A proclamation of Van Dorn has just been smuggled into town,
that advises all persons living within eight miles of the Mississippi to remove
into the interior, as he is determined to defend his department at all hazards
to the last extremity. Does not look like the Peace I have been deluding myself
with, does it? That means another Exodus. How are we to leave, when we are not
allowed to pass the limits of the corporation by the Federals? Where are we to
go? We are between the two armies, and here we must remain patiently awaiting
the result. Some of these dark nights, bang! we will hear the cannon, and then
it will be sauve qui peut in a shower of shells. Bah! I don't believe
God will suffer that we should be murdered in such a dreadful way! I don't
believe He will suffer us to be turned homeless and naked on the world! “Something
will turn up” before we are attacked, and we will be spared, I am certain. We
can't look forward more than an hour at a time now, sometimes not a minute
ahead (witness the shelling frolic), so I must resume my old habit of laying a
clean dress on my bed before going to sleep, which I did every night for six
weeks before the shelling of Baton Rouge, in order to run respectably, as
muslin cross-bar nightgowns are not suitable for day dresses.
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 90-1
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