Monday, April 13th.
Having nothing to do, I may as well go on with the history of our wanderings. When the cars were moving off with the handsome Mr. Howard, mother turned to a gentleman who seemed to own the place, and asked to be shown the hotel. He went out, and presently returning with a chair and two negroes, quietly said he would take us to his own house; the hotel was not comfortable. And, without listening to remonstrances, led the way to a beautiful little cottage, where he introduced his wife, Mrs. Cate, who received us most charmingly, and had me in bed before five minutes had elapsed. I don’t know how any one can believe the whole world so wicked; for my part I have met none but the kindest people imaginable; I don’t know any wicked ones.
Before half an hour had passed, a visitor was announced; so I gathered up my weary bones, and with scarcely a peep at the glass, walked to the parlor. I commenced laughing before I got there, and the visitor smiled most absurdly, too; for it was — Mr. Halsey! It seemed so queer to meet in this part of the world that we laughed again after shaking hands. It was odd. I was thinking how much amused the General would be to hear of it; for he had made a bet that we would meet when I asserted that we would not.
After the first few remarks, he told me of how he had heard of our arrival. A gentleman had walked into camp, asking if a Mr. Halsey was there. He signified that he was the gentleman, whereupon the other drew out my note, saying a young lady on the cars had requested him to deliver it. Instantly recognizing the chirography, he asked where I was. “Hammond. This is her name,” replied the other, extending to him my card. Thinking, as he modestly confessed, that I had intended it only for him, Mr. Halsey coolly put it into his pocket, and called for his horse. Mr. Howard lingered still, apparently having something to say, which he found difficult to put in words. At last, as the other prepared to ride off, with a tremendous effort he managed to say, “The young lady’s card is mine. If it is all the same to you, I should like to have it returned.” Apologizing for the mistake, Mr. Halsey returned it, feeling rather foolish, I should imagine, and rode on to the village, leaving, as he avers, Mr. Howard looking enviously after the lucky dog who was going to see such a young lady.
He told me something that slightly disgusted me with Captain Bradford. It was that when he reached the bivouac the next morning after leaving Linwood, the Captain had put him under arrest for having stayed there all night. It was too mean, considering that it is more than probable that he himself remained at Mrs. Fluker’s. We discovered, too, that we had missed two letters Mr. Halsey had written us, which, of course, is a great disappointment. One, written to both, the other, a short note of ten pages, for me, which I am sure was worth reading.
It was not until after sunset that we exhausted all topics of conversation, and Mr. Halsey took his leave, promising to see us in the morning.
And, to be sure, as soon as I was dressed on Saturday, he again made his appearance, followed soon after by the carriage. Taking a cordial leave of Mrs. Cate, with many thanks for her hospitality, we entered our conveyance, and with Mr. Halsey riding by the side of the carriage, went on our way. He was to accompany us only as far as Ponchatoula — some six miles; but the turning-point in his journey seemed to be an undetermined spot; for mile after mile rolled away — rather the wheels rolled over them — and still he rode by us, talking through the window, and the sprays of wild flowers he would pick for me from time to time were growing to quite a bouquet, when he proposed an exchange with the farmer who was driving us, and, giving him his horse, took the reins himself.
I think Miriam and I will always remember that ride. The laughter, the conversation, the songs with the murmuring accompaniment of the wheels, and a thousand incidents pleasant to remember though foolish to speak of, will always form a delightful tableau in our recollections. I have but one disagreeable impression to remember in connection with the trip, and that occurred at a farmhouse two miles from here, where we stopped to get strawberries. I preferred remaining in the carriage, to the trouble of getting out; so all went in, Mr. Halsey dividing his time equally between Miriam in the house and me in the carriage, supplying me with violets and pensées one moment, and the next showing me the most tempting strawberries at the most provoking distance, assuring me they were exquisite. The individual to whom the carriage belonged, who had given up the reins to Mr. Halsey, and who, no doubt, was respectable enough for his class in his part of the country, would allow no one to bring me my strawberries, reserving the honor for himself. Presently he appeared with a large saucer of them covered with cream. I was naturally thankful, but would have preferred his returning to the house after he had fulfilled his mission. Instead, he had the audacity to express his admiration of my personal appearance; without a pause gave me a short sketch of his history, informed me he was a widower, and very anxious to marry again, and finally, — Lams and Penates of the house of Morgan ap Kerrig, veil your affronted brows! You will scarcely credit that the creature had the insolence to say that — he would marry me tomorrow, if he could, and think himself blessed; for the jewel of the soul must be equal to the casket that contained it! Yes! this brute of a man had the unparalleled audacity to speak to me in such a way! Just then, mother, remembering her invalid, came to the gallery and asked how I was enjoying my lunch. “I ‘m courting her!” cried the wretch. “Glad she did not go in! Swear she’s the prettiest girl I ever saw!” At that moment Mr. Halsey came sauntering out with a handful of violets for me, and, turning my shoulder to the creature, I entered into a lively discussion with him, and at last had the satisfaction of seeing the wretch enter the house.
A drive through the straggling, half-deserted town brought us here to Mrs. Greyson’s, a large, old-fashioned-looking house so close to the Tchefuncta (I think that is the name of the river) that I could throw a stone in it from my bed, almost.
Mrs. Greyson herself would require two or three pages to do her justice. Fancy the daughter of Sir Francis Searle, the widow of General Greyson, the belle of New Orleans in her young days, settled down into a hotel-keeper on a small scale, with stately ladies and gentlemen looking down in solemn surprise at her boarders from their rich portrait frames on the parlor wall! Fallen greatness always gives me an uncomfortable thrill. Yet here was the heiress of these shadows on the wall, gay, talkative, bustling, active; with a word of caution, or a word of advice to all; polite, attentive, agreeable to her guests, quarreling and exacting with her servants, grasping and avaricious with all; singing a piece from “Norma” in a voice, about the size of a thread No. 150, that showed traces of former excellence; or cheapening a bushel of corn meal with equal volubility. What a character! Full of little secrets and mysteries. “Now, my dear, I don’t ask you to tell a story, you know; but if the others ask you if you knew it, just look surprised and say, ‘Oh, dear me, when did it happen?’ ‘Cause I promised not to tell; only you are such favorites that I could not help it, and it would not do to acknowledge it. And if any one asks you if I put these candles in here, just say you brought them with you, that’s a love, because they will be jealous, as I only allow them lamps.” Eccentric Mrs. Greyson! Many an hour’s amusement did she afford me.[1]
A ride of twenty-six miles bolt upright in the carriage, over such bad roads, had almost used me up; I retired to bed in a state of collapse, leaving Miriam to entertain Mr. Halsey alone. After supper, though, I managed to put on my prettiest dress, and be carried down to the parlor where I rejoined the rest. Several strange ladies were present, one of whom has since afforded me a hearty laugh. She was a horrid-looking woman, and ten minutes after I entered, crossing the room with a most laughable look of vulgarity attempting to ape righteous scorn, jerked some articles of personal property from the table and retired with the sweep of a small hurricane. I thought her an eccentric female; but what was my amazement yesterday to hear that she sought Mrs. Greyson, told her it was impossible for her to stay among so many elegantly dressed ladies, and that she preferred keeping her room. Next day, she told her that she was entirely too attentive to us, and rather than be neglected in that way for other people, would leave the house, which she did instantly.
There was a singular assembly of odd characters in the parlor Saturday night, six of whom looked as though they were but so many reflections of the same individual in different glasses, and the seventh differed from the rest only in playing exquisitely on the banjo — “Too well to be a gentleman,” I fear. These were soldiers, come to “call” on us. Half an hour after we arrived, a dozen of them took possession of the bench on the bank of the river, one with his banjo who played and sang delightfully. Old Mrs. Greyson, who is rather eccentric, called, “Ah, Mr. J—! Have you heard already of the arrival of the young ladies? You never serenaded me!” The young man naturally looked foolish; so she went out and asked him to come around after dark and play for the young ladies. So after a while he came, “ bringing six devils yet worse than himself,” as the old Scriptural phrase has it, all of whom sat on the same side of the room, and looked at us steadily when they thought we were not looking. All had the same voice, the same bow, the same manner — that is to say none at all of the latter; one introduced an agreeable variety, saying as he bowed to each separately, “Happy to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” Mr. Halsey just managed to keep his face straight, while I longed for a Dickens to put them all together and make one amusing picture out of the seven. I troubled myself very little about them, preferring Mr. Halsey’s company, not knowing when we would meet again. It would not have been quite fair to leave him to himself after he had ridden such a distance for us; so I generously left the seven to Miriam, content with one, and rather think I had the best of the bargain. The one with the banjo suggested that we should sing for them before he played for us, so Miriam played on the piano, and sang with me on the guitar half a dozen songs, and then the other commenced. I don’t know when I have been more amused. There was an odd, piney-woods dash about him that was exceedingly diverting, and he went through comic, sentimental, and original songs with an air that showed his whole heart was in it. Judging from the number of youth too timid to venture in, who peeped at us from the windows, I should say that young ladies are curiosities just now in Madisonville.
[1] This paragraph, which occurs retrospectively in the Diary under date of New Orleans, Sunday, May 24th, 1863, is inserted here for the sake of clearness. — W. D.
