A Confederate Girl’s Diary by Sarah Morgan Dawson

September 4th.

I hear to-day that the Brunots have returned to Baton Rouge, determined to await the grand finale there. They, and two other families, alone remain. With these exceptions, and a few Dutch and Irish who cannot leave, the town is perfectly deserted by all except the Confederate soldiers. I wish I was with them! If all chance of finding lodgings here is lost, and mother remains with Lilly, as she sometimes seems more than half inclined, and Miriam goes to Linwood, as she frequently threatens, I believe I will take a notion, too, and go to Mrs. Brunt! I would rather be there, in all the uncertainty, expecting to be shelled or burnt out every hour, than here. Ouf! what a country! Next time I go shopping, I mean to ask some clerk, out of curiosity, what they do sell in Clinton. The following is a list of a few of the articles that shopkeepers actually laugh at you if you ask for: Glasses, flour, soap, starch, coffee, candles, matches, shoes, combs, guitar-strings, bird-seed,—in short, everything that I have heretofore considered as necessary to existence. If any one had told me I could have lived off of cornbread, a few months ago, I would have been incredulous; now I believe it, and return an inward grace for the blessing at every mouthful. I have not tasted a piece of wheatbread since I left home, and shall hardly taste it again until the war is over.

I do not like this small burg. It is very straggling and pretty, but I would rather not inhabit it. We are as well known here as though we carried our cards on our faces, and it is peculiarly disagreeable to me to overhear myself spoken about, by people I don’t know, as “There goes Miss Morgan,” as that young man, for instance, remarked this morning to a crowd, just as I passed. It is not polite, to say the least.

Will Carter was here this morning and told me he saw Theodore Pinckney in the streets. I suppose he is on his way home, and think he will be a little disappointed in not finding us at Linwood as he expects, and still more so to hear he passed through the very town where we were staying, without knowing it.

September 3d.

Political news it would be absurd to record; for our information is more than limited, being frequently represented by a blank. Of the thirteen battles that Gibbes has fought in, I know the names of four only: Bull Run, Stonebridge, Port Republic, and Cedar Run. Think of all I have yet to hear! To-day comes the news of another grand affair, the defeat of McClellan, Pope, and Burnside combined. If I dared believe it! But accounts are too meagre as yet. Both Gibbes and George were in it, if there was a fight, and perhaps Jimmy, too. Well! I must wait in patience. We have lost so much already that God will surely spare those three to us. Oh! if they come again, if we can meet once more, what will the troubles of the last six months signify? If I dared hope that next summer would bring us Peace! I always prophesy it just six months off; but do I believe it?

Indeed, I don’t know what will become of us if it is delayed much longer. If we could only get home, it would be another thing; but boarding, how long will mother’s two hundred and fifty last? And that is all the money she has. As to the claims, amounting to a small fortune, she might as well burn them. They will never be paid. But if we get home, what will we do for bedding? The Yankees did not leave us a single comfort, and only two old bars and a pair of ragged sheets, which articles are not to be replaced at any price in the Confederacy, so we must go without. How glad I am that we gave all our blankets to our soldiers last summer! So much saved from the Yankees!

Poor Lavinia! She fancies us comfortably settled at home; I dare say she spends all her time in picturing to herself what we may be doing, and recalling each piece of furniture the rooms contained. Wonder if she would not be shocked if the real scene were suddenly revealed to her, and she should see the desolated house and see us fugitives in a strange town. Wonder how the cry of “Where are those three damned Secesh women?” would have struck her, had she heard the strange oaths and seen the eager search which followed? I dare say it would have frightened her more than it did me when I was told of it. William Waller says it is God’s mercy that we had escaped already, for we certainly would have suffered. I hardly think we could have been harmed, though, and shall always regret that we did not return immediately after the battle. It took them from that day to the evacuation to finish the work; and I rather think that our presence would have protected the house.

Our servants they kindly made free, and told them they must follow them (the officers). Margret was boasting the other day of her answer, “I don’t want to be any free-er than I is now — I’ll stay with my mistress,” when Tithe shrewdly remarked, “Pshaw! Don’t you know that if I had gone, you’d have followed me?” The conduct of all our servants is beyond praise. Five thousand negroes followed their Yankee brothers from the town and neighborhood; but ours remained. During the fight, or flight, rather, a fleeing officer stopped to throw a musket in Charles Barker’s hands, and bade him fight for his liberty. Charles drew himself up, saying, “I am only a slave, but I am a Secesh nigger, and won’t fight in such d— a crew!” Exit Yankee, continuing his flight down to the riverside.

September 1st, Monday.

I woke up this morning and, to my great surprise, find that summer has already passed away, and that we have already entered the first month of fall. Where has the summer gone to? Since the taking of Fort Jackson, the days have gone by like a dream. I had hardly realized spring, when now I find it is autumn. I am content to let the time fly, though, as every day brings us nearer Peace — or something else.

How shockingly I write! Will I ever again have a desk or a table to write on? At present, my seat is a mattress, and my knee my desk; and that is about the only one I have had since the 2d of August. This is the dreariest day I have seen for some time. Outside, it has been raining since daybreak, and inside, no one feels especially bright or cheerful. I sometimes wish mother would carry out her threat and brave the occasional shellings at Baton Rouge. I would dare anything, to be at home again. I know that the Yankees have left us little besides the bare house; but I would be grateful for the mere shelter of the roof. I often fancy how we will miss little articles that we thought necessary to our comfort before, when we return. . . . And the shoes I paid five dollars for, and wore a single time? I am wishing I had them now that I am almost barefooted, and cannot find a pair in the whole country. . . . Would it not be curious, if one of these days while traveling in the North (if I ever travel again), I should find some well-loved object figuring in a strange house as a “trophy of the battle of Baton Rouge”? I should have to seek for them in some very low house, perhaps; respectable people had very little to do with such disgraceful work, I fancy. Suppose I should see father’s cigar-stand, for instance, or Miriam’s little statues? I wonder if the people would have the conscience to offer to return them? A young lady, passing by one of the pillaged houses, expressed her surprise at seeing an armoir full of women’s and children’s clothes being emptied, and the contents tied up in sheets. “What can you do with such things?” she asked a soldier who seemed more zealous than the rest. “Ain’t I got a wife and four children in the North?” was the answer. So we, who have hardly clothes enough for our own use, are stripped to supply Northerners!

One would think that I had no theme save the wreck of our house, if they read this. But I take it all out in here. I believe I must be made of wood, or some other tough material, not to feel it more. I sometimes ask myself if it is because I did not care for home, that I take it so quietly now. But I know that is not it. I was wild about it before I knew what had happened; since I learned all, few are the words that have escaped my lips concerning it. Perhaps it is because I have the satisfaction of knowing what all women crave for — the Worst. Indeed it is a consolation in such days as these when truth concerning either side is difficult to discover. The certainty of anything, fortune or misfortune, is comfort to me. I really feel sorry for the others who suffered; but it does not strike me that sympathy is necessary in our case.

Mrs. Flynn came to Lilly’s room, when she heard of it, well prepared for sympathy, with a large handkerchief and a profusion of tears, when she was horrified to find both her and Miriam laughing over the latter’s description of some comical scene that met her sight in one of the rooms. Seems to me that tears on all occasions come in as the fortieth article, to the articles of belief of some people.

August 30th.

Still no prospect of a lodging; so here we remain. I never before lived in a house without a balcony, and have only now found out how inconvenient it is. The whole establishment consists of two rooms on each side of a passage as wide as the front door; and as it has a very low ceiling, with no opening, and no shade near, it is decidedly the warmest spot I ever inhabited. We all sleep on the floor and keep our clothes in our trunks — except Lilly, who has an armoir without doors. Knives and forks for dinner to-day, though the table still consists of a single plank The house really has a suffocating effect on me, there is such a close look about it. The front is fully a foot below the level of the street, while quite a flight of steps leads from the back door to the yard. In fact, the whole town consists of abrupt little mounds. It is rather a pretty place; but Heaven save me from the misery of living in it! Miriam is crazy to remain — even advocates that dirty, bare, shutterless boarding-house where we passed the first night, from what attraction I cannot imagine. I am just as anxious to get into the country. I would hate the dull round of this little place; I prefer solitude where I can do as I please without being observed. Here we are as well known by people we never before heard of as though we were fellow-citizens.

August 29, Clinton, La.

Noah’s duck has found another resting-place! Yesterday I was interrupted while writing, to pack up for another move, it being impossible to find a boarding-house in the neighborhood. We heard of some about here, and Charlie had engaged a house for his family, where the servants were already settled, so I hurried off to my task. No easy one, either, considering the heat and length of time allowed. This time I ate dinner as I packed, again. About four, finding Miriam did not come to Mr. Elder’s as she promised, I started over to General Carter’s with her clothes, and found her just getting into the buggy to ride over, as I arrived warm, tired, hardly able to stand. After taking her over, the General sent the buggy back for Mrs. Carter and myself, and soon we were all assembled waiting for the cars. At last, determining to wait for them near the track, we started off again, General Carter driving me in his buggy. I love General Carter. Again, after so many kind invitations, he told me he was sorry we would not remain with him; if we were content, he would be only too happy to have us with him; and spoke so kindly that I felt as though I had a Yankee ball in my throat. I was disposed to be melancholy anyway; I could not say many words without choking. I was going from the kindest of friends to a country where I had none at all; so could not feel very gay. As we reached the track, the cars came shrieking along. There was a pause, a scuffle, during which the General placed me and my bird in a seat, while Lilly, Charlie, Miriam, mother, five children, and two servants, with all the baggage, were thrown aboard some way, when with a shriek and a jerk we were off again, without a chance of saying goodbye, even.

I enjoyed that ride. It had but one fault; and that was, that it came to an end. I would have wished it to spin along until the war was over, or we in a settled home. But it ended at last, to Jimmy’s great relief, for he was too frightened to move even, and only ventured a timid chirp if the car stopped, as if to ask, “Is it over?” Nothing occurred of any interest except once a little boy sent us slightly off the track, by meddling with the brakes.

Landed at sunset, it is hard to fancy a more forlorn crew, while waiting at the depot to get the baggage off before coming to the house. We burst out laughing as we looked at each lengthened face. Such a procession through the straggling village has hardly been seen before. How we laughed at our forlorn plight as we trudged through the hilly streets, —they have no pavements here, — looking like emigrants from the Ould Counthry, as we have watched them in New Orleans!

At the house we found Tiche laid up. The loaded wagon, with its baggage, four mules, three grown servants, and four children, was precipitated from a bridge twenty-five feet high, by the breaking of the before-mentioned causeway, and landed with the whole concern in deep water below. Wonderful to relate, not a life was lost! The mattress on which the negroes remained seated floated them off into shallow water. The only one hurt was Tiche, who had her leg severely sprained. The baggage was afterwards fished out, rather wet. In the mud next morning (it happened late at night), Dophy found a tiny fancy bottle that she had secreted from the Yankees; a present from Clemmy Luzenberg, it was, and one of two things left in my curiosity shop by the Yankees.

After seeing everything in, we started off for the hotel, where we arrived after dark, rather tired, I think. Not a comfortable house, either, unless you call a bare, unfurnished, dirty room without shutter or anything else, comfortable; particularly when you are to sleep on the floor with four children and three grown people, and a servant. After breakfast we came here until we can find a place to settle in, which Mr. Marsden has promised to attend to for us. It is rather rough housekeeping yet, but Lilly has not yet got settled. Our dinner was rather primitive. There was a knife and fork to carve the meat, and then it was finished with spoons. I sat on the floor with my plate, and a piece of cornbread (flour not to be bought at any price) and ate with my fingers — a new experience. I found that water can be drunk out of a cup!

Ouf! I am tired!

 Thursday, August 28th.

I am satisfied. I have seen my home again. Tuesday I was up at sunrise, and my few preparations were soon completed, and before any one was awake, I walked over to Mr. Elder’s, through mud and dew, to meet Charlie. Fortunate was it for me that I started so early; for I found him hastily eating his breakfast, and ready to leave. He was very much opposed to my going; and for some time I was afraid he would force me to remain; but at last he consented, — perhaps because I did not insist, — and with wet feet and without a particle of breakfast, I at length found myself in the buggy on the road home. The ride afforded me a series of surprises. Half the time I found myself halfway out of the little low-necked buggy when I thought I was safely in; and the other half, I was surprised to find myself really in when I thought I was wholly out. And so on, for mile after mile, over muddy roads, until we came to a most terrific cross-road, where we were obliged to pass, and which is best undescribed. Four miles from town we stopped at Mrs. Brown’s to see mother, and after a few moments’ talk, went on our road.

I saw the first Yankee camp that Will Pinckney and Colonel Bird had set fire to the day of the battle. Such a shocking sight of charred wood, burnt clothes, tents, and all imaginable articles strewn around, I had never before seen. I should have been very much excited, entering the town by the route our soldiers took; but I was not. It all seemed tame and familiar. I could hardly fancy I stood on the very spot where the severest struggle had taken place. The next turn of the road brought us to two graves, one on each side of the road, the resting-place of two who fell that day. They were merely left in the ditch where they fell, and earth from the side was pulled over them. When Miriam passed, parts of their coats were sticking out of the grave; but some kind hand had scattered fresh earth over them when I saw them. Beyond, the sight became more common. I was told that their hands and feet were visible from many. And one poor fellow lay unburied, just as he had fallen, with his horse across him, and both skeletons. That sight I was spared, as the road near which he was lying was blocked up by trees, so we were forced to go through the woods, to enter, instead of passing by, the Catholic graveyard. In the woods, we passed another camp our men destroyed, while the torn branches above testified to the number of shells our men had braved to do the work. Next to Mr. Barbee’s were the remains of a third camp that was burned; and a few more steps made me suddenly hold my breath, for just before us lay a dead horse with the flesh still hanging, which was hardly endurable. Close by lay a skeleton, — whether of man or horse, I did not wait to see. Not a human being appeared until we reached the Penitentiary, which was occupied by our men. After that, I saw crowds of wagons moving furniture out, but not a creature that I knew. Just back of our house was all that remained of a nice brick cottage — namely, four crumbling walls. The offense was that the husband was fighting for the Confederates; so the wife was made to suffer, and is now homeless, like many thousands besides. It really seems as though God wanted to spare our homes. The frame dwellings adjoining were not touched, even. The town was hardly recognizable; and required some skill to avoid the corners blocked up by trees, so as to get in at all.

Our house could not be reached by the front, so we left the buggy in the back yard, and running through the lot without stopping to examine the storeroom and servants’ rooms that opened wide, I went through the alley and entered by the front door.

Fortunate was it for this record that I undertook to describe the sacking only from Miriam’s account. If I had waited until now, it would never have been mentioned; for as I looked around, to attempt such a thing seemed absurd. I stood in the parlor in silent amazement; and in answer to Charlie’s “Well?” I could only laugh. It was so hard to realize. As I looked for each well-known article, I could hardly believe that Abraham Lincoln’s officers had really come so low down as to steal in such a wholesale manner. The papier-maché workbox Miriam had given me was gone. The baby sacque I was crocheting, with all knitting needles and wools, gone also. Of all the beautiful engravings of Annapolis that Will Pinckney had sent me, there remained a single one. Gentlemen, my name is written on each! Not a book remained in the parlor, except “Idyls of the King,” that contained my name also, and which, together with the door-plate, was the only case in which the name of Morgan was spared. They must have thought we were related to John Morgan, and wreaked their vengeance on us for that reason. Thanks for the honor, but there is not the slightest connection! Where they did not carry off articles bearing our name, they cut it off, as in the visiting-cards, and left only the first name. Every book of any value or interest, except Hume and Gibbon, was “borrowed” permanently. I regretted Macaulay more than all the rest. Brother’s splendid French histories went, too; all except “L’Histoire de la Bastille.” However, as they spared father’s law libraries (all except one volume they used to support a flour barrel with, while they emptied it near the parlor door), we ought to be thankful.

The dining-room was very funny. I looked around for the cut-glass celery and preserve dishes that were to be part of my “dot,” as mother always said, together with the champagne glasses that had figured on the table the day that I was born; but there remained nothing. There was plenty of split-up furniture, though. I stood in mother’s room before the shattered armoir, which I could hardly believe the same that I had smoothed my hair before, as I left home three weeks previously. Father’s was split across, and the lock torn off, and in the place of the hundreds of articles it contained, I saw two bonnets at the sight of which I actually sat down to laugh. One was mother’s velvet, which looked very much like a football in its present condition. Mine was not to be found, as the officers forgot to return it. Wonder who has my imperial? I know they never saw a handsomer one, with its black velvet, purple silk, and ostrich feathers.

I went to my room. Gone was my small paradise! Had this shocking place ever been habitable? The tall mirror squinted at me from a thousand broken angles. It looked so knowing! I tried to fancy the Yankee officers being dragged from under my bed by the leg, thanks to Charles; but it seemed too absurd; so I let them alone. My desk! What a sight! The central part I had kept as a little curiosity shop with all my little trinkets and keepsakes of which a large proportion were from my gentlemen friends; I looked for all I had left, found only a piece of the McRae, which, as it was labeled in full, I was surprised they had spared. Precious letters I found under heaps of broken china and rags; all my notes were gone, with many letters. I looked for a letter of poor ——, in cipher, with the key attached, and name signed in plain hand. I knew it would hardly be agreeable to him to have it read, and it certainly would be unpleasant to me to have it published; but I could not find it. Miriam thinks she saw something answering the description, somewhere, though.

Bah! What is the use of describing such a scene?[1] Many suffered along with us, though none so severely. Indeed, the Yankees cursed loudly at those who did not leave anything worth stealing. They cannot complain of us, on that score. All our handsome Brussels carpets, together with Lydia’s fur, were taken, too. What did they not take? In the garret, in its darkest corner, a whole gilt-edged china set of Lydia’s had been overlooked; so I set to work and packed it up, while Charlie packed her furniture in a wagon, to send to her father.

It was now three o’clock; and with my light linen dress thrown off, I was standing over a barrel putting in cups and saucers as fast as I could wrap them in the rags that covered the floor, when Mr. Larguier sent me a nice little dinner. I had been so many hours without eating — nineteen, I think, during three of which I had slept — that I had lost all appetite; but nevertheless I ate it, to show my appreciation. If I should hereafter think that the quantity of rags was exaggerated, let me here state that, after I had packed the barrel and china with them, it made no perceptible diminution of the pile.

As soon as I had finished my task, Charlie was ready to leave again; so I left town without seeing, or hearing, any one, or any thing, except what lay in my path. As we drove out of the gate, I begged Charlie to let me get my bird, as I heard Charles Barker had him. A man was dispatched, and in a few minutes returned with my Jimmy. I have since heard that Tick deserted him the day of the battle, as I so much feared she would; and that Charles found him late in the evening and took charge of him. With my pet once more with me, we drove off again. I cast many a longing look at the graveyard; but knowing Charlie did not want to stop, I said nothing, though I had been there but once in three months, and that once, six weeks ago. I could see where the fence had been thrown down by our soldiers as they charged the Federals, but it was now replaced, though many a picket was gone. Once more I stopped at Mrs. Brown’s, while Charlie went on to Clinton, leaving me to drive mother here in the morning. Early yesterday, after seeing Miriam’s piano and the mattresses packed up and on the road, we started off in the buggy, and after a tedious ride through a melting sun, arrived here about three o’clock, having again missed my dinner, which I kept a profound secret until supper-time.

By next Ash Wednesday, I will have learned how to fast without getting sick! Though very tired, I sat sewing until after sunset, dictating a page and a half to Anna, who was writing to Howell.

[1] In her book, From Flag to Flag, Mrs. Eliza McHatton Ripley gives a vivid description of Judge Morgan’s house as she herself saw it after the sacking. — W. D.

August 25th. About 12 at night.

Sleep is impossible after all that I have heard, so, after vainly endeavoring to follow the example of the rest, and sleep like a Stoic, I have lighted my candle and take to this to induce drowsiness.

Just after supper, when Anna and I were sitting with Mrs. Carter in her room, I talking as usual of home, and saying I would be perfectly happy if mother would decide to remain in Baton Rouge and brave the occasional shellings, I heard a well-known voice take up some sentence of mine from a dark part of the room, and with a cry of surprise, I was hugging Miriam until she was breathless. Such a forlorn creature! — so dirty, tired, and fatigued, as to be hardly recognizable. We thrust her into a chair, and made her speak. She had just come with Charlie, who went after them yesterday; and had left mother and the servants at a kind friend’s, on the road. I never heard such a story as she told. I was heartsick; but I laughed until Mrs. Badger grew furious with me and the Yankees, and abused me for not abusing them.

She says when she entered the house, she burst into tears at the desolation. It was one scene of ruin. Libraries emptied, china smashed, sideboards split open with axes, three cedar chests cut open, plundered, and set up on end; all parlor ornaments carried off — even the alabaster Apollo and Diana that Hal valued so much. Her piano, dragged to the centre of the parlor, had been abandoned as too heavy to carry off; her desk lay open with all letters and notes well thumbed and scattered around, while Will’s last letter to her was open on the floor, with the Yankee stamp of dirty fingers. Mother’s portrait half-cut from its frame stood on the floor. Margret, who was present at the sacking, told how she had saved father’s. It seems that those who wrought destruction in our house were all officers. One jumped on the sofa to cut the picture down (Miriam saw the prints of his muddy feet) when Margret cried, “For God’s sake, gentlemen, let it be! I’ll help you to anything here. He’s dead, and the young ladies would rather see the house burn than lose it!” “I’ll blow your damned brains out,” was the “gentleman’s” answer as he put a pistol to her head, which a brother officer dashed away, and the picture was abandoned for finer sport. All the others were cut up in shreds.

Upstairs was the finest fun. Mother’s beautiful mahogany armoir, whose single door was an extremely fine mirror, was entered by crashing through the glass, when it was emptied of every article, and the shelves half-split, and half-thrust back crooked. Letters, labeled by the boys “Private,” were strewn over the floor; they opened every armoir and drawer, collected every rag to be found and littered the whole house with them, until the wonder was, where so many rags had been found. Father’s armoir was relieved of everything; Gibbes’s handsome Damascus sword with the silver scabbard included. All his clothes, George’s, Hal’s, Jimmy’s, were appropriated. They entered my room, broke that fine mirror for sport, pulled down the rods from the bed, and with them pulverized my toilet set, taking also all Lydia’s china ornaments I had packed in the wash-stand. The débris filled my basin, and ornamented my bed. My desk was broken open. Over it was spread all my letters, and private papers, a diary I kept when twelve years old, and sundry tokens of dried roses, etc., which must have been very funny, they all being labeled with the donor’s name, and the occasion. Fool! how I writhe when I think of all they saw; the invitations to buggy rides, concerts, “Compliments of,” etc. —! Lilly’s sewing-machine had disappeared; but as mother’s was too heavy to move, they merely smashed the needles.

In the pillaging of the armoirs, they seized a pink flounced muslin of Miriam’s, which one officer placed on the end of a bayonet, and paraded round with, followed by the others who slashed it with their swords crying, “I have stuck the damned Secesh! that’s the time I cut her!” and continued their sport until the rags could no longer be pierced. One seized my bonnet, with which he decked himself, and ran in the streets. Indeed, all who found such, rushed frantically around town, by way of frolicking, with the things on their heads. They say no frenzy could surpass it. Another snatched one of my calico dresses, and a pair of vases that mother had when she was married, and was about to decamp when a Mrs. Jones jerked them away, and carried them to her boarding-house, and returned them to mother the other day. Blessed be Heaven! I have a calico dress! Our clothes were used for the vilest purposes, and spread in every corner — at least those few that were not stolen.

Aunt Barker’s Charles tried his best to defend, the property. “Ain’t you ‘shamed to destroy all dis here, that belongs to a poor widow lady who’s got two daughters to support?” he asked of an officer who was foremost in the destruction. “Poor? Damn them! I don’t know when I have seen a house furnished like this! Look at that furniture! They poor!” was the retort, and thereupon the work went bravely on, of making us poor, indeed.

It would have fared badly with us had we been there. The servants say they broke into the house crying, “Where are those damned Secesh women? We know they are hid in here, and we’ll make them dance for hiding from Federal officers!” And they could not be convinced that we were not there, until they had searched the very garret. Wonder what they would have done? Charles caught a Captain Clark in the streets, when the work was almost over, and begged him to put an end to it. The gentleman went readily, but though the devastation was quite evident, no one was to be seen, and he was about to leave, when, insisting that there was some one there, Charles drew him into my room, dived under the bed, and drew from thence a Yankee captain, by one leg, followed by a lieutenant, each with a bundle of the boys’ clothes, which they instantly dropped, protesting they were only looking around the house. The gentleman captain carried them off to their superior.

Ours was the most shockingly treated house in the whole town. We have the misfortune to be equally feared by both sides, because we will blackguard neither. So the Yankees selected the only house in town that sheltered three forlorn women, to wreak their vengeance on. From far and near, strangers and friends flocked in to see the ravages committed. Crowds rushed in before, crowds came in after, Miriam and mother arrived, all apologizing for the intrusion, but saying they had heard it was a sight never before seen. So they let them examine to their hearts’ content; and Miriam says the sympathy of all was extraordinary. A strange gentleman picked up a piece of mother’s mirror, which was as thick as his finger, saying, “Madame, I should like to keep this as a memento. I am about to travel through Mississippi, and having seen what a splendid piece of furniture this was, and the state your house is left in, should like to show this as a specimen of Yankee vandalism.”

William Waller flew to our home to try to save it; but was too late. They say he burst into tears as he looked around. While on his kind errand, another band of Yankees burst into his house and left not one article of clothing to him, except the suit he had on. The whole talk is about our dreadful treatment at the Yankees’ hands. Dr. Day, and Dr. Enders, in spite of the assertions of the former, lost nothing.

Well! I am beggared! Strange to say, I don’t feel it. Perhaps it is the satisfaction of knowing my fate that makes me so cheerful that Mrs. Carter envied my stoicism, while Mrs. Badger felt like beating me because I did not agree that there was no such thing as a gentleman in the Yankee army. I know Major Drum for one, and that Captain Clark must be two, and Mr. Biddle is three, and General Williams —God bless him, wherever he is! for he certainly acted like a Christian. The Yankees boasted loudly that if it had not been for him, the work would have been done long ago.

And now, I am determined to see my home, before Yankee shells complete the work that Yankee axes spared. So by sunrise, I shall post over to Mr. Elder’s, and insist on Charlie taking me to town with him. I hardly think it is many hours off. I feel so settled, so calm! Just as though I never meant to sleep again. If I only had a desk, — a luxury I have not enjoyed since I left home, — I could write for hours still, without being sleepy; but this curved attitude is hard on my stiff back, so good-night, while I lie down to gain strength for a sight they say will make me faint with distress. Nous verrons! If I say I Won’t, I know I’ll not cry. The Brunots lost nothing at all from their house, thank Heaven for the mercy! Only they lost all their money in their flight. On the door, on their return, they found written, “Ladies, I have done my best for you,” signed by a Yankee soldier, who they suppose to be the one who has made it a habit of continually passing their house.

Forgot to say Miriam recovered my guitar from the Asylum, our large trunk and father’s papers (untouched) from Dr. Enders’s, and with her piano, the two portraits, a few mattresses (all that is left of housekeeping affairs), and father’s law books, carried them out of town. For which I say in all humility, Blessed be God who has spared us so much.

August 24th, Sunday.

Soon after dinner yesterday two soldiers stopped here, and requested permission to remain all night. The word “ soldier “ was enough for us; and without even seeing them, Anna and I gladly surrendered our room, and said we would sleep in Mrs. Badger’s, instead. However, I had no curiosity to see the heroes, and remained up here reading until the bell summoned me to supper, when I took my seat without looking at them, as no introduction was possible, from their having refrained from giving their names.

Presently I heard the words, “That retreat from Norfolk was badly conducted.” I looked up, and saw before me a rather good-looking man covered with the greatest profusion of gold cloth and buttons, for which I intuitively despised him. The impulse seized me, so I spoke. “Were you there?” “No; but near by. I was there with the First Louisiana for ‘most a year.” “Do you know George Morgan?” “Know George? Yes, indeed! You are his sister.” This was an assertion; but I bowed assent, and he went on, “Thought so, from the resemblance. I remember seeing you ten years ago, when you were a very little girl. I used to be at your house with the boys; we were schoolmates.” I remarked that I had no recollection of him. “Of course not,” he said, but did not inform me of his name. He talked very familiarly of the boys, and said he had met them all at Richmond. Next he astounded me by saying he was a citizen of Baton Rouge, though he had been almost four years in New York before the war broke out. He was going to town to look after the “property,” hearing his father had gone to France. An inhabitant of that city, who was so familiar with my brothers and me, and with whom I was not acquainted! Here was a riddle to solve. Let us see who among our acquaintances had gone to France. I could think of none. I made up my mind to find out his name if I had to ask it.

All through supper he talked, and when, in country style, the gentlemen left us at table, I found the curiosity of the others was even more excited than mine. I was determined to know who he was, then.

In the parlor, he made some remark about never having been in ladies’ society the whole time he was in Virginia. I expressed my surprise, as George often wrote of the pleasant young ladies he met everywhere. “Oh, yes!” said monsieur, “but it is impossible to do your duty as an officer, and be a lady’s man; so I devoted myself to my military profession exclusively.” “Insufferable puppy!” I said to myself. Then he told me of how his father thought he was dead, and asked if I had heard of his rallying twenty men at Manassas, and charging a Federal regiment, which instantly broke? I honestly told him, “No.” “Iagoo, the great boaster,” I decided. Abruptly he said there were very few nice young ladies in Baton Rouge. “Probably so, in his circle,” I thought, while I dryly remarked, “Indeed?” “Oh, yes!” and still more abruptly he said, “Ain’t you the youngest? — Yes! I thought so! I remember you when you were a wee thing, so high,” placing his hand at a most insultingly short distance from the floor. “Really I must ask your name,” I said. He hesitated a moment and then said in a low tone, “De J——.” “De —— What?” I absurdly asked, thinking I was mistaken. “A—— de J——” he repeated. I bowed slightly to express my satisfaction, said, “Anna, we must retire,” and with a good-night to my newly discovered gentleman, went upstairs.

He is the one I heard George speak of last December when he was here, as having been court-martialed, and shot, according to the universal belief in the army; that was the only time I had ever heard his name, though I was quite familiar with the cart of De J—— père, as it perambulated the streets. My first impressions are seldom erroneous. From the first, I knew that man’s respectability was derived from his buttons. That is why he took such pride in them, and contemplated them with such satisfaction. They lent him social backbone enough to converse so familiarly with me; without the effulgence of that splendid gold, which he hoped would dazzle my eye to his real position, he would have hardly dared to “remember me when I was a wee thing, so high.” Is he the only man whose coat alone entitles him to respectability? He may be colonel, for all I know; but still, he is A—— de J—— to me. He talked brave enough to be general.

This morning I met him with a cordial “Good-morning, Mr. de J——,” anxious to atone for several “snubs” I had given him, long before I knew his name, last night; you see I could afford to be patronizing now. But the name probably, and the fluency with which I pronounced it, proved too much for him, and after “Good-morning, Miss Morgan,” he did not venture a word. We knew each other then; his name was no longer a secret.

August 23d.

Yesterday Anna and I spent the day with Lilly, and the rain in the evening obliged us to stay all night. Dr. Perkins stopped there, and repeated the same old stories we have been hearing, about the powder placed under the State House and Garrison, to blow them up, if forced to evacuate the town. He confirms the story about all the convicts being set free, and the town being pillaged by the negroes and the rest of the Yankees. He says his own slaves told him they were allowed to enter the houses and help themselves, and what they did not want the Yankees either destroyed on the spot, or had it carried to the Garrison and burned. They also bragged of having stopped ladies on the street, cut their necklaces from their necks, and stripped the rings from their fingers, without hesitation. It may be that they were just bragging to look great in the eyes of their masters; I hope so, for Heaven help them if they fall into the hands of the Confederates, if it is true.

I could not record all the stories of wanton destruction that reached us. I would rather not believe that the Federal Government could be so disgraced by its own soldiers. Dr. Day says they left nothing at all in his house, and carried everything off from Dr. Enders’s. He does not believe we have a single article left in ours. I hope they spared Miriam’s piano. But they say the soldiers had so many that they offered them for sale at five dollars apiece! We heard that the town had been completely evacuated, and all had gone to New Orleans except three gunboats that were preparing to shell, before leaving.

This morning Withers’s battery passed Mr. Elder’s on their way to Port Hudson, and stopped to get water. There were several buckets served by several servants; but I took possession of one, to their great amusement. What a profusion of thanks over a can of water! It made me smile, and they smiled to see my work, so it was all very funny. It was astonishing to see the number of Yankee canteens in the possession of our men. Almost all those who fought at Baton Rouge are provided with them. In their canvas and wire cases, with neat stoppers, they are easily distinguished from our rough, flat, tin ones. I declare I felt ever so important in my new situation as waiting-maid!

There is very little we would not do for our soldiers, though. There is mother, for instance, who got on her knees to bathe the face and hands of a fever-struck soldier of the Arkansas, while the girls held the plates of those who were too weak to hold them and eat at the same time. Blessed is the Confederate soldier who has even toothache, when there are women near! What sympathies and remedies are volunteered! I always laugh, as I did then, when I think of the supposed wounded man those girls discovered on that memorable Arkansas day. I must first acknowledge that it was my fault; for seized with compassion for a man supported by two others who headed the procession, I cried, “Oh, look! he is wounded!” “Oh, poor fellow!” screamed the others, while tears and exclamations flowed abundantly, until one of the men, smiling humorously, cried out, “Nothing the matter with him!” and on nearer view, I perceived it was laziness, or perhaps something else, and was forced to laugh at the streaming eyes of those tender-hearted girls.