The Civil War Diary of a Woman

from the North

This is the Civil War Diary of a woman from the North. Engaged to a Southerner,

she was living in the South when the war started.  She lived in a cave under

Vicksburg, Mississippi, during the siege of that city.

WAR DIARY OF A UNION WOMAN IN THE SOUTH

EDITED BY G.W. CABLE

The following diary was originally written in lead-pencil and in a book

the leaves of which were too soft to take ink legibly. I have it direct

from the hands of its writer, a lady whom I have had the honor to know

for nearly thirty years. For good reasons the author's name is omitted,

and the initials of people and the names of places are sometimes

fictitiously given. Many of the persons mentioned were my own

acquaintances and friends. When, some twenty years afterward, she first

resolved to publish it, she brought me a clear, complete copy in ink. It

had cost much trouble, she said; for much of the pencil writing had been

made under such disadvantages and was so faint that at times she could

decipher it only under direct sunlight. She had succeeded, however, in

making a copy, _verbatim_ except for occasional improvement in the

grammatical form of a sentence, or now and then the omission, for

brevity's sake, of something unessential. The narrative has since been

severely abridged to bring it within magazine limits.

In reading this diary one is much charmed with its constant

understatement of romantic and perilous incidents and conditions. But

the original penciled pages show that, even in copying, the strong bent

of the writer to be brief has often led to the exclusion of facts that

enhance the interest of exciting situations, and sometimes the omission

robs her own heroism of due emphasis. I have restored one example of

this in a foot-note following the perilous voyage down the Mississippi.

G.W. CABLE.

I

SECESSION

_New Orleans, Dec. 1, 1860._--I understand it now. Keeping journals is

for those who cannot, or dare not, speak out. So I shall set up a

journal, being only a rather lonely young girl in a very small and hated

minority. On my return here in November, after a foreign voyage and

absence of many months, I found myself behind in knowledge of the

political conflict, but heard the dread sounds of disunion and war

muttered in threatening tones. Surely no native-born woman loves her

country better than I love America. The blood of one of its

Revolutionary patriots flows in my veins, and it is the Union for which

he pledged his "life, fortune, and sacred honor" that I love, not any

divided or special section of it. So I have been reading attentively

and seeking light from foreigners and natives on all questions at issue.

Living from birth in slave countries, both foreign and American, and

passing through one slave insurrection in early childhood, the saddest

and also the pleasantest features of slavery have been familiar. If the

South goes to war for slavery, slavery is doomed in this country. To say

so is like opposing one drop to a roaring torrent.

_Sunday, Dec. ----, 1860._--In this season for peace I had hoped for a lull

in the excitement, yet this day has been full of bitterness. "Come, G.,"

said Mrs. ---- at breakfast, "leave _your_ church for to-day and come

with us to hear Dr. ---- on the situation. He will convince you." "It is

good to be convinced," I said; "I will go." The church was crowded to

suffocation with the élite of New Orleans. The preacher's text was,

"Shall we have fellowship with the stool of iniquity which frameth

mischief as a law?" ... The sermon was over at last, and then followed a

prayer.... Forever blessed be the fathers of the Episcopal Church for

giving us a fixed liturgy! When we met at dinner Mrs. F. exclaimed,

"Now, G., you heard him prove from the Bible that slavery is right and

that therefore secession is. Were you not convinced?" I said, "I was so

busy thinking how completely it proved too that Brigham Young is right

about polygamy that it quite weakened the force of the argument for me."

This raised a laugh, and covered my retreat.

_Jan. 26, 1861._--The solemn boom of cannon to-day announced that the

convention have passed the ordinance of secession. We must take a reef

in our patriotism and narrow it down to State limits. Mine still sticks

out all around the borders of the State. It will be bad if New Orleans

should secede from Louisiana and set up for herself. Then indeed I would

be "cabined, cribbed, confined." The faces in the house are jubilant

to-day. Why is it so easy for them and not for me to "ring out the old,

ring in the new"? I am out of place.

_Jan. 28, Monday._--Sunday has now got to be a day of special

excitement. The gentlemen save all the sensational papers to regale us

with at the late Sunday breakfast. Rob opened the battle yesterday

morning by saying to me in his most aggressive manner, "G., I believe

these are your sentiments"; and then he read aloud an article from the

"Journal des Debats" expressing in rather contemptuous terms the fact

that France will follow the policy of non-intervention. When I answered,

"Well, what do you expect? This is not their quarrel," he raved at me,

ending by a declaration that he would willingly pay my passage to

foreign parts if I would like to go. "Rob," said his father, "keep cool;

don't let that threat excite you. Cotton is king. Just wait till they

feel the pinch a little; their tone will change." I went to Trinity

Church. Some Union people who are not Episcopalians go there now because

the pastor has not so much chance to rail at the Lord when things are

not going to suit. But yesterday was a marked Sunday. The usual prayer

for the President and Congress was changed to the "governor and people

of this commonwealth and their representatives in convention assembled."

The city was very lively and noisy this evening with rockets and lights

in honor of secession. Mrs. F., in common with the neighbors,

illuminated. We walked out to see the houses of others gleaming amid the

dark shrubbery like a fairy scene. The perfect stillness added to the

effect, while the moon rose slowly with calm splendor. We hastened home

to dress for a soirée but on the stairs Edith said, "G., first come and

help me dress Phoebe and Chloe [the negro servants]. There is a ball

to-night in aristocratic colored society. This is Chloe's first

introduction to New Orleans circles, and Henry Judson, Phoebe's husband,

gave five dollars for a ticket for her." Chloe is a recent purchase from

Georgia. We superintended their very stylish toilets, and Edith said,

"G., run into your room, please, and write a pass for Henry. Put Mr.

D.'s name to it." "Why, Henry is free," I said. "That makes no

difference; all colored people must have a pass if out late. They choose

a master for protection, and always carry his pass. Henry chose Mr. D.,

but he's lost the pass he had."

II

THE VOLUNTEERS--FORT SUMTER

_Feb. 24, 1861._--The toil of the week is ended. Nearly a month has

passed since I wrote here. Events have crowded upon one another. On the

4th the cannon boomed in honor of Jefferson Davis's election, and day

before yesterday Washington's birthday was made the occasion of another

grand display and illumination, in honor of the birth of a new nation

and the breaking of that Union which he labored to cement. We drove to

the race-course to see the review of troops. A flag was presented to the

Washington Artillery by ladies. Senator Judah Benjamin made an

impassioned speech. The banner was orange satin on one side, crimson

silk on the other, the pelican and brood embroidered in pale green and

gold. Silver crossed cannon surmounted it, orange-colored fringe

surrounded it, and crimson tassels drooped from it. It was a brilliant,

unreal scene; with military bands clashing triumphant music, elegant

vehicles, high-stepping horses, and lovely women richly appareled.

Wedding-cards have been pouring in till the contagion has reached us;

Edith will be married next Thursday. The wedding-dress is being

fashioned, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen have arrived. Edith has

requested me to be special mistress of ceremonies on Thursday evening,

and I have told this terrible little rebel, who talks nothing but blood

and thunder, yet faints at the sight of a worm, that if I fill that

office no one shall mention war or politics during the whole evening, on

pain of expulsion.

_March 10, 1861._--The excitement in this house has risen to fever-heat

during the past week. The four gentlemen have each a different plan for

saving the country, and now that the bridal bouquets have faded, the

three ladies have again turned to public affairs; Lincoln's inauguration

and the story of the disguise in which he traveled to Washington is a

never-ending source of gossip. The family board being the common forum,

each gentleman as he appears first unloads his pockets of papers from

all the Southern States, and then his overflowing heart to his eager

female listeners, who in turn relate, inquire, sympathize, or cheer. If

I dare express a doubt that the path to victory will be a flowery one,

eyes flash, cheeks burn, and tongues clatter, till all are checked up

suddenly by a warning for "Order, order!" from the amiable lady

presiding. Thus we swallow politics with every meal. We take a mouthful

and read a telegram, one eye on table, the other on the paper. One must

be made of cool stuff to keep calm and collected, but I say but little.

This war fever has banished small talk. Through all the black servants

move about quietly, never seeming to notice that this is all about them.

"How can you speak so plainly before them?" I say.

"Why, what matter? They know that we shall keep the whip-handle."

_April 13, 1861._--More than a month has passed since the last date

here. This afternoon I was seated on the floor covered with loveliest

flowers, arranging a floral offering for the fair, when the gentlemen

arrived and with papers bearing news of the fall of Fort Sumter, which,

at her request, I read to Mrs. F.

_April 20._--The last few days have glided away in a halo of beauty. But

nobody has time or will to enjoy it. War, war! is the one idea. The

children play only with toy cannons and soldiers; the oldest inhabitant

goes by every day with his rifle to practice; the public squares are

full of companies drilling, and are now the fashionable resorts. We have

been told that it is best for women to learn how to shoot too, so as to

protect themselves when the men have all gone to battle. Every evening

after dinner we adjourn to the back lot and fire at a target with

pistols. Yesterday I dined at Uncle Ralph's. Some members of the bar

were present, and were jubilant about their brand-new Confederacy. It

would soon be the grandest government ever known. Uncle Ralph said

solemnly, "No, gentlemen; the day we seceded the star of our glory set."

The words sunk into my mind like a knell, and made me wonder at the mind

that could recognize that and yet adhere to the doctrine of secession.

In the evening I attended a farewell gathering at a friend's whose

brothers are to leave this week for Richmond. There was music. No minor

chord was permitted.

III

TRIBULATION

_April 25._--Yesterday I went with Cousin E. to have her picture taken.

The picture-galleries are doing a thriving business. Many companies are

ordered off to take possession of Fort Pickens (Florida), and all seem

to be leaving sweethearts behind them. The crowd was in high spirits;

they don't dream that any destinies will be spoiled. When I got home

Edith was reading from the daily paper of the dismissal of Miss G. from

her place as teacher for expressing abolition sentiments, and that she

would be ordered to leave the city. Soon a lady came with a paper

setting forth that she has established a "company"--we are nothing if

not military--for making lint and getting stores of linen to supply the

hospitals.

My name went down. If it hadn't, my spirit would have been wounded as

with sharp spears before night. Next came a little girl with a

subscription paper to get a flag for a certain company. The little

girls, especially the pretty ones, are kept busy trotting around with

subscription lists. Latest of all came little Guy, Mr. F.'s youngest

clerk, the pet of the firm as well as of his home, a mere boy of

sixteen. Such senseless sacrifices seem a sin. He chattered brightly,

but lingered about, saying good-by. He got through it bravely until

Edith's husband incautiously said, "You didn't kiss your little

sweetheart," as he always called Ellie, who had been allowed to sit up.

He turned and suddenly broke into agonizing sobs and then ran down the

steps.

_May 10._--I am tired and ashamed of myself. Last week I attended a

meeting of the lint society to hand in the small contribution of linen I

had been able to gather. We scraped lint till it was dark. A paper was

shown, entitled the "Volunteer's Friend," started by the girls of the

high school, and I was asked to help the girls with it. I positively

declined. To-day I was pressed into service to make red flannel

cartridge-bags for ten-inch columbiads. I basted while Mrs. S. sewed,

and I felt ashamed to think that I had not the moral courage to say, "I

don't approve of your war and won't help you, particularly in the

murderous part of it."

_May 27._--This has been a scenic Sabbath. Various companies about to

depart for Virginia occupied the prominent churches to have their flags

consecrated. The streets were resonant with the clangor of drums and

trumpets. E. and myself went to Christ Church because the Washington

Artillery were to be there.

_June 13._--To-day has been appointed a Fast Day. I spent the morning

writing a letter on which I put my first Confederate postage-stamp. It

is of a brown color and has a large 5 in the center. To-morrow must be

devoted to all my foreign correspondents before the expected blockade

cuts us off.

_June 29._--I attended a fine luncheon yesterday at one of the public

schools. A lady remarked to a school official that the cost of

provisions in the Confederacy was getting very high, butter, especially,

being scarce and costly. "Never fear, my dear madam," he replied. "Texas

alone can furnish butter enough to supply the whole Confederacy; we'll

soon be getting it from there." It's just as well to have this sublime

confidence.

_July 15._--The quiet of midsummer reigns, but ripples of excitement

break around us as the papers tell of skirmishes and attacks here and

there in Virginia. "Rich Mountain" and "Carrick's Ford" were the last.

"You see," said Mrs. D. at breakfast to-day, "my prophecy is coming true

that Virginia will be the seat of war." "Indeed," I burst out,

forgetting my resolution not to argue, "you may think yourselves lucky

if this war turns out to have any seat in particular."

So far, no one especially connected with me has gone to fight. How glad

I am for his mother's sake that Rob's lameness will keep him at home.

Mr. F., Mr. S., and Uncle Ralph are beyond the age for active service,

and Edith says Mr. D. can't go now. She is very enthusiastic about other

people's husbands being enrolled, and regrets that her Alex is not

strong enough to defend his country and his rights.

_July 22._--What a day! I feel like one who has been out in a high wind,

and cannot get my breath. The newsboys are still shouting with their

extras, "Battle of Bull's Run! List of the killed! Battle of Manassas!

List of the wounded!" Tender-hearted Mrs. F. was sobbing so she could

not serve the tea; but nobody cared for tea. "O G.!" she said, "three

thousand of our own, dear Southern boys are lying out there." "My dear

Fannie," spoke Mr. F., "they are heroes now. They died in a glorious

cause, and it is not in vain. This will end it. The sacrifice had to be

made, but those killed have gained immortal names." Then Rob rushed in

with a new extra, reading of the spoils captured, and grief was

forgotten. Words cannot paint the excitement. Rob capered about and

cheered; Edith danced around ringing the dinner-bell and shouting,

"Victory!" Mrs. F. waved a small Confederate flag, while she wiped her

eyes, and Mr. D. hastened to the piano and in his most brilliant style

struck up "Dixie," followed by "My Maryland" and the "Bonnie Blue Flag."

"Do not look so gloomy, G.," whispered Mr. S. "You should be happy

to-night; for, as Mr. F. says, now we shall have peace."

"And is that the way you think of the men of your own blood and race?" I

replied. But an utter scorn came over me and choked me, and I walked out

of the room. What proof is there in this dark hour that they are not

right? Only the emphatic answer of my own soul. To-morrow I will pack my

trunk and accept the invitation to visit at Uncle Ralph's country house.

_Sept. 25._--When I opened the door of Mrs. F.'s room on my return, the

rattle of two sewing-machines and a blaze of color met me.

"Ah, G., you are just in time to help us; these are coats for Jeff

Thompson's men. All the cloth in the city is exhausted; these

flannel-lined oil-cloth table-covers are all we could obtain to make

overcoats for Thompson's poor boys. They will be very warm and

serviceable."

"Serviceable--yes! The Federal army will fly when they see those coats!

I only wish I could be with the regiment when these are shared around."

Yet I helped make them.

Seriously, I wonder if any soldiers will ever wear these remarkable

coats--the most bewildering combination of brilliant, intense reds,

greens, yellows, and blues in big flowers meandering over as vivid

grounds; and as no table-cover was large enough to make a coat, the

sleeves of each were of a different color and pattern. However, the

coats were duly finished. Then we set to work on gray pantaloons, and I

have just carried a bundle to an ardent young lady who wishes to assist.

A slight gloom is settling down, and the inmates here are not quite so

cheerfully confident as in July.

IV

A BELEAGUERED CITY

_Oct. 22._--When I came to breakfast this morning Rob was capering over

another victory--Ball's Bluff. He would read me, "We pitched the Yankees

over the bluff," and ask me in the next breath to go to the theater

this evening. I turned on the poor fellow. "Don't tell me about your

victories. You vowed by all your idols that the blockade would be raised

by October 1, and I notice the ships are still serenely anchored below

the city."

"G., you are just as pertinacious yourself in championing your opinions.

What sustains you when nobody agrees with you?"

_Oct. 28._--When I dropped in at Uncle Ralph's last evening to welcome

them back, the whole family were busy at a great center-table copying

sequestration acts for the Confederate Government. The property of all

Northerners and Unionists is to be sequestrated, and Uncle Ralph can

hardly get the work done fast enough. My aunt apologized for the rooms

looking chilly; she feared to put the carpets down, as the city might be

taken and burned by the Federals. "We are living as much packed up as

possible. A signal has been agreed upon, and the instant the army

approaches we shall be off to the country again."

Great preparations are being made for defense. At several other places

where I called the women were almost hysterical. They seemed to look

forward to being blown up with shot and shell, finished with cold steel,

or whisked off to some Northern prison. When I got home Edith and Mr. D.

had just returned also.

"Alex," said Edith, "I was up at your orange-lots to-day, and the sour

oranges are dropping to the ground, while they cannot get lemons for our

sick soldiers."

"That's my kind, considerate wife," replied Mr. D.

"Why didn't I think of that before? Jim shall fill some barrels

to-morrow and take them to the hospitals as a present from you."

_Nov. 10._--Surely this year will ever be memorable to me for its

perfection of natural beauty. Never was sunshine such pure gold, or

moonlight such transparent silver. The beautiful custom prevalent here

of decking the graves with flowers on All Saints' day was well

fulfilled, so profuse and rich were the blossoms. On All-hallow eve Mrs.

S. and myself visited a large cemetery. The chrysanthemums lay like

great masses of snow and flame and gold in every garden we passed, and

were piled on every costly tomb and lowly grave. The battle of Manassas

robed many of our women in mourning, and some of those who had no graves

to deck were weeping silently as they walked through the scented

avenues.

A few days ago Mrs. E. arrived here. She is a widow, of Natchez, a

friend of Mrs. F.'s, and is traveling home with the dead body of her

eldest son, killed at Manassas. She stopped two days waiting for a boat,

and begged me to share her room and read her to sleep, saying she

couldn't be alone since he was killed; she feared her mind would give

way. So I read all the comforting chapters to be found till she dropped

into forgetfulness, but the recollection of those weeping mothers in the

cemetery banished sleep for me.

_Nov. 26._--The lingering summer is passing into those misty autumn days

I love so well, when there is gold and fire above and around us. But the

glory of the natural and the gloom of the moral world agree not well

together. This morning Mrs. F. came to my room in dire distress. "You

see," she said, "cold weather is coming on fast, and our poor fellows

are lying out at night with nothing to cover them. There is a wail for

blankets, but there is not a blanket in town. I have gathered up all the

spare bed-clothing, and now want every available rug or table-cover in

the house. Can't I have yours, G.? We must make these small sacrifices

of comfort and elegance, you know, to secure independence and freedom."

"Very well," I said, denuding the table. "This may do for a drummer

boy."

_Dec. 26, 1861._--The foul weather cleared off bright and cool in time

for Christmas. There is a midwinter lull in the movement of troops. In

the evening we went to the grand bazaar in the St. Louis Hotel, got up

to clothe the soldiers. This bazaar has furnished the gayest, most

fashionable war-work yet, and has kept social circles in a flutter of

pleasant, heroic excitement all through December. Everything beautiful

or rare garnered in the homes of the rich was given for exhibition, and

in some cases for raffle and sale. There were many fine paintings,

statues, bronzes, engravings, gems, laces--in fact, heirlooms and

bric-à-brac of all sorts. There were many lovely creole girls present,

in exquisite toilets, passing to and fro through the decorated rooms,

listening to the band clash out the Anvil Chorus.

_Jan. 2, 1862._--I am glad enough to bid '61 good-by. Most miserable

year of my life! What ages of thought and experience have I not lived in

it!

The city authorities have been searching houses for firearms. It is a

good way to get more guns, and the homes of those men suspected of

being Unionists were searched first. Of course they went to Dr. B.'s. He

met them with his own delightful courtesy. "Wish to search for arms?

Certainly, gentlemen." He conducted them all through the house with

smiling readiness, and after what seemed a very thorough search bowed

them politely out. His gun was all the time safely reposing between the

canvas folds of a cot-bed which leaned folded up together against the

wall, in the very room where they had ransacked the closets. Queerly,

the rebel families have been the ones most anxious to conceal all

weapons. They have dug graves quietly at night in the back yards, and

carefully wrapping the weapons, buried them out of sight. Every man

seems to think he will have some private fighting to do to protect his

family.

V

MARRIED

_Friday, Jan. 24, 1862._ (_On Steamboat W., Mississippi River._)--With a

changed name I open you once more, my journal. It was a sad time to wed,

when one knew not how long the expected conscription would spare the

bridegroom. The women-folk knew how to sympathize with a girl expected

to prepare for her wedding in three days, in a blockaded city, and about

to go far from any base of supplies. They all rallied round me with

tokens of love and consideration, and sewed, shopped, mended, and

packed, as if sewing soldier clothes. And they decked the whole house

and the church with flowers. Music breathed, wine sparkled, friends came

and went. It seemed a dream, and comes up now again out of the afternoon

sunshine where I sit on deck. The steamboat slowly plows its way through

lumps of floating ice,--a novel sight to me,--and I look forward

wondering whether the new people I shall meet will be as fierce about

the war as those in New Orleans. That past is to be all forgotten and

forgiven; I understood thus the kindly acts that sought to brighten the

threshold of a new life.

_Feb. 15._ (_Village of X._)--We reached Arkansas Landing at nightfall.

Mr. Y., the planter who owns the landing, took us right up to his

residence. He ushered me into a large room where a couple of candles

gave a dim light, and close to them, and sewing as if on a race with

Time, sat Mrs. Y. and a little negro girl, who was so black and sat so

stiff and straight she looked like an ebony image. This was a large

plantation; the Y.'s knew H. very well, and were very kind and cordial

in their welcome and congratulations. Mrs. Y. apologized for continuing

her work; the war had pushed them this year in getting the negroes

clothed, and she had to sew by dim candles, as they could obtain no more

oil. She asked if there were any new fashions in New Orleans.

Next morning we drove over to our home in this village. It is the

county-seat, and was, till now, a good place for the practice of H.'s

profession. It lies on the edge of a lovely lake. The adjacent planters

count their slaves by the hundreds. Some of them live with a good deal

of magnificence, using service of plate, having smoking-rooms for the

gentlemen built off the house, and entertaining with great hospitality.

The Baptists, Episcopalians, and Methodists hold services on alternate

Sundays in the court-house. All the planters and many others near the

lake shore keep a boat at their landing, and a raft for crossing

vehicles and horses. It seemed very piquant at first, this taking our

boat to go visiting, and on moonlight nights it was charming. The woods

around are lovelier than those in Louisiana, though one misses the

moaning of the pines. There is fine fishing and hunting, but these

cotton estates are not so pleasant to visit as sugar plantations.

But nothing else has been so delightful as, one morning, my first sight

of snow and a wonderful new, white world.

_Feb. 27._--The people here have hardly felt the war yet. There are but

two classes. The planters and the professional men form one; the very

poor villagers the other. There is no middle class. Ducks and

partridges, squirrels and fish, are to be had. H. has bought me a nice

pony, and cantering along the shore of the lake in the sunset is a

panacea for mental worry.

VI

HOW IT WAS IN ARKANSAS

_March 11, 1862._--The serpent has entered our Eden. The rancor and

excitement of New Orleans have invaded this place. If an incautious word

betrays any want of sympathy with popular plans, one is "traitorous,"

"ungrateful," "crazy." If one remains silent and controlled, then one is

"phlegmatic," "cool-blooded," "unpatriotic." Cool-blooded! Heavens! if

they only knew. It is very painful to see lovable and intelligent women

rave till the blood mounts to face and brain. The immediate cause of

this access of war fever has been the battle of Pea Ridge. They scout

the idea that Price and Van Dorn have been completely worsted. Those who

brought the news were speedily told what they ought to say. "No, it is

only a serious check; they must have more men sent forward at once. This

country must do its duty." So the women say another company _must_ be

raised.

We were guests at a dinner-party yesterday. Mrs. A. was very talkative.

"Now, ladies, you must all join in with a vim and help equip another

company."

"Mrs. L.," she said, turning to me, "are you not going to send your

husband? Now use a young bride's influence and persuade him; he would be

elected one of the officers." "Mrs. A.," I replied, longing to spring up

and throttle her, "the Bible says, 'When a man hath married a new wife,

he shall not go to war for one year, but remain at home and cheer up his

wife.'"

"Well, H.," I questioned, as we walked home after crossing the lake,

"can you stand the pressure, or shall you be forced into volunteering?"

"Indeed," he replied, "I will not be bullied into enlisting by women, or

by men. I will sooner take my chance of conscription and feel honest

about it. You know my attachments, my interests are here; these are my

people. I could never fight against them; but my judgment disapproves

their course, and the result will inevitably be against us."

This morning the only Irishman left in the village presented himself to

H. He has been our wood-sawyer, gardener, and factotum, but having

joined the new company, his time recently has been taken up with

drilling. H. and Mr. R. feel that an extensive vegetable garden must be

prepared while he is here to assist, or we shall be short of food, and

they sent for him yesterday.

"So, Mike, you are really going to be a soldier?"

"Yes, sor; but faith, Mr. L., I don't see the use of me going to shtop a

bullet when sure an' I'm willin' for it to go where it plazes."

_March 18, 1862._--There has been unusual gaiety in this little village

the past few days. The ladies from the surrounding plantations went to

work to get up a festival to equip the new company. As Annie and myself

are both brides recently from the city, requisition was made upon us for

engravings, costumes, music, garlands, and so forth. Annie's heart was

in the work; not so with me. Nevertheless, my pretty things were

captured, and shone with just as good a grace last evening as if

willingly lent. The ball was a merry one. One of the songs sung was

"Nellie Gray," in which the most distressing feature of slavery is

bewailed so pitifully. To sing this at a festival for raising money to

clothe soldiers fighting to perpetuate that very thing was strange.

_March 20, 1862._--A man professing to act by General Hindman's orders

is going through the country impressing horses and mules. The overseer

of a certain estate came to inquire of H. if he had not a legal right

to protect the property from seizure. Mr. L. said yes, unless the agent

could show some better credentials than his bare word. This answer soon

spread about, and the overseer returned to report that it excited great

indignation, especially among the company of new volunteers. H. was

pronounced a traitor, and they declared that no one so untrue to the

Confederacy should live there. When H. related the circumstance at

dinner, his partner, Mr. R., became very angry, being ignorant of H.'s

real opinions. He jumped up in a rage and marched away to the village

thoroughfare. There he met a batch of the volunteers, and said, "We know

what you have said of us, and I have come to tell you that you are

liars, and you know where to find us."

Of course I expected a difficulty; but the evening passed, and we

retired undisturbed. Not long afterward a series of indescribable sounds

broke the stillness of the night, and the tramp of feet was heard

outside the house. Mr. R. called out, "It's a serenade, H. Get up and

bring out all the wine you have." Annie and I peeped through the parlor

window, and lo! it was the company of volunteers and a diabolical band

composed of bones and broken-winded brass instruments. They piped and

clattered and whined for some time, and then swarmed in, while we ladies

retreated and listened to the clink of glasses.

_March 22._--H., Mr. R., and Mike have been very busy the last few days

getting the acre of kitchen-garden plowed and planted. The stay-law has

stopped all legal business, and they have welcomed this work. But to-day

a thunderbolt fell in our household. Mr. R. came in and announced that

he had agreed to join the company of volunteers. Annie's Confederate

principles would not permit her to make much resistance, and she has

been sewing and mending as fast as possible to get his clothes ready,

stopping now and then to wipe her eyes. Poor Annie! She and Max have

been married only a few months longer than we have; but a noble sense of

duty animates and sustains her.

VII

THE FIGHT FOR FOOD AND CLOTHING

_April 1._--The last ten days have brought changes in the house. Max R.

left with the company to be mustered in, leaving with us his weeping

Annie. Hardly were her spirits somewhat composed when her brother

arrived from Natchez to take her home. This morning he, Annie, and

Reeney, the black handmaiden, posted off. Out of seven of us only H.,

myself, and Aunt Judy are left. The absence of Reeney will be not the

least noted. She was as precious an imp as any Topsy ever was. Her

tricks were endless and her innocence of them amazing. When sent out to

bring in eggs she would take them from nests where hens were hatching,

and embryo chickens would be served up at breakfast, while Reeney stood

by grinning to see them opened; but when accused she was imperturbable.

"Laws, Mis' L., I nebber done bin nigh dem hens. Mis' Annie, you can go

count dem dere eggs." That when counted they were found minus the

number she had brought had no effect on her stolid denial. H. has

plenty to do finishing the garden all by himself, but the time rather

drags for me.

_April 13, 1862._--This morning I was sewing up a rent in H.'s garden

coat, when Aunt Judy rushed in.

"Laws! Mis' L., here's Mr. Max and Mis' Annie done come back!" A buggy

was coming up with Max, Annie, and Reeney.

"Well, is the war over?" I asked.

"Oh, I got sick!" replied our returned soldier, getting slowly out of

the buggy.

He was very thin and pale, and explained that he took a severe cold

almost at once, had a mild attack of pneumonia, and the surgeon got him

his discharge as unfit for service. He succeeded in reaching Annie, and

a few days of good care made him strong enough to travel back home.

"I suppose, H., you've heard that Island No. 10 is gone?"

Yes, we had heard that much, but Max had the particulars, and an

exciting talk followed. At night H. said to me, "G., New Orleans will be

the next to go, you'll see, and I want to get there first; this

stagnation here will kill me."

_April 28._--This evening has been very lovely, but full of a sad

disappointment. H. invited me to drive. As we turned homeward he said:

"Well, my arrangements are completed. You can begin to pack your trunks

to-morrow, and I shall have a talk with Max."

Mr. R. and Annie were sitting on the gallery as I ran up the steps.

"Heard the news?" they cried.

"No. What news?"

"New Orleans is taken! All the boats have been run up the river to save

them. No more mails."

How little they knew what plans of ours this dashed away. But our

disappointment is truly an infinitesimal drop in the great waves of

triumph and despair surging to-night in thousands of hearts.

_April 30._--The last two weeks have glided quietly away without

incident except the arrival of new neighbors--Dr. Y., his wife, two

children, and servants. That a professional man prospering in Vicksburg

should come now to settle in this retired place looks queer. Max said:

"H., that man has come here to hide from the conscript officers. He has

brought no end of provisions, and is here for the war. He has chosen

well, for this county is so cleaned of men it won't pay to send the

conscript officers here."

Our stores are diminishing and cannot be replenished from without;

ingenuity and labor must evoke them. We have a fine garden in growth,

plenty of chickens, and hives of bees to furnish honey in lieu of sugar.

A good deal of salt meat has been stored in the smoke-house, and, with

fish from the lake, we expect to keep the wolf from the door. The season

for game is about over, but an occasional squirrel or duck comes to the

larder, though the question of ammunition has to be considered. What we

have may be all we can have, if the war lasts five years longer; and

they say they are prepared to hold out till the crack of doom. Food,

however, is not the only want. I never realized before the varied needs

of civilization. Every day something is _out_. Last week but two bars

of soap remained, so we began to save bones and ashes. Annie said: "Now

if we only had some china-berry trees here, we shouldn't need any other

grease. They are making splendid soap at Vicksburg with china-balls.

They just put the berries into the lye and it eats them right up and

makes a fine soap." I did long for some china-berries to make this

experiment. H. had laid in what seemed a good supply of kerosene, but it

is nearly gone, and we are down to two candles kept for an emergency.

Annie brought a receipt from Natchez for making candles of rosin and

wax, and with great forethought brought also the wick and rosin. So

yesterday we tried making candles. We had no molds, but Annie said the

latest style in Natchez was to make a waxen rope by dipping, then wrap

it round a corn-cob. But H. cut smooth blocks of wood about four inches

square, into which he set a polished cylinder about four inches high.

The waxen ropes were coiled round the cylinder like a serpent, with the

head raised about two inches; as the light burned down to the cylinder,

more of the rope was unwound. To-day the vinegar was found to be all

gone, and we have started to make some. For tyros we succeed pretty

well.

VIII

DROWNED OUT AND STARVED OUT

_May 9._--A great misfortune has come upon us all. For several days

every one has been uneasy about the unusual rise of the Mississippi and

about a rumor that the Federal forces had cut levees above to swamp the

country. There is a slight levee back of the village, and H. went

yesterday to examine it. It looked strong, and we hoped for the best.

About dawn this morning a strange gurgle woke me. It had a pleasing,

lulling effect. I could not fully rouse at first, but curiosity

conquered at last, and I called H.

"Listen to that running water. What is it?"

He sprung up, listened a second, and shouted: "Max, get up! The water is

on us!" They both rushed off to the lake for the skiff. The levee had

not broken. The water was running clean over it and through the garden

fence so rapidly that by the time I dressed and got outside Max was

paddling the pirogue they had brought in among the pea-vines, gathering

all the ripe peas left above the water. We had enjoyed one mess, and he

vowed we should have another.

H. was busy nailing a raft together while he had a dry place to stand

on. Annie and I, with Reeney, had to secure the chickens, and the back

piazza was given up to them. By the time a hasty breakfast was eaten the

water was in the kitchen. The stove and everything there had to be put

up in the dining-room. Aunt Judy and Reeney had likewise to move into

the house, their floor also being covered with water. The raft had to be

floated to the storehouse and a platform built, on which everything was

elevated. At evening we looked around and counted the cost. The garden

was utterly gone. Last evening we had walked round the strawberry-beds

that fringed the whole acre and tasted a few just ripe. The hives were

swamped. Many of the chickens were drowned. Sancho had been sent to

high ground, where he could get grass. In the village everything green

was swept away. Yet we were better off than many others; for this house,

being raised, we have escaped the water indoors. It just laves the edge

of the galleries.

_May 26._--During the past week we have lived somewhat like Venetians,

with a boat at the front steps and a raft at the back. Sunday H. and I

took skiff to church. The clergyman, who is also tutor at a planter's

across the lake, preached to the few who had arrived in skiffs. We shall

not try it again, it is so troublesome getting in and out at the

court-house steps. The imprisonment is hard to endure. It threatened to

make me really ill, so every evening H. lays a thick wrap in the

pirogue, I sit on it, and we row off to the ridge of dry land running

along the lake-shore and branching off to a strip of wood also out of

water. Here we disembark and march up and down till dusk. A great deal

of the wood got wet and had to be laid out to dry on the galleries, with

clothing, and everything that must be dried. One's own trials are

intensified by the worse suffering around that we can do nothing to

relieve.

Max has a puppy named after General Price. The gentlemen had both gone

up-town yesterday in the skiff when Annie and I heard little Price's

despairing cries from under the house, and we got on the raft to find

and save him. We wore light morning dresses and slippers, for shoes are

becoming precious. Annie donned a Shaker and I a broad hat. We got the

raft pushed out to the center of the grounds opposite the house, and

could see Price clinging to a post; the next move must be to navigate

the raft up to the side of the house and reach for Price. It sounds

easy; but poke around with our poles as wildly or as scientifically as

we might, the raft would not budge. The noonday sun was blazing right

overhead, and the muddy water running all over slippered feet and dainty

dresses. How long we stayed praying for rescue, yet wincing already at

the laugh that would come with it, I shall never know. It seemed like a

day before the welcome boat and the "Ha, ha!" of H. and Max were heard.

The confinement tells severely on all the animal life about us. Half the

chickens are dead and the other half sick.

The days drag slowly. We have to depend mainly on books to relieve the

tedium, for we have no piano; none of us like cards; we are very poor

chess-players, and the chess-set is incomplete. When we gather round the

one lamp--we dare not light any more--each one exchanges the gems of

thought or mirthful ideas he finds. Frequently the gnats and the

mosquitos are so bad we cannot read at all. This evening, till a strong

breeze blew them away, they were intolerable. Aunt Judy goes about in a

dignified silence, too full for words, only asking two or three times,

"W'at I done tole you fum de fust?" The food is a trial. This evening

the snaky candles lighted the glass and silver on the supper-table with

a pale gleam, and disclosed a frugal supper indeed--tea without milk

(for all the cows are gone), honey, and bread. A faint ray twinkled on

the water swishing against the house and stretching away into the dark

woods. It looked like civilization and barbarism met together. Just as

we sat down to it, some one passing in a boat shouted that Confederates

and Federals were fighting at Vicksburg.

_Monday, June 2._--On last Friday morning, just three weeks from the day

the water rose, signs of its falling began. Yesterday the ground

appeared, and a hard rain coming down at the same time washed off much

of the unwholesome debris. To-day is fine, and we went out without a

boat for a long walk.

_June 13._--Since the water ran off, we have, of course, been attacked

by swamp fever. H. succumbed first, then Annie, Max next, and then I.

Luckily, the new Dr. Y. had brought quinine with him, and we took heroic

doses. Such fever never burned in my veins before or sapped strength so

rapidly, though probably the want of good food was a factor. The two or

three other professional men have left. Dr. Y. alone remains. The roads

now being dry enough, H. and Max started on horseback, in different

directions, to make an exhaustive search for food supplies. H. got back

this evening with no supplies.

_June 15._--Max got back to-day. He started right off again to cross the

lake and interview the planters on that side, for they had not suffered

from overflow.

_June 16._--Max got back this morning. H. and he were in the parlor

talking and examining maps together till dinner-time. When that was over

they laid the matter before us. To buy provisions had proved impossible.

The planters across the lake had decided to issue rations of corn-meal

and pease to the villagers whose men had all gone to war, but they

utterly refused to sell anything. "They told me," said Max, "'We will

not see your family starve, Mr. R.; but with such numbers of slaves and

the village poor to feed, we can spare nothing for sale.'" "Well, of

course," said H., "we do not purpose to stay here and live on charity

rations. We must leave the place at all hazards. We have studied out

every route and made inquiries everywhere we went. We shall have to go

down the Mississippi in an open boat as far as Fetler's Landing (on the

eastern bank). There we can cross by land and put the boat into Steele's

Bayou, pass thence to the Yazoo River, from there to Chickasaw Bayou,

into McNutt's Lake, and land near my uncle's in Warren County."

_June 20._--As soon as our intended departure was announced, we were

besieged by requests for all sorts of things wanted in every

family--pins, matches, gunpowder, and ink. One of the last cases H. and

Max had before the stay-law stopped legal business was the settlement of

an estate that included a country store. The heirs had paid in chattels

of the store. These had remained packed in the office. The main contents

of the cases were hardware; but we found treasure indeed--a keg of

powder, a case of matches, a paper of pins, a bottle of ink. Red ink is

now made out of pokeberries. Pins are made by capping thorns with

sealing-wax, or using them as nature made them. These were articles

money could not get for us. We would give our friends a few matches to

save for the hour of tribulation. The paper of pins we divided evenly,

and filled a bank-box each with the matches. H. filled a tight tin case

apiece with powder for Max and himself and sold the rest, as we could

not carry any more on such a trip. Those who did not hear of this in

time offered fabulous prices afterward for a single pound. But money

has not its old attractions. Our preparations were delayed by Aunt Judy

falling sick of swamp fever.

_Friday, June 27._--As soon as the cook was up again, we resumed

preparations. We put all the clothing in order, and had it nicely done

up with the last of the soap and starch. "I wonder," said Annie, "when I

shall ever have nicely starched clothes after these? They had no starch

in Natchez or Vicksburg when I was there." We are now furbishing up

dresses suitable for such rough summer travel. While we sat at work

yesterday, the quiet of the clear, calm noon was broken by a low,

continuous roar like distant thunder. To-day we are told it was probably

cannon at Vicksburg. This is a great distance, I think, to have heard

it--over a hundred miles.

H. and Max have bought a large yawl and are busy on the lake-bank

repairing it and fitting it with lockers. Aunt Judy's master has been

notified when to send for her; a home for the cat Jeff has been engaged;

Price is dead, and Sancho sold. Nearly all the furniture is disposed of,

except things valued from association, which will be packed in H.'s

office and left with some one likely to stay through the war. It is

hardest to leave the books.

_Tuesday, July 8._--We start to-morrow. Packing the trunks was a

problem. Annie and I are allowed one large trunk apiece, the gentlemen a

smaller one each, and we a light carpet-sack apiece for toilet articles.

I arrived with six trunks and leave with one! We went over everything

carefully twice, rejecting, trying to off the bonds of custom and get

down to primitive needs. At last we made a judicious selection.

Everything old or worn was left; everything merely ornamental, except

good lace, which was light. Gossamer evening dresses were all left. I

calculated on taking two or three books that would bear the most reading

if we were again shut up where none could be had, and so, of course,

took Shakspere first. Here I was interrupted to go and pay a farewell

visit, and when we returned Max had packed and nailed the cases of books

to be left. Chance thus limited my choice to those that happened to be

in my room--"Paradise Lost," the "Arabian Nights," a volume of

Macaulay's History I was reading, and my prayer-book. To-day the

provisions for the trip were cooked: the last of the flour was made into

large loaves of bread; a ham and several dozen eggs were boiled; the few

chickens that have survived the overflow were fried; the last of the

coffee was parched and ground; and the modicum of the tea was well

corked up. Our friends across the lake added a jar of butter and two of

preserves. H. rode off to X. after dinner to conclude some business

there, and I sat down before a table to tie bundles of things to be

left. The sunset glowed and faded, and the quiet evening came on calm

and starry. I sat by the window till evening deepened into night, and as

the moon rose I still looked a reluctant farewell to the lovely lake and

the grand woods, till the sound of H.'s horse at the gate broke the

spell.

IX

HOMELESS AND SHELTERLESS

_Thursday, July 10._ (---- _Plantation._)--Yesterday about four o'clock

we walked to the lake and embarked. Provisions and utensils were packed

in the lockers, and a large trunk was stowed at each end. The blankets

and cushions were placed against one of them, and Annie and I sat on

them Turkish fashion. Near the center the two smaller trunks made a

place for Reeney. Max and H. were to take turns at the rudder and oars.

The last word was a fervent God-speed from Mr. E., who is left in charge

of all our affairs. We believe him to be a Union man, but have never

spoken of it to him. We were gloomy enough crossing the lake, for it was

evident the heavily laden boat would be difficult to manage. Last night

we stayed at this plantation, and from the window of my room I see the

men unloading the boat to place it on the cart, which a team of oxen

will haul to the river. These hospitable people are kindness itself,

till you mention the war.

_Saturday, July 12._ (_Under a cotton-shed on the bank of the

Mississippi River._)--Thursday was a lovely day, and the sight of the

broad river exhilarating. The negroes launched and reloaded the boat,

and when we had paid them and spoken good-by to them we felt we were

really off. Every one had said that if we kept in the current the boat

would almost go of itself, but in fact the current seemed to throw it

about, and hard pulling was necessary. The heat of the sun was very

severe, and it proved impossible to use an umbrella or any kind of

shade, as it made steering more difficult. Snags and floating timbers

were very troublesome. Twice we hurried up to the bank out of the way of

passing gunboats, but they took no notice of us. When we got thirsty, it

was found that Max had set the jug of water in the shade of a tree and

left it there. We must dip up the river water or go without. When it got

too dark to travel safely we disembarked. Reeney gathered wood, made a

fire and some tea, and we had a good supper. We then divided, H. and I

remaining to watch the boat, Max and Annie on shore. She hung up a

mosquito-bar to the trees and went to bed comfortably. In the boat the

mosquitos were horrible, but I fell asleep and slept till voices on the

bank woke me. Annie was wandering disconsolate round her bed, and when I

asked the trouble, said, "Oh, I can't sleep there! I found a toad and a

lizard in the bed." When dropping off again, H. woke me to say he was

very sick; he thought it was from drinking the river water. With

difficulty I got a trunk opened to find some medicine. While doing so a

gunboat loomed up vast and gloomy, and we gave each other a good fright.

Our voices doubtless reached her, for instantly every one of her lights

disappeared and she ran for a few minutes along the opposite bank. We

momently expected a shell as a feeler.

At dawn next morning we made coffee and a hasty breakfast, fixed up as

well as we could in our sylvan dressing-rooms, and pushed on; for it is

settled that traveling between eleven and two will have to be given up

unless we want to be roasted alive. H. grew worse. He suffered terribly,

and the rest of us as much to see him pulling in such a state of

exhaustion. Max would not trust either of us to steer. About eleven we

reached the landing of a plantation. Max walked up to the house and

returned with the owner, an old gentleman living alone with his slaves.

The housekeeper, a young colored girl, could not be surpassed in her

graceful efforts to make us comfortable and anticipate every want. I was

so anxious about H. that I remember nothing except that the cold

drinking-water taken from a cistern beneath the building, into which

only the winter rains were allowed to fall, was like an elixir. They

offered luscious peaches that, with such water, were nectar and ambrosia

to our parched lips. At night the housekeeper said she was sorry they

had no mosquito-bars ready, and hoped the mosquitos would not be thick,

but they came out in legions. I knew that on sleep that night depended

recovery or illness for H., and all possibility of proceeding next day.

So I sat up fanning away mosquitos that he might sleep, toppling over

now and then on the pillows till roused by his stirring. I contrived to

keep this up till, as the chill before dawn came, they abated and I got

a short sleep. Then, with the aid of cold water, a fresh toilet, and a

good breakfast, I braced up for another day's baking in the boat.

If I had been well and strong as usual, the discomforts of such a

journey would not have seemed so much to me; but I was still weak from

the effects of the fever, and annoyed by a worrying toothache which

there had been no dentist to rid me of in our village.

Having paid and dismissed the boat's watchman, we started and traveled

till eleven to-day, when we stopped at this cotton-shed. When our dais

was spread and lunch laid out in the cool breeze, it seemed a blessed

spot. A good many negroes came offering chickens and milk in exchange

for tobacco, which we had not. We bought some milk with money.

A United States transport just now steamed by, and the men on the guards

cheered and waved to us. We all replied but Annie. Even Max was

surprised into an answering cheer, and I waved my handkerchief with a

very full heart as the dear old flag we had not seen for so long floated

by; but Annie turned her back.

_Sunday, July 13._ (_Under a tree on the east bank of the

Mississippi_)--Late on Saturday evening we reached a plantation whose

owner invited us to spend the night at his house. What a delightful

thing is courtesy! The first tone of our host's welcome indicated the

true gentleman. We never leave the oars with the watchman; Max takes

these, Annie and I each take a band-box, H. takes my carpet-sack, and

Reeney brings up the rear with Annie's. It is a funny procession. Mr.

B.'s family were absent, and as we sat on the gallery talking, it needed

only a few minutes to show this was a "Union man." His home was elegant

and tasteful, but even here there was neither tea nor coffee.

About eleven we stopped here in this shady place. While eating lunch the

negroes again came imploring for tobacco. Soon an invitation came from

the house for us to come and rest. We gratefully accepted, but found

their idea of rest for warm, tired travelers was to sit in the parlor on

stiff chairs while the whole family trooped in, cool and clean in fresh

toilets, to stare and question. We soon returned to the trees; however,

they kindly offered corn-meal pound-cake and beer, which were excellent.

Eight gunboats and one transport have passed us. Getting out of their

way has been troublesome. Our gentlemen's hands are badly blistered.

_Tuesday, July 15._--Sunday night about ten we reached the place where,

according to our map, Steele's Bayou comes nearest to the Mississippi,

and where the landing should be; but when we climbed the steep bank

there was no sign of habitation. Max walked off into the woods on a

search, and was gone so long we feared he had lost his way. He could

find no road. H. suggested shouting, and both began. At last a distant

halloo replied, and by cries the answerer was guided to us. A negro came

forward and said that was the right place, his master kept the landing,

and he would watch the boat for five dollars. He showed the road, and

said his master's house was one mile off and another house two miles. We

mistook, and went to the one two miles off. At one o'clock we reached

Mr. Fetler's, who was pleasant, and said we should have the best he had.

The bed into whose grateful softness I sank was piled with mattresses to

within two or three feet of the ceiling; and, with no step-ladder,

getting in and out was a problem. This morning we noticed the high-water

mark, four feet above the lower floor. Mrs. Fetler said they had lived

up-stairs several weeks.

X

FRIGHTS AND PERILS IN STEELE'S BAYOU

_Wednesday, July 16._ (_Under a tree on the bank of Steele's

Bayou._)--Early this morning our boat was taken out of the Mississippi

and put on Mr. Fetler's ox-cart. After breakfast we followed on foot.

The walk in the woods was so delightful that all were disappointed when

a silvery gleam through the trees showed the bayou sweeping along, full

to the banks, with dense forest trees almost meeting over it. The boat

was launched, calked, and reloaded, and we were off again. Toward noon

the sound of distant cannon began to echo around, probably from

Vicksburg again. About the same time we began to encounter rafts. To get

around them required us to push through brush so thick that we had to

lie down in the boat. The banks were steep and the land on each side a

bog. About one o'clock we reached this clear space with dry shelving

banks, and disembarked to eat lunch. To our surprise a neatly dressed

woman came tripping down the declivity, bringing a basket. She said she

lived above and had seen our boat. Her husband was in the army, and we

were the first white people she had talked to for a long while. She

offered some corn-meal pound-cake and beer, and as she climbed back told

us to "look out for the rapids." H. is putting the boat in order for our

start, and says she is waving good-by from the bluff above.

_Thursday, July 17._ (_On a raft in Steele's Bayou._)--Yesterday we went

on nicely awhile, and at afternoon came to a strange region of rafts,

extending about three miles, on which persons were living. Many saluted

us, saying they had run away from Vicksburg at the first attempt of the

fleet to shell it. On one of these rafts, about twelve feet square,[1]

bagging had been hung up to form three sides of a tent. A bed was in one

corner, and on a low chair, with her provisions in jars and boxes

grouped round her, sat an old woman feeding a lot of chickens.

[Footnote 1: More likely twelve yards.--G.W.C.]

Having moonlight, we had intended to travel till late. But about ten

o'clock, the boat beginning to go with great speed, H., who was

steering, called to Max:

"Don't row so fast; we may run against something."

"I'm hardly pulling at all."

"Then we're in what she called the rapids!"

The stream seemed indeed to slope downward, and in a minute a dark line

was visible ahead. Max tried to turn, but could not, and in a second

more we dashed against this immense raft, only saved from breaking up by

the men's quickness. We got out upon it and ate supper. Then, as the

boat was leaking and the current swinging it against the raft, H. and

Max thought it safer to watch all night, but told us to go to sleep. It

was a strange spot to sleep in--a raft in the middle of a boiling

stream, with a wilderness stretching on either side. The moon made

ghostly shadows, and showed H., sitting still as a ghost, in the stern

of the boat, while mingled with the gurgle of the water round the raft

beneath was the boom of cannon in the air, solemnly breaking the silence

of night. It drizzled now and then, and the mosquitos swarmed over us.

My fan and umbrella had been knocked overboard, so I had no weapon

against them. Fatigue, however, overcomes everything, and I contrived to

sleep.

H. roused us at dawn. Reeney found lightwood enough on the raft to make

a good fire for coffee, which never tasted better. Then all hands

assisted in unloading; a rope was fastened to the boat, Max got in, H.

held the rope on the raft, and, by much pulling and pushing, it was

forced through a narrow passage to the farther side. Here it had to be

calked, and while that was being done we improvised a dressing-room in

the shadow of our big trunks. During the trip I had to keep the time,

therefore properly to secure belt and watch was always an anxious part

of my toilet. The boat is now repacked, and while Annie and Reeney are

washing cups I have scribbled, wishing much that mine were the hand of

an artist.

_Friday morn, July 18._ (_House of Colonel K., on Yazoo River._)--After

leaving the raft yesterday all went well till noon, when we came to a

narrow place where an immense tree lay clear across the stream. It

seemed the insurmountable obstacle at last. We sat despairing what to

do, when a man appeared beside us in a pirogue. So sudden, so silent was

his arrival that we were thrilled with surprise. He said if we had a

hatchet he could help us. His fairy bark floated in among the branches

like a bubble, and he soon chopped a path for us, and was delighted to

get some matches in return. He said the cannon we heard yesterday were

in an engagement with the ram _Arkansas_, which ran out of the Yazoo

that morning. We did not stop for dinner to-day, but ate a hasty lunch

in the boat, after which nothing but a small piece of bread was left.

About two we reached the forks, one of which ran to the Yazoo, the

other to the Old River. Max said the right fork was our road; H. said

the left, that there was an error in Max's map; but Max steered into the

right fork. After pulling about three miles he admitted his mistake and

turned back; but I shall never forget Old River. It was the vision of a

drowned world, an illimitable waste of dead waters, stretching into a

great, silent, desolate forest.

Just as we turned into the right way, down came the rain so hard and

fast we had to stop on the bank. It defied trees or umbrellas, and

nearly took away the breath. The boat began to fill, and all five of us

had to bail as fast as possible for the half-hour the sheet of water was

pouring down. As it abated a cold breeze sprang up that, striking our

clothes, chilled us to the bone. All were shivering and blue--no, I was

green. Before leaving Mr. Fetler's Wednesday morning I had donned a

dark-green calico. I wiped my face with a handkerchief out of my pocket,

and face and hands were all dyed a deep green. When Annie turned round

and looked at me she screamed, and I realized how I looked; but she was

not much better, for of all dejected things wet feathers are the worst,

and the plumes in her hat were painful.

About five we reached Colonel K.'s house, right where Steele's Bayou

empties into the Yazoo. We had both to be fairly dragged out of the

boat, so cramped and weighted were we by wet skirts. The family were

absent, and the house was headquarters for a squad of Confederate

cavalry, which was also absent. The old colored housekeeper received us

kindly, and lighted fires in our rooms to dry the clothing. My trunk

had got cracked on top, and all the clothing to be got at was wet. H.

had dropped his in the river while lifting it out, and his clothes were

wet. A spoonful of brandy apiece was left in the little flask, and I

felt that mine saved me from being ill. Warm blankets and the brandy

revived us, and by supper-time we got into some dry clothes.

Just then the squad of cavalry returned; they were only a dozen, but

they made much uproar, being in great excitement. Some of them were

known to Max and H., who learned from them that a gunboat was coming to

shell them out of this house. Then ensued a clatter such as twelve men

surely never made before--rattling about the halls and galleries in

heavy boots and spurs, feeding horses, calling for supper, clanking

swords, buckling and unbuckling belts and pistols. At last supper was

despatched, and they mounted and were gone like the wind. We had a quiet

supper and a good night's rest in spite of the expected shells, and did

not wake till ten to-day to realize we were not killed. About eleven

breakfast was furnished. Now we are waiting till the rest of our things

are dried to start on our last day of travel by water.

_Sunday, July 20._--A little way down the Yazoo on Friday we ran into

McNutt's Lake, thence into Chickasaw Bayou, and at dark landed at Mrs.

C.'s farm, the nearest neighbors of H.'s uncle. The house was full of

Confederate sick, friends from Vicksburg, and while we ate supper all

present poured out the story of the shelling and all that was to be done

at Vicksburg. Then our stuff was taken from the boat, and we finally

abandoned the stanch little craft that had carried us for over one

hundred and twenty-five miles in a trip occupying nine days. The luggage

in a wagon, and ourselves packed in a buggy, were driven for four or

five miles, over the roughest road I ever traveled, to the farm of Mr.

B., H.'s uncle, where we arrived at midnight and hastened to hide in bed

the utter exhaustion of mind and body. Yesterday we were too tired to

think, or to do anything but eat peaches.

XI

WILD TIMES IN MISSISSIPPI

This morning there was a most painful scene. Annie's father came into

Vicksburg, ten miles from here, and learned of our arrival from Mrs.

C.'s messenger. He sent out a carriage to bring Annie and Max to town

that they might go home with him, and with it came a letter for me from

friends on the Jackson Railroad, written many weeks before. They had

heard that our village home was under water, and invited us to visit

them. The letter had been sent to Annie's people to forward, and thus

had reached us. This decided H., as the place was near New Orleans, to

go there and wait the chance of getting into that city. Max, when he

heard this from H., lost all self-control and cried like a baby. He

stalked about the garden in the most tragic manner, exclaiming:

"Oh! my soul's brother from youth up is a traitor! A traitor to his

country!"

Then H. got angry and said, "Max, don't be a fool."

"Who has done this?" bawled Max. "You felt with the South at first; who

has changed you?"

"Of course I feel _for_ the South now, and nobody has changed me but the

logic of events, though the twenty-negro law has intensified my

opinions. I can't see why I, who have no slaves, must go to fight for

them, while every man who has twenty may stay at home."

I also tried to reason with Max and pour oil on his wound. "Max, what

interest has a man like you, without slaves, in a war for slavery? Even

if you had them, they would not be your best property. That lies in your

country and its resources. Nearly all the world has given up slavery;

why can't the South do the same and end the struggle. It has shown you

what the South needs, and if all went to work with united hands the

South would soon be the greatest country on earth. You have no right to

call H. a traitor; it is we who are the true patriots and lovers of the

South."

This had to come, but it has upset us both. H. is deeply attached to

Max, and I can't bear to see a cloud between them. Max, with Annie and

Reeney, drove off an hour ago, Annie so glad at the prospect of again

seeing her mother that nothing could cloud her day. And so the close

companionship of six months, and of dangers, trials, and pleasures

shared together, is over.

_Oak Ridge, July 26, Saturday._--It was not till Wednesday that H. could

get into Vicksburg, ten miles distant, for a passport, without which we

could not go on the cars. We started Thursday morning. I had to ride

seven miles on a hard-trotting horse to the nearest station. The day was

burning at white heat. When the station was reached my hair was down,

my hat on my neck, and my feelings were indescribable.

On the train one seemed to be right in the stream of war, among

officers, soldiers, sick men and cripples, adieus, tears, laughter,

constant chatter, and, strangest of all, sentinels posted at the locked

car doors demanding passports. There was no train south from Jackson

that day, so we put up at the Bowman House. The excitement was

indescribable. All the world appeared to be traveling through Jackson.

People were besieging the two hotels, offering enormous prices for the

privilege of sleeping anywhere under a roof. There were many refugees

from New Orleans, among them some acquaintances of mine. The peculiar

styles of [women's] dress necessitated by the exigencies of war gave the

crowd a very striking appearance. In single suits I saw sleeves of one

color, the waist of another, the skirt of another; scarlet jackets and

gray skirts; black waists and blue skirts; black skirts and gray waists;

the trimming chiefly gold braid and buttons, to give a military air. The

gray and gold uniforms of the officers, glittering between, made up a

carnival of color. Every moment we saw strange meetings and partings of

people from all over the South. Conditions of time, space, locality, and

estate were all loosened; everybody seemed floating he knew not whither,

but determined to be jolly, and keep up an excitement. At supper we had

tough steak, heavy, dirty-looking bread, Confederate coffee. The coffee

was made of either parched rye or corn-meal, or of sweet potatoes cut in

small cubes and roasted. This was the favorite. When flavored with

"coffee essence," sweetened with sorghum, and tinctured with chalky

milk, it made a curious beverage which, after tasting, I preferred not

to drink. Every one else was drinking it, and an acquaintance said, "Oh,

you'll get bravely over that. I used to be a Jewess about pork, but now

we just kill a hog and eat it, and kill another and do the same. It's

all we have."

Friday morning we took the down train for the station near my friend's

house. At every station we had to go through the examination of passes,

as if in a foreign country.

The conscript camp was at Brookhaven, and every man had been ordered to

report there or to be treated as a deserter. At every station I shivered

mentally, expecting H. to be dragged off. Brookhaven was also the

station for dinner. I choked mine down, feeling the sword hanging over

me by a single hair. At sunset we reached our station. The landlady was

pouring tea when we took our seats, and I expected a treat, but when I

tasted it was sassafras tea, the very odor of which sickens me. There

was a general surprise when I asked to exchange it for a glass of water;

every one was drinking it as if it were nectar. This morning we drove

out here.

My friend's little nest is calm in contrast to the tumult not far off.

Yet the trials of war are here too. Having no matches, they keep fire,

carefully covering it at night, for Mr. G. has no powder, and cannot

flash the gun into combustibles as some do. One day they had to go with

the children to the village, and the servant let the fire go out. When

they returned at nightfall, wet and hungry, there was neither fire nor

food. Mr. G. had to saddle the tired mule and ride three miles for a pan

of coals, and blow them, all the way back, to keep them alight. Crockery

has gradually been broken and tin cups rusted out, and a visitor told me

they had made tumblers out of clear glass bottles by cutting them smooth

with a heated wire, and that they had nothing else to drink from.

_Aug. 11._--We cannot get to New Orleans. A special passport must be

shown, and we are told that to apply for it would render H. very likely

to be conscripted. I begged him not to try; and as we hear that active

hostilities have ceased at Vicksburg, he left me this morning to return

to his uncle's and see what the prospects are there. I shall be in

misery about conscription till he returns.

_Sunday, Sept. 7._ (_Vicksburg, Washington Hotel._)--H. did not return

for three weeks. An epidemic disease broke out in his uncle's family and

two children died. He stayed to assist them in their trouble. Tuesday

evening he returned for me, and we reached Vicksburg yesterday. It was

my first sight of the "Gibraltar of the South." Looking at it from a

slight elevation suggests the idea that the fragments left from

world-building had tumbled into a confused mass of hills, hollows,

hillocks, banks, ditches, and ravines, and that the houses had rained

down afterward. Over all there was dust impossible to conceive. The

bombardment has done little injury. People have returned and resumed

business. A gentleman asked H. if he knew of a nice girl for sale. I

asked if he did not think it impolitic to buy slaves now.

"Oh, not young ones. Old ones might run off when the enemy's lines

approach ours, but with young ones there is no danger."

We had not been many hours in town before a position was offered to H.

which seemed providential. The chief of a certain department was in ill

health and wanted a deputy. It secures him from conscription, requires

no oath, and pays a good salary. A mountain seemed lifted off my heart.

_Thursday, Sept. 18._ (_Thanksgiving Day._)--We stayed three days at the

Washington Hotel; then a friend of H.'s called and told him to come to

his house till he could find a home. Boarding-houses have all been

broken up, and the army has occupied the few houses that were for rent.

To-day H. secured a vacant room for two weeks in the only

boarding-house.

_Oak Haven, Oct. 3._--To get a house in V. proved impossible, so we

agreed to part for a time till H. could find one. A friend recommended

this quiet farm, six miles from ---- [a station on the Jackson Railroad].

On last Saturday H. came with me as far as Jackson and put me on the

other train for the station.

On my way hither a lady, whom I judged to be a Confederate

"blockade-runner," told me of the tricks resorted to to get things out

of New Orleans, including this: A very large doll was emptied of its

bran, filled with quinine, and elaborately dressed. When the owner's

trunk was opened, she declared with tears that the doll was for a poor

crippled girl, and it was passed.

This farm of Mr. W.'s[2] is kept with about forty negroes. Mr. W.,

nearly sixty, is the only white man on it. He seems to have been wiser

in the beginning than most others, and curtailed his cotton to make room

for rye, rice, and corn. There is a large vegetable-garden and orchard;

he has bought plenty of stock for beef and mutton, and laid in a large

supply of sugar. He must also have plenty of ammunition, for a man is

kept hunting and supplies the table with delicious wild turkeys and

other game. There is abundance of milk and butter, hives for honey, and

no end of pigs. Chickens seem to be kept like game in parks, for I never

see any, but the hunter shoots them, and eggs are plentiful. We have

chicken for breakfast, dinner, and supper, fried, stewed, broiled, and

in soup, and there is a family of ten. Luckily I never tire of it. They

make starch out of corn-meal by washing the meal repeatedly, pouring off

the water, and drying the sediment. Truly the uses of corn in the

Confederacy are varied. It makes coffee, beer, whisky, starch, cake,

bread. The only privations here are the lack of coffee, tea, salt,

matches, and good candles. Mr. W. is now having the dirt floor of his

smoke-house dug up and boiling from it the salt that has dripped into it

for years. To-day Mrs. W. made tea out of dried blackberry leaves, but

no one liked it. The beds, made out of equal parts of cotton and

corn-shucks, are the most elastic I ever slept in. The servants are

dressed in gray homespun. Hester, the chambermaid, has a gray gown so

pretty that I covet one like it. Mrs. W. is now arranging dyes for the

thread to be woven into dresses for herself and the girls. Sometimes her

hands are a curiosity.

[Footnote 2: On this plantation, and in this domestic circle, I myself

afterward sojourned, and from them enlisted in the army. The initials

are fictitious, but the description is perfect.--G.W.C.]

The school at the nearest town is broken up, and Mrs. W. says the

children are growing up heathens. Mr. W. has offered me a liberal price

to give the children lessons in English and French, and I have accepted

transiently.

_Oct. 28._--It is a month to-day since I came here. I only wish H. could

share these benefits--the nourishing food, the pure aromatic air, the

sound sleep away from the fevered life of Vicksburg. He sends me all the

papers he can get hold of, and we both watch carefully the movements

reported lest an army should get between us. The days are full of useful

work, and in the lovely afternoons I take long walks with a big dog for

company. The girls do not care for walking. In the evening Mr. W. begs

me to read aloud all the war news. He is fond of the "Memphis Appeal,"

which has moved from town to town so much that they call it the "Moving

Appeal." I sit in a low chair by the fire, as we have no other light to

read by. Sometimes traveling soldiers stop here, but that is rare.

_Oct. 31._--Mr. W. said last night the farmers felt uneasy about the

"Emancipation Proclamation" to take effect in December. The slaves have

found it out, though it had been carefully kept from them.

"Do yours know it?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. Finding it to be known elsewhere, I told it to mine with fair

warning what to expect if they tried to run away. The hounds are not far

off."

The need of clothing for their armies is worrying them too. I never saw

Mrs. W. so excited as on last evening. She said the provost-marshal at

the next town had ordered the women to knit so many pairs of socks.

"Just let him try to enforce it and they will cowhide him. He'll get

none from me. I'll take care of my friends without an order from him."

"Well," said Mr. W., "if the South is defeated and the slaves set free,

the Southern people will all become atheists; for the Bible justifies

slavery and says it shall be perpetual."

"You mean, if the Lord does not agree with you, you'll repudiate him."

"Well, we'll feel it's no use to believe in anything."

At night the large sitting-room makes a striking picture. Mr. W., spare,

erect, gray-headed, patriarchal, sits in his big chair by the odorous

fire of pine logs and knots roaring up the vast fireplace. His driver

brings to him the report of the day's picking and a basket of snowy

cotton for the spinning. The hunter brings in the game. I sit on the

other side to read. The great spinning-wheels stand at the other end of

the room, and Mrs. W. and her black satellites, the elderly women with

their heads in bright bandanas, are hard at work. Slender and

auburn-haired, she steps back and forth out of shadow into shine

following the thread with graceful movements. Some card the cotton, some

reel it into hanks. Over all the firelight glances, now touching the

golden curls of little John toddling about, now the brown heads of the

girls stooping over their books, now the shadowy figure of little Jule,

the girl whose duty it is to supply the fire with rich pine to keep up

the vivid light. If they would only let the child sit down! But that is

not allowed, and she gets sleepy and stumbles and knocks her head

against the wall and then straightens up again. When that happens often

it drives me off. Sometimes while I read the bright room fades and a

vision rises of figures clad in gray and blue lying pale and stiff on

the blood-sprinkled ground.

_Nov. 15._--Yesterday a letter was handed me from H. Grant's army was

moving, he wrote, steadily down the Mississippi Central, and might cut

the road at Jackson. He has a house and will meet me in Jackson

to-morrow.

_Nov. 20._ (_Vicksburg._)--A fair morning for my journey back to

Vicksburg. On the train was the gentleman who in New Orleans had told us

we should have all the butter we wanted from Texas. On the cars, as

elsewhere, the question of food alternated with news of the war.

When we ran into the Jackson station, H. was on the platform, and I

gladly learned that we could go right on. A runaway negro, an old man,

ashy-colored from fright and exhaustion, with his hands chained, was

being dragged along by a common-looking man. Just as we started out of

Jackson the conductor led in a young woman sobbing in a heartbroken

manner. Her grief seemed so overpowering, and she was so young and

helpless, that every one was interested. Her husband went into the army

in the opening of the war, just after their marriage, and she had never

heard from him since. After months of weary searching she learned he had

been heard of at Jackson, and came full of hope, but found no clue. The

sudden breaking down of her hope was terrible. The conductor placed her

in care of a gentleman going her way and left her sobbing. At the next

station the conductor came to ask her about her baggage. She raised her

head to try and answer. "Don't cry so; you'll find him yet." She gave a

start, jumped from her seat with arms flung out and eyes staring. "There

he is now!" she cried. Her husband stood before her.

The gentleman beside her yielded his seat, and as hand grasped hand a

hysterical gurgle gave place to a look like Heaven's peace. The low

murmur of their talk began and when I looked around at the next station

they had bought pies and were eating them together like happy children.

Midway between Jackson and Vicksburg we reached the station near where

Annie's parents were staying. I looked out, and there stood Annie with a

little sister on each side of her, brightly smiling at us. Max had

written to H., but we had not seen them since our parting. There was

only time for a word and the train flashed away.

XII

VICKSBURG

We reached Vicksburg that night and went to H.'s room. Next morning the

cook he had engaged arrived, and we moved into this house. Martha's

ignorance keeps me busy, and H. is kept close at his office.

_January 7, 1863._--I have had little to record here recently, for we

have lived to ourselves, not visiting or visited. Every one H. knows is

absent, and I know no one but the family we stayed with at first, and

they are now absent. H. tells me of the added triumph since the repulse

of Sherman in December, and the one paper published here shouts victory

as much as its gradually diminishing size will allow. Paper is a serious

want. There is a great demand for envelops in the office where H. is. He

found and bought a lot of thick and smooth colored paper, cut a tin

pattern, and we have whiled away some long evenings cutting envelops and

making them up. I have put away a package of the best to look at when we

are old. The books I brought from Arkansas have proved a treasure, but

we can get no more. I went to the only book-store open; there were none

but Mrs. Stowe's "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands." The clerk said I

could have that cheap, because he couldn't sell her books, so I got it

and am reading it now. The monotony has only been broken by letters from

friends here and there in the Confederacy. One of these letters tells of

a Federal raid to their place, and says: "But the worst thing was, they

would take every toothbrush in the house, because we can't buy any more;

and one cavalryman put my sister's new bonnet on his horse, and said,

'Get up, Jack,' and her bonnet was gone."

_February 25._--A long gap in my journal, because H. has been ill unto

death with typhoid fever, and I nearly broke down from loss of sleep,

there being no one to relieve me. I never understood before how terrible

it was to be alone at night with a patient in delirium, and no one

within call. To wake Martha was simply impossible. I got the best doctor

here, but when convalescence began the question of food was a trial. I

got with great difficulty two chickens. The doctor made the drug-store

sell two of their six bottles of port; he said his patient's life

depended on it. An egg is a rare and precious thing. Meanwhile the

Federal fleet has been gathering, has anchored at the bend, and shells

are thrown in at intervals.

_March 20._--The slow shelling of Vicksburg goes on all the time, and we &&

have grown indifferent. It does not at present interrupt or interfere

with daily avocations, but I suspect they are only getting the range of

different points; and when they have them all complete, showers of shot

will rain on us all at once. Non-combatants have been ordered to leave

or prepare accordingly. Those who are to stay are having caves built.

Cave-digging has become a regular business; prices range from twenty to

fifty dollars, according to size of cave. Two diggers worked at ours a

week and charged thirty dollars. It is well made in the hill that slopes

just in the rear of the house, and well propped with thick posts, as

they all are. It has a shelf also, for holding a light or water. When we

went in this evening and sat down, the earthy, suffocating feeling, as

of a living tomb, was dreadful to me. I fear I shall risk death outside

rather than melt in that dark furnace. The hills are so honeycombed with

caves that the streets look like avenues in a cemetery. The hill called

the Sky-parlor has become quite a fashionable resort for the few

upper-circle families left here. Some officers are quartered there, and

there is a band and a field-glass. Last evening we also climbed the hill

to watch the shelling, but found the view not so good as on a quiet hill

nearer home. Soon a lady began to talk to one of the officers: "It is

such folly for them to waste their ammunition like that. How can they

ever take a town that has such advantages for defense and protection as

this? We'll just burrow into these hills and let them batter away as

hard as they please."

"You are right, madam; and besides, when our women are so willing to

brave death and endure discomfort, how can we ever be conquered?"

Soon she looked over with significant glances to where we stood, and

began to talk at H.

"The only drawback," she said, "are the contemptible men who are staying

at home in comfort, when they ought to be in the army if they had a

spark of honor."

I cannot repeat all, but it was the usual tirade. It is strange I have

met no one yet who seems to comprehend an honest difference of opinion,

and stranger yet that the ordinary rules of good breeding are now so

entirely ignored. As the spring comes one has the craving for fresh,

green food that a monotonous diet produces. There was a bed of radishes

and onions in the garden that were a real blessing. An onion salad,

dressed only with salt, vinegar, and pepper, seemed a dish fit for a

king; but last night the soldiers quartered near made a raid on the

garden and took them all.

_April 2._--We have had to move, and thus lost our cave. The owner of

the house suddenly returned and notified us that he intended to bring

his family back; didn't think there'd be any siege. The cost of the cave

could go for the rent. That means he has got tired of the Confederacy

and means to stay here and thus get out of it. This house was the only

one to be had. It was built by ex-Senator G., and is so large our tiny

household is lost in it. We use only the lower floor. The bell is often

rung by persons who take it for a hotel and come beseeching food at any

price. To-day one came who would not be denied. "We do not keep a hotel,

but would willingly feed hungry soldiers if we had the food." "I have

been traveling all night, and am starving; will pay any price for just

bread." I went to the dining-room and found some biscuits, and set out

two, with a large piece of corn-bread, a small piece of bacon, some nice

syrup, and a pitcher of water. I locked the door of the safe and left

him to enjoy his lunch. After he left I found he had broken open the

safe and taken the remaining biscuits.

_April 28._--I never understood before the full force of those

questions--What shall we eat? what shall we drink? and wherewithal shall

we be clothed? We have no prophet of the Lord at whose prayer the meal

and oil will not waste. Such minute attention must be given the wardrobe

to preserve it that I have learned to darn like an artist. Making shoes

is now another accomplishment. Mine were in tatters. H. came across a

moth-eaten pair that he bought me, giving ten dollars, I think, and they

fell into rags when I tried to wear them; but the soles were good, and

that has helped me to shoes. A pair of old coat-sleeves saved--nothing

is thrown away now--was in my trunk. I cut an exact pattern from my old

shoes, laid it on the sleeves, and cut out thus good uppers and sewed

them carefully; then soaked the soles and sewed the cloth to them. I am

so proud of these home-made shoes, think I'll put them in a glass case

when the war is over, as an heirloom. H. says he has come to have an

abiding faith that everything he needs to wear will come out of that

trunk while the war lasts. It is like a fairy casket. I have but a dozen

pins remaining, so many I gave away. Every time these are used they are

straightened and kept from rust. All these curious labors are performed

while the shells are leisurely screaming through the air; but as long as

we are out of range we don't worry. For many nights we have had but

little sleep, because the Federal gunboats have been running past the

batteries. The uproar when this is happening is phenomenal. The first

night the thundering artillery burst the bars of sleep, we thought it an

attack by the river. To get into garments and rush up-stairs was the

work of a moment. From the upper gallery we have a fine view of the

river, and soon a red glare lit up the scene and showed a small boat,

towing two large barges, gliding by. The Confederates had set fire to a

house near the bank. Another night, eight boats ran by, throwing a

shower of shot, and two burning houses made the river clear as day. One

of the batteries has a remarkable gun they call "Whistling Dick,"

because of the screeching, whistling sound it gives, and certainly it

does sound like a tortured thing. Added to all this is the indescribable

Confederate yell, which is a soul-harrowing sound to hear. I have gained

respect for the mechanism of the human ear, which stands it all without

injury. The streets are seldom quiet at night; even the dragging about

of cannon makes a din in these echoing gullies. The other night we were

on the gallery till the last of the eight boats got by. Next day a

friend said to H., "It was a wonder you didn't have your heads taken

off last night. I passed and saw them stretched over the gallery, and

grape-shot were whizzing up the street just on a level with you." The

double roar of batteries and boats was so great, we never noticed the

whizzing. Yesterday the _Cincinnati_ attempted to go by in daylight but

was disabled and sunk. It was a pitiful sight; we could not see the

finale, though we saw her rendered helpless.

XIII

PREPARATIONS FOR THE SIEGE

_Vicksburg, May 1, 1863._--It is settled at last that we shall spend the

time of siege in Vicksburg. Ever since we were deprived of our cave, I

had been dreading that H. would suggest sending me to the country, where

his relatives lived. As he could not leave his position and go also

without being conscripted, and as I felt certain an army would get

between us, it was no part of my plan to be obedient. A shell from one

of the practising mortars brought the point to an issue yesterday and

settled it. Sitting at work as usual, listening to the distant sound of

bursting shells, apparently aimed at the court-house, there suddenly

came a nearer explosion; the house shook, and a tearing sound was

followed by terrified screams from the kitchen. I rushed thither, but

met in the hall the cook's little girl America, bleeding from a wound in

the forehead, and fairly dancing with fright and pain, while she uttered

fearful yells. I stopped to examine the wound, and her mother bounded

in, her black face ashy from terror. "Oh! Miss V., my child is killed

and the kitchen tore up." Seeing America was too lively to be a killed

subject, I consoled Martha and hastened to the kitchen. Evidently a

shell had exploded just outside, sending three or four pieces through.

When order was restored I endeavored to impress on Martha's mind the

necessity for calmness and the uselessness of such excitement. Looking

round at the close of the lecture, there stood a group of Confederate

soldiers laughing heartily at my sermon and the promising audience I

had. They chimed in with a parting chorus:

"Yes, it's no use hollerin', old lady."

"Oh! H.," I exclaimed, as he entered soon after, "America is wounded."

"That is no news; she has been wounded by traitors long ago."

"Oh, this is real, living, little black America. I am not talking in

symbols. Here are the pieces of shell, the first bolt of the coming

siege."

"Now you see," he replied, "that this house will be but paper to

mortar-shells. You must go in the country."

The argument was long, but when a woman is obstinate and eloquent, she

generally conquers. I came off victorious, and we finished preparations

for the siege to-day. Hiring a man to assist, we descended to the &&

wine-cellar, where the accumulated bottles told of the "banquet-hall

deserted," the spirit and glow of the festive hours whose lights and

garlands were dead, and the last guest long since departed. To empty

this cellar was the work of many hours. Then in the safest corner a

platform was laid for our bed, and in another portion one arranged for

Martha. The dungeon, as I call it, is lighted only by a trap-door, and

is so damp it will be necessary to remove the bedding and mosquito-bars

every day. The next question was of supplies. I had nothing left but a

sack of rice-flour, and no manner of cooking I had heard or invented

contrived to make it eatable. A column of recipes for making delicious

preparations of it had been going the rounds of Confederate papers. I

tried them all; they resulted only in brick-bats or sticky paste. H.

sallied out on a hunt for provisions, and when he returned the

disproportionate quantity of the different articles obtained provoked a

smile. There was a _hogshead_ of sugar, a barrel of syrup, ten pounds of

bacon and peas, four pounds of wheat-flour, and a small sack of

corn-meal, a little vinegar, and actually some spice! The wheat-flour he

purchased for ten dollars as a special favor from the sole remaining

barrel for sale. We decided that must be left for sickness. The sack of

meal, he said, was a case of corruption, through a special providence to

us. There is no more for sale at any price; but, said he, "a soldier who

was hauling some of the Government sacks to the hospital offered me this

for five dollars, if I could keep a secret. When the meal is exhausted,

perhaps we can keep alive on sugar. Here are some wax candles; hoard

them like gold." He handed me a parcel containing about two pounds of

candles, and left me to arrange my treasures. It would be hard for me to

picture the memories those candles called up. The long years melted

away, and I

Trod again my childhood's track,

And felt its very gladness.

In those childish days, whenever came dreams Of household splendor or

festal rooms or gay illuminations, the lights in my vision were always

wax candles burning with a soft radiance that enchanted every scene....

And, lo! here on this spring day of '63, with war raging through the

land, I was in a fine house, and had my wax candles sure enough; but,

alas! they were neither cerulean blue nor rose-tinted, but dirty brown;

and when I lighted one, it spluttered and wasted like any vulgar tallow

thing, and lighted only a desolate scene in the vast handsome room. They

were not so good as the waxen rope we had made in Arkansas. So, with a

long sigh for the dreams of youth, I return to the stern present in this

besieged town--my only consolation to remember the old axiom, "A city

besieged is a city taken,"--so if we live through it we shall be out of

the Confederacy. H. is very tired of having to carry a pass around in

his pocket and go every now and then to have it renewed. We have been so

very free in America, these restrictions are irksome.

_May 9._--This morning the door-bell rang a startling peal. Martha being

busy, I answered it. An orderly in gray stood with an official envelop

in his hand.

"Who lives here?"

"Mr. L."

Very imperiously--"Which Mr. L.?"

"Mr. H.L."

"Is he here?"

"No."

"Where can he be found?"

"At the office of Deputy ----."

"I'm not going there. This is an order from General Pemberton for you to

move out of this house in two hours. He has selected it for

headquarters. He will furnish you with wagons."

"Will he furnish another house also?"

"Of course not."

"Has the owner been consulted?"

"He has not; that is of no consequence; it has been taken. Take this

order."

"I shall not take it, and I shall not move, as there is no place to move

to but the street."

"Then I'll take it to Mr. L."

"Very well; do so."

As soon as Mr. Impertine walked off, I locked, bolted, and barred every

door and window. In ten minutes H. came home.

"Hold the fort till I've seen the owner and the general," he said, as I

locked him out.

Then Dr. B.'s remark in New Orleans about the effect of Dr. C.'s fine

presence on the Confederate officials there came to mind. They are just

the people to be influenced in that way, I thought. I look rather shabby

now; I will dress. I made an elaborate toilet, put on the best and most

becoming dress I had, the richest lace, the handsomest ornaments, taking

care that all should be appropriate to a morning visit; dressed my hair

in the stateliest braids, and took a seat in the parlor ready for the

fray. H. came to the window and said:

"Landlord says, 'Keep them out. Wouldn't let them have his house at any

price.' He is just riding to the country and can't help us now. Now I'm

to see Major C., who sent the order."

Next came an officer, banged at the door till tired, and walked away.

Then the orderly came again and beat the door--same result. Next, four

officers with bundles and lunch-baskets, followed by a wagon-load of

furniture. They went round the house, tried every door, peeped in the

windows, pounded and rapped, while I watched them through the

blind-slats. Presently the fattest one, a real Falstaffian man, came

back to the front door and rang a thundering peal. I saw the chance for

fun and for putting on their own grandiloquent style. Stealing on tiptoe

to the door, I turned the key and bolt noiselessly, and suddenly threw

wide back the door and appeared behind it. He had been leaning on it,

and nearly pitched forward with an "Oh! what's this!" Then seeing me as

he straightened up, "Ah, madam!" almost stuttering from surprise and

anger, "are you aware I had the right to break down this door if you

hadn't opened it?"

"That would make no difference to me. I'm not the owner. You or the

landlord would pay the bill for the repairs."

"Why didn't you open the door?"

"Have I not done so as soon as you rung? A lady does not open the door

to men who beat on it. Gentlemen usually ring; I thought it might be

stragglers pounding."

"Well," growing much blander, "we are going to send you some wagons to

move; you must get ready."

"With pleasure, if you have selected a house for me. This is too large;

it does not suit me."

"No, I didn't find a house for you."

"You surely don't expect me to run about in the dust and shelling to

look for it, and Mr. L. is too busy."

"Well, madam, then we must share the house. We will take the lower

floor."

"I prefer to keep the lower floor myself; you surely don't expect me to

go up and down stairs when you are so light and more able to do it."

He walked through the hall, trying the doors. "What room is that?" "The

parlor." "And this?" "My bedroom." "And this?" "The dining-room."

"Well, madam, we'll find you a house and then come and take this."

"Thank you, colonel; I shall be ready when you find the house.

Good-morning, sir."

I heard him say as he ran down the steps, "We must go back, captain; you

see I didn't know they were this kind of people."

Of course the orderly had lied in the beginning to scare me, for General

P. is too far away from Vicksburg to send an order. He is looking about

for General Grant. We are told he has gone out to meet Johnston; and

together they expect to annihilate Grant's army and free Vicksburg

forever. There is now a general hospital opposite this house, and a

smallpox hospital next door. War, famine, pestilence, and fire surround

us. Every day the band plays in front of the smallpox hospital. I wonder

if it is to keep up their spirits? One would suppose quiet would be more

cheering.

_May 17._--Hardly was our scanty breakfast over this morning when a

hurried ring drew us both to the door.

Mr. J., one of H.'s assistants, stood there in high excitement.

"Well, Mr. L., they are upon us; the Yankees will be here by this

evening."

"What do you mean?"

"That Pemberton has been whipped at Baker's Creek and Big Black, and his

army are running back here as fast as they can come, and the Yanks after

them, in such numbers nothing can stop them. Hasn't Pemberton acted like

a fool?"

"He may not be the only one to blame," replied H.

"They're coming along the Big B. road, and my folks went down there to

be safe, you know; now they're right in it. I hear you can't see the

armies for the dust; never was anything else known like it. But I must

go and try to bring my folks back here."

What struck us both was the absence of that concern to be expected, and

a sort of relief or suppressed pleasure. After twelve some

worn-out-looking men sat down under the window.

"What is the news?" I inquired.

"Ritreat, ritreat!" they said, in broken English--they were Louisiana

Acadians.

About three o'clock the rush began. I shall never forget that woeful

sight of a beaten, demoralized army that came rushing back,--humanity in

the last throes of endurance. Wan, hollow-eyed, ragged, foot-sore,

bloody, the men limped along unarmed, but followed by siege-guns,

ambulances, gun-carriages, and wagons in aimless confusion. At twilight

two or three bands on the court-house hill and other points began

playing "Dixie," "Bonnie Blue Flag," and so on, and drums began to beat

all about; I suppose they were rallying the scattered army.

_May 28._--Since that day the regular siege has continued. We are

utterly cut off from the world, surrounded by a circle of fire. Would it

be wise like the scorpion to sting ourselves to death? The fiery shower

of shells goes on day and night. H.'s occupation, of course, is gone;

his office closed. Every man has to carry a pass in his pocket. People

do nothing but eat what they can get, sleep when they can, and dodge the

shells. There are three intervals when the shelling stops either for the

guns to cool or for the gunners' meals, I suppose,--about eight in the

morning, the same in the evening, and at noon. In that time we have both

to prepare and eat ours. Clothing cannot be washed or anything else

done. On the 19th and 22d, when the assaults were made on the lines, I

watched the soldiers cooking on the green opposite. The half-spent balls

coming all the way from those lines were flying so thick that they were

obliged to dodge at every turn. At all the caves I could see from my

high perch, people were sitting, eating their poor suppers at the cave

doors, ready to plunge in again. As the first shell again flew they

dived, and not a human being was visible. The sharp crackle of the

musketry-firing was a strong contrast to the scream of the bombs. I

think all the dogs and cats must be killed or starved: we don't see any

more pitiful animals prowling around.... The cellar is so damp and musty

the bedding has to be carried out and laid in the sun every day, with

the forecast that it may be demolished at any moment. The confinement is

dreadful. To sit and listen as if waiting for death in a horrible

manner would drive me insane. I don't know what others do, but we read

when I am not scribbling in this. H. borrowed somewhere a lot of

Dickens's novels, and we reread them, by the dim light in the cellar.

When the shelling abates, H. goes to walk about a little or get the

"Daily Citizen," which is still issuing a tiny sheet at twenty-five and

fifty cents a copy. It is, of course, but a rehash of speculations which

amuses a half hour. To-day he heard while out that expert swimmers are

crossing the Mississippi on logs at night to bring and carry news to

Johnston. I am so tired of corn-bread, which I never liked, that I eat

it with tears in my eyes. We are lucky to get a quart of milk daily from

a family near who have a cow they hourly expect to be killed. I send

five dollars to market each morning, and it buys a small piece of

mule-meat. Rice and milk is my main food; I can't eat the mule-meat. We

boil the rice and eat it cold with milk for supper. Martha runs the

gauntlet to buy the meat and milk once a day in a perfect terror. The

shells seem to have many different names: I hear the soldiers say,

"That's a mortar-shell. There goes a Parrott. That's a rifle-shell."

They are all equally terrible. A pair of chimney-swallows have built in

the parlor chimney. The concussion of the house often sends down parts

of their nest, which they patiently pick up and reascend with.

_Friday, June 5. In the cellar._--Wednesday evening H. said he must take

a little walk, and went while the shelling had stopped. He never leaves

me alone for long, and when an hour had passed without his return I

grew anxious; and when two hours, and the shelling had grown terrific, I

momentarily expected to see his mangled body. All sorts of horrors fill

the mind now, and I am so desolate here; not a friend. When he came he

said that, passing a cave where there were no others near, he heard

groans, and found a shell had struck above and caused the cave to fall

in on the man within. He could not extricate him alone, and had to get

help and dig him out. He was badly hurt, but not mortally, and I felt

fairly sick from the suspense.

Yesterday morning a note was brought H. from a bachelor uncle out in the

trenches, saying he had been taken ill with fever, and could we receive

him if he came? H. sent to tell him to come, and I arranged one of the

parlors as a dressing-room for him, and laid a pallet that he could move

back and forth to the cellar. He did not arrive, however. It is our

custom in the evening to sit in the front room a little while in the

dark, with matches and candle held ready in hand, and watch the shells,

whose course at night is shown by the fuse. H. was at the window and

suddenly sprang up, crying, "Run!"--"Where?"--"_Back_!"

I started through the back room, H. after me. I was just within the door

when the crash came that threw me to the floor. It was the most

appalling sensation I'd ever known--worse than an earthquake, which I've

also experienced. Shaken and deafened, I picked myself up; H. had struck

a light to find me. I lighted one, and the smoke guided us to the parlor

I had fixed for Uncle J. The candles were useless in the dense smoke,

and it was many minutes before we could see. Then we found the entire

side of the room torn out. The soldiers who had rushed in said, "This is

an eighty-pound Parrott." It had entered through the front, burst on the

pallet-bed, which was in tatters; the toilet service and everything else

in the room smashed. The soldiers assisted H. to board up the break with

planks to keep out prowlers, and we went to bed in the cellar as usual.

This morning the yard is partially plowed by a couple that fell there in

the night. I think this house, so large and prominent from the river, is

perhaps taken for headquarters and specially shelled. As we descend at

night to the lower regions, I think of the evening hymn that grandmother

taught me when a child:

Lord, keep us safe this night,

Secure from all our fears;

May angels guard us while we sleep,

Till morning light appears.

Surely, if there are heavenly guardians, we need them now.

_June 7._ (_In the cellar._)--There is one thing I feel especially

grateful for, that amid these horrors we have been spared that of

suffering for water. The weather has been dry a long time, and we hear

of others dipping up the water from ditches and mud-holes. This place

has two large underground cisterns of good cool water, and every night

in my subterranean dressing-room a tub of cold water is the nerve-calmer

that sends me to sleep in spite of the roar. One cistern I had to give

up to the soldiers, who swarm about like hungry animals seeking

something to devour. Poor fellows! my heart bleeds for them. They have

nothing but spoiled, greasy bacon, and bread made of musty pea-flour,

and but little of that. The sick ones can't bolt it. They come into the

kitchen when Martha puts the pan of corn-bread in the stove, and beg for

the bowl she mixed it in. They shake up the scrapings with water, put in

their bacon, and boil the mixture into a kind of soup, which is easier

to swallow than pea-bread. When I happen in, they look so ashamed of

their poor clothes. I know we saved the lives of two by giving a few

meals. To-day one crawled on the gallery to lie in the breeze. He looked

as if shells had lost their terrors for his dumb and famished misery.

I've taught Martha to make first-rate corn-meal gruel, because I can eat

meal easier that way than in hoe-cake, and I fixed him a saucerful, put

milk and sugar and nutmeg--I've actually got a nutmeg! When he ate it

the tears ran from his eyes. "Oh, madam, there was never anything so

good! I shall get better."

_June 9._--The churches are a great resort for those who have no caves.

People fancy they are not shelled so much, and they are substantial and

the pews good to sleep in. We had to leave this house last night, they

were shelling our quarter so heavily. The night before, Martha forsook

the cellar for a church. We went to H.'s office, which was comparatively

quiet last night. H. carried the bank-box; I the case of matches; Martha

the blankets and pillows, keeping an eye on the shells. We slept on

piles of old newspapers. In the streets the roar seems so much more

confusing, I feel sure I shall run right in the way of a shell. They

seem to have five different sounds from the second of throwing them to

the hollow echo wandering among the hills, and that sounds the most

blood-curdling of all.

_June 13._--Shell burst just over the roof this morning. Pieces tore

through both floors down into the dining-room. The entire ceiling of

that room fell in a mass. We had just left it. Every piece of crockery

on the table was smashed up. The "Daily Citizen" to-day is a foot and a

half long and six inches wide. It has a long letter from a Federal

officer, P.P. Hill, who was on the gunboat _Cincinnati_, that was sunk

May 27. Says it was found in his floating trunk. The editorial says,

"The utmost confidence is felt that we can maintain our position until

succor comes from outside. The undaunted Johnston is at hand."

_June 18._--To-day the "Citizen" is printed on wallpaper; therefore has

grown a little in size. It says, "But a few days more and Johnston will

be here"; also that "Kirby Smith has driven Banks from Port Hudson," and

that "the enemy are throwing incendiary shells in."

_June 20._--The gentleman who took our cave came yesterday to invite us

to come to it, because, he said, "it's going to be very bad to-day." I

don't know why he thought so. We went, and found his own and another

family in it; sat outside and watched the shells till we concluded the

cellar was as good a place as that hillside. I fear the want of good

food is breaking down H. I know from my own feelings of weakness, but

mine is not an American constitution and has a recuperative power that

his has not.

_June 21._--I had gone up-stairs to-day during the interregnum to enjoy

a rest on my bed, and read the reliable items in the "Citizen," when a

shell burst right outside the window in front of me. Pieces flew in,

striking all around me, tearing down masses of plaster that came

tumbling over me. When H. rushed in I was crawling out of the plaster,

digging it out of my eyes and hair. When he picked up a piece as large

as a saucer beside my pillow, I realized my narrow escape. The

windowframe began to smoke, and we saw the house was on fire. H. ran for

a hatchet and I for water, and we put it out. Another [shell] came

crashing near, and I snatched up my comb and brush and ran down here. It

has taken all the afternoon to get the plaster out of my hair, for my

hands were rather shaky.

_June 25._--A horrible day. The most horrible yet to me, because I've

lost my nerve. We were all in the cellar, when a shell came tearing

through the roof, burst up-stairs, tore up that room, and the pieces

coming through both floors down into the cellar, one of them tore open

the leg of H.'s pantaloons. This was tangible proof the cellar was no

place of protection from them. On the heels of this came Mr. J. to tell

us that young Mrs. P. had had her thigh-bone crushed. When Martha went

for the milk she came back horror-stricken to tell us the black girl

there had her arm taken off by a shell. For the first time I quailed. I

do not think people who are physically brave deserve much credit for it;

it is a matter of nerves. In this way I am constitutionally brave, and

seldom think of danger till it is over; and death has not the terrors

for me it has for some others. Every night I had lain down expecting

death, and every morning rose to the same prospect, without being

unnerved. It was for H. I trembled. But now I first seemed to realize

that something worse than death might come: I might be crippled, and not

killed. Life, without all one's powers and limbs, was a thought that

broke down my courage. I said to H., "You must get me out of this

horrible place; I cannot stay; I know I shall be crippled." Now the

regret comes that I lost control, because H. is worried, and has lost

his composure, because my coolness has broken down.

_July 1._--Some months ago, thinking it might be useful, I obtained from

the consul of my birthplace, by sending to another town, a passport for

foreign parts. H. said if we went out to the lines we might be permitted

to get through on that. So we packed the trunks, got a carriage, and on

the 30th drove out there. General V. offered us seats in his tent. The

rifle-bullets were whizzing so _zip, zip_ from the sharpshooters on the

Federal lines that involuntarily I moved on my chair. He said, "Don't be

alarmed; you are out of range. They are firing at our mules yonder." His

horse, tied by the tent door, was quivering all over, the most intense

exhibition of fear I'd ever seen in an animal. General V. sent out a

flag of truce to the Federal headquarters, and while we waited wrote on

a piece of silk paper a few words. Then he said, "My wife is in

Tennessee. If you get through the lines, send her this. They will search

you, so I will put it in this toothpick." He crammed the silk paper into

a quill toothpick, and handed it to H. It was completely concealed. The

flag-of-truce officer came back flushed and angry. "General Grant says

no human being shall pass out of Vicksburg; but the lady may feel sure

danger will soon be over. Vicksburg will surrender on the 4th."

"Is that so, general?" inquired H. "Are arrangements for surrender

made?"

"We know nothing of the kind. Vicksburg will not surrender."

"Those were General Grant's exact words, sir," said the flag-officer.

"Of course it is nothing but their brag."

We went back sadly enough, but to-day H. says he will cross the river to

General Porter's lines and try there; I shall not be disappointed.

_July 3._--H. was going to headquarters for the requisite pass, and he

saw General Pemberton crawling out of a cave, for the shelling had been

as hot as ever. He got the pass, but did not act with his usual caution,

for the boat he secured was a miserable, leaky one--a mere trough.

Leaving Martha in charge, we went to the river, had our trunks put in

the boat, and embarked; but the boat became utterly unmanageable, and

began to fill with water rapidly. H. saw that we could not cross in it,

and turned to come back; yet in spite of that the pickets at the battery

fired on us. H. raised the white flag he had, yet they fired again, and

I gave a cry of horror that none of these dreadful things had wrung from

me. I thought H. was struck. When we landed H. showed the pass, and said

that the officer had told him the battery would be notified we were to

cross. The officer apologized and said they were not notified. He

furnished a cart to get home, and to-day we are down in the cellar

again, shells flying as thick as ever; provisions so nearly gone,

except the hogshead of sugar, that a few more days will bring us to

starvation indeed. Martha says rats are hanging dressed in the market

for sale with mule-meat: there is nothing else. The officer at the

battery told me he had eaten one yesterday. We have tried to leave this

Tophet and failed, and if the siege continues I must summon that higher

kind of courage--moral bravery--to subdue my fears of possible

mutilation.

_July 4._--It is evening. All is still. Silence and night are once more

united. I can sit at the table in the parlor and write. Two candles are

lighted. I would like a dozen. We have had wheat supper and wheat bread

once more. H. is leaning back in the rocking-chair; he says:

"G., it seems to me I can hear the silence, and feel it, too. It wraps

me like a soft garment; how else can I express this peace?"

But I must write the history of the last twenty-four hours. About five

yesterday afternoon, Mr. J., H.'s assistant, who, having no wife to keep

him in, dodges about at every change and brings us the news, came to H.

and said:

"Mr. L., you must both come to our cave to-night. I hear that to-night

the shelling is to surpass everything yet. An assault will be made in

front and rear. You know we have a double cave; there is room for you in

mine, and mother and sister will make a place for Mrs. L. Come right up;

the ball will open about seven."

We got ready, shut up the house, told Martha to go to the church again

if she preferred it to the cellar, and walked up to Mr. J.'s. When

supper was eaten, all secure, and ladies in their cave night toilet, it

was just six, and we crossed the street to the cave opposite. As I

crossed a mighty shell flew screaming right over my head. It was the

last thrown into Vicksburg. We lay on our pallets waiting for the

expected roar, but no sound came except the chatter from neighboring

caves, and at last we dropped asleep. I woke at dawn stiff. A draft from

the funnel-shaped opening had been blowing on me all night. Every one

was expressing surprise at the quiet. We started for home and met the

editor of the "Daily Citizen." H. said:

"This is strangely quiet, Mr. L."

"Ah, sir," shaking his head gloomily, "I'm afraid (?) the last shell has

been thrown into Vicksburg."

"Why do you fear so?"

"It is surrender. At six last evening a man went down to the river and

blew a truce signal; the shelling stopped at once."

When I entered the kitchen a soldier was there waiting for the bowl of

scrapings (they took turns for it).

"Good morning, madam," he said; "we won't bother you much longer. We

can't thank you enough for letting us come, for getting this soup boiled

has helped some of us to keep alive; but now all this is over."

"Is it true about the surrender?"

"Yes; we have had no official notice, but they are paroling out at the

lines now, and the men in Vicksburg will never forgive Pemberton. An old

granny! A child would have known better than to shut men up in this

cursed trap to starve to death like useless vermin." His eyes flashed

with an insane fire as he spoke, "Haven't I seen my friends carried out

three or four in a box, that had died of starvation! Nothing else,

madam! Starved to death because we had a fool for a general."

"Don't you think you're rather hard on Pemberton? He thought it his duty

to wait for Johnston."

"Some people may excuse him, ma'am; but we'll curse him to our dying

day. Anyhow, you'll see the blue-coats directly."

Breakfast despatched, we went on the upper gallery. What I expected to

see was files of soldiers marching in, but it was very different. The

street was deserted, save by a few people carrying home bedding from

their caves. Among these was a group taking home a little creature born

in a cave a few days previous, and its wan-looking mother. About eleven

o'clock a soldier in blue came sauntering along, who looked about

curiously. Then two more followed him, and then another.

"H., do you think these can be the Federal soldiers?"

"Why, yes; here come more up the street."

Soon a group appeared on the court-house hill, and the flag began slowly

to rise to the top of the staff. As the breeze caught it, and it sprang

out like a live thing exultant, H. drew a long breath of contentment.

"Now I feel once more at home in mine own country."

In an hour more a grand rush of people setting toward the river

began,--foremost among them the gentleman who took our cave; all were

flying as if for life.

"What can this mean, H.? Are the populace turning out to greet the

despised conquerors?"

"Oh," said H., springing up, "look! It is the boats coming around the

bend."

Truly it was a fine spectacle to see that fleet of transports sweep

around the curve and anchor in the teeth of the battery so lately

vomiting fire. Presently Mr. J. passed and called:

"Aren't you coming, Mr. L.? There's provisions on those boats: coffee

and flour. 'First come, first served,' you know."

"Yes, I'll be there pretty soon," replied H.

But now the newcomers began to swarm into our yard, asking H. if he had

coin to sell for greenbacks. He had some, and a little bartering went on

with the new greenbacks. H. went out to get provisions. When he returned

a Confederate officer came with him. H. went to the box of Confederate

money and took out four hundred dollars, and the officer took off his

watch, a plain gold one, and laid it on the table, saying, "We have not

been paid, and I must get home to my family." H. added a five-dollar

greenback to the pile, and wished him a happy meeting. The townsfolk

continued to dash through the streets with their arms full, canned goods

predominating. Toward five, Mr. J. passed again. "Keep on the lookout,"

he said; "the army of occupation is coming along," and in a few minutes

the head of the column appeared. What a contrast to the suffering

creatures we had seen so long were these stalwart, well-fed men, so

splendidly set up and accoutred! Sleek horses, polished arms, bright

plumes,--this was the pride and panoply of war! Civilization,

discipline, and order seemed to enter with the measured tramp of those

marching columns; and the heart turned with throbs of added pity to the

worn men in gray, who were being blindly dashed against this embodiment

of modern power. And now this "silence that is golden" indeed is over

all, and my limbs are unhurt, and I suppose if I were a Catholic, in my

fervent gratitude I would hie me with a rich offering to the shrine of

"our Lady of Mercy."

_July 7._--I did not enjoy quiet long. First came Martha, who announced

her intention of going to search for her sons, as she was free now. I

was hardly able to stand since the severe cold taken in the cave that

night; but she would not wait a day. A colored woman came in and said

she had asked her mistress for wages and she had turned her out (wanting

a place). I was in no condition to stand upon ceremony then, and engaged

her at once, but hear to-day that I am thoroughly pulled to pieces in

Vicksburg circles; there is no more salvation for me. Next came two

Federal officers and wanted rooms and board. To have some protection was

a necessity; both armies were still in town, and for the past three days

every Confederate soldier I see has a cracker in his hand. There is

hardly any water in town, no prospect of rain, and the soldiers have

emptied one cistern in the yard already and begun on the other. The

colonel put a guard at the gate to limit the water given. Next came the

owner of the house and said we must move; he wanted the house, but it

was so big he'd just bring his family in; we could stay till we got one.

They brought boarders with them too, and children. Men are at work all

over the house shoveling up the plaster before repairing. Up-stairs they

are pouring it by bucketfuls through the windows. Colonel D. brought

work for H. to help with from headquarters. Making out the paroles and

copying them has taken so long they wanted help. I am surprised and

mortified to find that two thirds of all the men who have signed made

their mark; they cannot write. I never thought there was so much

ignorance in the South. One of the men at headquarters took a fancy to

H., and presented him with a portfolio that he said he had captured when

the Confederates evacuated their headquarters at Jackson. It contained

mostly family letters written in French, and a few official papers.

Among them was the following note, which I will copy here, and file away

the original as a curiosity when the war is over.

HEADQUARTERS DEPT. OF TENN.

TUPELO, Aug. 6, 1862.

CAPT: The Major-General Commanding directs me to say that he

submits it altogether to your own discretion whether you make the

attempt to capture General Grant or not. While the exploit would

be very brilliant if successful, you must remember that failure

would be disastrous to you and your men. The General commends

your activity and energy, and expects you to continue to show

these qualities.

I am, very respectfully, yr. obt. svt.

THOMAS L. SNEAD, A.A.G.

CAPT. GEO. L. BAXTER,

Commanding Beauregard Scouts.

I would like to know if he tried it and came to grief or abandoned the

project. As letters can now get through to New Orleans, I wrote there.

_July 14._--Moved yesterday into a house I call "Fair Rosamond's bower"

because it would take a clue of thread to go through it without getting

lost. One room has five doors opening into the house, and no windows.

The stairs are like ladders, and the colonel's contraband valet won't

risk his neck taking down water, but pours it through the windows on

people's heads. We sha'n't stay in it. Men are at work closing up the

caves; they had become hiding-places for trash. Vicksburg is now like

one vast hospital--every one is getting sick or is sick. My cook was

taken to-day with bilious fever, and nothing but will keeps me up.

_July 23._--We moved again two days ago.

_Aug. 20._--Sitting in my easy-chair to-day, looking out upon a grassy

slope of the hill in the rear of this house, I have looked over this

journal as if in a dream; for since the last date sickness and sorrow

have been with me. I feel as if an angry wave had passed over me,

bearing away strength and treasure. For on one day there came to me from

New Orleans the news of Mrs. B.'s death, a friend whom no tie of blood

could have made nearer. The next day my beautiful boy ended his brief

life of ten days, and died in my arms. My own illness caused him to

perish; the fatal cold in the cave was the last straw that broke down

strength. The colonel's sweet wife has come, and I do not lack now for

womanly companionship. She says that with such a prenatal experience

perhaps death was the best for him. I try to think so, and to be glad

that H. has not been ill, though I see the effects. This book is

exhausted, and I wonder whether there will be more adventures by flood

and field to cause me to begin another.

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