Tuesday, November 18th.
A note just came from mother, telling me that the most awful Yankees were coming to burn Linwood and take Port Hudson, and so this evening I must walk down to the cars with a chair to rest in until they came, and must certainly be in Clinton to-night. Delightful arrangement! I wrote to ask if she knew that my legs were of no more service to me than to her? Dr. Dortch has again been murdering me ... says perhaps I can stand by Sunday. If the Yankees come before—
Friday night, November 21st.
Lying on my face, as it were, with my poor elbows for a support, I try to pass away these lonely hours. For with the exception of old Mrs. Carter, who is downstairs, and the General, who is elsewhere, Anna and I are the only white people on the place. The cause of this heartless desertion is a grand display oftableaux vivantsat Jackson, for the benefit of the Soldiers' Hospital, and of course it would be sinful to stay away, particularly as Anna is a great deal better, and I need no care....
Thursday, December 4th.14
It would be only the absurd tableaux I agreed to, with plenty of fun, and nothing more. So I tried to be merry and content, and so I should have been, for there was plenty to talk about, and every one was so solicitous for my comfort; and there was Mr. Enders who would wheel my chair for me wherever I wished it, and was as kind and attentive as a brother. Surely my first trip should have been a gay one! Miriam sat down by the piano, Mr. Enders drew me by her, and we three sang until dark together. A Mr. Morse, his wife, and mother, who are spending a week here, were our audience. The first two retired at candle-light, while the latter, present at the play the night before, remained to the last. But while we sang, every noise at the parlor door caused us to turn with the apprehension of we hardly knew what. A dozen times Mr. Enders consulted his watch, and telegraphed his fears to me, though I persisted in thinking it only the fun that had been intended.
Half-past six came, and with it, Mrs. Worley. Now, she knew better. For Dr. Dortch had come to see me, and was guiding me in my game of euchre in which I was not even as wise as my partner, Mr. Enders, when her note came. Instantly we put down our cards, while Miriam begged him to write and tell her the true story. He wrote and we all read it. Not only that, but Miriam added a postscript which I think was this, word for word: "Mrs. Worley, it is only a bet at cards, intended as the merest joke. There is not a word of truth in it, and I will consider it the greatest favor if you will contradict the report whenever you may hear it!" Explicit enough, one would think; but still she came, and sent word into the parlor that one of the ladies present when Will made the announcement had sent her contribution to the evening's fun. It turned out to be a complete bridal suit, worn by the lady a year ago! That was too serious a jest. Miriam went into the other room to speak to Mrs. Worley, who, cold as an icicle, refused to receive or make explanation, beyond "I won't kiss you; this is too cruel." There was nothing to do; she returned laughing, but certainly feeling herself the injured one, and so she was.
In fifteen minutes, another stir. I held my breath with expectation. Lydia introduced—Mr. G——. Ten miles he had ridden through mud and water that freezing evening, at Will Carter's request, to perform the ceremony between him and Miriam. Lydia laughed until she could hardly introduce him. He, hat in hand, bowed around the convulsed circle with a countenance shining with the most sublimely vacant expression. O that man's idiotic face, and solemn, portentous look, brought a writhe even to my trembling lips! Mr. Enders would have given one an excellent idea of the effect produced by a real old piney-woods chill; he shook as with suppressed laughter. But when the tremendous preacher (tremendous because composed of gigantic Nothing) turned his lugubrious face towards Mrs. Morse, and addressed her as Mrs. Morgan under the impression that she had come down to see her daughter married, Miriam's risibles could no longer stand it, and she flew from the room in time to avoid a disgraceful explosion.
I was growing frightened. Mr. Enders was leaning over my chair, and involuntarily it burst from me with a groan, "For God's sake, help me save her!" "Hush! Lie back in your chair! I will!" he whispered. "But for the love of Heaven, save my sister!" "I'll do what you will, if you will only keep still and not hurt yourself. I'll do my best." It was all whispered, that the minister and Mrs. Morse might not hear. "If it were your sister, what would you do?" "My God! I'd meet him on the front gallery and kick him out! Then I'd know one of us must die to-morrow!" "But under the circumstances it is impossible for Gibbes to act!" I urged, while we agreed that it was the most unwarrantable piece of insolence ever perpetrated. While we talked, Gibbes had seized Miriam and, without interfering or advising further, advised her to keep her room and not meet Will.
But I skipped the most important part. She came back when she had recovered her composure, and sat by me. Mr. Enders, when I asked what was best to do, whispered that to spare Will's feelings, and avoid a most painful scene, as well as to show that she had no serious intentions whatever, she should see that the minister was put in full possession of the facts before it went any farther. He felt keenly his unpleasant situation, and it was only our earnest request that induced him to remain, or give his advice. Who should explain? Certainly not the General. He thought the joke carried too far, and retired to his room before Mr. G—— came. How take part against his own nephew? Not Gibbes either, for he had gone upstairs too worried and annoyed to talk to any one; besides, it was his wife's cousin. Who then? Miriam is one woman in a thousand. Rising, she crossed the room slowly and as dignified as though she only meant to warm herself. I think I see her before me now, as she stood before the fire, facing Mr. G——, looking so handsome and stylish in her black grenadine with the pale-green trimming, telling her story. Plainly, earnestly, distinctly, without hurry or embarrassment, in the neatest, prettiest, most admirable speech I ever heard, she told everything just as it was. Bravo for Miriam! There lives not the woman in this State who could do so painful a thing in such a beautiful way. I felt like hugging her. Oh, it was magnificent! He heard her in surprise, but when once satisfied of its truth, he said, "Well, Miss Morgan, when you stand on the floor, when I ask if you will, it is your privilege to answer, 'No.'" Miriam is not one to do so cruel a thing; she is too noble to deceive him so far and wound him so cruelly before all, when he believed himself so near happiness. She said that it was mockery, she would not suffer him to believe for an instant that she meant to marry him; if he believed it, he was deceiving himself wilfully, for he already knew that she had told him it could never be. He agreed to take it only as a jest, promised that he would not feel hurt; and with the most admirable tact, Miriam, the trump (I have been playing euchre, excuse me), settled the minister, and the wedding, by her splendid behavior, with no trouble.
A rapid step was heard in the hall; the bridegroom had come! I know he must have killed his horse. He certainly did not leave his house before one o'clock; it is twenty miles by the road to Clinton; he went there, procured his license, and was here at seven, in full costume. He bounded upstairs to meet the bride-elect.
I can fancy him going to Clinton, doubting, fearing, believing against all evidence, yet trembling; securing the license at last, persuading himself that she would not dare refuse when the deeds were recorded in court, and he held them in his hand;—and very few women would have been brave enough, too; he did not know My Miriam! I can fancy the poor horse lashed through the heavy mire, tired, foaming, panting, while his strong arm urged it on, with whip and spur; I can hear the exulting beating of his heart, that wild refrain that was raging as his death-knell—"Mine! Mine at last!" I could hear it, I say. It rung in my ears all night. He held her in his power; she must be his; hastily, yet carefully he performs his toilet; I dare say he stopped to think which cravat she liked best. "Mine! Mine!" the song is ringing in every stroke of his throbbing breast. Mount! Mount! Two miles fly past. He sweeps through the moonlight like Death riding on a pale horse; yonder shine lights in the parlor; and that above; is it hers? He throws himself from his horse; his hour has come, hers too; with the license and minister, his own adoration—and she must love him too!—he will win! Show him the way to her! She is his forever now! His? My God! had I not reason to cry, "In God's name, save her, Frank!" He reaches Mrs. Carter's room, and triumphantly throws the license on her table. He is ready now; where is his bride?
Some one meets him. "Will!"
The story is told; she is not to be won by force; she has appealed to the minister; he has carried the jest too far. The strong man reels; he falls on the bed in his bridal array in agony too great for tears. I dare not ask what followed; they tell me it was awful. What madness and folly, to dream of forcing her to marry him! Why, if she had loved him, the high-handed proceeding would have roused the lion of her spirit! He is no mate for her. He has but one thought, and at last words come. "Miriam! Miriam! Call her, for the love of God!" One word! one look! Oh, she will take pity on him in his misery. Let her come for one instant! she cannot be so cruel! she will marry him if only to save him from death, or worse! And fortunate it was that he was not armed, one of the two would have died; perhaps both. The heartbroken prayer goes on. The exulting "Mine! Mine!" has changed to the groan of despair, "Miriam! for the love of God! come to me!"
And where is the bride? Gibbes has her caged in the next room, this one where I am now lying. He has advised her not to appear; to go to bed and say no more. Sent to bed like a baby on her wedding night! She says that she laughed aloud when the door closed on her. She laughing in here, he groaning in there, it is to be hoped they each drowned the voice of the other.... The minister said good-night. He disclaimed all feeling of pique; he felt chiefly for the young lady—and the disappointed groom. (Ouf!) I sent to ask Will to come to me alone for a moment; no, he could not see me; write to him.
Slowly, as though an aged, infirm, tottering man, we heard him descending the steps. How different from the step that carried him up! We, conscience-stricken, sat within, with doors closed. He was off. He has again mounted his horse, and the broken-hearted man, hardly less cruel than the expectant bridegroom, dashes the rowel in his side and disappears like a whirlwind.
I can fancy mother's and Lilly's agony, when they hear of the wedding. All Clinton knew it last night, and if they did, too, I know there was as little sleep for them as for us. I know mother shrieked, "My child! My child!" while Lilly cried. How could he believe she meant to marry him, without even sending word to mother when he was going to the very town? Bah! What a jolly go if those two got hysterics about the supposed Moral Suicide! Glad I was not at the tea-party! Well, fearing the effect of such a shock in mother's nervous state, Gibbes advised Miriam to go on the cars this evening, and convince her that it had not occurred, court records and licenses and minister to the contrary notwithstanding; so my duck, my angel, she whom I call my Peri with the singed wings (children who play in the fire must expect to be burned), set off on her pious errand, without the protecting arm of her bridegroom.
Sunday, 7th December.
I have had a shock! While writing alone here (almost all have gone to church), I heard a step ascending the stair. What, I asked, if it should be Will? Then I blamed myself for supposing such a thing possible. Slowly it came nearer and nearer, I raised my head, and was greeted with a ghastly smile. I held out my hand. "Will!" "Sarah!" (Misery discards ceremony.) He stood before me the most woebegone, heartbroken man I ever saw.
With a forced laugh he said, "Where is my bride? Pshaw! I know she has gone to Clinton! I have come to talk toyou. Wasn't it a merry wedding?" The hollow laugh rang again. I tried to jest, but failed. "Sit down and let me talk to you," I said. He was in a wayward humor; cut to the heart, ready to submit to a touch of silk, or to resist a grasp of iron. This was the man I had to deal with, and get from him something he clung to as to—not his life, but—Miriam. And I know so little how to act in such a case, know so little about dealing gently with wild natures!
He alarmed me at first. His forced laugh ceased; he said that he meant to keep that license always. It was a joke on him yesterday, but with that in his possession, the tables would be turned on her. He would show it to her occasionally. It should keep her from marrying any one else. I said that it would be demanded, though; he must deliver it. The very devil shot in his eye as he exclaimed fiercely, "If any one dares demand it, I'll die before giving it up! If God Almighty came, I'd say no! I'll die with it first!" O merciful Father, I thought; what misery is to come of this jest. He must relinquish it. Gibbes will force him into it, or die in the attempt; George would come from Virginia.... Jimmy would cross the seas.... And I was alone in here to deal with such a spirit!
I commenced gently. Would he do Miriam such a wrong? It was no wrong, he said; let him follow his own will. "You profess to love her?" I asked. "Profess? Great God! how can you? I adore her! I tell you that, in spite of all this, I love her not more—that is impossible,—but as much as ever! Look at my face and ask that!" burst from him with the wildest impulse. "Very well. This girl youlove, then, you mean to make miserable. You stand forever between her and her happiness, because you love her! Is this love?" He was sullenly silent. I went on: "Not only her happiness, but her honor is concerned. You who love her so, do her this foul injury." "Would it affect her reputation?" he asked. "Ask yourself! Is it quite right that you should hold in your hands the evidence that she is Mrs. Carter, when you know she is not, and never will be? Is it quite honorable?" "In God's name, would it injure Miriam? I'd rather die than grieve her."
My iron was melted, but too hot to handle; I put it on one side, satisfied that I and I only had saved Miriam from injury and three brothers from bloodshed, by using his insane love as a lever. It does not look as hard here as it was in reality; but it was of the hardest struggles I ever had—indeed, it was desperate. I had touched the right key, and satisfied of success, turned the subject to let him believe he was following his own suggestions. When I told him he must free Miriam from all blame, that I had encouraged the jest against her repeated remonstrances, and was alone to blame, he generously took it on himself. "I was so crazy about her," he said, "that I would have done it anyhow. I would have run any risk for the faintest chance of obtaining her"; and much more to the same purpose that, though very generous in him, did not satisfy my conscience. But he surprised me by saying that he was satisfied that if I had been in my room, and he had walked into the parlor with the license, she would have married him. What infatuation! He says, though, that I only prevented it; that my influence, by my mere presence, is stronger than his words. I don't say that is so; but if I helped save her, thank Heaven!
It is impossible to say one half that passed, but he showed me his determination to act just as he has heretofore, and take it all as a joke, that no blame might be attached to her. "Besides, I'd rather die than not see her; I laugh, but you don't know what I suffer!" Poor fellow! I saw it in his swimming eyes.
At last he got up to go before they returned from church. "Beg her to meet me as she always has. I told Mrs. Worley that she must treat her just the same, because I love her so. And—say I go to Clinton to-morrow to have that record effaced, and deliver up the license. I would not grieve her; indeed, I love her too well." His voice trembled as well as his lips. He took my hand, saying, "You are hard on me. I could make her happy, I know, because I worship her so. I have been crazy about her for three years; you can't call it a mere fancy. Why are you against me? But God bless you! Good-bye!" And he was gone.
Why? O Will, because I love my sister too much to see her miserable merely to make you happy!
Friday, 12th December.
My cripple friend that I mentioned so far back continues to send me the most affecting messages. "He is really wretched about me; never was more distressed; thinks of nothing else"; and so on through the whole list. To cap the climax, he sends me word that he can now walk on crutches, and the first time he can venture in a buggy, means to call on me.Que le ciel m'en préserve!What could we talk about? "His'n" and "her'n" several misfortunes? That's too bad! Every one teases me unmercifully about my new conquest. I can't help but be amused; and yet, beware, young girls, of expressing sympathy, even for soldiers! There is no knowing what effect it may produce.
Sunday, December 14th.
Yesterday evening, some time before sunset, Mr. Enders was announced, to our great surprise, as we knew he had been in Clinton all the week, having been transferred there instead of to Jackson, as he threatened. He was the most miserable, unhappy creature one could possibly imagine; even too melancholy for me to laugh at him, which expresses the last degree of wretchedness. To all our questions, he had but one answer, that he had had the most dreadful attack of "blues" ever since he was here Sunday; that he had waited every evening at the cars, expecting us, and at last, seeing that we had no intention of coming, he could no longer stand the temptation, so got permission to come down for a day to Port Hudson so he could come out to see us.... Before we could fairly get him cheerful, Will Carter and Ned Badger, who returned only this week from Kentucky, entered. Will was in a bad humor, and wanted to vent it on us; so after waiting some time, he proposed that the two young men should go with him, pocketing at the same moment the cards which had won Miriam and saying they would have a nice game together, and just the rarest old whiskey! He looked around to see the effect produced. We girls did not move, but Mr. Enders said he must really return immediately to Port Hudson, and start for Clinton from there in the night. Will thought it would be such a triumph over us to carry him off, that he insisted. They'd have a fine time! cure the blues! etc. Ned was more than willing; and at last Mr. Enders said, Well! he felt just so desperate that he did not care what he did; he believed he would go. I saw he was in a reckless humor, and that Will knew it, too, and I promised to make at least an effort to save him.
Miriam spoke to him apart, but he said he had promised now; he must go. Will ran down triumphant to mount his horse, calling him to follow. All ran out to see him off, when Frank came back to tell me good-bye. I seized the opportunity, and didn't I plead! I told him I would not ask him to stay here, though he knew we would be happy to have him stay; and begged him to go back to the camp, and leave Will alone.... I suggested other resources; talked of his mother whom he idolizes, pleaded like a grandmother; and just as I wound up, came Will's voice from below, "Why the devil don't you come, Enders? Hurry!" He moved a step, looked at me; I dropped my head without a word. Here I must confess to the most consummate piece of acting; I am sorry, but as long as it saved him from doing what I knew he would have cause to regret, I am not ashamed of having tried it. Will called impatiently again, as he stood hesitating before me; I did not say, "Stay," I just gave the faintest sigh imaginable.... He went down and told Will he would not go! Of course, Will went off in a rage with us.
Friday, December 26th, 1862.
Monday Dr. Woods and Mr. Van Ingen stopped, just from their regiment in Kentucky and on their way home, and I begged so hard to see the Doctor, and promised so faithfully to retire if I suffered too much, that Mrs. Badger yielded, like an angel, and I carried my point. The Doctor! We looked in vain at each other; I for my dandy friend in irreproachable broadcloth, immaculate shirt bosoms and perfect boots; he for the brusque, impulsive girl who in ordinary circumstances would have run dancing into the parlor, would have given him half-glad, half-indifferent greeting, and then found either occasion to laugh at him or would have turned elsewhere for amusement. We looked, I say, in vain. Before me stood my pattern of neatness in a rough uniform of brown homespun. A dark flannel shirt replaced the snowy cambric one, and there was neither cravat nor collar to mark the boundary line between his dark face and the still darker material. And the dear little boots! O ye gods and little fishes! they were clumsy, and mud-spattered! If my mouth twitched with laughter as I silently commented, the Doctor's did not! I, who always danced on my way, came in lying back on my pillows, and wheeled in by a servant. The Doctor's sympathy was really touching, and poor consolation he gave when he heard the story. "You will recover, to a certain extent; but will feel it more or less all your life."
I am the ruin of all these puns; the gentlemen will hate me; I must learn to ignore their conundrums until they answer them themselves, and to wait patiently for the pun instead of catching it and laughing before it is half-spoken. Why can't I do as the others do? There was Mr. Van Ingen with his constant stream of them, that I anticipated several times. He said to me, "If I were asked what town in Louisiana I would rather be in this evening, what would my answer be?" I should have looked perfectly innocent, and politely inquisitive; but I did neither. I saw the answer instantly, and laughed. "Ah, you have guessed! I can see it in your eyes!" he said. Of course I had, but I told him I was afraid to say it, for fear he might think I was flattering myself. Then we both laughed. The place he referred to wasBayou, Sarah....
Yesterday, being a beautiful day, I was carried down in honor of Christmas, to meet Captain Fenner and Mr. Duggan who were to dine with us. The cars had brought Miriam a beautiful little set of collars and cuffs from Dellie, and the oddest, sweetest little set for me, from Morgan, for our Christmas gift. It is all Lilly....
We had an exquisite Christmas gift the night before, a magnificent serenade, a compliment from Colonel Breaux. It very singularly happened that Miriam, Anna, and Ned Badger were sitting up in the parlor, watching alone for Christmas, when the band burst forth at the steps, and startled them into a stampede upstairs. But Gibbes, who came with the serenaders, caught them and brought them back into the parlor, where there were onlyeightgentlemen; and in this novel, unheard-of style, only these two girls, with Gibbes to play propriety, entertained all these people at midnight while the band played without....
I commenced writing to-day expressly to speak of our pleasant Christmas; yet it seems as though I would write about anything except that, since I have not come to it yet. Perhaps it is because I feel I could not do it justice. At least, I can say who was there. At sunset came Captain Bradford and Mr. Conn, the first stalking in with all the assurance which a handsome face and fine person can lend, the second following with all the timidity of a first appearance.... Again, after a long pause, the door swung open, and enter Mr. Halsey, who bows and takes the seat on the other side of me, and Mr. Bradford, of Colonel Allen memory, once more returned to his regiment, who laughs, shakes hands all around, and looks as happy as a schoolboy just come home for the holidays, who has never-ending visions of plumcakes, puddings, and other sweet things. While all goes on merrily, another rap comes, and enter Santa Claus, dressed in the old uniform of the Mexican War, with a tremendous cocked hat, and preposterous beard of false hair, which effectually conceal the face, and but for the mass of tangled short curls no one could guess that the individual was Bud. It was a device of the General's, which took us all by surprise. Santa Claus passes slowly around the circle, and pausing before each lady, draws from his basket a cake which he presents with a bow, while to each gentleman he presents a wineglass replenished from a most suspicious-looking black bottle which also reposes there. Leaving us all wonder and laughter, Santa Claus retires with a basket much lighter than it had been at his entrance.... Then follow refreshments, and more and more talk and laughter, until the clock strikes twelve, when all these ghosts bid a hearty good-night and retire.
January 1st, Thursday, 1863.
1863! Why I have hardly become accustomed to writing '62 yet! Where has this year gone? With all its troubles and anxieties, it is the shortest I ever spent! '61 and '62 together would hardly seem three hundred and sixty-five days to me. Well, let time fly. Every hour brings us nearer our freedom, and we are two years nearer peace now than we were when South Carolina seceded. That isoneconsolation....
I learn, to my unspeakable grief, that the State House is burned down.
Sunday, January 4th.
One just from Baton Rouge tells us that my presentiment about our house is verified; Yankees do inhabit it, a Yankee colonel and his wife. They say they look strangely at home on our front gallery, pacing up and down.... And a stranger and a Yankee occupies our father's place at the table where he presided for thirty-one years.... And the old lamp that lighted up so many eager, laughing faces around the dear old table night after night; that with its great beaming eye watched us one by one as we grew up and left our home; that witnessed every parting and every meeting; by which we sang, read, talked, danced, and made merry; the lamp that Hal asked for as soon as he beheld the glittering chandeliers of the new innovation, gas; the lamp that all agreed should go to me among other treasures, and be cased in glass to commemorate the old days,—our old lamp has passed into the hands of strangers who neither know nor care for its history. And mother's bed (which, with the table and father's little ebony stand, alone remained uninjured) belongs now to a Yankee woman! Father prized his ebony table. He said he meant to have a gold plate placed in its centre, with an inscription, and I meant to have it done myself when he died so soon after. A Yankee now sips his tea over it, just where some beau or beauty of the days of Charles II may have rested a laced sleeve or dimpled arm....15
Give the devil his due. Bless Yankees for one thing; they say they tried hard to save our State House.
ANTE-BELLUM HOME OF JUDGE THOMAS GIBBES MORGANANTE-BELLUM HOME OF JUDGE THOMAS GIBBES MORGAN,ON CHURCH STREET, BATON ROUGE, LA.
BOOK IV
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 beendésoléeif 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 abonne boucheof 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—wasthat 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.MyMr. 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 averysensible pressure from theputty, 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 homœopathic 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 herbelovedCaptain 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. Itwasrather 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-blessedestlittle angel that ever wore long hair!" Thisblessedestlittle 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"16was 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,17George 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."18A 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.
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 isjustfive 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 thequi 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,verybadly. 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 wereallygo? 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 sayshecould 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!Ifwe 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 thepresentprogramme) 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 realfor truesilver 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!"Thisgood-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,veryill. 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, "Youwon'tgo, 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 "Youwon'tgo, 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 amveryanxious 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, theyarecoming! 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 theywillburn 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 Ishouldburn, I have friends and brothers enough to avenge me. Createsucha 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 obtainedonceas 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:—