The records, available online, of the Charleston, South Carolina Mercury Observer provided some insight into the topic of this post.

CHARLESTON MERCURY, April 24, 1862, p. 2, c. 2

The Ladies' Gunboat Fair at Columbia.

To the Editor of the Charleston Mercury:--My friend and I were walking down Main street, Columbia, on Thursday week last. "What babble is that across the way, in that lighted hall? It sounds as if ten thousand jackdaws had assembled there with the determination to try their utmost powers of noise-making." "Why, that is the Ladies' Gunboat Fair, now going on," replies my companion. "Let's go over, and see the elephant, then." We leave our twenty-five cents shinplaster at the door, and enter the hall--at least we attempt to. But what a jam! men and women, girls and boys packed together like sardines on end! For my part I feel considerably flustered--my modesty is shocked. Pushed forward by the crowd, women in front and women behind. It is too much; I look for a corner.--But suddenly I am confronted by one of the fair sex: "Take a chance at a baby, sir?" "A baby, Madam: me a chance at a baby! never, surely! I assure you, Madam, babies are quite out of my line." "Are they?" she smiles, "I didn't know it," and disappears in the crowd. When will I get to that corner, I sigh to myself.--I am waylaid again. "Buy a baby cap, sir?" "A baby cap! why, my dear Miss, I have no baby; what should I do with the cap? Anything but babies." Psaw! says the fair damsel, and turns quick on her heel. But I think I saw a twinkle in her eye. My nerves are getting quite shaky; but I near the corner. There is a most portly old lady, just in front of me.--Again I am assaulted. "Buy a baby wrapper, sir?" "Ghost of Banquo!" I exclaimed; "what evil thing have I done, that I should be thus afflicted?" The young lady looks at me in astonishment, evidently thinks I am an escaped inmate of the Lunatic Asylum. "Buy a baby wrapper, sir?" she repeats. I look at her; she looks at me. I look at the wrapper, and she looks at the wrapper. My nerves are all gone; my knees feel very weak. I look at the corner and the corner looks at me; looks like a friend. Modesty gives way; despair lends strength; I utter not a word; I rush through the crowd and disappear, subside in a chair, away back in the corner, behind a curtain. My breath comes and goes by jerks--I feel for my ribs--I reflect--gently I stroke my moustache--and very gradually my nerves are soothed, and again I look out upon the babble. Lucky corner, kind corner--I spy a fresh lettuce--how refreshing. And there is a turkey, and--why, now I am quite happy--there is a whole supper table. I recognize the fair hostess; and, what is better, she recognizes me. "What will you have?" "Oh! anything--everything." Soon I have a little table. I stick it in a nice little corner of the hall, fix my chair so as to keep off the crowd, and with knife, and fork, and jest, and all sorts of things good for the inner man, I entirely recover my strength. Again I venture into the throng. "Buy a bunch of flowers?" "By all means." "Take a pipe?" "Most certainly," and so I wade forward. "What tall, fine looking girl is that selling flowers?" It is a fine face. There is something like enthusiasm in it, if I mistake not. It is a pleasing face. And there is another pretty girl--a regular Virginia face--bright and amiable. And now look at that little vixen behind that table. An exquisite figure, is it not? So graceful and distingue--a soft, pretty, nervous looking hand, too. And look at those eyes; see how they sparkle; how quick they glance from side to side. Ah! a bright and sly young lass, that. Prenez garde, prenez garde, young man! Observe what a contrast it is to that fair, calm, regular face beside it.

But I must stop. I wish I could go on. I could write you pages. There were some funny things [that] came off. But I can only tell you now the Fair was a great success, and very pleasant. I understood from one of the fair managers that they had realized in two days, no less than twenty-three hundred dollars. The ladies of Columbia speak also of having another Fair very soon. May it be as successful as the last.