From my sick bed, this 15th day of January, 1863.
LINWOOD, Thursday.

Am I not glad to get another blank book! On Sunday my old one gave out, to my unspeakable distress, and I would have been desolee if I had not had three or four letters to answer, as writing is my chief occupation during my tedious illness. O that unfortunate trip to Port Hudson! Have I not cause to remember and regret it? Two months last Sunday since I have been lying here a cripple, and I am not yet able to take a step. However, on Monday mother sent Dr. Woods as my fourth physician, and I have made up my mind that either he or Nature will effect a cure before long. Wonder how it feels to walk? It makes me weary to see others try it; I always fear that the exertion must be very painful an absurd idea which I endeavor to keep to myself....

Monday, January 19th.

That blessed Mr. Halsey like an angel of mercy sent me “Kate Coventry” yesterday, just when I was pining for a bonne bouche of some kind, I did not care what, whether a stick of candy or an equally palatable book. It is delightful to have one’s wishes realized as soon as they are made. I think it rather caused me to relent towards Mr. Halsey; I did not feel half so belligerent as I did just the Sunday before. At all events, I felt well enough to go down in the evening when he called again, though I had been too indisposed to do so on a previous occasion. (O Sarah!)

Wheeled into the parlor, there I beheld not my friend alone, but several other individuals whose presence rather startled me. I found myself undergoing the terrors of an introduction to a Colonel Locke, and to my unspeakable surprise, Major Buckner was claiming the privilege of shaking hands with me, and Colonel Steadman was on the other side, and was that Mr. Halsey? O never! The Mr. Halsey I knew was shockingly careless of his dress, never had his hair smooth; let his beard grow as it would, and wore a most ferocious slouched hat. This one had taken more than one look at the glass, a thing I should have imagined the other incapable of doing. He had bestowed the greatest care and attention on his dress, had brought his beard within reasonable limits, had combed his hair with the greatest precision, and held lightly in one hand an elegant little cap that I am sure must be provokingly becoming. Why, he was handsome! Ah ca! some mistake, surely, I cried to myself. My Mr. Halsey was not, certainly! “If it be I, as I hope it may be, I’ve a little dog at home who will surely know me,” I kept repeating. I resolved to test the little dog’s sagacity, so I pretended to know this apparition, and thanked him for the pleasure he had afforded me by sending me “Kate Coventry.” He looked conscious and pleased! The “little dog” had found out his identity! I was more puzzled than ever. How account for this wondrous change?... But metamorphosed “John” talked! He was expatiating at a most extraordinary rate, and had been doing so for an hour after supper, when Gibbes drew his chair near me (Gibbes likes to hear what visitors say to his little sister); whereupon timid Mr. Halsey drew his slightly back, and very soon after asked for his horse. O Gibbes! you wretch! what an amusing tete-a-tete you spoiled, you innocent! And the General, of course, only waited for his exit before beginning to tease me unmercifully. I must put an end to this; they shall not bring such unjust charges against him. Yet how am I to make them see reason?

NIGHT.

I am more pleased to-night than I could well express. I have been talking to an old and dear friend, no other than Will Pinckney! His arrival was as unexpected as it was agreeable. The cry of “Here comes Will Pinckney” sent me back to August, ’60, when the words were always the forerunner of fun and frolic.... He told me what he called his secrets; of how he had been treated by the War Department (which has, indeed, behaved shockingly towards the Colonel).

Thursday, 22d January.

What a rush of visitors last night! One would imagine they had all come by appointment, expressly to have an impromptu dance, which they certainly enjoyed, by the way. There was little Captain C , the Susceptible and Simple, who so innocently says “I seen” and “I done it,” without the faintest suspicion of the peculiarity, and looks so sweet, and guileless, and amiable, and soft, that I can’t help wondering if he would be sticky if I touch him. Indeed, I think his hands stick, at least; for when he told me good-bye, it was with the greatest difficulty that I extracted mine from his grasp (he having forgotten to return it during a long farewell address), and even when I succeeded in recovering it, by being almost rude, it was not released without a very sensible pressure from the putty, or whatever it is that is so tenacious. I am afraid it is rather a habit of his, which has lost all force or meaning by being too frequently repeated. Then there was a horrid little wretch, vulgar and underbred (to my idea), to whom I was introduced as Mr. G .... But here is Lieutenant Dupre, whom I have not yet introduced, though we have met before. Tall, good-looking, a fine form, and not a sparkling face, I am inclined to believe that his chief merit lies in his legs. Certainly when he dances he puts his best foot forward, and knows it, too. Miriam, who adores dancing, is flirting openly with this divinity of the “Deux Temps” and polka, and skims around with his arm about her (position sanctified by the lively air Lydia is dashing off on the piano) with a grace and lightness only equaled by his own. And Lieutenant Duggan, with his good, honest, clever face which so unmistakably proclaims him “Tom,” we know already, so no further description is needed. Captain Fenner, too, is well known, with his short, though graceful figure, his good-humored, intelligent face, irresistible imperial, and that roguish expression about that large mouth which displays such handsome teeth, and seems to say, “Don’t trust me too far.”

Little Captain C tells me a long story about how Colonel Steadman had come to him and asked if he believed it possible that Miss Morgan had put her life and happiness in the hands of a homoeopathic physician; how he considered her fate sealed; and what a shame it was to trifle with such a sad affair, at my age, too, ruined for life! It was dreadful! Too sad! Hereupon, as continuing the story, he remarks that being asked his opinion by the Colonel, he agreed perfectly and thought with him it was an appalling sacrifice, and oh, all sorts of things! Anything, just to make me miserable and unhappy!

Well, what is written will come to pass. First comes a doctor with a butchering apparatus who cups and bleeds me unmercifully, says I’ll walk ten days after, and exit. Enter another. Croton oil and strychnine pills, that’ll set me up in two weeks. And exit. Enter a third. Sounds my bones and pinches them from my head to my heels. Tells of the probability of a splinter of bone knocked off my left hip, the possibility of paralysis in the leg, the certainty of a seriously injured spine, and the necessity for the most violent counter-irritants. Follow blisters which sicken even disinterested people to look at, and a trifle of suffering which I come very near acknowledging to myself. Enter the fourth. Inhuman butchery! wonder they did not kill you! Take three drops a day out of this tiny bottle, and presto! in two weeks you are walking! A fifth, in the character of a friend, says, “My dear young lady, if you do, your case is hopeless.” What wonder that I am puzzled? A wiser head would be confused. I want to believe all, but how is it possible? “What will be, will be.”

Bon! here comes a note from Mr. Halsey! Ah ca! Lend him “Zaidee”? Certainly! Here is a postscript three times the length of the note; voyons. Will Miss Sarah make the annotations he requested, in “Kate Coventry”? He is anxious to have the lady’s opinion on the questions of taste and propriety which so frequently occur in the book.... I’ll not attempt such a display; yet there are several passages I am dying to mark. One in particular, speaking of the peculiarities of men, of how they are always more at ease when they have their hands employed, drawing confidence and conversation from a paper-knife and book to tumble, a pair of scissors and a thread to snip, or even from imbibing the head of a cane, I am anxious to call his attention to. If I dared add to the list, “or a cord and tassel to play with”! This nervous Mr. Halsey is wearing out my pretty blue tassel that Frank admires so much; he says he can talk better when he dangles it. Think the hint might save it in the future!

Friday night, January 23d.

I am particularly happy to-day, for we have just heard from Brother for the first time since last July. And he is well, and happy, and wants us to come to him in New Orleans so he can take care of us, and no longer be so anxious for our safety. If we only could! To be sure the letter is from a gentleman who is just out of the city, who says he writes at Brother’s earnest request; still it is something to hear, even indirectly. One hundred and fifty dollars he encloses with the request that mother will draw for any amount she wishes. Dear Brother, money is the least thing we need; first of all, we are dying for want of a home. If we could only see ours once more!

During this time we have heard incidentally of Brother; of his having taken the oath of allegiance which I am confident he did not do until Butler’s October decree of his being a prominent Union man, of his being a candidate for the Federal Congress, and of his withdrawal; and finally of his having gone to New York and Washington, from which places he only returned a few weeks since. That is all we ever heard. A very few people have been insolent enough to say to me, “Your brother is as good a Yankee as any.” My blood boils as I answer, “Let him be President Lincoln if he will, and I would love him the same.” And so I would. Politics cannot come between me and my father’s son. What he thinks right, is right, for him, though not for me. If he is for the Union, it is because he believes it to be in the right, and I honor him for acting from conviction, rather than from dread of public opinion. If he were to take up the sword against us to-morrow, Miriam and I, at least, would say, “If he thinks it his duty, he is right; we will not forget he is our father’s child.” And we will not. From that sad day when the sun was setting for the first time on our father’s grave, when the great, strong man sobbed in agony at the thought of what we had lost, and taking us both on his lap put his arms around us and said, “Dear little sisters, don’t cry; I will be father and brother, too, now,” he has been both. He respects our opinions, we shall respect his. I confess myself a rebel, body and soul. Confess? I glory in it! Am proud of being one; would not forego the title for any other earthly one!

Though none could regret the dismemberment of our old Union more than I did at the time, though I acknowledge that there never was a more unnecessary war than this in the beginning, yet once in earnest, from the secession of Louisiana I date my change of sentiment. I have never since then looked back; forward, forward! is the cry; and as the Federal States sink each day in more appalling folly and disgrace, I grow prouder still of my own country and rejoice that we can no longer be confounded with a nation which shows so little fortitude in calamity, so little magnanimity in its hour of triumph. Yes! I am glad we are two distinct tribes! I am proud of my country; only wish I could fight in the ranks with our brave soldiers, to prove my enthusiasm; would think death, mutilation, glorious in such a cause; cry, “War to all eternity before we submit.” But if I can’t fight, being unfortunately a woman, which I now regret for the first time in my life, at least I can help in other ways. What fingers can do in knitting and sewing for them, I have done with the most intense delight; what words of encouragement and praise could accomplish, I have tried on more than one bold soldier boy, and not altogether in vain; I have lost my home and all its dear contents for our Southern Rights, have stood on its deserted hearthstone and looked at the ruin of all I loved without a murmur, almost glad of the sacrifice if it would contribute its mite towards the salvation of the Confederacy. And so it did, indirectly; for the battle of Baton Rouge which made the Yankees, drunk with rage, commit outrages in our homes that civilized Indians would blush to perpetrate, forced them to abandon the town as untenable, whereby we were enabled to fortify Port Hudson here, which now defies their strength. True they have reoccupied our town; that Yankees live in our house; but if our generals said burn the whole concern, would I not put the torch to our home readily, though I love its bare skeleton still? Indeed I would, though I know what it is to be without one. Don’t Lilly and mother live in a wretched cabin in vile Clinton while strangers rest under our father’s roof? Yankees, I owe you one for that!

Well! I boast myself Rebel, sing “Dixie,” shout Southern Rights, pray for God’s blessing on our cause, without ceasing, and would not live in this country if by any possible calamity we should be conquered; I am only a woman, and that is the way I feel. Brother may differ. What then? Shall I respect, love him less? No! God bless him! Union or Secession, he is always my dear, dear Brother, and tortures could not make me change my opinion.

Friday, January 30th.

A whole week has passed since I opened this book, a week certainly not spent in idleness, if not a very interesting one. For I have kept my room almost all the time, leaving Miriam and Anna to entertain their guests alone. Even when Mr. Halsey called on Sunday, I declined going down. Why, I wonder? I felt better than usual, was in a splendid humor for talking, yet my excuses took my place, and I lay quietly in bed, dreaming by the firelight, and singing hymns to myself. Once in a while the thought would occur to me, “Why don’t I go down?” But it was always answered with a wry face, and the hymn went on. Yet I knew he had come expecting to see me.

On the table near me stood a bunch of snowdrops that Miriam had culled for her beloved Captain Bradford. An idea struck me so suddenly that my voice died instantly. The spirit of mischief had taken possession of me. Laughing to myself, I caught them up, drew three long bright hairs from my head they looked right gold-y in the firelight and tied them around the flowers I thought I should never get to the end while wrapping them. Thus secured, a servant carried them into the parlor with “Miss Sarah’s compliments to Mr. Halsey.” Poor Miriam’s cry of surprise at finding her flowers thus appropriated, reached my ears and caused me to laugh again. It was rather cool! But then it was better fun than going down. And then didn’t it flatter his vanity! O men! you vain creatures! A woman would receive a whole bunch of hair and forty thousand bouquets, without having her head turned; while you Well! I heard enough from Miriam to amuse me, at all events.

And a day or two after, Captain Bradford had a long story to tell her what he called a good joke on Mr. Halsey. Of how he had found him kissing three long bright hairs in rapture, and on asking where he got them, received as an answer “From the God-blessedest little angel that ever wore long hair!” This blessedest little angel did not intend it as a souvenir, and is consequently annoyed about stories of three hairs, intended as a string and nothing more, being wrapped in tissue paper and treasured up so goes the tale instead of being thrown into the fire as I certainly expected.

Last night Anna and Miriam sat on my bed at twilight, playing cards while I tried my guitar, when Captain C , Major Spratley, and Lieutenant Dupre 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" was written again. When? In ten months. I believe Captain C to be honest about it. He seemed to have no control over his hand, and his arm trembled until it became exceedingly painful. Of course, I do not actually believe in Spiritualism; but there is certainly something in it one cannot understand; and Mrs. Badger’s experience is enough to convert one, alone. Each was startled in turn by extraordinary revelations concerning themselves. Gibbes was to be transferred to the Trans-Mississippi Department, George would come home, and all the gentlemen had the name and address of future sweethearts written in full. The question was asked, “Who will Sarah Morgan fall in love with?” Every eye was on the pencil as a capital “H” was traced. As the “a” followed, I confess to a decided disgust at the Spirits, and was about to beg it might be discontinued when the rest followed rapidly until in three separate lines appeared, “Has not seen him yet” (here came an exclamation of surprise from Lydia and Miriam, who knew how true it was, and even Gibbes looked astonished). “Captain, in Virginia. Captain Charles Lewis." A perfect buzz of comments followed; every one asked every one else if they knew any one by that name, and every one said no. Gibbes was decidedly more interested than I. That odd “Has not seen him yet,” expressing so exactly the fact that I pride myself upon, carried conviction in the truth of Spirits, almost. “Who will she marry?” asked Gibbes. (He has a pet belief, in which I encourage him, that I will never marry.) Again came the name as distinctly as before, of Captain Charles Lewis. “When will she marry him?” “In June, 1864,” was the answer. I was to meet him in New Orleans. November followed, after a period.

Of course, the Spirits produced some slight commotion which made the time pass pleasantly until Miriam began to waltz with her Monsieur Deux Temps. Then Captain C told me why he had been unwilling to try it; of how his father believed so strongly in it that he had very nearly been made crazy by it, and how he had sworn to abandon the practice of consulting them, seeing the effect produced. He did not believe in Spirits himself; but could not account for the influence he was under, when he saw his hand involuntarily write things he was totally unconscious of, himself. However, he proposed that we two should have a private consultation with them, which I opened by asking when I should again see my home. I know he did not know anything about it; but on the paper appeared “Five months have gone five months more.” It is just five months since I did see home. I think it was the 26th of August that Charlie took me there. He asked if he should ever marry. “Never. You will be jilted by the lady you love in Missouri, Miss Christina P .” I pointed it out to him, as he happened to be looking at me when it was written. It surprised him into saying, “Why, I’m engaged to her!” I asked whose spirit was communicating with us. He was watching the dance when his hand wrote, “John C .” I laughed and asked if there was such a person, pointing to the name. He looked actually sick as he said, “Yes, my brother; he is dead.” I had not the heart to talk of Spirits again; so we took to writing poetry together, every alternate line falling to my lot. It made an odd jingle, the sentimental first line being turned to broad farce by my absurd second one.

February 5th, Thursday night.

A letter from Lavinia has come to me all the way from California. How happy it made me, though written so long ago! Only the 30th of June! Lavinia has changed, changed. There is a sad, worn-out tone in every line; it sounds old, as though she had lived years and years ago and was writing as though she were dead and buried long since. Lavinia, whose letters used to keep me in sunshine for weeks at a time! Well! no wonder she is sad. All these dreary years from home, with so faint a hope of ever again seeing it, and all these sorrows and troubles that have befallen us, combined, are not calculated to make her happy. But I wish she had kept her cheerful heart. Well, perhaps it is easier for us to be cheerful and happy, knowing the full extent of our calamities, than it is for her, knowing so little and having just cause to fear so much. Courage! Better days are coming! And then I’ll have many a funny tale to tell her of the days when the Yankees kept us on the qui vive, or made us run for our lives. It will “tell” merrily; be almost as lively as those running days were. One of my chief regrets over my helplessness is that I will not be able to run in the next stampede. I used to enjoy it. Oh, the days gone by, the dreary days, when, cut off from our own people, and surrounded by Yankees, we used to catch up any crumb of news favorable to our side that was smuggled into town, and the Brunots and I would write each other little dispatches of consolation and send them by little negroes! Those were dismal days. Yet how my spirits would rise when the long roll would beat, and we would prepare for flight!

Monday, February 9th, 1863. Night.

A letter from my dear little Jimmy! How glad I am, words could not express. This is the first since he arrived in England, and now we know what has become of him at last. While awaiting the completion of the ironclad gunboat to which he has been appointed, like a trump he has put himself to school, and studies hard, which is evident from the great improvement he already exhibits in his letter....

My delight at hearing from Jimmy is overcast by the bad news Lilly sends of mother’s health. I have been unhappy about her for a long while; her health has been wretched for three months; so bad, that during all my long illness she has never been with me after the third day. I was never separated from mother for so long before; and I am homesick, and heartsick about her. Only twenty miles apart, and she with a shocking bone felon in her hand and that dreadful cough, unable to come to me, whilst I am lying helpless here, as unable to get to her. I feel right desperate about it. This evening Lilly writes of her having chills and fevers, and looking very, very badly. So Miriam started off instantly to see her. My poor mother! She will die if she stays in Clinton, I know she will!

Wednesday, February 18th.

Gibbes has gone back to his regiment. I can’t say how dreary I felt when he came to tell me good-bye. I did not mean to cry; but how could I help it when he put his arms around me?...

Sunday, February 22d, 1863.

Mother has come to me! O how glad I was to see her this morning! And the Georgia project, which I dared not speak of for fear it should be mere talk and nothing more, is a reality. Yes! we are actually going! I can hardly believe that such good fortune as getting out of that wretched Clinton really awaits us. Perhaps I shall not like Augusta either; a stranger in a strange city is not usually enchanted with everything one beholds; but still a change of scene a new country new people it is worth while! Shall we really go? Will some page in this book actually record “Augusta, Georgia”? No! I dare not believe it! Yet the mere thought has given me strength within the last two weeks to attempt to walk. Learning to walk at my age! Is it not amusing? But the smallest baby knows more about it than I did at first. Of course, I knew one foot was to be put before the other; but the question was how it was to be done when they would not go? I have conquered that difficulty, however, and can now walk almost two yards, if some one holds me fast.

Sunset. Will [Pinckney] has this instant left. Ever since dinner he has been vehemently opposing the Georgia move, insisting that it will cost me my life, by rendering me a confirmed cripple. He says he could take care of me, but no one else can, so I must not be moved. I am afraid his arguments have about shaken mother’s resolution. Pshaw! it will do me good! I must go. It will not do to remain here. Twenty-seven thousand Yankees are preparing to march on Port Hudson, and this place will certainly be either occupied by them, or burned. To go to Clinton is to throw myself in their hands, so why not one grand move to Augusta?

Monday, February 23d.

Here goes! News has been received that the Yankees are already packed, ready to march against us at any hour. If I was up and well, how my heart would swell with exultation. As it is, it throbs so with excitement that I can scarcely lie still. Hope amounts almost to presumption at Port Hudson. They are confident that our fifteen thousand can repulse twice the number. Great God! I say it with all reverence if we could defeat them! If we could scatter, capture, annihilate them! My heart beats but one prayer Victory! I shall grow wild repeating it. In the mean time, though, Linwood is in danger. This dear place, my second home; its loved inhabitants; think of their being in such peril! Oh, I shall cry heartily if harm comes to them! But I must leave before. No use of leaving my bones for the Yankees to pick; better sing “Dixie” in Georgia. To-morrow, consequently, I go to that earthly paradise, Clinton, thence to be re-shipped (so goes the present programme) to Augusta in three days. And no time for adieux! Wonder who will be surprised, who vexed, and who will cry over the unforeseen separation? Not a single “good-bye”! Nothing except an old brass button that Mr. Halsey gave me as a souvenir in case he should be killed in the coming assault. It is too bad. Ah! Destiny! Destiny! Where do you take us? During these two trying years, I have learned to feel myself a mere puppet in the hands of a Something that takes me here to-day, to-morrow there, always unexpectedly, and generally very unwillingly, but at last leads me somewhere or other, right side up with care, after a thousand troubles and distresses. The hand of Destiny is on me now; where will it lead me?

Tuesday [February] 24th.

Meeting Miriam by mere accident on the road last evening and hearing of our surprising journey to Georgia, Mr. Halsey came to spend a last evening with us, and say good-bye. What a deluge of regrets, hopes, fears, etc. Perfectly overwhelming. Why had I not told him of it the night before? All our friends would be so disappointed at not having an opportunity of saying good-bye. If the Yankees would only postpone their attack so he might accompany us! But no matter; he would come on in two months, and meet us there. And would we not write to him? Thank you! Miriam may, but I shall hardly do so! We had such a pleasant evening together, talking over our trip. Then we had a dozen songs on the guitar, gay, sad, and sentimental; then he gave me a sprig of jessamine as a keepsake, and I ripped open my celebrated “running-bag” to get a real for true silver five cents a perfect curiosity in these days which I gave him in exchange, and which he promised to wear on his watch-chain. He and Miriam amused themselves examining the contents of my sack and laughing at my treasures, the wretches! Then came good-bye. I think he was sorry to see us go. Well! he ought to miss us! Ah! these fare-wells! To-day I bid adieu to Linwood. “It may be for years, and it may be forever!” This good-bye will cost me a sigh.

Wednesday, February 25th.

Here we are still, in spite of our expectations. Difficulty on difficulty arose, and an hour before the cars came, it was settled that mother should go to Clinton and make the necessary arrangements, and leave us to follow in a day or two. Two days more! Miriam no more objected than I did, so mother went alone. Poor Miriam went to bed soon after, very ill. So ill that she lay groaning in bed at dusk, when a stir was heard in the hall below, and Colonel Steadman, Major Spratley, and Mr. Dupre were announced. Presto! up she sprang, and flew about in the most frantic style, emptying the trunk on the floor to get her prettiest dress, and acting as though she had never heard of pains and groans. When we leave, how much I shall miss the fun of seeing her and Anna running over each other in their excitement of dressing for their favorites. Anna’s first exclamation was, “Ain’t you glad you didn’t go!” and certainly we were not sorry, from mere compassion; for what would she have done with all three? If I laughed at their extra touches to their dresses, it did not prevent me from bestowing unusual attention on my own. And by way of bravado, when I was carried down, I insisted on Mrs. Badger lending me her arm, to let me walk into the parlor and prove to Colonel Steadman that in spite of his prophecies I was able to take a few steps at least.

His last words, “You won’t go, will you? Think once more!” sent me upstairs wondering, thinking, undecided, and unsatisfied, hardly knowing what to do, or what to say. Every time I tried to sleep, those calm, deep, honest gray eyes started up before my closed ones, and that earnest “You won’t go, will you? Think once more!” rang in my ears like a solemn warning. Hopes of seeing Georgia grew rather faint, that night. Is it lawful to risk my life? But is it not better to lose it while believing that I have still a chance of saving it by going, than to await certain death calmly and unresisting in Clinton? I’d rather die struggling for this life, this beautiful, loved, blessed life that God has given me!

March 10th, Tuesday.

I had so many nice things to say which now, alas, are knocked forever from my head when news came that the Yankees were advancing on us, and were already within fifteen miles. The panic which followed reminded me forcibly of our running days in Baton Rouge. Each one rapidly threw into trunks all clothing worth saving, with silver and valuables, to send to the upper plantation. I sprang up, determined to leave instantly for Clinton so mother would not be alarmed for our safety; but before I got halfway dressed, Helen Carter came in, and insisted on my remaining, declaring that my sickness and inability to move would prove a protection to the house, and save it from being burned over their heads. Put on that plea, though I have no faith in melting the bowels of compassion of a Yankee, myself, I consented to remain, as Miriam urgently represented the dangers awaiting Clinton. So she tossed all we owned into our trunk to send to mother as hostage of our return, and it is now awaiting the cars. My earthly possessions are all reposing by me on the bed at this instant, consisting of my guitar, a change of clothes, running-bag, cabas, and this book. For in spite of their entreaties, I would not send it to Clinton, expecting those already there to meet with a fiery death though I would like to preserve those of the most exciting year of my life. They tell me that this will be read aloud to me to torment me, but I am determined to burn it if there is any danger of that. Why, I would die without some means of expressing my feelings in the stirring hours so rapidly approaching. I shall keep it by me.

Such bustle and confusion! Every one hurried, anxious, excited, whispering, packing trunks, sending them off; wondering negroes looking on in amazement until ordered to mount the carts waiting at the door, which are to carry them too away. How disappointed the Yankees will be at finding only white girls instead of their dear sisters and brothers whom they love so tenderly! Sorry for their disappointment!

“They say” they are advancing in overwhelming numbers. That is nothing, so long as God helps us, and from our very souls we pray His blessing on us in this our hour of need. For myself, I cannot yet fully believe they are coming. It would be a relief to have it over. I have taken the responsibility of Lydia’s jewelry on my shoulders, and hope to be able to save it in the rush which will take place. Down at the cars Miriam met Frank Enders, going to Clinton in charge of a car full of Yankees, deserters, who came into our lines. He thinks, just as I do, that our trunks are safer here than there. Now that they are all off, we all agree that it was the most foolish thing we could have done. These Yankees interfere with all our arrangements.

I am almost ashamed to confess what an absurdly selfish thought occurred to me a while ago. I was lamenting to myself all the troubles that surround us, the dangers and difficulties that perplex us, thinking of the probable fate that might befall some of our brave friends and defenders in Port Hudson, when I thought, too, of the fun we would miss. Horrid, was it not? But worse than that, I was longing for something to read, when I remembered Frank told me he had sent to Alexandria for Bulwer’s “Strange Story” for me, and then I unconsciously said, “How I wish it would get here before the Yankees!” I am very anxious to read it, but confess I am ashamed of having thought of it at such a crisis. So I toss up the farthing Frank gave me for a keepsake the other day, and say I’ll try in future to think less of my own comfort and pleasure.

Poor Mr. Halsey! What a sad fate the pets he procures for me meet! He stopped here just now on his way somewhere, and sent me a curious bundle with a strange story, by Miriam. It seems he got a little flying-squirrel for me to play with (must know my partiality for pets), and last night, while attempting to tame him, the little creature bit his finger, whereupon he naturally let him fall on the ground, (Temper!) which put a period to his existence. He had the nerve to skin him after the foul murder, and sent all that remains of him out to me to prove his original intention. The softest, longest, prettiest fur, and such a duck of a tail! Poor little animal couldn’t have been larger than my fist. Wonder if its spirit will meet with that of the little bird which flew heavenward with all that pink ribbon and my letter from Mr. Halsey?

Saturday, March 14th.
5 o’clock, P.M.

They are coming! The Yankees are coming at last! For four or five hours the sound of their cannon has assailed our ears. There! that one shook my bed! Oh, they are coming! God grant us the victory! They are now within four miles of us, on the big road to Baton Rouge. On the road from town to Clinton, we have been fighting since daylight at Readbridge, and have been repulsed. Fifteen gunboats have passed Vicksburg, they say. It will be an awful fight. No matter! With God’s help we’ll conquer yet! Again! the report comes nearer. Oh, they are coming! Coming to defeat, I pray God.

Only we seven women remain in the house. The General left this morning, to our unspeakable relief. They would hang him, we fear, if they should find him here. Mass’ Gene has gone to his company; we are left alone here to meet them. If they will burn the house, they will have to burn me in it. For I cannot walk, and I know they shall not carry me. I’m resigned. If I should burn, I have friends and brothers enough to avenge me. Create such a consternation! Better than being thrown from a buggy only I’d not survive to hear of it!

Letter from Lilly to-day has distressed me beyond measure. Starvation which threatened them seems actually at their door. With more money than they could use in ordinary times, they can find nothing to purchase. Not a scrap of meat in the house for a week. No pork, no potatoes, fresh meat obtained once as a favor, and poultry and flour articles unheard of. Besides that, Tiche crippled, and Margret very ill, while Liddy has run off to the Yankees. Heaven only knows what will become of them. The other day we were getting ready to go to them (Thursday) when the General disapproved of my running such a risk, saying he’d call it a d piece of nonsense, if I asked what he thought; so we remained. They will certainly starve soon enough without our help; and yet I feel we should all be together still. That last superfluous word is the refrain of Gibbes’s song that is ringing in my ears, and that I am chanting in a kind of ecstasy of excitement:

“Then let the cannon boom as it will,
We’ll be gay and happy still!”

And we will be happy in spite of Yankee guns! Only my dear This, That, and the Other, at Port Hudson, how I pray for your safety! God spare our brave soldiers, and lead them to victory! I write, touch my guitar, talk, pick lint, and pray so rapidly that it is hard to say which is my occupation. I sent Frank some lint the other day, and a bundle of it for Mr. Halsey is by me. Hope neither will need it! But to my work again!

Half-past One o’clock, A.M.

It has come at last! What an awful sound! I thought I had heard a bombardment before; but Baton Rouge was child’s play compared to this. At half-past eleven came the first gun at least the first I heard, and I hardly think it could have commenced many moments before. Instantly I had my hand on Miriam, and at my first exclamation, Mrs. Badger and Anna answered. All three sprang to their feet to dress, while all four of us prayed aloud. Such an incessant roar! And at every report the house shaking so, and we thinking of our dear soldiers, the dead and dying, and crying aloud for God’s blessing on them, and defeat and overthrow to their enemies. That dreadful roar! I can’t think fast enough. They are too quick to be counted. We have all been in Mrs. Carter’s room, from the last window of which we can see the incessant flash of the guns and the great shooting stars of flame, which must be the hot shot of the enemy. There is a burning house in the distance, the second one we have seen to-night. For Yankees can’t prosper unless they are pillaging honest people. Already they have stripped all on their road of cattle, mules, and negroes.

Gathered in a knot within and without the window, we six women up here watched in the faint starlight the flashes from the guns, and silently wondered which of our friends were lying stiff and dead, and then, shuddering at the thought, betook ourselves to silent prayer. I think we know what it is to “wrestle with God in prayer”; we had but one thought. Yet for women, we took it almost too coolly. No tears, no cries, no fear, though for the first five minutes everybody’s teeth chattered violently. Mrs. Carter had her husband in Fenner’s battery, the hottest place if they are attacked by the land force, and yet to my unspeakable relief she betrayed no more emotion than we who had only friends there. We know absolutely nothing; when does one ever know anything in the country? But we presume that this is an engagement between our batteries and the gunboats attempting to run the blockade.

Firing has slackened considerably. All are to lie down already dressed; but being in my nightgown from necessity, I shall go to sleep, though we may expect at any instant to hear the tramp of Yankee cavalry in the yard.

Sunday, March 15th.

To my unspeakable surprise, I waked up this morning and found myself alive. Once satisfied of that, and assuring myself of intense silence in the place of the great guns which rocked me to sleep about half-past two this morning, I began to doubt that I had heard any disturbance in the night, and to believe I had written a dream within a dream, and that no bombardment had occurred; but all corroborate my statement, so it must be true, and this portentous silence is only the calm before the storm. I am half afraid the land force won’t attack. We can beat them if they do; but suppose they lay siege to Port Hudson and starve us out? That is the only way they can conquer.

We hear nothing still that is reliable.

Just before daylight there was a terrific explosion which electrified every one save myself. I was sleeping so soundly that I did not hear anything of it, though Mrs. Badger says that when she sprang up and called me, I talked very rationally about it, and asked what it could possibly be. Thought that I had ceased talking in my sleep. Miriam was quite eloquent in her dreams before the attack, crying aloud, “See! See! What do I behold?” as though she were witnessing a rehearsal of the scene to follow.

Later. Dr. Kennedy has just passed through, and was within the fortifications last night; brings news which is perhaps reliable, as it was obtained from Gardiner. It was, as we presumed, the batteries and gunboats. One we sunk; another, the Mississippi, we disabled so that the Yankees had to abandon and set fire to her, thirty-nine prisoners falling into our hands. It was her magazine that exploded this morning. Two other boats succeeded in passing, though badly crippled. Our batteries fired gallantly. Hurrah! for Colonel Steadman! I know his was by no means the least efficient!

Clinton, they say, will inevitably be sacked. Alas, for mother and Lilly! What can we do? The whole country is at the mercy of the Yankees as long as Gardiner keeps within the fortifications. Six miles below here they entered Mr. Newport’s, pulled the pillow-cases from the beds, stuffed them with his clothes, and helped themselves generally. What can we expect here? To tell the truth, I should be disappointed if they did not even look in at us, on their marauding expedition.

March 17th.

On dit the Yankees have gone back to Baton Rouge, hearing we had sixty thousand men coming down after them. I believe I am positively disappointed! I did want to see them soundly thrashed! The light we thought was another burning house was that of the Mississippi. They say the shrieks of the men when our hot shells fell among them, and after they were left by their companions to burn, were perfectly appalling.

Another letter from Lilly has distressed me beyond measure. She says the one chicken and two dozen eggs Miriam and I succeeded in buying from the negroes by prayers and entreaties, saved them from actual hunger; and for two days they had been living on one egg apiece and some cornbread and syrup. Great heavens! has it come to this? Nothing to be bought in that abominable place for love or money. Where the next meal comes from, nobody knows.

Wednesday, March 25th.

Early last evening the tremendous clatter of a sword that made such unnecessary noise that one might imagine the owner thereof had betaken himself to the favorite pastime of his childhood, and was prancing in on his murderous weapon, having mistaken it for his war steed, announced the arrival of Captain Bradford, who with two friends came to say adieu. Those vile Yankees have been threatening Ponchatoula, and his battery, with a regiment of infantry, was on its way there to drive them back. The Captain sent me word of the distressing departure, with many assurances that he would take care of “my” John.

Scarcely had he departed, when lo! John arrives, and speaks for himself. Yes! he is going! Only a moment to say good-bye ... sunset approaches. Well! he must say good-bye now! Chorus of young ladies: “Oh, will you not spend the evening with us? You can easily overtake the battery later.” Chorus of married ladies: “You must not think of going. Here is a comfortable room at your service, and after an early breakfast you can be on the road as soon as the others.” No necessity for prayers; he readily consents. And yet, as the evening wore on, when we laughed loudest I could not help but think of poor little Mrs. McPhaul sitting alone and crying over her brother’s departure, fancying his precious bones lying on the damp ground with only the soldier’s roof the blue vault of heaven above, while two miles away he sat in a comfortable parlor amusing himself.

About sunrise, while the most delightful dreams floated through my brain, a little voice roused me exclaiming, “Sady! Sady! John Hawsey say so! Say give Sady!” I opened my eyes to see little Gibbes standing by me, trying to lay some flowers on my cheek, his little face sparkling with delight at his own importance. A half-opened rosebud with the faintest blush of pink on its creamy leaves a pink, and a piece of arbor vitae, all sprinkled with dew, this was my bouquet. The servant explained that Mr. Halsey had just left, and sent me that with his last good-bye. And he has gone! “And now there’s nothing left but weeping! His face I ne’er shall see, and naught is left to me, save” putting away my book and all recollections of nonsense. So here goes!

Tuesday, March 31st.

“To be, or not to be; that’s the question.” Whether ’tis nobler in the Confederacy to suffer the pangs of unappeasable hunger and never-ending trouble, or to take passage to a Yankee port, and there remaining, end them. Which is best? I am so near daft that I cannot pretend to say; I only know that I shudder at the thought of going to New Orleans, and that my heart fails me when I think of the probable consequence to mother if I allow a mere outward sign of patriotism to overbalance what should be my first consideration her health. For Clinton is growing no better rapidly. To be hungry is there an everyday occurrence. For ten days, mother writes, they have lived off just hominy enough to keep their bodies and souls from parting, without being able to procure another article not even a potato. Mother is not in a condition to stand such privation; day by day she grows weaker on her new regimen; I am satisfied that two months more of danger, difficulties, perplexities, and starvation will lay her in her grave. The latter alone is enough to put a speedy end to her days. Lilly has been obliged to put her children to bed to make them forget they were supperless, and when she followed their example, could not sleep herself, for very hunger.

We have tried in vain to find another home in the Confederacy. After three days spent in searching Augusta, Gibbes wrote that it was impossible to find a vacant room for us, as the city was already crowded with refugees. A kind Providence must have destined that disappointment in order to save my life, if there is any reason for Colonel Steadman’s fears. We next wrote to Mobile, Brandon, and even that horrid little Liberty, besides making inquiries of every one we met, while Charlie, too, was endeavoring to find a place, and everywhere received the same answer not a vacant room, and provisions hardly to be obtained at all.

The question has now resolved itself to whether we shall see mother die for want of food in Clinton, or, by sacrificing an outward show of patriotism (the inward sentiment cannot be changed), go with her to New Orleans, as Brother begs in the few letters he contrives to smuggle through. It looks simple enough. Ought not mother’s life to be our first consideration? Undoubtedly! But suppose we could preserve her life and our free sentiments at the same time? If we could only find a resting-place in the Confederacy! This, though, is impossible. But to go to New Orleans; to cease singing “Dixie”; to be obliged to keep your sentiments to yourself for I would not wound Brother by any Ultra-Secession speech, and such could do me no good and only injure him if he is as friendly with the Federals as they say he is; to listen to the scurrilous abuse heaped on those fighting for our homes and liberties, among them my three brothers could I endure it? I fear not. Even if I did not go crazy, I would grow so restless, homesick, and miserable, that I would pray for even Clinton again. Oh, I don’t, don’t want to go! If mother would only go alone, and leave us with Lilly! But she is as anxious to obtain Dr. Stone’s advice for me as we are to secure her a comfortable home; and I won’t go anywhere without Miriam, so we must all go together. Yet there is no disguising the fact that such a move will place us in a very doubtful position to both friends and enemies. However, all our friends here warmly advocate the move, and Will Pinckney and Frank both promised to knock down any one who shrugged their shoulders and said anything about it. But what would the boys say? The fear of displeasing them is my chief distress. George writes in the greatest distress about my prolonged illness, and his alarm about my condition. “Of one thing I am sure,” he writes, “and that is that she deserves to recover; for a better little sister never lived.” God bless him! My eyes grew right moist over those few words. Loving words bring tears to them sooner than angry ones. Would he object to such a step when he knows that the very medicines necessary for my recovery are not to be procured in the whole country? Would he rather have mother dead and me a cripple, in the Confederacy, than both well, out of it? I feel that if we go we are wrong; but I am satisfied that it is worse to stay. It is a distressing dilemma to be placed in, as we are certain to be blamed whichever course we pursue. But I don’t want to go to New Orleans!

Before I had time to lay down my pen this evening, General Gardiner and Major Wilson were announced; and I had to perform a hasty toilette before being presentable. The first remark of the General was that my face recalled many pleasant recollections; that he had known my family very well, but that time was probably beyond my recollection; and he went on talking about father and Lavinia, until I felt quite comfortable, with this utter stranger.... I would prefer his speaking of “our” recent success at Port Hudson to “my”; for we each, man, woman, and child, feel that we share the glory of sinking the gunboats and sending Banks back to Baton Rouge without venturing on an attack; and it seemed odd to hear any one assume the responsibility of the whole affair and say “my success” so unconsciously. But this may be the privilege of generals. I am no judge, as this is the first Confederate general I have had the pleasure of seeing. Wish it had been old Stonewall! I grow enthusiastic every time I think of the dear old fellow!

I am indebted to General Gardiner for a great piece of kindness, though. I was telling him of how many enemies he had made among the ladies by his strict regulations that now rendered it almost impossible for the gentlemen to obtain permission to call on them, when he told me if I would signify to my friends to mention when they applied that their visit was to be here, and not elsewhere, that he would answer for their having a pass whenever they called for one. Merci du compliment; maïs c’est trop tard, Monsieur!

Tuesday, April 7th.

I believe that it is for true that we are to leave for New Orleans, via Clinton and Ponchatoula, this evening. Clinton, at least, I am sure of. Lilly came down for me yesterday, and according to the present programme, though I will not answer for it in an hour from now, we leave Linwood this evening, and Clinton on Thursday. I am almost indifferent about our destination; my chief anxiety is to have some definite plans decided on, which seems perfectly impossible from the number of times they are changed a day. The uncertainty is really affecting my spine, and causing me to grow alarmingly thin....

Wednesday, CLINTON,
April 8th, 1863.

Our last adieux are said, and Linwood is left behind, “it may be for years, and it may be forever.” My last hours were spent lying on the sofa on the gallery, with Lydia at my feet, Helen Carter sitting on the floor at my side, while all the rest were gathered around me as I played for the last time “the centre of attraction.” I grew almost lachrymose as I bid a last adieu to the bed where I have spent so many months, as they carried me downstairs. Wonder if it will not miss me? It must have been at least five before the cars returned. Mrs. Carter grew quite pathetic as they approached, while poor little Lydia, with streaming eyes and choking sobs, clung first to Miriam and then to me, as though we parted to meet only in eternity. All except her mother started in a run for the big gate, while I was carried to the buggy through the group of servants gathered to say good-bye, when the General drove me off rapidly.

What a delightful sensation is motion, after five months’ inaction! The last time I was in a vehicle was the night General Beale’s ambulance brought me to Linwood a helpless bundle, last November. It seemed to me yesterday that I could again feel the kind gentleman’s arm supporting me, and his wondering, sympathetic tone as he repeated every half-mile, “Really, Miss Morgan, you are very patient and uncomplaining!” Good, kind President Miller! As though all the trouble was not his, just then! But stopping at the gate roused me from my short reverie, and I opened my eyes to find myself stationary, and in full view of a train of cars loaded with soldiers, literally covered with them; for they covered the roof, as well as filled the interior, while half a dozen open cars held them, seated one above the other in miniature pyramids, and even the engine was graced by their presence. Abashed with finding myself confronted with so many people, my sensation became decidedly alarming as a dozen rude voices cried, “Go on! we won’t stop!” and a chorus of the opposition cried, “Yes, we will!” “No!” “Yes!” they cried in turn, and as the General stood me on the ground (I would have walked if it had been my last attempt in life), I paused irresolute, not knowing whether to advance or retreat before the storm. I must say they are the only rude soldiers I have yet seen in Confederate uniforms. But as I walked slowly, clinging to the General’s arm, half from fear, and half from weakness, they ceased the unnecessary dispute, and remained so quiet that I was more frightened still, and actually forgot to say good-bye to Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Worley as they stood by the road. How both the General and I escaped being hurt as he raised me on the platform, every one is at a loss to account for. I experienced only what may be called slight pain, in comparison to what I have felt; but really fear that the exertion has disabled him for to-day. It must have been very severe. Some officers led me to my seat, Lilly, Miriam, and Anna got in, the General kissed us heartily, with damp eyes and kind wishes; the cars gave a whistle, and I put my head out of the window to see Mrs. Carter industriously applying white cambric to her face, which occupation she relinquished to call out last good-byes; another whistle and a jerk, and we were off, leaving her and Mrs. Worley, surrounded by children and servants, using their handkerchiefs to wipe tears and wave farewell, while the General waved his hat for good-bye. Then green hedges rapidly changing took their place, and Linwood was out of sight before we had ceased saying and thinking, God bless the kind hearts we had left behind. Can I ever forget the kindness we have met among them?

To see green trees and wild flowers once more, after such an illness, is a pleasure that only those long deprived of such beauties by a similar misfortune can fully appreciate.

It was a relief to discover that what I had thought shocking rudeness in the soldiers had not been reserved for me alone. For every time we stopped, the same cry of “No waiting for slow people” was raised, varied by constant expostulations with the engine for drinking ponds dry, and mild suggestions as to taking the road the other side of the fence, which would no doubt prove smoother than the track. These Arkansas troops have acquired a reputation for roughness and ignorance which they seem to cultivate as assiduously as most people would their virtues. But rudeness does not affect their fighting qualities.

MADISONVILLE,
Sunday, April 12th, 1863.

We arrived here about five last evening, and, strange to say, the journey, fatiguing as it was, has not altogether disabled me. But I must go back to Clinton to account for this new change. It would never do to take more than a hundred miles at a single jump without speaking of the incidents by the way. Numerous and pleasant as they were, some way they have unaccountably paled; and things that seemed so extremely amusing, and afforded me so much pleasure during these four days, now seem to be absurd trifles half forgotten.

I now remember lying in state on Lilly’s bed Wednesday, talking to Mrs. Badger (who had been several days in town), Anna, Sarah Ripley, and the others, when Frank suddenly bolted in, just from Port Hudson, to say another good-bye, though I told him good-bye at Linwood Sunday. Presently the General entered, just from Linwood, to see us off; then Mr. Marston and his daughter, and Mr. Neafus, all as kind as possible, until a perfect levee was assembled, which I, lying all dressed with a shawl thrown over me, enjoyed all the more as I could take my ease, and have my fun at the same time. Frank, sitting by my pillow, talked dolorously of how much he would miss us, and threatened to be taken prisoner before long in order to see us again.

When we were finally left alone, I fancy there was very little sleep in the house. As to me, I lay by Lilly wide awake, thinking how lonely she would be without us, and perfectly desolee at the idea of leaving the Confederacy (the dear gray coats included); so when it was almost sunrise there was no necessity of rousing me to dress, as I was only too glad to leave my sleepless bed. Before I got dressed, Anna, her mother, and Sarah Ripley came in again; then Miss Comstock; and just as I had put the last touch to my dress, the gentlemen of the night before entered, and we had almost an hour and a half’s respite before the carriage, less punctual than we, drove to the door.

The General picked me up in his arms and carried me once more to the carriage. Then the servants had to say good-bye; then Lilly, very quiet, very red, and dissolved in tears, clung to me almost without a word, hardly able to speak, whilst I, distressed and grieved as I was, had not a tear in my eyes nothing but a great lump in my throat that I tried to choke down in order to talk to Frank, who stood at the window by me, after she left.... How the distance lengthens between us! I raise up from my pillows and find myself at Camp Moore at four o’clock. Forty miles are passed over; good-bye, Frank!

From Camp Moore we had to go three miles back, to find Captain Gilman’s house where we were expected. The gentleman is a friend of Gibbes, though I had never seen any of them before. Such a delightful place, with everything looking so new, and cool, and such a hospitable hostess that I thought everything charming in spite of my fatigue. I had hardly a moment to look around; for immediately we were shown to our rooms, and in a very few minutes Miriam had me undressed and in bed, the most delightful spot in the world to me just then. While congratulating myself on having escaped death on the roadside, I opened my eyes to behold a tray brought to my bedside with a variety of refreshments. Coffee! Bread! Loaf-sugar! Preserves! I opened my mouth to make an exclamation at the singular optical illusion, but wisely forbore speaking, and shut it with some of the unheard-of delicacies instead....

Early next morning the same routine was gone through as Thursday morning. Again the carriage drove to the door, and we were whisked off to Camp Moore, where the engine stood snorting with impatience to hurry us off to Ponchatoula.... Soon we were steaming down the track, I reclining on my pillows in an interesting state of invalidism, sadly abashed now and then at the courteous, wondering gaze of the soldiers who were aboard. Having very little idea of the geography of that part of the country, and knowing we were to take a carriage from some point this side of Ponchatoula, fancying how surprised Mr. Halsey would be to hear we had passed him on the way, I took a card from my traveling-case, and wrote a few words for “good-bye,” as we could not see him again. I sealed it up, and put it in my pocket to send to the first post-office we passed.

About twelve o’clock we stopped at Hammond, which was our place to disembark. Mother sent out to hire a negro to carry me off the platform; and while waiting in great perplexity, a young officer who had just seated himself before me, got up and asked if he could assist her, seizing an arm full of cloaks as he spoke. I got up and walked to the door to appear independent and make believe I was not the one, when mother begged him not to trouble himself; she wanted a man to assist her daughter who was sick. Calling a friend, the gentleman kindly loaded him with the cloaks, etc., while he hurried out after me. I was looking ruefully at the impracticable step which separated me from the platform. The question of how I was to carry out my independent notions began to perplex me. “Allow me to assist you,” said a voice at my elbow. I turned and beheld the handsome officer. “Thank you; I think I can get down alone.” “Pray allow me to lift you over this place.” “Much obliged, but your arm will suffice.” “Sarah, let the gentleman carry you! You know you cannot walk!” said my very improper mother. I respectfully declined the renewed offer. “Don’t pay any attention to her. Pick her up, just as you would a child,” said my incorrigible mother. The gentleman turned very red, while Miriam asserts I turned extremely white. The next thing I knew, by passing his arm around my waist, or taking me by my arms I was so frightened that I have but a confused idea of it I was lifted over the intervening gulf and landed on the platform!

Hammond boasts of four houses. One, a shoe manufactory, stood about twenty or thirty yards off, and there the gentleman proposed to conduct me. Again he insisted on carrying me; and resolutely refusing, I pronounced myself fully equal to the walk, and accepting his proffered arm, walked off with dignity and self-possession. He must have fancied that the injury was in my hand; for holding my arm so that my entire weight must have been thrown on him, not satisfied with that support, with his other hand he held mine so respectfully and so carefully that I could not but smile as it struck me, which, by the way, was not until I reached the house!

Discovering that he belonged to Colonel Simonton’s command, I asked him to take Mr. Halsey the note I had written an hour before. He pronounced himself delighted to be of the slightest service, and seeing that we were strangers, traveling unprotected, asked if we had secured a conveyance to take us beyond. We told him no. He modestly suggested that some gentleman might attend to it for us. He would be happy to do anything in his power. I thought again of Mr. Halsey, and said if he would mention we were in Hammond, he would be kind enough to see to it for us. “May I ask your name?” he asked, evidently surprised to find himself asking a question he was dying to know. I gave him my card, whereupon mother asked his name, which he told us was Howard. We had been talking for some ten minutes, when feeling rather uncomfortable at being obliged to look up at such a tall man from my low seat, to relieve my neck as well as to shade my face from any further scrutiny, I put down my head while I was still speaking. Instantly, so quietly, naturally, and unobtrusively did he stoop down by me, on one knee so that his face was in full view of mine, that the action did not seem to me either singular or impertinent in fact, I did not think of it until mother spoke of it after he left. After a few moments it must have struck him; for he got up and made his parting bow, departing, as I afterwards heard, to question Tiche as to how I had been hurt, and declaring that it was a dreadful calamity to happen to so “lovely” a young lady.

Monday, April 13th.

Having nothing to do, I may as well go on with the history of our wanderings. When the cars were moving off with the handsome Mr. Howard, mother turned to a gentleman who seemed to own the place, and asked to be shown the hotel. He went out, and presently returning with a chair and two negroes, quietly said he would take us to his own house; the hotel was not comfortable. And, without listening to remonstrances, led the way to a beautiful little cottage, where he introduced his wife, Mrs. Cate, who received us most charmingly, and had me in bed before five minutes had elapsed. I don’t know how any one can believe the whole world so wicked; for my part I have met none but the kindest people imaginable; I don’t know any wicked ones.

Before half an hour had passed, a visitor was announced; so I gathered up my weary bones, and with scarcely a peep at the glass, walked to the parlor. I commenced laughing before I got there, and the visitor smiled most absurdly, too; for it was Mr. Halsey! It seemed so queer to meet in this part of the world that we laughed again after shaking hands. It was odd. I was thinking how much amused the General would be to hear of it; for he had made a bet that we would meet when I asserted that we would not.

After the first few remarks, he told me of how he had heard of our arrival. A gentleman had walked into camp, asking if a Mr. Halsey was there. He signified that he was the gentleman, whereupon the other drew out my note, saying a young lady on the cars had requested him to deliver it. Instantly recognizing the chirography, he asked where I was. “Hammond. This is her name,” replied the other, extending to him my card. Thinking, as he modestly confessed, that I had intended it only for him, Mr. Halsey coolly put it into his pocket, and called for his horse. Mr. Howard lingered still, apparently having something to say, which he found difficult to put in words. At last, as the other prepared to ride off, with a tremendous effort he managed to say, “The young lady’s card is mine. If it is all the same to you, I should like to have it returned.” Apologizing for the mistake, Mr. Halsey returned it, feeling rather foolish, I should imagine, and rode on to the village, leaving, as he avers, Mr. Howard looking enviously after the lucky dog who was going to see such a young lady.

He told me something that slightly disgusted me with Captain Bradford. It was that when he reached the bivouac the next morning after leaving Linwood, the Captain had put him under arrest for having stayed there all night. It was too mean, considering that it is more than probable that he himself remained at Mrs. Fluker’s. We discovered, too, that we had missed two letters Mr. Halsey had written us, which, of course, is a great disappointment. One, written to both, the other, a short note of ten pages, for me, which I am sure was worth reading.

It was not until after sunset that we exhausted all topics of conversation, and Mr. Halsey took his leave, promising to see us in the morning.

And, to be sure, as soon as I was dressed on Saturday, he again made his appearance, followed soon after by the carriage. Taking a cordial leave of Mrs. Cate, with many thanks for her hospitality, we entered our conveyance, and with Mr. Halsey riding by the side of the carriage, went on our way. He was to accompany us only as far as Ponchatoula some six miles; but the turning-point in his journey seemed to be an undetermined spot; for mile after mile rolled away rather the wheels rolled over them and still he rode by us, talking through the window, and the sprays of wild flowers he would pick for me from time to time were growing to quite a bouquet, when he proposed an exchange with the farmer who was driving us, and, giving him his horse, took the reins himself.

I think Miriam and I will always remember that ride. The laughter, the conversation, the songs with the murmuring accompaniment of the wheels, and a thousand incidents pleasant to remember though foolish to speak of, will always form a delightful tableau in our recollections. I have but one disagreeable impression to remember in connection with the trip, and that occurred at a farmhouse two miles from here, where we stopped to get strawberries. I preferred remaining in the carriage, to the trouble of getting out; so all went in, Mr. Halsey dividing his time equally between Miriam in the house and me in the carriage, supplying me with violets and pensees one moment, and the next showing me the most tempting strawberries at the most provoking distance, assuring me they were exquisite. The individual to whom the carriage belonged, who had given up the reins to Mr. Halsey, and who, no doubt, was respectable enough for his class in his part of the country, would allow no one to bring me my strawberries, reserving the honor for himself. Presently he appeared with a large saucer of them covered with cream. I was naturally thankful, but would have preferred his returning to the house after he had fulfilled his mission. Instead, he had the audacity to express his admiration of my personal appearance; without a pause gave me a short sketch of his history, informed me he was a widower, and very anxious to marry again, and finally, Lares and Penates of the house of Morgan ap Kerrig, veil your affronted brows! You will scarcely credit that the creature had the insolence to say that he would marry me to-morrow, if he could, and think himself blessed; for the jewel of the soul must be equal to the casket that contained it! Yes! this brute of a man had the unparalleled audacity to speak to me in such a way! Just then, mother, remembering her invalid, came to the gallery and asked how I was enjoying my lunch. “I’m courting her!” cried the wretch. “Glad she did not go in! Swear she’s the prettiest girl I ever saw!” At that moment Mr. Halsey came sauntering out with a handful of violets for me, and, turning my shoulder to the creature, I entered into a lively discussion with him, and at last had the satisfaction of seeing the wretch enter the house.

A drive through the straggling, half-deserted town brought us here to Mrs. Greyson’s, a large, old-fashioned-looking house so close to the Tchefuncta (I think that is the name of the river) that I could throw a stone in it from my bed, almost.

Mrs. Greyson herself would require two or three pages to do her justice. Fancy the daughter of Sir Francis Searle, the widow of General Greyson, the belle of New Orleans in her young days, settled down into a hotel-keeper on a small scale, with stately ladies and gentlemen looking down in solemn surprise at her boarders from their rich portrait frames on the parlor wall! Fallen greatness always gives me an uncomfortable thrill. Yet here was the heiress of these shadows on the wall, gay, talkative, bustling, active; with a word of caution, or a word of advice to all; polite, attentive, agreeable to her guests, quarreling and exacting with her servants, grasping and avaricious with all; singing a piece from “Norma” in a voice, about the size of a thread N, that showed traces of former excellence; or cheapening a bushel of corn meal with equal volubility. What a character! Full of little secrets and mysteries. “Now, my dear, I don’t ask you to tell a story, you know; but if the others ask you if you knew it, just look surprised and say, ‘Oh, dear me, when did it happen?’ ’Cause I promised not to tell; only you are such favorites that I could not help it, and it would not do to acknowledge it. And if any one asks you if I put these candles in here, just say you brought them with you, that’s a love, because they will be jealous, as I only allow them lamps.” Eccentric Mrs. Greyson! Many an hour’s amusement did she afford me.

A ride of twenty-six miles bolt upright in the carriage, over such bad roads, had almost used me up; I retired to bed in a state of collapse, leaving Miriam to entertain Mr. Halsey alone. After supper, though, I managed to put on my prettiest dress, and be carried down to the parlor where I rejoined the rest. Several strange ladies were present, one of whom has since afforded me a hearty laugh. She was a horrid-looking woman, and ten minutes after I entered, crossing the room with a most laughable look of vulgarity attempting to ape righteous scorn, jerked some articles of personal property from the table and retired with the sweep of a small hurricane. I thought her an eccentric female; but what was my amazement yesterday to hear that she sought Mrs. Greyson, told her it was impossible for her to stay among so many elegantly dressed ladies, and that she preferred keeping her room. Next day, she told her that she was entirely too attentive to us, and rather than be neglected in that way for other people, would leave the house, which she did instantly.

There was a singular assembly of odd characters in the parlor Saturday night, six of whom looked as though they were but so many reflections of the same individual in different glasses, and the seventh differed from the rest only in playing exquisitely on the banjo “Too well to be a gentleman,” I fear. These were soldiers, come to “call” on us. Half an hour after we arrived, a dozen of them took possession of the bench on the bank of the river, one with his banjo who played and sang delightfully. Old Mrs. Greyson, who is rather eccentric, called, “Ah, Mr. J ! Have you heard already of the arrival of the young ladies? You never serenaded me!” The young man naturally looked foolish; so she went out and asked him to come around after dark and play for the young ladies. So after a while he came, “bringing six devils yet worse than himself,” as the old Scriptural phrase has it, all of whom sat on the same side of the room, and looked at us steadily when they thought we were not looking. All had the same voice, the same bow, the same manner that is to say none at all of the latter; one introduced an agreeable variety, saying as he bowed to each separately, “Happy to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” Mr. Halsey just managed to keep his face straight, while I longed for a Dickens to put them all together and make one amusing picture out of the seven. I troubled myself very little about them, preferring Mr. Halsey’s company, not knowing when we would meet again. It would not have been quite fair to leave him to himself after he had ridden such a distance for us; so I generously left the seven to Miriam, content with one, and rather think I had the best of the bargain. The one with the banjo suggested that we should sing for them before he played for us, so Miriam played on the piano, and sang with me on the guitar half a dozen songs, and then the other commenced. I don’t know when I have been more amused. There was an odd, piney-woods dash about him that was exceedingly diverting, and he went through comic, sentimental, and original songs with an air that showed his whole heart was in it. Judging from the number of youth too timid to venture in, who peeped at us from the windows, I should say that young ladies are curiosities just now in Madisonville.

Tuesday, April 14th.

Ah! another delightful glimpse of society has been offered to our charmed view. Such a treat has not often fallen to our lot. Good Mrs. Greyson, in her anxiety to make all around her happy, determined we should have a dance. I should say “Miriam”; for Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy never indulge in such amusements, and I can’t; so it must have been for Miriam alone. Such a crew! The two ladies above mentioned and I almost laughed ourselves into hysterics. Poor Miriam, with a tall, slender Texan who looked as though he had chopped wood all his life, moved through the dance like the lady in “Comus”; only, now and then a burst of laughter at the odd mistakes threatened to overcome her dignity. We who were fortunately exempt from the ordeal, laughed unrestrainedly at the melee. One danced entirely with his arms; his feet had very little to do with the time. One hopped through with a most dolorous expression of intense absorption in the arduous task. Another never changed a benign smile that had appeared on entering, but preserved it unimpaired through every accident. One female, apparently of the tender age of thirty, wore a yellow muslin, with her hair combed rigidly a la chinoise, and tightly fastened at the back of her head in a knot whose circumference must have been fully equal to that of a dollar. In addition to other charms, she bore her neck and chin in a very peculiar manner, as though she were looking over the fence, Mr. Christmas remarked. Mr. Christmas had ridden all the way from Ponchatoula to see us, and if it had not been for him, Mr. Worthington, and Dr. Capdevielle, who came in after a while, I think I should have expired, and even Miriam would have given up in despair. The Doctor was an old friend of Harry’s, though we never met him before.

Thursday, April 16th.

Mr. Halsey brought us each a little tortoise-shell ring he had made for us by his camp-fire, as a keepsake, and of course we promised to wear them for him, particularly as they make our hands look as white as possible. Towards sunset, in spite of prayers and entreaties from Miriam, who insisted that I was too feeble to attempt it, I insisted on walking out to the bench by the river to enjoy the cool breeze; and was rather glad I had come, when soon after Dr. Capdevielle made his appearance, with two beautiful bouquets which he presented with his French bow to us; and introducing his friend, Mr. Miltonberger, entered into one of those lively discussions about nothing which Frenchmen know how to make so interesting....

No sooner had they left than, to our infinite surprise, the immortal seven of Saturday night walked in. Wonder what fun they find in coming? I see none. For we rarely trouble ourselves about their presence; there are but two I have addressed as yet; one because I am forced to say yes or no to his remarks, and the other because I like his banjo, which he brought again, and feel obliged to talk occasionally since he is so accommodating, and affords me the greatest amusement with his comic songs. I was about retiring unceremoniously about twelve o’clock, completely worn out, when they finally bethought themselves of saying good-night, and saved me the necessity of being rude. Wonder if that is all the fun they have? I should say it was rather dry. It is mean to laugh at them, though; their obliging dispositions should save them from our ridicule. Last evening Mr. Halsey succeeded in procuring a large skiff, whereupon four or five of them offered to row, and took us ’way down the Tchefuncta through the most charming scenery to a spot where Echo answered us in the most remarkable way; her distinct utterance was really charming. Not being aware of the secret, I thought the first answer to the halloo was from pickets. Mr. Halsey has a magnificent voice; and the echoes came back so full and rich that soon we appointed him speaker by mutual consent, and were more than repaid by the delightful sounds that came from the woods. The last ray of the sun on the smooth waters; the soldiers resting on their oars while we tuned the guitar and sang in the still evening, until twilight, slowly closing over, warned us to return, forms another of those pictures indescribable though never to be forgotten.

BONFOUCA,
Saturday, April 18th.

When I paused on Thursday to rest a few moments, how little idea I had that the rest I was taking would soon be required for another journey!

It was agreed among us, with our fellow travelers, Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy, whom we met at Mrs. Greyson’s, endeavoring to reach the city like ourselves, that we would wait there until we could receive our passports from General Pemberton. When this journey was first seriously contemplated, Miriam wrote to Colonel Szymanski representing mother’s state of health and my unfortunate condition, the necessity of medical advice for both, and the impossibility of remaining in famishing Clinton, and asked him to apply to the General for a pass to go to Brother. The Colonel sent word through Eugene La Noue that we should obtain it in a few days, and advised us to go by way of Ponchatoula. Tired of delay, and hearing that we could pass as readily on General Gardiner’s order, we obtained one and started off without waiting for the other. The first news on arriving at Madisonville was that no one should pass except on General Pemberton’s order.

Pleasant intelligence for those who had come that far without! The other two ladies were in the same dilemma. They were told that they should have a pass if they would wait. Waiting at the expense of four dollars a day for each, Mrs. Ivy with two very sick babies, Mrs. Bull with all her property in New Orleans at stake, Tiche with her broken foot, mother with a powerless hand, and I with an injured spine, was anything but agreeable under the circumstances; though nothing could be more pleasant, apart from this sense of restriction, than our stay at Madisonville. General Pemberton took his leisure about the affair, which is not surprising, as our Generals have more weighty matters than women’s passports to attend to. Still, pleased as we were with our residence there, it was necessary to get on as soon as possible. So as I rested from labors about one o’clock on Thursday, Mrs. Bull came in to suggest a new plan to mother. It was to leave immediately for a plantation called Bonfouca, thirty miles off, where schooners came twice a week, and where we would be allowed to embark without a pass. Carriages that had just brought a party of ladies from Mandeville were waiting on the other side of the river, which could take us off immediately, for there was not a moment to lose.

Instantly we resolved to hazard the undertaking.

About three we got into the large scow to cross the Tchefuncta, in a party numbering five ladies, four children, and four servants. One of the devoted pickets, after setting me carefully in the most comfortable place, asked permission to accompany me as far as the carriage; he was sure he could assist me more carefully than the drivers. And without further parley, he followed. Before we turned the point, Mr. Worthington ... the dim distance, rowing up the stream in the direction of Madisonville. What if he had perceived us, and was hastening after us, deeming it his duty to arrest us for trying to get away without General Pemberton’s order? As the idea was suggested, there was rather a nervous set of ladies on board. The half-mile that we had to go before reaching our landing-place was passed over in nervous apprehension. At last the spot was reached. Mr. Worthington had not appeared, and we reached terra firma without being “nabbed,” as we confidently expected. The obliging picket put me into the carriage, bade me a most friendly adieu, and returned to the village, leaving us with every prospect of getting off without serious difficulty, in spite of our serious apprehensions.

With two little children and Tiche with me, our carriage started off some time before the others. Two or three miles from our starting-point, I perceived three gentlemen riding towards us, one of whom I instantly recognized as Dr. Capdevielle. Instantly I stopped the carriage to speak to him. His look of astonishment when satisfied of my identity rather amused me; but my amusement was changed to a slight feeling of disappointment when he commenced talking. Was it possible I was leaving Madison? Oh, how distressed he was! He was promising himself so much pleasure! And to leave so unexpectedly! He had just come with his friends from somewhere. They had planned a surprise party at Mrs. Greyson’s for us that evening, and had been after the supper they had procured somewhere, as I before observed, and were just now returning. And now we were deserting them! He had invited Monsieur Berger, Monsieur Pollock, Monsieur Mais enfin des Messieurs! he exclaimed with a comical emphasis and smile that brought vivid recollections of the other party before my eyes, by force of contrast, I suppose. And wasn’t I sorry we had left! We fairly condoled with each other. Twenty minutes had elapsed before I had so far recovered from the disappointment as to bethink myself of the propriety of continuing my journey. And then with the assurance of being mutually desolee, we parted with a hearty good-bye, and he rode on to rejoin his companions, while I went the way he had come.

Two miles beyond, I met three others of the six gentlemen he had mentioned, riding in a little dogcart which contained champagne baskets in which the supper was evidently packed, each gentleman elegantly dressed, holding between them a little basket of bouquets that my prophetic soul told me was intended for Miriam and me. I was not personally acquainted with the gentlemen, or I should have told them of the disappointment that awaited them. It must have been a disappointment!

In the midst of profound reflections about fate, vanity of human wishes and calculations, friendships formed on the roadside in the journey through life (or from Clinton), I raised my eyes to behold Lake Ponchartrain, and to find myself in Mandeville, just seven miles from the Tchefuncta. Looking at the dreary expanse of water, which suggested loneliness and desolation, first recalled my own situation to me. Here I was in this straggling place, with Tiche, a cripple like myself, and two little children under my care, without an idea of where we were to go. Any one as timid and dependent as I to be placed in such a position as pioneer to such a tremendous company would feel rather forlorn. But some step had to be taken, so I consulted the driver as to where we could obtain board, and followed his suggestion. One house after the other we stopped at, and with my veil down and my heart beating as though I were soliciting charity, or some other unpleasant favor, I tried to engage rooms for the company, without success. At last we were directed to a Frenchman, who, after the usual assurance of “nothing to eat” (which we afterwards found to be only too true), consented to receive us. “Taking possession” seemed to me such a dreadful responsibility that for some time I remained in the carriage, afraid to get out before the others arrived. But there was still no sign of them; so I gathered my children and Tiche, and prepared to dismount with the Frenchman’s assistance.

I have read descriptions of such houses and people, but I have not often seen them. The man and his wife were perfect specimens of the low Canadian, speaking only French. No sooner had they discovered that I was “blessee,” as they supposed, than each seized an arm and with overwhelming exclamations of sympathy, halfway dragged me into the room, where they thrust me into a chair. Their family seemed to consist only of cats and dogs who seemed to agree most harmoniously, and each of whom conceived the liveliest affection for us. As we were leaving Mrs. Greyson’s, a stranger just from the city, brought to our room a paper of ham, tongue, and biscuits for “the sick young lady” (Heaven only knows how she heard of her), saying she had just traveled the road herself, and knew I would find nothing to eat; so she would insist on putting this in our basket. It was done in a manner that put all refusal out of the question; so it had to be accepted. I was feeding little Jenny Ivy and Minna Bull on this lunch for want of something else to do, when the affection of the cats and dogs became overpowering. Six of them jumped at us, licked Jenny’s face, eat Minna’s ham, and what with sundry kicks and slaps I had exercise enough to last a week, and was rapidly losing all my strength, when the woman came to my rescue and called her pets off just as the rest of the party drove up to find me almost exhausted.

Such a bedroom! There was a narrow single bed in which mother, Jenny, and I slept, a decrepit table on which stood a diseased mirror, a broken lounge without a bottom, and a pine armoir filled with corn! In the centre stood the chief ornament, a huge pile of dirt, near which Miriam’s mattress was placed, while the sail of a boat flanked it in on the other side, arranged as a bed for Tiche. The accommodations in the other bedroom were far inferior to ours. Then the mosquitoes swarmed like pandemonium on a spree, and there was but one bar in the house, which the man declared should be only for me. I would rather have been devoured by the insects than enjoy comforts denied to the others; so I made up my mind it should be the last time.

Our supper was rare. “Nothing like it was ever seen in Paris,” as McClellan would say. It consisted of one egg apiece, with a small spoonful of rice. A feast, you see! Price, one dollar each, besides the dollar paid for the privilege of sleeping among dirt, dogs, and fleas.

Sunday, April 19th.

Friday morning we arose and prepared to resume our journey for Bonfouca, twenty-three miles away. The man walked in very unceremoniously to get corn from the armoir as we got up, throwing open the windows and performing sundry little offices usually reserved for femmes-de-chambre; but with that exception everything went on very well. Breakfast being a luxury not to be procured, we got into the carriages before sunrise, and left this romantic abode of dogs and contentment. Again our road lay through piney woods, so much like that from Hammond to Ponchatoula that involuntarily I found myself looking through the window to see if Mr. Halsey was there. It lacked only his presence to make the scene all in all the same. But alas! this time the driver picked me wild flowers, and brought us haws. Mr. Halsey, in blissful ignorance of our departure, was many and many a mile away. The drive was not half as amusing. The horse would not suffer any one except Miriam to drive, and at last refused to move until the driver got down and ran along by the carriage. Every time the poor boy attempted to occupy his seat, the obstinate animal would come to a dead stop and refuse to go until he dismounted again. I am sure that he walked nineteen miles out of the twenty-three, out of complaisance to the ungrateful brute.

All equally fatigued and warm, we reached this place about twelve o’clock. Mrs. Bull had arrived before us; and as the carriage stopped, her girl Delia came to the gate the personification of despair, crying, “You can’t get out, ladies. They say we can’t stop here; we must go right back.” The panic which ensued is indescribable. Go back when we were almost at our journey’s end, after all the money we had spent, the fatigue we had undergone, to be turned back all the way to Clinton, perhaps! “With my sick babies!” cried Mrs. Ivy. “With my sick child!” cried mother. “Never! You may turn me out of your house, but we will die in the woods first! To go back is to kill my daughter and these babies!” This was to the overseer who came to the carriage. “Madam, I have orders to allow no one to pass who has not written permission. Lieutenant Worthington sent the order two days ago; and I am liable to imprisonment if I harbor those who have no passport,” the man explained. “But we have General Gardiner’s order,” I expostulated. “Then you shall certainly pass; but these ladies cannot. I can’t turn you away, though; you shall all come in and stay until something can be determined on.”

This much granted was an unlooked-for blessing. He showed us the way to a large unfurnished house, one room of which contained a bed with one naked mattress, which was to be our apartment. Mrs. Bull sat down in a calm, dignified state of despair; little Mrs. Ivy dissolved in tears; we all felt equally disconsolate; the prospect of getting off was not so pleasant when we thought we should be obliged to leave them behind. Our common misfortunes had endeared us to each other, strangers as we were a week ago. So we all lamented together, a perfect Jeremiade of despair. The overseer is very tender-hearted; he condoled, comforted, and finally determined that if there was any way of getting them off, they should go. A glimpse of sunshine returned to our lowering sky, and cheerfulness reigned once more, to be violently dethroned some hours later. Three of the Madisonville pickets were announced approaching the house. Of course, they were coming after us! Oh, that vile Mr. Worthington! We always did hate him! There was such a sneaky look about him. Hypocrite! we always felt we should hate him! Oh, the wretch! “I won’t go back!” cried mother. “I shall not,” said quiet Mrs. Bull. “He shall pay my expenses if he insists on taking me back!” exclaimed Mrs. Ivy. “Spent all my money! Mrs. Bull, you have none to lend me, remember, and Mrs. Morgan shan’t! Oh, that Worthington! Let’s make him pay for all!” We smothered our laughter to sit trembling within as the pickets stepped on the gallery. I believe we commenced praying. Just think! Thus far, our journey has cost mother two hundred and twenty dollars. It would cost the same to get back to blessed Clinton, and fancy our spending that sum to settle there again! Besides, we gave away all our clothes to our suffering friends; and what would we do there now?

After half an hour of painful suspense, we discovered that it would have been as well to spare poor Mr. Worthington; for the pickets were not after us, but had come to escort Mrs. R , a woman who was taking the body of her son, who was killed at Murfreesboro, to the city for interment. Poor woman! she rode all this distance sitting on her child’s coffin. Her husband was one of those who with B stole that large sum of money from father which came so near ruining him. She speaks of her husband as of a departed saint. I dare say she believes him innocent of the theft in spite of his public confession. The grave has wiped out even the disgrace of the penitentiary where he expiated his offense.... When I told Tiche who the woman was, she clasped her hands, saying, “The Lord is good! Years and years master suffered while she grew rich, and now her time comes! The Lord don’t forget!” I can’t feel that way. It is well for the narrow-minded to look for God’s judgment on us for our sins; but mine is a more liberal faith. God afflicted her for some wise purpose; but if I thought it was to avenge father, I should be afraid of her. As it is, I can be sorry, oh, so sorry for her!

As usual I find myself taken care of at the expense of the others. There are but two bars on the place; one, the overseer said, should be for me, the other for the children. Sheets were scarce, covers scarcer still. Tired of being spoiled in this way, I insisted on being allowed to sleep on a mattress on the floor, after a vigorous skirmish with mother and Miriam, in which I came off victorious. For a bar, I impressed Miriam’s grenadine dress, which she fastened to the doorknob and let fall over me a la Victoria tester arrangement. To my share fell a double blanket, which, as Tiche had no cover, I unfolded, and as she used the foot of my bed for a pillow, gave her the other end of it, thus (tell it not in Yankeeland, for it will never be credited) actually sleeping under the same bedclothes with our black, shiny negro nurse! We are grateful, though, even for these discomforts; it might have been so much worse! Indeed, I fear that our fellow travelers do not fare as well. Those who have sheets have no bars; those who have blankets have no sheets; and one woman who has recently joined us has nothing except a mattress which is to do the duty of all three. But then, we got bread! Real, pure, wheat bread! And coffee! None of your potato, burnt sugar, and parched corn abomination, but the unadulterated berry! I can’t enjoy it fully, though; every mouthful is cloyed with the recollection that Lilly and her children have none.

As usual, as Mrs. Greyson says, the flowers follow us; yesterday I received three bouquets, and Miriam got one too. In this out-of-the-way place such offerings are unexpected; and these were doubly gratifying coming from people one is not accustomed to receiving them from. For instance, the first was from the overseer, the second from a servant, and the third from a poor boy for whom we have subscribed to pay his passage to the city.

Wednesday, April 22d,
NEW ORLEANS.

Yesterday we arrived; I thought we should never get here. Monday we had almost given up in despair, believing the schooner would never return. But in the evening, when all were gathered in our room discussing our hopes and fears, a sail was perceived at the mouth of the bayou, whereupon every one rushed out to see the boat land. I believe that I have not mentioned that this Bonfouca is on a bayou of the same name that runs within a few yards of this house. It is an Indian name signifying Winding River, which struck us as very appropriate when we watched the schooner sailing now to the left, now to the right, apparently through the green fields; for the high grass hid the course of the stream so that the faintest line was not perceptible, except just in front of the house. All was now bustle and confusion, packing, dressing, and writing last words to our friends at home, until half-past eleven, when we embarked.

This is my first experience of schooners, and I don’t care if I never behold another. The cabin where Mr. Kennedy immediately carried me, was just the size of my bed at home (in the days I had a home) and just high enough to stand in. On each side of the short ladder, there was a mattress two feet wide. One of them Mrs. R had possession of already, the other was reserved for me. I gave the lower part of mine to Minna and Jennie, who spent the rest of the night fighting each other and kicking me.

Just before twelve we “weighed anchor” and I went on deck to take a last look at Dixie with the rest of the party. Every heart was full. Each left brothers, sisters, husband, children, or dear friends behind. We sang, “Farewell dear land,” with a slight quaver in our voices, looked at the beautiful starlight shining on the last boundary of our glorious land, and, fervently and silently praying, passed out of sight.

God bless you, all you dear ones we have left in our beloved country! God bless and prosper you, and grant you the victory in the name of Jesus Christ.

I returned to my mattress, and this is the way we spent the night.

Mrs. R , rocking and moaning as she sat up in bed, whined out her various ills with a minute description of each, ceasing the recital only to talk of her son’s body which lay on deck. (Yesterday morning she was sitting crying on his coffin while a strange woman sat on its head eating her bread and cheese.) Mrs. Bull, one of the most intelligent and refined ladies I have yet met, who is perfectly devoted to me, sat by me, laughing and talking, trying her best to make every one comfortable and happy in her unobtrusive way. Mother talked to Mrs. R and cried at the thought of leaving her children fighting and suffering. The space between the two beds was occupied by three Irishwomen and Mrs. Ivy’s two babies. The babies had commenced screaming as they were brought into the pen, at which I was not surprised. Having pitched their voices on the proper key, they never ceased shrieking, kicking, crying, throwing up, and going through the whole list of baby performances. The nurses scolded with shrill voices above the bedlam that had hushed even Mrs. R ’s complaints; Jennie and Minna quarreled, kicked, and cried; and as an aggravation to the previous discomforts, a broad-shouldered, perspiring Irishwoman sat just by my head, bracing herself against my pillow in the most unpleasant style. I endured it without flinching until about half-past three, when the condensed odor of a dozen different people and children became unendurable, and I staggered up on deck where Miriam and Mrs. Ivy had been wise enough to remain without venturing below. They laid me on a bench in the stern, rolled me up in shawls to keep off the heavy dew, and there I remained until daylight with them, as wide awake as ever.

At daylight there was a universal smoothing of heads, and straightening of dresses, besides arrangements made for the inspection of baggage. Being unwilling for any Christian to see such a book as this, I passed a piece of tape through the centre leaves, and made Miriam tie it under her hoops. At sunrise we were in sight of the houses at the lake end. It seemed as though we would never reach land.

I forgot to speak of our alarm as we got in the lake. No sooner had we fairly left the bayou than the sky suddenly became threatening. The captain shook his head and spoke of a very ugly night for the lake, which sent everybody’s heart to their throats, and alarmed us immeasurably. We got talking of the sailor’s superstition of crossing the water with a corpse, until we persuaded ourselves that it was more than probable we would founder in the coming storm. But the severest storm we met was the one in the cabin; and all night the only wind was a head breeze, and the spicy gale from below.

When we at last entered the canal, I beheld the animal now so long unseen, the Yankee. In their dark blue uniforms, they stood around, but I thought of the dear gray coats, and even the pickets of Madisonville seemed nobler and greater men than these. Immediately a guard was placed on board, we whispering before he came, “Our dear Confederates, God bless them.”

We had agreed among ourselves that come what would, we would preserve our dignity and self-respect, and do anything rather than create a scene among such people. It is well that we agreed. So we whispered quietly among ourselves, exhorting each other to pay no attention to the remarks the Yankees made about us as we passed, and acting the martyr to perfection, until we came to Hickock’s Landing. Here there was a group of twenty Yankees. Two officers came up and asked us for papers; we said we had none. In five minutes one came back, and asked if we had taken the oath. No; we had never taken any. He then took down our names. Mother was alone in the coop. He asked if there was not another. The schooner had fifteen passengers, and we had given only fourteen names. Mother then came up and gave her name, going back soon after.

While one went after our passes, others came to examine our baggage. I could not but smile as an unfortunate young man got on his knees before our trunk and respectfully handled our dirty petticoats and stockings. “You have gone through it before,” he said. “Of course, the Confederates searched it.” “Indeed, they did not touch it!” I exclaimed. “They never think of doing such work.” “Miss, it is more mortifying to me than it can be to you,” he answered. And I saw he was actually blushing. He did his work as delicately as possible, and when he returned the keys, asked if we had letters. I opened my box and put them into his hand. One came near getting me into serious trouble. It was sent by some one I never saw, with the assurance that it contained nothing objectionable. I gave it sealed to the man, who opened it, when it proved to be rather disagreeable, I judged from his language. He told me his captain must see it before he could let me have it, and carried it off. Presently he came back and told me it could not be returned. I told him to burn it then, as I neither knew the writer, the contents, nor those it was written to. “I may save you some difficulty if I destroy it,” he remarked, whereupon he tore it up and flung it into the canal. I have since found I had cause to be grateful; for just after came an officer to see the young lady who brought that letter. I showed the pieces in the water, saying the young man had torn it up, which seemed to annoy him; it was to be sent to headquarters, he said.

Then came a bundle of papers on board carried by another, who standing in front of us, cried in a startling way, “Sarah Morgan!” “Here” (very quietly). “Stand up!” “I cannot” (firmly). “Why not?” “Unable” (decisively). After this brief dialogue, he went on with the others until all were standing except myself, when he delivered to each a strip of paper that informed the people that Miss, or Mrs. So-and-So had taken and subscribed the oath as Citizen of the United States. I thought that was all, and rejoiced at our escape. But after another pause he uncovered his head and told us to hold up our right hands. Half-crying, I covered my face with mine and prayed breathlessly for the boys and the Confederacy, so that I heard not a word he was saying until the question, “So help you God?” struck my ear. I shuddered and prayed harder. There came an awful pause in which not a lip was moved. Each felt as though in a nightmare, until, throwing down his blank book, the officer pronounced it “All right!” Strange to say, I experienced no change. I prayed as hard as ever for the boys and our country, and felt no nasty or disagreeable feeling which would have announced the process of turning Yankee.

Then it was that mother commenced. He turned to the mouth of the diminutive cave, and asked if she was ready to take the oath. “I suppose I have to, since I belong to you,” she replied. “No, madam, you are not obliged; we force no one. Can you state your objections?” “Yes, I have three sons fighting against you, and you have robbed me, beggared me!” she exclaimed, launching into a speech in which Heaven knows what she did not say; there was little she left out, from her despoiled house to her sore hand, both of which she attributed to the at first amiable man, who was rapidly losing all patience. Faint with hunger, dizzy with sleeplessness, she had wrought on her own feelings until her nerves were beyond control. She was determined to carry it out, and crying and sobbing went through with it.

I neither spoke nor moved.... The officer walked off angrily and sent for a guard to have mother taken before General Bowens. Once through her speech, mother yielded to the entreaties of the ladies and professed herself ready to take the oath, since she was obliged to. “Madam, I did not invite you to come,” said the polite officer, who refused to administer the oath; and putting several soldiers on board, ordered them to keep all on board until one could report to General Bowens. Mother retired to the cabin, while we still kept our seats above.

Oh, that monotonous, never-ending canal! We thought it would go on forever. At last we came to the basin in the centre of the city. Here was a position for ladies! Sitting like Irish emigrants on their earthly possessions, and coming in a schooner to New Orleans, which a year ago would have filled us with horror. Again the landing was reached, and again we were boarded by officers. I don’t know how they knew of the difficulty mother had made, but they certainly did, and ordered that none should leave until the General’s will was made known.

Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy, after a long delay and many representations, at last prepared to leave. I was sitting in the spot I had occupied ever since before daylight, with nothing to support me above my hips. All of us had fasted since an early and light supper the night before; none had slept. I was growing so weak from these three causes, and the burning sun (for it was now twelve), that I could hardly speak when they came to tell me good-bye. Alarmed at my appearance, Mrs. Bull entreated the officer to allow me to leave the boat. No, he said; it was impossible; we should remain on board until General Bowens could come. We may get an answer in half an hour, or we may not get it for some time; and there we must stay until it came. “But this young lady has been ill for months; she is perfectly exhausted, and will faint if she is not removed immediately,” pleaded Mrs. Bull. She did not know my powers of control. Faint! I would have expired silently first! The officer said those were his orders; I could not leave. “Do you think you are performing your duty as a gentleman and a Christian? This young lady has obtained her pass already, without the slightest difficulty,” she persisted. Still he said he was acting according to orders. Not to be baffled, she begged that she might be allowed to take me to Brother, telling him who he was, while our trunk, Miriam, Tiche, and mother would remain as hostages. Then he gave a reluctant consent on condition I left my number, so he could go after me when I was wanted.

I don’t know what good came of the consent, for there I was to remain until something, I don’t know what, happened. I only know I was growing deathly sick and faint, and could hardly hold myself up, when some time after Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy left (under the impression that I was to go immediately), a gentleman in citizen’s clothes came to me and said he had obtained permission for me to wait General Bowens’s orders in his office, a few steps from the schooner. Thankful for so much, I accepted his arm and slowly dragged myself along to the first shelter I had seen that day. By some wonderful condescension Miriam and mother were allowed to follow; and with the guard at the door, we waited there for half an hour more until our sentence could be received.

Miriam had written a line to Brother as soon as possible, telling him of the situation, and while we were waiting in this office, I half dead with fatigue, a carriage dashed up to the door, and out of it stepped Brother. I felt that all our troubles were over then. He looked so glad to see us that it seemed a pity to tell the disagreeable story that yet remained to be told. But once heard, he made all go right in a few moments. He got into the carriage with mother, to take her to General Bowens, while we got into another to come to the house. I saw no more of the guard or officer.

When we arrived, Sister was too astonished to speak. She did not believe we would come when it was ordered that all should take the oath on entering. If we had only realized it I don’t think we would, either.

In half an hour mother got back. Supported by Brother’s presence, she had managed to hold up her right hand and say “Yes” to the oath which was more than any of us had done.

Brother found an officer at the door who had been ordered (before he took mother to the General) to arrest her and confine her in the Custom-House. I suppose Miriam and I would have shared the imprisonment with her. But Brother has a way of making all these things right; and the man was sent back without accomplishing his mission.

Sunday, April 26th.

I am getting well! Bless the Lord, O my soul! Life, health, and happiness dawn on my trembling view again!... Dr. Stone came to see me a few hours after I arrived; two days after, he called again; this morning I walked out to meet him when he was announced, and he asked me how my sister was. When I told him I was myself, “God bless my soul! You don’t say so!” he exclaimed, evidently astonished at the resurrection.

Thursday, April 30th.

Was not the recollection of this day bitter enough to me already? I did not think it could be more so. Yet behold me crying as I have not cried for many and many a day. Not for Harry; I dare not cry for him. I feel a deathlike quiet when I think of him; a fear that even a deep-drawn breath would wake him in his grave. And as dearly as I love you, O Hal, I don’t want you in this dreary world again....

Talk of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes! Talk of Louis XIV! Of pshaw! my head is in such a whirl that history gets all mixed up, and all parallels seem weak and moderate in comparison to this infamous outrage. To-day, thousands of families, from the most respectable down to the least, all who have had the firmness to register themselves enemies to the United States, are ordered to leave the city before the fifteenth of May. Think of the thousands, perfectly destitute, who can hardly afford to buy their daily bread even here, sent to the Confederacy, where it is neither to be earned nor bought, without money, friends, or a home. Hundreds have comfortable homes here, which will be confiscated to enrich those who drive them out. “It is an ill wind that blows no one good.” Such dismal faces as one meets everywhere! Each looks heartbroken. Homeless, friendless, beggars, is written in every eye. Brother’s face is too unhappy to make it pleasant to look at him. True, he is safe; but hundreds of his friends are going forth destitute, leaving happy homes behind, not knowing where the crust of bread for famishing children is to come from to-morrow. He went to General Bowens and asked if it were possible that women and children were included in the order. Yes, he said; they should all go, and go in the Confederacy. They should not be allowed to go elsewhere. Penned up like sheep to starve! That’s the idea! With the addition of forty thousand mouths to feed, they think they can invoke famine to their aid, seeing that their negro brothers don’t help them much in the task of subjugating us.

Don’t care who knows I smuggled in a dozen letters! Wish I had had more!

June 9th, Tuesday.

My dear Brother, who is always seeking to make somebody happy, arranged a dinner-party at the lake for us Saturday. There was quite a number of us, as, besides ourselves and the five children, we had Mrs. Price and her children, Mrs. Bull, and three nurses.... There are no Southern young men left in town, and those who remain would hardly be received with civility by Miriam and myself. Of the Yankees, Brother has so much consideration for us that he has never invited one to his house since we have been here, though he has many friends among them who visited here before our arrival. Such delicacy of feeling we fully appreciate, knowing how very few men of such a hospitable nature would be capable of such a sacrifice. Thinking we need company, Brother frequently invites what he calls “a safe old Secessionist” (an old bachelor of fifty-three who was wounded at Shiloh) to dine with us; thinking it a fair compromise between the stay-at-home youth and Yankees, neither of whom this extremely young man could be confounded with.

Sunday, June 14th.

The excitement about Port Hudson and Vicksburg is intense. When I heard on Friday that the last attack was being made on the former place, I took to my prayers with a delirium of fervor. If I was a man, if I had the blessed privilege of fighting, I would be on the breastworks, or perchance on the water batteries under Colonel Steadman’s command. But as I was unfortunately born a woman, I stay home and pray with heart and soul. That is all I can do; but I do it with a will. In my excitement, I was wishing that I was a Catholic, that I might make a vow for the preservation of Port Hudson, when a brilliant idea struck me. It was this: though vows are peculiar to Catholics, mosquitoes are common to all sects. From that arose this heroic scheme: I said, “Hear me, Miriam, thou who knowest I have slept undisturbed but three nights out of seventeen, four hours out of each of the other fourteen having been spent in destroying my insatiable foe. Thou seest that nightly vigils are torturing me pale and weak, thou knowest what unspeakable affection I have for the youth yclept by the ancients Morpheus. Yet listen to my vow: If Port Hudson holds out, if our dear people are victorious, I offer up myself on the altar of my country to mosquitoes, and never again will I murmur at their depredations and voracity.” Talk of pilgrimages, and the ordinary vow of wearing only the Virgin’s colors (the most becoming in the world); there never was one of greater heroism or more sublime self-sacrifice than this. And as if to prove my sincerity, they have been worse than ever these last two nights. But as yet I have not murmured; for the Yankees, who swore to enter Port Hudson before last Monday night, have not yet fulfilled their promise, and we hold it still. Vivent vows and mosquitoes, and forever may our flag wave over the entrenchments! We will conquer yet, with God’s blessing!

A week or ten days ago came a letter from Lydia, who is placed within the lines by this recent raid. She writes that the sugar-house and quarters have been seized for Yankee hospitals, that they have been robbed of their clothing, and that they are in pursuit of the General, who I pray Heaven may escape them. She wrote for clothing, provisions, and a servant, and after we had procured them all, and were ready to send them, we discovered that they would not be allowed to pass; so I hardly know what the poor child will do unless she accepts Brother’s invitation to come down to him immediately, if she thinks it right.

June 17th.

I must write something somewhere, I don’t care if dinner is ready, and Brother’s “safe old Secesh” downstairs! Lydia has another boy! Letter has just come, and I am demented about my new godchild! There now! feel better!

One more word it shall be called “Howell.” Dear, blessed little baby! how I shall love it!

Sunday, June 21st.

How about that oath of allegiance? is what I frequently ask myself, and always an uneasy qualm of conscience troubles me. Guilty or not guilty of perjury? According to the law of God in the abstract, and of nations, Yes; according to my conscience, Jeff Davis, and the peculiar position I was placed in, No. Which is it? Had I had any idea that such a pledge would be exacted, would I have been willing to come? Never! The thought would have horrified me. The reality was never placed before me until we reached Bonfouca. There I was terrified at the prospect; but seeing how impossible it would be to go back, I placed all my hopes in some miracle that was to intervene to prevent such a crime, and confidently believed my ill health or something else would save me, while all the rest of the party declared they would think it nothing, and take forty oaths a day, if necessary. A forced oath, all men agree, is not binding. The Yankees lay particular stress on this being voluntary, and insist that no one is solicited to take it except of their own free will. Yet look at the scene that followed, when mother showed herself unwilling! Think of being ordered to the Custom-House as a prisoner for saying she supposed she would have to! That’s liberty! that is free will! It is entirely optional; you have only to take it quietly or go to jail. That is freedom enough, certainly! There was not even that choice left to me. I told the officer who took down my name that I was unwilling to take the oath, and asked if there was no escaping it. “None whatever” was his reply. “You have it to do, and there is no getting out of it.” His rude tone frightened me into half-crying; but for all that, as he said, I had it to do. If perjury it is, which will God punish: me, who was unwilling to commit the crime, or the man who forced me to it?

Friday, June 26th.

O praise the Lord, O my soul! Here is good news enough to make me happy for a month! Brother is so good about that! Every time he hears good news on our side, he tells it just as though it was on his side, instead of on ours; while all bad news for us he carefully avoids mentioning, unless we question him. So to-day he brought in a budget for us.

Lee has crossed the Potomac on his way to Washington with one hundred and sixty thousand men. Gibbes and George are with him. Magruder is marching on Fort Jackson, to attack it in the rear. One or two of our English ironclads are reported at the mouth of the river, and Farragut has gone down to capture them. O Jimmy! Jimmy! suppose he should be on one of them? We don’t know the name of his ship, and it makes us so anxious for him, during these months that we have heard nothing of his whereabouts.

It is so delightful to see these frightened Yankees! One has only to walk downtown to be satisfied of the alarm that reigns. Yesterday came the tidings of the capture of Brashere City by our troops, and that a brigade was fifteen miles above here, coming down to the city. Men congregated at corners whispering cautiously. These were evidently Confederates who had taken the oath. Solitary Yankees straggled along with the most lugubrious faces, troubling no one. We walked down to Blineau’s with Mrs. Price, and over our ice-cream she introduced her husband, who is a true blue Union man, though she, like ourselves, is a rank Rebel. Mr. Price, on the eve of making an immense fortune, was perfectly disconsolate at the news. Every one was to be ruined; starvation would follow if the Confederates entered; there was never a more dismal, unhappy creature. Enchanted at the news, I naturally asked if it were reliable. “Perfectly! Why, to prove how true, standing at the door of this salon five minutes ago, I saw two young ladies pass with Confederate flags, which they flirted in the face of some Federal officers, unrebuked!” Verily, thought I, something is about to happen! Two days ago the girls who were “unrebuked” this evening would have found themselves in jail instead.

July 10th.

Shall I cry, faint, scream, or go off in hysterics? Tell me which, quickly; for to doubt this news is fine and imprisonment, and if I really believe it I would certainly give way to my feelings and commit some vagaries of the kind. My resolution is formed! I will do neither; I won’t gratify the Yankees so much. I have been banging at the piano until my fingers are weary, and singing “The Secret through Life to be Happy” until my voice is cracked; I’ll stand on my head if necessary, to prove my indifference; but I’ll never believe this is true until it is confirmed by stronger authority.

Day before yesterday came tidings that Vicksburg had fallen on the 4th inst. The “Era” poured out extras, and sundry little popguns fizzled out salutes. All who doubted the truth of the report and were brave enough to say so were fined or imprisoned; it has become a penal offense to doubt what the “Era” says; so quite a number of arrests were made. This morning it was followed up by the announcement of the capture of Port Hudson. The guns are pealing for true, and the Yankees at headquarters may be seen skipping like lambs, for very joy. And I still disbelieve! Skeptic! The first thing I know that “Era” man will be coming here to convert me! But I don’t, can’t, won’t believe it! If it is true, but I find consolation in this faith: it is either true, or not true, if it is true, it is all for the best, and if it is not true, it is better still. Whichever it is, is for some wise purpose; so it does not matter, so we wait, pray, and believe.

5 o’clock, P.M.

I don’t believe it? What am I crying about then? It seems so hard! How the mighty are fallen! Port Hudson gone! Brother believes it. That is enough for me. God bless him! I cry hourly. He is so good and considerate. He told me, “Name your friends, and what can be done for them shall be attended to. The prisoners will be sent here. Maybe I cannot do much; but food and clothing you shall have in abundance for them when they arrive.” God bless him for his kindness!

O dear, noble men! I am afraid to meet them; I should do something foolish; best take my cry out in private now. May the Lord look down in pity on us! Port Hudson does not matter so much; but these brave, noble creatures! The “Era” says they had devoured their last mule before they surrendered.

Saturday, July 10th, 10 o’clock P.M.

I preach patience; but how about practice? I am exasperated! there is the simple fact. And is it not enough? What a scene I have just witnessed! A motley crew of thousands of low people of all colors parading the streets with flags, torches, music, and all other accompaniments, shouting, screaming, exulting over the fall of Port Hudson and Vicksburg. The “Era” will call it an enthusiastic demonstration of the loyal citizens of the city; we who saw it from upper balconies know of what rank these “citizens” were. We saw crowds of soldiers mixed up with the lowest rabble in the town, workingmen in dirty clothes, newsboys, ragged children, negroes, and even women walking in the procession, while swarms of negroes and low white women elbowed each other in a dense mass on the pavement. To see such creatures exulting over our misfortune was enough to make one scream with rage. One of their dozen transparencies was inscribed with “A dead Confederacy.” Fools! The flames are smouldering! They will burst out presently and consume you! More than half, much more, were negroes. As they passed here they raised a yell of “Down with the rebels!” that made us gnash our teeth in silence. The Devil possessed me. “O Miriam, help me pray the dear Lord that their flag may burn!” I whispered as the torches danced around it. And we did pray earnestly so earnestly that Miriam’s eyes were tightly screwed up; but it must have been a wicked prayer, for it was not answered.

Dr. S has out a magnificent display of black cotton grammatically inscribed with “Port Hudson and Vicksburg is ours,” garnished with a luminous row of tapers, and, drunk on two bits’ worth of lager beer, he has been shrieking out all Union songs he can think of with his horrid children until my tympanum is perfectly cracked. Miriam wants to offer him an extra bottle of lager for the two places of which he claims the monopoly. He would sell his creed for less. Miriam is dying to ask him what he has done with the Confederate uniform he sported before the Yankees came. His son says they are all Union men over there, and will “lemonate” (illuminate) to-night. A starving seamstress opposite has stuck six tallow candles in her window; better put them in her stomach!

And I won’t believe Vicksburg has surrendered! Port Hudson I am sure has fallen. Alas, for all hopes of serving the brave creatures! the rumor is that they have been released on parole. Happily for them; but if it must go, what a blessed privilege it would have been to aid or comfort them!

Wednesday, July 15th.

It is but too true; both have fallen. All Port Hudson privates have been paroled, and the officers sent here for exchange. Aye! Aye! I know some privates I would rather see than the officers! As yet, only ten that we know have arrived. All are confined in the Custom-House. Last evening crowds surrounded the place. We did something dreadful, Ada Peirce, Miriam, and I. We went down to the confectionery; and unable to resist the temptation, made a detour by the Custom-House in hope of seeing one of our poor dear half-starved mule and rat fed defenders. The crowd had passed away then; but what was our horror when we emerged from the river side of the building and turned into Canal, to find the whole front of the pavement lined with Yankees! Our folly struck us so forcibly that we were almost paralyzed with fear. However, that did not prevent us from endeavoring to hurry past, though I felt as though walking in a nightmare. Ada was brave enough to look up at a window where several of our prisoners were standing, and kept urging us to do likewise. “Look! He knows you, Sarah! He has called another to see you! They both recognize you! Oh, look, please, and tell me who they are! They are watching you still!” she would exclaim. But if my own dear brother stood there, I could not have raised my eyes; we only hurried on faster, with a hundred Yankees eyes fixed on our flying steps.

My friend Colonel Steadman was one of the commissioners for arranging the terms of the capitulation, I see. He has not yet arrived.

Dreadful news has come of the defeat of Lee at Gettysburg. Think I believe it all? He may have been defeated; but not one of these reports of total overthrow and rout do I credit. Yankees jubilant, Southerners dismal. Brother, with principles on one side and brothers on the other, is correspondingly distracted.

Saturday, July 18th.

It may be wrong; I feel very contrite; but still I cannot help thinking it is an error on the right side. It began by Miriam sending Mr. Conn a box of cigars when she was on Canal the other day, with a note saying we would be delighted to assist him in anyway. Poor creature! He wrote an answer which breathed desolation and humility, under his present situation, in every line. The cigars, an unexpected kindness, had touched a tender cord evidently. He said he had no friends, and would be grateful for our assistance.

But before his answer arrived, yesterday morning I took it into my head that Colonel Steadman was also at the Custom-House, though his arrival had not been announced, the Yankees declining to publish any more names to avoid the excitement that follows. So Miriam and I prepared a lunch of chicken, soup, wine, preserves, sardines, and cakes, to send to him. And, fool-like, I sent a note with it. It only contained the same offer of assistance; and I would not object to the town crier’s reading it; but it upset Brother’s ideas of decorum completely. He said nothing to Miriam’s, because that was first offense; but yesterday he met Edmond, who was carrying the basket, and he could not stand the sight of another note. I wish he had read it! But he said he would not assume such a right. So he came home very much annoyed, and spoke to Miriam about it. Fortunately for my peace of mind, I was swimming in the bathtub in blissful unconsciousness, else I should have drowned myself. He said, “I want you both to understand that you shall have everything you want for the prisoners. Subscribe any sum of money, purchase any quantity of clothing, send all the food you please, but, for God’s sake, don’t write to them! In such a place every man knows the other has received a letter, and none know what it contains. I cannot have my sisters’ names in everybody’s mouth. Never do it again!” All as kind and as considerate for us as ever, and a necessary caution; I love him the better for it; but I was dismayed for having rendered the reproof necessary. For three hours I made the most hideous faces at myself and groaned aloud over Brother’s displeasure. He is so good that I would rather bite my tongue off than give him a moment’s pain. Just now I went to him, unable to keep silence any longer, and told him how distressed I was to have displeased him about that note. “Don’t think any more about it, only don’t do it again, dear,” was his answer. I was so grateful to him for his gentleness that I was almost hurried into a story. I began, “It is the first time ” when I caught myself and said boldly, “No, it is not. Colonel Steadman has written to me before, and I have replied. But I promise to you it shall not occur again if I can avoid it.” He was satisfied with the acknowledgment, and I was more than gratified with his kindness. Yet the error must have been on the right side!

Colonel Steadman wrote back his thanks by Edmond, with heartfelt gratitude for finding such friends in his adversity, and touching acknowledgments of the acceptable nature of the lunch. His brother and Colonel Lock were wounded, though recovering, and he was anxious to know if I had yet recovered. And that was all, except that he hoped we would come to see him, and his thanks to Brother for his kind message. Brother had sent him word by one of the prisoners that though he was not acquainted with him, yet as his sisters’ friend he would be happy to assist him if he needed money or clothing. There was no harm in either note, and though I would not do it again, I am almost glad I let him know he still had friends before Brother asked me not to write.

And as yet we can’t see them. A man was bayoneted yesterday for waving to them, even. It only makes us the more eager to see them. We did see some. Walking on Rampart Street with the Peirces yesterday, in front of a splendid private house, we saw sentinels stationed. Upon inquiry we learned that General Gardiner and a dozen others were confined there. Ada and Miriam went wild. If it had not been for dignified Marie, and that model of propriety, Sarah, there is no knowing but what they would have carried the house by storm. We got them by without seeing a gray coat, when they vowed to pass back, declaring that the street was not respectable on the block above. We had to follow. So! there they all stood on the balcony above. We thought we recognized General Gardiner, Major Wilson, Major Spratley, and Mr. Dupre. Miriam was sure she did; but even when I put on a bold face, and tried to look, something kept me from seeing; so I had all the appearance of staring, without deriving the slightest benefit from it. Wonder what makes me such a fool?

Mr. Conn writes that Captain Bradford is wounded, but does not say whether he is here.

Thursday, July 23d.

It is bad policy to keep us from seeing the prisoners; it just sets us wild about them. Put a creature you don’t care for in the least, in a situation that commands sympathy, and nine out of ten girls will fall desperately in love. Here are brave, self-sacrificing, noble men who have fought heroically for us, and have been forced to surrender by unpropitious fate, confined in a city peopled by their friends and kindred, and as totally isolated from them as though they inhabited the Dry Tortugas! Ladies are naturally hero-worshipers. We are dying to show these unfortunates that we are as proud of their bravery as though it had led to victory instead of defeat. Banks wills that they remain in privacy. Consequently our vivid imaginations are constantly occupied in depicting their sufferings, privations, heroism, and manifold virtues, until they have almost become as demigods to us. Even horrid little Captain C has a share of my sympathy in his misfortune! Fancy what must be my feelings where those I consider as gentlemen are concerned! It is all I can do to avoid a most tender compassion for a very few select ones. Miriam and I are looked on with envy by other young ladies because some twenty or thirty of our acquaintance have already arrived. To know a Port Hudson defender is considered as the greatest distinction one need desire. If they would only let us see the prisoners once to sympathize with, and offer to assist them, we would never care to call on them again until they are liberated. But this is aggravating. Of what benefit is it to send them lunch after lunch, when they seldom receive it? Colonel Steadman and six others, I am sure, did not receive theirs on Sunday. We sent with the baskets a number of cravats and some handkerchiefs I had embroidered for the Colonel.

Brother should forbid those gentlemen writing, too. Already a dozen notes have been received from them, and what can we do? We can’t tell them not to. Miriam received a letter from Major Spratley this morning, raving about the kindness of the ladies of New Orleans, full of hope of future successes, and vows to help deliver the noble ladies from the hands of their oppressors, etc. It is a wonder that such a patriotic effusion could be smuggled out. He kindly assures us that not only those of our acquaintance there, but all their brother officers, would be more than happy to see us in their prison. Position of affairs rather reversed since we last met!