June 28th.
I am afraid I shall be nervous when the moment of the bombardment actually arrives. This suspense is not calculated to soothe one’s nerves. A few moments since, a salute was fired in honor of General Butler’s arrival, when women, children, and servants rushed to the front of the houses, confident of a repetition of the shelling which occurred a month ago to-day. The children have not forgotten the scene, for they all actually howled with fear. Poor little Sarah stopped her screams to say, “Mother, don’t you wish we was dogs ‘stead o’ white folks?” in such piteous accents that we had to laugh. Don’t I wish I was a dog! Sarah is right. I don’t know if I showed my uneasiness a while ago, but certainly my heart has hardly yet ceased beating rather rapidly. If I knew what moment to expect the stampede, I would not mind; but this way — to expect it every instant — it is too much! Again, if I knew where we could go for refuge from the shells! —
A window banging unexpectedly just then gave me a curious twinge; not that I thought it Was the signal, oh, dear, no! I just thought — what, I wonder? Pshaw “Picayune Butler’s coming, coming” has upset my nervous system. He interrupted me in the middle of my arithmetic; and I have not the energy to resume my studies. I shall try what effect an hour’s practice will have on my spirits, and will see that I have a pair of clean stockings in my stampede sack, and that the fastenings of my “running-bag” are safe. Though if I expect to take either, I should keep in harness constantly. How long, O Lord! how long?
