We reached Vicksburg that night and went to H.'s room. Next morning the
cook he had engaged arrived, and we moved into this house. Martha's
ignorance keeps me busy, and H. is kept close at his office.
_January 7th, 1863_.--I have had little to record recently, for we have
lived to ourselves, not visiting or visited. Every one H. knows is absent,
and I know no one. H. tells me of the added triumph since the repulse of
Sherman in December, and the one paper published here shouts victory as
much as its gradually diminishing size will allow. Paper is a serious
want. There is a great demand for envelopes in the office where H. is. He
found and bought a lot of thick and smooth colored paper, cut a tin
pattern, and we have whiled away some long evenings making envelopes. I
have put away a package of the best to look at when we are old. The books
I brought from Arkansas have proved a treasure, but we can get no more. I
went to the only book-store open; there were none but Mrs. Stowe's "Sunny
Memories of Foreign Lands." The clerk said I could have that cheap,
because he couldn't sell her books, so I am reading it now. The monotony
has only been broken by letters from friends here and there in the
Confederacy. One of these letters tells of a Federal raid and says, "But
the worst thing was, they would take every tooth-brush in the house,
because we can't buy any more; and one cavalry man put my sister's new
bonnet on his horse, and said 'Get up, Jack,' and her bonnet was gone."
_Feb. 25th, 1863_.--A long gap in my journal, because H. has been ill unto
death with typhoid fever. I nearly broke down from loss of sleep, there
being no one to relieve me. It was terrible to be alone at night with a
patient in delirium, and no one within call. To wake Martha was simply
impossible. I got the best doctor here, but when convalescence began the
question of food was a trial. I got with great difficulty two chickens.
The doctor made the drug-store sell two of their six bottles of port; he
said his patient's life depended on it. An egg is a rare and precious
thing. Meanwhile the Federal fleet has been gathering, has anchored at the
bend, and shells are thrown in at intervals.
_March 20th_.--The slow shelling of Vicksburg goes on all the time, and we
have grown indifferent. It does not at present interrupt or interfere with
daily avocations, but I suspect they are only getting the range of
different points; and when they have them all complete, showers of shot
will rain on us all at once. Non-combatants have been ordered to leave or
prepare accordingly. Those who are to stay are having caves built.
Cave-digging has become a regular business; prices range from twenty to
fifty dollars, according to size of cave. Two diggers worked at ours a
week and charged thirty dollars. It is well made in the hill that slopes
just in the rear of the house, and well propped with thick posts, as they
all are. It has a shelf, also, for holding a light or water. When we went
in this evening and sat down, the earthy, suffocating feeling, as of a
living tomb, was dreadful to me. I fear I shall risk death outside rather
then melt in that dark furnace. The hills are so honeycombed with caves
that the streets look like avenues in a cemetery. The hill called the
Sky-parlor has become quite a fashionable resort for the few upper-circle
families left here. Some officers are quartered there, and there is a band
and a field-glass. Last evening we also climbed the hill to watch the
shelling, but found the view not so good as on a quiet hill nearer home.
Soon a lady began to talk to one of the officers: "It is such folly for
them to waste their ammunition like that. How can they ever take a town
that has such advantages for defense and protection as this? We'll just
burrow into these hills and let them batter away as hard as they please."
"You are right, madam; and besides, when our women are so willing to brave
death and endure discomfort, how can we ever be conquered?"
Soon she looked over with significant glances to where we stood, and began
to talk at H.
"The only drawback," she said, "are the contemptible men who are staying
at home in comfort when they ought to be in the army if they had a spark
of honor."
I cannot repeat all, but it was the usual tirade. It is strange I have met
no one yet who seems to comprehend an honest difference of opinion, and
stranger yet that the ordinary rules of good breeding are now so entirely
ignored. As the spring comes on one has the craving for fresh, green food
that a monotonous diet produces. There was a bed of radishes and onions in
the garden, that were a real blessing. An onion salad, dressed only with
salt, vinegar, and pepper, seemed a dish fit for a king, but last night
the soldiers quartered near made a raid on the garden and took them all.
_April 2d, 1863_.--We have had to move, and have thus lost our cave. The
owner of the house suddenly returned and notified us that he intended to
bring his family back; didn't think there'd be any siege. The cost of the
cave could go for the rent. That means he has got tired of the Confederacy
and means to stay here and thus get out of it. This house was the only one
to be had. It was built by ex-Senator G., and is so large our tiny
household is lost in it. We only use the lower floor. The bell is often
rung by persons who take it for a hotel and come beseeching food at any
price. To-day one came who would not be denied. "We do not keep a hotel,
but would willingly feed hungry soldiers if we had the food." "I have been
traveling all night and am starving; will pay any price for just bread." I
went to the dining-room and found some biscuits, and set out two, with a
large piece of corn-bread, a small piece of bacon, some nice sirup, and a
pitcher of water. I locked the door of the safe and left him to enjoy his
lunch. After he left I found he had broken open the safe and taken the
remaining biscuits.
_April 28th, 1863_.--What shall we eat? what shall we drink? and
wherewithal shall we be clothed? We have no prophet of the Lord at whose
prayer the meal and oil will not waste. As to wardrobe, I have learned to
darn like an artist. Making shoes is now another accomplishment. Mine were
in tatters. H. came across a moth-eaten pair that he bought me, giving ten
dollars, I think, and they fell into rags when I tried to wear them; but
the soles were good, and that has helped me to shoes. A pair of old
coat-sleeves--nothing is thrown away now--was in my trunk. I cut an exact
pattern from my old shoes, laid it on the sleeves, and cut out thus good
uppers and sewed them carefully; then soaked the soles and sewed the cloth
to them. I am so proud of these home-made shoes that I think I'll put them
in a glass case when the war is over, as an heirloom. H. says he has come
to have an abiding faith that everything he needs to wear will come out of
that trunk while the war lasts. It is like a fairy-casket. I have but a
dozen pins remaining, I gave so many away. Every time these are used they
are straightened and kept from rust. All these curious labors are
performed while the shells are leisurely screaming through the air; but as
long as we are out of range we don't worry. For many nights we have had
but little sleep because the Federal gun-boats have been running past the
batteries. The uproar when this is happening is phenomenal. The first
night the thundering artillery burst the bars of sleep, we thought it an
attack by the river. To get into garments and rush upstairs was the work
of a moment. From the upper gallery we have a fine view of the river, and
soon a red glare lit up the scene and showed a small boat towing two large
barges, gliding by. The Confederates had set fire to a house near the
bank. Another night, eight boats ran by, throwing a shower of shot, and
two burning houses made the river clear as day. One of the batteries has a
remarkable gun they call "Whistling Dick," because of the screeching,
whistling sound it gives, and certainly it does sound like a tortured
thing. Added to all this is the indescribable Confederate yell, which is a
soul-harrowing sound to hear. I have gained respect for the mechanism of
the human ear, which stands it all without injury. The streets are seldom
quiet at night; even the dragging about of cannon makes a din in these
echoing gullies. The other night we were on the gallery till the last of
the eight boats got by. Next day a friend said to H., "It was a wonder you
didn't have your heads taken off last night. I passed and saw them
stretched over the gallery, and grape-shot were whizzing up the street
just on a level with you." The double roar of batteries and boats was so
great, we never noticed the whizzing. Yesterday the _Cincinnati_ attempted
to go by in daylight, but was disabled and sunk. It was a pitiful sight;
we could not see the finale, though we saw her rendered helpless.