Monday, 23d [March]. I was very unwell, and it poured down rain all day—a real equinox. Sat pretty much in my room, hearing Mrs. Norton through the open door fretting about not being able to go out and make some visits, and talking about the negroes and the Yankees alternately. I feel all the time as if she feels we ought to be with her and amuse her. I so often nowadays recall scenes and feelings of Frances Burney at Court. Her longing to go—her useless sacrifice of herself and her struggles between a longing for a more congenial society and a fancied gratitude. Read a little and wrote a little and sighed a great deal today. Went to bed, but as it was storming still and Mrs. Norton did not feel sleepy, she talked to us in bed and made every possible noise and inquiry so as to keep us awake. We were both so exhausted by a previous sleeplessness and sickness that I could not show much agreeability in my tone of voice. I am quite ready for any demand upon my friendship and will go to the death for those I love, but I resent being made use of. Mrs. Norton is sensitive to the slightest change in tone from another, and resents it as a wrong done her, though she does not yield her own prerogative in saying whatever she pleases. Indeed, I have a very kind feeling for her, and I pity her age and infirmities. I only feel more fully than ever that people who have nothing in common should never, under any circumstances, live together.
Tuesday broke beautifully clear; soon clouded; poured down again, and even hailed. I had terrible headache and aching of limbs all night— could not get up to breakfast. Ginnie brought me some tea, and seemed so concerned about me, and indeed, looked so very badly herself, that I got up and dressed. I went out on the balcony and helped pick up the unusual hailstones, though stooping was hard work indeed. I had to lie down again and did not go out to see Mr. Randolph, though he sat the morning with Ginnie and Mrs. Norton. He comes often to see if he can aid us in any way— and he would do anything for us—unconditionally, too. Within the last week he has had another child born to him. He regrets that it is not a boy. He was so anxious to call it “Rebel” Randolph. He could call his girl “Rebellion” or “Rebellia,” he says, but cannot bear anything that seems to make a girl or woman conspicuous. I like this sentiment; it accords with his usual ones; he is really brave and manly, and in everything shows tenderness to women and unfortunates. Ginnie’s eyes have been very much inflamed of late, and she has been wearing green glasses. I told an acquaintance that they were as red as blood, meaning the lids, and the report, wonderfully exaggerated, reached our friends at Greenville, and brought them to see us. Mr. Randolph says there was much sympathy and excitement out there as they heard Ginnie’s eyes were running blood, and that she had lost them entirely. So much for report. Thousands of rumors fill the city. The newspapers are a dead waste; they tell nothing. I know from a gentleman who really does know, that Banks, before he left, said, that if any publisher interfered with his actions or proceedings, he would “see to it.” Brashear City has been taken by the Confederates, and Banks, upon his return from Baton Rouge, hurried up to that region, taking the vessels which remained here. They have seized all the cars. There seems to be a great excitement and expectation among our people. We know not what a day may bring forth, and lie down at night not knowing what may happen before morning. Reuben, Mary’s husband, has had a cart here and has removed all Mary’s things and his own. I want to go out and talk to Mary—to beg her not to go away—but Mrs. Norton does not like to have us talk with her servants, and I do not know as I ought to listen to all that she would say about her mistress. I have begged Jane to talk to her, for I know that Mary is acting from the promptings of temper and that she will be sorry for it afterward. I begged Jane to do her duty, and that she would be rewarded for it after this time of desolation is over. That Jane goes out at night without her mistress’ knowledge, I am positive, but I think she is lonely and unhappy here. Farragut reported to be positively a prisoner; the Hartford positively taken, and so is also the Albatross; and Stonewall is positively outside, and the Confederates positively about to attack. I feel a little nervous thrill, but it soon dies out.
