About half-past nine, as we got up from the breakfast table,
a guerrilla told us the ram Arkansas was lying a few miles below, on her way to
cooperate with Breckinridge, whose advance guard had already driven the pickets
into Baton Rouge. Then we all grew wild with excitement.
Such exclamations! such delight that the dreadful moment had
at last arrived! And yet you could see each stop as we rejoiced, to offer up a
prayer for the preservation of those who were risking their lives at that moment.
Reason, and all else, was thrown aside, and we determined to participate in the
danger, if there was any to be incurred. Mother threatened us with shot and
shell and bloody murder, but the loud report of half a dozen cannon in slow
succession only made us more determined to see the fun, so Lilly Nolan and Miss
Walters got on horseback, and Phillie, Ginnie, Miriam, and I started off in the
broiling sun, leaving word for the carriage to overtake us. When we once got
in, the driver, being as crazy as we, fairly made his horses run along the road
to catch a glimpse of our Ram. When, miles below, she came in sight, we could
no longer remain in the carriage, but mounted the levee, and ran along on foot
until we reached her, when we crossed to the outer levee, and there she lay at
our feet.
And nothing in her after all! There lay a heavy, clumsy,
rusty, ugly flatboat with a great square box in the centre, while great cannon
put their noses out at the sides, and in front. The decks were crowded with
men, rough and dirty, jabbering and hastily eating their breakfast. That was
the great Arkansas! God bless and protect her, and the brave men she carries.
While there, a young man came up, and in answer to Phillie's
inquiries about her father — who, having gone to town yesterday to report,
being paroled, had written last night to say no passes were granted to leave
town — the young fellow informed her so pleasantly that her father was a
prisoner, held as hostage for Mr. Castle. Poor Phillie had to cry; so, to be
still more agreeable, he told her, Yes, he had been sent to a boat lying at the
landing, and ran the greatest risk, as the ram would probably sink the said
boat in a few hours. How I hated the fool for his relish of evil tidings!
But never mind our wild expedition, or what came of it. Am I
not patient! Ever since I commenced to write, the sound of a furious
bombardment has been ringing in my ears; and beyond an occasional run to see
the shells fly through the air (their white smoke, rather) I have not said a
word of it. The girls have all crowded on the little balcony up here, towards
town, and their shrieks of “There it goes!” “Listen!” “Look at them!” rise
above the sound of the cannon, and occasionally draw me out, too. But I sit
here listening, and wonder which report precedes the knocking down of our home;
which shell is killing some one I know and love. Poor Tiche and Dophy! — where
are they? And oh, I hope they did not leave my birdie Jimmy to die in his cage.
I charged them to let him loose if they could not carry him. Dophy will be so
frightened. I hope they are out of danger. Oh, my dear home! shall I ever see
you again? And the Brunots! Oh, how I hope they are safe. These loud cannon
make me heartsick, and yet I am so excited! How rapidly they answer each other!
I am told the attack commenced at five this morning, and lasted three hours.
Those girls are shouting that Baton Rouge must be on fire, from the volume of
smoke in that direction. How they scream as the balls go up, to show it to each
other. I think I'll take a look, too.
We are all going four or five miles through this warm sun to
be nearer the scene of action. Any one might know there was no white man on the
premises. There is the carriage! Oh, I am so seasick! What will I be
before we get back?
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 144-7
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