Until that dreary 1861, I had no idea of sorrow or grief. . . . How I love to think of myself at that
time! Not as myself, but as some happy, careless child who danced
through life, loving God's whole world too much to love any particular one,
outside of her own family. She was more childish then — yet I like her for all
her folly; I can say it now, for she is as dead as though she was lying
underground.
Now do not imagine that Sarah has become an aged lady in the
fifteen months that have elapsed since, for it is no such thing; her heart does
ache occasionally, but that is a secret between her and this little rosewood
furnished room; and when she gets over it, there is no one more fond of making
wheelbarrows of the children, or of catching Charlie or mother by the foot and
making them play lame chicken. . . . Now
all this done by a young lady who remembers eighteen months ago with so much
regret that she has lost so much of her high spirits — might argue that her
spirits were before tremendous; and yet they were not. That other Sarah was
ladylike, I am sure, in her wildest moments, but there is something hurried and
boisterous in this one's tricks that reminds me of some one who is making a
merit of being jolly under depressing circumstances. No! that is not a nice
Sarah now, to my taste.
The commencement of '61 promised much pleasure for the rest
of the year, and though Secession was talked about, I do not believe any one
anticipated the war that has been desolating our country ever since, with no
prospect of terminating for some time to come. True the garrison was taken, but
then several pleasant officers of the Louisiana army were stationed there, and
made quite an agreeable addition to our small parties, and we did not think for
a moment that trouble would grow out of it — at least, we girls did not. Next
Louisiana seceded, but still we did not trouble ourselves with gloomy
anticipations, for many strangers visited the town, and our parties, rides, and
walks grew gayer and more frequent.
One little party — shall I ever forget it? — was on the 9th
of March, I think; such an odd, funny little party! Such queer things happened!
What a fool Mr. McG made of himself! Even more so
than usual. But hush! It's not fair to laugh at a lady —
under peculiar circumstances. And he tried so hard to make himself agreeable,
poor fellow, that I ought to like him for being so obedient to my commands. “Say
something new; something funny,” I said, tired of a subject on which he had
been expatiating all the evening; for I had taken a long ride with him before
sunset, he had escorted me to Mrs. Brunot's, and here he was still at my side,
and his conversation did not interest me. To hear, with him, was to obey. “Something
funny? Well —” here he commenced telling something about somebody, the fun of
which seemed to consist in the somebody's having “knocked his shins” against something else. I
only listened to the latter part; I was bored, and showed it. “Shins!” was I to
laugh at such a story?
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 4-6
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