medium present, it indicated Captain C----. I
observed that he seemed averse to trying it, but yielded at length and
took the pencil in his hand.
Our first question, of course, was, How long before Peace? Nine months
was written. Which foreign nation would recognize us first? France,
then England, in eight months. Who was Miriam to marry? Captain of a
battery. "Who?" we all shouted. "Captain C. E. Fenner"[16] was written
again. When? In ten months. I believe Captain C---- to be honest about
it. He seemed to have no control over his hand, and his arm trembled
until it became exceedingly painful. Of course, I do not actually
believe in Spiritualism; but there is certainly something in it
one cannot understand; and Mrs. Badger's experience is enough to
convert one, alone. Each was startled in turn by extraordinary
revelations concerning themselves. Gibbes was to be transferred to the
Trans-Mississippi Department,[17] George would come home, and all the
gentlemen had the name and address of future sweethearts written in
full. The question was asked, "Who will Sarah Morgan fall in love
with?" Every eye was on the pencil as a capital "H" was traced. As the
"a" followed, I confess to a decided disgust at the Spirits, and was
about to beg it might be discontinued when the rest followed rapidly
until in three separate lines appeared, "Has not seen him yet" (here
came an exclamation of surprise from Lydia and Miriam, who knew how
true it was, and even Gibbes looked astonished). "Captain, in Virginia.
Captain Charles Lewis."[18] A perfect buzz of comments followed; every
one asked every one else if they knew any one by that name, and every
one said no. Gibbes was decidedly more interested than I. That odd "Has
not seen him yet," expressing so exactly the fact that I pride myself
upon, carried conviction in the truth of Spirits, _almost_. "Who will
she marry?" asked Gibbes. (He has a pet belief, in which I encourage
him, that I will never marry.) Again came the name as distinctly as
before, of Captain Charles Lewis. "When will she marry him?" "In June,
1864," was the answer. I was to meet him in New Orleans. November
followed, after a period.
[16] Note by Mrs. Dawson in 1896: wrong--she married Lieutenant
Dupré.
[17] Note by Mrs. Dawson: he was transferred in his coffin.
[18] Captain F. W. Dawson, whom Sarah Morgan eventually married,
was at that time a captain in Virginia, and she had not yet seen
him.
Of course, the Spirits produced some slight commotion which made the
time pass pleasantly until Miriam began to waltz with her Monsieur Deux
Temps. Then Captain C---- told me why he had been unwilling to try it;
of how his father believed so strongly in it that he had very nearly
been made crazy by it, and how he had sworn to abandon the practice of
consulting them, seeing the effect produced. He did not believe in
Spirits himself; but could not account for the influence he was under,
when he saw his hand involuntarily write things he was totally
unconscious of, himself. However, he proposed that we two should have a
private consultation with them, which I opened by asking when I should
again see my home. I know he did not know anything about it; but on the
paper appeared--"Five months have gone--five months more." It is _just_
five months since I did see home. I think it was the 26th of August
that Charlie took me there. He asked if he should ever marry. "Never.
You will be jilted by the lady you love in Missouri, Miss Christina
P----." I pointed it out to him, as he happened to be looking at me
when it was written. It surprised him into saying, "Why, I'm engaged to
her!" I asked whose spirit was communicating with us. He was watching
the dance when his hand wrote, "John C----." I laughed and asked if
there was such a person, pointing to the name. He looked actually sick
as he said, "Yes, my brother; he is dead." I had not the heart to talk
of Spirits again; so we took to writing poetry together, every
alternate line falling to my lot. It made an odd jingle, the
sentimental first line being turned to broad farce by my absurd second
one.
February 5th, Thursday night.
A letter from Lavinia has come to me all the way from California. How
happy it made me, though written so long ago! Only the 30th of June!
Lavinia has changed, changed. There is a sad, worn-out tone in every
line; it sounds old, as though she had lived years and years ago and
was writing as though she were dead and buried long since. Lavinia,
whose letters used to keep me in sunshine for weeks at a time! Well! no
wonder she is sad. All these dreary years from home, with so faint a
hope of ever again seeing it, and all these sorrows and troubles that
have befallen us, combined, are not calculated to make her happy. But I
wish she had kept her cheerful heart. Well, perhaps it is easier for us
to be cheerful and happy, knowing the full extent of our calamities,
than it is for her, knowing so little and having just cause to fear so
much. Courage! Better days are coming! And then I'll have many a funny
tale to tell her of the days when the Yankees kept us on the _qui
vive_, or made us run for our lives. It will "tell" merrily; be almost
as lively as those running days were. One of my chief regrets over my
helplessness is that I will not be able to run in the next stampede. I
used to enjoy it. Oh, the days gone by, the dreary days, when, cut off
from our own people, and surrounded by Yankees, we used to catch up any
crumb of news favorable to our side that was smuggled into town, and
the Brunots and I would write each other little dispatches of
consolation and send them by little negroes! Those were dismal days.
Yet how my spirits would rise when the long roll would beat, and we
would prepare for flight!
Monday, February 9th, 1863. Night.
A letter from my dear little Jimmy! How glad I am, words could not
express. This is the first since he arrived in England, and now we know
what has become of him at last. While awaiting the completion of the
ironclad gunboat to which he has been appointed, like a trump he has
put himself to school, and studies hard, which is evident from the
great improvement he already exhibits in his letter....
My delight at hearing from Jimmy is overcast by the bad news Lilly
sends of mother's health. I have been unhappy about her for a long
while; her health has been wretched for three months; so bad, that
during all my long illness she has never been with me after the third
day. I was never separated from mother for so long before; and I am
homesick, and heartsick about her. Only twenty miles apart, and she
with a shocking bone felon in her hand and that dreadful cough, unable
to come to me, whilst I am lying helpless here, as unable to get to
her. I feel right desperate about it. This evening Lilly writes of her
having chills and fevers, and looking very, _very_ badly. So Miriam
started off instantly to see her. My poor mother! She will die if she
stays in Clinton, I know she will!
Wednesday, February 18th.
Gibbes has gone back to his regiment. I can't say how dreary I felt
when he came to tell me good-bye. I did not mean to cry; but how could
I help it when he put his arms around me?...
Sunday, February 22d, 1863.
Mother has come to me! O how glad I was to see her this morning! And
the Georgia project, which I dared not speak of for fear it should be
mere talk and nothing more, is a reality.--Yes! we are actually going!
I can hardly believe that such good fortune as getting out of that
wretched Clinton really awaits us. Perhaps I shall not like Augusta
either; a stranger in a strange city is not usually enchanted with
everything one beholds; but still--a change of scene--a new
country--new people--it is worth while! Shall we _really_ go? Will some
page in this book actually record "Augusta, Georgia"? No! I dare not
believe it! Yet the mere thought has given me strength within the last
two weeks to attempt to walk. Learning to walk at my age! Is it not
amusing? But the smallest baby knows more about it than I did at first.
Of course, I knew one foot was to be put before the other; but the
question was how it was to be done when they would not go? I have
conquered that difficulty, however, and can now walk almost two yards,
if some one holds me fast.
_Sunset._ Will [Pinckney] has this instant left. Ever since dinner he
has been vehemently opposing the Georgia move, insisting that it will
cost me my life, by rendering me a confirmed cripple. He says _he_
could take care of me, but no one else can, so I must not be moved.
I am afraid his arguments have about shaken mother's resolution.
Pshaw! it will do me good! I must go. It will not do to remain here.
Twenty-seven thousand Yankees are preparing to march on Port Hudson,
and this place will certainly be either occupied by them, or burned. To
go to Clinton is to throw myself in their hands, so why not one grand
move to Augusta?
Monday, February 23d.
Here goes! News has been received that the Yankees are already packed,
ready to march against us at any hour. If I was up and well, how my
heart would swell with exultation. As it is, it throbs so with
excitement that I can scarcely lie still. Hope amounts almost to
presumption at Port Hudson. They are confident that our fifteen
thousand can repulse twice the number. Great God!--I say it with all
reverence--if we could defeat them! _If_ we could scatter, capture,
annihilate them! My heart beats but one prayer--Victory! I shall grow
wild repeating it. In the mean time, though, Linwood is in danger. This
dear place, my second home; its loved inhabitants; think of their being
in such peril! Oh, I shall cry heartily if harm comes to them! But I
must leave before. No use of leaving my bones for the Yankees to pick;
better sing "Dixie" in Georgia. To-morrow, consequently, I go to that
earthly paradise, Clinton, thence to be re-shipped (so goes the
_present_ programme) to Augusta in three days. And no time for adieux!
Wonder who will be surprised, who vexed, and who will cry over the
unforeseen separation? Not a single "good-bye"! Nothing--except an old
brass button that Mr. Halsey gave me as a souvenir in case he should be
killed in the coming assault. It is too bad. Ah! Destiny! Destiny!
Where do you take us? During these two trying years, I have learned to
feel myself a mere puppet in the hands of a Something that takes me
here to-day, to-morrow there, always unexpectedly, and generally very
unwillingly, but at last leads me somewhere or other, right side up
with care, after a thousand troubles and distresses. The hand of
Destiny is on me now; where will it lead me?
Tuesday [February] 24th.
Meeting Miriam by mere accident on the road last evening and hearing of
our surprising journey to Georgia, Mr. Halsey came to spend a last
evening with us, and say good-bye. What a deluge of regrets, hopes,
fears, etc. Perfectly overwhelming. Why had I not told him of it the
night before? All our friends would be so disappointed at not having an
opportunity of saying good-bye. If the Yankees would only postpone
their attack so he might accompany us! But no matter; he would come on
in two months, and meet us there. And would we not write to him? Thank
you! Miriam may, but I shall hardly do so! We had such a pleasant
evening together, talking over our trip. Then we had a dozen songs on
the guitar, gay, sad, and sentimental; then he gave me a sprig of
jessamine as a keepsake, and I ripped open my celebrated "running-bag"
to get a real _for true_ silver five cents--a perfect curiosity in
these days--which I gave him in exchange, and which he promised to wear
on his watch-chain. He and Miriam amused themselves examining the
contents of my sack and laughing at my treasures, the wretches! Then
came--good-bye. I think he was sorry to see us go. Well! he ought to
miss us! Ah! these fare-wells! To-day I bid adieu to Linwood. "It may
be for years, and it may be forever!" _This_ good-bye will cost me a
sigh.
Wednesday, February 25th.
Here we are still, in spite of our expectations. Difficulty on
difficulty arose, and an hour before the cars came, it was settled that
mother should go to Clinton and make the necessary arrangements, and
leave us to follow in a day or two. Two days more! Miriam no more
objected than I did, so mother went alone. Poor Miriam went to bed soon
after, _very_ ill. So ill that she lay groaning in bed at dusk, when a
stir was heard in the hall below, and Colonel Steadman, Major Spratley,
and Mr. Dupré were announced. Presto! up she sprang, and flew about in
the most frantic style, emptying the trunk on the floor to get her
prettiest dress, and acting as though she had never heard of pains and
groans. When we leave, how much I shall miss the fun of seeing her and
Anna running over each other in their excitement of dressing for their
favorites. Anna's first exclamation was, "Ain't you glad you didn't
go!" and certainly we were not sorry, from mere compassion; for what
would she have done with all three? If I laughed at their extra touches
to their dresses, it did not prevent me from bestowing unusual
attention on my own. And by way of bravado, when I was carried down, I
insisted on Mrs. Badger lending me her arm, to let me walk into the
parlor and prove to Colonel Steadman that in spite of his prophecies I
was able to take a few steps at least.
* * * * *
His last words, "You _won't_ go, will you? Think once more!" sent me
upstairs wondering, thinking, undecided, and unsatisfied, hardly
knowing what to do, or what to say. Every time I tried to sleep, those
calm, deep, honest gray eyes started up before my closed ones, and that
earnest "You _won't_ go, will you? Think once more!" rang in my ears
like a solemn warning. Hopes of seeing Georgia grew rather faint, that
night. Is it lawful to risk my life? But is it not better to lose it
while believing that I have still a chance of saving it by going, than
to await certain death calmly and unresisting in Clinton? I'd rather
die struggling for this life, this beautiful, loved, blessed life that
God has given me!
March 10th, Tuesday.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I had so many nice things to say--which now, alas, are knocked forever
from my head--when news came that the Yankees were advancing on us, and
were already within fifteen miles. The panic which followed reminded me
forcibly of our running days in Baton Rouge. Each one rapidly threw
into trunks all clothing worth saving, with silver and valuables, to
send to the upper plantation. I sprang up, determined to leave
instantly for Clinton so mother would not be alarmed for our safety;
but before I got halfway dressed, Helen Carter came in, and insisted on
my remaining, declaring that my sickness and inability to move would
prove a protection to the house, and save it from being burned over
their heads. Put on that plea, though I have no faith in melting the
bowels of compassion of a Yankee, myself, I consented to remain, as
Miriam urgently represented the dangers awaiting Clinton. So she tossed
all we owned into our trunk to send to mother as hostage of our return,
and it is now awaiting the cars. My earthly possessions are all
reposing by me on the bed at this instant, consisting of my guitar, a
change of clothes, running-bag, cabas, and this book. For in spite of
their entreaties, I would not send it to Clinton, expecting those
already there to meet with a fiery death--though I would like to
preserve those of the most exciting year of my life. They tell me that
this will be read aloud to me to torment me, but I am determined to
burn it if there is any danger of that. Why, I would die without some
means of expressing my feelings in the stirring hours so rapidly
approaching. I shall keep it by me.
Such bustle and confusion! Every one hurried, anxious, excited,
whispering, packing trunks, sending them off; wondering negroes looking
on in amazement until ordered to mount the carts waiting at the door,
which are to carry them too away. How disappointed the Yankees will be
at finding only white girls instead of their dear sisters and brothers
whom they love so tenderly! Sorry for their disappointment!
"They say" they are advancing in overwhelming numbers. That is nothing,
so long as God helps us, and from our very souls we pray His blessing
on us in this our hour of need. For myself, I cannot yet fully believe
they are coming. It would be a relief to have it over. I have taken the
responsibility of Lydia's jewelry on my shoulders, and hope to be able
to save it in the rush which will take place. Down at the cars Miriam
met Frank Enders, going to Clinton in charge of a car full of
Yankees,--deserters, who came into our lines. He thinks, just as I do,
that our trunks are safer here than there. Now that they are all off,
we all agree that it was the most foolish thing we could have done.
These Yankees interfere with all our arrangements.
I am almost ashamed to confess what an absurdly selfish thought
occurred to me a while ago. I was lamenting to myself all the troubles
that surround us, the dangers and difficulties that perplex us,
thinking of the probable fate that might befall some of our brave
friends and defenders in Port Hudson, when I thought, too, of the fun
we would miss. Horrid, was it not? But worse than that, I was longing
for something to read, when I remembered Frank told me he had sent
to Alexandria for Bulwer's "Strange Story" for me, and then I
unconsciously said, "How I wish it would get here before the Yankees!"
I am _very_ anxious to read it, but confess I am ashamed of having
thought of it at such a crisis. So I toss up the farthing Frank gave me
for a keepsake the other day, and say I'll try in future to think less
of my own comfort and pleasure.
Poor Mr. Halsey! What a sad fate the pets he procures for me meet! He
stopped here just now on his way somewhere, and sent me a curious
bundle with a strange story, by Miriam. It seems he got a little
flying-squirrel for me to play with (must know my partiality for pets),
and last night, while attempting to tame him, the little creature bit
his finger, whereupon he naturally let him fall on the ground,
(Temper!) which put a period to his existence. He had the nerve to skin
him after the foul murder, and sent all that remains of him out to me
to prove his original intention. The softest, longest, prettiest fur,
and such a duck of a tail! Poor little animal couldn't have been larger
than my fist. Wonder if its spirit will meet with that of the little
bird which flew heavenward with all that pink ribbon and my letter from
Mr. Halsey?
Saturday, March 14th.
5 o'clock, P.M.
They are coming! The Yankees are coming at last! For four or five hours
the sound of their cannon has assailed our ears. There!--that one shook
my bed! Oh, they are coming! God grant us the victory! They are now
within four miles of us, on the big road to Baton Rouge. On the road
from town to Clinton, we have been fighting since daylight at
Readbridge, and have been repulsed. Fifteen gunboats have passed
Vicksburg, they say. It will be an awful fight. No matter! With God's
help we'll conquer yet! Again!--the report comes nearer. Oh, they _are_
coming! Coming to defeat, I pray God.
Only we seven women remain in the house. The General left this morning,
to our unspeakable relief. They would hang him, we fear, if they should
find him here. Mass' Gene has gone to his company; we are left alone
here to meet them. If they _will_ burn the house, they will have to
burn me in it. For I cannot walk, and I know they shall not carry me.
I'm resigned. If I _should_ burn, I have friends and brothers enough to
avenge me. Create _such_ a consternation! Better than being thrown from
a buggy--only I'd not survive to hear of it!
Letter from Lilly to-day has distressed me beyond measure. Starvation
which threatened them seems actually at their door. With more money
than they could use in ordinary times, they can find nothing to
purchase. Not a scrap of meat in the house for a week. No pork, no
potatoes, fresh meat obtained _once_ as a favor, and poultry and flour
articles unheard of. Besides that, Tiche crippled, and Margret very
ill, while Liddy has run off to the Yankees. Heaven only knows what
will become of them. The other day we were getting ready to go to them
(Thursday) when the General disapproved of my running such a risk,
saying he'd call it a d---- piece of nonsense, if I asked what he
thought; so we remained. They will certainly starve soon enough without
our help; and yet--I feel we should all be together still. That last
superfluous word is the refrain of Gibbes's song that is ringing in my
ears, and that I am chanting in a kind of ecstasy of excitement:--
"Then let the cannon boom as it will,
We'll be gay and happy still!"
And we will be happy in spite of Yankee guns! Only--my dear This, That,
and the Other, at Port Hudson, how I pray for your safety! God spare
our brave soldiers, and lead them to victory! I write, touch my guitar,
talk, pick lint, and pray so rapidly that it is hard to say which is my
occupation. I sent Frank some lint the other day, and a bundle of it
for Mr. Halsey is by me. Hope neither will need it! But to my work
again!
Half-past One o'clock, A.M.
It has come at last! What an awful sound! I thought I had heard a
bombardment before; but Baton Rouge was child's play compared to this.
At half-past eleven came the first gun--at least the first _I_ heard,
and I hardly think it could have commenced many moments before.
Instantly I had my hand on Miriam, and at my first exclamation, Mrs.
Badger and Anna answered. All three sprang to their feet to dress,
while all four of us prayed aloud. Such an incessant roar! And at every
report the house shaking so, and we thinking of our dear soldiers, the
dead and dying, and crying aloud for God's blessing on them, and defeat
and overthrow to their enemies. That dreadful roar! I can't think fast
enough. They are too quick to be counted. We have all been in Mrs.
Carter's room, from the last window of which we can see the incessant
flash of the guns and the great shooting stars of flame, which must be
the hot shot of the enemy. There is a burning house in the distance,
the second one we have seen to-night. For Yankees can't prosper unless
they are pillaging honest people. Already they have stripped all on
their road of cattle, mules, and negroes.
Gathered in a knot within and without the window, we six women up here
watched in the faint starlight the flashes from the guns, and silently
wondered which of our friends were lying stiff and dead, and then,
shuddering at the thought, betook ourselves to silent prayer. I think
we know what it is to "wrestle with God in prayer"; we had but one
thought. Yet for women, we took it almost too coolly. No tears, no
cries, no fear, though for the first five minutes everybody's teeth
chattered violently. Mrs. Carter had her husband in Fenner's battery,
the hottest place if they are attacked by the land force, and yet to my
unspeakable relief she betrayed no more emotion than we who had only
friends there. We know absolutely nothing; when does one ever know
anything in the country? But we presume that this is an engagement
between our batteries and the gunboats attempting to run the blockade.
Firing has slackened considerably. All are to lie down already dressed;
but being in my nightgown from necessity, I shall go to sleep, though
we may expect at any instant to hear the tramp of Yankee cavalry in the
yard.
Sunday, March 15th.
To my unspeakable surprise, I waked up this morning and found myself
alive. Once satisfied of that, and assuring myself of intense silence
in the place of the great guns which rocked me to sleep about half-past
two this morning, I began to doubt that I had heard any disturbance in
the night, and to believe I had written a dream within a dream, and
that no bombardment had occurred; but all corroborate my statement, so
it must be true, and this portentous silence is only the calm before
the storm. I am half afraid the land force won't attack. We can beat
them if they do; but suppose they lay siege to Port Hudson and starve
us out? That is the only way they can conquer.
We hear nothing still that is reliable.
Just before daylight there was a terrific explosion which electrified
every one save myself. I was sleeping so soundly that I did not hear
anything of it, though Mrs. Badger says that when she sprang up and
called me, I talked very rationally about it, and asked what it could
possibly be. Thought that I had ceased talking in my sleep. Miriam was
quite eloquent in her dreams before the attack, crying aloud, "See!
See! What do I behold?" as though she were witnessing a rehearsal of
the scene to follow.
_Later._ Dr. Kennedy has just passed through, and was within the
fortifications last night; brings news which is perhaps reliable, as it
was obtained from Gardiner. It was, as we presumed, the batteries and
gunboats. One we sunk; another, the Mississippi, we disabled so that
the Yankees had to abandon and set fire to her, thirty-nine prisoners
falling into our hands. It was her magazine that exploded this morning.
Two other boats succeeded in passing, though badly crippled. Our
batteries fired gallantly. Hurrah! for Colonel Steadman! I know his was
by no means the least efficient!
Clinton, they say, will inevitably be sacked. Alas, for mother and
Lilly! What can we do? The whole country is at the mercy of the Yankees
as long as Gardiner keeps within the fortifications. Six miles below
here they entered Mr. Newport's, pulled the pillow-cases from the beds,
stuffed them with his clothes, and helped themselves generally. What
can we expect here? To tell the truth, I should be disappointed if they
did not even look in at us, on their marauding expedition.
March 17th.
_On dit_ the Yankees have gone back to Baton Rouge, hearing we had
sixty thousand men coming down after them. I believe I am positively
disappointed! I did want to see them soundly thrashed! The light we
thought was another burning house was that of the Mississippi. They say
the shrieks of the men when our hot shells fell among them, and after
they were left by their companions to burn, were perfectly appalling.
Another letter from Lilly has distressed me beyond measure. She says
the one chicken and two dozen eggs Miriam and I succeeded in buying
from the negroes by prayers and entreaties, saved them from actual
hunger; and for two days they had been living on one egg apiece and
some cornbread and syrup. Great heavens! has it come to this? Nothing
to be bought in that abominable place for love or money. Where the next
meal comes from, nobody knows.
Wednesday, March 25th.
Early last evening the tremendous clatter of a sword that made such
unnecessary noise that one might imagine the owner thereof had betaken
himself to the favorite pastime of his childhood, and was prancing in
on his murderous weapon, having mistaken it for his war steed,
announced the arrival of Captain Bradford, who with two friends came to
say adieu. Those vile Yankees have been threatening Ponchatoula, and
his battery, with a regiment of infantry, was on its way there to drive
them back. The Captain sent me word of the distressing departure, with
many assurances that he would take care of "my" John.
Scarcely had he departed, when lo! John arrives, and speaks for
himself. Yes! he is going! Only a moment to say good-bye ... sunset
approaches. Well! he must say good-bye now! Chorus of young ladies:
"Oh, will you not spend the evening with us? You can easily overtake
the battery later." Chorus of married ladies: "You must not think of
going. Here is a comfortable room at your service, and after an early
breakfast you can be on the road as soon as the others." No necessity
for prayers; he readily consents. And yet, as the evening wore on, when
we laughed loudest I could not help but think of poor little Mrs.
McPhaul sitting alone and crying over her brother's departure, fancying
his precious bones lying on the damp ground with only the soldier's
roof--the blue vault of heaven--above, while two miles away he sat in a
comfortable parlor amusing himself.
About sunrise, while the most delightful dreams floated through my
brain, a little voice roused me exclaiming, "Sady! Sady! John Hawsey
say so! Say give Sady!" I opened my eyes to see little Gibbes standing
by me, trying to lay some flowers on my cheek, his little face
sparkling with delight at his own importance. A half-opened rosebud
with the faintest blush of pink on its creamy leaves--a pink, and a
piece of arbor vitæ, all sprinkled with dew, this was my bouquet. The
servant explained that Mr. Halsey had just left, and sent me that with
his last good-bye. And he has gone! "And now there's nothing left but
weeping! His face I ne'er shall see, and naught is left to me,
save"--putting away my book and all recollections of nonsense. So here
goes!
Tuesday, March 31st.
"To be, or not to be; that's the question." Whether 'tis nobler in the
Confederacy to suffer the pangs of unappeasable hunger and never-ending
trouble, or to take passage to a Yankee port, and there remaining, end
them. Which is best? I am so near daft that I cannot pretend to say; I
only know that I shudder at the thought of going to New Orleans, and
that my heart fails me when I think of the probable consequence to
mother if I allow a mere outward sign of patriotism to overbalance what
should be my first consideration--her health. For Clinton is growing no
better rapidly. To be hungry is there an everyday occurrence. For ten
days, mother writes, they have lived off just hominy enough to keep
their bodies and souls from parting, without being able to procure
another article--not even a potato. Mother is not in a condition to
stand such privation; day by day she grows weaker on her new regimen; I
am satisfied that two months more of danger, difficulties,
perplexities, and starvation will lay her in her grave. The latter
alone is enough to put a speedy end to her days. Lilly has been obliged
to put her children to bed to make them forget they were supperless,
and when she followed their example, could not sleep herself, for very
hunger.
We have tried in vain to find another home in the Confederacy. After
three days spent in searching Augusta, Gibbes wrote that it was
impossible to find a vacant room for us, as the city was already
crowded with refugees. A kind Providence must have destined that
disappointment in order to save my life, if there is any reason for
Colonel Steadman's fears. We next wrote to Mobile, Brandon, and even
that horrid little Liberty, besides making inquiries of every one we
met, while Charlie, too, was endeavoring to find a place, and
everywhere received the same answer--not a vacant room, and provisions
hardly to be obtained at all.
The question has now resolved itself to whether we shall see mother die
for want of food in Clinton, or, by sacrificing an outward show of
patriotism (the inward sentiment cannot be changed), go with her to New
Orleans, as Brother begs in the few letters he contrives to smuggle
through. It looks simple enough. Ought not mother's life to be our
first consideration? Undoubtedly! But suppose we could preserve her
life and our free sentiments at the same time? If we could only find a
resting-place in the Confederacy! This, though, is impossible. But to
go to New Orleans; to cease singing "Dixie"; to be obliged to keep your
sentiments to yourself--for I would not wound Brother by any
Ultra-Secession speech, and such could do me no good and only injure
him--_if_ he is as friendly with the Federals as they say he is; to
listen to the scurrilous abuse heaped on those fighting for our homes
and liberties, among them my three brothers--could I endure it? I fear
not. Even if I did not go crazy, I would grow so restless, homesick,
and miserable, that I would pray for even Clinton again. Oh, I don't,
don't want to go! If mother would only go alone, and leave us with
Lilly! But she is as anxious to obtain Dr. Stone's advice for me as we
are to secure her a comfortable home; and I won't go anywhere without
Miriam, so we must all go together. Yet there is no disguising the fact
that such a move will place us in a very doubtful position to both
friends and enemies. However, all our friends here warmly advocate the
move, and Will Pinckney and Frank both promised to knock down any one
who shrugged their shoulders and said anything about it. But what would
the boys say? The fear of displeasing them is my chief distress. George
writes in the greatest distress about my prolonged illness, and his
alarm about my condition. "Of one thing I am sure," he writes, "and
that is that she deserves to recover; for a better little sister never
lived." God bless him! My eyes grew right moist over those few words.
Loving words bring tears to them sooner than angry ones. Would he
object to such a step when he knows that the very medicines necessary
for my recovery are not to be procured in the whole country? Would he
rather have mother dead and me a cripple, in the Confederacy, than both
well, out of it? I feel that if we go we are wrong; but I am satisfied
that it is worse to stay. It is a distressing dilemma to be placed in,
as we are certain to be blamed whichever course we pursue. But I don't
want to go to New Orleans!
Before I had time to lay down my pen this evening, General Gardiner and
Major Wilson were announced; and I had to perform a hasty toilette
before being presentable. The first remark of the General was that my
face recalled many pleasant recollections; that he had known my family
very well, but that time was probably beyond my recollection; and he
went on talking about father and Lavinia, until I felt quite
comfortable, with this utter stranger.... I would prefer his speaking
of "our" recent success at Port Hudson to "my"; for we each, man,
woman, and child, feel that we share the glory of sinking the gunboats
and sending Banks back to Baton Rouge without venturing on an attack;
and it seemed odd to hear any one assume the responsibility of the
whole affair and say "my success" so unconsciously. But this may be the
privilege of generals. I am no judge, as this is the first Confederate
general I have had the pleasure of seeing. Wish it had been old
Stonewall! I grow enthusiastic every time I think of the dear old
fellow!
I am indebted to General Gardiner for a great piece of kindness,
though. I was telling him of how many enemies he had made among the
ladies by his strict regulations that now rendered it almost impossible
for the gentlemen to obtain permission to call on them, when he told me
if I would signify to my friends to mention when they applied that
their visit was to be here, and not elsewhere, that he would answer for
their having a pass whenever they called for one. _Merci du compliment;
mais c'est trop tard, Monsieur!_
Tuesday, April 7th.
I believe that it is _for true_ that we are to leave for New Orleans,
via Clinton and Ponchatoula, this evening. Clinton, at least, I am sure
of. Lilly came down for me yesterday, and according to the present
programme, though I will not answer for it in an hour from now, we
leave Linwood this evening, and Clinton on Thursday. I am almost
indifferent about our destination; my chief anxiety is to have some
definite plans decided on, which seems perfectly impossible from the
number of times they are changed a day. The uncertainty is really
affecting my spine, and causing me to grow alarmingly thin....
[Illustration: JUDGE THOMAS GIBBES MORGAN]
Wednesday, CLINTON,
April 8th, 1863.
Our last adieux are said, and Linwood is left behind, "it may be for
years, and it may be forever." My last hours were spent lying on the
sofa on the gallery, with Lydia at my feet, Helen Carter sitting on the
floor at my side, while all the rest were gathered around me as I
played for the _last time_ "the centre of attraction." I grew almost
lachrymose as I bid a last adieu to the bed where I have spent so many
months, as they carried me downstairs. Wonder if it will not miss me?
It must have been at least five before the cars returned. Mrs. Carter
grew quite pathetic as they approached, while poor little Lydia, with
streaming eyes and choking sobs, clung first to Miriam and then to me,
as though we parted to meet only in eternity. All except her mother
started in a run for the big gate, while I was carried to the buggy
through the group of servants gathered to say good-bye, when the
General drove me off rapidly.
What a delightful sensation is motion, after five months' inaction! The
last time I was in a vehicle was the night General Beale's ambulance
brought me to Linwood a helpless bundle, last November. It seemed to me
yesterday that I could again feel the kind gentleman's arm supporting
me, and his wondering, sympathetic tone as he repeated every half-mile,
"Really, Miss Morgan, you are _very_ patient and uncomplaining!" Good,
kind President Miller! As though all the trouble was not his, just
then! But stopping at the gate roused me from my short reverie, and I
opened my eyes to find myself stationary, and in full view of a train
of cars loaded with soldiers, literally covered with them; for they
covered the roof, as well as filled the interior, while half a dozen
open cars held them, seated one above the other in miniature pyramids,
and even the engine was graced by their presence. Abashed with finding
myself confronted with so many people, my sensation became decidedly
alarming as a dozen rude voices cried, "Go on! we won't stop!" and a
chorus of the opposition cried, "Yes, we will!" "No!" "Yes!" they cried
in turn, and as the General stood me on the ground (I would have walked
if it had been my last attempt in life), I paused irresolute, not
knowing whether to advance or retreat before the storm. I must say they
are the only rude soldiers I have yet seen in Confederate uniforms. But
as I walked slowly, clinging to the General's arm, half from fear, and
half from weakness, they ceased the unnecessary dispute, and remained
so quiet that I was more frightened still, and actually forgot to say
good-bye to Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Worley as they stood by the road. How
both the General and I escaped being hurt as he raised me on the
platform, every one is at a loss to account for. I experienced only
what may be called slight pain, in comparison to what I _have_ felt;
but really fear that the exertion has disabled him for to-day. It must
have been very severe. Some officers led me to my seat, Lilly, Miriam,
and Anna got in, the General kissed us heartily, with damp eyes and
kind wishes; the cars gave a whistle, and I put my head out of the
window to see Mrs. Carter industriously applying white cambric to her
face, which occupation she relinquished to call out last good-byes;
another whistle and a jerk, and we were off, leaving her and Mrs.
Worley, surrounded by children and servants, using their handkerchiefs
to wipe tears and wave farewell, while the General waved his hat for
good-bye. Then green hedges rapidly changing took their place, and
Linwood was out of sight before we had ceased saying and thinking, God
bless the kind hearts we had left behind. Can I ever forget the
kindness we have met among them?
To see green trees and wild flowers once more, after such an illness,
is a pleasure that only those long deprived of such beauties by a
similar misfortune can fully appreciate.
It was a relief to discover that what I had thought shocking rudeness
in the soldiers had not been reserved for me alone. For every time we
stopped, the same cry of "No waiting for slow people" was raised,
varied by constant expostulations with the engine for drinking ponds
dry, and mild suggestions as to taking the road the other side of the
fence, which would no doubt prove smoother than the track. These
Arkansas troops have acquired a reputation for roughness and ignorance
which they seem to cultivate as assiduously as most people would their
virtues. But rudeness does not affect their fighting qualities.
MADISONVILLE,
Sunday, April 12th, 1863.
We arrived here about five last evening, and, strange to say, the
journey, fatiguing as it was, has not altogether disabled me. But I
must go back to Clinton to account for this new change. It would never
do to take more than a hundred miles at a single jump without speaking
of the incidents by the way. Numerous and pleasant as they were, some
way they have unaccountably paled; and things that seemed so extremely
amusing, and afforded me so much pleasure during these four days, now
seem to be absurd trifles half forgotten.
I now remember lying in state on Lilly's bed Wednesday, talking to Mrs.
Badger (who had been several days in town), Anna, Sarah Ripley, and the
others, when Frank suddenly bolted in, just from Port Hudson, to say
another good-bye, though I told him good-bye at Linwood Sunday.
Presently the General entered, just from Linwood, to see us off; then
Mr. Marston and his daughter, and Mr. Neafus, all as kind as possible,
until a perfect levee was assembled, which I, lying all dressed with a
shawl thrown over me, enjoyed all the more as I could take my ease, and
have my fun at the same time. Frank, sitting by my pillow, talked
dolorously of how much he would miss us, and threatened to be taken
prisoner before long in order to see us again.
* * * * *
When we were finally left alone, I fancy there was very little sleep in
the house. As to me, I lay by Lilly wide awake, thinking how lonely she
would be without us, and perfectly _désolée_ at the idea of leaving the
Confederacy (the dear gray coats included); so when it was almost
sunrise there was no necessity of rousing me to dress, as I was only
too glad to leave my sleepless bed. Before I got dressed, Anna, her
mother, and Sarah Ripley came in again; then Miss Comstock; and just as
I had put the last touch to my dress, the gentlemen of the night before
entered, and we had almost an hour and a half's respite before the
carriage, less punctual than we, drove to the door.
The General picked me up in his arms and carried me once more to the
carriage. Then the servants had to say good-bye; then Lilly, very
quiet, very red, and dissolved in tears, clung to me almost without a
word, hardly able to speak, whilst I, distressed and grieved as I was,
had not a tear in my eyes--nothing but a great lump in my throat that I
tried to choke down in order to talk to Frank, who stood at the window
by me, after she left.... How the distance lengthens between us! I
raise up from my pillows and find myself at Camp Moore at four o'clock.
Forty miles are passed over; good-bye, Frank!
From Camp Moore we had to go three miles back, to find Captain Gilman's
house where we were expected. The gentleman is a friend of Gibbes,
though I had never seen any of them before. Such a delightful place,
with everything looking so new, and cool, and such a hospitable hostess
that I thought everything charming in spite of my fatigue. I had hardly
a moment to look around; for immediately we were shown to our rooms,
and in a very few minutes Miriam had me undressed and in bed, the most
delightful spot in the world to me just then. While congratulating
myself on having escaped death on the roadside, I opened my eyes to
behold a tray brought to my bedside with a variety of refreshments.
Coffee! Bread! Loaf-sugar! Preserves! I opened my mouth to make an
exclamation at the singular optical illusion, but wisely forbore
speaking, and shut it with some of the unheard-of delicacies
instead....
Early next morning the same routine was gone through as Thursday
morning. Again the carriage drove to the door, and we were whisked off
to Camp Moore, where the engine stood snorting with impatience to hurry
us off to Ponchatoula.... Soon we were steaming down the track, I
reclining on my pillows in an interesting state of invalidism, sadly
abashed now and then at the courteous, wondering gaze of the soldiers
who were aboard. Having very little idea of the geography of that part
of the country, and knowing we were to take a carriage from some point
this side of Ponchatoula, fancying how surprised Mr. Halsey would be to
hear we had passed him on the way, I took a card from my
traveling-case, and wrote a few words for "good-bye," as we could not
see him again. I sealed it up, and put it in my pocket to send to the
first post-office we passed.
About twelve o'clock we stopped at Hammond, which was our place to
disembark. Mother sent out to hire a negro to carry me off the
platform; and while waiting in great perplexity, a young officer who
had just seated himself before me, got up and asked if he could assist
her, seizing an arm full of cloaks as he spoke. I got up and walked to
the door to appear independent and make believe I was not the one, when
mother begged him not to trouble himself; she wanted a man to assist
her daughter who was sick. Calling a friend, the gentleman kindly
loaded him with the cloaks, etc., while he hurried out after me. I was
looking ruefully at the impracticable step which separated me from the
platform. The question of how I was to carry out my independent notions
began to perplex me. "Allow me to assist you," said a voice at my
elbow. I turned and beheld the handsome officer. "Thank you; I think I
can get down alone." "Pray allow me to lift you over this place." "Much
obliged, but your arm will suffice." "Sarah, let the gentleman carry
you! You know you cannot walk!" said my very improper mother. I
respectfully declined the renewed offer. "Don't pay any attention to
her. Pick her up, just as you would a child," said my incorrigible
mother. The gentleman turned very red, while Miriam asserts I turned
extremely white. The next thing I knew, by passing his arm around my
waist, or taking me by my arms--I was so frightened that I have but a
confused idea of it--I was lifted over the intervening gulf and landed
on the platform!
Hammond boasts of four houses. One, a shoe manufactory, stood about
twenty or thirty yards off, and there the gentleman proposed to conduct
me. Again he insisted on carrying me; and resolutely refusing, I
pronounced myself fully equal to the walk, and accepting his proffered
arm, walked off with dignity and self-possession. He must have fancied
that the injury was in my hand; for holding my arm so that my entire
weight must have been thrown on him, not satisfied with that support,
with his other hand he held mine _so_ respectfully and so carefully
that I could not but smile as it struck me, which, by the way, _was not
until I reached the house_!
Discovering that he belonged to Colonel Simonton's command, I asked him
to take Mr. Halsey the note I had written an hour before. He pronounced
himself delighted to be of the slightest service, and seeing that we
were strangers, traveling unprotected, asked if we had secured a
conveyance to take us beyond. We told him no. He modestly suggested
that some gentleman might attend to it for us. He would be happy to do
anything in his power. I thought again of Mr. Halsey, and said if he
would mention we were in Hammond, he would be kind enough to see to it
for us. "May I ask your name?" he asked, evidently surprised to find
himself asking a question he was dying to know. I gave him my card,
whereupon mother asked _his_ name, which he told us was Howard. We had
been talking for some ten minutes, when feeling rather uncomfortable at
being obliged to look up at such a tall man from my low seat, to
relieve my neck as well as to shade my face from any further scrutiny,
I put down my head while I was still speaking. Instantly, so quietly,
naturally, and unobtrusively did he stoop down by me, on one knee so
that his face was in full view of mine, that the action did not seem to
me either singular or impertinent--in fact, I did not think of it until
mother spoke of it after he left. After a few moments it must have
struck him; for he got up and made his parting bow, departing, as I
afterwards heard, to question Tiche as to how I had been hurt, and
declaring that it was a dreadful calamity to happen to so "lovely" a
young lady.
Monday, April 13th.
Having nothing to do, I may as well go on with the history of our
wanderings. When the cars were moving off with the handsome Mr. Howard,
mother turned to a gentleman who seemed to own the place, and asked to
be shown the hotel. He went out, and presently returning with a chair
and two negroes, quietly said he would take us to his own house; the
hotel was not comfortable. And, without listening to remonstrances, led
the way to a beautiful little cottage, where he introduced his wife,
Mrs. Cate, who received us most charmingly, and had me in bed before
five minutes had elapsed. I don't know how any one can believe the
whole world so wicked; for my part I have met none but the kindest
people imaginable; I don't know any wicked ones.
Before half an hour had passed, a visitor was announced; so I gathered
up my weary bones, and with scarcely a peep at the glass, walked to the
parlor. I commenced laughing before I got there, and the visitor smiled
most absurdly, too; for it was--Mr. Halsey! It seemed so queer to meet
in this part of the world that we laughed again after shaking hands. It
_was_ odd. I was thinking how much amused the General would be to hear
of it; for he had made a bet that we would meet when I asserted that we
would not.