Last night the town was in a dreadful state of excitement.
Before sunset a regiment, that had been camped out of town, came in, and
pitched their tents around the new theatre, in front of our church. All was
commotion and bustle; and as the pickets had been drawn in, and the soldiers
talked freely of expecting an attack, everybody believed it, and was
consequently in rather an unpleasant state of anticipation. Their cannon were
on the commons back of the church, the artillery horses tied to the wheels;
while some dozen tents were placed around, filled with men who were ready to harness
them at the first alarm. With all these preparations in full view, we went to
bed as usual. I did not even take the trouble of gathering my things which I
had removed from my “peddler sack”; and slept, satisfied that, if forced to
fly, I would lose almost everything in spite of my precaution in making a bag.
Well! night passed, and here is morning, and nothing is
heard yet. The attack is delayed until this evening, or to-morrow, they say.
Woman though I am, I am by no means as frightened as some of these men are. I
can't get excited about it. Perhaps it is because they know the danger, and I
do not. But I hate to see men uneasy! I have been so accustomed to
brave, fearless ones, who would beard the Devil himself, that it gives me a
great disgust to see any one less daring than father and the boys.
I have been so busy preparing to go to the city that I think
if the frolic should intervene and prevent my departure, I would be
disappointed, though I do not want to go. It would be unpleasant, for instance,
to pack all I own in my trunk, and just as I place the key in my pocket to hear
the shriek of “Van Dorn!” raised again. This time it is to be Ruggles, though.
I would not mind if he came before I was packed. Besides, even if I miss the
fun here, they say the boats are fired into from Plaquemine; and then I have
the pleasure of being in a fight anyhow. Mother is alarmed about that part of
my voyage, but Miriam and I persuaded her it is nothing.
If I was a man — oh, wouldn't I be in Richmond with the
boys! . . . What is the use of all these
worthless women, in war times? If they attack, I shall don the breeches, and
join the assailants, and fight, though I think they would be hopeless fools to
attempt to capture a town they could not hold for ten minutes under the
gunboats. How do breeches and coats feel, I wonder? I am actually afraid of
them. I kept a suit of Jimmy's hanging in the armoir for six weeks waiting for
the Yankees to come, thinking fright would give me courage to try it (what a
seeming paradox!), but I never succeeded. Lilly one day insisted on my trying
it, and I advanced so far as to lay it on the bed, and then carried my bird out
— I was ashamed to let even my canary see me; — but when I took a second look,
my courage deserted me, and there ended my first and last attempt at disguise.
I have heard so many girls boast of having worn men's clothes; I wonder where
they get the courage.
To think half the men in town sat up all night in
expectation of a stampede, while we poor women slept serenely! Everybody is
digging pits to hide in when the ball opens. The Days have dug a tremendous
one; the Wolffs, Sheppers, and some fifty others have taken the same
precaution. They may as well dig their graves at once; what if a tremendous
shell should burst over them, and bury in the dirt those who were not killed?
Oh, no! let me see all the danger, and the way it is coming, at once.
To-morrow, — or day after, — in case no unexpected little incident occurs in
the interval, I purpose going to New Orleans, taking father's papers and part
of Miriam's and mother's valuables for safe-keeping. I hate to go, but they all
think I should, as it will be one less to look after if we are shelled — which
I doubt. I don't know that I require much protection, but I might as
well be agreeable and go. Ouf! how I will grow homesick, before I am out of
sight!
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 118-21
