Early this morning we came
from Pass Christian, and soon after we got here telegrams came for
Faye, one ordering him to proceed to Pittsburg and report for duty,
and another saying that officers' families may accompany the regiment.
This was glorious news to me. The fear and dread of having to be left
behind had made me really ill - and what would have become of me if it
had actually come to pass I cannot imagine. I can go - that is all
sufficient for the present, and we expect to leave for Pittsburg this
evening at nine o'clock.
The late start gives us a long day here with nothing to do. After a
while, when it is not quite so hot outside, we are going out to take a
farewell look at some of our old haunts. Our friends are all out of
the city, and Jackson Barracks is too far away for such a warm
day - besides, there is no one there now that we know.
It seems quite natural to be in this dear old hotel, where all during
the past winter our "Army and Navy Club" cotillons were danced every
two weeks. And they were such beautiful affairs, with two splendid
military orchestras to furnish the music, one for the dancing and one
to give choice selections in between the figures. We will carry with
us to the snow and ice of the Rocky Mountains many, many delightful
memories of New Orleans, where the French element gives a charm to
everything. The Mardi-Gras parades, in which the regiment has each
year taken such a prominent part - the courtly Rex balls - the balls of
Comus - the delightful Creole balls in Grunewald Hall - the stately and
exclusive balls of the Washington Artillery in their own splendid
hall - the charming dancing receptions on the ironclad monitor
Canonicus, also the war ship Plymouth, where we were almost afraid to
step, things were so immaculate and shiny - and then our own pretty
army fetes at Jackson Barracks - regimental headquarters - each and all
will be remembered, ever with the keenest pleasure.
But the event in the South that has made the deepest impression of all
occurred at Vicksburg, where for three weeks we lived in the same
house, en famille and intimately, with Jefferson Davis! I consider
that to have been a really wonderful experience. You probably can
recall a little of what I wrote you at the time - how we were boarding
with his niece in her splendid home when he came to visit her.
I remember so well the day he arrived. He knew, of course, that an
army officer was in the house, and Mrs. Porterfield had told us of his
coming, so the meeting was not unexpected. Still, when we went down to
dinner that night I was almost shivering from nervousness, although
the air was excessively warm. I was so afraid of something unpleasant
coming up, for although Mrs. Porterfield and her daughter were women
of culture and refinement, they were also rebels to the very quick,
and never failed at any time to remind one that their uncle was
"President" Davis! And then, as we went in the large dining room, Faye
in his very bluest, shiniest uniform, looked as if he might be Uncle
Sam himself.
But there was nothing to fear - nothing whatever. A tall, thin old man
came forward with Mrs. Porterfield to meet us - a courtly gentleman of
the old Southern school - who, apparently, had never heard of the Civil
War, and who, if he noticed the blue uniform at all, did not take the
slightest interest in what it represented. His composure was really
disappointing! After greeting me with grave dignity, he turned to Faye
and grasped his hand firmly and cordially, the whole expression of his
face softening just a little. I have always thought that he was deeply
moved by once again seeing the Federal Blue under such friendly
circumstances, and that old memories came surging back, bringing with
them the almost forgotten love and respect for the Academy - a love
that every graduate takes to his grave, whether his life be one of
honor or of disgrace.
One could very easily have become sentimental, and fancied that he was
Old West Point, misled and broken in spirit, admitting in dignified
silence his defeat and disgrace to Young West Point, who, with Uncle
Sam's shoulder straps and brass buttons, could be generously oblivious
to the misguidance and treason of the other. We wondered many times if
Jefferson Davis regretted his life. He certainly could not have been
satisfied with it.
There was more in that meeting than a stranger would have known of. In
the splendid dining room where we sat, which was forty feet in length
and floored with tiles of Italian marble, as was the entire large
basement, it was impossible not to notice the unpainted casing of one
side of a window, and also the two immense patches of common gray
plaster on the beautifully frescoed walls, which covered holes made by
a piece of shell that had crashed through the house during the siege
of Vicksburg. The shell itself had exploded outside near the servants'
quarters.
Then, again, every warm evening after dinner, during the time he was
at the house, Jefferson Davis and Faye would sit out on the grand,
marble porch and smoke and tell of little incidents that had occurred
at West Point when each had been a cadet there. At some of these times
they would almost touch what was left of a massive pillar at one end,
that had also been shattered and cracked by pieces of shell from U.S.
gunboats, one piece being still imbedded in the white marble.
