I am afraid I shall be nervous when the moment of the
bombardment actually arrives. This suspense is not calculated to soothe one's
nerves. A few moments since, a salute was fired in honor of General Butler's
arrival, when women, children, and servants rushed to the front of the houses,
confident of a repetition of the shelling which occurred a month ago to-day.
The children have not forgotten the scene, for they all actually howled with
fear. Poor little Sarah stopped her screams to say, “Mother, don't you wish we
was dogs ’stead o’ white folks?” in such piteous accents that we had to laugh. Don't
I wish I was a dog! Sarah is right. I don't know if I showed my uneasiness
a while ago, but certainly my heart has hardly yet ceased beating rather
rapidly. If I knew what moment to expect the stampede, I would not mind; but
this way — to expect it every instant — it is too much! Again, if I knew where
we could go for refuge from the shells!
A window banging unexpectedly just then gave me a curious
twinge; not that I thought it was the signal, oh, dear, no! I just thought —
what, I wonder? Pshaw! “Picayune Butler's coming, coming” has upset my nervous
system. He interrupted me in the middle of my arithmetic; and I have not the
energy to resume my studies. I shall try what effect an hour's practice will
have on my spirits, and will see that I have a pair of clean stockings in my
stampede sack, and that the fastenings of my “running-bag” are safe. Though if
I expect to take either, I should keep in harness constantly. How long, O Lord!
how long?
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 91-2
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