Tuesday, February 26, 2013

February 26 [1863]. Read constantly of opposition to the Government at the North. A civil war there thought to be imminent. Mrs. Wilkinson, who lost her husband at the battle of Manassas, and who hastened out of the city at that time, leaving her children, has just come to town. Would people in any other land believe that a woman, under such circumstances, could be arrested for not taking the oath to the United States? No one is allowed to land without doing so, though nothing has been done so far to those in the city who resisted. Mrs. Wilkinson is under arrest, having refused the oath at St. Andrew’s House. Her children would not have learned of her arrival through the morning paper but for an accident. She is to be sent back, and is trying to get leave to take her children. Kate W—— took breakfast with us this morning. I told her that I thought her mother highly honored, she had resisted and that we were leading the dryest and tamest sort of life, and had no chance of being thought martyrs, though we are, in truth, often, in another fashion. Mrs. W—— says that no attack is to be feared at Vicksburg, the Yankee troops having come over to us in the last fight there in whole squads, bearing with them the smallest flags of truce. Our people did not see the flags at first, being so excited and the generals had difficulty to restrain their ardor. In this way, many poor fellows were murdered who would have been our friends. The Yankees have deceived us so often that our people fear almost to trust a flag of truce. I feel so sad to think of those poor fellows; what a hopeless feeling must have taken possession of them between the two fires, not trusted by either side. Under other circumstances I would not trust deserters, but in this war thousands long to come to us, being convinced that it is wrong to overrun the South. Some, too, consider their cause a hopeless one. There are three hundred deserters in Jackson alone and they are coming in all the time, Mrs. W says. They are in high spirits, Mrs. W says, outside the lines and do not look as we do here. Our soldiers have plenty of everything, even coffee, though out-siders have to pay well for it, if they get it at all. Flour is $80 per barrel. Kate says that her aunt, Mrs. Eccleston, in Vicksburg, has devoted herself to the Louisiana troops. They say she belongs to them. We want to go out with the Wilkinsons, if these people will let us—here comes the martyrdom—money due us all round, and cannot ask for it, because the times are pressing so on all. Mr. Randolph was here this morning; he thanked us for letting our house free of rent to them. Mr. R—— did not take the oath and was thrown outof business. We were glad to be of some use. Oh, I wish we were rich. Kate W——, Mrs. Randolph and Detty [Margaretta] Harrison have taken up my morning. I like them all, but love best to be alone of all things. I am so worn out sometimes by the constant stream of talk around me that I am nearly crazy. I fear I shall get the same sort of buzzing in my head that Mrs. Wragge complains of (from “No Name,” by Wilkie Collins, that I have just read). I like this book better than his “White Woman” or “Woman in White.” He has too much plot to suit my taste. Life is full of plot, too, but I have never felt that a book that contains much of it gives a true representation of life. I prefer the volume that seems but a page torn from real life. I care not for startling incidents, but only the gradual development of social life and a good delineation of character. I notice though that plot and incident are more popular than quiet truthful pictures.

Thackeray is no favorite here; I find few of my friends here who will even try to comprehend him. To me he is the first of English writers. “Vanity Fair” gave me a great shock. I do not think I could ever have been quite so happy again, after having read that book, even if life had not gone hard with me. It taught me to look under the veil, and I have been looking under it ever since. And my God, what have I not seen! Indeed I do not love the world, but I have met with some really good and pure people. Thackeray’s books are magnificent protests against the social life of England. I wish we had such a man. We would not take our lashing and dissection from a stranger. I sometimes think that even one of us could not tell the whole truth to our country people. They love flattery, it must be confessed. The Northern people have sickened me with boasting. I hope ours will adopt a system of inciting and elevating to a high state of things rather than claiming it without an effort. Let there be truth-telling in all things. Thackeray really holds up a glass to his country-folk, and to humanity at large. He is not popular, because people do not like the real cut of their features. There must be moral cosmetics as well as those of another sort to keep people in decent humor with you. People call Thackeray names, but for my part I even feel grateful to the man who has given to us a Thomas Newcome and an Ethel. Fault is found with his Washington, too; it is truthful, sublime. His whole “Virginians” is a splendid page from colonial history.

We went to see Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Wells this afternoon; met Mrs. Roselius, who asked us to call for her at the Little Calvary Church, whither she was going to attend another singing effort. Mrs. Hedges has sent word to Mr. Payne that she would not sing there for a thousand per night.

Found Mrs. M—— sick. The Judge sleeping in a big chair and Mrs. Wells out of spirits from not having heard from her little girls. Her husband she does not expect to hear from until the war is over, he having run the blockade to Vera Cruz. These are sad times. The girls are in Vicksburg, but word is sent to us outside the lines that no danger to that place is to be apprehended. The famous canal dug by the persevering Yankees is utterly useless to them. They are now on the lookout for some bayou that runs, I believe, into Red River, which they propose making into a new Mississippi. They waste much time and breath, also much newspaper—if we were timid we would be overwhelmed by the wonderful things which they intend to do. Judge Montgomery gave us Seward’s letter to read—the one in which he declines the proffered mediation of France. I wonder, really, if anyone will be deceived by this plausible, specious letter. Mr. Seward resembles the ostrich in one respect—he does not put his head in the sand, by any means—but he imagines other people can not see. The position he assumes for his Government is an utterly false one. He must know it. Deception on the part of the United States’ Government has kept up this cruel war; it remains now only to be proved that people are still willing to be blinded. We read protest after protest in Northern papers and speeches—some of them really noble ones. The leaders seem to fear no longer to tell the truth and the people are rapidly awakening from their lethargy and blindness. The people who have been unjustly imprisoned—now at liberty—are to meet in New York on the 4th of March. I think on that occasion the turning of periods will assist wonderfully in the turning of minds and purpose. There is something awfully exciting in the voice of a roused and angry people. The great stakes played for by this people and all the world, thrill me with a more tumultuous interest even than that I gave in my girlish days to the angry barons who met at Runnymede, and the stormy parliaments that raved at Martyr Charles. How history re-creates itself, or how, rather, man remains the same though his robes are changed.

Called for Mrs. R—— according to promise; met at the church door Mr. R——, also Miss Marcella Wilkinson, Mrs. Stevens and others.

Mrs. R—— took us home with her. Tried not to talk war with Mr. R——, but he would be provoking (and silly). Stayed until eight, and got home to find Mr. and Mrs. Burrows. Here was more talk over the same themes, until ever so late. I like them both, but oh, how tired I was. Could I have let them know it? How can we but regard a species of deceit as a peacemaker? My deceit, or amiability (there are two names for everything, and our characters depend upon the point of view), sent me to bed tired enough. There is a camp near the Burrows house. They are therefore able to give us many proofs of the insubordination and demoralization of the Federal soldiers. At 12 o’clock a few nights ago they were roused by one who was hiding in the house to elude the guard. They are escaping constantly, and Confederate women aid them by giving them clothes. A mulatto woman fined three dollars for singing a Confederate ballad. An exhibitor of portraits arrested and put in jail, after a loss of his pictures, for exhibiting Stonewall Jackson and Lee. The children are sometimes arrested for their “Rebel” cries and the street boys hate the Yankees and do not follow them in their most brilliant turn outs. Our Confederate and Livandais Guards could never drill or march without a crowd.