 Section 1 of Famous Adventures and Prison Escapes of the Civil War—this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by David Wales. Famous Adventures and Prison Escapes of the Civil War by various. Section 1, War Diary of a Union Woman in the South, edited by G. W. Cable. Part 1. The following diary was originally written in lead pencil and in a book, the leaves of which were too soft to take ink legibly. I have it direct from the hands of its writer, a lady whom I have had the honour to know for nearly thirty years. For good reasons, the author's name is omitted and the initials of people and the names of places are sometimes fictitiously given. Many of the persons mentioned were my own acquaintances and friends. When, some twenty years afterward, she first resolved to publish it, she brought me a clear, complete copy in ink. It had cost much trouble, she said, for much of the pencil writing had been made under such disadvantages and was so faint that at times she could decipher it only under direct sunlight. She had succeeded, however, in making a copy verbatim except for occasional improvement in the grammatical form of a sentence or now and then the omission for brevity's sake of something unessential. The narrative has since been severely abridged to bring it within magazine limits. In reading this diary, one is much charmed with its constant understatement of romantic and perilous incidents and conditions. But the original penciled pages show that, even in copying, the strong bent of the writer to be brief has often led to the exclusion of facts that enhance the interest of exciting situations and sometimes the omission robs her own aeroism of due emphasis. I have restored one example of this in a footnote following the perilous voyage down the Mississippi. G. W. Cable 1. Secession New Orleans, December 1, 1860. I understand it now. Keeping journals is for those who cannot or dare not speak out. So I shall set up a journal being only a rather lonely young girl in a very small and hated minority. On my return here in November, after a foreign voyage and absence of many months, I found myself behind in knowledge of the political conflict, but heard the dread sounds of disunion and war muttered in threatening tones. Surely no native-born woman loves her country better than I love America. The blood of one of its revolutionary patriots flows in my veins, and it is the union for which he pledged his life, fortune, and sacred honor that I love, not any divided or special section of it. So I have been reading attentively and seeking light from foreigners and natives on all questions at issue. Living from birth in slave countries, both foreign and American, and passing through one slave insurrection in early childhood, the saddest and also the pleasantest features of slavery have been familiar. If the South goes to war for slavery, slavery is doomed in this country. To say so is like opposing one drop to a roaring torrent. Sunday, December blank 1860. In this season for peace I had hoped for a lull in the excitement, yet this day has been full of bitterness. John G. said Mrs. Blanket Breakfast, leave your church for today, and come with us to hear Dr. Blank on the situation. He will convince you. It is good to be convinced, I said, I will go. The church was crowded to suffocation with the elite of New Orleans. The preacher's text was, shall we have fellowship with the stool of iniquity which frame it mischief as a law. The sermon was over at last and then followed a prayer. Forever blessed be the fathers of the Episcopal Church for giving us a fixed liturgy. When we met at dinner Mrs. F exclaimed, Now gee, you heard him prove from the Bible that slavery is right and that therefore secession is. Were you not convinced? I said I was so busy thinking how completely approved do that Brigham Young is right about polygamy that it quite weakened the force of the argument for me. This raised a laugh and covered my retreat. January 26, 1861. The solemn boom of canon today announced that the convention have passed the ordinance of secession. We must take a reef in our patriotism and narrow it down to state limit. Mine still sticks out all around the borders of the state. It will be bad if New Orleans should secede from Louisiana and set up for herself. Then indeed I would be cabined, grid, confined. The faces in the house are jubilant today. Why is it so easy for them and not for me to wring out the old ring in the new? I am out of place. January 28, Monday. Sunday has now got to be a day of special excitement. The gentlemen save all the sensational papers to regale us with at the late Sunday breakfast. Rob opened the battle yesterday morning by saying to me in his most aggressive manner, gee, I believe these are your sentiments, and then he read aloud an article from the Journal de Debats expressing in rather contemptuous terms the fact that France will follow the policy of a non-intervention. When I answered, well, what do you expect? This is not their quarrel. He raved at me, ending by a declaration that he would willingly pay my passage to foreign parts if I would like to go. Rob said his father, keep cool. Don't let that threat excite you. Cotton is king. Just wait till they feel the pinch a little. Their tone will change. I went to Trinity Church. Some Union people who are not Episcopalians go there now because the pastor has not so much chance to rail at the Lord when things are not going to suit. But yesterday was a marked Sunday. The usual prayer for the president and Congress was changed to the governor and people of this Commonwealth and the representatives in convention assembled. The city was very lively and noisy this evening, with rockets and lights in honor of secession. Mrs. F., in common with the neighbors, illuminated. We walked out to see the houses of others gleaming amid the dark shrubbery like a fairy scene. The perfect stillness added to the effect, while the moon rose slowly with calm splendor. We hastened home to dress for a soiree, but on the stairs Edith said, Gee, a first come and help me dress Phoebe and Chloe, the Negro servants. There is a ball tonight in aristocratic colored society. This is Chloe's first introduction to New Orleans circles, and Henry Judson, Phoebe's husband, gave five dollars for a ticket for her. Chloe is a recent purchase from Georgia. We super-intended their very stylish toilets, and Edith said, Gee, run into your room, please, and write a pass for Henry. Put Mr. D's name to it. Why, Henry is free, I said. That makes no difference. All colored people must have a pass, if out late. They choose a master for protection, and always carry his pass. Henry chose Mr. D., but he's lost the pass he had. Two. The Volunteers. Fort Sumter. February 24, 1861. The toil of the week has ended. Nearly a month has passed since I wrote here. Events have crowded upon one another. On the fourth, the cannon boomed in honor of Jefferson Davis' election, and the day before yesterday, Washington's birthday, was made the occasion of another grand display and illumination in honor of the birth of a new nation and the breaking of that union which he labored to cement. We drove to the race course to see the review of troops. A flag was presented to the Washington artillery by ladies. Senator Judah Benjamin made an impassioned speech. The banner was orange satin on one side, crimson silk on the other, the pelican and brood embroidered in pale green and gold. The silver crossed cannon, surmounted it, orange-colored fringe surrounded it, and crimson tassels drooped from it. It was a brilliant, unreal scene, with military bands clashing triumphant music, elegant vehicles, high-stepping horses, and lovely women richly apparel'd. Wedding cards have been pouring in till the contagion has reached us. Edith will be married next Thursday. The wedding dress is being fashioned, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen have arrived. Edith has requested me to be special mistress of ceremonies on Thursday evening, and I have told this terrible little rebel, who talks nothing but blood and thunder, yet feints at the sight of a worm, that if I fill that office no one shall mention war or politics during the whole evening on pain of expulsion. March 10, 1861. The excitement in this house has risen to fever-heat during the past week. The four gentlemen have each a different plan for saving the country, and now that the bridal bouquets have faded, the three ladies have again turned to public affairs. Lincoln's inauguration, and the story of the disguise in which he traveled to Washington, is a never-ending source of gossip. The family board, being the common forum, each gentleman, as he appears, first unloads his pockets of papers from all the southern states, and then his overflowing heart to his eager female listeners, who in turn relate, inquire, sympathize, or cheer. If I dare express a doubt that the path to victory will be a flowery one, eyes flash, cheeks burn, and tongues clatter, till all are checked up suddenly by a warning for order, order, from the amiable lady presiding. Thus we swallow politics with every meal. We take a mouthful and read a telegram, one eye on table, the other on the paper. One must be made of cool stuff to keep calm and collected, but I say, but little, this war fever has banished small talk. Through all, the black servants move about quietly, never seeming to notice that this is all about them. How can you speak so plainly before them? I say. Why? What matter? They know that we shall keep the whip handle. April 13, 1861. More than a month has passed since the last date here. This afternoon I was seated on the floor covered with loveliest flowers, arranging a floral offering for the fair, when the gentleman arrived, and with papers bearing news of the fall of Fort Sumter, which at her request I read to Mrs. F. April 20. The last few days have glided away in a halo of beauty, but nobody has time or will to enjoy it. War, war is the one idea. The children play only with toy cannons and soldiers. The oldest inhabitant goes by every day with his rifle to practice. The public squares are full of companies drilling, and are now the fashionable resorts. We have been told that it is best for women to learn how to shoot, too, so as to protect themselves when the men have all gone to battle. Every evening, after dinner, we adjourn to the back lot and fire at a target with pistols. Yesterday I dined at Uncle Ralph's. Some members of the bar were present and were jubilant about their brand new confederacy. It would soon be the grandest government ever known. Uncle Ralph said solemnly, No, gentlemen, the day we seceded the star of our glory set. The words sunk into my mind like a knell, and it made me wonder at the mind that could recognize that, and yet adhere to the doctrine of secession. In the evening I attended a farewell gathering at a friend's whose brothers are to leave this week for Richmond. There was music. No, minor chord was permitted. 3. Tribulation. April 25. Yesterday I went with cousin E. to have her picture taken. The picture galleries are doing a thriving business. Many companies are ordered off to take possession of Fort Pickens, Florida, and all seem to be leaving sweethearts behind them. The crowd was in high spirits. They didn't dream that any destinies will be spoiled. When I got home Edith was reading from the daily paper of the dismissal of Miss G. from her place as teacher for expressing abolition sentiments and that she would be ordered to leave the city. Soon a lady came with a paper setting forth that she has established a company, we are nothing if not military, for making lint and getting stores of linen to supply the hospitals. My name went down. If it hadn't, my spirit would have been wounded, as with sharp spears before night. Next came a little girl with a subscription paper to get a flag for a certain company. The little girls, especially the pretty ones, are kept busy trotting around with subscription lists. Latest of all came little guy, Mr. F's youngest clerk, the pet of the firm, as well as of his home, a mere boy of sixteen. Such senseless sacrifices seem a sin. He chattered brightly, but lingered about, saying good-bye. We got through it bravely until Edith's husband unconsciously said, you didn't kiss your little sweetheart, as he always called Ellie, who had been allowed to sit up. He turned and suddenly broke into agonizing sobs and then ran down the steps. May 10. I am tired and ashamed of myself. Last week I attended a meeting of the Lent Society to hand in the small contribution of linen I had been able to gather. We scraped Lent till it was dark. A paper was shown entitled The Volunteer's Friend, started by the girls of the high school, and I was asked to help the girls with it. I positively declined. Today I was pressed into service to make red flannel cartridge bags for ten-inch Colombians. I basted while Mrs. S. sewed, and I felt ashamed to think that I had not the moral courage to say, I don't approve of your war and won't help you, particularly in the murderous part of it. May 27. This has been a scenic sabbath. Various companies about to depart for Virginia occupied the prominent churches to have their flags consecrated. The streets were resonant with the clanger of drums and trumpets. I and myself went to Christ Church because the Washington artillery were to be there. June 13. Today has been appointed a fast day. I spent the morning writing a letter on which I put my first Confederate postage stamp. It is of a brown color and has a large five in the center. Tomorrow must be devoted to all my foreign correspondence before the expected blockade cuts us off. June 29. I attended a fine luncheon yesterday at one of the public schools. A lady remarked to a school official that the cost of provisions in the Confederacy was getting very high, butter especially being scarce and costly. Never fear, my dear madam, he replied, Texas alone can furnish butter enough to supply the whole Confederacy. We'll soon be getting it from there. It's just as well to have this sublime competence. July 15. The quiet of Midsummer rains, but ripples of excitement break around us as the papers tell of skirmishes and attacks here and there in Virginia. Rich Mountain and Carrick's Ford were the last. You see, said Mrs. D. at breakfast today, my prophecy is coming true that Virginia will be the seed of war. Indeed I burst out, forgetting my resolution not to argue. You may think yourselves lucky if this war turns out to have any seed in particular. So far no one especially connected with me has gone to fight. How glad I am for his mother's sake that Robb's lameness will keep him at home. Mr. F., Mr. S., and Uncle Ralph are beyond the age for active service. And Edith says Mr. D. cannot go now. She is very enthusiastic about other people's husbands being enrolled and regrets that her Alex is not strong enough to defend his country and his rights. July 22. What a day! I feel like one who has been out in a high wind and cannot get my breath. The newsboys are still shouting with their extras. Battle of Bulls Run, List of the Killed, Battle of Manassas, List of the Wounded. Tender-hearted Mrs. F. was sobbing so she could not serve the tea, but nobody cared for tea. Oh, gee! She said three thousand of our own dear southern boys are lying out there. My dear Fanny, spoke Mr. F., they are heroes now. They died in a glorious cause, and it is not in vain. This will end it. The sacrifice had to be made, but those killed have gained immortal names. Then Robb rushed in with a new extra, reading of the spoils captured, and grief was forgotten. Words cannot paint the excitement. Robb capered about and cheered. Edith danced around, ringing the dinner bell, and shouting, Victory! Mrs. F. waved a small Confederate flag, while she wiped her eyes, and Mr. D. hastened to the piano, and in his most brilliant style struck out Dixie, followed by My Maryland and the Bondy Blue Flag. Do not look so gloomy, gee! whispered Mr. S., you should be happy to-night, for, as Mr. F. says, now we shall have peace. And is that the way you think of the men of your own blood and race? I replied. But an utter scorn came over me and choked me, and I walked out of the room. What proof is there in this dark hour that they are not right? Only the emphatic answer of my own soul. Tomorrow I will pack my trunk and accept the invitation to visit at Uncle Ralph's country-house. September 25. When I opened the door of Mrs. F's room on my return, the rattle of two sewing machines and a blaze of color met me. Ah, gee! You are just in time to help us. These are coats for Jeff Thompson's men. All the cloth in the city is exhausted. These flannel-lined oil-cloth table covers are all we could obtain to make overcoats for Thompson's poor boys. They will be very warm and serviceable. A serviceable yes. The Federal Army will fly when they see those coats. I only wish I could be with a regiment when these are shared around. Yet I helped make them. Seriously, I wonder if any soldier will ever wear these remarkable coats, the most bewildering combination of brilliant, intense reds, greens, yellows, and blues in big flowers meandering over as vivid grounds. And, as no table cover was large enough to make a coat, the sleeves of each were of a different color and pattern. However, the coats were duly finished. Then we set to work on grey pantaloons, and I have just carried a bundle to an ardent young lady who wishes to assist. A slight gloom is settling down, and the inmates here are not quite so cheerfully competent as in July. 4. A Belegered City October 22. When I came to breakfast this morning, Rob was capering over another victory, Ball's Bluff. He would read me, we pitched the Yankees over the bluff, and asked me in the next breath to go to the theatre this evening. I turned on the poor fellow. Don't tell me about your victories. You vowed, by all your idols, that the blockade would be raised by October 1, and I noticed the ships are still serenely anchored below the city. Gee, you are just as pertenacious yourself in championing your opinions, what sustained you when nobody agrees with you. October 28. When I dropped in at Uncle Ralph's last evening to welcome them back, the whole family were busy at a great centre-table copying sequestration acts for the Confederate government. The property of all Northerners and Unionists is to be sequestrated, and Uncle Ralph can hardly get the work done fast enough. My aunt apologised for the rooms looking chilly. She feared to put the carpets down, as the city might be taken and burned by the Federals. We are living as much packed up as possible. A signal has been agreed upon, and the instant the army approaches, we shall be off to the country again. Great preparations are being made for defence. At several other places where I called, the women were almost hysterical. They seemed to look forward to being blown up with shot and shell, finished with cold steel, or whisked off to some northern prison. When I got home, Edith and Mr. D. had just returned also. Alex said, Edith, I was up at your orange-lots today, and the sour oranges are dropping to the ground, while they cannot get lemons for our sick soldiers. That's my kind, considerate wife, replied Mr. D. Why didn't I think of that before? Jim shall fill some barrels tomorrow and take them to the hospitals as a present from you. November 10. Surely this year will ever be memorable to me for its perfection of natural beauty. Never was sunshine as such pure gold or moonlight such transparent silver. The beautiful custom prevalent here of decking the graves with flowers on All Saints' Day was well fulfilled, so profuse and rich were the blossoms. On All Hollow Eve Mrs. S. and myself visited a large cemetery. The chrysanthemums lay like great masses of snow and flame and gold in every garden we passed, and were piled on every costly tomb and lowly grave. The Battle of Manassas robed many of our women in mourning, and some of those who had no grave to deck were weeping silently as they walked through the scented avenues. A few days ago Mrs. E. arrived here. She is a widow of Natchez, a friend of Mrs. F's and is travelling home with the dead body of her eldest son, killed at Manassas. She stopped two days waiting for a boat and begged me to share her room and read her to sleep, saying she couldn't be alone since he was killed. She feared her mind would give way, so I read all the comforting chapters to be found till she dropped into forgetfulness, but the recollection of those weeping mothers in the cemetery banished sleep for me. November 26. The lingering summer is passing into those misty autumn days I love so well, when there is gold and fire above and around us. But the glory of the natural and the gloom of the moral world agree not well together. This morning Mrs. F came to my room in dire distress. You see, she said, cold weather is coming on fast and our poor fellows are lying out at night with nothing to cover them. There is a whale for blankets, but there is not a blanket in town. I have gathered up all this fair bed clothing and now want every available rug or table cover in the house. I have yours, gee. We must make these small sacrifices of comfort and elegance, you know, to secure independence and freedom. Very well, I said, denuding the table. This may do for a drummer boy. December 26, 1861. The foul weather cleared off bright and cool in time for Christmas. There is a midwinter lull in the movement of troops. In the evening we went to the Grand Bazaar in the St. Louis Hotel, got up to clothe the soldiers. This bazaar has furnished the gayest, most fashionable war work yet and has kept social circles in a flutter of pleasant, heroic excitement all through December. Everything beautiful or rare, garnered in the homes of the rich, was given for exhibition and in some cases for raffle and sale. There were many fine paintings, statues, bronzes, engravings, gems, laces, in fact, heirlooms and bric-a-brac of all sorts. There were many lovely Creole girls present in exquisite toilettes, passing to and fro through the decorated rooms, listening to the band clash out the anvil chorus. January 2, 1862. I am glad enough to bid at 61 good-bye, most miserable year of my life. What ages of thought and experience have I not lived in it? The city authorities have been searching houses for firearms. It is a good way to get more guns, and the homes of those men suspected of being unionists were searched first. Of course they went to Dr. B's. He met them with his own delightful courtesy. He reached to search for arms. Oh, certainly, gentlemen! He conducted them all through the house with smiling readiness, and after what seemed a very thorough search, bowed them politely out. His gun was all the time safely reposing between the canvas folds of a cot bed, which lean folded up together against the wall in the very room where they had ransacked the closets. Clearly the rebel families have been the ones most anxious to conceal all weapons. They have dug graves quietly at night in the backyards and carefully wrapping the weapons, buried them out of sight. Every man seems to think he will have some private fighting to do to protect his family. 5. Married. Friday, January 24, 1862. On Steamboat W., Mississippi River. With a changed name I open you once more, my journal. It was a sad time to wed when one knew not how long the expected conscription would spare the bridegroom. The women folk knew how to sympathize with a girl expected to prepare for her wedding in three days in a blockaded city and about to go far from any base of supplies. They all rallied round me with tokens of love and consideration, and sowed, shopped, mended, and packed as if sowing soldier clothes. And they decked the whole house and the church with flowers. Music breathed, wine sparkled, friends came and went. It seemed a dream and comes up now and again out of the afternoon sunshine where I sit on deck. The steamboat slowly plows its way through lumps of floating ice, a novel sight to me, and I look forward, wondering whether the new people I shall meet will be as fierce about the war as those in New Orleans. That past is to be all forgotten and forgiven. I understand thus the kindly acts that sought to brighten the threshold of a new life. February 15, Village of X. We reached Arkansas Landing at nightfall. Mr. Y, the planter who owns the landing, took us right up to his residence. He ushered me into a large room where a couple of candles gave a dim light, and close to them, and sowing as if on a race with time, sat Mrs. Y and a little negro girl who was so black and sat so stiff and straight, she looked like an ebony image. This was a large plantation, the wise new age very well, and were very kind and cordial in their welcome and congratulations. Mrs. Y apologized for continuing her work. The war had pushed them this year in getting the negro's clothes, and she had to sew by dim candles as they could obtain no more oil. She asked if there were any new fashions in New Orleans. Next morning we drove over to our home in this village. It is the county seat, and was, till now, a good place for the practice of H's profession. It lies on the edge of a lovely lake. The adjacent planters count their slaves by the hundreds. Some of them live with a good deal of magnificence using service of plate, having smoking rooms for the gentlemen built off the house, and entertaining with great hospitality. The Baptist, Episcopalians and Methodists hold services on alternate Sundays in the courthouse. All the planters, and many others near the lakeshore, keep a boat at their landing, and a raft for crossing vehicles and horses. It seemed very pecan at first, this taking our boat to go visiting, and on moonlit nights it was charming. The woods around are lovelier than those in Louisiana, though one misses the moaning of the pines. There is fine fishing and hunting, but these cotton estates are not so pleasant to visit as sugar plantations. But nothing else has been so delightful as, one morning, my first sight of snow and a wonderful new white world. February 27. The people here have hardly felt the war yet. There are but two classes, the planters and the professional men form one, the very poor villagers, the other. There is no middle class, ducks and partridges, squirrels and fish are to be had. H has bought me a nice pony, and cantering along the shore of the lake in the sunset is a panacea for mental worry. 6. How It Was in Arkansas March 11, 1862. The serpent has entered our Eden. The rancour and excitement of New Orleans have invaded this place. If an incautious word betrays any want of sympathy with popular plans, one is a traitorous, ungrateful, crazy. If one remains silent and controlled, then one is a phlegmatic, cool-blooded, unpatriotic, cool-blooded heavens. If only they knew, it is very painful to see lovable and intelligent women rave till the blood mounts to face and brain. The immediate cause of this access of war fever has been the battle of P. Ridge. They scout the idea that price and bandorn have been completely worsted. Those who brought the news were speedily told what they ought to say. No, it is only a serious check. They must have more men sent forward at once. This country must do its duty. So the women say another company must be raised. We were guests at a dinner party yesterday. Mrs. A. was very talkative. Now, ladies, you must all join in with them and help equip another company. Mrs. L., she said, turning to me, are you not going to send your husband? Now use a young bride's influence and persuade him he would be elected one of the officers. Mrs. A., I replied, longing to spring up and throttle her. The Bible says, when a man hath married a new wife, he shall not go to war for one year, but remain at home and cheer up his wife. Well, H., I questioned, as we walked home after crossing the lake, can you stand the pressure, or shall you be forced into volunteering? Indeed, he replied, I will not be bullied into enlisting by women or by men. I will sooner take my chance of conscription and feel honest about it. You know my attachments, my interests are here. These are my people. I could never fight against them. But my judgment disapproves their course and the result will inevitably be against us. This morning the only Irishman left in the village presented himself to age. He has been our wood-sawyer, our gardener and factotum, but having joined the new company, his time recently has been taken up with drilling. H., and Mr. R., feel that an extensive vegetable garden must be prepared while he is here to assist, or we shall be short of food, and they sent for him yesterday. So, Mike, are you really going to be a soldier? Yes, or, but faith, Mr. L., I don't see the youth of me going to stop a bullet when sure as I'm willing for it to go where it blazes. March 18, 1862. There has been unusual gaiety in this little village the past few days. The ladies from the surrounding plantations went to work to get up a festival to equip the new company. As Annie and myself are both brides recently from the city, requisition was made upon us for engravings, costumes, music, garlands, and so forth. Annie's heart was in the work, not so with me. Nevertheless my pretty things were captured and shown with just as good a grace last evening as if willingly lent. The ball was a merry one. One of the songs sung was Nellie Gray, in which the most distressing feature of slavery is bewailed so pitifully. To sing this at a festival for raising money to clothe soldiers fighting to perpetuate that very thing was strange. March 20, 1862. A man professing to act by General Handeman's orders is going through the country impressing horses and mules. The overseer of a certain estate came to inquire of age if he had not a legal right to protect the property from seizure. Mr. L said yes, unless the agent could show some better credentials than his bare word. This answer soon spread about and the overseer returned to report that it excited great indignation especially among the company of new volunteers. H was pronounced a traitor and they declared that no one so untrue to the Confederacy should live there. When H related the circumstance at dinner, his partner, Mr. R, became very angry being ignorant of H's real opinions. He jumped up in a rage and marched away to the village thoroughfare. There he met a batch of the volunteers and said, We know what you said of us and I've come to tell you that you are liars and you know where to find us. Of course I expected a difficulty, but the evening passed and we retired undisturbed. Not long afterward a series of indescribable sounds broke the stillness of the night and the tramp of feet was heard outside the house. Mr. R called out, it's a serenade H, get up and bring out all the wine you have. Annie and I peeped through the parlor window and lo it was the company of volunteers and a diabolical band composed of bones and broken-winded brats instruments. They piped and clattered and whined for some time and then swarmed in while we ladies retreated and listened to the clink of glasses. March 22. H and Mr. R and Mike have been very busy the last few days getting the acre of kitchen garden plowed and planted. The stay law has stopped all legal business and they have welcomed this work. But today a thunderbolt fell in our household. Mr. R came in and announced that he had agreed to join the company of volunteers. Annie's confederate principles would not permit her to make much resistance and she has been sowing and mending as fast as possible to get his clothes ready stopping now and then to wipe her eyes. Poor Annie, she and Max have been married only a few months longer than we have but a noble sense of duty animates and sustains her. End of Section 1. Section 2 of Famous Adventures and Prison Escapes of the Civil War by Various. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Section 2. War Diary of a Union Woman in the South Part 2. 7. The Fight for Food and Clothing. April 1. The last ten days have brought changes in the house. Max R left with the company to be mustered in, leaving with us his weeping Annie. Hardly were her spirits somewhat composed when her brother arrived from Natchez to take her home. This morning he, Annie and Rini, the Black Handmaiden, posted off. Out of seven of us, only H, myself and Aunt Judy are left. The absence of Rini will be not the least noted. She was as precious an imp as any topsy ever was. Her tricks were endless and her innocence of them amazing. When sent out to bring in eggs she would take them from nests where hens were hatching and embryo chickens would be served up at breakfast while Rini stood to buy grinning to see them opened. But when accused she was imperturbable. Laws, Miss L, I never done been not in the ends. Miss Annie, you can go count them dear eggs. That when counted they were found minus the number she had brought had no effect on her stolid denial. H has plenty to do finishing the garden all by himself, but the time rather drags for me. April 13, 1862. This morning I was sewing up a rent in H's garden coat when Aunt Judy rushed in. Laws, Miss L, his Mr. Max and Miss Annie done come back. A buggy was coming up with Max, Annie and Rini. Well, it's the war over, I asked. Oh, I got sick, replied our return to soldier, getting slowly out of the buggy. He was very thin and pale and explained that he took a severe cold almost at once, had a mild attack of pneumonia and the surgeon got him his discharge as unfit for service. He succeeded in reaching Annie and a few days of good care made him strong enough to travel back home. I suppose H you've heard that island number ten is gone? Yes, we had heard that much, but Max had the particulars and an exciting talk followed. At night H said to me, gee, New Orleans will be the next to go you'll see and I want to get there first. This stagnation here will kill me. April 28. This evening has been very lovely but full of a sad disappointment. H invited me to drive. As we turned homeward he said, well, my arrangements are completed. You can begin to pack your trunks tomorrow and I shall have a talk with Max. Mr. R and Annie were sitting on the gallery as I ran up the steps. Heard the news they cried? No, what news? New Orleans is taken. All the boats have been run up the river to save them. No more males. How little they knew what plans of ours this dashed away, but our disappointment is truly an infinitesimal drop in the great waves of triumph and despair surging to night in thousands of hearts. April 30. The last two weeks have glided quietly away without incident except the arrival of new neighbors, Dr. Y, his wife, two children, and servants, that a professional man, a prospering in Vicksburg, should come now to settle in this retired place, looks queer. Max said, H, that man has come here to hide from the conscript officers. He has brought no end of provisions and is here for the war. He has chosen well, for this county is so cleaned of men it won't pay to send the conscript officers here. Our stores are diminishing and cannot be replenished from without. Ingenuity and labor must evoke them. We have a fine garden in growth, plenty of chickens, and hives of bees to furnish honey in lieu of sugar. A good deal of salt meat has been stored in the smokehouse and with fish from the lake we expect to keep the wolf from the door. The season for game is about over, but an occasional squirrel or duck comes to the larder, though the question of ammunition has to be considered. What we have may be all we can have if the war lasts five years longer, and they say they are prepared to hold out till the crack of doom. Food, however, is not the only want. I never realized before the varied needs of civilization. Every day something is out. Last week, but two bars of soap remained, so we began to save bones and ashes. Annie said, now if we only had some China berry trees here, we shouldn't need any other grease. They are making splendid soap at Vicksburg with China balls. They just put the berries into the lye and it eats them right up and makes a fine soap. I did long for some China berries to make this experiment. Age had laid in what seemed a good supply of kerosene, but it is nearly gone, and we are down to two candles kept for an emergency. Annie brought a recipe from Natchez for making candles of rosin and wax, and with great forethought brought also the wick and rosin. So yesterday we tried making candles. We had no moles, but Annie said the latest style in Natchez was to make a wax and rope by dipping, then wrap it around a corn cob. But age cut smooth blocks of wood about four inches square into which he said a polished cylinder about four inches high. The wax and ropes were coiled around the cylinder like a serpent with the head raised about two inches. As the light burned down to the cylinder, more of the rope was unwound. Today the vinegar was found to be all gone and we have started to make some. For Tyros we succeed pretty well. A great misfortune has come upon us all. For several days everyone has been uneasy about the unusual rise of the Mississippi and about a rumor that the federal forces had cut levees above to swamp the country. There is a slight levee back of the village and age went yesterday to examine it. It looked strong and we hoped for the best. About dawn this morning a strange gurgle woke me. It had a pleasing lulling effect. I could not fully rouse at first, but curiosity conquered at last, and I called age. Listen to that running water. What is it? He sprung up, listened a second and shouted, Max, get up! The water is on us. They both rushed off to the lake for the skiff. The levee had not broken. The water was running clean over it and through the garden fence so rapidly that by the time I dressed and got outside Max was paddling the pieroke they had brought in among the bee vines, gathering all the ripe peas left above the water. We had enjoyed one mess and he vowed we should have another. Age was a busy nailing a raft together while he had a dry place to stand on. Me and I with Rini had to secure the chickens and the backpiazza was given up to them. By the time a hasty breakfast was eaten the water was in the kitchen. The stove and everything there had to be put up in the dining room. Aunt Judy and Rini had likewise to move into the house, their floor also being covered with water. The raft had to be floated to the storehouse and a platform built on which everything was elevated. At evening we looked around and counted the cost. The garden was utterly gone. Last evening we had walked around in the strawberry beds that fringed the whole acre and tasted a few just ripe. The hives were swamped. Many of the chickens were drowned. Sancho had been sent to high ground where he could eat grass. In the village everything green was swept away. Yet we were better off than many others. For this house being raised we have escaped the water indoors. It just laves the edge of the galleries. May 26 During the past week we have lived somewhat like Venetians with a boat at the front steps and a raft at the back. Sunday H and I took skiff to church. The clergyman who was also tutor at a planters across the lake preached to the few who had arrived in skiffs. We shall not try it again. It is so troublesome getting in and out at the courthouse steps. The imprisonment is hard to endure. It threatened to make me really ill, so every evening H lays a thick wrap in the pirok. I sit on it and we row off to the ridge of dry land running along the lakeshore and branching off to a strip of wood also out of water. Here we disembark and march up and down till dusk. A great deal of the wood got wet and had to be laid out to dry on the galleries with clothing and everything that must be dried. One's own trials are intensified by the worst suffering around that we can do nothing to relieve. Max has a puppy named after General Price. The gentleman had both gone uptown yesterday in the skiff when Annie and I heard little prices despairing cries from under the house and we got on the raft to find and save him. We wore light morning dresses and slippers for shoes are becoming precious. Annie donned a shaker and I a broad hat. We got the raft pushed out to the center of the grounds opposite the house and could see Price clinging to a post. The next move must be to navigate the raft up to the side of the house and reach for Price. It sounds easy, but poke around with our poles as wildly or scientifically as we might, the raft would not budge. The noonday sun was blazing right overhead and the muddy water running all over slipper'd feet and dainty dresses. How long we stayed praying for rescue, yet wintzing already at the laugh that would come with it I shall never know. It seemed like a day before the welcome boat and the ha-ha of H and Max were heard. The confinement tells severely on all the animal life about us. Half the chickens are dead and the other half sick. The days drag slowly. We have to depend mainly on books to relieve the tedium, for we have no piano. None of us, like cards, we are very poor chess players and the chess set is incomplete. When we gather round the one lamp, we dare not light any more. Each one exchanges the gems of thought or mirthful ideas he finds. Frequently the gnats and the mosquitoes are so bad we cannot read at all. This evening, till a strong breeze blew them away, they were intolerable. Aunt Judy goes about in a dignified silence, too full for words, only asking two or three times. What a dantouya from the fussed! The food is a trial. This evening the snaky candles lighted the glass and silver on the supper-tables with a pale gleam and disclosed a frugal supper indeed. Tea without milk, for all the cows are gone, honey and bread. A faint ray twinkled on the water, swishing against the house and stretching away into the dark woods. It looked like civilization and a barbarism met together. Just as we sat down to it, someone, passing in a boat, shouted that Confederates and Federals were fighting at Vicksburg. Monday, June 2. On last Friday morning, just three weeks from the day the water rose, signs of its falling began. Yesterday the ground appeared and a hard rain coming down at the same time washed off much of the unwholesome debris. Today is fine and we went out without a boat for a long walk. June 13. Since the water ran off, we have, of course, been attacked by swamp fever. H succumbed first, then Annie, Max next, and then I. Luckily the new Dr. Y had brought quinine with him, and we took heroic doses. Such fever never burned in my veins before, or sapped strength so rapidly, though probably the want of good food was a factor. The two or three other professional men have left. Dr. Y alone remains. The roads now being dry enough, H and Max started on horseback in different directions to make an exhaustive search for food supplies. H got back this evening with no supplies. June 15. Max got back today. He started right off again to cross the lake and interview the planters on that side, for they had not suffered from overflow. June 16. Max got back this morning. H and he were in the parlor talking and examining maps together till dinner time. When that was over, they laid the matter before us. To buy provisions had proved impossible. The planters across the lake had decided to issue rations of cornmeal and peas to the villagers whose men had all gone to war, but they utterly refused to sell anything. They told me, said Max, we will not see your family starve, Mr. R, but with such numbers of slaves and the village poor to feed, we can spare nothing for sale. Well, of course, said H, we do not purpose to stay here and live on charity rations. We must leave the place at all hazards. We have studied out every route and made inquiries everywhere we went. We shall have to go down the Mississippi in an open boat, as far as Fetler's Landing on the Eastern Bank. There we can cross by land and put the boat into Steele's Bayou, pass thence to the Yazoo River, from there to Chickasaw Bayou into McNutt's Lake, and land near my uncle's in Warren County. June 20. As soon as our intended departure was announced, we were besieged by requests for all sorts of things, wanted in every family, pens, matches, gunpowder, and ink. One of the last cases H and Max had, before the stay law stopped legal business, was the settlement of an estate that included a country store. The heirs had paid in chapels of the store. These had remained packed in the office. The main contents of the cases were hardware, but we found treasure indeed, a keg of powder, a case of matches, a paper of pens, a bottle of ink. Red ink is now made out of poke berries. Pins are made by capping thorns with sealing wax or using them as nature made them. These were articles money could not get for us. We would give our friends a few matches to save for the hour of tribulation. The paper of pens we divided evenly and filled a bank box each with the matches. H filled a tight tin case apiece with powder for Max and himself and sold the rest as we could not carry any more on such a trip. Those who did not hear of this in time offered fabulous prices afterward for a single pound, but money has not its old attractions. Our preparations were delayed by Aunt Judy, falling sick of swamp fever. Friday, June 27. As soon as the cook was up again, we resumed preparations. We put all the clothing in order and had it nicely done up with the last of the soap and starch. I wonder, said Annie, when I shall ever have nicely starched clothes after these. They had no starch and matches or Vicksburg when I was there. We are now furbishing up dresses suitable for such rough summer travel. While we sat at work yesterday, the quiet of the clear calm noon was broken by a low continuous roar like a distant thunder. Today we are told it was probably cannon at Vicksburg. This is a great distance, I think, to have heard it over a hundred miles. H and Max have bought a large yaw and are busy on the lake bank repairing it and fitting it with lockers. Aunt Judy's master has been notified when to send for her. A home for the cat, Jeff, has been engaged. Price is dead and Sancho sold. Nearly all the furniture is disposed of except things valued from association which will be packed in H's office and left with someone likely to stay through the war. It is hardest to leave the books. Tuesday, July 8. We start tomorrow. Packing the trunks was a problem. Annie and I are allowed one large trunk apiece, the gentlemen, a smaller one each, and we a light carpet bag apiece for toilet articles. I arrived with six trunks and leave with one. We went over everything carefully twice, rejecting, trying to off the bonds of custom and get down to primitive needs. At last we made a judicious selection. Everything old or worn was left. Everything merely ornamental except good lace which was light. Gozomer evening dresses were all left. I calculated on taking two or three books that would bear the most reading if we were again shut up where none could be had and so of course took Shakespeare first. Here I was interrupted to go and pay a farewell visit and when we returned Max had packed and nailed the cases of books to be left. Chance thus limited my choice to those that happened to be in my room. Paradise Lost, the Arabian Nights, a volume of Macaulay's history I was reading and my prayer-book. Today the provisions for the trip were cooked. The last of the flour was made into large loaves of bread. A ham and several dozen eggs were boiled. The few chickens that have survived the overflow were fried. The last of the coffee was parched and ground and the modicum of the tea was well corked up. Our friends across the lake added a jar of butter and two of preserves. H rode off to X after dinner to conclude some business there and I sat before a table to tie bundles of things to be left. The sunset glowed and faded and the quiet evening came on calm and story. I sat by the window till evening deepened and to-night and as the moon rose I still looked a reluctant farewell to the lovely lake and the grand woods till the sound of H's horse at the gate broke the spell. 9. Homeless and Shelterless Thursday, July 10. Blank Plantation Yesterday about four o'clock we walked to the lake and embarked. Previsions and utensils were packed in the lockers and a large trunk was stowed at each end. The blankets and cushions were placed against one of them and any and I sat on them, Turkish fashion. Near the center the two smaller trunks made a place for reany. Max and H were to take turns at the rudder and oars. The last word was a fervent Godspeed from Mr. E who is left in charge of all our affairs. We believe him to be a union man but have never spoken of it to him. We were gloomy enough crossing the lake for it was evident the heavily laden boat would be difficult to manage. Last night we stayed at this plantation and from the window of my room I see the men unloading the boat to place it on the cart, which a team of oxen will haul to the river. These hospitable people are kindness itself till you mentioned the war. Saturday, July 12. Under a cotton shed on the bank of the Mississippi River. Thursday was a lovely day and the sight of the broad river exhilarating. The Negroes launched and reloaded the boat and when we had paid them and spoken goodbye to them we felt we were really off. Everyone had said that if we kept in the current the boat would almost go of itself, but in fact the current seemed to throw it about and hard pulling was necessary. The heat of the sun was very severe and it proved impossible to use an umbrella or any kind of shade as it made steering more difficult. Snags and floating timbers were very troublesome. Twice we hurried up to the bank out of the way of passing gun boats but they took no notice of us. When we got thirsty it was found that Max had set the jug of water in the shade of a tree and left it there. We must dip up the river water or go without. When it got too dark to travel safely we disembarked. Rene gathered wood, made a fire and some tea and we had a good supper. We then divided H and I remaining to watch the boat, Max and Annie on shore. She hung up a mosquito bar to the trees and went to bed comfortably. In the boat the mosquitoes were horrible but I fell asleep and slept till voices on the bank woke me. Annie was wandering a disconsolate round her bed and when I asked the trouble said, oh I can't sleep here I found a toad and a lizard in the bed. When dropping off again H woke me to say he was very sick. He thought it was from drinking the river water. With difficulty I got a trunk opened to find some medicine. While doing so a gun boat loomed up vast and gloomy and we gave each other a good fright. Our voices doubtless reached her for instantly every one of her lights disappeared and she ran for a few minutes along the opposite bank. We momently expected a shell as a feeler. At dawn next morning we made coffee and a hasty breakfast fixed up as well as we could in our silven dressing rooms and pushed on. For it is settled that travelling between eleven and two will have to be given up unless we want to be roasted alive. H grew worse. He suffered terribly and the rest of us as much to see him pulling in such a state of exhaustion. Max would not trust either of us to steer. About eleven we reached the landing of a plantation. Max walked up to the house and returned with the owner, an old gentleman living alone with his slaves. The housekeeper, a young colored girl, could not be surpassed in her graceful efforts to make us comfortable and anticipate every want. I was so anxious about age that I remember nothing except that the cold drinking water taken from a cistern beneath the building into which only the winter rains were allowed to fall was like an elixir. They offered luscious peaches that with such water were nectar and ambrosia to our parched lips. At night the housekeeper said she was sorry they had no mosquito bars ready and hoped the mosquitoes would not be thick, but they came out in legions. I knew that on sleep that night depended recovery or illness for age and all possibility of proceeding next day, so I sat up fanning away mosquitoes that he might sleep, toppling over now and then on the pillows till roused by his stirring. I contrived to keep this up till as the chill before dawn came they abated and I got a short sleep. Then with the aid of cold water, a fresh toilette, and a good breakfast I braced up for another day's baking in the boat. If I had been well and strong as usual, the discomforts of such a journey would not have seemed so much to me, but I was still weak from the effects of the fever and annoyed by a worrying toothache which there had been no dentist to rid me of in our village. Having paid and dismissed the boat's watchmen, we started and travelled till eleven today when we stopped at this cotton shed. One day as was spread and lunch laid out in the cool breeze it seemed a blessed spot. A good many Negroes came offering chickens and milk in exchange for tobacco, which we had not. We bought some milk with money. A United States transport just now steamed by and the men on the guards cheered and waved to us. We all replied but Annie. Even Max was surprised into an answering cheer and I waved my handkerchief with a very full heart as the dear old flag we had not seen for so long floated by, but Annie turned her back. Sunday, July 13, under a tree on the east bank of the Mississippi. Late on Saturday evening we reached a plantation whose owner invited us to spend the night at his house. What a delightful thing is courtesy. The first tone of our host's welcome indicated the true gentleman. We never leave the oars with the watchmen. Max takes these, Annie and I each take a band box, H takes my carpet sack, and Rene brings up the rear with Annie's. It is a funny procession. Mr. Bee's family were absent and as we sat on the gallery talking it needed only a few minutes to show this was a union man. His home was elegant and tasteful but even here there was neither tea nor coffee. About eleven we stopped here in this shady place. While eating lunch the Negroes again came imploring for tobacco. Soon an invitation came from the house for us to come and rest. We gratefully accepted but found their idea of rest for warm, tired travelers was to sit in the parlor on stiff chairs while the whole family trooped in cool and clean and fresh toilettes to stare and question. We soon returned to the trees. However they kindly offered cornmeal pound cake and beer which were excellent. Eight gun boats and one transport have passed us. Getting out of their way has been troublesome. Our gentlemen's hands are badly blistered. Tuesday July 15. Sunday night about ten we reached the place where, according to our map, Steele's Bayou comes near us to the Mississippi and where the landing should be but when we climbed the steep bank there was no sign of habitation. Max walked off into the woods on a search and was gone so long we feared he had lost his way. He could find no road. Age suggested shouting and both began. At last a distant hallou replied and by cries the answerer was guided to us. A negro came forward and said that was the right place. His master kept the landing and he would watch the boat for five dollars. He showed the road and said his master's house was one mile off and another house two miles. We mistook and went to the one two miles off. At one o'clock we reached Mr. Fetler's who was pleasant and said we should have the best he had. The bed into whose grateful softness I sank was piled with mattresses due within two or three feet of the ceiling and with no step ladder getting in and out was a problem. This morning we noticed the high water mark four feet above the lower floor. Mrs. Fetler said they had lived upstairs several weeks. Ten Frights and Perils and Steels Bayou. Wednesday July 16 under a tree on the bank of Steels Bayou. Early this morning our boat was taken out of the Mississippi and put on Mr. Fetler's ox cart. After breakfast we followed on foot. The walk in the woods was so delightful that all were disappointed when a silvery gleam through the trees showed the bayou sweeping along full to the banks with dense forest trees almost meeting over it. The boat was launched, cocked and reloaded and we were off again. Toward noon the sound of distant cannon began to echo around probably from Vicksburg again. About the same time we began to encounter rafts. To get around them required us to push through brush so thick that we had to lie down in the boat. The banks were steep and the land on each side a bog. About one o'clock we reached this clear space with dry shelving banks and disembarked to eat lunch. To our surprise a neatly dressed woman came tripping down the declivity bringing a basket. She said she lived above and had seen our boat. Her husband was in the army and we were the first white people she had talked to for a long while. She offered some cornmeal pound cake and beer and as she climbed back told us to look out for the rapids. H is putting the boat in order for our start and says she is waving goodbye from the bluff above. Thursday July 17 on a raft in Steel's bayou. Yesterday we went on nicely a while and an afternoon came to a strange region of rafts extending about three miles on which persons were living. Many saluted us saying they had run away from Vicksburg at the first attempt of the fleet to shell it. On one of these rafts about twelve feet square bagging had been hung up to form three sides of a tent. A bed was in one corner and on a low chair with her provisions in jars and boxes grouped around her sat an old woman feeding a lot of chickens. Having moonlight we had intended to travel till late but about ten o'clock the boat beginning to go with great speed. Age, who was steering, called to Max, don't row so fast we may run against something. Well, I'm hardly pulling at all. Then we're in what she called the rapids. The stream seemed indeed to slope downward and in a minute a dark line was visible ahead. Max tried to turn but could not and in a second more we dashed against this immense raft only saved from breaking up by the men's quickness. We got out from it and ate supper. Then as the boat was leaking and the current swinging it against the raft, Age and Max thought it safer to watch all night but told us to go to sleep. It was a strange spot to sleep in, a raft in the middle of a boiling stream with a wilderness stretching on either side. The moon made ghostly shadows and showed Age sitting still as a ghost in the stern of the boat. While mingled with the gurgle of the water round the raft beneath was the boom of cannon in the air solemnly breaking the silence of night, it drizzled now and then and the mosquitoes swarmed over us. My fan and umbrella had been knocked overboard so I had no weapon against them. Fatigue, however, overcomes everything and I contrived to sleep. Age roused us at dawn. Renie found light wood enough on the raft to make a good fire for coffee which never tasted better. Then all hands assisted in unloading. A rope was fastened to the boat. Max got in, Age held the rope on the raft and by much pulling and pushing it was forced through a narrow passage to the farther side. Here it had to be caulked and while that was being done we improvised a dressing room in the shadow of our big trunks. During the trip I had to keep the time therefore properly to secure belt and watch was always an anxious part of my toilette. The boat is now repacked and while Annie and Renie are washing cups I have scribbled wishing much that mine were the hand of an artist. Friday morn, July 18, House of Colonel Kay on Yazoo River. After leaving the raft yesterday all went well till noon when we came to a narrow place where an immense tree lay clear across the stream. It seemed the insurmountable obstacle at last. We sat despairing what to do when a man appeared beside us in a piroque. So sudden, so silent was his arrival that we were thrilled with surprise. He said if we had a hatchet he could help us. His ferry-bark floated in among the branches like a bubble and he soon chopped a path for us and was delighted to get some matches in return. He said the cannon we heard yesterday were in an engagement with the ram Arkansas which ran out of the Yazoo that morning. We did not stop for dinner today but ate a hasty lunch in the boat after which nothing but a small piece of bread was left. About two we reached the forks one of which ran to the Yazoo the other to the old river. Max said the right fork was our road H said the left that there was an error in Max's map but Max steered into the right fork. After pulling about three miles he admitted his mistake and turned back but I shall never forget old river. It was the vision of a drowned world an illimitable waste of dead waters stretching into a great silent desolate forest. Just as we turned into the right way down came the rain so hard and fast we had to stop on the bank. It defied trees or umbrellas and nearly took away the breath. The boat began to fill and all five of us had to bail as fast as possible for the half hour the sheet of water was pouring down. As it abated a cold breeze sprang up that striking our clothes chilled us to the bone. All were shivering and blue no I was green. Before leaving Mr. Fetler's Wednesday morning I had dawned a dark green calico. I wiped my face with a handkerchief out of my pocket and face and hands were all dyed a deep green. When Annie turned round and looked at me she screamed and I realized how I looked but she was not much better for of all dejected things Wet feathers are the worst and the plumes of our hat were painful. About five we reached Colonel Kay's house right where Steel's Bayou empties into the yazu. We had to both to be fairly dragged out of the boat so cramped and weighted were we by wet skirts. The family were absent and the house was headquarters for a squad of Confederate cavalry which was also absent. The old colored housekeeper received us kindly and lighted fires in our rooms to dry the clothing. My trunk had got cracked on top and all the clothing to be got at was wet. H had dropped his in the river while lifting it out and his clothes were wet. A spoonful of brandy apiece was left in the little flask and I felt that mine saved me from being ill. Warm blankets and the brandy revived us and by suppertime we got into some dry clothes. Just then the squad of cavalry returned. They were only a dozen but they made much uproar being in great excitement. Some of them were known to Max and H who learned from them that a gunboat was coming to shell them out of this house. Then ensued a clatter such as twelve men surely never made before, rattling about the halls and galleries and heavy boots and spurs, feeding horses, calling for supper, clanking swords, buckling and unbuckling belts and pistols. At last supper was dispatched and they mounted and were gone like the wind. We had a quiet supper and a good nice rest in spite of the expected shells and did not wake till ten today to realize we were not killed. About eleven breakfast was furnished. Now we are waiting till the rest of our things are dried to start on our last day of travel by water. Sunday, July twenty, a little way down the Azoo on Friday we ran into McNutt's Lake, thence into Chickasaw Bayou and at dark landed at Mrs. C's farm, the nearest neighbors of H's uncle. The house was full of confederate sick, friends from Vicksburg and while we ate supper all present poured out the story of the shelling and all that was to be done at Vicksburg. Then our stuff was taken from the boat and we finally abandoned the staunch little crap that had carried us for over one hundred and twenty five miles in a trip occupying nine days. The luggage in a wagon and ourselves packed in a buggy were driven for four or five miles over the roughest road I ever traveled to the farm of Mr. B, H's uncle, where we arrived at midnight and hastened to hide in bed the utter exhaustion of mind and body. Yesterday we were too tired to think or to do anything but eat peaches. End of Section Two Section Three of Famous Adventures and Prison Escapes of the Civil War By Various This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Section Three War Diary of a Union Woman in the South Part Three 11. Wild Times in Mississippi This morning there was a most painful scene. Annie's father came into Vicksburg ten miles from here and learned of our arrival from Mrs. C's messenger. He sent out a carriage to bring Annie and Max to town that they might go home with him and with it came a letter for me from friends on the Jackson Railroad written many weeks before. They had heard that our village home was under water and invited us to visit them. The letter had been sent to Annie's people to forward and thus had reached us. This decided H, as the place was near New Orleans, to go there and wait the chance of getting into that city. Max, when he heard this from H, lost all self-control and cried like a baby. He stalked about the garden in the most tragic manner, exclaiming, Oh, my soul's brother from youth up is a crater, a crater to his country. Then H got angry and said, Max, don't be a fool. Who has done this, bald Max? You've felt with the South at first. Who has changed you? Of course I feel for the South now, and nobody has changed me but the logic of events, though the 20 Negro law has intensified my opinions. I can't see why I, who have no slaves, must go to fight for them, while every man who has 20 may stay at home. I also tried to reason with Max and pour oil on his wound. Max, what interest has a man like you, without slaves, in a war for slavery? Even if you had them, they would not be your best property. That lies in your country and its resources. Nearly all the world has given up slavery. Why can't the South do the same and end the struggle? It has shown you what the South needs, and if all went to work with united hands, the South would soon be the greatest country on Earth. You have no right to call H a traitor. It is we who are the true patriots and lovers of the South. This had to come, but it has upset us both. H is deeply attached to Max, and I can't bear to see a cloud between them. Max, with Annie and Rene, drove off an hour ago, Annie so glad at the prospect of again seeing her mother, that nothing could cloud her day. And so the close companionship of six months and of dangers, trials, and pleasures shared together is over. Oak Ridge, July 26, Saturday. It was not till Wednesday that H could get into Vicksburg, ten miles distant, for a passport, without which we could not go on the cars. We started Thursday morning. I had to ride seven miles on a hard trotting horse to the nearest station. The day was burning at white heat. When the station was reached, my hair was down, my hat on my neck, and my feelings were indescribable. On the train, one seemed to be right in the stream of war among officers, soldiers, sick men, and cripples, adjuice, tears, laughter, constant chatter, and strangest of all, sentinels posted at the locked car doors, demanding passports. There was no train south from Jackson that day, so we put up at the Bowman House. The excitement was indescribable. All the world appeared to be traveling through Jackson. People were besieging the two hotels, offering enormous prices for the privilege of sleeping anywhere under a roof. There were many refugees from New Orleans, among them some acquaintances of mine. The peculiar styles of women's dress necessitated by the exigencies of war gave the crowd a very striking appearance. In single suits I saw sleeves of one color, the waist of another, the skirt of another, scarlet jackets and gray skirts, black waists and blue skirts, black skirts and gray waists, the trimming, chiefly gold braid and buttons to give a military air. The gray and gold uniforms of the officers, glittering between, made up a carnival of color. Every moment we saw strange meetings and partings of people from all over the South. Conditions of time, space, locality and estate were all loosened. Everybody seemed floating, he knew not whither, but determined to be jolly and keep up an excitement. At supper we had tough steak, heavy, dirty-looking bread, confederate coffee. The coffee was made of either parched rye or cornmeal or of sweet potatoes cut in small cubes and roasted. This was the favorite. When flavored with coffee essence, sweetened with saugrum and tinctured with chalky milk, it made a curious beverage which, after tasting, I preferred not to drink. Everyone else was drinking it, and an acquaintance said, Oh, you'll get bravely over that. I used to be a Jewess about pork, but now we just kill a hog and eat it, and kill another and do the same. It's all we have. Friday morning we took the down-train from the station near my friend's house. At every station we had to go through the examination of passes as if in a foreign country. The conscript camp was at Brookhaven, and every man had been ordered to report there or to be treated as a deserter. At every station I shivered to mentally, expecting H to be dragged off. Brookhaven was also the station for dinner. I choked mine down, feeling the sword hanging over me by a single hair. At sunset we reached our station, the landlady was pouring tea when we took our seats, and I expected a treat. But when I tasted, it was sassafras tea, the very odor of which sickens me. There was a general surprise when I asked to exchange it for a glass of water. Everyone was drinking it as if it were nectar. This morning we drove out here. My friend's little nest is calm in contrast to the tumult not far off. Yet the trials of war are here, too. Having no matches, they keep fire, carefully covering it at night, for Mr. G has no powder and cannot flash the gun into combustibles as some do. One day they had to go with the children to the village, and the servant let the fire go out. When they returned at nightfall, wet and hungry, there was neither fire nor food. Mr. G had to saddle the tired mule and ride three miles for a pan of coals, and blow them all the way back to keep them alight. Crockery has gradually been broken, and tin cups rusted out, and a visitor told me they had made tumblers out of clear glass bottles by cutting them smooth with a heated wire, and that they had nothing else to drink from. August 11. We cannot get to New Orleans. A special passport must be shown, and we are told that to apply for it would render age very likely to be conscripted. I begged him not to try, and as we hear that active hostilities have ceased at Vicksburg, he left me this morning to return to his uncles and see what the prospects are there. I shall be in misery about conscription till he returns. Sunday, September 7, Vicksburg, Washington Hotel. H did not return for three weeks. An epidemic disease broke out in his uncle's family, and two children died. He stayed to assist them in their trouble. Tuesday evening he returned for me, and we reached Vicksburg yesterday. It was my first sight of the Gibraltar of the South. Looking at it from a slight elevation suggests the idea that the fragments left from world-building had tumbled into a confused mass of hills, hollows, hillocks, banks, ditches, and ravines, and that the houses had rained down afterward. Overall there was dust impossible to conceive. The bombardment has done little injury. People have returned and resumed business. A gentleman asked age if he knew of a nice girl for sale. I asked if he did not think it in politic to buy slaves now. Oh, not young ones. Old ones might run off when the enemy's lines approach ours, but with young ones there is no danger. We had not been many hours in town before a position was offered to age, which seemed providential. The chief of a certain department was in ill health and wanted a deputy. It secures him from conscription, requires no oath, and pays a good salary. A mountain seemed lifted off my heart. Thursday, September 18, Thanksgiving Day. We stayed three days at the Washington Hotel. Then a friend of age is called and told him to come to his house till he could find a home. Boarding houses have all been broken up, and the army has occupied the few houses that were for rent. Today age secured a vacant room for two weeks in the only boarding house. Oak Haven, October 3. To get a house and be proved impossible, so we agreed to part for a time till age could find one. A friend recommended this quiet farm, six miles from blank, a station on the Jackson Railroad. On last Saturday, age came with me as far as Jackson and put me on the other train for the station. On my way hither, a lady whom I judged to be a Confederate blockade runner, told me of the tricks resorted to to get things out of New Orleans, including this. A very large doll was emptied of its brand, filled with quinine, and elaborately dressed. When the owner's trunk was opened, she declared with tears that the doll was for a poor crippled girl, and it was passed. This farm of Mr. W's is kept with about forty negroes. Mr. W, nearly sixty, is the only white man on it. He seems to have been wiser in the beginning than most others, and curtailed his cotton to make room for rye, rice, and corn. There is a large vegetable garden and orchard. He has bought plenty of stock for beef and mutton, and laid in a large supply of sugar. He must also have plenty of ammunition, for a man is kept hunting, and supplies the table with delicious wild turkeys and other game. There is abundance of milk and butter, hives for honey, and no end of pigs. Chickens seem to be kept by game and parks, for I never see any, but the hunter shoots them, and eggs are plentiful. We have chickens for breakfast, dinner, and supper, fried, stewed, broiled, and in soup, and there is a family of ten. Luckily I never tire of it. They make starch out of cornmeal by washing the meal repeatedly, pouring off the water, and drying the sediment. Truly the uses of corn in the Confederacy are varied. It makes coffee, beer, whiskey, starch, cake, bread. The only privations here are the lack of coffee, tea, salt, matches, and good candles. Mr. W. is now having the dirt floor of this smokehouse dug up, and boiling from it the salt that has dripped into it for years. Today Mrs. W. made tea out of dried blackberry leaves, but no one liked it. The beds made out of equal parts of cotton and corn shucks are the most elastic I ever slept in. The servants are dressed in gray homespun. Hester, the chambermaid, has a gray gown so pretty that I covet one like it. Mrs. W. is now arranging dyes for the thread to be woven into dresses for herself and the girls. Sometimes her hands are a curiosity. The school at the nearest town is broken up, and Mrs. W. says the children are growing up heathens. Mr. W. has offered me a liberal price to give the children lessons in English and French, and I have accepted it transiently. October 28. It is a month to day since I came here. I only wish H. could share these benefits, the nourishing food, the pure aromatic air, the sound sleep away from the fevered life of Vicksburg. He sends me all the papers he can get a hold of, and we both watch carefully the movements reported lest an army should get between us. The days are full of useful work, and in the lovely afternoons I take long walks with a big dog for company. The girls do not care for walking. In the evening Mr. W. begs me to read aloud all the war news. He is fond of the Memphis appeal, which has moved from town to town so much that they call it the moving appeal. I sit in a low chair by the fire, as we have no other light to read by. Sometimes traveling soldiers stop here, but that is rare. October 31. Mr. W. said last night the farmers felt uneasy about the Emancipation Proclamation to take effect in December. The slaves had found it out, though it had been carefully kept from them. Do yours know it? I asked. Oh yes, finding it to be known elsewhere, I told it to mine with fair warning what to expect if they tried to run away. The hounds are not far off. The need of clothing for their armies is worrying them, too. I never saw Mrs. W. so excited as on last evening. She said the provost Marshall at the next town had ordered the women to knit so many pairs of socks. Just let them try to enforce it, and they will cowhide him. He'll get none from me. I'll take care of my friends without an order from him. Well, said Mr. W., if the South is defeated and the slaves set free, the Southern people will all become atheists for the Bible justifies slavery and says it shall be perpetual. You mean, if the Lord does not agree with you, you'll repudiate him? Well, we'll feel it's no use to believe in anything. At night the large sitting room makes a striking picture. Mr. W., spare, erect, grey-headed, patriarchal, sits in his big chair by the odorous fire of pine logs and knot, roaring up the vast fireplace. His driver brings to him the report of the day's picking and a basket of snowy cotton for the spinning. The hunter brings in the game. I sit on the other side to read. The great spinning wheels stand at the other end of the room, and Mrs. W. and her black satellites, the elderly women, with their heads in bright bandanas, are hard at work. Slender and auburn-haired, she steps back and forth out of shadow into shine, following the thread with graceful movements. Some card the cotton, some reel it into hanks. Overall the fire-light glances, now touching the golden curls of little John, toddling about, now the brown heads of the girls stooping over their books, now the shadowy figure of little Jewel, the girl whose duty it is to supply the fire with rich pine, to keep up the vivid light. If they would only let the child sit down, but that is not allowed, and she gets sleepy and stumbles and knocks her head against the wall and then straightens up again. When that happens often, it drives me off. Sometimes, while I read, the bright room fades and a vision rises of figures clad in gray and blue, lying pale and stiff on the blood-sprinkled ground. Yesterday a letter was handed me from H. Grant's army was moving, he wrote, steadily down the Mississippi Central and might cut the road at Jackson. He has a house and will meet me in Jackson to-morrow. November 20. Vicksburg. A fair morning for my journey back to Vicksburg. On the train was the gentleman who in New Orleans had told us we should have all the butter we wanted from Texas. On the cars, as elsewhere, the question of food alternated with news of the war. When we ran into the Jackson station, H. was on the platform, and I gladly learned that we could go right on. A runaway negro, an old man, ashy-colored from fright and exhaustion, with his hands chained, was being dragged along by a common-looking man. Just as we started out of Jackson, the conductor led in a young woman sobbing in a heartbroken manner. Her grief seemed so overpowering, and she was so young and helpless that everyone was interested. Her husband went into the army in the opening of the war just after their marriage, and she had never heard from him since. After months of weary searching, she learned he had been heard of at Jackson and came full of hope, but found no clue. The sudden breaking down of her hope was terrible. The conductor placed her in care of a gentleman going her way and left her sobbing. At the next station the conductor came to ask her about her baggage. She raised her head to try and answer, Don't cry so, you'll find him yet. She gave a start, jumped from her seat with arms flung out and eyes staring. There he is now! she cried. Her husband stood before her. The gentleman beside her yielded his seat, and as hand, graft hand, a hysterical gurgle gave place to a look like heaven's peace. The low murmur of their talk began, and when I looked around at the next station they had bought pies and were eating them together like happy children. Midway between Jackson and Vicksburg we reached the station near where Annie's parents were staying. I looked out and there stood Annie with a little sister on each side of her, brightly smiling at us. Max had written to H., but we had not seen them since our parting. There was only time for a word and the train flashed away. 12. Vicksburg We reached Vicksburg that night and went to H.'s room. Next morning the cook he had engaged arrived, and we moved into this house. Martha's ignorance keeps me busy, and H. is kept close at his office. January 7, 1863 I have had little to record here recently, for we have lived to ourselves, not visiting, or visited. Everyone H. knows is absent, and I know no one but the family we stayed with at first, and they are now absent. H. tells me of the added triumph since the repulsive Sherman in December, and the one paper published here shouts victory as much as its gradually diminishing size will allow. Paper is a serious want. There is a great demand for envelopes in the office where H. is. He found and bought a lot of thick and smooth colored paper, cut a tin pattern, and we have wild away some long evenings cutting envelopes and making them up. I have put away a package of the best to look at when we are old. The books I brought from Arkansas have proved a treasure, but we can get no more. I went to the only bookstore open, there were none, but Mrs. Stowe's sunny memories of foreign lands. The clerk said I could have that, jeep, because he couldn't sell her books, so I got it and am reading it now. The monotony has only been broken by letters from friends here and there in the Confederacy. One of these letters tells of a federal raid to their place and says, but the worst thing was they would take every toothbrush in the house because we can't buy any more, and one cavalryman put my sister's new bonnet on his horse and said, get up, Jack, and her bonnet is gone. February 25. A long gap in my journal because age has been ill unto death with typhoid fever, and I nearly broke down from loss of sleep, there being no one to relieve me. I never understood before how terrible it was to be alone at night with a patient in delirium, and no one within call. To wake Martha was simply impossible. I got the best doctor here, but when convalescence began the question of food was a trial. I got with great difficulty to chickens. The doctor made the drugstore sell two of their six bottles of port. He said his patient's life depended on it. An egg is a rare and precious thing. Meanwhile the federal fleet has been gathering, has anchored at the bend, and shells are thrown in at intervals. March 20. The slow shelling of Vicksburg goes on all the time, and we have grown indifferent. It does not at present interrupt or interfere with daily applications, but I suspect they are only getting the range of different points, and when they have them all complete, showers of shot will rain on us all at once. Non-combatants have been ordered to leave or prepare accordingly. Those who are to stay are having caves built. Cave digging has become a regular business. Prices range from twenty to fifty dollars according to size of cave. Two diggers worked at ours a week and charged thirty dollars. It is well made in the hill that slopes just in the rear of the house, and well propped up with thick posts, as they all are. It has a shelf also for holding a light or water. When we went in this evening and sat down, the earthy, suffocating feeling as of a living tomb was dreadful to me. I fear I shall risk death outside rather than melt in that dark furnace. The hills are so honeycombed with caves that the streets look like avenues in a cemetery. The hill called the Skypawgher has become quite a fashionable resort for the few upper-circle families left here. Some officers are quartered there, and there is a band and a field-glass. Last evening we also climbed the hill to watch the shelling, but found the view not so good as on a quiet hill nearer home. Soon a lady began to talk to one of the officers. It is such folly for them to waste their ammunition like that. How can they ever take a town that has such advantages for defense and protection as this? We'll just burrow into these hills and let them batter away as hard as they please. Oh, you are right, madam, and besides, when our women are so willing to brave death and endure discomfort, how can we ever be conquered? Soon she looked over with significant glances to where we stood and began to talk at age. The only drawback, she said, are the contemptible men who are staying at home in comfort when they ought to be in the army if they had a spark of honor. I cannot repeat all, but it was the usual tirade. It is strange I have met no one yet who seems to comprehend an honest difference of opinion and stranger yet that the ordinary rules of good breeding are now so entirely ignored. As the spring comes one has the craving for fresh green food that a monotonous diet produces. There was a bed of radishes and onions in the garden that were a real blessing. An onion salad, dressed only with salt, vinegar, and pepper, seemed a dish fit for a king. But last night the soldiers quartered near, made a raid on the garden, and took them all. April 2nd. We have had to move, and thus lost our cave. The owner of the house suddenly returned and notified us that he intended to bring his family back. Didn't think there'd be any siege. The cost of the cave could go for the rent. That means he has got tired of the Confederacy and means to stay here and thus get out of it. This house was the only one to be had. It was built by ex-Senator Gee, and is so large, our tiny household is lost in it. We use only the lower floor. The bell is often rung by persons who take it for a hotel and come beseeching food at any price. Today one came who would not be denied. We do not keep a hotel, but would willingly feed hungry soldiers if we had the food. I have been travelling all night, and am starving. We'll pay any price for just bread. I went to the dining room and found some biscuits and set out, too, with a large piece of cornbread, a small piece of bacon, some nice syrup, and a pitcher of water. I locked the door of the safe and left him to enjoy his lunch. After he left, I found he had broken open the safe and taken the remaining biscuits. April 28. I never understood before the full force of those questions what shall we eat, what shall we drink, and wherewithal shall we be clothed. We have no prophet of the Lord at whose prayer the meal and oil will not waste. Such minute attention must be given the wardrobe to preserve it that I have learned to darn like an artist. Making shoes is now another accomplishment. Mine were in tatters. Age came across a moth-eaten pair that he bought me, giving ten dollars, I think, and they fell into rags when I tried to wear them, but the soles were good and that has helped me to shoes. A pair of old coat sleeves saved, nothing is thrown away now, was in my trunk. I cut an exact pattern from my old shoes, laid it on the sleeves, and cut out, thus good, uppers, and sewed them carefully. Then soaked the soles and sewed the cloth to them. I am so proud of these homemade shoes, think I'll put them in a glass case when the war is over, as an heirloom. Age says he has come to have an abiding faith that everything he needs to wear will come out of that trunk while the war lasts. It is like a fairy casket. I have but a dozen pins remaining, so many I gave away. Every time these are used they are straightened and kept from rust. All these curious labors are performed while the shells are leisurely screaming through the air. But as long as we are out of range, we don't worry. For many nights we have had a little sleep because the Federal gunboats have been running past the batteries. The uproar when this is happening is phenomenal. The first night the thundering artillery burst the bars of sleep. We thought it an attack by the river. To get into garments and rush upstairs was the work of a moment. From the upper gallery we have a fine view of the river and soon saw a red glare lit up the scene and showed a small boat towing two large barges, gliding by. The Confederates had set fire to a house near the bank. Another night eight boats ran by throwing a shower of shot and two burning houses made the river clear as day. One of the batteries has a remarkable gun they call whistling dick because of the screeching whistling sound it gives and certainly it does sound like a tortured thing. Added to all this is the indescribable Confederate yell which is a soul harrowing sound to hear. I have gained respect for the mechanism of the human ear which stands it all without injury. The streets are seldom quiet at night. Even the dragging about of cannon makes a den in these echoing gullies. The other night we were on the gallery till the last of the eight boats got by. Next day a friend said to age it was a wonder you didn't have your heads taken off last night. I passed and saw them stretched over the gallery and grape shot were whizzing up the street just on a level with you. The double roar of batteries and boats was so great we never noticed the whizzing. Yesterday the Cincinnati attempted to go by in daylight but was disabled and sunk. It was a pitiful sight. We could not see the finale though we saw her rendered helpless. Sheen, preparations for the siege. Vicksburg, May 1, 1863. It is settled at last that we shall spend the time of siege in Vicksburg. Ever since we were deprived of our cave I had been dreading that H would suggest sending me to the country where his relatives lived. As he could not leave his position and go also without being conscripted and as I felt certain an army would get between us it was no part of my plan to be obedient. A shell from one of the practicing mortars brought the point to an issue yesterday and settled it. Sitting at work as usual listening to the distant sound of bursting shells apparently aimed at the courthouse there suddenly came a nearer explosion. The house shook and a tearing sound was followed by terrified screams from the kitchen. I rushed thither but met at the hall the cook's little girl, America, bleeding from a wound in the forehead and fairly dancing with fright and pain while she uttered fearful yells. I stopped to examine the wound and her mother bounded in her black face ashy from terror. Oh, Miss B, my child is killed and the kitchen tore up. Seeing America was too lively to be a killed subject I consoled Martha and hastened to the kitchen. Evidently a shell had exploded just outside sending three or four pieces through. When order was restored I endeavored to impress on Martha's mind the necessity for calmness and the uselessness of such excitement. Looking round at the close of the lecture there stood a group of Confederate soldiers laughing heartily at my sermon and the promising audience I had. They chimed in with a parting chorus Yes, it's no use to holler an old lady. Oh, H, I exclaimed as he entered soon after America is wounded. That is no news she has been wounded by traitors long ago. Oh, this is real living little black America. I'm not talking in symbols. Here are the pieces of shell the first bolt of the coming siege. Now you see, he replied that this house will be but paper to mortar shells. The argument was long but when a woman is obstinate and eloquent she generally conquers. I came off victorious and we finished preparations for the siege today. Hiring a man to assist we descended to the wine cellar where the accumulated bottles told of the banquet hall deserted. The spirit and glow of the festive hours whose lights and garlands were dead and the last guest long since departed. To empty this cellar was the work of many hours then in the safest corner a platform was laid for our bed and in another portion one arranged for Martha. The dungeon, as I call it, is lighted only by a trapped door and is so damp it will be necessary to remove the bedding and mosquito bars every day. The next question was of supplies. I had nothing left but a sack of rice flour and no manner of cooking I had heard or invented contrived to make it eatable. A column of recipes for making delicious preparations of it had been going the rounds of confederate papers. I tried them all. They resulted only in brick brats or sticky paste. H. sallied out on a hunt for provisions and when he returned the disproportionate quantity of the different articles obtained provoked a smile. There was a hog's head of sugar, a barrel of syrup, ten pounds of bacon and peas, four pounds of wheat flour and a small sack of cornmeal, a little vinegar and actually some spice. The wheat flour he purchased for ten dollars as a special favor from the sole remaining barrel for sale. We decided that must be left for sickness. The sack of meal, he said, it was a case of corruption through a special providence to us. There is no more for sale at any price. But, said he, a soldier who was hauling some of the government sacks to the hospital offered me this for five dollars if I could keep a secret. When the meal is exhausted perhaps we can keep alive on sugar. Here are some wax candles hoard them like gold. He handed me a parcel containing about two pounds of candles and left me to arrange my treasures. It would be hard for me to picture the memories those candles called up. The long years melted away and I trod again my childhood track and felt its very gladness. In those childish days whenever came dreams of household splendor or festival rooms or gay illuminations the lights in my vision were always wax candles burning with a soft radiance that enchanted every scene. And lo, here on the spring day of 63 with war raging through the land I was in a fine house and had my wax candles sure enough. But alas they were neither cerulean blue nor rose-tented but dirty brown. And when I lighted one it spluttered and wasted like any vulgar tallow thing and lighted only a desolate scene in the vast handsome room. They were not so good as the waxen rope we had made in Arkansas. So with a long sigh for the dreams of youth I returned to the stern present in this besieged town my only consolation to remember the old axiom a city besieged is a city taken. So if we live through it we shall be out of the Confederacy. H is very tired of having to carry a pass around in his pocket and go every now and then to have it renewed. We have been so very free in America these restrictions are irksome.