Later. Dr. Kennedy has just passed through, and was within the fortifications last night; brings news which is perhaps reliable, as it was obtained from Gardiner. It was, as we presumed, the batteries and gunboats. One we sunk; another, the Mississippi, we disabled so that the Yankees had to abandon and set fire to her, thirty-nine prisoners falling into our hands. It was her magazine that exploded this morning. Two other boats succeeded in passing, though badly crippled. Our batteries fired gallantly. Hurrah! for Colonel Steadman! I know his was by no means the least efficient!
Clinton, they say, will inevitably be sacked. Alas, for mother and Lilly! What can we do? The whole country is at the mercy of the Yankees as long as Gardiner keeps within the fortifications. Six miles below here they entered Mr. Newport's, pulled the pillow-cases from the beds, stuffed them with his clothes, and helped themselves generally. What can we expect here? To tell the truth, I should be disappointed if they did not even look in at us, on their marauding expedition.
March 17th.
On dit the Yankees have gone back to Baton Rouge, hearing we had sixty thousand men coming down after them. I believe I am positively disappointed! I did want to see them soundly thrashed! The light we thought was another burning house was that of the Mississippi. They say the shrieks of the men when our hot shells fell among them, and after they were left by their companions to burn, were perfectly appalling.
Another letter from Lilly has distressed me beyond measure. She says the one chicken and two dozen eggs Miriam and I succeeded in buying from the negroes by prayers and entreaties, saved them from actual hunger; and for two days they had been living on one egg apiece and some cornbread and syrup. Great heavens! has it come to this? Nothing to be bought in that abominable place for love or money. Where the next meal comes from, nobody knows.
Wednesday, March 25th.
Early last evening the tremendous clatter of a sword that made such unnecessary noise that one might imagine the owner thereof had betaken himself to the favorite pastime of his childhood, and was prancing in on his murderous weapon, having mistaken it for his war steed, announced the arrival of Captain Bradford, who with two friends came to say adieu. Those vile Yankees have been threatening Ponchatoula, and his battery, with a regiment of infantry, was on its way there to drive them back. The Captain sent me word of the distressing departure, with many assurances that he would take care of "my" John.
Scarcely had he departed, when lo! John arrives, and speaks for himself. Yes! he is going! Only a moment to say good-bye ... sunset approaches. Well! he must say good-bye now! Chorus of young ladies: "Oh, will you not spend the evening with us? You can easily overtake the battery later." Chorus of married ladies: "You must not think of going. Here is a comfortable room at your service, and after an early breakfast you can be on the road as soon as the others." No necessity for prayers; he readily consents. And yet, as the evening wore on, when we laughed loudest I could not help but think of poor little Mrs. McPhaul sitting alone and crying over her brother's departure, fancying his precious bones lying on the damp ground with only the soldier's roof—the blue vault of heaven—above, while two miles away he sat in a comfortable parlor amusing himself.
About sunrise, while the most delightful dreams floated through my brain, a little voice roused me exclaiming, "Sady! Sady! John Hawsey say so! Say give Sady!" I opened my eyes to see little Gibbes standing by me, trying to lay some flowers on my cheek, his little face sparkling with delight at his own importance. A half-opened rosebud with the faintest blush of pink on its creamy leaves—a pink, and a piece of arbor vitæ, all sprinkled with dew, this was my bouquet. The servant explained that Mr. Halsey had just left, and sent me that with his last good-bye. And he has gone! "And now there's nothing left but weeping! His face I ne'er shall see, and naught is left to me, save"—putting away my book and all recollections of nonsense. So here goes!
Tuesday, March 31st.