How long, O how long, is it since I have lain down in peace,
thinking, “This night I will rest in safety”? Certainly not since the fall of
Fort Jackson. If left to myself, I would not anticipate evil, but would quietly
await the issue of all these dreadful events; but when I hear men, who
certainly should know better than I, express their belief that in twenty-four
hours the town will be laid in ashes, I begin to grow uneasy, and think it must
be so, since they say it. These last few days, since the news arrived of the
intervention of the English and French, I have alternately risen and fallen
from the depth of despair to the height of delight and expectation, as the
probability of another exodus diminishes, and peace appears more probable. If
these men would not prophesy the burning of the city, I would be perfectly
satisfied. . . .
Well! I packed up a few articles to satisfy my conscience,
since these men insist that another run is inevitable, though against my own
conviction. I am afraid I was partly influenced by my dream last night of being
shelled out unexpectedly and flying without saving an article. It was the same
dream I had a night or two before we fled so ingloriously from Baton Rouge,
when I dreamed of meeting Will Pinckney suddenly, who greeted me in the most
extraordinarily affectionate manner, and told me that Vicksburg had fallen. He
said he had been chiefly to blame, and the Southerners were so incensed at his
losing, the Northerners at his defending, that both were determined to hang
him; he was running for his life. He took me to a hill from which I could see
the Garrison, and the American flag flying over it. I looked, and saw we were
standing in blood up to our knees, while here and there ghastly white bones
shone above the red surface. Just then, below me I saw crowds of people
running. “What is it?” I asked. “It means that in another instant they will
commence to shell the town. Save yourself.” “But Will — I must save some
clothes, too! How can I go among strangers with a single dress? I will get
some!'” I cried. He smiled and said, “You will run with only what articles you
happen to have on.” Bang! went the first shell, the people rushed by with
screams, and I awakened to tell Miriam what an absurd dream I had had. It
happened as Will had said, either that same day or the day after; for the
change of clothes we saved apiece were given to Tiche, who lost sight of us and
quietly came home when all was over, and the two dirty skirts and old cloak
mother saved, after carrying them a mile and a half, I put in the buggy that
took her up; so I saved nothing except the bag that was tied under my hoops.
Will was right. I saved not even my powder-bag. (Tiche had it in the bundle.)
My handkerchief I gave mother before we had walked three squares, and
throughout that long fearfully warm day, riding and walking through the fiery
sunshine and stifling dust, I had neither to cool or comfort me.
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 82-4
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