Here we are at Dr. Nolan’s plantation, with Baton Rouge lying just seven miles from us to the east. We can surely hear the cannon from here. They are all so kind to us that I ought to be contented; but still I wish I was once more at home. I suppose it is very unreasonable in me, but I cannot help it. I miss my old desk very much; it is so awkward to write on my knee that I cannot get used to it. Mine is a nice little room upstairs, detached from all the rest, for it is formed by a large dormer window looking to the north, from which I have seen a large number of guerrillas passing and repassing in their rough costumes, constantly. I enjoy the fresh air, and all that, but pleasant as it is, I wish I was at home and all the fuss was over. Virginia Nolan and Miriam are already equipped in their riding costumes, so I must lay this down and get ready to join them in a scamper across the fields. How delighted I will be to get on a horse again.

About half-past nine, as we got up from the breakfast table, a guerrilla told us the ram Arkansas was lying a few miles below, on her way to cooperate with Breckinridge, whose advance guard had already driven the pickets into Baton Rouge. Then we all grew wild with excitement.

Such exclamations! such delight that the dreadful moment had at last arrived! And yet you could see each stop as we rejoiced, to offer up a prayer for the preservation of those who were risking their lives at that moment. Reason, and all else, was thrown aside, and we determined to participate in the danger, if there was any to be incurred. Mother threatened us with shot and shell and bloody murder, but the loud report of half a dozen cannon in slow succession only made us more determined to see the fun, so Lilly Nolan and Miss Walters got on horseback, and Phillie, Ginnie, Miriam, and I started off in the broiling sun, leaving word for the carriage to overtake us. When we once got in, the driver, being as crazy as we, fairly made his horses run along the road to catch a glimpse of our Ram. When, miles below, she came in sight, we could no longer remain in the carriage, but mounted the levee, and ran along on foot until we reached her, when we crossed to the outer levee, and there she lay at our feet.

And nothing in her after all! There lay a heavy, clumsy, rusty, ugly flatboat with a great square box in the center, while great cannon put their noses out at the sides, and in front. The decks were crowded with men, rough and dirty, jabbering and hastily eating their breakfast. That was the great Arkansas! God bless and protect her, and the brave men she carries.

While there, a young man came up, and in answer to Phillie’s inquiries about her father—who, having gone to town yesterday to report, being paroled, had written last night to say no passes were granted to leave town—the young fellow informed her so pleasantly that her father was a prisoner, held as hostage for Mr. Castle. Poor Phillie had to cry; so, to be still more agreeable, he told her, Yes, he had been sent to a boat lying at the landing, and ran the greatest risk, as the ram would probably sink the said boat in a few hours. How I hated the fool for his relish of evil tidings!

But never mind our wild expedition, or what came of it. Am I not patient! Ever since I commenced to write, the sound of a furious bombardment has been ringing in my ears; and beyond an occasional run to see the shells fly through the air (their white smoke, rather) I have not said a word of it. The girls have all crowded on the little balcony up here, towards town, and their shrieks of “There it goes!” “Listen!” “Look at them!” rise above the sound of the cannon, and occasionally draw me out, too. But I sit here listening, and wonder which report precedes the knocking down of our home; which shell is killing someone I know and love. Poor Tiche and Dophy!—where are they? And oh, I hope they did not leave my birdie Jimmy to die in his cage. I charged them to let him loose if they could not carry him. Dophy will be so frightened. I hope they are out of danger. Oh, my dear home! shall I ever see you again? And the Brunots! Oh, how I hope they are safe. These loud cannon make me heartsick, and yet I am so excited! How rapidly they answer each other! I am told the attack commenced at five this morning, and lasted three hours. Those girls are shouting that Baton Rouge must be on fire, from the volume of smoke in that direction. How they scream as the balls go up, to show it to each other. I think I’ll take a look, too.

We six madcaps got in the carriage and buggy, and rode off in search of news. We took a quantity of old linen rags along, and during the whole drive, our fingers were busy making lint. Once we stopped at a neighbor’s to gather the news, but that did not interfere with our labors at all. Four miles from here we met a crowd of women flying, and among them recognized Mrs. La Noue and Noémie. A good deal of loud shouting brought them to the carriage in great surprise to see us there. They were running from the plantation where they had taken refuge, as it was not safe from the shells, as the gunboats had proved to them. The reports we had heard in the morning were from shots fired on this side of the river by them, in hopes of hurting a guerrilla or two. Noémie told us that two Western regiments had laid down their arms, and General Williams had been killed by his own men. She looked so delighted, and yet it made me sick to think of his having been butchered so. Phillie leaned out, and asked her, as she asked everybody, if she knew anything about her father. Noémie, in her rapture over that poor man’s death, exclaimed, “Don’t know a word about him! know Williams was cut to pieces, though!”—and that is all we could learn from her.

We went on until we came in sight of Baton Rouge. There it stood, looking so beautiful against the black, lowering sky that I could not but regret its fate. We could see the Garrison, State House, Asylum, and all that; but the object of the greatest interest to me was the steeple of the Methodist church, for to the right of it lay home. While looking at it, a negro passed who was riding up and down the coast collecting lint, so I gave him all we had made, and commenced some more. Presently, we met Mr. Phillips, to whom Phillie put the same question. “He is on the Laurel Hill a prisoner—Confound that negro! where did he go?” And so on, each answer as far as concerned her, seeming a labor, but the part relating to the servant very hearty. Poor Phillie complained that everybody was selfish—thought only of their own affairs, and did not sympathize with her. “Yes, my dear,” I silently assented; for it was very true; everyone seemed to think of their own interests alone. It was late before we got home, and then we had great fun in watching shells which we could dimly trace against the clouds, falling in what must have been the Garrison. Then came a tremendous fire, above, which may have been a boat—I don’t know.

I hear a tremendous firing again, and from the two volumes of smoke, should judge it was the Arkansas and the Essex trying their strength at a distance. We are going down to see what’s the fun. It would be absurd to record all the rumors that have reached us, since we can rely on none. They say we fought up to nine last night, and occupied the Garrison for five minutes, when the shells forced us to abandon it. Also that four regiments laid down their arms, that the Federals were pursued by our men to the river, driven to the gunboats, and pushed off to prevent the Western men from coming aboard. An eye-witness, from this side, reports that General Williams, “they say,” was forcibly held before a cannon and blown to pieces. For the sake of humanity, I hope this is false.

Oh, what a sad day this is for our country! Mother disapproved so of our going to the levee to see the fight, that we consented to remain, though Miriam and Ginnie jumped into the buggy and went off alone. Presently came tidings that all the planters near Baton Rouge were removing their families and negroes, and that the Yankees were to shell the whole coast, from there up to here. Then Phillie, Lilly (Nolan), and I jumped in—the carriage that was still waiting, and ran after the others to bring them back before they got in danger; but when we reached the end of the long lane, we saw them standing on the high levee, wringing their hands and crying. We sprang out and joined them, and there, way at the bend, lay the Arkansas on fire! All except myself burst into tears and lamentations, and prayed aloud between their sobs. I had no words or tears; I could only look at our sole hope burning, going, and pray silently. Oh, it was so sad! Think, it was our sole dependence! And we five girls looked at her as the smoke rolled over her, watched the flames burst from her decks, and the shells as they exploded one by one beneath the water, coming up in jets of steam. And we watched until down the road we saw crowds of men toiling along toward us. Then we knew they were those who had escaped, and the girls sent up a shriek of pity.

On they came, dirty, half-dressed, some with only their guns, others, a few, with bundles and knapsacks on their backs, grimy and tired, but still laughing. We called to the first, and asked if the boat were really afire; they shouted, “Yes,” and went on, talking still. Presently one ran up and told us the story. How yesterday their engine had broken, and how they had labored all day to repair it; how they had succeeded, and had sat by their guns all night; and this morning, as they started to meet the Essex, the other engine had broken; how each officer wrote his opinion that it was impossible to fight her with any hope of success under such circumstances, and advised the Captain to abandon her; how they had resolved to do so, had exchanged shots with the Essex across the point, and the first of the latter (only one, also) had set ours afire, when the men were ordered to take their side arms. They thought it was to board the Essex, assembled together, when the order was given to fire the Arkansas and go ashore, which was done in a few minutes. Several of the crew were around us then, and up and down the road they were scattered still in crowds.

Miriam must have asked the name of some of the officers; for just then she called to me, “He says that is Mr. Read!” I looked at the foot of the levee, and saw two walking together. I hardly recognized the gentleman I was introduced to on the McRae in the one that now stood below me in rough sailor pants, a pair of boots, and a very thin and slazy lisle undershirt. That is all he had on, except an old straw hat, and—yes! he held a primer! I did not think it would be embarrassing to him to meet me under such circumstances; I only thought of Jimmy’s friend as escaping from a sad fate; so I rushed down a levee twenty feet high, saying, “O Mr. Read! You won’t recognize me, but I am Jimmy’s sister!” He blushed modestly, shook my hand as though we were old friends, and assured me he remembered me, was glad to meet me, etc. Then Miriam came down and talked to him, and then we went to the top of the levee where the rest were, and watched the poor Arkansas burn.

By that time the crowd that had gone up the road came back, and we found ourselves in the center of two hundred men, just we five girls, talking with the officers around us as though they were old friends. You could only guess they were officers, for a dirtier, more forlorn set I never saw. Not dirty either; they looked clean, considering the work they had been doing. Nobody introduced anybody else; we all felt like brothers and sisters in our common calamity. There was one handsome Kentuckian, whose name I soon found to be Talbot, who looked charmingly picturesque in his coarse cottonade pants, white shirt, straw hat, black hair, beard, and eyes, with rosy cheeks. He was a graduate of the Naval Academy some years ago. Then another jolly-faced young man from the same Academy, pleased me, too. He, the doctor, and the Captain, were the only ones who possessed a coat in the whole crowd, the few who saved theirs carrying them over their arms. Mr. Read more than once blushingly remarked that they were prepared to fight, and hardly expected to meet us; but we pretended to think there was nothing unusual in his dress. I can understand, though, that he should feel rather awkward; I would not like to meet him, if I was in the same costume.

They all talked over their loss cheerfully, as far as the loss of money, watches, clothes, were concerned; but they were disheartened about their boat. One threw himself down near my feet, saying, “Me voilà. I have saved my gun, et puis the clothes that I stand in!” and laughed as though it were an excellent joke. One who had been on the Merrimac chiefly regretted the loss of the commission appointing him there, though he had not saved a single article. The one with the jolly face told me Will Pinckney was among those attacking Baton Rouge, and assured him he expected to take supper there last night. He thought it would be with us, I know! I hope he is safe!

After a while the men were ordered to march up the lane, to some resting spot it is best not to mention here, and straggled off; but there were many sick among them, one wounded at Vicksburg, and we instantly voted to walk the mile and three quarters home, and give them the carriage and buggy. But long after they left, we stood with our new friends on the levee watching the last of the Arkansas, and saw the Essex, and two gunboats crowded with men, cautiously turn the point, and watch her burn. What made me furious was the thought of the glowing accounts they would give of their “capture of the Arkansas!!!” Capture, and they fired a shot apiece!—for all the firing we heard was the discharge of her guns by the flames. We saw them go back as cautiously, and I was furious, knowing the accounts they would publish of what we ourselves had destroyed. We had seen many shells explode, and one magazine, and would have waited for the other, if the clouds had not threatened rain speedily. But we had to leave her a mere wreck, still burning, and started off on our long walk.

In our hurry, I had brought neither handkerchief nor gloves, but hardly missed either, I was so excited. Mr. Talbot walked home with me, and each of the others with someone else. He had a small bundle and a sword, and the latter I insisted on carrying. It was something, to shoulder a sword made for use rather than for ornament! So I would carry it. He said “he would remember who had carried it, and the recollection would give it a new value in his eyes, and I might rest assured it should never be disgraced after that,” and all that sort of thing, of course, as it is usual to say it on such occasions. But I shouldered the sword bravely, determined to show my appreciation of the sacrifice they had made for us, in coming to our rescue on a boat they had every reason to believe was unsafe. I liked Mr. Talbot! He made himself very agreeable in that long walk. He asked permission to send me a trophy from the first action in which he used “that” sword, and didn’t I say yes! He thought Southern men had every encouragement in the world, from the fact that the ladies welcomed them with great kindness in victory or defeat, insinuating he thought they hardly deserved our compassion after their failure on the Arkansas. But I stoutly denied that it was a failure. Had they not done their best? Was it their fault the machinery broke? And in defeat or victory, were they not still fighting for us? Were we the less grateful when they met with reverse? Oh, didn’t I laud the Southern men with my whole heart!—and I think he felt better for it, too! Yes! I like him!

We all met at the steps, and water was given to our cavaliers, who certainly enjoyed it. We could not ask them in, as Dr. Nolan is on his parole; but Phillie intimated that if they chose to order, they might do as they pleased, as women could not resist armed men! So they took possession of the sugarhouse, and helped themselves to something to eat, and were welcome to do it, since no one could prevent! But they first stood talking on the balcony, gaily, and we parted with many warm wishes on both sides, insisting that, if they assisted at a second attack on Baton Rouge, they must remember our house was at their service, wounded or in health. And they all shook hands with us, and looked pleased, and said “God bless you,” and “Good-bye.”

I heard a while ago, the doctor of the Ram, who brought back the buggy, say the Arkansas’s crew were about leaving; so remembering poor Mr. Read had lost everything, mother, suggesting he might need money, gave me twenty dollars to put in his hands, as some slight help towards reaching his destination. Besides, coming from Jimmy’s mother, he could not have been hurt. But when I got down, he was far up the lane, walking too fast for me to overtake him; then I tried to catch Mr. Stephenson, to give it to him for me, but failed. Presently, we saw I am afraid to say how many wagons loaded with them, coming from the sugarhouse; so Phillie, Lilly, and I snatched up some five bottles of gin, between us, and ran out to give it to them. A rough old sailor received mine with a flood of thanks, and the others gave theirs to those behind. An officer rode up saying, “Ladies, there is no help for it! The Yankee cavalry are after us, and we must fight them in the corn. Take care of yourselves!” We shouted “Yes!” told them to bring in the wounded and we would nurse them. Then the men cried, “God bless you,” and we cried, “Hurrah for the Arkansas’s crew,” and “Fight for us!” Altogether it was a most affecting scene. Phillie, seeing how poorly armed they were, suggested a gun, which I flew after and delivered to a rough old tar. When I got out, the cart then passing held Mr. Talbot, who smiled benignly and waved his hat like the rest. He looked still better in his black coat, but the carts reminded me of what the guillotine days must have been in France. He shouted “Good-bye,” we shouted “Come to us, if you are wounded”; he smiled and bowed, and I cried, “Use that sword!”—whereupon he sprang to his feet and grasped the hilt as though about to commence. Then came other officers; Mr. Scales, Mr. Barblaud, etc., who smiled recognition, stopped the wagon as Phillie handed up a plate of bread and meat, and talked gaily as they divided it, until the Captain rode up. “On, gentlemen! not a moment to lose!” Then the cart started off, the empty plate was flung overboard, and they rode off waving hats and crying, “God bless you, ladies!” in answer to our repeated offers of taking care of them if they were hurt. And they have gone to meet the Yankees, and I hope they won’t, for they have worked enough today, and from my heart I pray God prosper those brave men!

Last night, shortly after we got in bed, we were roused by loud cannonading towards Baton Rouge, and running out on the small balcony up here, saw the light of a great fire in that direction. From the constant reports, and the explosion of what seemed to be several powder magazines, we imagined it to be either the Garrison or a gunboat. Whatever it was, it was certainly a great fire. We all ran out in our nightgowns, and watched for an hour in the damp air, I without even shoes. We listened to the fight a long while, until the sound ceased, and we went back to bed.

I am so disheartened! I have been listening with the others to a man who was telling us about Baton Rouge, until I am heartsick. He says the Yankees have been largely reinforced, and are prepared for another attack which will probably take place tomorrow; that the fight was a dreadful one, we driving them in, and losing twelve hundred, to their fifteen hundred. It must have been awful! And that our troops have resolved to burn the town down, since they cannot hold it under the fire of the gunboats.

Again last night, about nine, we heard cannon in Baton Rouge, and watched the flashes, which preceded the reports by a minute, at least, for a long time. We must have seen our own firing; perhaps we wanted to find out the batteries of the enemy. It was not the most delightful thing imaginable t...