Famous Adventures and Prison Escapes of the Civil War | Page 6

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.
Nov. 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
wail for blankets, but there is not a blanket in town. I have gathered up
all the spare bed-clothing, and now want every available rug or
table-cover in the house. Can't I have yours, G.? 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."
Dec. 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-à-brac of all sorts. There were many lovely creole girls present, in
exquisite toilets, passing to and fro through the decorated rooms,
listening to the band clash out the Anvil Chorus.
Jan. 2, 1862.--I am glad enough to bid '61 good-by. 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. "Wish to search for arms?
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 leaned folded up together against the
wall, in the very room where they had ransacked the closets. Queerly,
the rebel families have been the ones most anxious to conceal all
weapons. They have dug graves quietly at night in the back yards, 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.

V
MARRIED
Friday, Jan. 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 sewed, shopped,
mended, and packed, as if sewing 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
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 understood thus the kindly acts that
sought to brighten the threshold of a new life.
Feb. 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 sewing as if on a race with Time, sat Mrs.
Y. and a little negro