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Title: Famous Adventures And Prison Escapes of the Civil War
Author: Various
Editor: G.W. Cable
Release Date: July 6, 2006 [EBook #18765]
Language: English
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[Illustration: QUESTIONING A PRISONER.]
FAMOUS ADVENTURES
AND PRISON ESCAPES
OF THE CIVIL WAR
[Illustration]
NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO.
1913
Copyright 1885, 1888, 1889, 1890, 1891, 1893, by
THE CENTURY CO.
CONTENTS
PAGE
WAR DIARY OF A UNION WOMAN IN THE SOUTH 1
THE LOCOMOTIVE CHASE IN GEORGIA 83
A ROMANCE OF MORGAN'S ROUGH-RIDERS 116
COLONEL ROSE'S TUNNEL AT LIBBY PRISON 184
A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL OUT OF DIXIE 243
ESCAPE OF GENERAL BRECKINRIDGE 298
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
QUESTIONING A PRISONER Frontispiece
THE LOCOMOTIVE CHASE 85
GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN 117
MAP OF THE MORGAN RAID 118
THE FARMER FROM CALFKILLER CREEK 123
GENERAL DUKE TESTS THE PIES 125
HOSPITALITIES OF THE FARM 131
LOOKING FOR THE FOOTPRINTS OF THE VAN 137
CORRIDOR AND CELLS IN THE OHIO STATE PENITENTIARY--CAPTAIN
HINES'S CELL 161
EXTERIOR OF THE PRISON--EXIT FROM TUNNEL 163
WITHIN THE WOODEN GATE 167
OVER THE PRISON WALL 171
"HURRY UP, MAJOR!" 175
CAPTAIN HINES OBJECTS 178
COLONEL THOMAS E. ROSE 185
A CORNER OF LIBBY PRISON 187
LIBBY PRISON IN 1865 189
MAJOR A.G. HAMILTON 191
LIBBY PRISON IN 1884 197
LIBERTY! 223
FIGHTING THE RATS 230
SECTION OF INTERIOR OF LIBBY PRISON AND TUNNEL 233
GROUND-PLAN OF LIBBY PRISON AND SURROUNDINGS 235
LIEUTENANTS E.E. SILL AND A.T. LAMSON 255
WE ARRIVE AT HEADEN'S 263
THE ESCAPE OF HEADEN 271
GREENVILLE JAIL 277
PINK BISHOP AT THE STILL 283
ARRIVAL HOME OF THE BAPTIST MINISTER 285
SURPRISED AT MRS. KITCHEN'S 291
THE MEETING WITH THE SECOND OHIO HEAVY ARTILLERY 295
SAND AS A DEFENSE AGAINST MOSQUITOS 307
SEARCHING FOR TURTLES' EGGS 310
THROUGH A SHALLOW LAGOON 313
EXCHANGING THE BOAT FOR THE SLOOP 315
OVER A CORAL-REEF 325
A ROUGH NIGHT IN THE GULF STREAM 331
FAMOUS ADVENTURES AND PRISON ESCAPES OF THE CIVIL WAR
WAR DIARY OF A UNION WOMAN IN THE SOUTH
EDITED BY G.W. CABLE
The following diary was originally written in lead-pencil and in a book
the leaves of which were too soft to take ink legibly. I have it direct
from the hands of its writer, a lady whom I have had the honor to know
for nearly thirty years. For good reasons the author's name is omitted,
and the initials of people and the names of places are sometimes
fictitiously given. Many of the persons mentioned were my own
acquaintances and friends. When, some twenty years afterward, she first
resolved to publish it, she brought me a clear, complete copy in ink. It
had cost much trouble, she said; for much of the pencil writing had been
made under such disadvantages and was so faint that at times she could
decipher it only under direct sunlight. She had succeeded, however, in
making a copy, _verbatim_ except for occasional improvement in the
grammatical form of a sentence, or now and then the omission, for
brevity's sake, of something unessential. The narrative has since been
severely abridged to bring it within magazine limits.
In reading this diary one is much charmed with its constant
understatement of romantic and perilous incidents and conditions. But
the original penciled pages show that, even in copying, the strong bent
of the writer to be brief has often led to the exclusion of facts that
enhance the interest of exciting situations, and sometimes the omission
robs her own heroism of due emphasis. I have restored one example of
this in a foot-note following the perilous voyage down the Mississippi.
G.W. CABLE.
I
SECESSION
_New Orleans, Dec. 1, 1860._--I understand it now. Keeping journals is
for those who cannot, or dare not, speak out. So I shall set up a
journal, being only a rather lonely young girl in a very small and hated
minority. On my return here in November, after a foreign voyage and
absence of many months, I found myself behind in knowledge of the
political conflict, but heard the dread sounds of disunion and war
muttered in threatening tones. Surely no native-born woman loves her
country better than I love America. The blood of one of its
Revolutionary patriots flows in my veins, and it is the Union for which
he pledged his "life, fortune, and sacred honor" that I love, not any
divided or special section of it. So I have been reading attentively
and seeking light from foreigners and natives on all questions at issue.
Living from birth in slave countries, both foreign and American, and
passing through one slave insurrection in early childhood, the saddest
and also the pleasantest features of slavery have been familiar. If the
South goes to war for slavery, slavery is doomed in this country. To say
so is like opposing one drop to a roaring torrent.
_Sunday, Dec. ----, 1860._--In this season for peace I had hoped for a lull
in the excitement, yet this day has been full of bitterness. "Come, G.,"
said Mrs. ---- at breakfast, "leave _your_ church for to-day and come
with us to hear Dr. ---- on the situation. He will convince you." "It is
good to be convinced," I said; "I will go." The church was crowded to
suffocation with the elite of New Orleans. The preacher's text was,
"Shall we have fellowship with the stool of iniquity which frameth
mischief as a law?" ... The sermon was over at last, and then followed a
prayer.... Forever blessed be the fathers of the Episcopal Church for
giving us a fixed liturgy! When we met at dinner Mrs. F. exclaimed,
"Now, G., you heard him prove from the Bible that slavery is right and
that therefore secession is. Were you not convinced?" I said, "I was so
busy thinking how completely it proved too that Brigham Young is right
about polygamy that it quite weakened the force of the argument for me."
This raised a laugh, and covered my retreat.
_Jan. 26, 1861._--The solemn boom of cannon to-day announced that the
convention have passed the ordinance of secession. We must take a reef
in our patriotism and narrow it down to State limits. Mine still sticks
out all around the borders of the State. It will be bad if New Orleans
should secede from Louisiana and set up for herself. Then indeed I would
be "cabined, cribbed, confined." The faces in the house are jubilant
to-day. Why is it so easy for them and not for me to "ring out the old,
ring in the new"? I am out of place.
_Jan. 28, Monday._--Sunday has now got to be a day of special
excitement. The gentlemen save all the sensational papers to regale us
with at the late Sunday breakfast. Rob opened the battle yesterday
morning by saying to me in his most aggressive manner, "G., I believe
these are your sentiments"; and then he read aloud an article from the
"Journal des Debats" expressing in rather contemptuous terms the fact
that France will follow the policy of non-intervention. When I answered,
"Well, what do you expect? This is not their quarrel," he raved at me,
ending by a declaration that he would willingly pay my passage to
foreign parts if I would like to go. "Rob," said his father, "keep cool;
don't let that threat excite you. Cotton is king. Just wait till they
feel the pinch a little; their tone will change." I went to Trinity
Church. Some Union people who are not Episcopalians go there now because
the pastor has not so much chance to rail at the Lord when things are
not going to suit. But yesterday was a marked Sunday. The usual prayer
for the President and Congress was changed to the "governor and people
of this commonwealth and their representatives in convention assembled."
The city was very lively and noisy this evening with rockets and lights
in honor of secession. Mrs. F., in common with the neighbors,
illuminated. We walked out to see the houses of others gleaming amid the
dark shrubbery like a fairy scene. The perfect stillness added to the
effect, while the moon rose slowly with calm splendor. We hastened home
to dress for a soiree but on the stairs Edith said, "G., first come and
help me dress Phoebe and Chloe [the negro servants]. There is a ball
to-night in aristocratic colored society. This is Chloe's first
introduction to New Orleans circles, and Henry Judson, Phoebe's husband,
gave five dollars for a ticket for her." Chloe is a recent purchase from
Georgia. We superintended their very stylish toilets, and Edith said,
"G., run into your room, please, and write a pass for Henry. Put Mr.
D.'s name to it." "Why, Henry is free," I said. "That makes no
difference; all colored people must have a pass if out late. They choose
a master for protection, and always carry his pass. Henry chose Mr. D.,
but he's lost the pass he had."
II
THE VOLUNTEERS--FORT SUMTER
_Feb. 24, 1861._--The toil of the week is ended. Nearly a month has
passed since I wrote here. Events have crowded upon one another. On the
4th the cannon boomed in honor of Jefferson Davis's election, and day
before yesterday Washington's birthday was made the occasion of another
grand display and illumination, in honor of the birth of a new nation
and the breaking of that Union which he labored to cement. We drove to
the race-course to see the review of troops. A flag was presented to the
Washington Artillery by ladies. Senator Judah Benjamin made an
impassioned speech. The banner was orange satin on one side, crimson
silk on the other, the pelican and brood embroidered in pale green and
gold. Silver crossed cannon surmounted it, orange-colored fringe
surrounded it, and crimson tassels drooped from it. It was a brilliant,
unreal scene; with military bands clashing triumphant music, elegant
vehicles, high-stepping horses, and lovely women richly appareled.
Wedding-cards have been pouring in till the contagion has reached us;
Edith will be married next Thursday. The wedding-dress is being
fashioned, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen have arrived. Edith has
requested me to be special mistress of ceremonies on Thursday evening,
and I have told this terrible little rebel, who talks nothing but blood
and thunder, yet faints at the sight of a worm, that if I fill that
office no one shall mention war or politics during the whole evening, on
pain of expulsion.
_March 10, 1861._--The excitement in this house has risen to fever-heat
during the past week. The four gentlemen have each a different plan for
saving the country, and now that the bridal bouquets have faded, the
three ladies have again turned to public affairs; Lincoln's inauguration
and the story of the disguise in which he traveled to Washington is a
never-ending source of gossip. The family board being the common forum,
each gentleman as he appears first unloads his pockets of papers from
all the Southern States, and then his overflowing heart to his eager
female listeners, who in turn relate, inquire, sympathize, or cheer. If
I dare express a doubt that the path to victory will be a flowery one,
eyes flash, cheeks burn, and tongues clatter, till all are checked up
suddenly by a warning for "Order, order!" from the amiable lady
presiding. Thus we swallow politics with every meal. We take a mouthful
and read a telegram, one eye on table, the other on the paper. One must
be made of cool stuff to keep calm and collected, but I say but little.
This war fever has banished small talk. Through all the black servants
move about quietly, never seeming to notice that this is all about them.
"How can you speak so plainly before them?" I say.
"Why, what matter? They know that we shall keep the whip-handle."
_April 13, 1861._--More than a month has passed since the last date
here. This afternoon I was seated on the floor covered with loveliest
flowers, arranging a floral offering for the fair, when the gentlemen
arrived and with papers bearing news of the fall of Fort Sumter, which,
at her request, I read to Mrs. F.
_April 20._--The last few days have glided away in a halo of beauty. But
nobody has time or will to enjoy it. War, war! is the one idea. The
children play only with toy cannons and soldiers; the oldest inhabitant
goes by every day with his rifle to practice; the public squares are
full of companies drilling, and are now the fashionable resorts. We have
been told that it is best for women to learn how to shoot too, so as to
protect themselves when the men have all gone to battle. Every evening
after dinner we adjourn to the back lot and fire at a target with
pistols. Yesterday I dined at Uncle Ralph's. Some members of the bar
were present, and were jubilant about their brand-new Confederacy. It
would soon be the grandest government ever known. Uncle Ralph said
solemnly, "No, gentlemen; the day we seceded the star of our glory set."
The words sunk into my mind like a knell, and made me wonder at the mind
that could recognize that and yet adhere to the doctrine of secession.
In the evening I attended a farewell gathering at a friend's whose
brothers are to leave this week for Richmond. There was music. No minor
chord was permitted.
III
TRIBULATION
_April 25._--Yesterday I went with Cousin E. to have her picture taken.
The picture-galleries are doing a thriving business. Many companies are
ordered off to take possession of Fort Pickens (Florida), and all seem
to be leaving sweethearts behind them. The crowd was in high spirits;
they don't dream that any destinies will be spoiled. When I got home
Edith was reading from the daily paper of the dismissal of Miss G. from
her place as teacher for expressing abolition sentiments, and that she
would be ordered to leave the city. Soon a lady came with a paper
setting forth that she has established a "company"--we are nothing if
not military--for making lint and getting stores of linen to supply the
hospitals.
My name went down. If it hadn't, my spirit would have been wounded as
with sharp spears before night. Next came a little girl with a
subscription paper to get a flag for a certain company. The little
girls, especially the pretty ones, are kept busy trotting around with
subscription lists. Latest of all came little Guy, Mr. F.'s youngest
clerk, the pet of the firm as well as of his home, a mere boy of
sixteen. Such senseless sacrifices seem a sin. He chattered brightly,
but lingered about, saying good-by. He got through it bravely until
Edith's husband incautiously said, "You didn't kiss your little
sweetheart," as he always called Ellie, who had been allowed to sit up.
He turned and suddenly broke into agonizing sobs and then ran down the
steps.
_May 10._--I am tired and ashamed of myself. Last week I attended a
meeting of the lint society to hand in the small contribution of linen I
had been able to gather. We scraped lint till it was dark. A paper was
shown, entitled the "Volunteer's Friend," started by the girls of the
high school, and I was asked to help the girls with it. I positively
declined. To-day I was pressed into service to make red flannel
cartridge-bags for ten-inch columbiads. I basted while Mrs. S. sewed,
and I felt ashamed to think that I had not the moral courage to say, "I
don't approve of your war and won't help you, particularly in the
murderous part of it."
_May 27._--This has been a scenic Sabbath. Various companies about to
depart for Virginia occupied the prominent churches to have their flags
consecrated. The streets were resonant with the clangor of drums and
trumpets. E. and myself went to Christ Church because the Washington
Artillery were to be there.
_June 13._--To-day has been appointed a Fast Day. I spent the morning
writing a letter on which I put my first Confederate postage-stamp. It
is of a brown color and has a large 5 in the center. To-morrow must be
devoted to all my foreign correspondents before the expected blockade
cuts us off.
_June 29._--I attended a fine luncheon yesterday at one of the public
schools. A lady remarked to a school official that the cost of
provisions in the Confederacy was getting very high, butter, especially,
being scarce and costly. "Never fear, my dear madam," he replied. "Texas
alone can furnish butter enough to supply the whole Confederacy; we'll
soon be getting it from there." It's just as well to have this sublime
confidence.
_July 15._--The quiet of midsummer reigns, but ripples of excitement
break around us as the papers tell of skirmishes and attacks here and
there in Virginia. "Rich Mountain" and "Carrick's Ford" were the last.
"You see," said Mrs. D. at breakfast to-day, "my prophecy is coming true
that Virginia will be the seat of war." "Indeed," I burst out,
forgetting my resolution not to argue, "you may think yourselves lucky
if this war turns out to have any seat in particular."
So far, no one especially connected with me has gone to fight. How glad
I am for his mother's sake that Rob's lameness will keep him at home.
Mr. F., Mr. S., and Uncle Ralph are beyond the age for active service,
and Edith says Mr. D. can't go now. She is very enthusiastic about other
people's husbands being enrolled, and regrets that her Alex is not
strong enough to defend his country and his rights.
_July 22._--What a day! I feel like one who has been out in a high wind,
and cannot get my breath. The newsboys are still shouting with their
extras, "Battle of Bull's Run! List of the killed! Battle of Manassas!
List of the wounded!" Tender-hearted Mrs. F. was sobbing so she could
not serve the tea; but nobody cared for tea. "O G.!" she said, "three
thousand of our own, dear Southern boys are lying out there." "My dear
Fannie," spoke Mr. F., "they are heroes now. They died in a glorious
cause, and it is not in vain. This will end it. The sacrifice had to be
made, but those killed have gained immortal names." Then Rob rushed in
with a new extra, reading of the spoils captured, and grief was
forgotten. Words cannot paint the excitement. Rob capered about and
cheered; Edith danced around ringing the dinner-bell and shouting,
"Victory!" Mrs. F. waved a small Confederate flag, while she wiped her
eyes, and Mr. D. hastened to the piano and in his most brilliant style
struck up "Dixie," followed by "My Maryland" and the "Bonnie Blue Flag."
"Do not look so gloomy, G.," whispered Mr. S. "You should be happy
to-night; for, as Mr. F. says, now we shall have peace."
"And is that the way you think of the men of your own blood and race?" I
replied. But an utter scorn came over me and choked me, and I walked out
of the room. What proof is there in this dark hour that they are not
right? Only the emphatic answer of my own soul. To-morrow I will pack my
trunk and accept the invitation to visit at Uncle Ralph's country house.
_Sept. 25._--When I opened the door of Mrs. F.'s room on my return, the
rattle of two sewing-machines and a blaze of color met me.
"Ah, G., you are just in time to help us; these are coats for Jeff
Thompson's men. All the cloth in the city is exhausted; these
flannel-lined oil-cloth table-covers are all we could obtain to make
overcoats for Thompson's poor boys. They will be very warm and
serviceable."
"Serviceable--yes! The Federal army will fly when they see those coats!
I only wish I could be with the regiment when these are shared around."
Yet I helped make them.
Seriously, I wonder if any soldiers will ever wear these remarkable
coats--the most bewildering combination of brilliant, intense reds,
greens, yellows, and blues in big flowers meandering over as vivid
grounds; and as no table-cover was large enough to make a coat, the
sleeves of each were of a different color and pattern. However, the
coats were duly finished. Then we set to work on gray pantaloons, and I
have just carried a bundle to an ardent young lady who wishes to assist.
A slight gloom is settling down, and the inmates here are not quite so
cheerfully confident as in July.
IV
A BELEAGUERED CITY
_Oct. 22._--When I came to breakfast this morning Rob was capering over
another victory--Ball's Bluff. He would read me, "We pitched the Yankees
over the bluff," and ask me in the next breath to go to the theater
this evening. I turned on the poor fellow. "Don't tell me about your
victories. You vowed by all your idols that the blockade would be raised
by October 1, and I notice the ships are still serenely anchored below
the city."
"G., you are just as pertinacious yourself in championing your opinions.
What sustains you when nobody agrees with you?"
_Oct. 28._--When I dropped in at Uncle Ralph's last evening to welcome
them back, the whole family were busy at a great center-table copying
sequestration acts for the Confederate Government. The property of all
Northerners and Unionists is to be sequestrated, and Uncle Ralph can
hardly get the work done fast enough. My aunt apologized for the rooms
looking chilly; she feared to put the carpets down, as the city might be
taken and burned by the Federals. "We are living as much packed up as
possible. A signal has been agreed upon, and the instant the army
approaches we shall be off to the country again."
Great preparations are being made for defense. At several other places
where I called the women were almost hysterical. They seemed to look
forward to being blown up with shot and shell, finished with cold steel,
or whisked off to some Northern prison. When I got home Edith and Mr. D.
had just returned also.
"Alex," said Edith, "I was up at your orange-lots to-day, and the sour
oranges are dropping to the ground, while they cannot get lemons for our
sick soldiers."
"That's my kind, considerate wife," replied Mr. D.
"Why didn't I think of that before? Jim shall fill some barrels
to-morrow and take them to the hospitals as a present from you."
_Nov. 10._--Surely this year will ever be memorable to me for its
perfection of natural beauty. Never was sunshine such pure gold, or
moonlight such transparent silver. The beautiful custom prevalent here
of decking the graves with flowers on All Saints' day was well
fulfilled, so profuse and rich were the blossoms. On All-hallow eve Mrs.
S. and myself visited a large cemetery. The chrysanthemums lay like
great masses of snow and flame and gold in every garden we passed, and
were piled on every costly tomb and lowly grave. The battle of Manassas
robed many of our women in mourning, and some of those who had no graves
to deck were weeping silently as they walked through the scented
avenues.
A few days ago Mrs. E. arrived here. She is a widow, of Natchez, a
friend of Mrs. F.'s, and is traveling home with the dead body of her
eldest son, killed at Manassas. She stopped two days waiting for a boat,
and begged me to share her room and read her to sleep, saying she
couldn't be alone since he was killed; she feared her mind would give
way. So I read all the comforting chapters to be found till she dropped
into forgetfulness, but the recollection of those weeping mothers in the
cemetery banished sleep for me.
_Nov. 26._--The lingering summer is passing into those misty autumn days
I love so well, when there is gold and fire above and around us. But the
glory of the natural and the gloom of the moral world agree not well
together. This morning Mrs. F. came to my room in dire distress. "You
see," she said, "cold weather is coming on fast, and our poor fellows
are lying out at night with nothing to cover them. There is a wail for
blankets, but there is not a blanket in town. I have gathered up all the
spare bed-clothing, and now want every available rug or table-cover in
the house. Can't I have yours, G.? We must make these small sacrifices
of comfort and elegance, you know, to secure independence and freedom."
"Very well," I said, denuding the table. "This may do for a drummer
boy."
_Dec. 26, 1861._--The foul weather cleared off bright and cool in time
for Christmas. There is a midwinter lull in the movement of troops. In
the evening we went to the grand bazaar in the St. Louis Hotel, got up
to clothe the soldiers. This bazaar has furnished the gayest, most
fashionable war-work yet, and has kept social circles in a flutter of
pleasant, heroic excitement all through December. Everything beautiful
or rare garnered in the homes of the rich was given for exhibition, and
in some cases for raffle and sale. There were many fine paintings,
statues, bronzes, engravings, gems, laces--in fact, heirlooms and
bric-a-brac of all sorts. There were many lovely creole girls present,
in exquisite toilets, passing to and fro through the decorated rooms,
listening to the band clash out the Anvil Chorus.
_Jan. 2, 1862._--I am glad enough to bid '61 good-by. Most miserable
year of my life! What ages of thought and experience have I not lived in
it!
The city authorities have been searching houses for firearms. It is a
good way to get more guns, and the homes of those men suspected of
being Unionists were searched first. Of course they went to Dr. B.'s. He
met them with his own delightful courtesy. "Wish to search for arms?
Certainly, gentlemen." He conducted them all through the house with
smiling readiness, and after what seemed a very thorough search bowed
them politely out. His gun was all the time safely reposing between the
canvas folds of a cot-bed which leaned folded up together against the
wall, in the very room where they had ransacked the closets. Queerly,
the rebel families have been the ones most anxious to conceal all
weapons. They have dug graves quietly at night in the back yards, and
carefully wrapping the weapons, buried them out of sight. Every man
seems to think he will have some private fighting to do to protect his
family.
V
MARRIED
_Friday, Jan. 24, 1862._ (_On Steamboat W., Mississippi River._)--With a
changed name I open you once more, my journal. It was a sad time to wed,
when one knew not how long the expected conscription would spare the
bridegroom. The women-folk knew how to sympathize with a girl expected
to prepare for her wedding in three days, in a blockaded city, and about
to go far from any base of supplies. They all rallied round me with
tokens of love and consideration, and sewed, shopped, mended, and
packed, as if sewing soldier clothes. And they decked the whole house
and the church with flowers. Music breathed, wine sparkled, friends came
and went. It seemed a dream, and comes up now again out of the afternoon
sunshine where I sit on deck. The steamboat slowly plows its way through
lumps of floating ice,--a novel sight to me,--and I look forward
wondering whether the new people I shall meet will be as fierce about
the war as those in New Orleans. That past is to be all forgotten and
forgiven; I understood thus the kindly acts that sought to brighten the
threshold of a new life.
_Feb. 15._ (_Village of X._)--We reached Arkansas Landing at nightfall.
Mr. Y., the planter who owns the landing, took us right up to his
residence. He ushered me into a large room where a couple of candles
gave a dim light, and close to them, and sewing as if on a race with
Time, sat Mrs. Y. and a little negro girl, who was so black and sat so
stiff and straight she looked like an ebony image. This was a large
plantation; the Y.'s knew H. very well, and were very kind and cordial
in their welcome and congratulations. Mrs. Y. apologized for continuing
her work; the war had pushed them this year in getting the negroes
clothed, and she had to sew by dim candles, as they could obtain no more
oil. She asked if there were any new fashions in New Orleans.
Next morning we drove over to our home in this village. It is the
county-seat, and was, till now, a good place for the practice of H.'s
profession. It lies on the edge of a lovely lake. The adjacent planters
count their slaves by the hundreds. Some of them live with a good deal
of magnificence, using service of plate, having smoking-rooms for the
gentlemen built off the house, and entertaining with great hospitality.
The Baptists, Episcopalians, and Methodists hold services on alternate
Sundays in the court-house. All the planters and many others near the
lake shore keep a boat at their landing, and a raft for crossing
vehicles and horses. It seemed very piquant at first, this taking our
boat to go visiting, and on moonlight nights it was charming. The woods
around are lovelier than those in Louisiana, though one misses the
moaning of the pines. There is fine fishing and hunting, but these
cotton estates are not so pleasant to visit as sugar plantations.
But nothing else has been so delightful as, one morning, my first sight
of snow and a wonderful new, white world.
_Feb. 27._--The people here have hardly felt the war yet. There are but
two classes. The planters and the professional men form one; the very
poor villagers the other. There is no middle class. Ducks and
partridges, squirrels and fish, are to be had. H. has bought me a nice
pony, and cantering along the shore of the lake in the sunset is a
panacea for mental worry.
VI
HOW IT WAS IN ARKANSAS
_March 11, 1862._--The serpent has entered our Eden. The rancor and
excitement of New Orleans have invaded this place. If an incautious word
betrays any want of sympathy with popular plans, one is "traitorous,"
"ungrateful," "crazy." If one remains silent and controlled, then one is
"phlegmatic," "cool-blooded," "unpatriotic." Cool-blooded! Heavens! if
they only knew. It is very painful to see lovable and intelligent women
rave till the blood mounts to face and brain. The immediate cause of
this access of war fever has been the battle of Pea Ridge. They scout
the idea that Price and Van Dorn have been completely worsted. Those who
brought the news were speedily told what they ought to say. "No, it is
only a serious check; they must have more men sent forward at once. This
country must do its duty." So the women say another company _must_ be
raised.
We were guests at a dinner-party yesterday. Mrs. A. was very talkative.
"Now, ladies, you must all join in with a vim and help equip another
company."
"Mrs. L.," she said, turning to me, "are you not going to send your
husband? Now use a young bride's influence and persuade him; he would be
elected one of the officers." "Mrs. A.," I replied, longing to spring up
and throttle her, "the Bible says, 'When a man hath married a new wife,
he shall not go to war for one year, but remain at home and cheer up his
wife.'"
"Well, H.," I questioned, as we walked home after crossing the lake,
"can you stand the pressure, or shall you be forced into volunteering?"
"Indeed," he replied, "I will not be bullied into enlisting by women, or
by men. I will sooner take my chance of conscription and feel honest
about it. You know my attachments, my interests are here; these are my
people. I could never fight against them; but my judgment disapproves
their course, and the result will inevitably be against us."
This morning the only Irishman left in the village presented himself to
H. He has been our wood-sawyer, gardener, and factotum, but having
joined the new company, his time recently has been taken up with
drilling. H. and Mr. R. feel that an extensive vegetable garden must be
prepared while he is here to assist, or we shall be short of food, and
they sent for him yesterday.
"So, Mike, you are really going to be a soldier?"
"Yes, sor; but faith, Mr. L., I don't see the use of me going to shtop a
bullet when sure an' I'm willin' for it to go where it plazes."
_March 18, 1862._--There has been unusual gaiety in this little village
the past few days. The ladies from the surrounding plantations went to
work to get up a festival to equip the new company. As Annie and myself
are both brides recently from the city, requisition was made upon us for
engravings, costumes, music, garlands, and so forth. Annie's heart was
in the work; not so with me. Nevertheless, my pretty things were
captured, and shone with just as good a grace last evening as if
willingly lent. The ball was a merry one. One of the songs sung was
"Nellie Gray," in which the most distressing feature of slavery is
bewailed so pitifully. To sing this at a festival for raising money to
clothe soldiers fighting to perpetuate that very thing was strange.
_March 20, 1862._--A man professing to act by General Hindman's orders
is going through the country impressing horses and mules. The overseer
of a certain estate came to inquire of H. if he had not a legal right
to protect the property from seizure. Mr. L. said yes, unless the agent
could show some better credentials than his bare word. This answer soon
spread about, and the overseer returned to report that it excited great
indignation, especially among the company of new volunteers. H. was
pronounced a traitor, and they declared that no one so untrue to the
Confederacy should live there. When H. related the circumstance at
dinner, his partner, Mr. R., became very angry, being ignorant of H.'s
real opinions. He jumped up in a rage and marched away to the village
thoroughfare. There he met a batch of the volunteers, and said, "We know
what you have said of us, and I have come to tell you that you are
liars, and you know where to find us."
Of course I expected a difficulty; but the evening passed, and we
retired undisturbed. Not long afterward a series of indescribable sounds
broke the stillness of the night, and the tramp of feet was heard
outside the house. Mr. R. called out, "It's a serenade, H. Get up and
bring out all the wine you have." Annie and I peeped through the parlor
window, and lo! it was the company of volunteers and a diabolical band
composed of bones and broken-winded brass instruments. They piped and
clattered and whined for some time, and then swarmed in, while we ladies
retreated and listened to the clink of glasses.
_March 22._--H., Mr. R., and Mike have been very busy the last few days
getting the acre of kitchen-garden plowed and planted. The stay-law has
stopped all legal business, and they have welcomed this work. But to-day
a thunderbolt fell in our household. Mr. R. came in and announced that
he had agreed to join the company of volunteers. Annie's Confederate
principles would not permit her to make much resistance, and she has
been sewing and mending as fast as possible to get his clothes ready,
stopping now and then to wipe her eyes. Poor Annie! She and Max have
been married only a few months longer than we have; but a noble sense of
duty animates and sustains her.
VII
THE FIGHT FOR FOOD AND CLOTHING
_April 1._--The last ten days have brought changes in the house. Max R.
left with the company to be mustered in, leaving with us his weeping
Annie. Hardly were her spirits somewhat composed when her brother
arrived from Natchez to take her home. This morning he, Annie, and
Reeney, the black handmaiden, posted off. Out of seven of us only H.,
myself, and Aunt Judy are left. The absence of Reeney will be not the
least noted. She was as precious an imp as any Topsy ever was. Her
tricks were endless and her innocence of them amazing. When sent out to
bring in eggs she would take them from nests where hens were hatching,
and embryo chickens would be served up at breakfast, while Reeney stood
by grinning to see them opened; but when accused she was imperturbable.
"Laws, Mis' L., I nebber done bin nigh dem hens. Mis' Annie, you can go
count dem dere eggs." That when counted they were found minus the
number she had brought had no effect on her stolid denial. H. has
plenty to do finishing the garden all by himself, but the time rather
drags for me.
_April 13, 1862._--This morning I was sewing up a rent in H.'s garden
coat, when Aunt Judy rushed in.
"Laws! Mis' L., here's Mr. Max and Mis' Annie done come back!" A buggy
was coming up with Max, Annie, and Reeney.
"Well, is the war over?" I asked.
"Oh, I got sick!" replied our returned soldier, getting slowly out of
the buggy.
He was very thin and pale, and explained that he took a severe cold
almost at once, had a mild attack of pneumonia, and the surgeon got him
his discharge as unfit for service. He succeeded in reaching Annie, and
a few days of good care made him strong enough to travel back home.
"I suppose, H., you've heard that Island No. 10 is gone?"
Yes, we had heard that much, but Max had the particulars, and an
exciting talk followed. At night H. said to me, "G., New Orleans will be
the next to go, you'll see, and I want to get there first; this
stagnation here will kill me."
_April 28._--This evening has been very lovely, but full of a sad
disappointment. H. invited me to drive. As we turned homeward he said:
"Well, my arrangements are completed. You can begin to pack your trunks
to-morrow, and I shall have a talk with Max."
Mr. R. and Annie were sitting on the gallery as I ran up the steps.
"Heard the news?" they cried.
"No. What news?"
"New Orleans is taken! All the boats have been run up the river to save
them. No more mails."
How little they knew what plans of ours this dashed away. But our
disappointment is truly an infinitesimal drop in the great waves of
triumph and despair surging to-night in thousands of hearts.
_April 30._--The last two weeks have glided quietly away without
incident except the arrival of new neighbors--Dr. Y., his wife, two
children, and servants. That a professional man prospering in Vicksburg
should come now to settle in this retired place looks queer. Max said:
"H., that man has come here to hide from the conscript officers. He has
brought no end of provisions, and is here for the war. He has chosen
well, for this county is so cleaned of men it won't pay to send the
conscript officers here."
Our stores are diminishing and cannot be replenished from without;
ingenuity and labor must evoke them. We have a fine garden in growth,
plenty of chickens, and hives of bees to furnish honey in lieu of sugar.
A good deal of salt meat has been stored in the smoke-house, and, with
fish from the lake, we expect to keep the wolf from the door. The season
for game is about over, but an occasional squirrel or duck comes to the
larder, though the question of ammunition has to be considered. What we
have may be all we can have, if the war lasts five years longer; and
they say they are prepared to hold out till the crack of doom. Food,
however, is not the only want. I never realized before the varied needs
of civilization. Every day something is _out_. Last week but two bars
of soap remained, so we began to save bones and ashes. Annie said: "Now
if we only had some china-berry trees here, we shouldn't need any other
grease. They are making splendid soap at Vicksburg with china-balls.
They just put the berries into the lye and it eats them right up and
makes a fine soap." I did long for some china-berries to make this
experiment. H. had laid in what seemed a good supply of kerosene, but it
is nearly gone, and we are down to two candles kept for an emergency.
Annie brought a receipt from Natchez for making candles of rosin and
wax, and with great forethought brought also the wick and rosin. So
yesterday we tried making candles. We had no molds, but Annie said the
latest style in Natchez was to make a waxen rope by dipping, then wrap
it round a corn-cob. But H. cut smooth blocks of wood about four inches
square, into which he set a polished cylinder about four inches high.
The waxen ropes were coiled round the cylinder like a serpent, with the
head raised about two inches; as the light burned down to the cylinder,
more of the rope was unwound. To-day the vinegar was found to be all
gone, and we have started to make some. For tyros we succeed pretty
well.
VIII
DROWNED OUT AND STARVED OUT
_May 9._--A great misfortune has come upon us all. For several days
every one has been uneasy about the unusual rise of the Mississippi and
about a rumor that the Federal forces had cut levees above to swamp the
country. There is a slight levee back of the village, and H. went
yesterday to examine it. It looked strong, and we hoped for the best.
About dawn this morning a strange gurgle woke me. It had a pleasing,
lulling effect. I could not fully rouse at first, but curiosity
conquered at last, and I called H.
"Listen to that running water. What is it?"
He sprung up, listened a second, and shouted: "Max, get up! The water is
on us!" They both rushed off to the lake for the skiff. The levee had
not broken. The water was running clean over it and through the garden
fence so rapidly that by the time I dressed and got outside Max was
paddling the pirogue they had brought in among the pea-vines, gathering
all the ripe peas left above the water. We had enjoyed one mess, and he
vowed we should have another.
H. was busy nailing a raft together while he had a dry place to stand
on. Annie and I, with Reeney, had to secure the chickens, and the back
piazza was given up to them. By the time a hasty breakfast was eaten the
water was in the kitchen. The stove and everything there had to be put
up in the dining-room. Aunt Judy and Reeney had likewise to move into
the house, their floor also being covered with water. The raft had to be
floated to the storehouse and a platform built, on which everything was
elevated. At evening we looked around and counted the cost. The garden
was utterly gone. Last evening we had walked round the strawberry-beds
that fringed the whole acre and tasted a few just ripe. The hives were
swamped. Many of the chickens were drowned. Sancho had been sent to
high ground, where he could get grass. In the village everything green
was swept away. Yet we were better off than many others; for this house,
being raised, we have escaped the water indoors. It just laves the edge
of the galleries.
_May 26._--During the past week we have lived somewhat like Venetians,
with a boat at the front steps and a raft at the back. Sunday H. and I
took skiff to church. The clergyman, who is also tutor at a planter's
across the lake, preached to the few who had arrived in skiffs. We shall
not try it again, it is so troublesome getting in and out at the
court-house steps. The imprisonment is hard to endure. It threatened to
make me really ill, so every evening H. lays a thick wrap in the
pirogue, I sit on it, and we row off to the ridge of dry land running
along the lake-shore and branching off to a strip of wood also out of
water. Here we disembark and march up and down till dusk. A great deal
of the wood got wet and had to be laid out to dry on the galleries, with
clothing, and everything that must be dried. One's own trials are
intensified by the worse suffering around that we can do nothing to
relieve.
Max has a puppy named after General Price. The gentlemen had both gone
up-town yesterday in the skiff when Annie and I heard little Price's
despairing cries from under the house, and we got on the raft to find
and save him. We wore light morning dresses and slippers, for shoes are
becoming precious. Annie donned a Shaker and I a broad hat. We got the
raft pushed out to the center of the grounds opposite the house, and
could see Price clinging to a post; the next move must be to navigate
the raft up to the side of the house and reach for Price. It sounds
easy; but poke around with our poles as wildly or as scientifically as
we might, the raft would not budge. The noonday sun was blazing right
overhead, and the muddy water running all over slippered feet and dainty
dresses. How long we stayed praying for rescue, yet wincing already at
the laugh that would come with it, I shall never know. It seemed like a
day before the welcome boat and the "Ha, ha!" of H. and Max were heard.
The confinement tells severely on all the animal life about us. Half the
chickens are dead and the other half sick.
The days drag slowly. We have to depend mainly on books to relieve the
tedium, for we have no piano; none of us like cards; we are very poor
chess-players, and the chess-set is incomplete. When we gather round the
one lamp--we dare not light any more--each one exchanges the gems of
thought or mirthful ideas he finds. Frequently the gnats and the
mosquitos are so bad we cannot read at all. This evening, till a strong
breeze blew them away, they were intolerable. Aunt Judy goes about in a
dignified silence, too full for words, only asking two or three times,
"W'at I done tole you fum de fust?" The food is a trial. This evening
the snaky candles lighted the glass and silver on the supper-table with
a pale gleam, and disclosed a frugal supper indeed--tea without milk
(for all the cows are gone), honey, and bread. A faint ray twinkled on
the water swishing against the house and stretching away into the dark
woods. It looked like civilization and barbarism met together. Just as
we sat down to it, some one passing in a boat shouted that Confederates
and Federals were fighting at Vicksburg.
_Monday, June 2._--On last Friday morning, just three weeks from the day
the water rose, signs of its falling began. Yesterday the ground
appeared, and a hard rain coming down at the same time washed off much
of the unwholesome debris. To-day is fine, and we went out without a
boat for a long walk.
_June 13._--Since the water ran off, we have, of course, been attacked
by swamp fever. H. succumbed first, then Annie, Max next, and then I.
Luckily, the new Dr. Y. had brought quinine with him, and we took heroic
doses. Such fever never burned in my veins before or sapped strength so
rapidly, though probably the want of good food was a factor. The two or
three other professional men have left. Dr. Y. alone remains. The roads
now being dry enough, H. and Max started on horseback, in different
directions, to make an exhaustive search for food supplies. H. got back
this evening with no supplies.
_June 15._--Max got back to-day. He started right off again to cross the
lake and interview the planters on that side, for they had not suffered
from overflow.
_June 16._--Max got back this morning. H. and he were in the parlor
talking and examining maps together till dinner-time. When that was over
they laid the matter before us. To buy provisions had proved impossible.
The planters across the lake had decided to issue rations of corn-meal
and pease to the villagers whose men had all gone to war, but they
utterly refused to sell anything. "They told me," said Max, "'We will
not see your family starve, Mr. R.; but with such numbers of slaves and
the village poor to feed, we can spare nothing for sale.'" "Well, of
course," said H., "we do not purpose to stay here and live on charity
rations. We must leave the place at all hazards. We have studied out
every route and made inquiries everywhere we went. We shall have to go
down the Mississippi in an open boat as far as Fetler's Landing (on the
eastern bank). There we can cross by land and put the boat into Steele's
Bayou, pass thence to the Yazoo River, from there to Chickasaw Bayou,
into McNutt's Lake, and land near my uncle's in Warren County."
_June 20._--As soon as our intended departure was announced, we were
besieged by requests for all sorts of things wanted in every
family--pins, matches, gunpowder, and ink. One of the last cases H. and
Max had before the stay-law stopped legal business was the settlement of
an estate that included a country store. The heirs had paid in chattels
of the store. These had remained packed in the office. The main contents
of the cases were hardware; but we found treasure indeed--a keg of
powder, a case of matches, a paper of pins, a bottle of ink. Red ink is
now made out of pokeberries. Pins are made by capping thorns with
sealing-wax, or using them as nature made them. These were articles
money could not get for us. We would give our friends a few matches to
save for the hour of tribulation. The paper of pins we divided evenly,
and filled a bank-box each with the matches. H. filled a tight tin case
apiece with powder for Max and himself and sold the rest, as we could
not carry any more on such a trip. Those who did not hear of this in
time offered fabulous prices afterward for a single pound. But money
has not its old attractions. Our preparations were delayed by Aunt Judy
falling sick of swamp fever.
_Friday, June 27._--As soon as the cook was up again, we resumed
preparations. We put all the clothing in order, and had it nicely done
up with the last of the soap and starch. "I wonder," said Annie, "when I
shall ever have nicely starched clothes after these? They had no starch
in Natchez or Vicksburg when I was there." We are now furbishing up
dresses suitable for such rough summer travel. While we sat at work
yesterday, the quiet of the clear, calm noon was broken by a low,
continuous roar like distant thunder. To-day we are told it was probably
cannon at Vicksburg. This is a great distance, I think, to have heard
it--over a hundred miles.
H. and Max have bought a large yawl and are busy on the lake-bank
repairing it and fitting it with lockers. Aunt Judy's master has been
notified when to send for her; a home for the cat Jeff has been engaged;
Price is dead, and Sancho sold. Nearly all the furniture is disposed of,
except things valued from association, which will be packed in H.'s
office and left with some one likely to stay through the war. It is
hardest to leave the books.
_Tuesday, July 8._--We start to-morrow. Packing the trunks was a
problem. Annie and I are allowed one large trunk apiece, the gentlemen a
smaller one each, and we a light carpet-sack apiece for toilet articles.
I arrived with six trunks and leave with one! We went over everything
carefully twice, rejecting, trying to off the bonds of custom and get
down to primitive needs. At last we made a judicious selection.
Everything old or worn was left; everything merely ornamental, except
good lace, which was light. Gossamer evening dresses were all left. I
calculated on taking two or three books that would bear the most reading
if we were again shut up where none could be had, and so, of course,
took Shakspere first. Here I was interrupted to go and pay a farewell
visit, and when we returned Max had packed and nailed the cases of books
to be left. Chance thus limited my choice to those that happened to be
in my room--"Paradise Lost," the "Arabian Nights," a volume of
Macaulay's History I was reading, and my prayer-book. To-day the
provisions for the trip were cooked: the last of the flour was made into
large loaves of bread; a ham and several dozen eggs were boiled; the few
chickens that have survived the overflow were fried; the last of the
coffee was parched and ground; and the modicum of the tea was well
corked up. Our friends across the lake added a jar of butter and two of
preserves. H. rode off to X. after dinner to conclude some business
there, and I sat down before a table to tie bundles of things to be
left. The sunset glowed and faded, and the quiet evening came on calm
and starry. I sat by the window till evening deepened into night, and as
the moon rose I still looked a reluctant farewell to the lovely lake and
the grand woods, till the sound of H.'s horse at the gate broke the
spell.
IX
HOMELESS AND SHELTERLESS
_Thursday, July 10._ (---- _Plantation._)--Yesterday about four o'clock
we walked to the lake and embarked. Provisions and utensils were packed
in the lockers, and a large trunk was stowed at each end. The blankets
and cushions were placed against one of them, and Annie and I sat on
them Turkish fashion. Near the center the two smaller trunks made a
place for Reeney. Max and H. were to take turns at the rudder and oars.
The last word was a fervent God-speed from Mr. E., who is left in charge
of all our affairs. We believe him to be a Union man, but have never
spoken of it to him. We were gloomy enough crossing the lake, for it was
evident the heavily laden boat would be difficult to manage. Last night
we stayed at this plantation, and from the window of my room I see the
men unloading the boat to place it on the cart, which a team of oxen
will haul to the river. These hospitable people are kindness itself,
till you mention the war.
_Saturday, July 12._ (_Under a cotton-shed on the bank of the
Mississippi River._)--Thursday was a lovely day, and the sight of the
broad river exhilarating. The negroes launched and reloaded the boat,
and when we had paid them and spoken good-by to them we felt we were
really off. Every one had said that if we kept in the current the boat
would almost go of itself, but in fact the current seemed to throw it
about, and hard pulling was necessary. The heat of the sun was very
severe, and it proved impossible to use an umbrella or any kind of
shade, as it made steering more difficult. Snags and floating timbers
were very troublesome. Twice we hurried up to the bank out of the way of
passing gunboats, but they took no notice of us. When we got thirsty, it
was found that Max had set the jug of water in the shade of a tree and
left it there. We must dip up the river water or go without. When it got
too dark to travel safely we disembarked. Reeney gathered wood, made a
fire and some tea, and we had a good supper. We then divided, H. and I
remaining to watch the boat, Max and Annie on shore. She hung up a
mosquito-bar to the trees and went to bed comfortably. In the boat the
mosquitos were horrible, but I fell asleep and slept till voices on the
bank woke me. Annie was wandering disconsolate round her bed, and when I
asked the trouble, said, "Oh, I can't sleep there! I found a toad and a
lizard in the bed." When dropping off again, H. woke me to say he was
very sick; he thought it was from drinking the river water. With
difficulty I got a trunk opened to find some medicine. While doing so a
gunboat loomed up vast and gloomy, and we gave each other a good fright.
Our voices doubtless reached her, for instantly every one of her lights
disappeared and she ran for a few minutes along the opposite bank. We
momently expected a shell as a feeler.
At dawn next morning we made coffee and a hasty breakfast, fixed up as
well as we could in our sylvan dressing-rooms, and pushed on; for it is
settled that traveling between eleven and two will have to be given up
unless we want to be roasted alive. H. grew worse. He suffered terribly,
and the rest of us as much to see him pulling in such a state of
exhaustion. Max would not trust either of us to steer. About eleven we
reached the landing of a plantation. Max walked up to the house and
returned with the owner, an old gentleman living alone with his slaves.
The housekeeper, a young colored girl, could not be surpassed in her
graceful efforts to make us comfortable and anticipate every want. I was
so anxious about H. that I remember nothing except that the cold
drinking-water taken from a cistern beneath the building, into which
only the winter rains were allowed to fall, was like an elixir. They
offered luscious peaches that, with such water, were nectar and ambrosia
to our parched lips. At night the housekeeper said she was sorry they
had no mosquito-bars ready, and hoped the mosquitos would not be thick,
but they came out in legions. I knew that on sleep that night depended
recovery or illness for H., and all possibility of proceeding next day.
So I sat up fanning away mosquitos that he might sleep, toppling over
now and then on the pillows till roused by his stirring. I contrived to
keep this up till, as the chill before dawn came, they abated and I got
a short sleep. Then, with the aid of cold water, a fresh toilet, and a
good breakfast, I braced up for another day's baking in the boat.
If I had been well and strong as usual, the discomforts of such a
journey would not have seemed so much to me; but I was still weak from
the effects of the fever, and annoyed by a worrying toothache which
there had been no dentist to rid me of in our village.
Having paid and dismissed the boat's watchman, we started and traveled
till eleven to-day, when we stopped at this cotton-shed. When our dais
was spread and lunch laid out in the cool breeze, it seemed a blessed
spot. A good many negroes came offering chickens and milk in exchange
for tobacco, which we had not. We bought some milk with money.
A United States transport just now steamed by, and the men on the guards
cheered and waved to us. We all replied but Annie. Even Max was
surprised into an answering cheer, and I waved my handkerchief with a
very full heart as the dear old flag we had not seen for so long floated
by; but Annie turned her back.
_Sunday, July 13._ (_Under a tree on the east bank of the
Mississippi_)--Late on Saturday evening we reached a plantation whose
owner invited us to spend the night at his house. What a delightful
thing is courtesy! The first tone of our host's welcome indicated the
true gentleman. We never leave the oars with the watchman; Max takes
these, Annie and I each take a band-box, H. takes my carpet-sack, and
Reeney brings up the rear with Annie's. It is a funny procession. Mr.
B.'s family were absent, and as we sat on the gallery talking, it needed
only a few minutes to show this was a "Union man." His home was elegant
and tasteful, but even here there was neither tea nor coffee.
About eleven we stopped here in this shady place. While eating lunch the
negroes again came imploring for tobacco. Soon an invitation came from
the house for us to come and rest. We gratefully accepted, but found
their idea of rest for warm, tired travelers was to sit in the parlor on
stiff chairs while the whole family trooped in, cool and clean in fresh
toilets, to stare and question. We soon returned to the trees; however,
they kindly offered corn-meal pound-cake and beer, which were excellent.
Eight gunboats and one transport have passed us. Getting out of their
way has been troublesome. Our gentlemen's hands are badly blistered.
_Tuesday, July 15._--Sunday night about ten we reached the place where,
according to our map, Steele's Bayou comes nearest to the Mississippi,
and where the landing should be; but when we climbed the steep bank
there was no sign of habitation. Max walked off into the woods on a
search, and was gone so long we feared he had lost his way. He could
find no road. H. suggested shouting, and both began. At last a distant
halloo replied, and by cries the answerer was guided to us. A negro came
forward and said that was the right place, his master kept the landing,
and he would watch the boat for five dollars. He showed the road, and
said his master's house was one mile off and another house two miles. We
mistook, and went to the one two miles off. At one o'clock we reached
Mr. Fetler's, who was pleasant, and said we should have the best he had.
The bed into whose grateful softness I sank was piled with mattresses to
within two or three feet of the ceiling; and, with no step-ladder,
getting in and out was a problem. This morning we noticed the high-water
mark, four feet above the lower floor. Mrs. Fetler said they had lived
up-stairs several weeks.
X
FRIGHTS AND PERILS IN STEELE'S BAYOU
_Wednesday, July 16._ (_Under a tree on the bank of Steele's
Bayou._)--Early this morning our boat was taken out of the Mississippi
and put on Mr. Fetler's ox-cart. After breakfast we followed on foot.
The walk in the woods was so delightful that all were disappointed when
a silvery gleam through the trees showed the bayou sweeping along, full
to the banks, with dense forest trees almost meeting over it. The boat
was launched, calked, and reloaded, and we were off again. Toward noon
the sound of distant cannon began to echo around, probably from
Vicksburg again. About the same time we began to encounter rafts. To get
around them required us to push through brush so thick that we had to
lie down in the boat. The banks were steep and the land on each side a
bog. About one o'clock we reached this clear space with dry shelving
banks, and disembarked to eat lunch. To our surprise a neatly dressed
woman came tripping down the declivity, bringing a basket. She said she
lived above and had seen our boat. Her husband was in the army, and we
were the first white people she had talked to for a long while. She
offered some corn-meal pound-cake and beer, and as she climbed back told
us to "look out for the rapids." H. is putting the boat in order for our
start, and says she is waving good-by from the bluff above.
_Thursday, July 17._ (_On a raft in Steele's Bayou._)--Yesterday we went
on nicely awhile, and at afternoon came to a strange region of rafts,
extending about three miles, on which persons were living. Many saluted
us, saying they had run away from Vicksburg at the first attempt of the
fleet to shell it. On one of these rafts, about twelve feet square,[1]
bagging had been hung up to form three sides of a tent. A bed was in one
corner, and on a low chair, with her provisions in jars and boxes
grouped round her, sat an old woman feeding a lot of chickens.
[Footnote 1: More likely twelve yards.--G.W.C.]
Having moonlight, we had intended to travel till late. But about ten
o'clock, the boat beginning to go with great speed, H., who was
steering, called to Max:
"Don't row so fast; we may run against something."
"I'm hardly pulling at all."
"Then we're in what she called the rapids!"
The stream seemed indeed to slope downward, and in a minute a dark line
was visible ahead. Max tried to turn, but could not, and in a second
more we dashed against this immense raft, only saved from breaking up by
the men's quickness. We got out upon it and ate supper. Then, as the
boat was leaking and the current swinging it against the raft, H. and
Max thought it safer to watch all night, but told us to go to sleep. It
was a strange spot to sleep in--a raft in the middle of a boiling
stream, with a wilderness stretching on either side. The moon made
ghostly shadows, and showed H., sitting still as a ghost, in the stern
of the boat, while mingled with the gurgle of the water round the raft
beneath was the boom of cannon in the air, solemnly breaking the silence
of night. It drizzled now and then, and the mosquitos swarmed over us.
My fan and umbrella had been knocked overboard, so I had no weapon
against them. Fatigue, however, overcomes everything, and I contrived to
sleep.
H. roused us at dawn. Reeney found lightwood enough on the raft to make
a good fire for coffee, which never tasted better. Then all hands
assisted in unloading; a rope was fastened to the boat, Max got in, H.
held the rope on the raft, and, by much pulling and pushing, it was
forced through a narrow passage to the farther side. Here it had to be
calked, and while that was being done we improvised a dressing-room in
the shadow of our big trunks. During the trip I had to keep the time,
therefore properly to secure belt and watch was always an anxious part
of my toilet. The boat is now repacked, and while Annie and Reeney are
washing cups I have scribbled, wishing much that mine were the hand of
an artist.
_Friday morn, July 18._ (_House of Colonel K., on Yazoo River._)--After
leaving the raft yesterday all went well till noon, when we came to a
narrow place where an immense tree lay clear across the stream. It
seemed the insurmountable obstacle at last. We sat despairing what to
do, when a man appeared beside us in a pirogue. So sudden, so silent was
his arrival that we were thrilled with surprise. He said if we had a
hatchet he could help us. His fairy bark floated in among the branches
like a bubble, and he soon chopped a path for us, and was delighted to
get some matches in return. He said the cannon we heard yesterday were
in an engagement with the ram _Arkansas_, which ran out of the Yazoo
that morning. We did not stop for dinner to-day, but ate a hasty lunch
in the boat, after which nothing but a small piece of bread was left.
About two we reached the forks, one of which ran to the Yazoo, the
other to the Old River. Max said the right fork was our road; H. said
the left, that there was an error in Max's map; but Max steered into the
right fork. After pulling about three miles he admitted his mistake and
turned back; but I shall never forget Old River. It was the vision of a
drowned world, an illimitable waste of dead waters, stretching into a
great, silent, desolate forest.
Just as we turned into the right way, down came the rain so hard and
fast we had to stop on the bank. It defied trees or umbrellas, and
nearly took away the breath. The boat began to fill, and all five of us
had to bail as fast as possible for the half-hour the sheet of water was
pouring down. As it abated a cold breeze sprang up that, striking our
clothes, chilled us to the bone. All were shivering and blue--no, I was
green. Before leaving Mr. Fetler's Wednesday morning I had donned a
dark-green calico. I wiped my face with a handkerchief out of my pocket,
and face and hands were all dyed a deep green. When Annie turned round
and looked at me she screamed, and I realized how I looked; but she was
not much better, for of all dejected things wet feathers are the worst,
and the plumes in her hat were painful.
About five we reached Colonel K.'s house, right where Steele's Bayou
empties into the Yazoo. We had both to be fairly dragged out of the
boat, so cramped and weighted were we by wet skirts. The family were
absent, and the house was headquarters for a squad of Confederate
cavalry, which was also absent. The old colored housekeeper received us
kindly, and lighted fires in our rooms to dry the clothing. My trunk
had got cracked on top, and all the clothing to be got at was wet. H.
had dropped his in the river while lifting it out, and his clothes were
wet. A spoonful of brandy apiece was left in the little flask, and I
felt that mine saved me from being ill. Warm blankets and the brandy
revived us, and by supper-time we got into some dry clothes.
Just then the squad of cavalry returned; they were only a dozen, but
they made much uproar, being in great excitement. Some of them were
known to Max and H., who learned from them that a gunboat was coming to
shell them out of this house. Then ensued a clatter such as twelve men
surely never made before--rattling about the halls and galleries in
heavy boots and spurs, feeding horses, calling for supper, clanking
swords, buckling and unbuckling belts and pistols. At last supper was
despatched, and they mounted and were gone like the wind. We had a quiet
supper and a good night's rest in spite of the expected shells, and did
not wake till ten to-day to realize we were not killed. About eleven
breakfast was furnished. Now we are waiting till the rest of our things
are dried to start on our last day of travel by water.
_Sunday, July 20._--A little way down the Yazoo on Friday we ran into
McNutt's Lake, thence into Chickasaw Bayou, and at dark landed at Mrs.
C.'s farm, the nearest neighbors of H.'s uncle. The house was full of
Confederate sick, friends from Vicksburg, and while we ate supper all
present poured out the story of the shelling and all that was to be done
at Vicksburg. Then our stuff was taken from the boat, and we finally
abandoned the stanch little craft that had carried us for over one
hundred and twenty-five miles in a trip occupying nine days. The luggage
in a wagon, and ourselves packed in a buggy, were driven for four or
five miles, over the roughest road I ever traveled, to the farm of Mr.
B., H.'s uncle, where we arrived at midnight and hastened to hide in bed
the utter exhaustion of mind and body. Yesterday we were too tired to
think, or to do anything but eat peaches.
XI
WILD TIMES IN MISSISSIPPI
This morning there was a most painful scene. Annie's father came into
Vicksburg, ten miles from here, and learned of our arrival from Mrs.
C.'s messenger. He sent out a carriage to bring Annie and Max to town
that they might go home with him, and with it came a letter for me from
friends on the Jackson Railroad, written many weeks before. They had
heard that our village home was under water, and invited us to visit
them. The letter had been sent to Annie's people to forward, and thus
had reached us. This decided H., as the place was near New Orleans, to
go there and wait the chance of getting into that city. Max, when he
heard this from H., lost all self-control and cried like a baby. He
stalked about the garden in the most tragic manner, exclaiming:
"Oh! my soul's brother from youth up is a traitor! A traitor to his
country!"
Then H. got angry and said, "Max, don't be a fool."
"Who has done this?" bawled Max. "You felt with the South at first; who
has changed you?"
"Of course I feel _for_ the South now, and nobody has changed me but the
logic of events, though the twenty-negro law has intensified my
opinions. I can't see why I, who have no slaves, must go to fight for
them, while every man who has twenty may stay at home."
I also tried to reason with Max and pour oil on his wound. "Max, what
interest has a man like you, without slaves, in a war for slavery? Even
if you had them, they would not be your best property. That lies in your
country and its resources. Nearly all the world has given up slavery;
why can't the South do the same and end the struggle. It has shown you
what the South needs, and if all went to work with united hands the
South would soon be the greatest country on earth. You have no right to
call H. a traitor; it is we who are the true patriots and lovers of the
South."
This had to come, but it has upset us both. H. is deeply attached to
Max, and I can't bear to see a cloud between them. Max, with Annie and
Reeney, drove off an hour ago, Annie so glad at the prospect of again
seeing her mother that nothing could cloud her day. And so the close
companionship of six months, and of dangers, trials, and pleasures
shared together, is over.
_Oak Ridge, July 26, Saturday._--It was not till Wednesday that H. could
get into Vicksburg, ten miles distant, for a passport, without which we
could not go on the cars. We started Thursday morning. I had to ride
seven miles on a hard-trotting horse to the nearest station. The day was
burning at white heat. When the station was reached my hair was down,
my hat on my neck, and my feelings were indescribable.
On the train one seemed to be right in the stream of war, among
officers, soldiers, sick men and cripples, adieus, tears, laughter,
constant chatter, and, strangest of all, sentinels posted at the locked
car doors demanding passports. There was no train south from Jackson
that day, so we put up at the Bowman House. The excitement was
indescribable. All the world appeared to be traveling through Jackson.
People were besieging the two hotels, offering enormous prices for the
privilege of sleeping anywhere under a roof. There were many refugees
from New Orleans, among them some acquaintances of mine. The peculiar
styles of [women's] dress necessitated by the exigencies of war gave the
crowd a very striking appearance. In single suits I saw sleeves of one
color, the waist of another, the skirt of another; scarlet jackets and
gray skirts; black waists and blue skirts; black skirts and gray waists;
the trimming chiefly gold braid and buttons, to give a military air. The
gray and gold uniforms of the officers, glittering between, made up a
carnival of color. Every moment we saw strange meetings and partings of
people from all over the South. Conditions of time, space, locality, and
estate were all loosened; everybody seemed floating he knew not whither,
but determined to be jolly, and keep up an excitement. At supper we had
tough steak, heavy, dirty-looking bread, Confederate coffee. The coffee
was made of either parched rye or corn-meal, or of sweet potatoes cut in
small cubes and roasted. This was the favorite. When flavored with
"coffee essence," sweetened with sorghum, and tinctured with chalky
milk, it made a curious beverage which, after tasting, I preferred not
to drink. Every one else was drinking it, and an acquaintance said, "Oh,
you'll get bravely over that. I used to be a Jewess about pork, but now
we just kill a hog and eat it, and kill another and do the same. It's
all we have."
Friday morning we took the down train for the station near my friend's
house. At every station we had to go through the examination of passes,
as if in a foreign country.
The conscript camp was at Brookhaven, and every man had been ordered to
report there or to be treated as a deserter. At every station I shivered
mentally, expecting H. to be dragged off. Brookhaven was also the
station for dinner. I choked mine down, feeling the sword hanging over
me by a single hair. At sunset we reached our station. The landlady was
pouring tea when we took our seats, and I expected a treat, but when I
tasted it was sassafras tea, the very odor of which sickens me. There
was a general surprise when I asked to exchange it for a glass of water;
every one was drinking it as if it were nectar. This morning we drove
out here.
My friend's little nest is calm in contrast to the tumult not far off.
Yet the trials of war are here too. Having no matches, they keep fire,
carefully covering it at night, for Mr. G. has no powder, and cannot
flash the gun into combustibles as some do. One day they had to go with
the children to the village, and the servant let the fire go out. When
they returned at nightfall, wet and hungry, there was neither fire nor
food. Mr. G. had to saddle the tired mule and ride three miles for a pan
of coals, and blow them, all the way back, to keep them alight. Crockery
has gradually been broken and tin cups rusted out, and a visitor told me
they had made tumblers out of clear glass bottles by cutting them smooth
with a heated wire, and that they had nothing else to drink from.
_Aug. 11._--We cannot get to New Orleans. A special passport must be
shown, and we are told that to apply for it would render H. very likely
to be conscripted. I begged him not to try; and as we hear that active
hostilities have ceased at Vicksburg, he left me this morning to return
to his uncle's and see what the prospects are there. I shall be in
misery about conscription till he returns.
_Sunday, Sept. 7._ (_Vicksburg, Washington Hotel._)--H. did not return
for three weeks. An epidemic disease broke out in his uncle's family and
two children died. He stayed to assist them in their trouble. Tuesday
evening he returned for me, and we reached Vicksburg yesterday. It was
my first sight of the "Gibraltar of the South." Looking at it from a
slight elevation suggests the idea that the fragments left from
world-building had tumbled into a confused mass of hills, hollows,
hillocks, banks, ditches, and ravines, and that the houses had rained
down afterward. Over all there was dust impossible to conceive. The
bombardment has done little injury. People have returned and resumed
business. A gentleman asked H. if he knew of a nice girl for sale. I
asked if he did not think it impolitic to buy slaves now.
"Oh, not young ones. Old ones might run off when the enemy's lines
approach ours, but with young ones there is no danger."
We had not been many hours in town before a position was offered to H.
which seemed providential. The chief of a certain department was in ill
health and wanted a deputy. It secures him from conscription, requires
no oath, and pays a good salary. A mountain seemed lifted off my heart.
_Thursday, Sept. 18._ (_Thanksgiving Day._)--We stayed three days at the
Washington Hotel; then a friend of H.'s called and told him to come to
his house till he could find a home. Boarding-houses have all been
broken up, and the army has occupied the few houses that were for rent.
To-day H. secured a vacant room for two weeks in the only
boarding-house.
_Oak Haven, Oct. 3._--To get a house in V. proved impossible, so we
agreed to part for a time till H. could find one. A friend recommended
this quiet farm, six miles from ---- [a station on the Jackson Railroad].
On last Saturday H. came with me as far as Jackson and put me on the
other train for the station.
On my way hither a lady, whom I judged to be a Confederate
"blockade-runner," told me of the tricks resorted to to get things out
of New Orleans, including this: A very large doll was emptied of its
bran, filled with quinine, and elaborately dressed. When the owner's
trunk was opened, she declared with tears that the doll was for a poor
crippled girl, and it was passed.
This farm of Mr. W.'s[2] is kept with about forty negroes. Mr. W.,
nearly sixty, is the only white man on it. He seems to have been wiser
in the beginning than most others, and curtailed his cotton to make room
for rye, rice, and corn. There is a large vegetable-garden and orchard;
he has bought plenty of stock for beef and mutton, and laid in a large
supply of sugar. He must also have plenty of ammunition, for a man is
kept hunting and supplies the table with delicious wild turkeys and
other game. There is abundance of milk and butter, hives for honey, and
no end of pigs. Chickens seem to be kept like game in parks, for I never
see any, but the hunter shoots them, and eggs are plentiful. We have
chicken for breakfast, dinner, and supper, fried, stewed, broiled, and
in soup, and there is a family of ten. Luckily I never tire of it. They
make starch out of corn-meal by washing the meal repeatedly, pouring off
the water, and drying the sediment. Truly the uses of corn in the
Confederacy are varied. It makes coffee, beer, whisky, starch, cake,
bread. The only privations here are the lack of coffee, tea, salt,
matches, and good candles. Mr. W. is now having the dirt floor of his
smoke-house dug up and boiling from it the salt that has dripped into it
for years. To-day Mrs. W. made tea out of dried blackberry leaves, but
no one liked it. The beds, made out of equal parts of cotton and
corn-shucks, are the most elastic I ever slept in. The servants are
dressed in gray homespun. Hester, the chambermaid, has a gray gown so
pretty that I covet one like it. Mrs. W. is now arranging dyes for the
thread to be woven into dresses for herself and the girls. Sometimes her
hands are a curiosity.
[Footnote 2: On this plantation, and in this domestic circle, I myself
afterward sojourned, and from them enlisted in the army. The initials
are fictitious, but the description is perfect.--G.W.C.]
The school at the nearest town is broken up, and Mrs. W. says the
children are growing up heathens. Mr. W. has offered me a liberal price
to give the children lessons in English and French, and I have accepted
transiently.
_Oct. 28._--It is a month to-day since I came here. I only wish H. could
share these benefits--the nourishing food, the pure aromatic air, the
sound sleep away from the fevered life of Vicksburg. He sends me all the
papers he can get hold of, and we both watch carefully the movements
reported lest an army should get between us. The days are full of useful
work, and in the lovely afternoons I take long walks with a big dog for
company. The girls do not care for walking. In the evening Mr. W. begs
me to read aloud all the war news. He is fond of the "Memphis Appeal,"
which has moved from town to town so much that they call it the "Moving
Appeal." I sit in a low chair by the fire, as we have no other light to
read by. Sometimes traveling soldiers stop here, but that is rare.
_Oct. 31._--Mr. W. said last night the farmers felt uneasy about the
"Emancipation Proclamation" to take effect in December. The slaves have
found it out, though it had been carefully kept from them.
"Do yours know it?" I asked.
"Oh, yes. Finding it to be known elsewhere, I told it to mine with fair
warning what to expect if they tried to run away. The hounds are not far
off."
The need of clothing for their armies is worrying them too. I never saw
Mrs. W. so excited as on last evening. She said the provost-marshal at
the next town had ordered the women to knit so many pairs of socks.
"Just let him try to enforce it and they will cowhide him. He'll get
none from me. I'll take care of my friends without an order from him."
"Well," said Mr. W., "if the South is defeated and the slaves set free,
the Southern people will all become atheists; for the Bible justifies
slavery and says it shall be perpetual."
"You mean, if the Lord does not agree with you, you'll repudiate him."
"Well, we'll feel it's no use to believe in anything."
At night the large sitting-room makes a striking picture. Mr. W., spare,
erect, gray-headed, patriarchal, sits in his big chair by the odorous
fire of pine logs and knots roaring up the vast fireplace. His driver
brings to him the report of the day's picking and a basket of snowy
cotton for the spinning. The hunter brings in the game. I sit on the
other side to read. The great spinning-wheels stand at the other end of
the room, and Mrs. W. and her black satellites, the elderly women with
their heads in bright bandanas, are hard at work. Slender and
auburn-haired, she steps back and forth out of shadow into shine
following the thread with graceful movements. Some card the cotton, some
reel it into hanks. Over all the firelight glances, now touching the
golden curls of little John toddling about, now the brown heads of the
girls stooping over their books, now the shadowy figure of little Jule,
the girl whose duty it is to supply the fire with rich pine to keep up
the vivid light. If they would only let the child sit down! But that is
not allowed, and she gets sleepy and stumbles and knocks her head
against the wall and then straightens up again. When that happens often
it drives me off. Sometimes while I read the bright room fades and a
vision rises of figures clad in gray and blue lying pale and stiff on
the blood-sprinkled ground.
_Nov. 15._--Yesterday a letter was handed me from H. Grant's army was
moving, he wrote, steadily down the Mississippi Central, and might cut
the road at Jackson. He has a house and will meet me in Jackson
to-morrow.
_Nov. 20._ (_Vicksburg._)--A fair morning for my journey back to
Vicksburg. On the train was the gentleman who in New Orleans had told us
we should have all the butter we wanted from Texas. On the cars, as
elsewhere, the question of food alternated with news of the war.
When we ran into the Jackson station, H. was on the platform, and I
gladly learned that we could go right on. A runaway negro, an old man,
ashy-colored from fright and exhaustion, with his hands chained, was
being dragged along by a common-looking man. Just as we started out of
Jackson the conductor led in a young woman sobbing in a heartbroken
manner. Her grief seemed so overpowering, and she was so young and
helpless, that every one was interested. Her husband went into the army
in the opening of the war, just after their marriage, and she had never
heard from him since. After months of weary searching she learned he had
been heard of at Jackson, and came full of hope, but found no clue. The
sudden breaking down of her hope was terrible. The conductor placed her
in care of a gentleman going her way and left her sobbing. At the next
station the conductor came to ask her about her baggage. She raised her
head to try and answer. "Don't cry so; you'll find him yet." She gave a
start, jumped from her seat with arms flung out and eyes staring. "There
he is now!" she cried. Her husband stood before her.
The gentleman beside her yielded his seat, and as hand grasped hand a
hysterical gurgle gave place to a look like Heaven's peace. The low
murmur of their talk began and when I looked around at the next station
they had bought pies and were eating them together like happy children.
Midway between Jackson and Vicksburg we reached the station near where
Annie's parents were staying. I looked out, and there stood Annie with a
little sister on each side of her, brightly smiling at us. Max had
written to H., but we had not seen them since our parting. There was
only time for a word and the train flashed away.
XII
VICKSBURG
We reached Vicksburg that night and went to H.'s room. Next morning the
cook he had engaged arrived, and we moved into this house. Martha's
ignorance keeps me busy, and H. is kept close at his office.
_January 7, 1863._--I have had little to record here recently, for we
have lived to ourselves, not visiting or visited. Every one H. knows is
absent, and I know no one but the family we stayed with at first, and
they are now absent. H. tells me of the added triumph since the repulse
of Sherman in December, and the one paper published here shouts victory
as much as its gradually diminishing size will allow. Paper is a serious
want. There is a great demand for envelops in the office where H. is. He
found and bought a lot of thick and smooth colored paper, cut a tin
pattern, and we have whiled away some long evenings cutting envelops and
making them up. I have put away a package of the best to look at when we
are old. The books I brought from Arkansas have proved a treasure, but
we can get no more. I went to the only book-store open; there were none
but Mrs. Stowe's "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands." The clerk said I
could have that cheap, because he couldn't sell her books, so I got it
and am reading it now. The monotony has only been broken by letters from
friends here and there in the Confederacy. One of these letters tells of
a Federal raid to their place, and says: "But the worst thing was, they
would take every toothbrush in the house, because we can't buy any more;
and one cavalryman put my sister's new bonnet on his horse, and said,
'Get up, Jack,' and her bonnet was gone."
_February 25._--A long gap in my journal, because H. has been ill unto
death with typhoid fever, and I nearly broke down from loss of sleep,
there being no one to relieve me. I never understood before how terrible
it was to be alone at night with a patient in delirium, and no one
within call. To wake Martha was simply impossible. I got the best doctor
here, but when convalescence began the question of food was a trial. I
got with great difficulty two chickens. The doctor made the drug-store
sell two of their six bottles of port; he said his patient's life
depended on it. An egg is a rare and precious thing. Meanwhile the
Federal fleet has been gathering, has anchored at the bend, and shells
are thrown in at intervals.
_March 20._--The slow shelling of Vicksburg goes on all the time, and we
have grown indifferent. It does not at present interrupt or interfere
with daily avocations, but I suspect they are only getting the range of
different points; and when they have them all complete, showers of shot
will rain on us all at once. Non-combatants have been ordered to leave
or prepare accordingly. Those who are to stay are having caves built.
Cave-digging has become a regular business; prices range from twenty to
fifty dollars, according to size of cave. Two diggers worked at ours a
week and charged thirty dollars. It is well made in the hill that slopes
just in the rear of the house, and well propped with thick posts, as
they all are. It has a shelf also, for holding a light or water. When we
went in this evening and sat down, the earthy, suffocating feeling, as
of a living tomb, was dreadful to me. I fear I shall risk death outside
rather than melt in that dark furnace. The hills are so honeycombed with
caves that the streets look like avenues in a cemetery. The hill called
the Sky-parlor has become quite a fashionable resort for the few
upper-circle families left here. Some officers are quartered there, and
there is a band and a field-glass. Last evening we also climbed the hill
to watch the shelling, but found the view not so good as on a quiet hill
nearer home. Soon a lady began to talk to one of the officers: "It is
such folly for them to waste their ammunition like that. How can they
ever take a town that has such advantages for defense and protection as
this? We'll just burrow into these hills and let them batter away as
hard as they please."
"You are right, madam; and besides, when our women are so willing to
brave death and endure discomfort, how can we ever be conquered?"
Soon she looked over with significant glances to where we stood, and
began to talk at H.
"The only drawback," she said, "are the contemptible men who are staying
at home in comfort, when they ought to be in the army if they had a
spark of honor."
I cannot repeat all, but it was the usual tirade. It is strange I have
met no one yet who seems to comprehend an honest difference of opinion,
and stranger yet that the ordinary rules of good breeding are now so
entirely ignored. As the spring comes one has the craving for fresh,
green food that a monotonous diet produces. There was a bed of radishes
and onions in the garden that were a real blessing. An onion salad,
dressed only with salt, vinegar, and pepper, seemed a dish fit for a
king; but last night the soldiers quartered near made a raid on the
garden and took them all.
_April 2._--We have had to move, and thus lost our cave. The owner of
the house suddenly returned and notified us that he intended to bring
his family back; didn't think there'd be any siege. The cost of the cave
could go for the rent. That means he has got tired of the Confederacy
and means to stay here and thus get out of it. This house was the only
one to be had. It was built by ex-Senator G., and is so large our tiny
household is lost in it. We use only the lower floor. The bell is often
rung by persons who take it for a hotel and come beseeching food at any
price. To-day one came who would not be denied. "We do not keep a hotel,
but would willingly feed hungry soldiers if we had the food." "I have
been traveling all night, and am starving; will pay any price for just
bread." I went to the dining-room and found some biscuits, and set out
two, with a large piece of corn-bread, a small piece of bacon, some nice
syrup, and a pitcher of water. I locked the door of the safe and left
him to enjoy his lunch. After he left I found he had broken open the
safe and taken the remaining biscuits.
_April 28._--I never understood before the full force of those
questions--What shall we eat? what shall we drink? and wherewithal shall
we be clothed? We have no prophet of the Lord at whose prayer the meal
and oil will not waste. Such minute attention must be given the wardrobe
to preserve it that I have learned to darn like an artist. Making shoes
is now another accomplishment. Mine were in tatters. H. came across a
moth-eaten pair that he bought me, giving ten dollars, I think, and they
fell into rags when I tried to wear them; but the soles were good, and
that has helped me to shoes. A pair of old coat-sleeves saved--nothing
is thrown away now--was in my trunk. I cut an exact pattern from my old
shoes, laid it on the sleeves, and cut out thus good uppers and sewed
them carefully; then soaked the soles and sewed the cloth to them. I am
so proud of these home-made shoes, think I'll put them in a glass case
when the war is over, as an heirloom. H. says he has come to have an
abiding faith that everything he needs to wear will come out of that
trunk while the war lasts. It is like a fairy casket. I have but a dozen
pins remaining, so many I gave away. Every time these are used they are
straightened and kept from rust. All these curious labors are performed
while the shells are leisurely screaming through the air; but as long as
we are out of range we don't worry. For many nights we have had but
little sleep, because the Federal gunboats have been running past the
batteries. The uproar when this is happening is phenomenal. The first
night the thundering artillery burst the bars of sleep, we thought it an
attack by the river. To get into garments and rush up-stairs was the
work of a moment. From the upper gallery we have a fine view of the
river, and soon a red glare lit up the scene and showed a small boat,
towing two large barges, gliding by. The Confederates had set fire to a
house near the bank. Another night, eight boats ran by, throwing a
shower of shot, and two burning houses made the river clear as day. One
of the batteries has a remarkable gun they call "Whistling Dick,"
because of the screeching, whistling sound it gives, and certainly it
does sound like a tortured thing. Added to all this is the indescribable
Confederate yell, which is a soul-harrowing sound to hear. I have gained
respect for the mechanism of the human ear, which stands it all without
injury. The streets are seldom quiet at night; even the dragging about
of cannon makes a din in these echoing gullies. The other night we were
on the gallery till the last of the eight boats got by. Next day a
friend said to H., "It was a wonder you didn't have your heads taken
off last night. I passed and saw them stretched over the gallery, and
grape-shot were whizzing up the street just on a level with you." The
double roar of batteries and boats was so great, we never noticed the
whizzing. Yesterday the _Cincinnati_ attempted to go by in daylight but
was disabled and sunk. It was a pitiful sight; we could not see the
finale, though we saw her rendered helpless.
XIII
PREPARATIONS FOR THE SIEGE
_Vicksburg, May 1, 1863._--It is settled at last that we shall spend the
time of siege in Vicksburg. Ever since we were deprived of our cave, I
had been dreading that H. would suggest sending me to the country, where
his relatives lived. As he could not leave his position and go also
without being conscripted, and as I felt certain an army would get
between us, it was no part of my plan to be obedient. A shell from one
of the practising mortars brought the point to an issue yesterday and
settled it. Sitting at work as usual, listening to the distant sound of
bursting shells, apparently aimed at the court-house, there suddenly
came a nearer explosion; the house shook, and a tearing sound was
followed by terrified screams from the kitchen. I rushed thither, but
met in the hall the cook's little girl America, bleeding from a wound in
the forehead, and fairly dancing with fright and pain, while she uttered
fearful yells. I stopped to examine the wound, and her mother bounded
in, her black face ashy from terror. "Oh! Miss V., my child is killed
and the kitchen tore up." Seeing America was too lively to be a killed
subject, I consoled Martha and hastened to the kitchen. Evidently a
shell had exploded just outside, sending three or four pieces through.
When order was restored I endeavored to impress on Martha's mind the
necessity for calmness and the uselessness of such excitement. Looking
round at the close of the lecture, there stood a group of Confederate
soldiers laughing heartily at my sermon and the promising audience I
had. They chimed in with a parting chorus:
"Yes, it's no use hollerin', old lady."
"Oh! H.," I exclaimed, as he entered soon after, "America is wounded."
"That is no news; she has been wounded by traitors long ago."
"Oh, this is real, living, little black America. I am not talking in
symbols. Here are the pieces of shell, the first bolt of the coming
siege."
"Now you see," he replied, "that this house will be but paper to
mortar-shells. You must go in the country."
The argument was long, but when a woman is obstinate and eloquent, she
generally conquers. I came off victorious, and we finished preparations
for the siege to-day. Hiring a man to assist, we descended to the
wine-cellar, where the accumulated bottles told of the "banquet-hall
deserted," the spirit and glow of the festive hours whose lights and
garlands were dead, and the last guest long since departed. To empty
this cellar was the work of many hours. Then in the safest corner a
platform was laid for our bed, and in another portion one arranged for
Martha. The dungeon, as I call it, is lighted only by a trap-door, and
is so damp it will be necessary to remove the bedding and mosquito-bars
every day. The next question was of supplies. I had nothing left but a
sack of rice-flour, and no manner of cooking I had heard or invented
contrived to make it eatable. A column of recipes for making delicious
preparations of it had been going the rounds of Confederate papers. I
tried them all; they resulted only in brick-bats or sticky paste. H.
sallied out on a hunt for provisions, and when he returned the
disproportionate quantity of the different articles obtained provoked a
smile. There was a _hogshead_ of sugar, a barrel of syrup, ten pounds of
bacon and peas, four pounds of wheat-flour, and a small sack of
corn-meal, a little vinegar, and actually some spice! The wheat-flour he
purchased for ten dollars as a special favor from the sole remaining
barrel for sale. We decided that must be left for sickness. The sack of
meal, he said, was a case of corruption, through a special providence to
us. There is no more for sale at any price; but, said he, "a soldier who
was hauling some of the Government sacks to the hospital offered me this
for five dollars, if I could keep a secret. When the meal is exhausted,
perhaps we can keep alive on sugar. Here are some wax candles; hoard
them like gold." He handed me a parcel containing about two pounds of
candles, and left me to arrange my treasures. It would be hard for me to
picture the memories those candles called up. The long years melted
away, and I
Trod again my childhood's track,
And felt its very gladness.
In those childish days, whenever came dreams Of household splendor or
festal rooms or gay illuminations, the lights in my vision were always
wax candles burning with a soft radiance that enchanted every scene....
And, lo! here on this spring day of '63, with war raging through the
land, I was in a fine house, and had my wax candles sure enough; but,
alas! they were neither cerulean blue nor rose-tinted, but dirty brown;
and when I lighted one, it spluttered and wasted like any vulgar tallow
thing, and lighted only a desolate scene in the vast handsome room. They
were not so good as the waxen rope we had made in Arkansas. So, with a
long sigh for the dreams of youth, I return to the stern present in this
besieged town--my only consolation to remember the old axiom, "A city
besieged is a city taken,"--so if we live through it we shall be out of
the Confederacy. H. is very tired of having to carry a pass around in
his pocket and go every now and then to have it renewed. We have been so
very free in America, these restrictions are irksome.
_May 9._--This morning the door-bell rang a startling peal. Martha being
busy, I answered it. An orderly in gray stood with an official envelop
in his hand.
"Who lives here?"
"Mr. L."
Very imperiously--"Which Mr. L.?"
"Mr. H.L."
"Is he here?"
"No."
"Where can he be found?"
"At the office of Deputy ----."
"I'm not going there. This is an order from General Pemberton for you to
move out of this house in two hours. He has selected it for
headquarters. He will furnish you with wagons."
"Will he furnish another house also?"
"Of course not."
"Has the owner been consulted?"
"He has not; that is of no consequence; it has been taken. Take this
order."
"I shall not take it, and I shall not move, as there is no place to move
to but the street."
"Then I'll take it to Mr. L."
"Very well; do so."
As soon as Mr. Impertine walked off, I locked, bolted, and barred every
door and window. In ten minutes H. came home.
"Hold the fort till I've seen the owner and the general," he said, as I
locked him out.
Then Dr. B.'s remark in New Orleans about the effect of Dr. C.'s fine
presence on the Confederate officials there came to mind. They are just
the people to be influenced in that way, I thought. I look rather shabby
now; I will dress. I made an elaborate toilet, put on the best and most
becoming dress I had, the richest lace, the handsomest ornaments, taking
care that all should be appropriate to a morning visit; dressed my hair
in the stateliest braids, and took a seat in the parlor ready for the
fray. H. came to the window and said:
"Landlord says, 'Keep them out. Wouldn't let them have his house at any
price.' He is just riding to the country and can't help us now. Now I'm
to see Major C., who sent the order."
Next came an officer, banged at the door till tired, and walked away.
Then the orderly came again and beat the door--same result. Next, four
officers with bundles and lunch-baskets, followed by a wagon-load of
furniture. They went round the house, tried every door, peeped in the
windows, pounded and rapped, while I watched them through the
blind-slats. Presently the fattest one, a real Falstaffian man, came
back to the front door and rang a thundering peal. I saw the chance for
fun and for putting on their own grandiloquent style. Stealing on tiptoe
to the door, I turned the key and bolt noiselessly, and suddenly threw
wide back the door and appeared behind it. He had been leaning on it,
and nearly pitched forward with an "Oh! what's this!" Then seeing me as
he straightened up, "Ah, madam!" almost stuttering from surprise and
anger, "are you aware I had the right to break down this door if you
hadn't opened it?"
"That would make no difference to me. I'm not the owner. You or the
landlord would pay the bill for the repairs."
"Why didn't you open the door?"
"Have I not done so as soon as you rung? A lady does not open the door
to men who beat on it. Gentlemen usually ring; I thought it might be
stragglers pounding."
"Well," growing much blander, "we are going to send you some wagons to
move; you must get ready."
"With pleasure, if you have selected a house for me. This is too large;
it does not suit me."
"No, I didn't find a house for you."
"You surely don't expect me to run about in the dust and shelling to
look for it, and Mr. L. is too busy."
"Well, madam, then we must share the house. We will take the lower
floor."
"I prefer to keep the lower floor myself; you surely don't expect me to
go up and down stairs when you are so light and more able to do it."
He walked through the hall, trying the doors. "What room is that?" "The
parlor." "And this?" "My bedroom." "And this?" "The dining-room."
"Well, madam, we'll find you a house and then come and take this."
"Thank you, colonel; I shall be ready when you find the house.
Good-morning, sir."
I heard him say as he ran down the steps, "We must go back, captain; you
see I didn't know they were this kind of people."
Of course the orderly had lied in the beginning to scare me, for General
P. is too far away from Vicksburg to send an order. He is looking about
for General Grant. We are told he has gone out to meet Johnston; and
together they expect to annihilate Grant's army and free Vicksburg
forever. There is now a general hospital opposite this house, and a
smallpox hospital next door. War, famine, pestilence, and fire surround
us. Every day the band plays in front of the smallpox hospital. I wonder
if it is to keep up their spirits? One would suppose quiet would be more
cheering.
_May 17._--Hardly was our scanty breakfast over this morning when a
hurried ring drew us both to the door.
Mr. J., one of H.'s assistants, stood there in high excitement.
"Well, Mr. L., they are upon us; the Yankees will be here by this
evening."
"What do you mean?"
"That Pemberton has been whipped at Baker's Creek and Big Black, and his
army are running back here as fast as they can come, and the Yanks after
them, in such numbers nothing can stop them. Hasn't Pemberton acted like
a fool?"
"He may not be the only one to blame," replied H.
"They're coming along the Big B. road, and my folks went down there to
be safe, you know; now they're right in it. I hear you can't see the
armies for the dust; never was anything else known like it. But I must
go and try to bring my folks back here."
What struck us both was the absence of that concern to be expected, and
a sort of relief or suppressed pleasure. After twelve some
worn-out-looking men sat down under the window.
"What is the news?" I inquired.
"Ritreat, ritreat!" they said, in broken English--they were Louisiana
Acadians.
About three o'clock the rush began. I shall never forget that woeful
sight of a beaten, demoralized army that came rushing back,--humanity in
the last throes of endurance. Wan, hollow-eyed, ragged, foot-sore,
bloody, the men limped along unarmed, but followed by siege-guns,
ambulances, gun-carriages, and wagons in aimless confusion. At twilight
two or three bands on the court-house hill and other points began
playing "Dixie," "Bonnie Blue Flag," and so on, and drums began to beat
all about; I suppose they were rallying the scattered army.
_May 28._--Since that day the regular siege has continued. We are
utterly cut off from the world, surrounded by a circle of fire. Would it
be wise like the scorpion to sting ourselves to death? The fiery shower
of shells goes on day and night. H.'s occupation, of course, is gone;
his office closed. Every man has to carry a pass in his pocket. People
do nothing but eat what they can get, sleep when they can, and dodge the
shells. There are three intervals when the shelling stops either for the
guns to cool or for the gunners' meals, I suppose,--about eight in the
morning, the same in the evening, and at noon. In that time we have both
to prepare and eat ours. Clothing cannot be washed or anything else
done. On the 19th and 22d, when the assaults were made on the lines, I
watched the soldiers cooking on the green opposite. The half-spent balls
coming all the way from those lines were flying so thick that they were
obliged to dodge at every turn. At all the caves I could see from my
high perch, people were sitting, eating their poor suppers at the cave
doors, ready to plunge in again. As the first shell again flew they
dived, and not a human being was visible. The sharp crackle of the
musketry-firing was a strong contrast to the scream of the bombs. I
think all the dogs and cats must be killed or starved: we don't see any
more pitiful animals prowling around.... The cellar is so damp and musty
the bedding has to be carried out and laid in the sun every day, with
the forecast that it may be demolished at any moment. The confinement is
dreadful. To sit and listen as if waiting for death in a horrible
manner would drive me insane. I don't know what others do, but we read
when I am not scribbling in this. H. borrowed somewhere a lot of
Dickens's novels, and we reread them, by the dim light in the cellar.
When the shelling abates, H. goes to walk about a little or get the
"Daily Citizen," which is still issuing a tiny sheet at twenty-five and
fifty cents a copy. It is, of course, but a rehash of speculations which
amuses a half hour. To-day he heard while out that expert swimmers are
crossing the Mississippi on logs at night to bring and carry news to
Johnston. I am so tired of corn-bread, which I never liked, that I eat
it with tears in my eyes. We are lucky to get a quart of milk daily from
a family near who have a cow they hourly expect to be killed. I send
five dollars to market each morning, and it buys a small piece of
mule-meat. Rice and milk is my main food; I can't eat the mule-meat. We
boil the rice and eat it cold with milk for supper. Martha runs the
gauntlet to buy the meat and milk once a day in a perfect terror. The
shells seem to have many different names: I hear the soldiers say,
"That's a mortar-shell. There goes a Parrott. That's a rifle-shell."
They are all equally terrible. A pair of chimney-swallows have built in
the parlor chimney. The concussion of the house often sends down parts
of their nest, which they patiently pick up and reascend with.
_Friday, June 5. In the cellar._--Wednesday evening H. said he must take
a little walk, and went while the shelling had stopped. He never leaves
me alone for long, and when an hour had passed without his return I
grew anxious; and when two hours, and the shelling had grown terrific, I
momentarily expected to see his mangled body. All sorts of horrors fill
the mind now, and I am so desolate here; not a friend. When he came he
said that, passing a cave where there were no others near, he heard
groans, and found a shell had struck above and caused the cave to fall
in on the man within. He could not extricate him alone, and had to get
help and dig him out. He was badly hurt, but not mortally, and I felt
fairly sick from the suspense.
Yesterday morning a note was brought H. from a bachelor uncle out in the
trenches, saying he had been taken ill with fever, and could we receive
him if he came? H. sent to tell him to come, and I arranged one of the
parlors as a dressing-room for him, and laid a pallet that he could move
back and forth to the cellar. He did not arrive, however. It is our
custom in the evening to sit in the front room a little while in the
dark, with matches and candle held ready in hand, and watch the shells,
whose course at night is shown by the fuse. H. was at the window and
suddenly sprang up, crying, "Run!"--"Where?"--"_Back_!"
I started through the back room, H. after me. I was just within the door
when the crash came that threw me to the floor. It was the most
appalling sensation I'd ever known--worse than an earthquake, which I've
also experienced. Shaken and deafened, I picked myself up; H. had struck
a light to find me. I lighted one, and the smoke guided us to the parlor
I had fixed for Uncle J. The candles were useless in the dense smoke,
and it was many minutes before we could see. Then we found the entire
side of the room torn out. The soldiers who had rushed in said, "This is
an eighty-pound Parrott." It had entered through the front, burst on the
pallet-bed, which was in tatters; the toilet service and everything else
in the room smashed. The soldiers assisted H. to board up the break with
planks to keep out prowlers, and we went to bed in the cellar as usual.
This morning the yard is partially plowed by a couple that fell there in
the night. I think this house, so large and prominent from the river, is
perhaps taken for headquarters and specially shelled. As we descend at
night to the lower regions, I think of the evening hymn that grandmother
taught me when a child:
Lord, keep us safe this night,
Secure from all our fears;
May angels guard us while we sleep,
Till morning light appears.
Surely, if there are heavenly guardians, we need them now.
_June 7._ (_In the cellar._)--There is one thing I feel especially
grateful for, that amid these horrors we have been spared that of
suffering for water. The weather has been dry a long time, and we hear
of others dipping up the water from ditches and mud-holes. This place
has two large underground cisterns of good cool water, and every night
in my subterranean dressing-room a tub of cold water is the nerve-calmer
that sends me to sleep in spite of the roar. One cistern I had to give
up to the soldiers, who swarm about like hungry animals seeking
something to devour. Poor fellows! my heart bleeds for them. They have
nothing but spoiled, greasy bacon, and bread made of musty pea-flour,
and but little of that. The sick ones can't bolt it. They come into the
kitchen when Martha puts the pan of corn-bread in the stove, and beg for
the bowl she mixed it in. They shake up the scrapings with water, put in
their bacon, and boil the mixture into a kind of soup, which is easier
to swallow than pea-bread. When I happen in, they look so ashamed of
their poor clothes. I know we saved the lives of two by giving a few
meals. To-day one crawled on the gallery to lie in the breeze. He looked
as if shells had lost their terrors for his dumb and famished misery.
I've taught Martha to make first-rate corn-meal gruel, because I can eat
meal easier that way than in hoe-cake, and I fixed him a saucerful, put
milk and sugar and nutmeg--I've actually got a nutmeg! When he ate it
the tears ran from his eyes. "Oh, madam, there was never anything so
good! I shall get better."
_June 9._--The churches are a great resort for those who have no caves.
People fancy they are not shelled so much, and they are substantial and
the pews good to sleep in. We had to leave this house last night, they
were shelling our quarter so heavily. The night before, Martha forsook
the cellar for a church. We went to H.'s office, which was comparatively
quiet last night. H. carried the bank-box; I the case of matches; Martha
the blankets and pillows, keeping an eye on the shells. We slept on
piles of old newspapers. In the streets the roar seems so much more
confusing, I feel sure I shall run right in the way of a shell. They
seem to have five different sounds from the second of throwing them to
the hollow echo wandering among the hills, and that sounds the most
blood-curdling of all.
_June 13._--Shell burst just over the roof this morning. Pieces tore
through both floors down into the dining-room. The entire ceiling of
that room fell in a mass. We had just left it. Every piece of crockery
on the table was smashed up. The "Daily Citizen" to-day is a foot and a
half long and six inches wide. It has a long letter from a Federal
officer, P.P. Hill, who was on the gunboat _Cincinnati_, that was sunk
May 27. Says it was found in his floating trunk. The editorial says,
"The utmost confidence is felt that we can maintain our position until
succor comes from outside. The undaunted Johnston is at hand."
_June 18._--To-day the "Citizen" is printed on wallpaper; therefore has
grown a little in size. It says, "But a few days more and Johnston will
be here"; also that "Kirby Smith has driven Banks from Port Hudson," and
that "the enemy are throwing incendiary shells in."
_June 20._--The gentleman who took our cave came yesterday to invite us
to come to it, because, he said, "it's going to be very bad to-day." I
don't know why he thought so. We went, and found his own and another
family in it; sat outside and watched the shells till we concluded the
cellar was as good a place as that hillside. I fear the want of good
food is breaking down H. I know from my own feelings of weakness, but
mine is not an American constitution and has a recuperative power that
his has not.
_June 21._--I had gone up-stairs to-day during the interregnum to enjoy
a rest on my bed, and read the reliable items in the "Citizen," when a
shell burst right outside the window in front of me. Pieces flew in,
striking all around me, tearing down masses of plaster that came
tumbling over me. When H. rushed in I was crawling out of the plaster,
digging it out of my eyes and hair. When he picked up a piece as large
as a saucer beside my pillow, I realized my narrow escape. The
windowframe began to smoke, and we saw the house was on fire. H. ran for
a hatchet and I for water, and we put it out. Another [shell] came
crashing near, and I snatched up my comb and brush and ran down here. It
has taken all the afternoon to get the plaster out of my hair, for my
hands were rather shaky.
_June 25._--A horrible day. The most horrible yet to me, because I've
lost my nerve. We were all in the cellar, when a shell came tearing
through the roof, burst up-stairs, tore up that room, and the pieces
coming through both floors down into the cellar, one of them tore open
the leg of H.'s pantaloons. This was tangible proof the cellar was no
place of protection from them. On the heels of this came Mr. J. to tell
us that young Mrs. P. had had her thigh-bone crushed. When Martha went
for the milk she came back horror-stricken to tell us the black girl
there had her arm taken off by a shell. For the first time I quailed. I
do not think people who are physically brave deserve much credit for it;
it is a matter of nerves. In this way I am constitutionally brave, and
seldom think of danger till it is over; and death has not the terrors
for me it has for some others. Every night I had lain down expecting
death, and every morning rose to the same prospect, without being
unnerved. It was for H. I trembled. But now I first seemed to realize
that something worse than death might come: I might be crippled, and not
killed. Life, without all one's powers and limbs, was a thought that
broke down my courage. I said to H., "You must get me out of this
horrible place; I cannot stay; I know I shall be crippled." Now the
regret comes that I lost control, because H. is worried, and has lost
his composure, because my coolness has broken down.
_July 1._--Some months ago, thinking it might be useful, I obtained from
the consul of my birthplace, by sending to another town, a passport for
foreign parts. H. said if we went out to the lines we might be permitted
to get through on that. So we packed the trunks, got a carriage, and on
the 30th drove out there. General V. offered us seats in his tent. The
rifle-bullets were whizzing so _zip, zip_ from the sharpshooters on the
Federal lines that involuntarily I moved on my chair. He said, "Don't be
alarmed; you are out of range. They are firing at our mules yonder." His
horse, tied by the tent door, was quivering all over, the most intense
exhibition of fear I'd ever seen in an animal. General V. sent out a
flag of truce to the Federal headquarters, and while we waited wrote on
a piece of silk paper a few words. Then he said, "My wife is in
Tennessee. If you get through the lines, send her this. They will search
you, so I will put it in this toothpick." He crammed the silk paper into
a quill toothpick, and handed it to H. It was completely concealed. The
flag-of-truce officer came back flushed and angry. "General Grant says
no human being shall pass out of Vicksburg; but the lady may feel sure
danger will soon be over. Vicksburg will surrender on the 4th."
"Is that so, general?" inquired H. "Are arrangements for surrender
made?"
"We know nothing of the kind. Vicksburg will not surrender."
"Those were General Grant's exact words, sir," said the flag-officer.
"Of course it is nothing but their brag."
We went back sadly enough, but to-day H. says he will cross the river to
General Porter's lines and try there; I shall not be disappointed.
_July 3._--H. was going to headquarters for the requisite pass, and he
saw General Pemberton crawling out of a cave, for the shelling had been
as hot as ever. He got the pass, but did not act with his usual caution,
for the boat he secured was a miserable, leaky one--a mere trough.
Leaving Martha in charge, we went to the river, had our trunks put in
the boat, and embarked; but the boat became utterly unmanageable, and
began to fill with water rapidly. H. saw that we could not cross in it,
and turned to come back; yet in spite of that the pickets at the battery
fired on us. H. raised the white flag he had, yet they fired again, and
I gave a cry of horror that none of these dreadful things had wrung from
me. I thought H. was struck. When we landed H. showed the pass, and said
that the officer had told him the battery would be notified we were to
cross. The officer apologized and said 
