It is impossible to discover the true story of last night's
alarm. Some say it was a gang of negroes who attacked the pickets in revenge
for having been turned out of the Garrison; others say it was a number of our
soldiers who fired from the bushes; and the most amusing story is that they
took alarm at an old white horse, which they killed, mistaking him for the
Confederates. One regiment has refused to do picket duty; and the story runs
among these poor soldiers that our army, which is within a mile, is perfectly
overwhelming. The excitement still continues.
I have been writing to the Brunots the news confirming the
death of McClellan, the surrender of his army, and the good tidings of our
Ram's recent exploits above Vicksburg, and her arriving safely under the guns
there. If we could keep all the dispatches that have passed between us since
the battle of the forts, what a collection of absurdity and contradiction it
would be! “Forts have been taken.” “Their ships have passed; forts safe;
Yankees at our mercy.” “Ships at New Orleans. City to be bombarded in twelve
hours.” “Forts surrendered.” “City under British protection.” “No, it isn't.” “City
surrendered.” “Mistake.” “Baton Rouge to be burned when Yankee ships come.” And
soon, sometimes three times a day, each dispatch contradicting the other, and
all equally ridiculous.
The crowd here seems to increase. The streets are thronged
with the military, and it will soon be impossible to go even to Mrs. Brunot's,
which will be a great privation to me. .
. . Five thousand are to come next week, and then it will really be impossible
to go in the streets.
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 123-4
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