Honestly, I believe the women of the South are as brave as the men who are fighting, and certainly braver than the "Home Guard." I have not yet been able to coax myself into being as alarmed as many I could name are. They say it is because I do not know the danger. Soit. I prefer being brave through ignorance, to being afraid in consequence of my knowledge of coming events. Thank Heaven, my brothers are the bravest of the brave! I would despise them if they shrunk back, though Lucifer should dispute the path with them. Well! All men are not Morgan boys! They tell me cowards actually exist, though I hope I never met one. The poor men that went to the Asylum for safety might not have what Lavinia calls "a moral backbone." No wonder, then, they tumbled in there! Besides, I am told half the town spent the night on the banks of the river, on that occasion; and perhaps these unfortunates were subject to colds, and preferred the shelter of a good roof. Poor little fellows! How I longed to give them my hoops, corsets, and pretty blue organdie in exchange for their boots and breeches! Only I thought it was dangerous; for suppose the boots had been so used to running that they should prance off with me, too? Why, it would ruin my reputation! Miss Morgan in petticoats is thought to be "as brave as any other man"; but these borrowed articles might make her fly as fast "as any other man," too, if panic is contagious, as the Yankees here have proved. One consolation is, that all who could go with any propriety, and all who were worthy of fighting, among those who believed in the South, are off at the seat of war; it is only trash, and those who are obliged to remain for private reasons, who still remain. Let us count those young individuals as trash, and step over them. Only ask Heaven why you were made with a man's heart, and a female form, and those creatures with beards were made as bewitchingly nervous?
August 2d, Saturday.
I had thought my running days were over; so little did I anticipate another stampede that I did not notice the report of the attack that was prophesied for night before last, and went to bed without gathering my clothes. But to-day comes a hasty note from Charlie, telling us to leave instantly as General Breckinridge is advancing with ten thousand men to attack us, and at 12 M. yesterday was within thirty-four miles. He begged us to leave to-day; there would be trouble before to-morrow night. It was so earnest, and he asserted all so positively, that we are going to Phillie's this evening to stay a week, as they say eight days will decide. Ah, me! our beautiful town! Still I am skeptical. If it must be, pray Heaven that the blow comes now! Nothing can be equal to suspense. These poor men! Are they not dying fast enough? Will Baumstark have orders for an unlimited supply of coffins next week? Only Charlie's family, ours, and the Brunots know it. He enjoined the strictest secrecy, though the Brunots sent to swear Mrs. Loucks in, as she, like ourselves, has no protector. I would like to tell everybody; but it will warn the Federals. I almost wish we, too, had been left in ignorance; it is cruel to keep it to ourselves. I believe the Yankees expect something; "they say" they have armed fifteen hundred negroes. Foes and insurrection in town, assailing friends outside.—Nice time!
Our cavalry has passed the Amite. Poor Charlie has come all the way to the ferry landing on the other side to warn us. If we do not take advantage, it will not be for want of knowing what is to come. How considerate it was in him to come such a long way! I am charmingly excited! If I only had a pair of breeches, my happiness would be complete. Let it come! I lose all, but in Heaven's name let us have it over at once! My heart fails when I look around, but "Spit fire!" and have an end to this at once! Liberty forever, though death be the penalty.
Treason! Here lies my pass at my elbow, in which has been gratuitously inserted that "Parties holding it are considered to give their parole not to give information, countenance, aid, or support to the so-called Confed. S." As I did not apply for it, agree to the stipulation, or think it by any means proper, I don't consider it binding. I could not give my word for doing what my conscience tells me is Right. I cross with this book full of treason. It "countenances" the C.S.; shall I burn it? That is a stupid ruse; they are too wise to ask you to subscribe to it, they just append it.
August 3d,
Westover.
Enfin nous sommes arrivées! And after what a trip! As we reached the ferry, I discovered I had lost the pass, and had to walk back and search for it, aided by Mr. Tunnard, who met me in my distress, as it has always been his luck to do. But somebody had already adopted the valuable trifle, so I had to rejoin mother and Miriam without it. The guard resolutely refused to let us pass until we got another, so off flew Mr. Tunnard to procure a second—which was vastly agreeable, as I knew he would have to pay twenty-five cents for it, Yankees having come down as low as that, to procure money. But he had gone before we could say anything, and soon returned with the two-bits' worth of leave of absence. Then we crossed the river in a little skiff after sundown, in a most unpleasant state of uncertainty as to whether the carriage was waiting at the landing for us, for I did not know if Phillie had received my note, and there was no place to go if she had not sent for us. However, we found it waiting, and leaving mother and Miriam to pay the ferry, I walked on to put our bundles in the carriage. A man stepped forward, calling me by name and giving me a note from Charlie before I reached it; and as I placed my foot on the step, another came up and told me he had left a letter at home for me at one o'clock. I bowed Yes (it was from Howell; must answer to-morrow). He asked me not to mention it was "him"; a little servant had asked his name, but he told her it was none of her business. I laughed at the refined remark, and said I had not known who it was—he would hardly have been flattered to hear I had not even inquired. He modestly said that he was afraid I had seen him through the window. Oh, no! I assured him. "Well, please, anyhow, don't say it's me!" he pleaded most grammatically. I answered, smiling, "I did not know who it was then, I know no more now, and if you choose, I shall always remain in ignorance of your identity." He burst out laughing, and went off with, "Oh, do, Miss Morgan, forget all about me!" as though it was a difficult matter! Who can he be?
We had a delightful drive in the moonlight, though it was rather long; and it was quite late when we drove up to the house, and were most cordially welcomed by the family. We sat up late on the balcony listening for the report of cannon, which, however, did not come. Baton Rouge is to be attacked to-morrow, "they say." Pray Heaven it will all be over by that time! Nobody seems to doubt it, over here. A while ago a long procession of guerrillas passed a short distance from the house, looking for a party of Yankees they heard of in the neighborhood, and waved their hats, for lack of handkerchiefs, to us as we stood on the balcony.
I call this writing under difficulties! Here I am employing my knee as a desk, a position that is not very natural to me, and by no means comfortable. I feel so stupid, from want of sleep last night, that no wonder I am not even respectably bright. I think I shall lay aside this diary with my pen. I have procured a nicer one, so I no longer regret its close. What a stupid thing it is! As I look back, how faintly have I expressed things that produced the greatest impression on me at the time, and how completely have I omitted the very things I should have recorded! Bah! it is all the same trash! And here is an end of it—for this volume, whose stupidity can only be equaled by the one that precedes, and the one that is to follow it. But who expects to be interesting in war times? If I kept a diary of events, it would be one tissue of lies. Think! There was no battle on the 10th or 11th, McClellan is not dead, and Gibbes was never wounded! After that, who believes in reliable information? Not I!
BOOK III