I find I have not spoken of the box-car which held the
Preston party that day on their way to York from Richmond. In the party were
Mr. and Mrs. Lawson Clay, General and Mrs. Preston and their three daughters,
Captain Rodgers, and Mr. Portman, whose father is an English earl, and
connected financially and happily with Portman Square. In my American ignorance
I may not state Mr. Portman's case plainly. Mr. Portman is, of course, a
younger son. Then there was Cellie and her baby and wet-nurse, with no end of
servants, male and female. In this ark they slept, ate, and drank, such being
the fortune of war. We were there but a short time, but Mr. Portman, during
that brief visit of ours, was said to have eaten three luncheons, and the
number of his drinks, toddies, so called, were counted, too. Mr. Portman's
contribution to the larder had been three small pigs. They were, however, run
over by the train, and made sausage meat of unduly and before their time.
General Lee says to the men who shirk duty, “This is the
people's war; when they tire, I stop.” Wigfall says, “It is all over; the game
is up.” He is on his way to Texas, and when the hanging begins he can step over
into Mexico.
I am plucking up heart, such troops do I see go by every
day. They must turn the tide, and surely they are going for something more than
surrender. It is very late, and the wind flaps my curtain, which seems to moan,
“Too late.” All this will end by making me a nervous lunatic.
Yesterday while I was driving with Mrs. Pride, Colonel McCaw
passed us! He called out, “I do hope you are in comfortable quarters.” “Very
comfortable,” I replied. “Oh, Mrs. Chesnut!” said Mrs. Pride, “how can you say
that?” “Perfectly comfortable, and hope it may never be worse with me,” said I.
“I have a clean little parlor, 16 by 18, with its bare floor well scrubbed, a
dinner-table, six chairs, and — well, that is all; but I have a charming
lookout from my window high. My world is now thus divided into two parts — where
Yankees are and where Yankees are not.”
As I sat disconsolate, looking out, ready for any new tramp
of men and arms, the magnificent figure of General Preston hove in sight. He
was mounted on a mighty steed, worthy of its rider, followed by his trusty
squire, William Walker, who bore before him the General's portmanteau. When I
had time to realize the situation, I perceived at General Preston's right hand
Mr. Christopher Hampton and Mr. Portman, who passed by. Soon Mrs. Pride, in
some occult way, divined or heard that they were coming here, and she sent me
at once no end of good things for my tea-table. General Preston entered very
soon after, and with him Clement Clay, of Alabama, the latter in pursuit of his
wife's trunk. I left it with the Rev. Mr. Martin, and have no doubt it is
perfectly safe, but where? We have written to Mr. Martin to inquire. Then
Wilmot de Saussure appeared. “I am here,” he said, “to consult with General
Chesnut. He and I always think alike.” He added, emphatically: “Slavery is
stronger than ever.” “If you think so,” said I, “you will find that for once
you and General Chesnut do not think alike. He has held that slavery was a
thing of the past, this many a year.”
I said to General Preston: “I pass my days and nights partly
at this window. I am sure our army is silently dispersing. Men are moving the
wrong way, all the time. They slip by with no songs and no shouts now. They
have given the thing up. See for yourself. Look there.” For a while the streets
were thronged with soldiers and then they were empty again. But the marching
now is without tap of drum.
SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin
and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 373-4
No comments:
Post a Comment