On Tuesday evening, a neighbor of ours reached Natchez, bringing news that the guerrillas had visited our plantation on that day.  I hastened to Waterproof by the first boat, and found our worst fears were realized.

Thirty guerrillas had surrounded our house at the hour we were ordinarily at dinner.  They called our names, and commanded us to come out and be shot.  The house was empty, and as there was no compliance with the request, a half-dozen of the party, pistols in hand, searched the building, swearing they would kill us on the spot.  Had we been there, I have no doubt the threat would have been carried out.

Failing to find us, they turned their attention to other matters.  They caught our overseer as he was attempting to escape toward Waterproof.  He was tied upon his horse, and guarded until the party was ready to move.  The teams were plowing in the field at the time the robbers made their appearance.  Some of the negroes unloosed the mules from the plows, mounted them, and fled to Waterproof.  Others, who were slow in their movements, were captured with the animals.  Such of the negroes as were not captured at once, fled to the woods or concealed themselves about the buildings.

Many of the negroes on the plantation were personally known to some of the guerrillas.  In most cases these negroes were not disturbed.  Others were gathered in front of the house, where they were drawn up in line and securely tied.  Some of them were compelled to mount the captured mules and ride between their captors.

Several children were thrown upon the mules, or taken by the guerrillas on their own horses, where they were firmly held.  No attention was paid to the cries of the children or the pleadings of their mothers.  Some of the latter followed their children, as the guerrillas had, doubtless, expected.  In others, the maternal instinct was less than the dread of captivity.  Among those taken was an infant, little more than eight months old.

Delaying but a few moments, the captors and the captives moved away.  Nineteen of our negroes were carried off, of whom ten were children under eleven years of age.  Of the nineteen, five managed to make their escape within a few miles, and returned home during the night.  One woman, sixty-five years old, who had not for a long time been able to do any work, was among those driven off.  She fell exhausted before walking three miles, and was beaten by the guerrillas until she lay senseless by the roadside.  It was not for several hours that she recovered sufficiently to return to the plantation and tell the story of barbarity.