NEW ORLEANS. – Yesterday we arrived; I thought we should
never get here. Monday we had almost given up in despair, believing the
schooner would never return. But in the evening, when all were gathered in our
room discussing our hopes and fears, a sail was perceived at the mouth of the
bayou, whereupon every one rushed out to see the boat land. I believe that I have
not mentioned that this Bonfouca is on a bayou of the same name that runs
within a few yards of this house. It is an Indian name signifying Winding
River, which struck us as very appropriate when we watched the schooner sailing
now to the left, now to the right, apparently through the green fields; for the
high grass hid the course of the stream so that the faintest line was not
perceptible, except just in front of the house. All was now bustle and
confusion, packing, dressing, and writing last words to our friends at home,
until half-past eleven, when we embarked.
This is my first experience of schooners, and I don't care
if I never behold another. The cabin where Mr. Kennedy immediately carried me,
was just the size of my bed at home (in the days I had a home) and just high
enough to stand in. On each side of the short ladder, there was a mattress two
feet wide. One of them Mrs. R––– had possession of already, the other was
reserved for me. I gave the lower part of mine to Minna and Jennie, who spent
the rest of the night fighting each other and kicking me.
Just before twelve we “weighed anchor” and I went on deck to
take a last look at Dixie with the rest of the party. Every heart was full.
Each left brothers, sisters, husband, children, or dear friends behind. We
sang, “Farewell dear land,” with a slight quaver in our voices, looked at the
beautiful starlight shining on the last boundary of our glorious land, and,
fervently and silently praying, passed out of sight.
God bless you, all you dear ones we have left in our beloved
country! God bless and prosper you, and grant you the victory in the name of
Jesus Christ.
I returned to my mattress, and this is the way we spent the
night.
Mrs. R–––, rocking and moaning as she sat up in bed, whined
out her various ills with a minute description of each, ceasing the recital
only to talk of her son's body which lay on deck. (Yesterday morning she was
sitting crying on his coffin while a strange woman sat on its head eating her
bread and cheese.) Mrs. Bull, one of the most intelligent and refined ladies I
have yet met, who is perfectly devoted to me, sat by me, laughing and talking,
trying her best to make every one comfortable and happy in her unobtrusive way.
Mother talked to Mrs. R––– and cried at the thought of leaving her children
fighting and suffering. The space between the two beds was occupied by three
Irishwomen and Mrs. Ivy's two babies. The babies had commenced screaming as
they were brought into the pen, at which I was not surprised. Having pitched
their voices on the proper key, they never ceased shrieking, kicking, crying,
throwing up, and going through the whole list of baby performances. The nurses
scolded with shrill voices above the bedlam that had hushed even Mrs. R–––’s
complaints; Jennie and Minna quarreled, kicked, and cried; and as an
aggravation to the previous discomforts, a broad-shouldered, perspiring
Irishwoman sat just by my head, bracing herself against my pillow in the most
unpleasant style. I endured it without flinching until about half-past three,
when the condensed odor of a dozen different people and children became
unendurable, and I staggered up on deck where Miriam and Mrs. Ivy had been wise
enough to remain without venturing below. They laid me on a bench in the stern,
rolled me up in shawls to keep off the heavy dew, and there I remained until
daylight with them, as wide awake as ever.
At daylight there was a universal smoothing of heads, and
straightening of dresses, besides arrangements made for the inspection of
baggage. Being unwilling for any Christian to see such a book as this, I passed
a piece of tape through the centre leaves, and made Miriam tie it under her
hoops. At sunrise we were in sight of the houses at the lake end. It seemed as
though we would never reach land.
I forgot to speak of our alarm as we got in the lake. No
sooner had we fairly left the bayou than the sky suddenly became threatening.
The captain shook his head and spoke of a very ugly night for the lake, which
sent everybody's heart to their throats, and alarmed us immeasurably. We got
talking of the sailor's superstition of crossing the water with a corpse, until
we persuaded ourselves that it was more than probable we would founder in the
coming storm. But the severest storm we met was the one in the cabin; and all
night the only wind was a head breeze, and the spicy gale from below.
When we at last entered the canal, I beheld the animal now
so long unseen, the Yankee. In their dark blue uniforms, they stood around, but
I thought of the dear gray coats, and even the pickets of Madisonville seemed
nobler and greater men than these. Immediately a guard was placed on board, we
whispering before he came, “Our dear Confederates, God bless them.”
We had agreed among ourselves that come what would, we would
preserve our dignity and self-respect, and do anything rather than create a
scene among such people. It is well that we agreed. So we whispered quietly
among ourselves, exhorting each other to pay no attention to the remarks the
Yankees made about us as we passed, and acting the martyr to perfection, until
we came to Hickock's Landing. Here there was a group of twenty Yankees. Two
officers came up and asked us for papers; we said we had none. In five minutes
one came back, and asked if we had taken the oath. No; we had never taken any.
He then took down our names. Mother was alone in the coop. He asked if
there was not another. The schooner had fifteen passengers, and we had given
only fourteen names. Mother then came up and gave her name, going back soon
after.
While one went after our passes, others came to examine our
baggage. I could not but smile as an unfortunate young man got on his knees
before our trunk and respectfully handled our dirty petticoats and stockings. “You
have gone through it before,” he said. “Of course, the Confederates searched
it.” — “Indeed, they did not touch it!” I exclaimed. “They never think of doing
such work.” — “Miss, it is more mortifying to me than it can be to you,” he
answered. And I saw he was actually blushing. He did his work as delicately as
possible, and when he returned the keys, asked if we had letters. I opened my
box and put them into his hand. One came near getting me into serious trouble.
It was sent by some one I never saw, with the assurance that it contained nothing
objectionable. I gave it sealed to the man, who opened it, when it proved to be
rather disagreeable, I judged from his language. He told me his captain must
see it before he could let me have it, and carried it off. Presently he came
back and told me it could not be returned. I told him to burn it then, as I
neither knew the writer, the contents, nor those it was written to. “I may save
you some difficulty if I destroy it,” he remarked, whereupon he tore it up and
flung it into the canal. I have since found I had cause to be grateful; for
just after came an officer to see the young lady who brought that letter. I
showed the pieces in the water, saying the young man had torn it up, which
seemed to annoy him; it was to be sent to headquarters, he said.
Then came a bundle of papers on board carried by another,
who standing in front of us, cried in a startling way, “Sarah Morgan!” — “Here”
(very quietly). — “Stand up!” — “I cannot” (firmly). — “Why not?” — “Unable”
(decisively). After this brief dialogue, he went on with the others until all
were standing except myself, when he delivered to each a strip of paper that
informed the people that Miss, or Mrs. So-and-So had taken and subscribed the
oath as Citizen of the United States. I thought that was all, and rejoiced at
our escape. But after another pause he uncovered his head and told us to hold
up our right hands. Half-crying, I covered my face with mine and prayed
breathlessly for the boys and the Confederacy, so that I heard not a word he was
saying until the question, “So help you God?” struck my ear. I shuddered and
prayed harder. There came an awful pause in which not a lip was moved. Each
felt as though in a nightmare, until, throwing down his blank book, the officer
pronounced it “All right!” Strange to say, I experienced no change. I prayed as
hard as ever for the boys and our country, and felt no nasty or disagreeable
feeling which would have announced the process of turning Yankee.
Then it was that mother commenced. He turned to the mouth of
the diminutive cave, and asked if she was ready to take the oath. “I suppose I have
to, since I belong to you,” she replied. “No, madam, you are not obliged;
we force no one. Can you state your objections?” “Yes, I have three sons
fighting against you, and you have robbed me, beggared me!” she exclaimed,
launching into a speech in which Heaven knows what she did not say;
there was little she left out, from her despoiled house to her sore hand, both
of which she attributed to the at first amiable man, who was rapidly losing all
patience. Faint with hunger, dizzy with sleeplessness, she had wrought on her
own feelings until her nerves were beyond control. She was determined to carry
it out, and crying and sobbing went through with it.
I neither spoke nor moved. . . . The officer walked off angrily
and sent for a guard to have mother taken before General Bowens. Once through
her speech, mother yielded to the entreaties of the ladies and professed
herself ready to take the oath, since she was obliged to. :Madam, I did not
invite you to come,” said the polite officer, who refused to administer the
oath; and putting several soldiers on board, ordered them to keep all on board
until one could report to General Bowens. Mother retired to the cabin, while we
still kept our seats above.
Oh, that monotonous, never-ending canal! We thought it would
go on forever. At last we came to the basin in the centre of the city. Here was
a position for ladies! Sitting like Irish emigrants on their earthly
possessions, and coming in a schooner to New Orleans, which a year ago would
have filled us with horror. Again the landing was reached, and again we were
boarded by officers. I don't know how they knew of the difficulty mother had
made, but they certainly did, and ordered that none should leave until the
General's will was made known.
Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy, after a long delay and many
representations, at last prepared to leave. I was sitting in the spot I had
occupied ever since before daylight, with nothing to support me above my hips. All
of us had fasted since an early and light supper the night before; none had
slept. I was growing so weak from these three causes, and the burning sun (for
it was now twelve), that I could hardly speak when they came to tell me
good-bye. Alarmed at my appearance, Mrs. Bull entreated the officer to allow me
to leave the boat. No, he said; it was impossible; we should remain on board
until General Bowens could come. We may get an answer in half an hour, or we
may not get it for some time; and there we must stay until it came. “But this
young lady has been ill for months; she is perfectly exhausted, and will faint
if she is not removed immediately,” pleaded Mrs. Bull. She did not know my
powers of control. Faint! I would have expired silently first! The officer said
those were his orders; I could not leave. “Do you think you are performing your
duty as a gentleman and a Christian? This young lady has obtained her pass
already, without the slightest difficulty,” she persisted. Still he said he was
acting according to orders. Not to be baffled, she begged that she might be
allowed to take me to Brother, telling him who he was, while our trunk, Miriam,
Tiche, and mother would remain as hostages. Then he gave a reluctant consent on
condition I left my number, so he could go after me when I was wanted.
I don't know what good came of the consent, for there I was
to remain until something, I don't know what, happened. I only know I was
growing deathly sick and faint, and could hardly hold myself up, when some time
after Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy left (under the impression that I was to go
immediately), a gentleman in citizen's clothes came to me and said he had
obtained permission for me to wait General Bowens's orders in his office, a few
steps from the schooner. Thankful for so much, I accepted his arm and slowly
dragged myself along to the first shelter I had seen that day. By some
wonderful condescension Miriam and mother were allowed to follow; and with the
guard at the door, we waited there for half an hour more until our sentence
could be received.
Miriam had written a line to Brother as soon as possible,
telling him of the situation, and while we were waiting in this office, I half
dead with fatigue, a carriage dashed up to the door, and out of it stepped
Brother. I felt that all our troubles were over then. He looked so glad to see
us that it seemed a pity to tell the disagreeable story that yet remained to be
told. But once heard, he made all go right in a few moments. He got into the
carriage with mother, to take her to General Bowens, while we got into another
to come to the house. I saw no more of the guard or officer.
When we arrived, Sister was too astonished to speak. She did
not believe we would come when it was ordered that all should take the oath on
entering. If we had only realized it I don't think we would, either.
In half an hour mother got back. Supported by Brother's
presence, she had managed to hold up her right hand and say “Yes” to the oath —
which was more than any of us had done.
Brother found an officer at the door who had been ordered
(before he took mother to the General) to arrest her and confine her in the
Custom-House. I suppose Miriam and I would have shared the imprisonment with
her. But Brother has a way of making all these things right; and the man was
sent back without accomplishing his mission.
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 377-87
