The Journal of Julia LeGrand

The Picayune gives a long account of victories in Tennessee and at Vicksburg; we have slain many, taken prisoners many, and sunk ships. A report was circulated that the Texans had recovered Galveston, sunk some Federal vessels and captured others. This was believed by Confederates and hooted at by Unionists. Bets are passed but I feel in no humor for such things. We asked Mr. Roselius, our neighbor, of the news and were advised by him to believe no ” such trash” as that, but on the morning of the 5th of January the Yankee Delta admits the truth. The Harriet Lanewas boarded just after the moon had set and, after a desperate struggle, captured. The Westerfield, Commodore Renshaw, was threatened, but he blew up the vessel. The Delta claims a glorious martyrdom for him and his crew, as they were all destroyed with the vessel, but report proclaims the loss of life an accident, the blowing up of the boat only being intended. We had but four gunboats—half launch, half old steamers—yet the Federals here claim that their “fleet” escaped from them. Two companies of the 42nd Massachusetts regiment were captured, also two transports. This fight has made a profound and awful impression on me. It was bold, it was glorious! I can imagine our men, on their insecure crafts, stealing out into the bay under cover of darkness; the suspense, the surprise, the desperate, bloody struggle, the contending emotions of fear and hate, the confusion, the triumph, and, last of all, the horrible explosion. Ah, when will they let us go in peace and such things cease! Mrs. Roselius, as great a Southerner as exists, comes over every day to talk her “good Southern talk,” she says. She leaves her husband, who, though a native of Louisiana, is a Unionist. We have a sort of contention on political subjects whenever we meet. He wanted to bring some good Federal officers in. I told him “that he had better not try it,” and Ginnie laughingly said “if he could find a good one he might bring him in.”

January 1st [1863]. The long expected negro dinner did not come off. Banks has forbidden all public demonstrations. During Butler’s reign a great many wooden figures, painted black and wearing chains, were made for exhibition on this occasion. The programme was a procession bearing along these figures, which were to be met by the goddess of liberty, who was to break their chains. One may imagine the scene if it had only been acted out. The Ogden girls in from Greenville. Lizzie in much distress; came to tell a tale which she did not wish us to hear from others. It seems a young naval officer, attracted towards the girls from having met them on the cars, has got the family physician, Doctor Campbell, to take him to the judge’s house. The judge met the gentleman on the railroad, and, though hating the sight of a Federal officer, was weak enough to express no disapprobation of his visits. The girls fearing to hurt the old doctor’s feelings, entertained the officer to the best of their ability. The young gentleman came every day; brought books, also some of his naval friends. The judge was in distress and the girls, no matter how they felt, knew that friendly intercourse with those against whom four of their brothers are in arms, was not proper. Remarks were made by the neighbors and the Harrison family especially had been very bitter, she said. Jule, who reads novels, asserted defiantly that “no one had a right to speak of what they pleased to do; indeed, she had read of instances where passages of romantic love had passed between rebel ladies and English officers (always officers) in our first revolution.” “This is a war for the union, Lizzie,” said I, “therefore we should avoid carefully any show of entertaining union feelings; besides it is scarcely decorous to take a hand in friendship which is red with Confederate blood. If Lieutenant Hale had been a gentleman he would not have entered your house as he did, knowing that true Southerners are compromised by receiving Federals. In the next place I don’t think he would have brought you Harper’s illustrated papers, in which the Confederates come off second best, to say the least of it. If Lieutenant Hale was ill and needed help I would not hesitate to give it to him, but as a guest I would not receive him. No woman’s smile should cheer these invaders. There is a latent disrespect of us when they force their way into our houses, and we make tacit acknowledgment of want of self-respect when we receive them. I would not be rude, for rudeness in a woman is always vulgar, but you can freeze those young gentlemen with such glances and quicken them with such politely pointed remarks, that they will not wish to come again.” This I said because she was afraid they would injure their father if he should forbid them the house. The girls have little knowledge of character, but are kind and good and have all the soft instincts of a lady. Mary Harrison was in; reports a larger camp in Greenville than ever before. We told her of the supposed bitterness to the Ogdens’. It was, as I thought, a misunderstanding.

Reports of Confederate victories fill the town. There is great excitement and many women are jubilant. I, too, am glad that we are safe from conquest and desolation; each victory makes this assurance doubly sure, yet even a great victory to one’s own side is a sad thing to a lover of humanity. I accept a bloody triumph only as the least of two evils. My friends, I think, look upon me as half Yankee. They say my state of feeling is unnatural. Men’s suffering always excites me, let the men be who they may. When it comes to “oath-of-allegiance” taking, I am staunch; let me lose what I may by refusing. Only yesterday I held argument with some that they should not accept their slaves on the plea that Louisiana is a “loyal” State. I wouldn’t take mine on such a plea, because it should be our individual pride now to prove that Louisiana is not a loyal State. This is called romance. I plead with my acquaintances last summer to resist the unlawful taxation which Butler ordered. I tied up my few relics to bear to prison with me, when he ordered the police to report each inmate of households who had not taken the oath with as good faith as I ever had done anything in my life. When I see these officers I do not hide the scorn I feel. I cannot condescend to smile or render more than a haughty politeness, even though I lose my object by it, yet I am thought wavering in my faith to the Confederate cause because I can still pity the slain foe and the sufferings of the living—and because I cannot hurrah for a victory. Of course I rejoice that the Fredericksburg and Vicksburg heights have not been carried, but my heart bleeds inwardly at the bloody reports. These men have many to mourn them at home, and their love of life was as ours. It is true they need not have joined in such unholy war, yet numbers perhaps have not been moved by evil motives. There is no infatuation so baleful that good men by artful tongues cannot be brought within its influence. The human mind is a strange thing—professing forever to seek happiness and truth, it constantly immolates one and crushes out the other. Oh, these are sad days and I regret that I ever lived to see them. I hope our country will be spared an other revolution, but I doubt it. Bad politicians will never be wanting to stir up evil for the sake of gain. Since the Constitution of our forefathers has been forgotten, the security seems to have gone from everything.

December 31st [1862]. I write, this beautiful last day of December, with a heart filled with anxiety and sorrow; with my own sad history that of others mingles. Our side has gained again. The Confederate banner floats in pride and security, but who can help mourning over the details of that ghastly battle of the Rappahannock. Oh, Burnside! moral coward to lead men, the sons of women, into such a slaughter-pen to gratify a senseless president and a tyrannical giver of orders!

Our town is filled with rumors. There has been a bloody fight at Port Hudson, it is said, and the brazen cannon which we have so often seen dragged through these streets have all been taken by our Confederate troops. Banks has ordered the return of the Federal troops sent up the river so proudly and confidently a short while ago, but it is reported that they are so surrounded by the Confederates that they cannot extricate themselves. It is rumored that we are to have a negro insurrection in the New Year (New Year’s Day). The Federal Provost-Marshal has given orders that the disarmed Confederates may now arm again and shoot down the turbulent negroes (like dogs). This after inciting them by every means to rise and slay their masters. I feel no fear, but many are in great alarm. I have had no fear of physical ill through all this dreary summer of imprisonment, but it may come at last. Fires are frequent—it is feared that incendiaries are at work. Last night was both cold and windy. The bells rang out and the streets resounded with cries. I awoke from sleep and said, “Perhaps the moment has come.” Well, well, perhaps it is scarcely human to be without fear. I wonder my Ginnie and I cannot feel as others do—whether we suffer too much in heart to fear in body, or whether we lack that realizing sense of danger which forces us to prepare for it. Mrs. Norton has a hatchet, a tomahawk, and a vial of some kind of spirits with which she intends to blind all invaders. We have made no preparations, but if the worst happen we will die bravely no doubt.

The cars passed furiously twice about midnight, or later; we were all awaked by sounds so unusual. There are patrols all over the city and every preparation has been made to meet the insurrectionists. I indeed expect no rising now, though some of the Federals preach to the negroes in the churches, calling on them to “sweep us away forever.” General Banks is not like Butler; he will protect us. The generality of the soldiers hate the negroes and subject them to great abuse whenever they can. This poor, silly race has been made a tool of—enticed from their good homes and induced to insult their masters. They now lie about, destitute and miserable, without refuge and without hope. They die in numbers and the city suffers from their innumerable thefts.

Christmas passed off quietly, and, to us, sadly. The ladies gave a pleasant dinner to the Confederate prisoners of war now in the city. Rumors from Lafourche that Weitzel has been defeated. His resignation was sent on the Spaulding, but has not been received yet by the President. He resigns, they say, to marry an heiress, Miss Gaskett. She, a Creole of Louisiana, consents to marry one who has spent months in command of soldiers who have been desolating her country.

December 20th [1862].

The Ladies’ Farewell To Brutal Ferocity Butler.

We fill this cup to one made up

Of beastliness alone,

The caitiff of his dastard crew,

The seeming paragon,

Who had a coward heart bestowed,

And brutal instincts given

In fiendish mirth, then spawned on earth

To shame the God of Heaven;

His every tone is murder’s own

Like those unhallowed birds

Who feed on corpses, and the lie

Dwells ever in his words.

His very face a living curse

To mankind’s lofty state,

Marked with the stain of branded Cain,

None knew him but to hate.

Fair woman’s fame he makes his game,

On children wreaks his spite,

A tyrant mid his bayonets,

He never dared to fight.

Think you a mother’s holy smile

Ere beamed for him? Ah, no.

The jackal nursed the whelp accursed,

Humanity’s worst foe.

On every hand, in every land

The scoundrel is despised,

In Butler’s name the foulest wrongs

And crimes are all comprised.

‘Twill live the sign of infamy

Unto time’s utmost verge,

Ages unborn will tell in scorn,

Of him, as mankind’s scourge.

We fill this cup to one made up

Of beastliness alone;

The vampire of his Yankee crew,

The lauded paragon.

Farewell and if in h—l there dwell

A demon such as thou

Then Satan yield thy scepter up—

Thy mission’s over now.

I copied this parody of Pickney’s beautiful poem almost in sorrow, to see anything so filled with sweet and tender fancies so desecrated, but these things are waifs borne on the wind, indicating whence they blow, and, as such, are valuable. The town of late has been flooded with things of this kind. Bank’s arrival and Butler’s disgrace has created a vent for a long pent-up disgust. It would have been nobler, perhaps, to have had these papers circulated while Butler was here in power, but men cannot indulge in such pastimes when cruel balls and chains and dark prison forts are waiting for them. Butler then, after his long, disgusting stay here has been compelled to yield his place, his sword, and much of his stolen property.

General Banks has, so far, by equitable rule commanded the respect of his enemies. We know him as an enemy, it is true, but an honest and respectable one. Every rich man is not his especial foe, to be robbed for his benefit. Butler left on the steamer Spaulding, was accompanied to the wharf by a large crowd, to which he took off his hat. There was not one hurrah, not one sympathizing cry went up for him from the vast crowd which went to see him off—a silent rebuke. I wonder if he felt it!

Ginnie saw Julia Ann in the street to-day; did not speak but watched her closely. She left us during the summer, having previously stolen money from our box. We had so spoiled her that she would not take the trouble to answer unless she pleased. She pouted always, and passed all of her time in the street. She was persuaded off by a policeman’s wife. She had been with us ever since an infant—about our person—and was consequently associated with much that is past and dear. Though she behaved ill often, we would not allow her to be punished, and the day she ran away was as unhappy a one as I ever passed, though I tried to conceal my feelings from the other servants. Some days after her flight a policeman took her up in the street and was about to convey her to jail. She preferred being brought to us, she said, and we gave the man ten dollars to leave her here, as she cried and appeared to be repentant. She stayed at Mrs. Waugh’s, where we were obliged to place her near us, just three days. We had not even cast a reproach upon her for her behavior, but encouraged her in every way. Mrs. Norton wanted us to let her go to jail and when she ran away again I believe felt much triumph over us for our continued confidence in her. We had made every effort to bring Julie up an honorable and even high-toned woman, but she preferred lying to confidence, stealing to asking, and a life of vagrancy to a respectable and comfortable one. I have learned this lesson both from experience and observation that negroes only respect those they fear.

Heard to-day of the existence of a negro society here called the “vaudo” (I believe). All who join it promise secrecy on pain of death. Naked men and women dance around a huge snake and the room is suddenly filled with lizards and other reptiles. The snake represents the devil which these creatures worship and fear. The existence of such a thing in New Orleans is hard to believe. I had read of such a thing in a book which Doctor Cartwright gave us, but he is so imaginary and such a determined theorist that I treated it almost as a jest. The thing is a living fact. The police have broken up such dens, but their belief and forms of worship are a secret. These people would be savages again if free. I find that no negroes discredit the power of the snake; those who do not join the society abstain from fear and not from want of faith.

Copied into the Journal:

Butler And His Brother.

Two brothers came to New Orleans,

Both were the name of “Butler,”

The one was Major-General,

The other only Sutler.

The first made proclamations,

That were fearful to behold;

While the sutler dealt out rations,

And took his pay in gold

From women that were starving,

When the Yankee Doodles came;

This was his way of carving out

The road that leads to fame.

The sutler had some excuse,

The truth I’ll not smother;

While making money like the deuce,

He gave one half to Brother.

Chorus:

Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah,

The ass and mule will bray,

The Rebels think that ev’ry dog

Is bound to have his day.

A letter to Mrs. Shepherd Brown:

New Orleans, Nov. 17th, 1862.

Dear Mrs. B–––:

I have nothing to say, and might not say it if I did have it, for you know there is a heaviness prevailing in this latitude, which is not favorable to expansion of idea. I only send a line to remind you that I live and wish you to remember me. A dull and heavy anxiety has settled upon us. We hear nothing upon which we can rely, and know nothing to which we can cling with comfort. Those who come in say there is much joy beyond the lines, but no one can give the why and wherefore. In the meantime we are leading the lives which women have lead since Troy fell; wearing away time with memories, regrets and fears; alternating fits of suppression, with flights, imaginary, to the red fields where great principles are contended for, lost and won; while men, more privileged, are abroad and astir, making name and fortune and helping to make a nation. There was a frolic on board the English ship a few nights since for the benefit, the Delta says, of Secession women. I did not go, though Miss Betty Callender offered her services in the way of invitation. I am told that the contraband “bonny-blue flag” waved freely over seas of red wine and promontories of sugar-work. The ship represents secessiondom just now; it has not a stronghold in the city. Many a lady opened her vial of wrath, I suppose, for all were told that freedom of speech should be the order of the night. There was acting and dancing, and fish, flesh and fowl suffered in the name of our cause. Toasts were drunk to our great spirits to whom it seems the destiny of a nation is entrusted. How my heart warms to the weary, battle-stained heroes. I never fancied carpet knights even before the stern trial came.

I can’t tell you what a life of suppression we lead. I feel it more because I know and feel all that is going on outside. I am like a pent-up volcano. I wish I had a field for my energies. I hate common life, a life of visiting, dressing and tattling, which seems to devolve on women, and now that there is better work to do, real tragedy, real romance and history weaving every day, I suffer, suffer, leading the life I do.

The Episcopal clergy are true. Three have been sent to prison, the rest are under marching orders. When the ship was leaving, Mr. Fulton’s last cry was, “When I return the Confederate flag will wave over New Orleans. Hurrah for Jeff Davis!” You will feel an interest I hope in my poor, dilapidated brother if you see him. He looks rough because he neglects his appearance, but there is no truer gentleman than he, no truer, braver or less selfish. I long so to see him and render the service he must need with only one arm. Things go on just as they did. Daily life presents the same food for sorrowful reflection. Tiger, Jake and Emma hold their own within doors, and nothing has happened to prevent us from parading the streets without. A shrill horn breaks often upon my sad speculations. I rush out perhaps and sometimes find a train of striped and bestarred cavalry and sometimes only an orange cart. “What an age we live in,” says philosophy, and goes in again to repine and wonder. The Advocate was suppressed an hour or two ago, but the pliant Jacob made haste to smooth his phrases. A quarrel is reported between the French admiral and the General. There has been a great commotion about the money sent from the New Orleans bank. Lemore has gone to prison and some others. Where are our people? Can’t you contrive to let me into the secret, if you have any? You can’t read if I keep on, so good-bye, with best wishes to all.

Ever your friend,

J. E. LeGrand.

A letter to Mrs. Chilton:

New Orleans, Nov. 17th, 1862.

Dear Mrs. Chilton:

I have sent you two or three letters and though I have once had a line from you, you did not acknowledge the receipt of anything from me. I would have written oftener, but I always feel that it is almost unkind to burden anyone with a line now-a-days, and besides I am so unfortunate both in small and great things that I feel as if I risked the letters of other people by enclosing mine with them. I would give much to see you all and more to meet you without anxiety and dread upon your mind. I feel heavy-hearted always and would be glad to creep into a cave even, to forget and be at rest. I have looked anxiously to hear more of Claude, poor worn-out wreck. How I long to see him! I pity him all the time. How can he perform the commonest services for himself now. I long to go to sister in Texas, and if Claude is sure of returning to Hinds, will press through to meet him. I have some money owing me here which I cannot get until next month. I should like to take it with me for I have a great horror of being left somewhere in a strange place without this arm of protection. If that long journey were only over. I long so to see my sister. I feel great anxiety for her just now. I wonder why G–– was not burned instead of being abandoned. You used to doubt my feelings, but it was because you did not understand them. I have met no one whose ideas of defense were more stringent than my own. I would give up all, sacrifice all to honor. What is a city compared to a city’s good name. I was in a rage and frenzy last spring; I was so much before the hitherto most violent people that I hardly knew where I was. The love of housetops prevailed to a degree that I had never formed the most distant idea. The housetops were preserved intact and we are all reaping the benefit of what they shelter. Yet I feel just as I used to do, that this honor and truth do not belong to any land exclusively. I have had ample proof of this. Men of Northern birth here have gone to prison as bravely and nobly as any, while our own people have been in many instances recreant. It is a safe philosophy which teaches us a love for the good and hatred of the bad of all lands, and a resistance to the death of all invaders. I ache to think of all the horrors that have fallen and that are yet to fall. There is no hope left in me. I do not talk much, but the suppressed life of pain which I lead is enough to kill a stronger person. We lead a lonely, anxious life and are sick most always. Come what will, you must think of us always as friends of the old time. I think of the old, old time before all of the illusions faded until my heart feels like breaking. Be kind to my poor dilapidated soldier, should he return to you. Give love to each and all of the children. Tell Charley that I am gratified to see that he remembers us. Tell him I have heard alarming reports of him—is he about to surrender his freedom? I would be in at the death if I knew when the solemn sacrifice is to be made. There was a great frolic on board the English ship, the Rinaldo, a few nights ago. The contraband flag waved freely over seas of red wine and promontories of sugar-work. Mr. F–– , of the little Sanctuary, made I thought a dreadful concession last spring and I never went to hear him afterward. He was married, unhappily, I think, about two months ago. Latterly he has acted quite a bold part and is now in a prison at the North. He called from the ship as he went off: “When I come back the Confederate flag will wave over New Orleans. Hurrah for Jeff Davis!”

J. E. Le Grand.

October 22nd [1862]. Sent this note, or got Mrs. Richardson, who has great influence with the Federals, to do it for me:

General Shepley:

Sir: Some months ago I enclosed to Mrs. S. N. Chilton, a sister of Mrs. Shepherd Brown, eighty dollars. The envelope containing the money was given by Mrs. Brown to a Mr. Burkett, who was afterwards arrested for matters wholly unconnected with it. I applied to General Weitzel, who promised to procure the money and leave it with my friend, Doctor Cartwright. Since that time I have heard nothing of it.

Eighty dollars is a sum which is a mere nothing to a Government authority, but ’tis really something to a gentlewoman, away from her connections, who has been surprised by a blockade. I hope General Shepley will suffer me to remind him that no matter of justice is too small to be regarded by one who wishes to represent a kindly Government.

Respectfully,

J. E. LeGrand.

Afterward called to see General Shepley; got promises and nothing more, as might have been expected. Federals, in the city at least, don’t disgorge. General Shepley is a deceitful-looking, querulous man, but has the ambition to be thought a gentleman, and therefore does not show off with Butler’s brutal and theatrical manner.

Packing up to go to Mississippi City with Mrs. Norton and Mrs. Dameron.

Later: Disappointed, no passports, those given by General, or Governor Shepley as they call him, proving worthless, Butler having refused to place his glorious autograph to one for less than a clear thousand or two—sub-rosa.

New Orleans, May 9th [1862]. It has been long since we heard from our dear brother, for the letters I sent to his last encampment must have failed to reach him, and of late have had no means of communicating with him. I would have told him of events which have come to pass in this city at the time of their passing, but I have been too excited to take orderly note of anything. Before he sees this, if ever he does, he will have heard of the surrender of the city. A pitiful affair it has been. In the first place, Lovell, a most worthless creature, was sent here by Davis to superintend the defense of this city. He did little or nothing and the little he did was all wrong. Duncan, the really gallant defender of Fort Jackson, could get nothing that he needed, though he continually applied to Lovell. Only a few guns at the fort worked at all, but these were gallantly used for the defense of the city. The fort is uninjured and could have held out till our great ram, the Mississippi, was finished, but a traitor sent word to the commander of the Federal fleet to hasten, which he did, and our big gun, our only hope, was burned before our eyes to prevent her from falling into Federal bands. First and last then, this city, the most important one in the Confederacy, has fallen, and Yankee troops are drilling and parading in our streets. Poor New Orleans! What has become of all your promised greatness! In looking through an old trunk, I came across a letter of my father to my Uncle Thomas, in which, as far back as 1836, he prophesied a noble future for you. What would he say now to see you dismantled and lying low under the heel of the invader! I am going to write this letter of my father’s here in my journal. [See Letter, p. 17.]

Behold, what has now come to the city! Never can I forget the day that the alarm bell rang. I never felt so hopeless and forsaken. The wretched generals, left here with our troops, ran away and left them. Lovell knew not what to do; some say he was intoxicated, some say frightened. Of course the greatest confusion prevailed, and every hour, indeed almost every moment, brought its dreadful rumor. After it was known that the gunboats had actually passed, the whole city, both camp and street, was a scene of wild confusion. The women only did not seem afraid. They were all in favor of resistance, no matter how hopeless that resistance might be. The second day matters wore a more favorable aspect, and the Mayor and the City Council assumed a dignified position toward the enemy. Flag Officer Farragut demanded the unconditional surrender of the town. He was told that as brute force, and brute force only, gave him the power that he might come and take it. He then demanded that we, with our own hands, pull down the flag of Louisiana. This I am happy to say, was refused. Four days we waited, expecting to be shelled, but he concluded to waive the point; so he marched in his marines with two cannons and our flag was taken down and the old stars and stripes lifted in a dead silence. We made a great mistake here; we should have shot the man that brought down the flag, and as long as there was a house-top in the city left, it should have been hoisted. The French and English lay in the Gulf and a French frigate came up the river to protect French subjects.

Farragut allowed the women and children but forty-eight hours to leave the city, but the foreign consuls demanded a much longer time to move the people of their respective nations. If we had been staunch and dared them to shell, the Confederacy would have been saved. The brutal threat would never have been carried out, for England and France would never have allowed it. The delay would have enabled us to finish our boat, and besides a resistance would have showed the enemy and foreign nations, too, what stuff we were made of and how very much we were in earnest. I never wished anything so much in my life as for resistance here. I felt no fear—only excitement. The ladies of the town signed a paper, praying that it should never be given up. We went down to put our names on the list, and met the marines marching up to the City Hall with their cannon in front of them. The blood boiled in my veins— I felt no fear—only anger. I forgot myself and called out several times: “Gentlemen, don’t let the State Flag come down,” and, “Oh, how can you men stand it?” Mrs. Norton was afraid of me, I believe, for she hurried me off. I have forgotten to mention—at first, the Germans at the fort mutinied and turned their guns on their officers. In the first place, several gunboats had passed the fort at night because a traitor had failed to give the signal. He was tried and shot, and Duncan telegraphed to the city that no more should pass—then came a report that the Yankee vessels were out of powder and coal and they could not get back to their transports which they had expected to follow them. We were quite jubilant at the idea of keeping them in a sort of imprisonment, and this we could have done but for the German mutineers. The wives of these men were allowed to visit the fort, and they represented the uselessness of the struggle, because the city had already surrendered. They were told, too, that Duncan intended to blow up the fort over their heads rather than surrender. So they spiked their cannon and threatened the lives of their officers and then the Yankee fleet poured up. These people have complimented us highly. To quell a small “rebellion,” they have made preparations enough to conquer a world. This is a most cowardly struggle—these people can do nothing without gunboats. Beauregard in Tennessee can get no battle from them where they are protected by these huge block steamers. These passive instruments do their fighting for them. It is at best a dastardly way to fight. We should have had gunboats if the Government had been efficient, wise or earnest. We have lost our city, the key to this great valley, and my opinion is that we will never, never get it more, except by treaty. Many think otherwise. The most tantalizing rumors reach us daily (though the papers are not allowed to print our news, we hear it). We have heard that Stonewall Jackson has surprised and taken Washington City; that Beauregard has had a splendid victory in Tennessee; and our other generals have annihilated the enemy in Virginia. Sometimes we are elated, but most generally depressed.

My dear, dear brother! We are filled with anxiety for him! Even if he is spared through this fight, when and where can we see him again! I feel wretched to think of his hardships and loneliness, hearing nothing from home. I hope he is not uneasy about us—for we are to leave the city with kind friends—and sister Matilda is in a safe place. Mail communication is cut off. I hope he is not anxious because he does not hear.

This is a cruel war. These people are treated with the greatest haughtiness by the upper classes and rudeness by the lower. They know how they are hated and hang their heads. Shopkeepers refuse to sell to them, and the traitor who hurried them up the river has to have a guard. Public buildings have been seized by the troops, but so far the civil government has not been interfered with. I think their plan is to conciliate if possible. The cotton and sugar have been burned; that is one comfort, and the work of destruction still goes on on the plantations. I shall never forget the long, dreadful night when we sat with our friends and watched the flames from all sorts of valuables as the gunboats were coming up the river.

My dear brother! If I could only, only hear from him! If I could only see him for but a little while! And if I could be near enough to get to him if he were wounded—I would be content. Thoughts of the long ago fill my heart as I write, and I feel that he may not even be alive while I do so. I long so for his safety and do not care for distinction. Oh, if we were only all safe and together in some quiet land where there would be no war, no government even to make war! I long to be rid of the evil and suffering which spring from the passions of men! Clap-trap sentiments and political humbugs! I almost hate the word “Flag” even!

Mrs. Norton and all our friends are so kind to us and we are safe in their hands. Billy Ogden is with Claude, and his brother Abner, who served at Fort Jackson, is on parole. He is much grieved at the surrender of the Fort. No one can leave the city without a pass. How I am ever to get this I don’t know. Mrs. Brown told me to write tonight and she would try to get a letter through for me to Claude. I am told that a stand will be made at Vicksburg. They are working hard at batteries there. They will at least delay the gunboats until we can do something that we wish. About their having the whole river, that is of course only a question of time. Fort Pillow will fall, if it has not already done so. Our only hope now is from our soldiers in the field, and this brings me to my dear brother again and all he will have to endure. Sometimes I feel that nothing is worth such sacrifice. These States may divide and fight one another, too, sometime. This war has shaken my faith. Nothing is secure if the passions and follies of men can intermeddle. Often, though, I feel that these insolent invaders with their bragging, should be conquered—come what will. Better to die than to be under their rule. The Yankees have established strict quarantine. The people of the town are frightening them terribly with tales about the yellow fever. We are compelled to laugh at the frequent amusing accounts we hear of the way in which they are treated by boys, Irish women, and the lower classes generally. Mr. Soulé refused General Butler’s hand (they were old friends), remarking that their intercourse must now be purely official. Our Mayor has behaved with great dignity. Butler says he will be revenged for the treatment he and his troops have received here—so he will, I expect, if matters go against us in other places. There is some fear that the city will need provisions very much. The country people won’t send in anything; they are so angry about the surrender. The Texas drovers who were almost here as soon as they heard of it, sold their cattle for little or nothing just where they were and went home again. I wish we were all safe back there again. I don’t think Texas will ever be conquered.

God bless my dear brother; God protect him and let us meet once more. I do not feel anxious about sister Tilly, only him. I hope he will send us a line whenever he can. I hope he will inquire about returning soldiers and not let one come in without trying to send us a line to say he is well. Letters directed to Mrs. Chilton or Charley in Hinds County reach us. But I must be careful how I write; it may reach other eyes. Oh, to say good-night to my poor brother. Ginnie is not well. Our love to our brother from Jule.