Just after sunset yesterday, Anna and I were walking down
the road towards the sugar-house, she reading occasionally from Abbott's “Napoleon,”
and then pausing for me to explain the very difficult passages she could
not understand, when we suddenly became aware of the approach of a horse, and
raising our bowed heads, beheld Colonel Breaux and another before us, to our
infinite surprise and astonishment. The Colonel sprang from his horse and
advanced on foot; his companion slowly followed his example, and was introduced
as Captain Morrison. We adjourned our historical fit for some future period,
and walked home with the gentlemen. Miriam did not get back from her excursion
to the cane-patch until it was quite late; when after sitting down a few
moments, she ran upstairs to change her dress. She had just put it on an hour
before, but nothing would do but she must dress up fine; so she put on her
handsomest organdie. In vain I pointed to my simple pink muslin with a white
body that I had worn all day, and begged she would not make the contrast
between us more striking than ever, as I felt I could not change it without
exciting remark. She was obdurate; dressed herself in gorgeous array, and, as
usual, I looked like her lady's maid.
Colonel Breaux paid my hair the most extravagant
compliments. He said he could not say his prayers for looking at it in church,
Sunday before last. Perhaps that is the reason St. Paul said a woman should not
worship in church with her head uncovered! But as the Yankees stole my bonnet, I
am reduced to wearing my black straw walking-hat with its curled brim, trimmed
in black ribbon with golden sheaves of wheat. Two years ago this fall, father
threw me a banknote at table, and I purchased this with it. Now it is my only
headgear, except a sunbonnet. Before leaving, which was not until quite late,
this evening was named for our ride to the fortifications, to our infinite
delight, as we have dreamed and talked of nothing else for a week. . . .
A dispatch just received from Gibbes, from Mobile, on his
way home. I am so happy! But what can bring him? I fear Lydia has gone to
Clinton to meet him at Lilly's.
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 243-5
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