This water is making us young again. How these men enjoy the
baths. They say Beauregard can stop the way with sixty thousand; that many are
coming.
An antique female, with every hair curled and frizzed, said
to be a Yankee spy, sits opposite us. Brewster solemnly wondered “with eternity
and the judgment to come so near at hand, how she could waste her few remaining
minutes curling her hair.” He bade me be very polite, for she would ask me
questions. When we were walking away from table, I demanded his approval of my
self-control under such trying circumstances. It seems I was not as calm and
forbearing as I thought myself. Brewster answered with emphasis: “Do you always
carry brickbats like that in your pocket ready for the first word that offends
you? You must not do so, when you are with spies from the other side.” I do not
feel at all afraid of spies hearing anything through me, for I do not know
anything.
But our men could not tarry with us in these cool shades and
comfortable quarters, with water unlimited, excellent table, etc. They have
gone back to Manassas, and the faithful Brewster with them to bring us the
latest news. They left us in excellent spirits, which we shared until they were
out of sight. We went with them to Warrenton, and then heard that General
Johnston was in full retreat, and that a column was advancing upon Beauregard.
So we came back, all forlorn. If our husbands are taken prisoners, what will
they do with them? Are they soldiers or traitors?
Mrs. Ould read us a letter from Richmond. How horrified they
are there at Joe Johnston's retreating. And the enemies of the War Department
accuse Walker of not sending General Johnston ammunition in sufficient
quantities; say that is the real cause of his retreat. Now will they not make
the ears of that slow-coach, the Secretary of War, buzz?
Mrs. Preston's maid Maria has a way of rushing in — “Don't
you hear the cannon?” We fly to the windows, lean out to our waists, pull all
the hair away from our ears, but can not hear it. Lincoln wants four hundred
millions of money and men in proportion. Can he get them? He will find us a
heavy handful. Midnight. I hear Maria's guns.
We are always picking up some good thing of the rough
Illinoisan's saying. Lincoln objects to some man — “Oh, he is too interruptious”; that is a horrid style of
man or woman, the interruptions. I know the thing, but had no name for it
before.
SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and
Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 77-9
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