Last night about one o'clock I was wakened and told that mother
and Miriam had come. Oh, how glad I was! I tumbled out of bed half asleep and
hugged Miriam in a dream, but waked up when I got to mother. They came up under
a flag of truce, on a boat going up for provisions, which, by the way, was
brought to by half a dozen Yankee ships in succession, with a threat to send a
broadside into her if she did not stop — the wretches knew it must be
under a flag of truce; no boats leave, except by special order to procure
provisions.
What tales they had to tell! They were on the wharf, and saw
the ships sail up the river, saw the broadside fired into Will Pinckney's
regiment, the boats we fired, our gunboats, floating down to meet them all
wrapped in flames; twenty thousand bales of cotton blazing in a single pile;
molasses and sugar thrown over everything. They stood there opposite to where
one of the ships landed, expecting a broadside, and resolute not to be shot in
the back. I wish I had been there! And Captain Huger is not dead! They had
hopes of his life for the first time day before yesterday. Miriam saw the ball
that had just been extracted. He will probably be lame for the rest of his
life. It will be a glory to him. For even the Federal officers say that never
did they see so gallant a little ship, or one that fought so desperately as the
McRae. Men and officers fought like devils. Think of all those great leviathans
after the poor little “Widow Mickey”! One came tearing down on her sideways,
while the Brooklyn fired on her from the other side, when brave Captain Warley
put the nose of the Manassas under the first, and tilted her over so that the
whole broadside passed over, instead of through, the McRae, who spit back its
poor little fire at both. And after all was lost, she carried the wounded and
the prisoners to New Orleans, and was scuttled by her own men in port. Glorious
Captain Huger! And think of his sending word to Jimmy, suffering as he was,
that “his little brass cannon was game to the last.” Oh! I hope he will
recover. Brave, dare-devil Captain Warley is prisoner, and on the way to Fort
Warren, that home of all brave, patriotic men. We'll have him out. And my poor
little Jimmy! If I have not spoken of him, it is not because I have lost sight
of him for a moment. The day the McRae went down, he arose from his bed, ill as
he was, and determined to rejoin her, as his own boat, the Mississippi, was not
ready. When he reached the St. Charles, he fell so very ill that he had to be
carried back to Brother's. Only his desperate illness saved him from being among
the killed or wounded on that gallant little ship. A few days after, he learned
the fate of the ship, and was told that Captain Huger was dead. No wonder he
should cry so bitterly! For Captain Huger was as tender and as kind to him as
his own dear father. God bless him for it! The enemy's ships were sailing up;
so he threw a few articles in a carpet-bag and started off for Richmond,
Corinth, anywhere, to fight. Sick, weak, hardly able to stand, he went off, two
weeks ago yesterday. We know not where, and we have never heard from him since.
Whether he succumbed to that jaundice and the rest, and lies dead or dying on
the road, God only knows. We can only wait and pray God to send dear little
Jimmy home in safety.
And this is War! Heaven save me from like scenes and
experiences again. I was wild with excitement last night when Miriam described
how the soldiers, marching to the depot, waved their hats to the crowds of
women and children, shouting, “God bless you, ladies! We will fight for you!”
and they, waving their handkerchiefs, sobbed with one voice, “God bless you,
Soldiers! Fight for us!”
We, too, have been having our fun. Early in the evening,
four more gunboats sailed up here. We saw them from the corner, three squares
off, crowded with men even up in the riggings. The American flag was flying
from every peak. It was received in profound silence, by the hundreds gathered
on the banks. I could hardly refrain from a groan. Much as I once loved that
flag, I hate it now! I came back and made myself a Confederate flag about five
inches long, slipped the staff in my belt, pinned the flag to my shoulder, and
walked downtown, to the consternation of women and children, who expected
something awful to follow. An old negro cried, “My young missus got her flag
flyin', anyhow!” Nettie made one and hid it in the folds of her dress. But we
were the only two who ventured. We went to the State House terrace, and took a
good look at the Brooklyn which was crowded with people who took a good look at
us, likewise. The picket stationed at the Garrison took alarm at half a dozen
men on horseback and ran, saying that the citizens were attacking. The kind
officers aboard the ship sent us word that if they were molested, the town
would be shelled. Let them! Butchers! Does it take thirty thousand men and
millions of dollars to murder defenseless women and children? O the great
nation! Bravo!
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 25-8
