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,37 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 knife-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. Joe Johnston38 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.