University of Virginia Library

V
MONTGOMERY, ALA.

V. April 27, 1861—May 20, 1861

MONTGOMERY, Aia., April 27, 1861.—Here we are
once more. Hon. Robert Barnwell came with us. His
benevolent spectacles give him a most Pickwickian
expression. We Carolinians revere his goodness above all
things. Everywhere, when the car stopped, the people
wanted a speech, and we had one stream of fervid oratory.
We came along with a man whose wife lived in Washington.
He was bringing her to Georgia as the safest place.

The Alabama crowd are not as confident of taking
Fort Pickens as we were of taking Fort Sumter.

Baltimore is in a blaze. They say Colonel Ben Huger
is in command there—son of the "Olmutz" Huger. General
Robert E. Lee, son of Light Horse Harry Lee, has been
made General-in-Chief of Virginia. With such men to the
fore, we have hope. The New York Herald says, "Slavery
must be extinguished, if in blood." It thinks we are shaking
in our shoes at their great mass meetings. We are jolly
as larks, all the same.

Mr. Chesnut has gone with Wade Hampton[1] to see
President Davis about the legion Wade wants to get up.

The President came across the aisle to speak to me at
church to-day. He was very cordial, and I appreciated the
honor.

Wigfall is black with rage at Colonel Anderson's account
of the fall of Sumter. Wigfall did behave magnanimously,
but Anderson does not seem to see it in that light.
"Catch me risking my life to save him again," says Wigfall.
"He might have been man enough to tell the truth
to those New Yorkers, however unpalatable to them a good
word for us might have been. We did behave well to him.
The only men of his killed, he killed himself, or they killed
themselves firing a salute to their old striped rag."

Mr. Chesnut was delighted with the way Anderson spoke
to him when he went to demand the surrender. They
parted quite tenderly. Anderson said: "If we do not
meet again on earth, I hope we may meet in Heaven."
How Wigfall laughed at Anderson " giving Chesnut a
howdy in the other world!"

What a kind welcome the old gentlemen gave me! One,
more affectionate and homely than the others, slapped me
on the baek. Several bouquets were brought me, and I put
them in water around my plate. Then General Owens
gave me some violets, which I put in my breastpin.

"Oh," said my "Gutta Percha" Hemphill,[2] "if I
had known how those bouquets were to be honored I would
have been up by daylight seeking the sweetest flowers!"
Governor Moore came in, and of course seats were offered
him. "This is a most comfortable chair," cried an
overly polite person. "The most comfortable chair is beside
Mrs. Chesnut," said the Governor, facing the music
gallantly, as he sank into it gracefully. Well done, old
fogies!

Browne said: "These Southern men have an awfully
flattering way with women." "Oh, so many are descendants
of Irishmen, and so the blarney remains yet, even, and
in spite of their gray hairs!" For it was a group of silver-gray
flatterers. Yes, blarney as well as bravery came in
with the Irish.

At Mrs. Davis's reception dismal news, for civil war
seems certain. At Mrs. Toombs's reception Mr. Stephens
came by me. Twice before we have had it out on the subject
of this Confederacy, once on the cars, coming from
Georgia here, once at a supper, where he sat next to me.
To-day he was not cheerful in his views. I called him
half-hearted, and accused him of looking back. Man after
man came and interrupted the conversation with some
frivle-fravle, but we held on. He was deeply interesting,
and he gave me some new ideas as to our dangerous situation.
Fears for the future and not exultation at our successes
pervade his discourse.

Dined at the President's and never had a pleasanter
day. He is as witty as he is wise. He was very agreeable;
he took me in to dinner. The talk was of Washington; nothing
of our present difficulties.

A General Anderson from Alexandria, D.C., was in
doleful dumps. He says the North are so much better prepared
than we are. They are organized, or will be, by
General Scott. We are in wild confusion. Their army is
the best in the world. We are wretchedly armed, etc., etc.
They have ships and arms that were ours and theirs.

Mrs. Walker, resplendently dressed, one of those gorgeously
arrayed persons who fairly shine in the sun, tells
me she mistook the inevitable Morrow for Mr. Chesnut, and
added, "Pass over the affront to my powers of selection."
I told her it was "an insult to the Palmetto flag." Think
of a South Carolina Senator like that!

Men come rushing in from Washington with white lips,
crying, "Danger, danger!" It is very tiresome to have

these people always harping on this: "The enemy's
troops are the finest body of men we ever saw." "Why
did you not make friends of them," I feel disposed to say.
We would have war, and now we seem to be letting our
golden opportunity pass; we are not preparing for war.
There is talk, talk, talk in that Congress—lazy legislators,
and rash, reckless, headlong, devil-may-care, proud, passionate,
unruly, raw material for soldiers. They say we have
among us a regiment of spies, men and women, sent here
by the wily Seward. Why? Our newspapers tell every
word there is to be told, by friend or foe.

A two-hours' call from Hon. Robert Barnwell. His
theory is, all would have been right if we had taken Fort
Sumter six months ago. He made this very plain to me.
He is clever, if erratic. I forget why it ought to have been
attacked before. At another reception, Mrs. Davis was in
fine spirits. Captain Dacier was here. Came over in his
own yacht. Russell, of The London Times, wondered how
we had the heart to enjoy life so thoroughly when all the
Northern papers said we were to be exterminated in such a
short time.

May 9th.—Virginia Commissioners here. Mr. Staples
and Mr. Edmonston came to see me. They say Virginia
"has no grievance; she comes out on a point of honor;
could she stand by and see her sovereign sister States invaded?"

Sumter Anderson has been offered a Kentucky regiment.
Can they raise a regiment in Kentucky against us?
In Kentucky, our sister State?

Suddenly General Beauregard and his aide (the last
left him of the galaxy who surrounded him in Charleston),
John Manning, have gone—Heaven knows where, but out
on a war-path certainly. Governor Manning called himself
"the last rose of summer left blooming alone" of that
fancy staff. A new fight will gather them again.

Ben McCulloch, the Texas Ranger, is here, and Mr.

Ward,[3] my "Gutta Percha" friend's colleague from
Texas. Senator Ward in appearance is the exact opposite
of Senator Hemphill. The latter, with the face of an old
man, has the hair of a boy of twenty. Mr. Ward is fresh
and fair, with blue eyes and a boyish face, but his head is
white as snow. Whether he turned it white in a single
night or by slower process I do not know, but it is strangely
out of keeping with his clear young eye. He is thin, and
has a queer stooping figure.

This story he told me of his own experience. On a
Western steamer there was a great crowd and no unoccupied
berth, or sleeping place of any sort whatsoever in
the gentlemen's cabin—saloon, I think they called it. He
had taken a stateroom, 110, but he could not eject the people
who had already seized it and were asleep in it. Neither
could the Captain. It would have been a case of revolver
or "'leven inch Bowie-knife."

Near the ladies' saloon the steward took pity on him.
"This man," said he, "is 110, and I can find no place for
him, poor fellow." There was a peep out of bright eyes:
"I say, steward, have you a man 110 years old out there?
Let us see him. He must be a natural curiosity." "We
are overcrowded," was the answer, "and we can't find a
place for him to sleep." "Poor old soul; bring him in
here. We will take care of him."

"Stoop and totter," sniggered the steward to No. 110,
"and go in."

"Ah," said Mr. Ward, "how those houris patted and
pitied me and hustled me about and gave me the best berth!
I tried not to look; I knew it was wrong, but I looked. I saw
them undoing their back hair and was lost in amazement

at the collapse when the huge hoop-skirts fell off, unheeded
on the cabin floor."

One beauty who was disporting herself near his curtain
suddenly caught his eye. She stooped and gathered
up her belongings as she said: "I say, stewardess, your
old hundred and ten is a humbug. His eyes are too blue
for anything," and she fled as he shut himself in, nearly
frightened to death. I forget how it ended. There was so
much laughing at his story I did not hear it all. So much
for hoary locks and their reverence-inspiring power!

Russell, the wandering English newspaper correspondent,
was telling how very odd some of our plantation habits
were. He was staying at the house of an ex-Cabinet Minister,
and Madame would stand on the back piazza and
send her voice three fields off, calling a servant. Now that
is not a Southern peculiarity. Our women are soft, and
sweet, low-toned, indolent, graceful, quiescent. I dare say
there are bawling, squalling, vulgar people everywhere.

May 13th.—We have been down from Montgomery on
the boat to that God-forsaken landing, Portland, Ala.
Found everybody drunk—that is, the three men who were
there. At last secured a carriage to carry us to my brother-in-law's
house. Mr. Chesnut had to drive seven miles
pitch dark, over an unknown road. My heart was in my
mouth, which last I did not open.

Next day a patriotic person informed us that, so great
was the war fever only six men could be found in Dallas
County. I whispered to Mr. Chesnut: "We found three
of the lone ones hors de combat at Portland." So much
for the corps of reserves—alcoholized patriots.

Saw for the first time the demoralization produced by
hopes of freedom. My mother's butler (whom I taught
to read, sitting on his kinfe-board) contrived to keep from
speaking to us. He was as efficient as ever in his proper
place, but he did not come behind the scenes as usual and
have a friendly chat. Held himself aloof so grand and

stately we had to send him a "tip" through his wife
Hetty, mother's maid, who, however, showed no signs of
disaffection. She came to my bedside next morning with
everything that was nice for breakfast. She had let me
sleep till midday, and embraced me over and over again.
I remarked: "What a capital cook they have here!" She
curtsied to the ground. "I cooked every mouthful on that
tray—as if I did not know what you liked to eat since you
was a baby."

May 19th.—Mrs. Fitzpatrick says Mr. Davis is too
gloomy for her. He says we must prepare for a long war
and unmerciful reverses at first, because they are readier
for war and so much stronger numerically. Men and
money count so in war. "As they do everywhere else,"
said I, doubting her accurate account of Mr. Davis's
spoken words, though she tried to give them faithfully.
We need patience and persistence. There is enough and to
spare of pluck and dash among us, the do-and-dare style.

I drove out with Mrs. Davis. She finds playing Mrs.
President of this small confederacy slow work, after leaving
friends such as Mrs. Emory and Mrs. Jee Johnston[4]
in Washington. I do not blame her. The wrench has been
awful with us all, but we don't mean to be turned into
pillars of salt.

Mr. Mallory came for us to go to Mrs. Toombs's reception.
Mr. Chesnut would not go, and I decided to remain
with him. This proved a wise decision. First Mr. Hunter[5]

came. In college they called him from his initials, R.
M. T., "Run Mad Tom" Hunter. Just now I think he is
the sanest, if not the wisest, man in our new-born Confederacy.
I remember when I first met him. He sat next to
me at some state dinner in Washington. Mr. Clay had
taken me in to dinner, but seemed quite satisfied that my
"other side" should take me off his hands.

Mr. Hunter did not know me, nor I him. I suppose he
inquired, or looked at my card, lying on the table, as I
looked at his. At any rate, we began a conversation which
lasted steadily through the whole thing from soup to
dessert. Mr. Hunter, though in evening dress, presented a
rather tumbled-up appearance. His waistcoat wanted pulling
down, and his hair wanted brushing. He delivered unconsciously
that day a lecture on English literature which,
if printed, I still think would be a valuable addition to
that literature. Since then, I have always looked forward
to a talk with the Senator from Virginia with undisguised
pleasure. Next came Mr. Miles and Mr. Jameson, of
South Carolina. The latter was President of our Secession
Convention also has written a life of Du Guesclin that is
not so bad. So my unexpected reception was of the most
charming Judge Frost came a little later. They all remained
until the return of the crowd from Mrs. Toombs's.

These men are not sanguine—I can't say, without hope,
exactly. They are agreed in one thing: it is worth while
to try a while, if only to get away from New England.
Captain Ingraham was here, too. He is South Carolina to
the tips of his fingers; yet he has it dyed in the wool—it is
part of his nature—to believe the United States Navy can
whip anything in the world. All of these little inconsistencies
and contrarieties make the times very exciting. One

never knows what tack any one of them will take at the
next word.

May 20th.—Lunched at Mrs. Davis's; everything nice
to eat, and I was ravenous. For a fortnight I have not
even gone to the dinner table. Yesterday I was forced to
dine on cold asparagus and blackberries, so repulsive in
aspect was the other food they sent me. Mrs. Davis was
as nice as the luncheon. When she is in the mood, I do not
know so pleasant a person. She is awfully clever, always.

We talked of this move from Montgomery. Mr. Chesnut
opposes it violently, because this is so central a position
for our government. He wants our troops sent into
Maryland in order to make our fight on the border, and so
to encompass Washington. I see that the uncomfortable
hotels here will at last move the Congress. Our statesmen
love their ease and it will be hot here in summer. "I do
hope they will go" Mrs. Davis said. "The Yankees will
make it hot for us go where we will and truly so if war
comes." "And it has come" said I. "Yes, I fancy
these dainty folks may live to regret losing even the fare
of the Montgomery hotels." "Never."

Mr. Chesnut has three distinct manias. The Maryland
scheme is one, and he rushes off to Jeff Davis, who, I dare
say, has fifty men every day come to him with infallible
plans to save the country. If only he can keep his temper
Mrs. Davis says he answers all advisers in softly modulated,
dulcet accents.

"What a rough menagerie we have here. And if nice
people come to see you, up walks an irate Judge, who engrosses
the conversation and abuses the friends of the company
generally; that is, abuses everybody and prophesies
every possible evil to the country, provided he finds that
denouncing your friends does not sufficiently depress you.
Everybody has manias—up North, too, by the papers.

But of Mr. Chesnut's three crazes: Maryland is to be
made the seat of war, old Morrow's idea of buying up

steamers abroad for our coast defenses should be adopted,
and, last of all, but far from the least, we must make much
cotton and send it to England as a bank to draw on. The
very cotton we have now, if sent across the water, would
be a gold mine to us.