Sarah Morgan: The Civil War Diary Of A Southern Woman - Softcover

East, Charles

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0671785036 ISBN 13: 9780671785031

Publisher: Touchstone, 1992

Synopsis

Born into one of the best families of Baton Rouge, Sarah Morgan was not yet twenty when she began her diary in January 1862, nine months after the start of the Civil War. She was soon to experience a coming-of-age filled with the turmoil and upheaval that devastated the wartime South. She set down the Remarkable events of the war in a record that remains one of the most vivid, evocative portrayals in existence of a time and place that today make up a crucial chapter in our national history.
Sarah Morgan herself emerges as one of the most memorable nineteenth-century women in fiction or nonfiction, a young woman of intelligence and fortitude, as well as of high spirits and passion, who questioned the society into which she was born and the meaning of the war for ordinary families like her own and for the divided nation as a whole.
Now published in its entirety for the first time, Sarah Morgan's classic account brings the Civil War and the Old South to life with all the freshness and immediacy of great literature.

About this title

About the Author:

Charles East is a former editor at the University of Georgia Press and former director of the Louisiana State University Press. He is the author of several books and is the series editor for the Flannery O'Connor Award for Short Fiction.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Book One

(This was an old book Brother had in Paris, before I was born. He gave it to me for my 2d Journal, though I call it my First. The other was begun when I was Eleven years old.)

[p. 1] 1862. Jan 10th

B.R. [Baton Rouge]

A new year has opened to me while my thoughts are still wrapped up in the last; Heaven send it may be a happier one than 1861. And yet there were many pleasant days in that year, as well as many bitter ones. Remember the bright sunny days of last winter; the guests at home, the visits abroad; the buggy rides, the walks, the dances every night; the merry, kind voices that came from laughing lips, the bright eyes that then sparkled with pleasure? Is there nothing to remember with gratitude in all that?

What if grief came afterwards; long days and nights of heart breaking grief that only God knows of, [when I was] so heart broken that even God seemed so far off that prayers could not reach him; all the days of my life had been unclouded happiness, without pain or sadness until that awful night when I looked at mother's stony, horror struck face as she lay on the floor with father kneeling over her, and heard her cry out to me with that unnatural voice "Harry is dead! You loved him Sarah!" And my soul seemed to expand in one vast world of agony and then I laughed and said "Father, it is not true! tell her so!" Then as he lifted up his face all tearstained [p. 2] -- my dear old father! -- and said -- "It is true, dear" my heart fairly stopped beating -- and I knew or saw nothing more until I heard his voice saying "My child, for God's sake control yourself!"

It called me back from I know not where; some place that I remember now as being void of everything except awful darkness; and when I saw his face dimly through the veil that seemed wrapped around me, and remembered what he was suffering, with one gasp I conquered something that was dragging me into that dark nothing again, and crept close to mother to help father to hold her. Then, for the first time I knew what grief was. But I had always been so happy until then! "Shall we receive good at the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil also?"

O that dreary night! Presently I found myself in the street. A crowd was gathered at the gate, but I passed through and ran on to where I knew I would find Miriam. I remember putting my arms around her and saying "Miriam, my Harry is dead!" and then we were in the street again, I dont know how -- and presently some one's hand was on my arm and some one said "Hush!" -- I know not why -- but I threw off the hand and ran away; they had no right to hold me; it was my brother that was dead, the one I loved best of all.

People were in the house gathering around mother; they took Miriam too; but I shook them off, for one [p. 3] word or one touch would unnerve me, and I must be brave for father's sake. They said I must go to Lilly and some one took me there where people were standing around her too, and when I saw her come to, only to faint again, I thought she too would die. It was hard to keep from crying then, so every two or three minutes I would run away and hide until I could come back quiet.

That night seemed to last forever. Again I was home; the same scene was there. Mother's dull cry of misery never ceased or varied, Miriam helpless and without self control could do nothing for herself or her. Father had all to do. I tried to help him; I dont know whether I did though. My thoughts were so busy elsewhere. How did he die? the question haunted me where ever I turned, but I dared not ask; I felt what it was. It must have been very late when I asked Mrs Day, and I felt as though it was stamped in red hot iron on my brain; Mr Sparks had killed him -- she need not have told me. I must have known it centuries before, and through all those ages it had been burning in my very soul.

Had he ever lived? It must have been a dream, all those pleasant days, where Harry was mingled with all happy thoughts. Was it years ago, or only a week past that very night that he was laughing at me while I dragged mother around in a dance, that he joined his violin to my guitar, and called on Miriam and Lydia to sing with us? That last supper where we were so [p. 4] happy, where I drew from him stories of London and Paris, and complained that he did not tell me enough, and promised myself that one day, when I should be his little house-keeper, he should tell me all -- was that real? O no! it had never been. "Harry" was a name, a fancy of my own brain -- he had never lived.

And yet in the same breath, I cried "He was so good!" Was! and I did not believe that he had ever existed -- was I said, when the next instant I could not realize that he could possibly be no more! Those were strange thoughts that took possession of me then, and though now it seems to me that I was little short of insane, at the time I fairly hugged myself with the satisfaction of knowing that outwardly at least, I was calm, and that no one would guess what I suffered. I who felt that self control, when there was real anguish, was impossible!

After a while, one by one every one left; Miriam was to stay all night with Lilly, and I was left alone with father and mother. Mother would cry out "What will you do without him, Sarah? you loved each other so! You will miss him, for he loved you best of all!" Poor mother! she forgot her loss in thinking of mine. I believe it was that consciousness of his love for me that was sustaining me through all that. I thought of his life, where we two had been thrown more together than any of the others, and recalling all the past, could thank God that I had never said or thought a harsh word about him.

The day he left home, he had taken [p. 5] off a shirt which mother wanted to use as a pattern for the set she was making him. It was lying at the foot of the bed, where she had been sewing on the others until sunset that evening, with nothing to show it had been worn save the crease in the collar and cuffs. But she cried out when she saw it, and said to take it away. Father wanted to take it; he thought I would be afraid. Afraid of dear, dead Harry who had been so good to me all his life! I could not feel so, and I carried it away my self.

That long night as I lay awake in bed, I held his daguerreotype in my hand, and thought of him lying cold and stiff in the coffin so far away. I could see the gas light shining on his white face, I could see all as though I were present. I thought how fortunate it was that Lydia, Gibbes and I had not gone to Linwood that morning as we intended; how strange it was that when I awoke at five, and heard the rain, I checked my feeling of disappointment with "I'll have to be thankful I cannot go yet" and when I went down to breakfast with a feeling of vague misery that I could not shake off, all laughed at me for my first attack of blues, they said, and declared it was because I did not get off. Father said "This is the first time I ever knew you to give way to a feeling of disappointment; I must say I thought you more reasonable." I felt the reproach, but could only declare that I was not sorry we did not go, I was sure it was for the best, and in return got laughed at again.

Even Lydia wondered at me, and all the morning over at her house with [p. 6] Miriam, I was weighed down with the load I felt on my heart. In going over to dinner, I felt that I must try to be myself again, and commenced singing Harry's "Partant pour la Syrie" to prove my resolution; but I could not finish. At last, while at table I said to Miriam "I will conquer! What o'clock is it?" "Just three." "Good! from this hour, Richard is himself again!" and from that time, I was as gay as I had before been depressed. Laughing still, I went to Mrs Brunot's, and I shall never forget the horror struck face, as she fell back against the wall, looking at me with out a word. I thought she must have heard bad news of Felix, and entered the parlor without staying to ask. The girls met me so singularly, I felt as though I was an unwelcome guest. They were talking of something strange I knew, but the instant I entered all was still.

Three or four gentlemen were there, and all eyed me until I was ill at ease. I tried to talk, but every time I mentioned Harry they seemed unwilling to speak of him, until I really felt piqued about it. Presently, we went to walk in the State House grounds, I with Mr Walsh. I could not help speaking of Harry still. He remarked Gibbes looked very handsome with his hair cut short. I said "That's because he looks like Hal. Hal is the handsomest, as well as the best man God ever made. I know people do not think so, but, Bah! nobody can appreciate him as I do!" He looked so curiously at me, that I was half angry with him; but he said nothing. At last I came home, and taking my guitar sang alone [P. 7] in the parlor until first Lydia, then father and mother came in. Then came that scream from mother, who had gone up for her keys with father; and then remembering how sick he looked as he came in, I thought he must be dying, and ran up too. But I dared not see him die, and ran out in the street calling Gibbes. Lydia caught me, and said "Wait! I'll tell you!" but I could only say Father! and dragged her up stairs with me, while she was trying to tell me, but she never did; mother told it.

O that never ending night! What a relief to see daylight at last, and to be able to get up from the place I had never moved from all night, without thinking of sleep! I dressed in a hurry, and came to this room -- his then -- where all his clothes were lying, as though he would be back in a little while, and folded them and put them away. The brown cap -- the one he said he would save for this winter! -- which he wore until he left, was lying there too. He said he loved it, it had been so serviceable to him; so I took it to keep for him. My task was finished, and the sun was rising on the first of May.

They said Jimmy had come, and running down, I met him in the entry. It was the first time in a year, for he had just come from Annapolis. It was such a sad time to welcome the dear little fellow home; may I never witness such another scene, as his meeting with mother! It was then, for the first time, that we knew how he [Hal] died, fully. Every body knew it, but ourselves, less than an hour after, but we did not know even of his death, until four hours after it occured. Jimmy said he looked [p. 8] so grand lying so still and pale, there was such a holy light shining on his face, and all pain and sorrow had passed away, and Hal's soul was before God, trusting in His mercy. Gone in his brightest days! Gone when all on earth seemed to promise only pleasure, and merited happiness for the rest of his days! Gone, with his heart full of the beauty and goodness of the whole world -- gone to dust and ashes!

O Hal! Was I right in saying when you came home, that you would not be with us long, that Death was shining in your eyes? Mother and Miriam would not believe me, and laughed, but I knew you must go. Those eyes looked too holy to stay here; they did not belong to this world. God sent that light there to show me that he would take you from the harm to come; there is no disappointment in the tomb, Hal; and it was written in the book of Fate that you were not to prosper in this world; your aim was too high, and disappointment would have crushed your soul to the earth. Better be laying in your grave, Hal, with all your noble longings unsatisfied, than to have your heart filled with bitterness as it would have been, for your motto, as I always said when you spoke of future success, was that ominous "Never!" Those glorious eyes, with God's truth sparkling in them, are now dimmed forever, Hal. Yet, not forever; I shall see them at the Last Day; bury me where I may see them again. O please God, let me die as calmly as he. And let Hal be the first to welcome me, and lead me before Thee, in the name of Jesus Christ!

[P. 9] Jan 26th 1862

Three months ago today, how hard it would have been to believe, if any one had fortold what my situation was to be in three short weeks from then! Even as late as the eighth of November, what would have been my' horror if I had known that in six days more, father would be laid by Harry's side! That evening he looked so well and was so cheerful, and felt better than he had been for two weeks; I little thought of what was coming. How well I remember that same day, at our reading club at Mrs Brunot's, I stopped reading to tell the girls of the desk father had that morning given me, and I went on to talk of his care and love, for my comfort and me, until -- I don't know why, unless it was the premonition of his coming death -- I lost all control, and burst out crying, though I tried to laugh it off. At that hour, one week after, I was standing at the head of his grave, looking down at his coffin with dry eyes.

When we came home from reading, we found father with a severe attack of Asthma, but he had it so often, that we thought this too would pass off in a little while; but it was not to be; he never again drew a free breath. At night, he grew so much worse, that Dr Woods was sent for at his request, as Dr Enders could not be found? O how hard I prayed God that he might be relieved! It seemed as though my prayer was answered, and for an hour and a half, he seemed to suffer less. At the end of that time, about nine at night, he told me to go to Lilly, and let Charlie stay with him all night. I kissed him good night as he sat in his arm [p. 10] chair under the chandelier in the parlor, and went away confident that I would find him well in the morning.

I woke at [sic] early the 9th, but dreaded to move for fear that something, which I vaguely felt hovering over me should be true, but Lilly called to me to dress quickly and go home with her, for father had been insensible ever since I had left. At the corner, as we were hurrying here, we met Dr Enders, who laid his hand on Lilly's arm and said "If you go to see your father, you must be prepared for what ever may happen." I waited long enough to hear her ask if he was dying, and his answer "I believe so" and then I was off, and never knew how I reached the parlor.

Father was lying on matresses [sic] on the left of the mantle as I entered, or rather he was sitting up, propped with pillows, for he was too sick to be carried up stairs. His hands were moving as though he were writing, and his eyes, though staring, had not a ray of light in them. Dr Woods, Miriam and mother were supporting him, and someone told me he had not an hour to live. I went to my room then, and asked God to spare him a little while longer; it was dreadful to have him go without a goodbye, our dear father we all loved so. When I came down, I felt he would not die just yet. He was still the same, and until two, we watched for some change. Then he began to expectorate, and Dr Woods told me if he could throw off the phlegm from his lungs, his reason would return.

It was a sad way of keeping Brother's birthday, sitting by what was to be father's death bed. But he grew better towards evening, and they said [p. 11] he was perfectly conscious, and almost out of danger. Mother did not believe them; she said if he was conscious he would want to know what he was doing on the floor in the parlor instead of being in his bed. He seemed to know that he had not full possession of his reason for once when I was sitting by him he asked for his spectacles; I brought them and he said "Where is my paper, dear?" I told him he had not been reading, and he gave me back his spectacles saying "Take them, darling; my mind wanders."

That was Saturday; but Sunday, he was much better,...

About this edition

• Publisher: Touchstone
• Publication date: 1992
• ISBN 10: 0671785036
• ISBN 13: 9780671785031
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 672