On the train one seemed to be right in the stream of war, among officers, soldiers, sick men and cripples, adieus, tears, laughter, constant chatter, and, strangest of all, sentinels posted at the locked car-doors demanding passports.  There was no train south from Jackson that day, so we put up at the Bowman House.  The excitement was indescribable.  All the world appeared to be traveling through Jackson.  People were besieging the two hotels, offering enormous prices for the privilege of sleeping anywhere under a roof.  There were many refugees from New Orleans, among them some acquaintances of mine.  The peculiar style of [women’s] dress necessitated by the exigencies of war gave the crowd a very striking appearance.  In single suits I saw sleeves of one color, the waist of another, the skirt of another; scarlet jackets and gray skirts; black waists and blue skirts; black skirts and gray waists; the trimming chiefly gold braid and buttons, to give a military air.  The gray and gold uniforms of the officers, glittering between, made up a carnival of color.  Every moment we saw strange meetings and partings of people from all over the South.  Conditions of time, space, locality, and estate were all loosened; everybody seemed floating he knew not whither, but determined to be jolly, and keep up an excitement.  At supper we had tough steak, heavy, dirty-looking bread, Confederate coffee.  The coffee was made of either parched rye or cornmeal, or of sweet potatoes cut in small cubes and roasted.  This was the favorite.  When flavored with “coffee essence,” sweetened with sorghum, and tinctured with chalky milk, it made a curious beverage, which, after tasting, I preferred not to drink.  Every one else was drinking it, and an acquaintance said, “Oh, you’ll get bravely over that.  I used to be a Jewess about pork, but now we just kill a hog and eat it, and kill another and do the same.  It’s all we have.”

Friday morning we took the down train for the station near my friend’s house.  At every station we had to go through the examination of passes, as if in a foreign country.

The conscript camp was at Brookhaven, and every man had been ordered to report there or to be treated as a deserter.  At every station I shivered mentally, expecting H. to be dragged off.  Brookhaven was also the station for dinner.  I choked mine down, feeling the sword hanging over me by a single hair.  At sunset we reached our station.  The landlady was pouring tea when we took our seats and I expected a treat, but when I tasted it it was sassafras tea, the very odor of which sickens me.  There was a general surprise when I asked to exchange it for a glass of water; every one was drinking it as if it were nectar.  This morning we drove out here.

My friend’s little nest is calm in contrast to the tumult not far off.