One of these days, when peace is restored and we are quietly
settled in our allotted corners of this wide world without any particularly exciting
event to alarm us; and with the knowledge of what is now the future, and will
then be the dead past; seeing that all has been for the best for us in the end;
that all has come right in spite of us, we will wonder how we could ever have
been foolish enough to await each hour in such breathless anxiety. We will ask
ourselves if it was really true that nightly, as we lay down to sleep, we did
not dare plan for the morning, feeling that we might be homeless and beggars
before the dawn. How unreal it will then seem! We will say it was our wild
imagination, perhaps. But how bitterly, horribly true it is now!
Four days ago the Yankees left us, to attack Vicksburg,
leaving their flag flying in the Garrison without a man to guard it, and with
the understanding that the town would be held responsible for it. It was
intended for a trap; and it succeeded. For night before last, it was pulled
down and torn to pieces.
Now, unless Will will have the kindness to sink a dozen of their
ships up there, — I hear he has command of the lower batteries, — they will be
back in a few days, and will execute their threat of shelling the town. If they
do, what will become of us? All we expect in the way of earthly property is as
yet mere paper, which will be so much trash if the South is ruined, as it
consists of debts due father by many planters for professional services
rendered, who, of course, will be ruined, too, so all money is gone. That is
nothing, we will not be ashamed to earn our bread, so let it go.
But this house is at least a shelter from the weather, all
sentiment apart. And our servants, too; how could they manage without us? The
Yankees, on the river, and a band of guerrillas in the woods, are equally
anxious to precipitate a fight. Between the two fires, what chance for us? It
would take only a little while to burn the city over our heads. They say the
women and children must be removed, these guerrillas. Where, please? Charlie
says we must go to Greenwell. And have this house pillaged? For Butler has
decreed that no unoccupied house shall be respected. If we stay through the
battle, if the Federals are victorious, we will suffer. For the officers here
were reported to have said, “If the people here did not treat them decently,
they would know what it was when Billy Wilson's crew arrived. They would
give them a lesson!” That select crowd is now in New Orleans. Heaven help us
when they reach here! It is in these small cities that the greatest outrages
are perpetrated. What are we to do?
A new proclamation
from Butler has just come. It seems that the ladies have an ugly way of
gathering their skirts when the Federals pass, to avoid any possible contact.
Some even turn up their noses. Unladylike, to say the least. But it is, maybe, owing
to the odor they have, which is said to be unbearable even at this early season
of the year. Butler says, whereas the so-called ladies of New Orleans insult
his men and officers, he gives one and all permission to insult any or all who
so treat them, then and there, with the assurance that the women will not
receive the slightest protection from the Government, and that the men will all
be justified. I did not have time to read it, but repeat it as it was told to
me by mother, who is in utter despair at the brutality of the thing. These men
our brothers? Not mine! Let us hope for the honor of their nation that Butler
is not counted among the gentlemen of the land. And so, if any man should fancy
he cared to kiss me, he could do so under the pretext that I had pulled my
dress from under his feet! That will justify them! And if we decline their
visits, they can insult us under the plea of a prior affront. Oh! Gibbes!
George! Jimmy! never did we need your protection as sorely as now. And not to
know even whether you are alive! When Charlie joins the army, we will be
defenseless, indeed. Come to my bosom, O my discarded carving-knife, laid aside
under the impression that these men were gentlemen. We will be close friends
once more. And if you must have a sheath, perhaps I may find one for you in the
heart of the first man who attempts to Butlerize me. I never dreamed of kissing
any man save my father and brothers. And why any one should care to kiss any
one else, I fail to understand. And I do not propose to learn to make
exceptions.
Still no word from the boys. We hear that Norfolk has been
evacuated; but no details. George was there. Gibbes is wherever Johnston is,
presumably on the Rappahannock; but it is more than six weeks since we have
heard from either of them, and all communication is cut off.
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 33-6
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