Marion Southwood may have missed her calling. Her 1867 book, Beauty and Booty, reads like a detailed newspaper account of the Union Army ravaging New Orleans. Southwood, seemingly an outspoken lady with a fiery nature, is very thorough and articulate, and does well painting pictures with words as she methodically pens the account of the defense, surrender, and occupation of New Orleans starting in January of 1862.
       Freed from modern restraints of political correctness, Southwood openly discusses the "season of affliction" (page 11) during which New Orleans was blockaded and her citizenry lived under the heavy hand of General Benjamin F. Butler, also known as "Butler the Butcher." Southwood's writing style varies from matter-of-fact conversation to methodically detailed to a dry wit: "Others are perfectly sick of hearing of the war, that they turn with disgust from the subject. Not so with me. When I hear the 'nations afar off' praising the culprit who robbed us of our homes, our comforts, our good name, and everything which makes life enviable, my blood boils within my veins, I seize my pen, and although but a meager sketch in comparison with what another might indite, yet it is but right to let the world know some of the atrocities we were subjected to, and how our Southern friends were treated" (pages 11-12).
       The stage is set, the cast in place, and Southwood leads her readers through over thirty chapters of "who did what and why" with great attention to detail. When Union Flag Officer David G. Farragut required New Orleans to haul down her State and Confederate flags and fly only the United States flag, there were many letters shuttled back and forth between the blockading Yankee and city officials. Those letters are preserved in chapter three, along with a communiqué of protest from a French consul, whose ship sat at anchor near the Yankee blockade: "Sir – Sent by my government to protect the personas and property of its citizens, who are here to the number of thirty thousand, I regret to learn at this moment that you have accorded a delay of forty-eight hours for the evacuation of the city by the women and children. I venture to observe to you that this short delay is ridiculous, and, in the name of my government, I oppose it. If it is your resolution to bombard the city, do it; but I wish to state that you will have to account for this barbarous act to the power which I represent. In any event, I demand sixty days for the evacuation." This letter is signed "De Clouet, Commandant of the steamer Milan, opposite the City of New Orleans" (pages 36-37). The author dedicates the conversational 303 pages to the "'European Brigade' and Foreign Consuls, who assisted so materially in preserving order, and in protecting the City of New Orleans, when threatened with bombardment."
       Southwood gives many numerous examples of the barbarity of the Yankees and particularly Butler:

       General Butler was very fastidious about locating his family; it must live in style — the "observed of all observers." He and his wife visited many mansions, before making up their minds which to choose....
       The mansion which they at last cast their longing eyes upon was that of Dr. C—ll, one of our most prominent physicians, at the corner of St. Charles and Julia Streets. Its cost was great, and was finished elaborately, with stables, etc. It would just suit; all was new, the parlors not yet furnished; and then too Mrs. Dr. C—ll occupied it, with her four children, in the absence of the Doctor — how could they be disposed of?...
       Late in the afternoon Mrs. C—ll was notified to leave her house; herself and four children suddenly, just before dark, turned into the street; her horses and carriage taken from her, and some of her servants. Mr. S—e's furniture... on Rampart Street, was stolen, and thus, Dr. C—ll's house was furnished for Butler and his wife (pages 64, 66).

       Butler dictated religious services (page 70), licensed gambling houses (page 71), and looted New Orleans along with his junior officers (page 67), even stealing the "celebrated statue of [George] Washington" from Baton Rouge (page 69) and 418 bells from churches, schools, factories, and plantations, auctioned at Boston for recasting into cannon (page 75).
       Still, Butler's most infamous diatribe against occupied New Orleans was General Order #28, "known everywhere, and commented upon both in Europe and America, was a most refined piece of cruelty" (page 109). On 15 May 1862, Butler ordered, "As the officers and soldiers of the United States have been subjected to repeated insults from the women (calling themselves ladies) of New Orleans, in return for the most scrupulous non-interference and courtesy on our part, it is ordered that hereafter when any female shall, by word, gesture, or movement, insult or show contempt for any officer or soldier of the United States, she shall be regarded and held liable to be treated as a woman of the town plying her avocation" (page 109). Southwood said the order humiliated New Orleans' ladies, who hardly dared breathe not knowing how that might be construed against them. The London Times championed the distressed, saying that the proclamation "realizes all that was ever told of tyranny by victor over the vanquished, and the state of slavery endured by the negroes of New Orleans cannot be more absolute than that now suffered by the whites of that city" (page 109).
       Butler next deported from New Orleans the Episcopal clergy, ordering them to New York (page 110). A song on the next page details a possible cause: the Episcopal pastors were not praying for Abraham Lincoln. Foreign governments and dignitaries were not safe from Butler's wretchedness. Southwood detailed the outrageous thefts committed against the consuls of the Netherlands and France, and merchants from Greece and England. Southwood quotes from a letter from Washington:

       "Hon. Reverdy Johnson, of Maryland, has made his report to the Government upon the points in the administration of affairs in New Orleans, which he not long since went thither to investigate, and the President has approved its conclusions.
       It is understood that he recommends the return to the Consul of the Netherlands of the eight hundred thousand dollars seized by Gen. Butler; that seven hundred and sixteen thousand dollars be returned to the French Consul, and also a large amount of sugars and other merchandise be relinquished to the Greek, British, and other foreign merchants domiciled in New Orleans, as, according to Mr. Johnson, these seizures by Gen. Butler cannot be justified by civil or military law."

       Southward concludes, "Butler was obliged to refund the money, and, in doing so, he no doubt felt relieved of a very heavy responsibility" (pages 117-118).
       That was not the end of Butler's annoyance with foreigners in New Orleans. An English man-of-war, lying off New Orleans, was a vacation conveyance for some high-born English gentlemen who visited in the city. Butler was never invited to their parties, much to his irritation:

       The band played "Dixie," "The Bonnie Blue Flag," "My Maryland," and many other favorite airs, to please the ladies. All went off charmingly. The dancing – the singing – the promenading on the deck – the supper – all were exquisite.
       Quite a crowd gathered on the levee to see the novel sight. The vessel gaily lighted, and the flags floating in the breeze, looked beautiful by moonlight.
       This was too much for old Butler; he could not let it pass. "The fidgetty thing," he would not have felt so badly if he had been invited; but, in no such society could he figure, so he amused himself by sending his myrmidons, the police, on the levee, about eight o'clock in he evening, pretending that he feared a riot, and actually arrested persons for singing songs in unison with those on board the vessel (page 119).

       Feeling free to order how the citizenry might sing, which flags they could fly, and which sermons that could be preached, Butler, with General Order 76 issued on 24 September 1862, next sought to dictate the thoughts of occupied New Orleans. The order required every man and women, ages 18 and above, to take an oath to the United States or declare themselves an enemy, subject to loss of all property, fine, and imprisonment at hard labor: "Every person who shall, in good faith, renew his or her allegiance to the United States previons to the first day of October next, and shall remain truly loyal, will be recommended to the President for pardon for his or her previous offenses" (page 122). Not that New Orleans natives sought the pardon of the man they didn't elect and believed had no right to rule over them. "The Government requires from every one not only a quiet submission to its authority, but an open declaration of his adherence to the Government" (page 130). That government also confiscated all weapons; keeping swords or daggers or pistols was considered "an overt act of rebellion against the authority of the United States" (page 186). Another act of rebellion was for Whites to gather in groups of three or more, though slaves and Black freemen were allowed to do so.
       Some who refused the oath, were "sent as culprits to Ship Island in 1862… confined on this island, huddled together in small huts and portable houses, and furnished with the most unwholesome food, consisting chiefly of condemned soldiers' rations.... Some, in addition to the most servile employment, were compelled to wear a ball and chain, which were not even removed when their daily tasks were over, and, wretched and weary, they were driven to their desolate huts at night (pages 145-146). These "fearsome criminals" included a pharmacist, a judge, a bookseller, and an elderly man in "feeble health." Southwood fills page after page with Butler's atrocities of theft (for "military necessity," of course) and cruelty. By the end of the war, it was estimated that Butler and his minions stole approximately six million dollars from New Orleans and her citizenry (page 265).
       Published originally in New York and reprinted in 2009 by The Confederate Reprint Company, Beauty & Booty is nauseating and angering. This book deserves a thorough and thoughtful read by all Southern heritage fans, who will find that when General Robert E. Lee surrendered, New Orleans, like the rest of the South, "had comparative peace — but our country is destroyed!" (page 284)

– reviewed by Deborah Deggs Cariker