War Diary Of A Union Woman In The South
by
1860-63.
[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 honor 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 afterwards 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 the limits of this volume.
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 heroism of due emphasis. I have restored one example of this in the short paragraph following her account of the night she spent fanning her sick husband on their perilous voyage down the Mississippi.]
G.W.C.
I.
SECESSION.
New Orleans, Dec. 1, 1860.–I understand it now. Keeping journals is for those who can not, 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. This is a good time to follow St. Paul’s advice that women should refrain from speaking, but they are speaking more than usual and forcing others to speak against their will.
Sunday, Dec.–, 1860.–In this season for peace I had hoped for a lull in the excitement, yet this day has been full of bitterness. “Come, G.,” said Mrs. F. at breakfast, “leave your church for to-day and come with us to hear Dr. —- 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 frameth 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, G., 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 it proved too 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.