The Journal of Julia LeGrand

February 20th [1863]. Mary Harrison came to ask us to go with her to Mrs. Payne’s and thence to see the prisoners off. We did not feel like standing so long in such a crowd, though anxious to wave a handkerchief to them, too. Mary promised to come back to dinner, but Mrs. Dameron sent us an invitation to dine while Mary was here, so she declined coming back. We spent the day at Mrs. D——’s. Had quite a discussion about spiritualism. I don’t like to hear people say a thing can’t be true, or that it is not true and that they know it isn’t. I said that I felt too ignorant of nature’s mysteries to say what was or what was not true. Our being is so mysterious and the laws which govern it are so mysterious that I do not know how many other mysteries I may be involved in. I said that I was sure of one thing and that was that nothing but truth could live; false doctrine must die out, but truth can be crushed out only for a season. An abiding law of the universe must be abiding and revealed sometime. I am determined to be prejudiced against nothing but ignorance. Most people show so little sign of having thought at all except in commonplace, everyday matters, that it is a relief to be entertained with a beautiful fancy logically sustained as Mrs. Waugh sustains hers.

Sent for by Mrs. D—— on account of company at home; found Mrs. Wells, Mrs. Roselius and Mrs. Gilmour. Annie Waugh came in afterwards. Mrs. Wells tired out, having been running from one Federal ruler to another for days trying to get permission to send her young daughters in the Confederacy a few necessaries—no success after all her trouble. These people never say no at first. The Queen of the West, or, some say, the Conestoga, passed Vicksburg some time ago; she has captured three Confederate vessels with provisions, and has entirely cut off communication by water between Port Hudson and Vicksburg. Our Red River supplies and those from Texas also cut off. She must be sunk or captured. I expect to hear of one or the other in a few days. I read a speech of Wendell Phillips. No Jacobin of France, not even Robespierre, ever made so infamous a one. He says an aristocracy like that of the South has never been gotten rid of except by the sacrifice of one generation; they can never have peace, he says, until “every slaveholder is either killed or exiled.” He does not approve of battles—the negro should be turned loose and incited to rise and slay. “They know by instinct the whole programme of what they have to do,” he says. I at first blamed our secession, but our politicians knew these awful people better than I did and now I am glad that we are, or will, be rid of them.

February 19th [1863]. Mrs. Waugh came in while I was doing up my collars. She read us Davis’ book while I was busy. She is so simpleminded and true that I should not blush if she visited me, and I had only a crust to offer her. The exchanged prisoners go out tomorrow. A great many are going to see them off. Report says that the Laurel Hill, the boat on which they were to be sent, is captured by our people up the river.

February 18th [1863]. General Banks and the planters met to-day. A series of resolutions has been made. The amount of the whole matter is that General Banks promised to do what he could, though fettered by his Government, to send the slaves back to the plantations, and he has received a great many compliments in return for his promise. Many people, myself among the number, disapprove of the whole affair. No agreement should be entered with our enemies or the Government which sends them here. Our dear boys are fighting for our rights and many of their papas are entering into terms with their armed invaders.

February 17th [1863]. Mrs. Dameron and Mrs. White came to the gate late and found Mary Jane outside talking with other negroes, after having locked it, or pretending to do so, and bringing the key in to Mrs. Norton. This deception in a girl in whom she has had so much confidence made Mrs. Norton anxious and nervous all night. She got her money, pistols and other defences near her and kept the light burning. So many horrible things have happened that one can not be too careful, but I do not think Mary Jane meant to do more mischief than to leave the gate open so that she might have company within or go out at will. The deception was what was to have been expected of a negro. I do not feel fear for others now—I never did for myself—now that Banks is here; he does not throw people in prison without a trial on the testimony of a negro, as Butler did. Mrs. Dameron came in because a gentleman who had run the blockade had brought her news of Mr. D——. All well outside.

No fight at Port Hudson yet; Farragut and his flagship, the Hartford, still here. The town is filled with rumors and our friends who are always trooping here, keep us well plied with them. I do not record them all, because I forget them.

February 16th [1863]. To-night read aloud Cox’s speech to Ginnie and Mrs. Norton, Cox of Ohio—though I was inwardly grieved at the position of these people and consequent misery to so many innocent ones, I could not help laughing at this speech and the frequent interruptions and cries it met with, especially when Butler was introduced. I am glad that creature seems to meet with general hatred, though in Boston those fanatics got up a sort of pretended welcome to him. He, having heard that the fanatics were about to turn off all generals not of the same politics as themselves, made haste to change his; he once pretended to be a Democrat, but he has joined the Abolitionists, and gives as excuse that he was made one in New Orleans. He tells in his speech to the people a thousand stories of the social life here to justify his treatment of the people. The negroes plied him well with falsehoods when he was here, and he took off (stole) three or four negroes and his wife did the same, when they left here—though to the world his “order” forbidding this proceeding still stands. That order never was intended to be obeyed; it never restrained anyone—ship-loads of negroes belonging to citizens here have been carried off by Federals.

Cox’s speech dissects the Puritan and Yankee character to the core; I do believe that it represents it truly. They are cold, hard, unscrupulous, persevering meddlers, and should live by themselves and never have a voice in any government intended for other people; they have given trouble wherever they have lived; their vanity and egotism are supreme; they are the cause of this war of brothers; and others, inflamed by their bearing-down qualities and eloquence, have given them a helping hand. There seems to be now a general awakening at the North. The sovereign people will soon be in the political field and have already cried out that acts like those which disgrace the Lincoln government shall not be done in their name. Cox’s speech closes with a beautiful poem addressed to South Carolina upon her secession. It filled me with a passionate, almost a tearful regret for the Union; we can never forgive the Massachusetts Puritans for what they have done. The same old feeling which made us love the Union as it was will prevent our accepting it now.

We read also a most interesting letter in the New York World, written in the name of the citizens of New Orleans. ‘Tis in answer to Butler’s farewell address to the people of this city, and refutes ably its many falsehoods. Butler’s address was an inflated falsehood from beginning to end. This letter enumerates some, not all, of Butler’s offences against decency, law and order, in a calm, determined, unostentatious way. I read it with pleasure, for it was all true, and was indeed a dignified production. I don’t know who wrote it, but the people of New Orleans, with the exception of the Dutch, echo every sentiment it contains. We read in the same paper an exposition of the conduct of the speculators from Yankee-land, and the Federal officials who have cheated the planters and gone home with large fortunes. This war and this infamous people have developed and disclosed corruption on a tremendous scale. Now the Caucasian contained the account of Cameron’s attempt to buy one of the Pennsylvania legislators; I am glad to learn that even one of that infamous administration has failed in his ambitions. I have seen one of the Eras, a new paper established here in place of the Delta. It is a shameful thing; not even genteel. I am provoked to learn that the editor complains of the loss of his “Tennyson.” I don’t like to think of his reading so prized a volume. The English, it is said, find much fault with President Davis’ retaliatory proclamation. I do not usually like harsh measures, but these people—these Federals—are to be dealt with in no other manner. They mistake leniency for fear; they have not chivalry enough to comprehend.

When the infamous Pope in Virginia last summer desolated for five miles around where any guerrilla destroyed one of the people who had come to desolate and spoil his friends, a retaliatory proclamation from Davis established the only law which enforced better behavior. Every ruler must protect his people; if the enemy are not governed by decent laws, if the wholesome restraints of civilization are unknown to them, some one must meet them with force. How many Virginia homes were desolated by that wretched Pope! I have the utmost respect for General McClellan; no act of his disgraces him except his acceptance of a position in the Federal Army. He was suspected of Southern tendencies all through his career; they say the South could have got him if she had bid high enough. He, as an enemy, however, has acted the chivalrous part. I took a fancy to him in the early part of his career in Western Virginia. It was a knightly act, I think, to place our General Garnett’s dead body on ice that it might present no hideous changes to the loved ones who awaited it. He is out of the service now and the Federals have shown their distrust of him by endeavoring to disgrace him. Burnside, his successor, has also resigned, and Hooker, a fighting man, has taken his place. He, however, is mud-blockaded on the Rappahannock and can not carry out his belligerent views. A great many Federal officers have resigned recently and the privates are dispirited and mutinous. Two or three hundred have been put under arrest in the last few days for refusing to go to Baton Rouge. They did not come to fight, they say, and would not have been here at all if they had not been drafted. Orders have come from Lincoln that Port Hudson should be attacked immediately; great drilling, artillery and otherwise, going on daily in the streets and squares. The Harrison girls and the Ogdens have been down frequently; they beg us to go back to Greenville; they tell much that is amusing of the camp near them. The negroes are constantly singing “Hang Jeff. Davis on the sour-apple tree.” This is a beautiful, solemn air; an old Methodist hymn. Mr. Randolph called twice to see Mrs. Norton about taking up Leah, the old woman who made her grandchild steal our money.

We have company every day, and often all day; I can neither read nor write. What I commit to this book is so disconnected that I have half a mind to desist. Even if we are free from company for a moment or two, Mrs. Norton fills up the time by reading aloud to us these tiresome city papers. I have a disgust for them, because they do not dare to speak of anything that interests us. I write in such confusion and so rapidly when I have an opportunity, that I often cannot read myself what has been written. I fear my little niece, Edith [Mrs. Edith Pye Weeden, now of Austin, Texas], for whom I wish to keep a good and interesting journal, will think her Auntie has a sorry, sorry sort of mind and style. I never could concentrate my thoughts when in a confusion, and here we have it all the time. Our room fronts on the gallery and it seems to be a thoroughfare for all parties; not one moment can we command. Dear Mrs. Norton can’t comprehend how young people can wish to be alone; she is old and hates solitude. When she sits in her own room and we in ours she continually calls something out to us; she is devoted to newspapers and I cannot bear them except when they contain something of worth. These papers, The Bee, The Picayune, The True Delta, are all worthless now. The Era does not wish to, and our papers do not dare to, tell the truth. The New York papers are under much less restraint than ours. We have too large a Federal force in the city for the truth to be uttered except in whispers. Mrs. Waugh has spent several mornings with us; she has brought us Davis’ last work on Spiritualism; he approves of the War, not if it is conducted to restore the Union, but for slavery. Mrs. N—— is talking to me and I cannot take heed of my periods. I feel angry with Davis (Andrew Jackson Davis) for approving of this war; he should divine the spirit which guides the combatants. What good can grow out of such strife? Speculators and thieves can not introduce good by warring and the Federal Army is made up of them. They go to the battles with their pockets stuffed with counterfeit Confederate money which they intend to pass off if they succeed in getting into the country. Handcuffs were carried to the field of Manassas—we were then a parcel of “Rebels” to be easily conquered and terribly punished. Ah, how many a gallant neck the hangman would have touched if our braves had not boldly met them on the field. A great power must watch over the destiny of nations—now we are a nation to be ruined by other means—the “Rebellion” is a great revolution.

By sending $5.00 to New York you can get $20,000 Confederate dollars—counterfeit, of course. These advertisements appear in respectable journals, Harper’s Weekly, for instance, which considers itself a vast civilizer, though it recommends that servile insurrection should overrun the South. It is nothing that our homes should be burned and that Southern women and children should be startled at midnight by the wild beasts which Africans become after having scented blood. Northern women, too, are willing to see their Southern sisters subjected to every danger and infamy. To think of emptying prisons and penitentiaries of hardened wretches and saying, “Hurrah, and God speed you!” to them on their mission of destruction.

Two vessels of war, blockading at Sabine Pass, have been captured by the Confederates; one, the Rachel Seaman, was burned by the Yankees to prevent capture; we attacked with two cotton-protected steamers and took the Victory and the Morning Light—also money and supplies. Commodore Farragut pronounces the giving up of the Harriet Lane at Galveston and the escape of the rest of the fleet from two “cotton steamers” as a pusillanimous affair.

The breaking of the blockade at Charleston is declared by the enemy to be a much less important affair than we thought it—this means that several vessels have come back to begin the blockade over again, not being willing to own that it has been broken. I, as well as others, believe that the Quaker City was sunk in Charleston harbor.

February 9th [1863]. Reported seizure of the arsenal by Governor Seymour, of New York. Probable seizure of Lincoln. I don’t believe these reports. The old Democratic party is indeed aroused, but it is a law-abiding party, and I do not think we can expect of it any violent proceedings. They are disgusted with Lincoln, but they helped to elect him and must tolerate him. Banks has been warned by his Government that he is to be lenient to us. He has done nothing for us, but he has committed none of Butler’s enormities. He does not give up seized houses, but they say rent is to be given by those occupied by Government officers; however, nobody expects the payment. He does not encourage tale-bearing of negroes, and has had no one arrested for opinion’s sake, but he has had none of the innocent, imprisoned by Butler, released. I have heard that he speaks often unkindly to ladies who go to him begging for their husbands or friends to be released. “My husband will die, sir, his health is so bad, and my relative has lost his mind in confinement,” said one lady to him. “We must all die, madam,” he returned; “prison life affects men differently; some lose their minds and some die; this we cannot help.” Poor Mrs. Harrison has been wearying herself for months in behalf of her husband who has been confined in the Custom House without comforts and with many others in the same room—offence, as far as it can be made out, trying to save the property of a “rebel” friend, Captain Dameron, formerly a Confederate Guard. The three Episcopal ministers, Mr. Fulton, Mr. Goodrich, and Doctor Leacock, arrived here last week. They were sent off by Butler for not praying for the President of the United States. They were well received in New York by people of secession tendencies there; were treated with great kindness and were invited to preach in the churches. All reasonable people, all indeed, except fanatics, cried “Shame!” on the treatment these divines had received in New Orleans. Banks having arrived here and there being no probability of Butler’s return, these three ministers have ventured hither.

They were not allowed to land because they had not taken, and would not take, the oath of allegiance to the United States Government. This proceeding caused great excitement and many persons have visited the boat, the Cromwell, in which they are imprisoned. They were transferred to the McClellan and reshipped to New York after being refused even one visit to their homes, or a simple walk on the shore they loved so well. No Episcopal minister dishonored himself here by taking the oath to a Government he had abjured. Seven resisted, though these three only were sent off. If Butler had remained, others would have suffered, as they had been ordered to hold themselves in readiness. Last summer when they were first threatened and the excitement of the people on the subject was discussed, I could not help thinking of the trial of the “Seven Bishops”—”the Seven Candlesticks.” How history repeats itself in spite of the progression of our race. Sarah Erwin, now Mrs. Doctor Glen, was in Doctor Goodrich’s church last fall when Colonel Strong dispersed the congregation. Never had she thought to witness such a scene. Before the time had come for praying for the President of the United States, or the time for the omission rather, Colonel Strong, who had been mistaken by the congregation for one of our own people, arose and whispered something in Mr. Goodrich’s ear. Colonel Strong, Butler’s agent, was very pale and much excited, and as he was wrapped in a cloak which covered his military dress he was thought some mourner who had requested the prayers of the minister. He had appeared so nervous and so depressed and so deathly pale that he had excited the sympathy of the people; great was the surprise, therefore, when he arose and in the name of the Government of the United States forbade the ceremonies of the church to proceed, and ordered the congregation to disperse.

There was an immediate uprising of the people and a rush to the pulpit; the first thought was that Doctor Goodrich was in danger. No one was safe from arrest in Butler’s time. Women wept and men muttered and I am told that even oaths were heard; some women who had always been considered timid and gentle, openly defied Strong and denounced him to his face. Strong threw off his cloak and this gave a full view not only of his elaborately wrought regimentals, but also of a goodly show of side arms. The sight of glistening steel and pistols in that peaceful assembly neither calmed nor awed it. Many became infuriated and women especially clustered around Strong to his evident fear. One old lady called down a curse upon him and all he held dear. All thought it a proper place, perhaps, in which to open those vials of wrath, the existence of which the church warrants. Pale but firm, Doctor Goodrich asked permission at least to give his blessing to the congregation. “No,” cried the brute Strong, “I forbit it.” “My people,” returned Doctor Goodrich, “shall not depart without my benediction.” He then made a few remarks that filled the building with hysterical sobs. After the people had left church, they were again ordered to disperse, and at the very door a Federal asked of Colonel Strong permission to send for the artillery. “You had better order up a gunboat, sir, as that seems to be your only safeguard,” returned an excited young woman, said to be a Jewess. An old lady made protest by saying that she had as good a right as Butler himself to stand upon the banquette and that she would return home in her own time. It was the most disgraceful scene. It is said that Butler was gazing with the aid of a glass from his own window; he had not then stolen Mrs. Campbell’s house and was residing in General Twiggs’, and was reported to have been highly amused, but his adjutant, Colonel Strong, remarked that he would rather go to battle than to go through the same excitement again. Doctor Goodrich was arrested some time after this event and has been in New York some months. When he will be able to return to his anxious wife after this second exile, Heaven only knows. Mrs. Goodrich is supported by contributions from her husband’s flock; they are not able to do as much as they wish for her as all fortunes are in a state of ruin now. Servants have run or have been taken away from plantations, houses burned, banks robbed, and all business suspended; lawyers cannot practice and no one can sell a piece of property without first having taken the oath to the United States Government.

Some time ago there was a report here that the Alabama, or 290, after destroying the United States steamer Hatteras had appeared at the mouth of this river; that pilots had gone on board of her and that Captain Semmes had sent by them a challenge to Farragut to come down in his flagship and fight him. It is believed, and the pilots were said to have been imprisoned upon their return because they had taken the oath to the Confederacy on board the 290. Farragut did not go, but the Mississippiwas sent down in great haste under some other pretense. It was said that the Oreta or Florida, Captain Maffet, was also at the Balize. Those taken prisoner by these two Captains report them gentlemen; they treat their captives in a different manner to that in which the Yankees treat ours. Captain Maffet is a small, slight man, very timid, blushes like a girl when he attracts notice, looks like a poet, and is, from the prisoners’ report, a gentleman, every inch of him. Mr. Fulton has had a call to a church at Snow Hill, Md.; he has been told that he need not pray for the President of the United States there; don’t know that he will accept it, has no support. Our churches here are open, but I have not attended; our regular ministers do not officiate. In our little Calvary church Mr. Lyons reads a written sermon and goes through the service. Rose Wilkinson attempted to play the melodeon and attended three or four singing meetings for that purpose, but Mr. Payne, a pompous Englishman, who has made a great deal of money here, was so rude on account of a few mistakes, which were the consequence of her timidity, that she declined going any more. Mr. Tucker, one of our gentlemen, whose ear is quite as good, bore with her kindly and politely. Mr. Payne has since had almost a contention with a Mrs. Hedges, a Scotch lady, who has taken Rosa’s place; she sings songs and ballads sweetly and with much taste, but does not sing church music correctly, they say. Mr. Payne says so. He doesn’t look as though he had an ear, it was a great mistake in nature to have given him one. I should like to tell how disagreeable and pompous he is; if he were not rich he would be afraid to express an opinion, so I think of him.

February 3rd [1863]. Read in the back parlor at Judge Ogden’s the last speech of Valandingham, to Ginnie and the girls; we were all profoundly affected. There is something in this man’s eloquence which stirs the depths of my nature. This magnificent address, strong, argumentative, forcible and earnest, seemed to me the wail of a great and good spirit over a lost nationality and a dissevered country. To think of a people choosing Lincoln for a supreme ruler with a man like this among them. Witnessed a march of the Federals into the city; some thousands. I never have seen so many men together before. Crowds have always awed and excited me, thrilled me with sensations strange and indefinable, but these soldiers—our professed enemies—moving with solemn countenances and measured tread, with starry banners floating and, what was once, our national music playing, filled me with a sort of excited melancholy never felt before. Images of the many fields wet with the blood of brothers, in which the stars and stripes and our own stars and bars had met in angry strife and floated in pride, then sunk in blood, mingled with thoughts of all that these people had still to do. How many mothers are to be made desolate by this war. It seems to me to be very hard to be so very near soldiers and not be able to respond to their cheers or to shake the hand of even one, or to say, God speed you! These people have the old camping ground of our Confederate soldiers, then called “Camp Lewis,” now camp Weitzel, in compliment to that Dutch-American who commands them. Saw to-day that Magruder’s camp of instruction is at Hampstead, in Texas, where sister lives; read several very romantic incidents of the attack at Galveston. Captain Wainwright’s little son, only ten years old, fought over the body of his dead father. Two brothers met and one answering the cry of “Yield or I kill you,” said, “You had better look at me, Joe, before you fire.” A gentleman named Lea, who was of the boarding party, killed his own son; his grief upon this discovery was terrible to witness. A Mr. Holland, too, of the boarding party, was met by Captain Wainwright for the first time since he had entertained him as a friend in London. Such things forbid comment. Ah, cruel civil war! On returning late, after spending the evening at the Randolphs, Judge Scott read an “extra” brought from town; the blockade at Charleston is removed by a bold Confederate attack; the Mercidita and Quaker Citysunk, not a Federal vessel in sight. Great rejoicing at Charleston; foreign consuls informed. Ah, peace, is it really coming in the—no, not the distance—she must be near. Charleston claims open port for sixty days. We laughed to-day at an officer’s caper; Mrs. Harrison sent Ginnie some nice things for lunch; an officer strolling on the railroad told the boy Andrew that he was there to inspect all covered dishes. After looking within and asking questions, he gave his royal permission to the proceeding. “Oh,” said he, “as it is for a sick lady, you may take it to her.” Mrs. Norton sent Mary Jane out for us with a note, asking us to come back. The girls said she made our passport an excuse for getting us home again, as she is lonely. She sent because an order in the Yankee Delta made known to us that those “enemies” who wished for passports and had registered, should come in person to receive them. Sent her word that we would come.

Next morning Ginnie was sick, too sick to get up, so I rose early and wrote a few lines to Colonel Clarke, stating facts; also wrote a few to Mr. Randolph, claiming the fulfillment of a promise to us that he would serve us under all circumstances. He came over directly after breakfast to tell me how glad he was that we had called on him at last, and that he would deliver our note to some of our rulers and extort a passport if possible. I thanked him in earnest, for it is really something to ask. The Federal rulers here are less accessible than the most august of sovereigns, and even if one is admitted they send him from one to another until his patience is worn out, each official seeming to emulate the last in rude behavior—with the single exception of Colonel Clarke, who has been dismissed from office, having shown what the Yankees here term “secesh” tendencies. He is a gentleman and Ginnie says a most sorrowful one. Before we went to Greenville, Mrs. Norton, Ginnie and Mrs. Dameron went to the city hall—found there a great crowd through which they had to wedge their way. A young official made his appearance and after roughly demanding what their business was, was answered curtly by Mrs. Norton: “I don’t intend to tell you my business,” said she; “I will go to headquarters.” She makes a point of always speaking in this way and cannot be persuaded that she gives them great advantage over her. “Well, madam,” returned the young man, “I don’t want to know your business, and if you can’t tell it, just step back until others are served who can.” Mrs. Dameron blushed and said, “Ah, why will Ma put herself in a position to be insulted?” Ginnie and she got out of the way as fast as possible, and Mrs. Norton was so innocent about it that she didn’t know what they meant by feeling abashed. Colonel French sat with his feet in the air, answered almost rudely when spoken to, and gave them no satisfaction. Colonel Clarke, though out of office that very day and to be succeeded by a creature called Colonel Bowgen, did all he could toward granting their requests. Mrs. Norton and Ginnie got arrest papers for servants, also registered for passports. Colonel Bowgen watched Colonel Clarke sharply, fearing, Ginnie said, that he might do or promise something kind. “Colonel Clarke has a soft spot in his heart,” he significantly remarked. For this soft spot he has been dismissed from office; he goes out to the verge of “rebeldom,” however, with all exchanged prisoners and enemies whenever they are sent, and is always so kind, so truly generous that many are attached to him. One lady who had smuggled a Confederate flag felt compunctious after receiving so much kindness, and brought it out to the Colonel. He had not permitted either their trunks or persons to be searched. She waved her little flag and said that she loved it and asked his permission to carry it over the lines; “Oh, yes,” said he, “take it; I don’t think it will cause the death of any of us.”

The trip to the lines that time was a delightful one, both to the ladies and Colonel Clarke, and upon the arrival of the boat at Madisonville, two hundred Confederate soldiers marched down to meet the ladies.

Oh! such a time! such a joyful meeting! Our soldiers went on board and had quite a “jollification,” it is said, and were kindly entertained by the Federal officers. This was as it should be, but things will never be conducted in that way again. The last time the enemies went out, Colonel Clarke went with them, indeed, but he could do nothing which he wished. On being appealed to by a lady, he said, “Ah, madam, there is a new ruler in Jerusalem.” On this occasion the ladies’ trunks were searched, also their persons, with two exceptions. A little contraband quinine was found and we were all glad to hear that one of the infamous women badly cut her hand whilst ripping up a lady’s sleeve to look for it. Even babies were searched and left shivering in the cold without their clothes. Flannels were taken from all, and a little bag of flour which a very poor woman, who was going out to meet her husband, had taken to thicken her baby’s milk, was cruelly thrown into water. Is it possible that we can ever take the Yankees by the hand again! To me the very sight of them is disgusting after hearing of their enormities.

Mr. Randolph got our passports after waiting hours; he was treated roughly at first, but upon speaking firmly and politely, they changed tone. He was even told to come back again if he needed more trunks than those allowed us. In the passports we are numbered, not named. We have since had a note from a friend, beginning, “Dear No. 46.”

With another dinner at the Harrisons and another tea at the Randolphs, our visit to Greenville closed. The girls would not give us up and persuaded us day after day to stay, but Mrs. Norton came after us herself on Sunday, the 8th of February. We came in on the cars quite late, so late that the Judge and Mr. R—— both went with us to the station and would have proceeded to town, but we would only consent to accept the company of one.

January 28th [1863]. Set off on the car which runs by Mrs. Norton’s door; met Mary Ogden on the car. Two “Feds” seemed much interested in our talk. They heard no favorable ideas of themselves, though nothing rude, of course. One looked as if he might have been a schoolmaster at home. These privates, when they are Americans, have a sad and hopeless look, as if their hearts were aching for home, as I have no doubt they are. The Irish and Germans look very different, I think; they look as if they had never had any home. I hear from all quarters that these men do long for home; they have serious ideas now that this war is not a good one, and not made for the Union either, but merely to carry out party schemes of party men. There is scarcely a day that I do not hear of instances of Federal soldiers giving proof that they are “rebels” at heart. Four cannon were spiked at Annunciation Square not long ago; the ringleaders were stretched out with cannon balls attached both to arms and feet. One poor fellow revealed in a drunken fit that he was a “rebel,” a Davis man; he, too, was stretched out in this cruel way, and was kept in this condition so long without food, and exposed to such weather, that he died. The ladies living near Annunciation Square who could see from their windows what was going on, were so miserable that for four days and nights they could not sleep; they sent prayers and entreaties for the sufferers, but to no purpose. I suppose it is because the mind cannot realize suffering without the help of sight, that our sisters of the North are using every wile to pour down upon us their revengeful hordes, while our women are begging that individuals from those hordes may be spared such cruelty. The Federal army is said to be much demoralized here. This demoralization is what I call a return to reason.

Met Mr. Randolph and Judge Scott as we got off the car. Mr. R—— looked so glad to see us, but the Judge, who is a misanthrope and woman-hater, looked sour enough at us. He is an uncle of the Ogden girls and has been staying at Judge O——’s house since his sons went to the war. Very cold; Greenville’s quiet beauty quite destroyed, being cut up by Yankee wagons and having thousands of Yankee soldiers encamped about her green lawns. I cannot describe my feelings when looking upon these tents, hearing the drums and bands of music, and catching the sound of voices of men whose avowed purpose is to conquer and desolate our country. They are “rebels” in heart, thousands of them; we have daily proofs of this, yet they are organized and drilled and will fight us, too, when ordered. We are in daily expectation of the attack at Vicksburg and Port Hudson. We found the girls all well and got a real hearty, delightful welcome from them, and a warm and kindly one from the Judge. We found beautiful wood fires all over the house. Coal is high and scarce, and the Judge is clearing a piece of land that he may plant it in oranges when the Yankees leave. The beautiful oaks and pecans! I feel sorry to see them going. We see the railroad from the windows and balcony, constantly spotted with Yankee soldiers and runaway contrabands in Yankee service. Went in the afternoon to see the Randolphs, who live just across the street in our house. It seems so strange to be visiting Greenville, and looking across the way to the garden and house, once a daily and familiar sight. We stayed to tea with Mrs. Randolph; found there her sister-in-law. We had a hearty welcome here, too, and as Lizzie and Mary were with us we had quite a circle of friends. During the evening I was struck with the force of the old saying that “appearances are often deceptive”: We had been seated but half an hour when a neighbor of Mr. Randolph’s came in. He looked so plain and ordinary that I gave a sort of inward groan at the probability of his taking his seat near me and prolonging his visit. He had scarcely seated himself before he said something witty, and in a few moments he had the whole talk to himself and we were either convulsed with laughter or moved with strange sympathies for the rest of the evening. He spouted plays, acted them, sang operas and sweet old ballads in endless succession and managed to take his tea and cake standing on the hearth while carrying on a dialogue, his own tongue doing service for two. I have not laughed so much since the war began. Mr. Haines is the gentleman’s name—middle-aged and with a wife and grown-up children. His face in repose is both heavy and sad-looking. Mr. Randolph told us that he was in the car one day when this Mr. Haines had been indulging in some rather piquant secession talk, not knowing that a Federal was in company—they make a business of traveling in citizens’ clothes, acting as spies— at least they did while Butler was here. Mr. Haines was suddenly arrested in his talk by a cry of “I forbid you to speak in that way; stop instantly.” It was considered as much as his life, or rather liberty, was worth to make answer to this prohibition, and Mr. Haines’s friends felt rather anxious upon his turning to the Federal and calmly demanding of him, “What do you mean?” “I mean,” said the Federal, “to prevent your talking against the government of the United States; I arrest you, sir.” Mr. H—— rose deliberately, and doubling up his right hand, said coolly, “Touch me at your peril; lay but a hand upon me and I’ll throttle you until you can’t speak.” Having delivered himself in this style, he sat down and the Federal wisely did the same thing, offering not another word. Such stuff are these Butler minions made of.

Mr. Haines’s garden fence was all carried off by the Massachusetts regiment during his absence from home; his wife talked to the soldiers in vain, imploring that her fruits and flowers should not thus be turned out on the common at a moment’s notice. Mr. H——, upon hearing this, proceeded at once to camp, inquiring for each officer, in succession, of the Massachusetts regiment. He borrowed a sword of an orderly, or some such personage, so that the fence could be made a personal matter with the officer who, had ordered its destruction. The officers were all absent, or so reported, and strange to say, are always absent when Mr. Haines calls. “It remained for the Massachusetts regiment to perform such a petty piece of villainy,” said Mr. H—— to the soldier on guard. “Military necessity,” answered the guard. “You might have had the military politeness to have told me you wanted it; I would have bought you wood rather than had my fence destroyed. I intend to follow this matter up. I will find the officer guilty of the order and get satisfaction from him, or carry the matter to Banks. He has promised to protect us who are quiet, non-fighting men, and he shall protect me or give me a passport into a government that will.” A guard was sent forthwith to protect Mr. Haines’s garden. Night and day, in sun and rain, the poor Federal privates stand to keep watch, thus doing picket service in real earnest. We came home from Mr. Randolph’s and found the two Judges in the parlor, reviewed our evening for their benefit, and parted for the night. We had our tea after we had undressed, around a bright wood fire; the girls sat with us and took their tea in our room. I told them how glad I was to see the dear blaze; it was a touch of the country and a gleam from the dear old times. Didn’t sleep one wink all night. The Judge said “tea at bed-time,” but I knew better; I knew of the thousand thoughts that flitted through my brain. The girls met us with kisses of welcome in the morning. Ginnie was not allowed to get up, though breakfast was late. The Judge sent us word that this was liberty hall and that we could sleep when we liked and breakfast when we liked; that he had little to offer us these war times but a welcome and a carte blanche to do as we pleased. Got up near dinner time; still no sleep. Mary, who is housekeeper this week, had a nice warm breakfast for us, and I felt ashamed of the trouble we had given. There were fourteen servants about the house, almost idle, of course, there being nothing for them to do since the Federals came. They stay with their master, the kindest and most indulgent in the world, merely to be supported— giving out speeches from time to time, which prove to my mind, at least, that they will leave him when it suits them. Marcia and Charlotte, though, I believe, are really attached to their master and his children. The Judge got a letter from his son Billy from Fredericksburg, the first since last summer. He is in Claude’s old regiment, the 7th Louisiana Crescent. This family seem to love each other very dearly; the devotion of the girls to their father and brother is very touching, I think, and it does my heart good to see it. To their uncle Walter, the misanthropic Judge, they are kind and tender; he seems at least attached to this much of womankind, his nieces.

We took a walk with the Randolphs and Harrisons to the river; got our feet wet, being silly enough to go in thin shoes. I took cold and Ginnie was made quite sick. Had invitation to dine with the Harrisons; much debating among the girls whether or not they should go with us, a coolness having grown up between these two pleasant households, owing entirely to the present war. The Harrisons are lately from Kentucky, and as they can not look upon Louisiana as their home just yet, and as Kentucky’s action has been much censured during this war, a great deal has been taken unkindly on both sides, which has never been meant by either. These girls were intimate before the war, and would be again, if these sympathetic strings were not constantly jarred upon by the exciting topics of the day. It is hard to keep the equilibrium either of mind or nerve nowadays, such opposite and warm opinions are held and discussed. We, as usual, have tried to play peace-makers; people of this sort are hardly ever done justice to—both sides find fault, but in this case I think both families appreciate our intentions. Jule could not be induced to go with us; Ella had insulted her, she says. Jule is young and so is Ella, and so matters must rest until both grow older. Mary, too, declined to go—she is literal and therefore not apt to fancy herself deceived in a matter of this sort. She is too kind-hearted ever to have wished to wound, and therefore feels sure that she has never done so, but then she feels so sincerely that she can not simulate old feelings when they have been injured or passed away. I saw she would not like to go, and so did not ask—at the same time I felt that a refusal in toto would look very pointed and probably make an everlasting breach.

I didn’t think it wrong to advise Lizzie, who is gentler, less positive in her feelings than either her elder or younger sister, to go with us. The girls all love Mrs. H——. She is indeed the sweetest, gentlest and saddest of women. Mr. Harrison and the Judge brought news that six more States are reported out of the Union. Matters have not proceeded so far, I think, but it is evident from the speeches made in the North at opposition meetings that some terrible judgment is in store for the wicked abolition Government. The North has broken her bonds at last. No more shall men be dragged to bondage without accusation or trial, as in the two years past. I have waited with anxious longing for this reaction; I have always felt that the war was not carried on by the people at large. The abolitionists are the Jacobins of America. They have not shown any kindness to the poor negroes, either; they die by hundreds from disease engendered by unaccustomed hardships and exposure, also starvation. The suburbs and odd places in and about this city are crowded with a class never seen until the Federals came here—a class whose only support is theft and whose only occupation is strolling the streets, insulting white people, and living in the sun. This is really the negro idea of liberty. I speculate over the evils which I see and those which I fear, and often wish that I was some merry-hearted, careless girl who sees nothing.

Saturday. Went to Sydney Dameron’s little birth-night party; played a little for the young folks to dance. Met Mrs. Richardson, who has founded an asylum for old women, supported by contributions from both friends and enemy. The Federals have seized the city finances, also much private finances, and as they pretend to feed the poor, Mrs. R —— demanded bread of Colonel Deming with a sweet smile and a pretty play of words, “You are said to be the best-bred man in the city, Colonel Deming, and therefore I come to you for bread.” Needless to say she got her bread.

Mrs. Richardson was very anxious that Ginnie or I should write a few complimentary and regretful remarks to be published in the Picayune; subject, “The retirement of Colonel Deming from service.” I have never met the gallant Federal and have heard nothing which could incline me to take such a step, especially as she wished the remarks made in the name of the ladies of New Orleans. Mrs. R —— made him a perfect hero, and to quiet my objections, said she thought that our rulers here who had behaved like gentlemen should be complimented publicly, as a sort of distinction to them, and an acknowledgment on our part that we can appreciate kind treatment. Colonel Deming may be a hero; his resignation, I confess, speaks well for him, if he goes back to become a peace advocate, as Mrs. R —— says, but I thought it better for Mrs. R —— herself to take the responsibility of complimenting him. I told her that personal acquaintance was a great spur and that she could be much more eloquent than I on the subject. Mrs. Norton was anxious that we should accept Mrs. R ——’s proposal, though she hates the Federals, one and all, as bad as we do. She seemed to think it conferred, or would confer, some sort of distinction upon us, and told me I was too squeamish, when I said that I could not accept another’s interpretation of a man; indeed this wise lady seems to have little discrimination. She was eloquent in praise of Governor Shepley but a little while since, and as I have had several interviews with this gentleman, I would prefer to have some one else dissect character for me. The Ogden girls have been in town often, begging us to visit them at Greenville, also Mr. and Mrs. Randolph; so we have decided to go out and spend a week.