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Not a boat lay at Baton Rouge; Camp Moore was not even threatened; Ponchatoula Station was burned, but the one battery was retaken by our men the same night. But still these false reports cannot equal the Yankees'. Take, for instance, the report of the Captain of the Essex. I give General Carter as my authority.
Those vile Yankees have been threatening Ponchatoula, and his battery, with a regiment of infantry, was on its way there to drive them back. The Captain sent me word of the distressing departure, with many assurances that he would take care of "my" John. Scarcely had he departed, when lo! John arrives, and speaks for himself. Yes! he is going! Only a moment to say good-bye ... sunset approaches.
The Colonel sent word through Eugene La Noue that we should obtain it in a few days, and advised us to go by way of Ponchatoula. Tired of delay, and hearing that we could pass as readily on General Gardiner's order, we obtained one and started off without waiting for the other. The first news on arriving at Madisonville was that no one should pass except on General Pemberton's order.
He was to accompany us only as far as Ponchatoula some six miles; but the turning-point in his journey seemed to be an undetermined spot; for mile after mile rolled away rather the wheels rolled over them and still he rode by us, talking through the window, and the sprays of wild flowers he would pick for me from time to time were growing to quite a bouquet, when he proposed an exchange with the farmer who was driving us, and, giving him his horse, took the reins himself.
Then comes tidings of nine gunboats at Baton Rouge; Ponchatoula on the railroad taken by Yankees; Camp Moore and three batteries, ditto. Not so cheering! If that is so, Clinton lies within reach, being thirty-five miles off.
Again our road lay through piney woods, so much like that from Hammond to Ponchatoula that involuntarily I found myself looking through the window to see if Mr. Halsey was there. It lacked only his presence to make the scene all in all the same. But alas! this time the driver picked me wild flowers, and brought us haws. Mr.
Again the carriage drove to the door, and we were whisked off to Camp Moore, where the engine stood snorting with impatience to hurry us off to Ponchatoula.... Soon we were steaming down the track, I reclining on my pillows in an interesting state of invalidism, sadly abashed now and then at the courteous, wondering gaze of the soldiers who were aboard.
Merci du compliment; mais c'est trop tard, Monsieur! Tuesday, April 7th. I believe that it is for true that we are to leave for New Orleans, via Clinton and Ponchatoula, this evening. Clinton, at least, I am sure of. Lilly came down for me yesterday, and according to the present programme, though I will not answer for it in an hour from now, we leave Linwood this evening, and Clinton on Thursday.
Having very little idea of the geography of that part of the country, and knowing we were to take a carriage from some point this side of Ponchatoula, fancying how surprised Mr. Halsey would be to hear we had passed him on the way, I took a card from my traveling-case, and wrote a few words for "good-bye," as we could not see him again.
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