Mrs. Preston, Mrs.
Wigfall, Mary Hammy and I drove in a fine open carriage to see the Champ de
Mars. It was a grand tableau out there. Mr. Davis rode a beautiful gray
horse, the Arab Edwin de Leon brought him from Egypt. His worst enemy will
allow that he is a consummate rider, graceful and easy in the saddle, and Mr.
Chesnut, who has talked horse with his father ever since he was born, owns that
Mr. Davis knows more about horses than any man he has met yet. General Lee was
there with him; also Joe Davis and Wigfall acting as his aides.
Poor Mr. Lamar has
been brought from his camp — paralysis or some sort of shock. Every woman in
the house is ready to rush into the Florence Nightingale business. I think I
will wait for a wounded man, to make my first effort as Sister of Charity. Mr.
Lamar sent for me. As everybody went, Mr. Davis setting the example, so did I.
Lamar will not die this time. Will men flatter and make eyes, until their eyes
close in death, at the ministering angels? He was the same old Lamar of the
drawing-room.
It is pleasant at
the President's table. My seat is next to Joe Davis, with Mr. Browne on the
other side, and Mr. Mallory opposite. There is great constraint, however. As
soon as I came I repeated what the North Carolina man said on the cars, that
North Carolina had 20,000 men ready and they were kept back by Mr. Walker, etc.
The President caught something of what I was saying, and asked me to repeat it,
which I did, although I was scared to death. “Madame, when you see that person
tell him his statement is false. We are too anxious here for troops to refuse a
man who offers himself, not to speak of 20,000 men.” Silence ensued — of the
most profound.
Uncle H. gave me
three hundred dollars for his daughter Mary's expenses, making four in all that
I have of hers. He would pay me one hundred, which he said he owed my husband for
a horse. I thought it an excuse to lend me money. I told him I had enough and
to spare for all my needs until my Colonel came home from the wars.
Ben Allston, the
Governor's son, is here — came to see me; does not show much of the wit of the
Petigrus; pleasant person, however. Mr. Brewster and Wigfall came at the same
time. The former, chafing at Wigfall's anomalous position here, gave him fiery
advice. Mr. Wigfall was calm and full of common sense. A brave man, and without
a thought of any necessity for displaying his temper, he said: “Brewster, at
this time, before the country is strong and settled in her new career, it would
be disastrous for us, the head men, to engage in a row among ourselves.”
As I was brushing
flies away and fanning the prostrate Lamar, I reported Mr. Davis's conversation
of the night before. “He is all right,” said Mr. Lamar, “the fight had to come.
We are men, not women. The quarrel had lasted long enough. We hate each other
so, the fight had to come. Even Homer's heroes, after they had stormed and
scolded enough, fought like brave men, long and well. If the athlete, Sumner,
had stood on his manhood and training and struck back when Preston Brooks
assailed him, Preston Brooks's blow need not have been the opening skirmish of
the war. Sumner's country took up the fight because he did not. Sumner chose
his own battle-field, and it was the worse for us. What an awful blunder that
Preston Brooks business was!” Lamar said Yankees did not fight for the fun of
it; they always made it pay or let it alone.
Met Mr. Lyon with
news, indeed — a man here in the midst of us, taken with Lincoln's passports,
etc., in his pocket — a palpable spy. Mr. Lyon said he would be hanged — in all
human probability, that is.
A letter from my
husband written at Camp Pickens, and saying: “If you and Mrs. Preston can make
up your minds to leave Richmond, and can come up to a nice little country house
near Orange Court House, we could come to see you frequently while the army is
stationed here. It would be a safe place for the present, near the scene of
action, and directly in the line of news from all sides.” So we go to Orange
Court House.
Read the story of
Soulouque,1 the Haytian man: he has wonderful interest just now.
Slavery has to go, of course, and joy go with it. These Yankees may kill us and
lay waste our land for a while, but conquer us — never!
_______________
1 Faustin Elie Soulouque, a negro slave of
Hayti, who, having been freed, took part in the insurrection against the French
in 1803, and rose by successive steps until in August, 1849, by the unanimous
action of the parliament, he was proclaimed emperor.
SOURCE: Mary Boykin
Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary
From Dixie, p. 72-4
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