April 8.—Arrived at Okolona, Miss., this morning. We are still sixty miles from Corinth. When we alighted at the depot, we were told that there were no hotels to go to. As it had been raining for some time very hard, all about us looked as cheerless as possible. Our prospects, as may be supposed, were gloomy enough. While in this perplexity, each one giving an opinion as to what we had best do, word was brought us that the citizens of the place, hearing of our arrival and mission, had opened their houses for our reception, and many sent carriages to take us to their homes.
As the good people of Mobile have provided us with comforts and delicacies of all kinds for the soldiers, our failure to reach Corinth is a sad disappointment. The stories which we hear of the suffering and almost starving condition of our men aggravate it still more.
The people here can tell us little or nothing about the battle, except that one has been fought. How our forces have come out of it, they have not learned.
Several of our party, myself included, are domiciled with an excellent family by the name of Haughton, consisting of an old lady, her young daughter Lucy, and two pretty girls, her granddaughters. They are extending to us true southern hospitality.
We were all exhausted by loss of sleep, disappointment, and anxiety, and hence did not go to the cars when they passed at 11 A. M. Mrs. H’s two granddaughters went down, and, upon their return, informed us that the cars were filled with the wounded on their way to Mobile and other points. Among other items, there is a report that Captain Ketchum is killed, and all his men are either killed or captured; that the Twenty-first Alabama Regiment has been cut to pieces. I was never more wretched in my life! I can see nothing before me but my slaughtered brother, and the bleeding and mangled forms of his dying comrades, and the men of the gallant Twenty-first Alabama, whom I had seen leave Mobile but a few weeks ago so full of life and hope—many of whom were mere boys. The battle was fought at Shiloh, about twelve miles from Corinth. We had gained a victory, but at a great sacrifice. I tried to comfort myself and trust in God, assured that he was doing all for the best. O, if they would only let us go on! I feel certain that we could help the poor wounded sufferers.
It is raining in torrents. Nature seems to have donned her most somber garb, and to be weeping in anguish for the loss of so many of her noblest sons.
About midnight a train came down. I jumped up, and awoke Miss Mary Wolf. Hurriedly dressing ourselves, we took a servant and started down to see if we could hear any thing. I felt confident we should meet other ladies there as anxious as ourselves. I was not mistaken, for we had not gone far when we met a number returning from the train. It was a car sent down to get negroes to build fortifications.
