My Heart,—
I am glad that it was you who found him. O Louis, Louis, Louis!... I am not going to write about him.... I loved him, and he loved me.... Oh, we give, we give in this war!
I hear from my father, broken-hearted for his son, tender and loving as ever to his daughter. I hear, too, from your father—a letter to keep forever, praising you to me so nobly! And Judith Cary has written. I shall love her well,—oh, well!
Where are you this stormy night? I sit before the fire, in the gilt chair, and the magnolia strikes against the window pane, and I hear, far off, the thunder and shouting, and if I could I would stay the bullets with my hands.
The enemy is cutting the levees on this side, up and down the river. If they cut a certain one, it will be to our disaster at Cape Jessamine. The negroes grow frightened, and now every day they leave. I did not mean to tell you all this. It is nothing.
Where are you this night of rainy wind? I look into the fire which is low at this hour, and I see ranged cannon, and banners that rise and fall. And may the morning—and may the morning bring me a letter!
Thine, all thine,
Désirée Gaillard.
A week later, having been granted the furlough for which he asked, he found himself below Natchez, bargaining with two black ferrymen to take him across the river.