Subject  | Path | | | | | • | UVA-LIB-Text | [X] | | • | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | [X] |
| | 1 | Author: | McGuire
Judith W.
(Judith White) | Add | | | Title: | Diary of a Southern Refugee During the War  | | | | Published: | 2005 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | At Home, May 4, 1861.—I am too nervous, too wretched
to-day to write in my diary, but that the employment will
while away a few moments of this trying time. Our friends
and neighbors have left us. Every thing is broken up. The
Theological Seminary is closed; the High School dismissed.
Scarcely any one is left of the many families which surrounded
us. The homes all look desolate; and yet this beautiful
country is looking more peaceful, more lovely than ever, as
if to rebuke the tumult of passion and the fanaticism of
man. We are left lonely indeed; our children are all gone—
the girls to Clarke, where they may be safer, and farther
from the exciting scenes which may too soon surround
us; and the boys, the dear, dear boys, to the camp, to be
drilled and prepared to meet any emergency. Can it be
that our country is to be carried on and on to the horrors
of civil war? I pray, oh how fervently do I pray, that our
Heavenly Father may yet avert it. I shut my eyes and
hold my breath when the thought of what may come upon
us obtrudes itself; and yet I cannot believe it. It will, I
know the breach will be healed without the effusion of
blood. The taking of Sumter without bloodshed has somewhat
DIARY OF A SOUTHERN REFUGEE.
soothed my fears, though I am told by those who are
wiser than I, that men must fall on both sides by the score,
by the hundred, and even by the thousand. But it is not
my habit to look on the dark side, so I try hard to employ
myself, and hope for the best. To-day our house seems so
deserted, that I feel more sad than usual, for on this morning
we took leave of our whole household. Mr. — and myself
are now the sole occupants of the house, which usually
teems with life. I go from room to room, looking at first
one thing and then another, so full of sad associations. The
closed piano, the locked bookcase, the nicely-arranged
tables, the formally-placed chairs, ottomans and sofas in the
parlor! Oh for some one to put them out of order! And
then the dinner-table, which has always been so well surrounded,
so social, so cheerful, looked so cheerless to-day, as
we seated ourselves one at the head, the other at the foot,
with one friend,—but one,—at the side. I could scarcely
restrain my tears, and but for the presence of that one
friend, I believe I should have cried outright. After dinner,
I did not mean to do it, but I could not help going into
the girls' room, and then into C.'s. I heard my own footsteps
so plainly, that I was startled by the absence of all
other sounds. There the furniture looked so quiet, the beds
so fixed and smooth, the wardrobes and bureaux so tightly
locked, and the whole so lifeless! But the writing-desks,
work-boxes, and the numberless things so familiar to my
eyes! Where were they? I paused, to ask myself what it
all meant. Why did we think it necessary to send off all
that was so dear to us from our own home? I threw open
the shutters, and the answer came at once, so mournfully!
I heard distinctly the drums beating in Washington. The
evening was so still that I seemed to hear nothing else. As
MAY, 1861.
I looked at the Capitol in the distance, I could scarcely
believe my senses. That Capitol of which I had always
been so proud! Can it be possible that it is no longer
our Capitol? And are our countrymen, under its very
eaves, making mighty preparation to drain our hearts' blood?
And must this Union, which I was taught to revere, be rent
asunder? Once I thought such a suggestion sacrilege; but
now that it is dismembered, I trust it may never, never be
röunited. We must be a separate people—our nationality
must be different, to insure lasting peace and good-will.
Why cannot we part in peace? "My dear —— :—For the last four days we have never
been longer than two hours in any one place, have slept
upon the ground in good weather and bad, eaten nothing
but crackers and fried bacon, and rested little at any time;
for all of which privations and a thousand others we have
been more than compensated (thanks to the just God who
governs the councils of history and decrees the destiny of
nations) in the glorious results of yesterday. On the morning
of the 17th, we had received reliable information that
the enemy was advancing, over 50,000 strong, and were not
surprised, at five o'clock in the morning, to hear the fire of
our pickets, who were slowly retiring before the advancing
DIARY OF A SOUTHERN REFUGEE.
foe. The order was given to pack. In ten minutes baggage
was packed, tents struck, and the wagons driven to
the rear; and the whole command forward to line of battle.
In a few minutes the glittering bayonets of the enemy lined
the neighbouring hills. From the heavy signal-guns being
fired at intervals along our line—commencing at German
town and stretching along to Fairfax Court-House—it wa
evident that the enemy was endeavouring to surround ou
little band; but our "Little Trump," as the men call
Beauregard, was not to be taken by any such game. Every
preparation was made to deceive the enemy, by inducing
him to believe that we meditated a vigorous resistance
Meantime our column defiled through a densely wooded
road, and was far on the way to Centreville when the enemy
discovered his mistake. He followed on very cautiously.
To our troop, with Kemper's Battery, was assigned the
post of honour, and charged with the duty of covering the
retreat. We were the last to leave the village, and as we
went out at one end of the street, his column appeared at
the other. We halted at this place about four o'clock in
the afternoon, and again made show of battle—slept until
twelve o'clock at the heads of our horses. We silently left
the place, the enemy's pickets being within hailing distance
of our own. At daybreak we were across Bull Run, having
marched very slowly to keep pace with the infantry. We
found beds of leaves in the woods, wrapped ourselves in our
blankets, and slept for an hour or two, until we were aroused
by the roar of the enemy's guns as he opened his batteries
upon our lines. For two mortal hours shot and shell flew
thick along our whole line. This day's work was evidently
intended only to draw the fire of our artillery, and show
where our batteries were. In consequee of which our
SEPTEMBER, 1861.3*
gunners were ordered not to fire a single shot, unless within
point-blank range. After thus opening the ball, two dense
masses of infantry were sent to defile to the right and left,
to make two separate attacks. It was indeed a beautiful
sight as they came down in perfect order, and with the
stealthy step of veterans. They came nearer and yet
nearer, and yet no shot from our guns. Our men began to
mutter, and say that we were preparing for another retreat.
But in a few moments the appointed time arrived. A single
shot from the Washington Artillery gave the signal of
death, and for half an hour there was nothing but a continuous
sheet of flame along the right of our lines. The
enemy fell back, rallied, and charged again, with a like
result. Again they rested, and rushed forward, but old
Virginia was true to herself, and the gallant Seventeenth
and Eighteenth Regiments charged them with the bayonet,
and drove them back in utter confusion. The cavalry were
held in reserve, and although within range of the artillery,
and constantly experiencing the sensation which men may
be supposed to indulge, who know there is a hidden danger
hovering in the air, without knowing where it is to light,
took no part in the action. Our time came yesterday, however.
Our troop was for four hours in the hottest of the
fight, and every man in it won the applause and approbation
of the whole camp. The action commenced at eight o'clock
on the sweet Sabbath morning. The enemy commenced
with quite a heavy cannonade upon our right, which proved
to be a mere feint, to distract our attention, as his main
attack was directed to our left wing. At ten o'clock the
enemy had crossed the river on our left, and then the fighting
commenced in earnest. From the hill on which we
stood, we could see, from the smoke and dust, though at
DIARY OF A SOUTHERN REFUGEE.
the distance of several miles, how the fight was waging on
our left. Some thought the enemy was retreating; others
that our men had fallen back. It was an hour of painful
interest. At eleven o'clock an aid-de-camp rode up in a
gallop, and said our men were retiring—the cavalry was
ordered to the left. We were temporarily attached to Radford's
regiment—ours was the first company, and mine was
the first platoon. On we dashed in a gallop, and as we
passed within range of a battery of rifled cannon a ball
was fired at us which passed between Wickham and myself,
knocking up a cloud of dust. Without wavering in their
ranks, the men and horses dashed forward at a gallop. As
we reached the scene of action the sight was discouraging
in the extreme. The enemy had at first the advantage of
every attacking party. He had concentrated his forces for
an attack upon one point. The First Louisiana Regiment
and the Fourth Alabama, attacked in flank and centre by
30,000 men, were literally cut to pieces. They refused to
surrender, but retired slowly, disputing every inch of ground.
As we rode up we could meet parts of companies which had
been utterly overwhelmed—the men wounded, their arms
broken, while some of them were carrying off their dead in
blankets. Every thing looked like retreat. We were ordered
up to within five hundred yards of the enemy's artillery,
behind a hill which afforded some protection against
their destructive fire. For one hour the fire raged with
incessant fury. A ball passed over the hill and through our
ranks, grazing one of our men. A shell exploded just
under Radford's horse, and every minute shot and shell
were continually whistling by us. I can give you no conception
of that awful hour. Not a man shrank from his
post. Two of our men were taken exceedingly sick, one
SEPTEMBER, 1861.
fainting from the heat and excitement. Such calmness and
composure I never witnessed. To make the matter worse,
despondency, if not despair, was fast writing itself upon
every face. The fire was evidently approaching us. Our
friends were retiring, and the whispered rumour passed from
lip to lip that our artillery ammunition was running low.
In a moment, however, a cloud of dust in our rear showed
the approach of our wagons, coming up at a dashing rate,
with a fresh supply. Our reinforcements now commenced
pouring in. Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi,
and Tennessee swept by in their glittering array with the
calm light of battle on their faces, and their bayonets gleaming
in the quiet Sabbath sunshine. No man faltered, no
man lagged behind. Neither the groans of the dying nor
the shrieks of the wounded, as they passed by in crowded
ambulances, seemed to produce any impression except to
fix the determination upon the countenances of all, to win
or to die upon the field. The tide now seemed to ebb, just
enough to keep us from despair. The firing did not advance,
although the explosion of their shells was terrific in the
extreme. A gleam of hope, too, gradually broke in upon
us, when Kemper's Battery, which had been posted in our
centre, galloped up and opened a destructive fire upon our
extreme left. The advance was evidently checked, when
a loud cheer in the front told us that something unusual
had happened. What was it? Was it the triumph of our
enemies over our poor stricken friends; or was it some
advantage gained by courage in defence of right? The
suspense was awful. Men stood straight in their stirrups
and stretched their eyes as if they could pierce the rugged
bosom of the barren hill which raised its scarred front
between them. An aid passed up. His message is written
DIARY OF A SOUTHERN REFUGEE.
on his face, and before he speaks a word a wild shout
breaks from the throats of thousands. When he speaks,
another, another and another round of cheers told the
story to our hitherto sinking hearts. The Fourth Virginia
Regiment had taken Sprague's Rhode Island Battery of
six pieces, at the point of the bayonet. Scarcely had the
echo of our cheers died away when again the noise of shouting
broke upon the air. What was it? Had the enemy
rallied and retaken the guns? Fear struggled with hope.
But no: the gallant Twenty-seventh, envious of the glorious
achievement of the Fourth, at a single dash had charged a
regiment of regulars, swept them from the field, and taken
every gun in Sherman's Battery.[See note at end of Book.]
The firing of musketry and the rattling of bayonets was
now terrible beyond description. For one hour there was
an incessant cracking of rifles, without a single moment's
pause. The enemy were evidently retiring, and unless
reinforced from the left and centre, the day was ours. "Through God's blessing, the enemy, near Port Republic,
was this day routed, with the loss of six pieces of
artillery. "To President Davis:—This army achieved to-day, on
the plains of Manassas, a signal victory over the combined
forces of McClellan and Pope. On the 28th and 29th,
each wing, under Generals Longstreet and Jackson, repulsed
with valour attacks made on them separately. We
mourn the loss of our gallant dead in every conflict, yet
our gratitude to Almighty God for his mercies rises higher
each day. To Him and to the valour of our troops a
nation's gratitude is due. "To the People of the Confederate States: | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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