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| Miriam Morgan |
Miriam and Mattie drove in, in the little buggy, last
evening after sunset, to find out what we were to do. Our condition is
desperate. Beauregard is about attacking these Federals. They say he is coming
from Corinth, and the fight will be in town. If true, we are lost again.
Starvation at Greenwell, fever and bullets here, will put an end to us soon
enough. There is no refuge for us, no one to consult. Brother, whose judgment
we rely on as implicitly as we did on father's, we hear has gone to New York;
there is no one to advise or direct us, for, if he is gone, there is no man in
Louisiana whose decision I would blindly abide by. Let us stay and die. We can
only die once; we can suffer a thousand deaths with suspense and uncertainty;
the shortest is the best. Do you think the few words here can give an idea of
our agony and despair? Nothing can express it. I feel a thousand years old
to-day. I have shed the bitterest tears to-day that I have shed since father
died. I can't stand it much longer; I'll give way presently, and I know my
heart will break. Shame! Where is God? A fig for your religion, if it only
lasts while the sun shines! “Better days are coming” — I can't!
Troops are constantly passing and repassing. They have
scoured the country for ten miles out, in search of guerrillas. We are here
without servants, clothing, or the bare necessaries of life: suppose they
should seize them on the way! I procured a pass for the wagon, but it now seems
doubtful if I can get the latter — a very faint chance. Well! let them go; our
home next; then we can die sure enough. With God's help, I can stand anything
yet in store for me. “I hope to die shouting, the Lord will provide!” Poor
Lavinia! if she could only see us! I am glad she does not know our condition.
5 P.M. What a day of agony, doubt, uncertainty, and despair!
Heaven save me from another such! Every hour fresh difficulties arose, until I
believe we were almost crazy, every one of us.
As Miriam was about stepping in the buggy, to go to
Greenwell to bring in our trunks, mother's heart misgave her, and she decided
to sacrifice her property rather than remain in this state any longer. After a
desperate discussion which proved that each argument was death, she decided to
go back to Greenwell and give up the keys of the house to General Williams, and
let him do as he pleased, rather than have it broken open during her absence.
Mattie and Mr. Tunnard were present at the discussion, which ended by the
latter stepping in the buggy and driving Miriam to the Garrison. General
Williams called her by name, and asked her about Major Drum. It seems all these
people, native and foreign, know us, while we know none. Miriam told him our
condition, how our brothers were away, father dead, and mother afraid to
remain, yet unwilling to lose her property by going away; how we three were
alone and unprotected here, but would remain rather than have our home
confiscated. He assured her the house should not be touched, that it would be
respected in our absence as though we were in it, and he would place a sentinel
at the door to guard it against his own men who might be disposed to enter. The
latter she declined, but he said he would send his aide to mark the house, that
it might be known. A moment after they got back, the aide, Mr. Biddle (I have
his name to so many passes that I know it now), came to the door. Mr. Tunnard
left him there, uncertain how we would receive a Christian, and I went out and
asked him in. He looked uncertain of his reception, too, when we put an end to
his doubt by treating him as we invariably treat gentlemen who appear such. He
behaved remarkably well under the trying circumstances, and insisted on a
sentinel; for, he said, though they would respect the property, there were many
bad characters among the soldiers who might attempt to rob it, and the sentinel
would protect it. After a visit of ten minutes, devoted exclusively to the
affair, he arose and took his leave, leaving me under the impression that he
was a gentleman wherever he came from, even if there were a few grammatical
errors in the pass he wrote me yesterday; but “thou that judgest another, dost
thou sin?”
Well, now we say, fly to Greenwell. Yes! and by to-night, a
most exaggerated account of the whole affair will be spread over the whole
country, and we will be equally suspected by our own people. Those who spread
useless falsehoods about us will gladly have a foundation for a monstrous one.
Didn't Camp Moore ring with the story of our entertaining the Federal officers?
Didn't they spread the report that Miriam danced with one to the tune of “Yankee
Doodle” in the State House garden? What will they stop at now? O! if I was only
a man, and knew what to do!
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 62-6
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