I am particularly happy to-day, for we have just heard from
Brother for the first time since last July. And he is well, and happy, and
wants us to come to him in New Orleans so he can take care of us, and no longer
be so anxious for our safety. If we only could! —To be sure the letter is from
a gentleman who is just out of the city, who says he writes at Brother's
earnest request; still it is something to hear, even indirectly. One hundred
and fifty dollars he encloses with the request that mother will draw for any
amount she wishes. Dear Brother, money is the least thing we need; first of
all, we are dying for want of a home. If we could only see ours once more!
During this time we have heard incidentally of Brother; of
his having taken the oath of allegiance — which I am confident he did not do
until Butler's October decree — of his being a prominent Union man, of his
being a candidate for the Federal Congress, and of his withdrawal; and finally
of his having gone to New York and Washington, from which places he only
returned a few weeks since. That is all we ever heard. A very few people have
been insolent enough to say to me, “Your brother is as good a Yankee as any.”
My blood boils as I answer, “Let him be President Lincoln if he will, and I
would love him the same.” And so I would. Politics cannot come between me and
my father's son. What he thinks right, is right, for him, though not for me. If
he is for the Union, it is because he believes it to be in the right, and I
honor him for acting from conviction, rather than from dread of public opinion.
If he were to take up the sword against us to-morrow, Miriam and I, at least,
would say, “If he thinks it his duty, he is right; we will not forget he is our
father's child.” And we will not. From that sad day when the sun was setting
for the first time on our father's grave, when the great, strong man sobbed in
agony at the thought of what we had lost, and taking us both on his lap put his
arms around us and said, “Dear little sisters, don't cry; I will be father and
brother, too, now,” he has been both. He respects our opinions, we shall
respect his. I confess myself a rebel, body and soul. Confess? I glory
in it! Am proud of being one; would not forego the title for any other earthly
one!
Though none could regret the dismemberment of our old Union
more than I did at the time, though I acknowledge that there never was a more
unnecessary war than this in the beginning, yet once in earnest, from the
secession of Louisiana I date my change of sentiment. I have never since then
looked back; forward, forward! is the cry; and as the Federal States sink each
day in more appalling folly and disgrace, I grow prouder still of my own
country and rejoice that we can no longer be confounded with a nation which
shows so little fortitude in calamity, so little magnanimity in its hour of
triumph. Yes! I am glad we are two distinct tribes! I am proud of my country;
only wish I could fight in the ranks with our brave soldiers, to prove my
enthusiasm; would think death, mutilation, glorious in such a cause; cry, “War
to all eternity before we submit.” But if I can't fight, being unfortunately a
woman, which I now regret for the first time in my life, at least I can help in
other ways. What fingers can do in knitting and sewing for them, I have done
with the most intense delight; what words of encouragement and praise could
accomplish, I have tried on more than one bold soldier boy, and not altogether
in vain; I have lost my home and all its dear contents for our Southern Rights,
have stood on its deserted hearthstone and looked at the ruin of all I loved — without
a murmur, almost glad of the sacrifice if it would contribute its mite towards
the salvation of the Confederacy. And so it did, indirectly; for the battle of
Baton Rouge which made the Yankees, drunk with rage, commit outrages in our
homes that civilized Indians would blush to perpetrate, forced them to abandon
the town as untenable, whereby we were enabled to fortify Port Hudson here,
which now defies their strength. True they have reoccupied our town; that Yankees
live in our house; but if our generals said burn the whole concern, would I not
put the torch to our home readily, though I love its bare skeleton still? In
deed I would, though I know what it is to be without one. Don't Lilly and
mother live in a wretched cabin in vile Clinton while strangers rest under our
father's roof? Yankees, I owe you one for that!
Well! I boast myself Rebel, sing “Dixie,” shout Southern
Rights, pray for God's blessing on our cause, without ceasing, and would not
live in this country if by any possible calamity we should be conquered; I am
only a woman, and that is the way I feel. Brother may differ. What then? Shall
I respect, love him less? No! God bless him! Union or Secession, he is always
my dear, dear Brother, and tortures could not make me change my opinion.
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 316-9