CLINTON. – What an unexpected change! I am surprised myself!
Yesterday as the Baton Rouge party were about leaving, Miriam thought Lilly
would be lonesome alone here with her sick baby, and decided that we should
leave by the cars, and stay with her until mother returned. There was no time
to lose; so dressing in haste, we persuaded Anna to accompany us, and in a few
moments stood ready. We walked down to the overseer's house to wait for the
cars, and passed the time most agreeably in eating sugar-cane, having brought a
little negro expressly to cut it for us and carry our carpet-bag. Three young
ladies, who expected to be gone from Saturday until Wednesday, having but one
carpet-bag between them! Can it be credited? But, then, we knew we had clothes
here, and depended upon them for supplies, when we now find they are in the
trunk and mother has the key.
We walked aboard alone, in the crowded train, and found
ourselves in the only car reserved for ladies, which was already filled with a
large party returning from Port Hudson, consisting of the fastest set of girls
that I have seen for some time. Anna and I had to content ourselves with a seat
on a small box between the benches, while Miriam was established on the only
vacant one, with a sick soldier lying at her feet. The fast girls talked as
loud as possible and laughed in a corresponding style in spite of the sick man.
They must have been on a picnic, from the way they talked. One in a short dress
complained that she had not seen her sweetheart. A pert little miss of thirteen
cried, “You can bet your head I never went to any place where I did not see one
of my sweethearts.” One of about seventeen, a perfect beauty, declared
she would die of thirst. “So will I! and I don't want to die before I get a
husband!” exclaimed her vis-a-vis. They evidently expected to produce an
impression on us. At every “brilliant” remark (“stupid” understood), they
looked at us to see what we thought. All of them sat with bare heads in the
strong light, an unfailing proof of la basse classe on steamers and
cars. Every time my veil blew aside, they made no difficulty about scanning my
features as though they thought it might be agreeable. I must confess I was
equally impolite in regard to the Beauty; but then her loveliness was an
excuse, and my veil sheltered me, besides. While this young Psyche was
fascinating me, with her perfect face and innocent expression, one of her
companions made a remark — one that I dare say is made every day, and that I
never imagined could be turned into harm. My Beauty uttered a prolonged “Oh!”
of horror, and burst out laughing, followed by all the others. My disgust was
unspeakable. Mock modesty is always evident. A modest girl could not have
noticed the “catch”; the immodest, on the lookout for such an opportunity, was
the only one who could have perceived it. Well! after all, no one can be
perfect; this may be the single stain on my Beauty, though I confess I would
rather have any other failing than this, almost.
Putting this aside, I hardly know which I was most amused
by: the giddy, lively girls to my right, or the two ladies to my left who were
as cross and ill-natured as two old cats and railed unmercifully at the silly
creatures behind them, and carried their spite so far as to refuse to drink
because the conductor (the husband of one of them) gave the young ladies water
before passing it to their two elders. Didn't the poor man get it! She wouldn't
taste a drop of that nasty dirty drippings, that she wouldn't! Might have had
the decency to attend to his kinsfolks, before them creatures! And why didn't
he wait on those two young ladies behind her? He did ask them? Well, ask them
again! they must want some! Poor Henpecked meekly passed the can again, to be
again civilly declined. I confess the “drippings” were too much for me also,
though I did not give it as my excuse. Mrs. Hen recommenced her pecking; poor
Mr. Hen at last surlily rejoined, "For Heaven's sake, don't make a fuss in
the cars," with an emphasis on the last word that showed he was accustomed
to it at home, at least. With my veil down, I leaned against the window, and
remembering Colonel Breaux's remarks two nights before concerning cross people,
I played his “little philosopher” for the remainder of the journey.
At sunset we walked in at Lilly's gate, and astonished her
by standing before her as she sat alone with her poor sick little Beatrice in
her arms. . . .
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 260-3
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