Again last night,
about nine, we heard cannon in Baton Rouge, and watched the flashes, which
preceded the reports by a minute, at least, for a long time. We must have seen
our own firing; perhaps we wanted to find out the batteries of the enemy. It
was not the most delightful thing imaginable to watch what might be the
downfall of our only home! And then to think each ball might bring death to
some one we love! Ah, no! it was not pleasant! Miriam and I have many friends
in Breckinridge's division, I expect, if we could only hear the names of the
regiments. The Fourth is certainly there. And poor Will! I wonder if he has had
his supper yet? I have been thinking of him ever since Mr. Scales told me he
was there, and praying myself sick for his safety and that of the rest. I shut
my eyes at every report and say, “Oh, please! poor Will! — and the others, too!”
And when I don't hear the cannon, I pray, to be in advance of the next.
It is now midday,
and again we hear firing; but have yet to learn the true story of the first
day's fight. Preserve me from the country in such stirring days! We might as
well be in Europe as to have the Mississippi between us and town.
By unanimous
consent, the little lane in front of the house has been christened “Guerrilla
Lane,” and the long one leading to the river, “Arkansas.” What an episode that
was, in our lives! The officers go by the name of Miriam's, Ginnie's, Sarah's,
as though they belonged to each!
Those girls did me
the meanest thing imaginable. Mr. Talbot and I were planning a grand combined
attack on Baton Rouge, in which he was to command a fleet and attack the town
by the river, while I promised to get up a battalion of girls and attack them
in the rear. We had settled it all, except the time, when just then all the
others stopped talking. I went on: “And now, it is only necessary for you to
name the day —” Here the girls commenced to giggle, and the young men tried to
suppress a smile; I felt annoyed, but it did not strike me until after they had
left, that I had said anything absurd. What evil imaginations they must have,
if they could have fancied I meant anything except the battle!
SOURCE: Sarah
Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 158-9
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