There is no word in the English language that can express
the state in which we are, and have been, these last three days. Day before yesterday,
news came early in the morning of three of the enemy's boats passing the Forts,
and then the excitement began. It increased rapidly on hearing of the sinking
of eight of our gunboats in the engagement, the capture of the Forts, and last
night, of the burning of the wharves and cotton in the city while the Yankees
were taking possession. To-day, the excitement has reached the point of
delirium. I believe I am one of the most self-possessed in my small circle; and
yet I feel such a craving for news of Miriam, and mother, and Jimmy, who are in
the city, that I suppose I am as wild as the rest. It is nonsense to tell me I
am cool, with all these patriotic and enthusiastic sentiments. Nothing can be
positively ascertained, save that our gunboats are sunk, and theirs are coming
up to the city. Everything else has been contradicted until we really do not
know whether the city has been taken or not. We only know we had best be
prepared for anything. So day before yesterday, Lilly and I sewed up our jewelry,
which may be of use if we have to fly. I vow I will not move one step, unless
carried away. Come what will, here I remain.
We went this morning to see the cotton burning — a sight
never before witnessed, and probably never again to be seen. Wagons, drays, —
everything that can be driven or rolled, — were loaded with the bales and taken
a few squares back to burn on the commons. Negroes were running around, cutting
them open, piling them up, and setting them afire. All were as busy as though
their salvation depended on disappointing the Yankees. Later, Charlie sent for
us to come to the river and see him fire a flatboat loaded with the precious
material for which the Yankees are risking their bodies and souls. Up and down
the levee, as far as we could see, negroes were rolling it down to the brink of
the river where they would set them afire and push the bales in to float
burning down the tide. Each sent up its wreath of smoke and looked like a tiny
steamer puffing away. Only I doubt that from the source to the mouth of the
river there are as many boats afloat on the Mississippi. The flatboat was piled
with as many bales as it could hold without sinking. Most of them were cut
open, while negroes staved in the heads of barrels of alcohol, whiskey, etc.,
and dashed bucketsful over the cotton. Others built up little chimneys of pine
every few feet, lined with pine knots and loose cotton, to burn more quickly.
There, piled the length of the whole levee, or burning in the river, lay the
work of thousands of negroes for more than a year past. It had come from every
side. Men stood by who owned the cotton that was burning or waiting to burn.
They either helped, or looked on cheerfully. Charlie owned but sixteen bales —
a matter of some fifteen hundred dollars; but he was the head man of the whole
affair, and burned his own, as well as the property of others. A single barrel
of whiskey that was thrown on the cotton, cost the man who gave it one hundred
and twenty-five dollars. (It shows what a nation in earnest is capable of
doing.) Only two men got on the flatboat with Charlie when it was ready. It was
towed to the middle of the river, set afire in every place, and then they
jumped into a little skiff fastened in front, and rowed to land. The cotton
floated down the Mississippi one sheet of living flame, even in the sunlight.
It would have been grand at night. But then we will have fun watching it this
evening anyway; for they cannot get through to-day, though no time is to be
lost. Hundreds of bales remained untouched. An incredible amount of property
has been destroyed to-day; but no one begrudges it. Every grog-shop has been
emptied, and gutters and pavements are floating with liquors of all kinds. So
that if the Yankees are fond of strong drink, they will fare ill.
Yesterday, Mr. Hutchinson and a Dr. Moffat called to ask for
me, with a message about Jimmy. I was absent, but they saw Lilly. Jimmy, they
said, was safe. Though sick in bed, he had sprung up and had rushed to the
wharf at the first tap of the alarm bell in New Orleans. But as nothing could
be done, he would probably be with us to-day, bringing mother and Miriam. I
have neither heard nor seen more. The McRae, they said, went to the bottom with
the others. They did not know whether any one aboard had escaped. God be
praised that Jimmy was not on her then! The new boat to which he was appointed is
not yet finished. So he is saved! I am distressed about Captain Huger, and
could not refrain from crying, he was so good to Jimmy. But I remembered Miss
Cammack might think it rather tender and obtrusive, so I dried my eyes and
began to hope he had escaped. Oh! how glad I should be to know he has suffered
no harm. Mr. Hutchinson was on his way above, going to join others where the
final battle is to be fought on the Mississippi. He had not even time to sit
down; so I was doubly grateful to him for his kindness. I wish I could have
thanked him for being so considerate of me in my distress now. In her
agitation, Lilly gave him a letter I had been writing to George when I was
called away; and begged him to address it and mail it at Vicksburg, or
somewhere; for no mail will leave here for Norfolk for a long while to come.
The odd part is, that he does not know George. But he said he would gladly take
charge of it and remember the address, which Lilly told him was Richmond. Well!
if the Yankees get it they will take it for an insane scrawl. I wanted to calm
his anxiety about us, though I was so wildly excited that I could only say, “Don't
mind us! We are safe. But fight, George! Fight for us!” The repetition was
ludicrous. I meant so much, too! I only wanted him to understand he could best
defend us there. Ah! Mr. Yankee! if you had but your brothers in this world,
and their lives hanging by a thread, you too might write wild letters! And if
you want to know what an excited girl can do, just call and let me show you the
use of a small seven-shooter and a large carving-knife which vibrate between my
belt and my pocket, always ready for emergencies.
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 16-20
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