She was twenty years old when the Civil War began. At that time, she was living with her widowed mother, five brothers, and younger sister at her family's plantation, in northeastern Louisiana. The plantation was a large cotton plantation of 1,260 acres and 150 slaves. In the winter
of 1862, Union troops overran the area, and our lady watched as bluecoats scoured the countryside for food and supplies. Plantations were commandeered, and slaves were encouraged to revolt.

Many of their wealthy neighbors abandoned their homes, but the the family left at home clung to their plantation, and determined to wait it out.

From 1862 on, the Union Army fought to gain control of the Mississippi River and divide the Confederacy in half. As Union forces approached, the family was desperate. Federal authorities demanded that they stay on their property, but they were frightened.

Slaves were running away, and there was no labor to tend the crops. Many southerners could not believe that their "loyal" slaves would leave them. Our Southern lady in question wasn't one of them. She wrote, "If I were in their place, I'd do the same."

The family fled as Grant's troops advanced on Vicksburg in the spring of 1863.
Just as they were preparing to leave, they received news of the death of one of the brothers. She wrote:

"I can hardly believe that our bright, merry little brother Walter has been dead for seven weeks. He was eighteen in December and died in February. He was but a boy and could not stand the hardships of a soldier's life. Four months of it killed him."

The family finally escaped through the bayous in a rickety canoe with nothing, leaving their home and all their worldly possessions behind. They fled to Tyler Texas, three hundred miles by horseback and boat.

Texas was a favorite destination for displaced planters.

From Texas, she watched the Civil War destroy the South she loved, and was devastated by Lee's surrender. On May 15, 1865, she recorded in her diary:

"The best and bravest of the South sacrificed—and for nothing. Yes, worse than nothing. Only to rivet more firmly the chains that bind us."

The family returned to their plantation in November of 1865. It did not seem the same place, "The bare echoing rooms, the neglect and defacement of all—though the place is in better repair than most—and the stately oaks and green grass make it look pleasant and cheerful, though gardens, orchards, and fences are mostly swept away. But if the loved ones who passed through its doors could be with us again, we might be happy yet."