Last night I determined to stay. Miriam went after our
trunks at daylight. A few hours after, Lilly wrote we must go back. McClellan's
army was cut to pieces and driven back to Maryland, by Jackson; the Federals
were being driven into the swamp from Richmond, too. Beauregard is undoubtedly
coming to attack Baton Rouge; his fire would burn the town, if the gunboats do
not; the Yankees will shell, at all events, if forced to retire. It cannot
stand. We can't go to New Orleans. Butler says he will lay it in ashes if he is
forced to evacuate it, from yellow fever or other causes. Both must be burned.
Greenwell is not worth the powder it would cost, so we must stand the chance of
murder and starvation there, rather than the certainty of being placed between
two fires here. Well, I see nothing but bloodshed and beggary staring us in the
face. Let it come. “I hope to die shouting, the Lord will provide.”
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 67-8
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