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[Illustration: QUESTIONING A PRISONER.]
FAMOUS ADVENTURES
AND PRISON ESCAPES
OF THE CIVIL WAR
[Illustration]
NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO.
1913
Copyright 1885, 1888, 1889, 1890, 1891, 1893, by
THE CENTURY CO.
CONTENTS
PAGE
WAR DIARY OF A UNION WOMAN IN THE SOUTH 1
THE LOCOMOTIVE CHASE IN GEORGIA 83
A ROMANCE OF MORGAN'S ROUGH-RIDERS 116
COLONEL ROSE'S TUNNEL AT LIBBY PRISON 184
A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL OUT OF DIXIE 243
ESCAPE OF GENERAL BRECKINRIDGE 298
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
QUESTIONING A PRISONER Frontispiece
THE LOCOMOTIVE CHASE 85
GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN 117
MAP OF THE MORGAN RAID 118
THE FARMER FROM CALFKILLER CREEK 123
GENERAL DUKE TESTS THE PIES 125
HOSPITALITIES OF THE FARM 131
LOOKING FOR THE FOOTPRINTS OF THE VAN 137
CORRIDOR AND CELLS IN THE OHIO STATE PENITENTIARY--CAPTAIN
HINES'S CELL 161
EXTERIOR OF THE PRISON--EXIT FROM TUNNEL 163
WITHIN THE WOODEN GATE 167
OVER THE PRISON WALL 171
"HURRY UP, MAJOR!" 175
CAPTAIN HINES OBJECTS 178
COLONEL THOMAS E. ROSE 185
A CORNER OF LIBBY PRISON 187
LIBBY PRISON IN 1865 189
MAJOR A.G. HAMILTON 191
LIBBY PRISON IN 1884 197
LIBERTY! 223
FIGHTING THE RATS 230
SECTION OF INTERIOR OF LIBBY PRISON AND TUNNEL 233
GROUND-PLAN OF LIBBY PRISON AND SURROUNDINGS 235
LIEUTENANTS E.E. SILL AND A.T. LAMSON 255
WE ARRIVE AT HEADEN'S 263
THE ESCAPE OF HEADEN 271
GREENVILLE JAIL 277
PINK BISHOP AT THE STILL 283
ARRIVAL HOME OF THE BAPTIST MINISTER 285
SURPRISED AT MRS. KITCHEN'S 291
THE MEETING WITH THE SECOND OHIO HEAVY ARTILLERY 295
SAND AS A DEFENSE AGAINST MOSQUITOS 307
SEARCHING FOR TURTLES' EGGS 310
THROUGH A SHALLOW LAGOON 313
EXCHANGING THE BOAT FOR THE SLOOP 315
OVER A CORAL-REEF 325
A ROUGH NIGHT IN THE GULF STREAM 331
FAMOUS ADVENTURES AND PRISON ESCAPES OF THE CIVIL WAR
WAR DIARY OF A UNION WOMAN IN THE SOUTH
EDITED BY G.W. CABLE
The following diary was originally written in lead-pencil and in a book
the leaves of which were too soft to take ink legibly. I have it direct
from the hands of its writer, a lady whom I have had the honor to know
for nearly thirty years. For good reasons the author's name is omitted,
and the initials of people and the names of places are sometimes
fictitiously given. Many of the persons mentioned were my own
acquaintances and friends. When, some twenty years afterward, she first
resolved to publish it, she brought me a clear, complete copy in ink. It
had cost much trouble, she said; for much of the pencil writing had been
made under such disadvantages and was so faint that at times she could
decipher it only under direct sunlight. She had succeeded, however, in
making a copy, _verbatim_ except for occasional improvement in the
grammatical form of a sentence, or now and then the omission, for
brevity's sake, of something unessential. The narrative has since been
severely abridged to bring it within magazine limits.
In reading this diary one is much charmed with its constant
understatement of romantic and perilous incidents and conditions. But
the original penciled pages show that, even in copying, the strong bent
of the writer to be brief has often led to the exclusion of facts that
enhance the interest of exciting situations, and sometimes the omission
robs her own heroism of due emphasis. I have restored one example of
this in a foot-note following the perilous voyage down the Mississippi.
G.W. CABLE.
I
SECESSION
_New Orleans, Dec. 1, 1860._--I understand it now. Keeping journals is
for those who cannot, or dare not, speak out. So I shall set up a
journal, being only a rather lonely young girl in a very small and hated
minority. On my return here in November, after a foreign voyage and
absence of many months, I found myself behind in knowledge of the
political conflict, but heard the dread sounds of disunion and war
muttered in threatening tones. Surely no native-born woman loves her
country better than I love America. The blood of one of its
Revolutionary patriots flows in my veins, and it is the Union for which
he pledged his "life, fortune, and sacred honor" that I love, not any
divided or special section of it. So I have been reading attentively
and seeking light from foreigners and natives on all questions at issue.
Living from birth in slave countries, both foreign and American, and
passing through one slave insurrection in early childhood, the saddest
and also the pleasantest features of slavery have been familiar. If the
South goes to war for slavery, slavery is doomed in this country. To say
so is like opposing one drop to a roaring torrent.
_Sunday, Dec. ----, 1860._--In this season for peace I had hoped for a lull
in the excitement, yet this day has been full of bitterness. "Come, G.,"
said Mrs. ---- at breakfast, "leave _your_ church for to-day and come
with us to hear Dr. ---- on the situation. He will convince you." "It is
good to be convinced," I said; "I will go." The church was crowded to
suffocation with the elite of New Orleans. The preacher's text was,
"Shall we have fellowship with the stool of iniquity which frameth
mischief as a law?" ... The sermon was over at last, and then followed a
prayer.... Forever blessed be the fathers of the Episcopal Church for
giving us a fixed liturgy! When we met at dinner Mrs. F. exclaimed,
"Now, G., you heard him prove from the Bible that slavery is right and
that therefore secession is. Were you not convinced?" I said, "I was so
busy thinking how completely it proved too that Brigham Young is right
about polygamy that it quite weakened the force of the argument for me."
This raised a laugh, and covered my retreat.
_Jan. 26, 1861._--The solemn boom of cannon to-day announced that the
convention have passed the ordinance of secession. We must take a reef
in our patriotism and narrow it down to State limits. Mine still sticks
out all around the borders of the State. It will be bad if New Orleans
should secede from Louisiana and set up for herself. Then indeed I would
be "cabined, cribbed, confined." The faces in the house are jubilant
to-day. Why is it so easy for them and not for me to "ring out the old,
ring in the new"? I am out of place.
_Jan. 28, Monday._--Sunday has now got to be a day of special
excitement. The gentlemen save all the sensational papers to regale us
with at the late Sunday breakfast. Rob opened the battle yesterday
morning by saying to me in his most aggressive manner, "G., I believe
these are your sentiments"; and then he read aloud an article from the
"Journal des Debats" expressing in rather contemptuous terms the fact
that France will follow the policy of non-intervention. When I answered,
"Well, what do you expect? This is not their quarrel," he raved at me,
ending by a declaration that he would willingly pay my passage to
foreign parts if I would like to go. "Rob," said his father, "keep cool;
don't let that threat excite you. Cotton is king. Just wait till they
feel the pinch a little; their tone will change." I went to Trinity
Church. Some Union people who are not Episcopalians go there now because
the pastor has not so much chance to rail at the Lord when things are
not going to suit. But yesterday was a marked Sunday. The usual prayer
for the President and Congress was changed to the "governor and people
of this commonwealth and their representatives in convention assembled."
The city was very lively and noisy this evening with rockets and lights
in honor of secession. Mrs. F., in common with the neighbors,
illuminated. We walked out to see the houses of others gleaming amid the
dark shrubbery like a fairy scene. The perfect stillness added to the
effect, while the moon rose slowly with calm splendor. We hastened home
to dress for a soiree but on the stairs Edith said, "G., first come and
help me dress Phoebe and Chloe [the negro servants]. There is a ball
to-night in aristocratic colored society. This is Chloe's first
introduction to New Orleans circles, and Henry Judson, Phoebe's husband,
gave five dollars for a ticket for her." Chloe is a recent purchase from
Georgia. We superintended their very stylish toilets, and Edith said,
"G., run into your room, please, and write a pass for Henry. Put Mr.
D.'s name to it." "Why, Henry is free," I said. "That makes no
difference; all colored people must have a pass if out late. They choose
a master for protection, and always carry his pass. Henry chose Mr. D.,
but he's lost the pass he had."
II
THE VOLUNTEERS--FORT SUMTER
_Feb. 24, 1861._--The toil of the week is ended. Nearly a month has
passed since I wrote here. Events have crowded upon one another. On the
4th the cannon boomed in honor of Jefferson Davis's election, and day
before yesterday Washington's birthday was made the occasion of another
grand display and illumination, in honor of the birth of a new nation
and the breaking of that Union which he labored to cement. We drove to
the race-course to see the review of troops. A flag was presented to the
Washington Artillery by ladies. Senator Judah Benjamin made an
impassioned speech. The banner was orange satin on one side, crimson
silk on the other, the pelican and brood embroidered in pale green and
gold. Silver crossed cannon surmounted it, orange-colored fringe
surrounded it, and crimson tassels drooped from it. It was a brilliant,
unreal scene; with military bands clashing triumphant music, elegant
vehicles, high-stepping horses, and lovely women richly appareled.
Wedding-cards have been pouring in till the contagion has reached us;
Edith will be married next Thursday. The wedding-dress is being
fashioned, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen have arrived. Edith has
requested me to be special mistress of ceremonies on Thursday evening,
and I have told this terrible little rebel, who talks nothing but blood
and thunder, yet faints at the sight of a worm, that if I fill that
office no one shall mention war or politics during the whole evening, on
pain of expulsion.
_March 10, 1861._--The excitement in this house has risen to fever-heat
during the past week. The four gentlemen have each a different plan for
saving the country, and now that the bridal bouquets have faded, the
three ladies have again turned to public affairs; Lincoln's inauguration
and the story of the disguise in which he traveled to Washington is a
never-ending source of gossip. The family board being the common forum,
each gentleman as he appears first unloads his pockets of papers from
all the Southern States, and then his overflowing heart to his eager
female listeners, who in turn relate, inquire, sympathize, or cheer. If
I dare express a doubt that the path to victory will be a flowery one,
eyes flash, cheeks burn, and tongues clatter, till all are checked up
suddenly by a warning for "Order, order!" from the amiable lady
presiding. Thus we swallow politics with every meal. We take a mouthful
and read a telegram, one eye on table, the other on the paper. One must
be made of cool stuff to keep calm and collected, but I say but little.
This war fever has banished small talk. Through all the black servants
move about quietly, never seeming to notice that this is all about them.
"How can you speak so plainly before them?" I say.
"Why, what matter? They know that we shall keep the whip-handle."
_April 13, 1861._--More than a month has passed since the last date
here. This afternoon I was seated on the floor covered with loveliest
flowers, arranging a floral offering for the fair, when the gentlemen
arrived and with papers bearing news of the fall of Fort Sumter, which,
at her request, I read to Mrs. F.
_April 20._--The last few days have glided away in a halo of beauty. But
nobody has time or will to enjoy it. War, war! is the one idea. The
children play only with toy cannons and soldiers; the oldest inhabitant
goes by every day with his rifle to practice; the public squares are
full of companies drilling, and are now the fashionable resorts. We have
been told that it is best for women to learn how to shoot too, so as to
protect themselves when the men have all gone to battle. Every evening
after dinner we adjourn to the back lot and fire at a target with
pistols. Yesterday I dined at Uncle Ralph's. Some members of the bar
were present, and were jubilant about their brand-new Confederacy. It
would soon be the grandest government ever known. Uncle Ralph said
solemnly, "No, gentlemen; the day we seceded the star of our glory set."
The words sunk into my mind like a knell, and made me wonder at the mind
that could recognize that and yet adhere to the doctrine of secession.
In the evening I attended a farewell gathering at a friend's whose
brothers are to leave this week for Richmond. There was music. No minor
chord was permitted.
III
TRIBULATION
_April 25._--Yesterday I went with Cousin E. to have her picture taken.
The picture-galleries are doing a thriving business. Many companies are
ordered off to take possession of Fort Pickens (Florida), and all seem
to be leaving sweethearts behind them. The crowd was in high spirits;
they don't dream that any destinies will be spoiled. When I got home
Edith was reading from the daily paper of the dismissal of Miss G. from
her place as teacher for expressing abolition sentiments, and that she
would be ordered to leave the city. Soon a lady came with a paper
setting forth that she has established a "company"--we are nothing if
not military--for making lint and getting stores of linen to supply the
hospitals.
My name went down. If it hadn't, my spirit would have been wounded as
with sharp spears before night. Next came a little girl with a
subscription paper to get a flag for a certain company. The little
girls, especially the pretty ones, are kept busy trotting around with
subscription lists. Latest of all came little Guy, Mr. F.'s youngest
clerk, the pet of the firm as well as of his home, a mere boy of
sixteen. Such senseless sacrifices seem a sin. He chattered brightly,
but lingered about, saying good-by. He got through it bravely until
Edith's husband incautiously said, "You didn't kiss your little
sweetheart," as he always called Ellie, who had been allowed to sit up.
He turned and suddenly broke into agonizing sobs and then ran down the
steps.
_May 10._--I am tired and ashamed of myself. Last week I attended a
meeting of the lint society to hand in the small contribution of linen I
had been able to gather. We scraped lint till it was dark. A paper was
shown, entitled the "Volunteer's Friend," started by the girls of the
high school, and I was asked to help the girls with it. I positively
declined. To-day I was pressed into service to make red flannel
cartridge-bags for ten-inch columbiads. I basted while Mrs. S. sewed,
and I felt ashamed to think that I had not the moral courage to say, "I
don't approve of your war and won't help you, particularly in the
murderous part of it."
_May 27._--This has been a scenic Sabbath. Various companies about to
depart for Virginia occupied the prominent churches to have their flags
consecrated. The streets were resonant with the clangor of drums and
trumpets. E. and myself went to Christ Church because the Washington
Artillery were to be there.
_June 13._--To-day has been appointed a Fast Day. I spent the morning
writing a letter on which I put my first Confederate postage-stamp. It
is of a brown color and has a large 5 in the center. To-morrow must be
devoted to all my foreign correspondents before the expected blockade
cuts us off.
_June 29._--I attended a fine luncheon yesterday at one of the public
schools. A lady remarked to a school official that the cost of
provisions in the Confederacy was getting very high, butter, especially,
being scarce and costly. "Never fear, my dear madam," he replied. "Texas
alone can furnish butter enough to supply the whole Confederacy; we'll
soon be getting it from there." It's just as well to have this sublime
confidence.
_July 15._--The quiet of midsummer reigns, but ripples of excitement
break around us as the papers tell of skirmishes and attacks here and
there in Virginia. "Rich Mountain" and "Carrick's Ford" were the last.
"You see," said Mrs. D. at breakfast to-day, "my prophecy is coming true
that Virginia will be the seat of war." "Indeed," I burst out,
forgetting my resolution not to argue, "you may think yourselves lucky
if this war turns out to have any seat in particular."
So far, no one especially connected with me has gone to fight. How glad
I am for his mother's sake that Rob's lameness will keep him at home.
Mr. F., Mr. S., and Uncle Ralph are beyond the age for active service,
and Edith says Mr. D. can't go now. She is very enthusiastic about other
people's husbands being enrolled, and regrets that her Alex is not
strong enough to defend his country and his rights.
_July 22._--What a day! I feel like one who has been out in a high wind,
and cannot get my breath. The newsboys are still shouting with their
extras, "Battle of Bull's Run! List of the killed! Battle of Manassas!
List of the wounded!" Tender-hearted Mrs. F. was sobbing so she could
not serve the tea; but nobody cared for tea. "O G.!" she said, "three
thousand of our own, dear Southern boys are lying out there." "My dear
Fannie," spoke Mr. F., "they are heroes now. They died in a glorious
cause, and it is not in vain. This will end it. The sacrifice had to be
made, but those killed have gained immortal names." Then Rob rushed in
with a new extra, reading of the spoils captured, and grief was
forgotten. Words cannot paint the excitement. Rob capered about and
cheered; Edith danced around ringing the dinner-bell and shouting,
"Victory!" Mrs. F. waved a small Confederate flag, while she wiped her
eyes, and Mr. D. hastened to the piano and in his most brilliant style
struck up "Dixie," followed by "My Maryland" and the "Bonnie Blue Flag."
"Do not look so gloomy, G.," whispered Mr. S. "You should be happy
to-night; for, as Mr. F. says, now we shall have peace."
"And is that the way you think of the men of your own blood and race?" I
replied. But an utter scorn came over me and choked me, and I walked out
of the room. What proof is there in this dark hour that they are not
right? Only the emphatic answer of my own soul. To-morrow I will pack my
trunk and accept the invitation to visit at Uncle Ralph's country house.
_Sept. 25._--When I opened the door of Mrs. F.'s room on my return, the
rattle of two sewing-machines and a blaze of color met me.
"Ah, G., you are just in time to help us; these are coats for Jeff
Thompson's men. All the cloth in the city is exhausted; these
flannel-lined oil-cloth table-covers are all we could obtain to make
overcoats for Thompson's poor boys. They will be very warm and
serviceable."
"Serviceable--yes! The Federal army will fly when they see those coats!
I only wish I could be with the regiment when these are shared around."
Yet I helped make them.
Seriously, I wonder if any soldiers will ever wear these remarkable
coats--the most bewildering combination of brilliant, intense reds,
greens, yellows, and blues in big flowers meandering over as vivid
grounds; and as no table-cover was large enough to make a coat, the
sleeves of each were of a different color and pattern. However, the
coats were duly finished. Then we set to work on gray pantaloons, and I
have just carried a bundle to an ardent young lady who wishes to assist.
A slight gloom is settling down, and the inmates here are not quite so
cheerfully confident as in July.
IV
A BELEAGUERED CITY
_Oct. 22._--When I came to breakfast this morning Rob was capering over
another victory--Ball's Bluff. He would read me, "We pitched the Yankees
over the bluff," and ask me in the next breath to go to the theater
this evening. I turned on the poor fellow. "Don't tell me about your
victories. You vowed by all your idols that the blockade would be raised
by October 1, and I notice the ships are still serenely anchored below
the city."
"G., you are just as pertinacious yourself in championing your opinions.
What sustains you when nobody agrees with you?"
_Oct. 28._--When I dropped in at Uncle Ralph's last evening to welcome
them back, the whole family were busy at a great center-table copying
sequestration acts for the Confederate Government. The property of all
Northerners and Unionists is to be sequestrated, and Uncle Ralph can
hardly get the work done fast enough. My aunt apologized for the rooms
looking chilly; she feared to put the carpets down, as the city might be
taken and burned by the Federals. "We are living as much packed up as
possible. A signal has been agreed upon, and the instant the army
approaches we shall be off to the country again."
Great preparations are being made for defense. At several other places
where I called the women were almost hysterical. They seemed to look
forward to being blown up with shot and shell, finished with cold steel,
or whisked off to some Northern prison. When I got home Edith and Mr. D.
had just returned also.
"Alex," said Edith, "I was up at your orange-lots to-day, and the sour
oranges are dropping to the ground, while they cannot get lemons for our
sick soldiers."
"That's my kind, considerate wife," replied Mr. D.
"Why didn't I think of that before? Jim shall fill some barrels
to-morrow and take them to the hospitals as a present from you."
_Nov. 10._--Surely this year will ever be memorable to me for its
perfection of natural beauty. Never was sunshine such pure gold, or
moonlight such transparent silver. The beautiful custom prevalent here
of decking the graves with flowers on All Saints' day was well
fulfilled, so profuse and rich were the blossoms. On All-hallow eve Mrs.
S. and myself visited a large cemetery. The chrysanthemums lay like
great masses of snow and flame and gold in every garden we passed, and
were piled on every costly tomb and lowly grave. The battle of Manassas
robed many of our women in mourning, and some of those who had no graves
to deck were weeping silently as they walked through the scented
avenues.
A few days ago Mrs. E. arrived here. She is a widow, of Natchez, a
friend of Mrs. F.'s, and is traveling home with the dead body of her
eldest son, killed at Manassas. She stopped two days waiting for a boat,
and begged me to share her room and read her to sleep, saying she
couldn't be alone since he was killed; she feared her mind would give
way. So I read all the comforting chapters to be found till she dropped
into forgetfulness, but the recollection of those weeping mothers in the
cemetery banished sleep for me.
_Nov. 26._--The lingering summer is passing into those misty autumn days
I love so well, when there is gold and fire above and around us. But the
glory of the natural and the gloom of the moral world agree not well
together. This morning Mrs. F. came to my room in dire distress. "You
see," she said, "cold weather is coming on fast, and our poor fellows
are lying out at night with nothing to cover them. There is a wail for
blankets, but there is not a blanket in town. I have gathered up all the
spare bed-clothing, and now want every available rug or table-cover in
the house. Can't I have yours, G.? We must make these small sacrifices
of comfort and elegance, you know, to secure independence and freedom."
"Very well," I said, denuding the table. "This may do for a drummer
boy."
_Dec. 26, 1861._--The foul weather cleared off bright and cool in time
for Christmas. There is a midwinter lull in the movement of troops. In
the evening we went to the grand bazaar in the St. Louis Hotel, got up
to clothe the soldiers. This bazaar has furnished the gayest, most
fashionable war-work yet, and has kept social circles in a flutter of
pleasant, heroic excitement all through December. Everything beautiful
or rare garnered in the homes of the rich was given for exhibition, and
in some cases for raffle and sale. There were many fine paintings,
statues, bronzes, engravings, gems, laces--in fact, heirlooms and
bric-a-brac of all sorts. There were many lovely creole girls present,
in exquisite toilets, passing to and fro through the decorated rooms,
listening to the band clash out the Anvil Chorus.
_Jan. 2, 1862._--I am glad enough to bid '61 good-by. Most miserable
year of my life! What ages of thought and experience have I not lived in
it!
The city authorities have been searching houses for firearms. It is a
good way to get more guns, and the homes of those men suspected of
being Unionists were searched first. Of course they went to Dr. B.'s. He
met them with his own delightful courtesy. "Wish to search for arms?
Certainly, gentlemen." He conducted them all through the house with
smiling readiness, and after what seemed a very thorough search bowed
them politely out. His gun was all the time safely reposing between the
canvas folds of a cot-bed which leaned folded up together against the
wall, in the very room where they had ransacked the closets. Queerly,
the rebel families have been the ones most anxious to conceal all
weapons. They have dug graves quietly at night in the back yards, and
carefully wrapping the weapons, buried them out of sight. Every man
seems to think he will have some private fighting to do to protect his
family.
V
MARRIED
_Friday, Jan. 24, 1862._ (_On Steamboat W., Mississippi River._)--With a
changed name I open you once more, my journal. It was a sad time to wed,
when one knew not how long the expected conscription would spare the
bridegroom. The women-folk knew how to sympathize with a girl expected
to prepare for her wedding in three days, in a blockaded city, and about
to go far from any base of supplies. They all rallied round me with
tokens of love and consideration, and sewed, shopped, mended, and
packed, as if sewing soldier clothes. And they decked the whole house
and the church with flowers. Music breathed, wine sparkled, friends came
and went. It seemed a dream, and comes up now again out of the afternoon
sunshine where I sit on deck. The steamboat slowly plows its way through
lumps of floating ice,--a novel sight to me,--and I look forward
wondering whether the new people I shall meet will be as fierce about
the war as those in New Orleans. That past is to be all forgotten and
forgiven; I understood thus the kindly acts that sought to brighten the
threshold of a new life.
_Feb. 15._ (_Village of X._)--We reached Arkansas Landing at nightfall.
Mr. Y., the planter who owns the landing, took us right up to his
residence. He ushered me into a large room where a couple of candles
gave a dim light, and close to them, and sewing as if on a race with
Time, sat Mrs. Y. and a little negro girl, who was so black and sat so
stiff and straight she looked like an ebony image. This was a large
plantation; the Y.'s knew H. very well, and were very kind and cordial
in their welcome and congratulations. Mrs. Y. apologized for continuing
her work; the war had pushed them this year in getting the negroes
clothed, and she had to sew by dim candles, as they could obtain no more
oil. She asked if there were any new fashions in New Orleans.
Next morning we drove over to our home in this village. It is the
county-seat, and was, till now, a good place for the practice of H.'s
profession. It lies on the edge of a lovely lake. The adjacent planters
count their slaves by the hundreds. Some of them live with a good deal
of magnificence, using service of plate, having smoking-rooms for the
gentlemen built off the house, and entertaining with great hospitality.
The Baptists, Episcopalians, and Methodists hold services on alternate
Sundays in the court-house. All the planters and many others near the
lake shore keep a boat at their landing, and a raft for crossing
vehicles and horses. It seemed very piquant at first, this taking our
boat to go visiting, and on moonlight nights it was charming. The woods
around are lovelier than those in Louisiana, though one misses the
moaning of the pines. There is fine fishing and hunting, but these
cotton estates are not so pleasant to visit as sugar plantations.
But nothing else has been so delightful as, one morning, my first sight
of snow and a wonderful new, white world.
_Feb. 27._--The people here have hardly felt the war yet. There are but
two classes. The planters and the professional men form one; the very
poor villagers the other. There is no middle class. Ducks and
partridges, squirrels and fish, are to be had. H. has bought me a nice
pony, and cantering along the shore of the lake in the sunset is a
panacea for mental worry.
VI
HOW IT WAS IN ARKANSAS
_March 11, 1862._--The serpent has entered our Eden. The rancor and
excitement of New Orleans have invaded this place. If an incautious word
betrays any want of sympathy with popular plans, one is "traitorous,"
"ungrateful," "crazy." If one remains silent and controlled, then one is
"phlegmatic," "cool-blooded," "unpatriotic." Cool-blooded! Heavens! if
they only knew. It is very painful to see lovable and intelligent women
rave till the blood mounts to face and brain. The immediate cause of
this access of war fever has been the battle of Pea Ridge. They scout
the idea that Price and Van Dorn have been completely worsted. Those who
brought the news were speedily told what they ought to say. "No, it is
only a serious check; they must have more men sent forward at once. This
country must do its duty." So the women say another company _must_ be
raised.
We were guests at a dinner-party yesterday. Mrs. A. was very talkative.
"Now, ladies, you must all join in with a vim and help equip another
company."
"Mrs. L.," she said, turning to me, "are you not going to send your
husband? Now use a young bride's influence and persuade him; he would be
elected one of the officers." "Mrs. A.," I replied, longing to spring up
and throttle her, "the Bible says, 'When a man hath married a new wife,
he shall not go to war for one year, but remain at home and cheer up his
wife.'"
"Well, H.," I questioned, as we walked home after crossing the lake,
"can you stand the pressure, or shall you be forced into volunteering?"
"Indeed," he replied, "I will not be bullied into enlisting by women, or
by men. I will sooner take my chance of conscription and feel honest
about it. You know my attachments, my interests are here; these are my
people. I could never fight against them; but my judgment disapproves
their course, and the result will inevitably be against us."
This morning the only Irishman left in the village presented himself to
H. He has been our wood-sawyer, gardener, and factotum, but having
joined the new company, his time recently has been taken up with
drilling. H. and Mr. R. feel that an extensive vegetable garden must be
prepared while he is here to assist, or we shall be short of food, and
they sent for him yesterday.
"So, Mike, you are really going to be a soldier?"
"Yes, sor; but faith, Mr. L., I don't see the use of me going to shtop a
bullet when sure an' I'm willin' for it to go where it plazes."
_March 18, 1862._--There has been unusual gaiety in this little village
the past few days. The ladies from the surrounding plantations went to
work to get up a festival to equip the new company. As Annie and myself
are both brides recently from the city, requisition was made upon us for
engravings, costumes, music, garlands, and so forth. Annie's heart was
in the work; not so with me. Nevertheless, my pretty things were
captured, and shone with just as good a grace last evening as if
willingly lent. The ball was a merry one. One of the songs sung was
"Nellie Gray," in which the most distressing feature of slavery is
bewailed so pitifully. To sing this at a festival for raising money to
clothe soldiers fighting to perpetuate that very thing was strange.
_March 20, 1862._--A man professing to act by General Hindman's orders
is going through the country impressing horses and mules. The overseer
of a certain estate came to inquire of H. if he had not a legal right
to protect the property from seizure. Mr. L. said yes, unless the agent
could show some better credentials than his bare word. This answer soon
spread about, and the overseer returned to report that it excited great
indignation, especially among the company of new volunteers. H. was
pronounced a traitor, and they declared that no one so untrue to the
Confederacy should live there. When H. related the circumstance at
dinner, his partner, Mr. R., became very angry, being ignorant of H.'s
real opinions. He jumped up in a rage and marched away to the village
thoroughfare. There he met a batch of the volunteers, and said, "We know
what you have said of us, and I have come to tell you that you are
liars, and you know where to find us."
Of course I expected a difficulty; but the evening passed, and we
retired undisturbed. Not long afterward a series of indescribable sounds
broke the stillness of the night, and the tramp of feet was heard
outside the house. Mr. R. called out, "It's a serenade, H. Get up and
bring out all the wine you have." Annie and I peeped through the parlor
window, and lo! it was the company of volunteers and a diabolical band
composed of bones and broken-winded brass instruments. They piped and
clattered and whined for some time, and then swarmed in, while we ladies
retreated and listened to the clink of glasses.
_March 22._--H., Mr. R., and Mike have been very busy the last few days
getting the acre of kitchen-garden plowed and planted. The stay-law has
stopped all legal business, and they have welcomed this work. But to-day
a thunderbolt fell in our household. Mr. R. came in and announced that
he had agreed to join the company of volunteers. Annie's Confederate
principles would not permit her to make much resistance, and she has
been sewing and mending as fast as possible to get his clothes ready,
stopping now and then to wipe her eyes. Poor Annie! She and Max have
been married only a few months longer than we have; but a noble sense of
duty animates and sustains her.
VII
THE FIGHT FOR FOOD AND CLOTHING
_April 1._--The last ten days have brought changes in the house. Max R.
left with the company to be mustered in, leaving with us his weeping
Annie. Hardly were her spirits somewhat composed when her brother
arrived from Natchez to take her home. This morning he, Annie, and
Reeney, the black handmaiden, posted off. Out of seven of us only H.,
myself, and Aunt Judy are left. The absence of Reeney will be not the
least noted. She was as precious an imp as any Topsy ever was. Her
tricks were endless and her innocence of them amazing. When sent out to
bring in eggs she would take them from nests where hens were hatching,
and embryo chickens would be served up at breakfast, while Reeney stood
by grinning to see them opened; but when accused she was imperturbable.
"Laws, Mis' L., I nebber done bin nigh dem hens. Mis' Annie, you can go
count dem dere eggs." That when counted they were found minus the
number she had brought had no effect on her stolid denial. H. has
plenty to do finishing the garden all by himself, but the time rather
drags for me.
_April 13, 1862._--This morning I was sewing up a rent in H.'s garden
coat, when Aunt Judy rushed in.
"Laws! Mis' L., here's Mr. Max and Mis' Annie done come back!" A buggy
was coming up with Max, Annie, and Reeney.
"Well, is the war over?" I asked.
"Oh, I got sick!" replied our returned soldier, getting slowly out of
the buggy.
He was very thin and pale, and explained that he took a severe cold
almost at once, had a mild attack of pneumonia, and the surgeon got him
his discharge as unfit for service. He succeeded in reaching Annie, and
a few days of good care made him strong enough to travel back home.
"I suppose, H., you've heard that Island No. 10 is gone?"
Yes, we had heard that much, but Max had the particulars, and an
exciting talk followed. At night H. said to me, "G., New Orleans will be
the next to go, you'll see, and I want to get there first; this
stagnation here will kill me."
_April 28._--This evening has been very lovely, but full of a sad
disappointment. H. invited me to drive. As we turned homeward he said:
"Well, my arrangements are completed. You can begin to pack your trunks
to-morrow, and I shall have a talk with Max."
Mr. R. and Annie were sitting on the gallery as I ran up the steps.
"Heard the news?" they cried.
"No. What news?"
"New Orleans is taken! All the boats have been run up the river to save
them. No more mails."
How little they knew what plans of ours this dashed away. But our
disappointment is truly an infinitesimal drop in the great waves of
triumph and despair surging to-night in thousands of hearts.
_April 30._--The last two weeks have glided quietly away without
incident except the arrival of new neighbors--Dr. Y., his wife, two
children, and servants. That a professional man prospering in Vicksburg
should come now to settle in this retired place looks queer. Max said:
"H., that man has come here to hide from the conscript officers. He has
brought no end of provisions, and is here for the war. He has chosen
well, for this county is so cleaned of men it won't pay to send the
conscript officers here."
Our stores are diminishing and cannot be replenished from without;
ingenuity and labor must evoke them. We have a fine garden in growth,
plenty of chickens, and hives of bees to furnish honey in lieu of sugar.
A good deal of salt meat has been stored in the smoke-house, and, with
fish from the lake, we expect to keep the wolf from the door. The season
for game is about over, but an occasional squirrel or duck comes to the
larder, though the question of ammunition has to be considered. What we
have may be all we can have, if the war lasts five years longer; and
they say they are prepared to hold out till the crack of doom. Food,
however, is not the only want. I never realized before the varied needs
of civilization. Every day something is _out_. Last week but two bars
of soap remained, so we began to save bones and ashes. Annie said: "Now
if we only had some china-berry trees here, we shouldn't need any other
grease. They are making splendid soap at Vicksburg with china-balls.
They just put the berries into the lye and it eats them right up and
makes a fine soap." I did long for some china-berries to make this
experiment. H. had laid in what seemed a good supply of kerosene, but it
is nearly gone, and we are down to two candles kept for an emergency.
Annie brought a receipt from Natchez for making candles of rosin and
wax, and with great forethought brought also the wick and rosin. So
yesterday we tried making candles. We had no molds, but Annie said the
latest style in Natchez was to make a waxen rope by dipping, then wrap
it round a corn-cob. But H. cut smooth blocks of wood about four inches
square, into which he set a polished cylinder about four inches high.
The waxen ropes were coiled round the cylinder like a serpent, with the
head raised about two inches; as the light burned down to the cylinder,
more of the rope was unwound. To-day the vinegar was found to be all
gone, and we have started to make some. For tyros we succeed pretty
well.
VIII
DROWNED OUT AND STARVED OUT
_May 9._--A great misfortune has come upon us all. For several days
every one has been uneasy about the unusual rise of the Mississippi and
about a rumor that the Federal forces had cut levees above to swamp the
country. There is a slight levee back of the village, and H. went
yesterday to examine it. It looked strong, and we hoped for the best.
About dawn this morning a strange gurgle woke me. It had a pleasing,
lulling effect. I could not fully rouse at first, but curiosity
conquered at last, and I called H.
"Listen to that running water. What is it?"
He sprung up, listened a second, and shouted: "Max, get up! The water is
on us!" They both rushed off to the lake for the skiff. The levee had
not broken. The water was running clean over it and through the garden
fence so rapidly that by the time I dressed and got outside Max was
paddling the pirogue they had brought in among the pea-vines, gathering
all the ripe peas left above the water. We had enjoyed one mess, and he
vowed we should have another.
H. was busy nailing a raft together while he had a dry place to stand
on. Annie and I, with Reeney, had to secure the chickens, and the back
piazza was given up to them. By the time a hasty breakfast was eaten the
water was in the kitchen. The stove and everything there had to be put
up in the dining-room. Aunt Judy and Reeney had likewise to move into
the house, their floor also being covered with water. The raft had to be
floated to the storehouse and a platform built, on which everything was
elevated. At evening we looked around and counted the cost. The garden
was utterly gone. Last evening we had walked round the strawberry-beds
that fringed the whole acre and tasted a few just ripe. The hives were
swamped. Many of the chickens were drowned. Sancho had been sent to
high ground, where he could get grass. In the village everything green
was swept away. Yet we were better off than many others; for this house,
being raised, we have escaped the water indoors. It just laves the edge
of the galleries.
_May 26._--During the past week we have lived somewhat like Venetians,
with a boat at the front steps and a raft at the back. Sunday H. and I
took skiff to church. The clergyman, who is also tutor at a planter's
across the lake, preached to the few who had arrived in skiffs. We shall
not try it again, it is so troublesome getting in and out at the
court-house steps. The imprisonment is hard to endure. It threatened to
make me really ill, so every evening H. lays a thick wrap in the
pirogue, I sit on it, and we row off to the ridge of dry land running
along the lake-shore and branching off to a strip of wood also out of
water. Here we disembark and march up and down till dusk. A great deal
of the wood got wet and had to be laid out to dry on the galleries, with
clothing, and everything that must be dried. One's own trials are
intensified by the worse suffering around that we can do nothing to
relieve.
Max has a puppy named after General Price. The gentlemen had both gone
up-town yesterday in the skiff when Annie and I heard little Price's
despairing cries from under the house, and we got on the raft to find
and save him. We wore light morning dresses and slippers, for shoes are
becoming precious. Annie donned a Shaker and I a broad hat. We got the
raft pushed out to the center of the grounds opposite the house, and
could see Price clinging to a post; the next move must be to navigate
the raft up to the side of the house and reach for Price. It sounds
easy; but poke around with our poles as wildly or as scientifically as
we might, the raft would not budge. The noonday sun was blazing right
overhead, and the muddy water running all over slippered feet and dainty
dresses. How long we stayed praying for rescue, yet wincing already at
the laugh that would come with it, I shall never know. It seemed like a
day before the welcome boat and the "Ha, ha!" of H. and Max were heard.
The confinement tells severely on all the animal life about us. Half the
chickens are dead and the other half sick.
The days drag slowly. We have to depend mainly on books to relieve the
tedium, for we have no piano; none of us like cards; we are very poor
chess-players, and the chess-set is incomplete. When we gather round the
one lamp--we dare not light any more--each one exchanges the gems of
thought or mirthful ideas he finds. Frequently the gnats and the
mosquitos are so bad we cannot read at all. This evening, till a strong
breeze blew them away, they were intolerable. Aunt Judy goes about in a
dignified silence, too full for words, only asking two or three times,
"W'at I done tole you fum de fust?" The food is a trial. This evening
the snaky candles lighted the glass and silver on the supper-table with
a pale gleam, and disclosed a frugal supper indeed--tea without milk
(for all the cows are gone), honey, and bread. A faint ray twinkled on
the water swishing against the house and stretching away into the dark
woods. It looked like civilization and barbarism met together. Just as
we sat down to it, some one passing in a boat shouted that Confederates
and Federals were fighting at Vicksburg.
_Monday, June 2._--On last Friday morning, just three weeks from the day
the water rose, signs of its falling began. Yesterday the ground
appeared, and a hard rain coming down at the same time washed off much
of the unwholesome debris. To-day is fine, and we went out without a
boat for a long walk.
_June 13._--Since the water ran off, we have, of course, been attacked
by swamp fever. H. succumbed first, then Annie, Max next, and then I.
Luckily, the new Dr. Y. had brought quinine with him, and we took heroic
doses. Such fever never burned in my veins before or sapped strength so
rapidly, though probably the want of good food was a factor. The two or
three other professional men have left. Dr. Y. alone remains. The roads
now being dry enough, H. and Max started on horseback, in different
directions, to make an exhaustive search for food supplies. H. got back
this evening with no supplies.
_June 15._--Max got back to-day. He started right off again to cross the
lake and interview the planters on that side, for they had not suffered
from overflow.
_June 16._--Max got back this morning. H. and he were in the parlor
talking and examining maps together till dinner-time. When that was over
they laid the matter before us. To buy provisions had proved impossible.
The planters across the lake had decided to issue rations of corn-meal
and pease to the villagers whose men had all gone to war, but they
utterly refused to sell anything. "They told me," said Max, "'We will
not see your family starve, Mr. R.; but with such numbers of slaves and
the village poor to feed, we can spare nothing for sale.'" "Well, of
course," said H., "we do not purpose to stay here and live on charity
rations. We must leave the place at all hazards. We have studied out
every route and made inquiries everywhere we went. We shall have to go
down the Mississippi in an open boat as far as Fetler's Landing (on the
eastern bank). There we can cross by land and put the boat into Steele's
Bayou, pass thence to the Yazoo River, from there to Chickasaw Bayou,
into McNutt's Lake, and land near my uncle's in Warren County."
_June 20._--As soon as our intended departure was announced, we were
besieged by requests for all sorts of things wanted in every
family--pins, matches, gunpowder, and ink. One of the last cases H. and
Max had before the stay-law stopped legal business was the settlement of
an estate that included a country store. The heirs had paid in chattels
of the store. These had remained packed in the office. The main contents
of the cases were hardware; but we found treasure indeed--a keg of
powder, a case of matches, a paper of pins, a bottle of ink. Red ink is
now made out of pokeberries. Pins are made by capping thorns with
sealing-wax, or using them as nature made them. These were articles
money could not get for us. We would give our friends a few matches to
save for the hour of tribulation. The paper of pins we divided evenly,
and filled a bank-box each with the matches. H. filled a tight tin case
apiece with powder for Max and himself and sold the rest, as we could
not carry any more on such a trip. Those who did not hear of this in
time offered fabulous prices afterward for a single pound. But money
has not its old attractions. Our preparations were delayed by Aunt Judy
falling sick of swamp fever.
_Friday, June 27._--As soon as the cook was up again, we resumed
preparations. We put all the clothing in order, and had it nicely done
up with the last of the soap and starch. "I wonder," said Annie, "when I
shall ever have nicely starched clothes after these? They had no starch
in Natchez or Vicksburg when I was there." We are now furbishing up
dresses suitable for such rough summer travel. While we sat at work
yesterday, the quiet of the clear, calm noon was broken by a low,
continuous roar like distant thunder. To-day we are told it was probably
cannon at Vicksburg. This is a great distance, I think, to have heard
it--over a hundred miles.
H. and Max have bought a large yawl and are busy on the lake-bank
repairing it and fitting it with lockers. Aunt Judy's master has been
notified when to send for her; a home for the cat Jeff has been engaged;
Price is dead, and Sancho sold. Nearly all the furniture is disposed of,
except things valued from association, which will be packed in H.'s
office and left with some one likely to stay through the war. It is
hardest to leave the books.