University of Virginia Library

1862.

Westwood, Hanover County, January 20, 1862.—I pass
over the sad leave-taking of our kind friends in Clarke and
Winchester. It was very sad, because we knew not when and
under what circumstances we might meet again. We left
Winchester, in the stage, for Strasburg at ten o'clock at
night, on the 24th of December. The weather was bitter
cold, and we congratulated ourselves that the stage was not
crowded. Mr. — and the girls were on the back seat,
a Methodist clergyman, a soldier, and myself on the middle,
and two soldiers and our maid Betsey on the front seat.
We went off by starlight, with every prospect of a pleasant
drive of eighteen miles. As we were leaving the suburbs of
the town, the driver drew up before a small house, from
which issued two women with a baby, two baskets, several
bundles, and a box. The passengers began to shout out,
"Go on, driver; what do you mean? there's no room for
another; go on." The driver made no answer, but the
women came to the stage-door, and began to put in their
bundles; the gentlemen protested that they could not get
in—there was no room. The woman with the baby said
she would get in; she was "agwine to Strasburg to spend
Christmas with her relations, whar she was born and raised,
and whar she had not been for ten year, and nobody had a
better right to the stage than she had, and she was agwine,

and Kitty Grim was agwine too—she's my sister-law; and
so is baby, 'cause baby never did see her relations in Strasburg
in her life. So, Uncle Ben!" she exclaimed to the
driver, "take my bag, basket, and box by you, and me and
Kitty and baby, and the bundles and the little basket, will
go inside." All this was said amidst violent protestations
from the men within: "You can't get in; driver, go on."
But suiting the action to the word, she opened the door,
calling, "Come, Kitty," got on the step, and thrust her
head in, saying: "If these gentlemen is gentlemen, and has
got any politeness, they will git out and set with Uncle Ben,
and let ladies come inside." A pause ensued. At last a
subdued tone from the soldier on the middle seat was heard
to say: "Madam, if you will get off the step, I will get
out." "Very well, sir; and why didn't you do that at first?
And now," said she, looking at a man on the front seat,
"there's another seat by Uncle Ben; sposen you git out
and let Kitty Grim have your seat; she's bound to go."
The poor man quietly got out, without saying a word, but
the very expression of his back, as he got out of the stage,
was subdued. "Now, Kitty, git in, and bring the little
basket and them two bundles; they won't pester the lady
much." The door was closed, and then, the scene being
over, the passengers shouted with laughter.

Our heroine remained perfectly passive until we got to
the picket-post, a mile from town. The driver stopped; a
soldier came up for passports. She was thunder-struck.
"Passes! Passes for white folks! I never heard of such
a thing. I ain't got no pass; nuther is Kitty Grim." I
suggested to her to keep quiet, as the best policy. Just at
that time a Tennessee soldier had to confess that he had
forgotten to get a passport. "You can't go on," said the

official; and the soldier got out. Presently the woman's
turn came. "Madam, your passport, if you please." "I
ain't got none; nuther is Kitty Grim (that's my sister-in-law);
we ain't agwine to git out nuther, 'cause we's
gwine to Strasburg to spend Christmas with my relations,
and I ain't been thar for ten year, and I never heard of
white folks having passes." "But, madam," began the
official—"You needn't to `but, madam,' me, 'cause I ain't
agwine to git out, and I'd like to see the man what would
put me out. This is a free country, and I'se agwine to Strasburg
this night; so you might as well take your lantern out
of my face." "But, madam, my orders," began the picket.
"Don't tell me nothing 'bout orders; I don't care nothing
'bout orders; and you needn't think, 'cause the Tennessee
man got out, that I'se agwine to git out—'cause I ain't.
Ain't I got three sons in the army, great sight bigger than
you is? and they fit at Manassas, and they ain't no cowards,
nuther is their mother; and I ain't agwine to git out of
this stage this night, but I'm gwine to Strasburg, whar I
was born and raised."

The poor man looked non-plussed, but yet another effort;
he began, "My dear madam." "I ain't none of your dear
madam; I'se just a free white woman, and so is Kitty Grim,
and we ain't no niggers to git passes, and I'se gwine 'long
this pike to Strasburg. Now I'se done talking." With this
she settled herself on the seat, and leant back with a most
determined air; and the discomfited man shut the door amid
peals of laughter from within and from without. In a few
minutes we were quiet again, and all began to settle themselves
for sleep, when the silence was broken by our heroine:
"Kitty, is you sick?" "No," said Kitty. "Well, it is a
wonder. Gentlemen, can't one of you take Kitty's seat,

and give her yourn? she gits monstrous sick when she is ariding
with her back to the horses." There was a deathlike
silence, and my curiosity was aroused to know how she
would manage that point. After a few moments she began
again. "Kitty, is you sick?" "No," says Kitty, "not
yit." "Well, I do wish one of you gentlemen would give
Kitty his seat." Still no reply. All was becoming quiet
again, when she raised her voice: "Kitty Grim, is you
sick?" "Yes," said Kitty, "just a little." "I knowed it; I
knowed she was sick; and when Kitty Grim gits sick, she
most in gineral flings up!" The effect was electric. "My
dear madam," exclaimed both gentlemen at once, "take my
seat; by all means take my seat." The Methodist clergyman
being nearest, gave up his seat and took hers. The
change was soon effected amidst the most uproarious laughter,
all feeling that they were fairly outgeneralled the third
time. From that time until we reached Strasburg, at two
o'clock, she kept up a stream of talk, addressed to the baby,
never interrupted except once, when the quiet-looking soldier
on the front seat ventured to say, "Madam, do you
never sleep?" "Never when I'm a-travelling," was the curt
reply; and she talked on to the baby: "Look at all them
mules—what a sight of fodder they must eat! The Yankees
come down to fight us, 'cause we'se got niggers and
they ain't got none. I wish there warn't no niggers. I hate
Yankees, and I hate niggers too," etc., until we got to
Strasburg. She then called out to "Uncle Ben" not to
carry her to the depot—she was "agwine to her uncle's."
"Whar's that?" cried Uncle Ben. "I don't know, but
monstrous nigh a tailor's." One of the passengers suggested
that we might be left by the cars, and had better go on to
the depot. But she objected, and we had become a singularly
non-resisting company, and allowed her to take—what
we knew she would have—her own way.

In the mean time the cars arrived, crowded with soldiers.
It was very dark and cold; the confusion and noise were excessive—shouting,
hallooing, hurrahing. We passed through
the dense crowd, and into the cars, with some difficulty. Mr.
— returned to look for the baggage. At last all seemed
ready, and off we went; but what was our horror to find
that Mr. — was not in the cars! All the stories that we
had ever heard of persons being thrown from the train as
they attempted to get on, arose to our imagination. The
darkness and crowd were great. Might he not have been
thrown from the platform? We became more and more
uneasy. The conductor came by; I questioned him, thinking
he might be in another car. He replied, "No, madam,
there is no such gentleman on the train." At this moment
the Methodist minister, who had been in the stage, introduced
himself as the Rev. Mr. Jones; he knew Mr. —;
he offered me his purse and his protection. I can never forget
his kindness. He thought Mr. — had not attempted
to get on the train; there was so much baggage from the
stage that there was some difficulty in arranging it; he
would telegraph from Manassas when we stopped to change
cars, and the answer would meet us at Culpeper Court-House.
All this was a great relief to us. At Manassas
he attended to our baggage; one piece was wanting—a
box, which Mr. J. had seen in Mr. —'s hands, just before
the train set off; he seemed convinced that Mr. — was
detained by an ineffectual effort to get that box on the car.
At Culpeper Court-House we found J. waiting for us at
the depot. Our kind and Rev. friend did not give up his
supervision of us until he saw us under J's care. We immediately

applied at the office for our expected telegram;
but it was not there. As it was Christmas-day, the office
was closed at a very early hour, which seemed to me a
strange arrangement, considering the state of the country.
J. felt no uneasiness about his father, but was greatly disappointed,
as he had expected to pass that day with him. I
had heard in Winchester that my nephew, W. B. Phelps,
had been wounded in the unfortunate fight at Dranesville, and
felt great uneasiness about him; but J. had seen persons directly
from Centreville, who reported him slightly wounded.
This relieved my mind, but it was most unfortunate; for,
had I known the truth, I should have gone on the return
train to Manassas, and thence to Centreville, for the purpose
of nursing him. We spent Christmas-day at the hotel,
and dined with a number of soldiers. In the afternoon we
were very much gratified to meet with the family of our
neighbour, Captain J. The Captain is stationed here, and
the ladies have made themselves very comfortable. We
took tea with them, and talked over our mutual troubles:
our lost homes—our scattered families and friends.

The next morning the train came at the usual hour,
bringing Mr. —. Some difficulty in putting a small box
of books on the car had caused a slight detention, and as
he was almost in the act of stepping on board, the train
moved off, and there he was, left in the dead of a winter's
night, without shelter, (for, strange to say, there is no station-house
at Strasburg,) without light, and with no one to whom
he could apply for assistance. He walked back to the village,
and there, to use his own expression, he "verily thought
he should have to spend the freezing night in the street."
At a number of houses he knocked loud and long, but not
a door was opened to him. At last a young man in an

office, after giving scrutinizing glances through the window,
opened his door and gave him a chair by his fire, assigning
as a reason for the difficulty in getting accommodations,
that the number of disorderly soldiers passing through the
village made it dangerous to open the houses during the
night. At daybreak he got on a freight train, hoping
to find at Manassas the means of getting to Culpeper
Court-House that night. In this he was disappointed,
and had a most unpleasant trip on the train, which did not
reach Manassas until sunset. There he found no place to
sleep, and nothing to eat, until a colonel, whose name he
unfortunately has forgotten, invited him to his quarters in
the country. He accepted the invitation most gladly, and
as it was very dark, he took a servant as a guide, who
proved to know no more about the way than he did; so
that both blundered and stumbled along a muddy lane, over
fences, through a corn-field, over the stalks and corn-beds,
until, by what seemed a mere accident, they came upon the
longed-for house and found rest for the night. Next morning
we joined him on the train, delighted to see him safe and
sound, feeling that "all's well that ends well;" we proceeded
pleasantly on our journey. J. accompanied us as
far as Gordonsville, that he might have two hours with his
father. That evening we reached this place after dark, and
found a house full of friends and relatives—the house at S.
H. also full—so that it was a real family gathering, as in
days of yore; and to add to our pleasure, our dear W. B.
N. was at home on furlough. Here we see nothing of war,
except the uniform of the furloughed soldiers and the retrenchment
in the style of living. Desserts and wine are
abolished; all superfluities must go to the soldiers. In some
respects we are beginning to feel the blockade; groceries
are becoming scarce and high in price, but the ladies are becoming
wonderfully ingenious—coffee is so judiciously blended
with parched corn, wheat or rye, that you scarcely detect
the adulteration. The dressy Southern girls are giving up
their handsome bonnets, wrappings, and silk dresses; they
are perfectly willing to give up what once they considered
absolutely necessary to their wardrobes. They say they do
not enjoy such things now; they are, however, bright and
cheerful; they sing patriotic songs to their furloughed
friends, and listen with undying interest to anecdotes of the
battle-field, with tears for the fallen, sympathy for the
wounded, and the most enthusiastic admiration for deeds of
daring, or for the patient endurance of the soldier. It is
delightful to see the unanimity of feeling, the oneness of
heart, which pervades Virginia at this time; and we believe
it is so throughout the South.

We were, however, soon saddened by a letter from
Centreville, from a comrade of our dear Willie Phelps to
my brother, saying that the wound was more severe than it
was at first supposed. He immediately set out for Centreville,
but none of us dreamed of real danger. The reports
came from him less and less favourable; I wanted to go to
him, but the letters were discouraging to me—"There was
no room for me; ladies would be in the way in so small a
hospital;" and some strange hallucination and blindness to
danger led us to abandon the idea of going to him. We
knew that he had lost his arm, but did not dream of danger
to his life. His mother, at her home in Covington, Kentucky,
saw his name among the wounded, and notwithstanding
the cold and ice, set off alone—came through Pittsburg
and to Baltimore without difficulty, thence to Washington;
but there no passport could be obtained to come to Virginia.

Her son was but twenty miles off, certainly wounded;
she knew no more. She applied in person to the proper
authorities: "Is your son in the rebel camp?" was asked.
"Then no passport can be given you to visit him." She
remembered that General McClellan (who had been a friend
in the old army of her son-in-law, General McIntosh) was
in the city. She drove to his house. Mrs. McClellan expressed
great sympathy for her, and for "your son, the
interesting young man I met with in Cincinnati," but regretted
that General McClellan was too ill to be spoken to
on any subject; he was under the influence of anodynes,
etc, etc. She then drove to the house of Mr. Chase, who
had been for many years at the bar with her husband, and
on most friendly terms. The servant replied pompously
that Mr. Chase never saw company at that hour. She then
sent for Miss C. The daughter very politely regretted that
her father could not be seen until the next day at ten. She
could do nothing but return to the hotel for another night
of suspense. Next morning, in passing through the parlours,
she encountered a lady from her own State, who
greeted her pleasantly; she was preparing to entertain her
friends—it was New Year's day. "Won't you be with us,
Mrs. P.? You may meet some old friends." An apology
for declining the invitation was given, by a simple statement
of her object in coming to Washington. "Where is
your son?" "In the Southern army." "Oh," she exclaimed,
"not in the rebel camp! Not a rebel!" and she
curled her loyal lip in scorn. "Yes," was the quiet reply,
"he is what you call a rebel; but it is the honoured name
which Washington bore;" and with a spirit not soothed by
her countrywoman, she passed on to the street, got into a
carriage, and proceeded to the house of Mr. Chase. It was
ten o'clock—surely there could be no obstacle now. He
soon entered—she introduced herself and her subject. Mr.
C. was polite, but professed to be able to do nothing for
her: "I am not the proper person to whom such an application
should be made." "I know that; but to whom
shall I apply?" He said, "He did not know how to advise
her; the case was a difficult one; your son is in the rebel
camp; I think that you cannot get a passport." She then,
in a state of despair, exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Chase, he is the
son of your old acquaintance, Mr. —!" He was at once
touched. "Are you his widow?" "Yes." "But how
came your son to join the rebels?" "Because his father
and myself were both Virginians; he was educated in Virginia,
and his whole heart is in the Southern cause." He
immediately wrote a note to Mr. Seward, which he advised
her to deliver in person; it would probably produce the
desired effect. To Mr. Seward's she drove. The servant
invited her in, but supposed that the Secretary could not
attend to business, as it was New Year's day. The note
was sent up; an attaché soon came down to say that the
Secretary could not be seen, but that a passport would be
given her, to go at least as far as Fortress Monroe—no
passport could be given to go immediately to Centreville.
She was thankful for this permission; but it seemed too
hard that she should be obliged to go around hundreds
of miles, when the object could be accomplished by going
twenty.

She took the evening train to Baltimore, thence, next
morning, to Fortress Monroe; she reached it in safety
that evening. The boat was visited by a provost-marshal as
soon as it touched the wharf, who, after examining passports,
took hers, and some others, to General Wool. An

answer from this high officer was long delayed, but at last
it was brought. She could not land, but must return in the
boat to Baltimore; it would leave for Baltimore next
morning. She poured out her griefs to the officer, who,
sympathizing with her story, said he would again apply to
General Wool. He soon returned to say that she might
land, and her case would be examined into next morning.
Next day she was requested to walk into General Wool's
office. He asked why she wanted to go to Virginia. The
story was soon told. Then the stereotyped question: "Is
your son in the rebel army?" with the usual answer.
"Then," he replied, "you cannot go." Despair took possession
of her soul. She forgot her own situation, and,
with the eloquence of a mother, almost frantic with anxiety,
she pleaded her cause. Even the obdurate heart of General
Wool was moved. He asked her what she knew of the
army at Washington. She replied, that she knew nothing;
she had only seen the soldiers who passed her on the street.
"What have you seen of our army here?" "Nothing, for
I have been too unhappy to think of it, and only left my
room when summoned by you." "Then," said he, "you
may take the first boat to Norfolk." The hour for the departure of the boat came, her trunk was duly searched,
and she came off to the dearly-loved Confederacy. She
reached Norfolk too late for the cars, and had to wait until
next day. On reaching Richmond, she heard that her son
had been brought to this place, and was doing well. The
next evening she arrived here in a carriage, and was shocked
and disappointed to find that she had been misinformed.
Heavy tidings reached us that night: he was not improving,
as we had hoped, but decidedly worse. At two o'clock in
the morning I accompanied her to the depot, eight miles off, and we went on to Manassas; reached the junction after
night, and were met by our brother and W. B. N. They
knew that we would be in the cars, and came to meet us.
As they approached us, I saw, by the dim light of the car-lamp,
that their countenances were sad. My heart sunk
within me. What could it be? Why had they both left
him? She had not seen them, and said to me, "Come, we
must get an ambulance and go to Centreville to-night." But
in another moment the whole was told. Her child had died
that morning, just ten hours before. Who can describe that
night of horrors? We spent it in a small house near the
depot. Friends and near kindred were full of sympathy,
and the people in whose house we were, were kind and considerate.
The captain of his company, a noble young friend
from her own home, Covington, came to see her, and to
condole with her; but her first-born was not—the darling
of her heart had passed away! At daylight we were in
the cars again, on our melancholy return. On the third day
his dear remains were brought to us, and the mother saw
her heroic son, in his plain soldier's coffin, but beautiful in
death, committed to God's own earth, having fallen in a
glorious cause, in the faith of the Gospel, and with a bright
hope of a blessed immortality. The young Kentucky friend
who accompanied his remains told her his last words, which
were a wonderful consolation to her: "Tell my mother
that I die in the faith of Christ; her early instructions have
been greatly blessed to me; and my last word is, Mother."
This was said in extreme weakness. He soon slept, and
never awoke in this world. One young soldier said to me
that night, at Manassas: "He was one of the bravest men
I ever saw, and met death like a soldier." Another said:
"He died like a Christian." Scarcely had we buried him, when news was brought us that her younger, now her only
son, was desperately ill on the steamer "Jamestown," on
James River—he belongs to our navy. She hurried to
Richmond, and thence down the river to the steamer, but
found him better. He was soon well enough to accompany
her to this place. She had left her home suddenly, and
must return to it; so, after a few days with her boy, who
is now decidedly convalescent, she has left him in our care,
and has set off on her weary way home. She will probably
meet with no difficulties on her return, from officials, as she
has passports through our lines; but she has a lonely,
dreary way before her, and a sorrowful story for her young
daughter at home. God be with her!

Richmond, February 5.—For two weeks my diary has
been a closed book. After another week at W., we went
to the Presbyterian Parsonage, to join the refugee family
who had gathered within its walls. They had made themselves
comfortable, and it had quite a home-like appearance.
After remaining there a day or two, Mr. —— received a
letter, announcing his appointment to a clerkship in the Post-Office
Department. The pleasure and gratitude with which
it is received is only commensurate with the necessity which
made him apply for it. It seems a strange state of things
which induces a man, who has ministered and served the
altar for thirty-six years, to accept joyfully a situation purely
secular, for the sole purpose of making his living; but no
chaplaincy could be obtained except on the field, which
would neither suit his health, his age, nor his circumstances.
His salary will pay his board and mine in Richmond, and
the girls will stay in the country until they or I can obtain
writing from Government—note-signing from Mr. Memminger,
or something else. We are spending a few days with

our niece, Mrs. H. A. C., until we can find board. Mr. —
has entered upon the duties of his office, which he finds
confining, but not very arduous. To-morrow I shall go in
pursuit of quarters.

The city is overrun with members of Congress, Government
officers, office-seekers, and strangers generally. Main
Street is as crowded as Broadway, New York; it is said
that every boarding-house is full.

February 6.—Spent this day in walking from one boarding-house
to another, and have returned fatigued and hopeless.
I do not believe there is a vacant spot in the city. A
friend, who considers herself nicely fixed, is in an uncarpeted
room, and so poorly furnished, that, besides her trunk, she
has only her wash-stand drawer in which to deposit her
goods and chattels; and yet she amuses herself at it, and
seems never to regret her handsomely furnished chamber in
Alexandria.

7th.—Walking all day, with no better success. "No
vacant room" is the universal answer. I returned at
dinner-time, wearied in mind and body. I have been cheered
by suggestions that perhaps Mrs. —, with a large family
and small income, may take boarders; or Mrs. —, with a
large house and small family, may do the same.

8th.—I have called on the two ladies mentioned above.
The lady with the small income has filled her rooms, and
wishes she had more to fill. She of the large house and
small family had "never dreamed of taking boarders," was
"surprised that such a thing had been suggested," looked
cold and lofty, and meant me to feel that she was far too
rich for that. I bowed myself out, feeling not a little
scornful of such airs, particularly as I remembered the time
when she was not quite so grand I went on my way

speculating on the turning of the wheel of fortune, until I
reached the house of an old acquaintance, and rang her
bell, hoping that she might take in wanderers. This I did
not venture to suggest, but told her my story in pitiful
tones. She was all sympathy, and would be glad to take
us in, but for the reserve of a bachelor brother to whom
the house belonged. She appreciated the situation, and
advised me to call on Mrs. — on — Street. Nothing
daunted by past experience, I bent my steps to — Street,
and soon explained my object to Mrs. —. She had had
vacant rooms until two days ago, but a relative had taken
both. Though she spoke positively, she looked doubtful,
and I thought I saw indecision in the expression of her
mouth. I ventured to expostulate: "Perhaps the lady
might be induced to give up one room." She hesitated, and
gave me an inquiring look. I told her my history. "An
Episcopal minister," she exclaimed; "I'm an Episcopalian,
and would be delighted to have a minister in the house.
Do you think he would have prayers for us sometimes?"
"Oh, certainly, it would gratify him very much." "Well, the
lady is not at home to-day, but when she comes I will try
to persuade her to do it. Call on Monday." I thanked
her, and was walking out, when she called me back, saying,
"You will not expect a constant fire in the parlour, will
you?" "Oh, no; I can take my visitors to my own room."
"Well, I may be out on Monday morning; come in the
evening." I returned very much pleased, and received the
congratulations of my friends, who are taking much interest
in our welfare.

We are suffering great uneasiness about the country.
The enemy is attacking Roanoke Island furiously. General
Wise is there, and will do all that can be done; but

fears are entertained that it has not been properly fortified.

Sunday Night.—Painful rumours have been afloat all
day. Fort Henry, on Tennessee River, has been attacked.

We went to St. James's this morning, and St. Paul's tonight.
When we returned we found Mr. N. and Brother
J. awaiting us. They are very anxious and apprehensive
about Roanoke Island.

Monday Night.—Still greater uneasiness about Roanoke
Island. It is so important to us—is said to be the key to
Norfolk; indeed, to all Eastern North Carolina, and Southeastern
Virginia. We dread to-morrow's papers.

The lady on — Street has disappointed me. She met me
with a radiant smile when I went to see her this evening, say
ing, "She agrees; she must, however, remove the wardrobe
and bureau, as she wants them herself; but there's a closet
in the room, which will answer for a wardrobe, and I reckon
that a table with a glass on it will do for a bureau." "Oh,
yes; only give me a good bed, some chairs and a washstand,
and I can get along very well. Can I see the room?"
"Yes; it is a back-room in the third story, but I reckon
you won't mind that." My heart did sink a little at that
communication, when I remembered Mr. —'s long walks
from Bank Street; but there was no alternative, and I followed
her up the steps. Great was my relief to find a large
airy room, neatly carpeted, and pleasant in all respects.
"This will do," said I; "take the wardrobe and bureau
out, and put a table in, and I shall be very well satisfied."
"I have a small table," she replied, "but no glass; you
will have to buy that." "Very well, I will do that. But
you have not yet told me your terms." "Will you keep a
fire?" "Oh, certainly, in my room." "Then my charge

is —." I stood aghast! "My dear madam," said I,
"that is twenty dollars more than the usual price, and three
dollars less than our whole salary per month." "Well, I
can't take a cent less; other people take less because they
want to fill their rooms, but I was only going to take you
for accommodation; and I can fill my rooms at any time."
Now the lines of her face were not undecided. I turned,
and as I walked up the already lighted streets of my native
city, feeling forlorn and houseless,
and hope that I was not envious. My friends were very
sympathetic when I returned, not, however, without a certain
twinkle of the eye denoting merriment, as it exactly coincided
with a most provoking prophecy made by Mr. C. as I
set out; and I joined in a hearty laugh at my own expense,
which was a real relief to my feelings.

No good news from Roanoke Island. Fort Henry has
fallen; that loss is treated lightly, but the enemy have turned
their attention to Fort Donelson, on Cumberland River,
which, if taken, would give them free access into the heart
of Tennessee.

Tuesday.—Roanoke Island has fallen—no particulars
heard.

12th.—The loss of Roanoke Island is a terrible blow.
The loss of life not very great. The "Richmond Blues"
were captured, and their Captain, the gifted and brave O.
Jennings Wise, is among the fallen. My whole heart overflows
towards his family; for, though impetuous in public, he
was gentle and affectionate at home, and they always seemed
to look upon him with eculiar tenderness. He is a

severe loss to the country. Captain Coles, of Albemarle,
has also fallen. He was said to be an interesting young
man, and a gallant soldier. The Lord have mercy upon our
stricken country!

13th.—Donelson is holding out bravely. I shudder to
think of the loss of life.

Notwithstanding the rain this morning, I renewed my
pursuit after lodgings. With over-shoes, cloak and umbrella,
I defied the storm, and went over to Grace Street, to
an old friend who sometimes takes boarders. Her house
was full, but with much interest she entered into my feelings,
and advised me to go to Mr. L., who, his large school
having declined, was filling his rooms with boarders. His
wife was the daughter of a friend, and might find a nook
for us. I thought of the "Hare and many friends," and
bent my steps through the storm to the desired haven. To
my surprise, Mrs. L. said we could get a room; it is small,
but comfortable, the terms suit our limited means, and we
will go as soon as they let us know that they are ready
for us.

We have just been drawn to the window by sad strains of
martial music. The bodies of Captains Wise and Coles
were brought by the cars, under special escort. The military
met them, and in the dark, cold night, it was melancholy
to see the procession by lamplight, as it passed slowly
down the street. Captain Wise has been carried to the
Capitol, and Captain Coles to the Central Depot, thence to
be carried to-morrow to the family burying-ground at Enniscorthy,
in Albemarle County. Thus are the bright, glorious
young men of the Confederacy passing away. Can
their places be supplied in the army? In the hearts and
homes of families there must ever be a bleeding blank.

Sunday, 16th.—This morning we left home early, to be
present at the funeral of Captain Wise, but we could not
even approach the door of St. James's Church, where it took
place. The church was filled at an early hour, and the
street around the door was densely crowded. The procession
approached as I stood there, presenting a most melancholy
cortège. The military, together with civil officers of
every grade, were there, and every countenance was marked
with sorrow. As they bore his coffin into the church, with
sword, cap, and cloak resting upon it, I turned away in
sickness of heart, and thought of his father and family, and
of his bleeding country, which could not spare him. We
went to St. Paul's, and heard an excellent sermon from the
Rev. Mr. Quintard, a chaplain in the army. He wore the
gown over the Confederate gray—it was strange to see the
bright military buttons gleam beneath the canonicals. Every
thing is strange now!

Tuesday Morning.—The wires are cut somewhere between
this and Tennessee. We hear nothing farther West
than Lynchburg; rumours are afloat that Donelson has fallen.
We are too unhappy about it to think of any thing else.

Evening.—It is all true. Our brave men have yielded to
overpowering numbers. The struggle for three days was
fearful. The dread particulars are not known. Wild stories
are told of the numbers captured. God in his mercy
help us!

Wednesday, 19th.—We are now in our own comfortable
little room on Grace Street, and have quite a home-like
feeling. Our children in the city are delighted to have
us so near them, and the girls have come on a visit to their
cousin, Mrs. C., and will be present at the inauguration on
the 22d.

February 22.—To-day I had hoped to see our President
inaugurated, but the rain falls in torrents, and I cannot go.
So many persons are disappointed, but we are comforted by
knowing that the inauguration will take place, and that the
reins of our government will continue to be in strong hands.
His term of six years must be eventful, and to him, and all
others, so full of anxiety! What may we not experience
during those six years? Oh, that all hearts may this day
be raised to Almighty God for his guidance! Has there
been a day since the Fourth of July, 1776, so full of interest,
so fraught with danger, so encompassed by anxiety, so
sorrowful, and yet so hopeful, as this 22d of February,
1862? Our wrongs then were great, and our enemy powerful,
but neither can the one nor the other compare with all
that we have endured from the oppression, and must meet
in the gigantic efforts of the Federal Government. Our
people are depressed by our recent disasters, but our soldiers
are encouraged by the bravery and endurance of the troops
at Donelson. It fell, but not until human nature yielded
from exhaustion. The Greeks were overcome at Thermopylæ,
but were the Persians encouraged by their success?
Did they still cherish contempt for their weak foe? And
will the conquerors of Donelson meet our little army again
with the same self-confidence? Has not our Spartan band
inspired them with great respect for their valour, to say
nothing of awe?

Our neighbour in the next room had two sons in that
dreadful fight. Do they survive? Poor old lady! she can
hear nothing from them; the telegraphic wires in Tennessee
are cut, and mail communication very uncertain. It is so
sad to see the mother and sister quietly pursuing their avocations,
not knowing, the former says, whether she is not the

second time widowed; for on those sons depend not only her
comfort, but her means of subsistence, and that fair young
girl, always accustomed to perfect ease, is now, with her
old mother, boarding—confined to one room, using her taste
and ingenuity, making and altering bonnets for her many
acquaintances, that her mother may be supplied with the
little luxuries to which she has always been accustomed,
and which, her child says, "mother must have." "Our
property," she says, "is not available, and, of course, `the
boys' had to give up their business to go into the army."

23d.—Notwithstanding the violence of the rain yesterday,
the Capitol Square, the streets around it, and the adjacent
houses, were crowded. The President stood at the base of
that noble equestrian statue of Washington, and took the
oath which was taken by the "Father of his Country"
more than seventy years ago—just after the "great rebellion,"
in the success of which we all, from Massachusetts
to Georgia, so heartily gloried. No wonder that he spoke
as if he were inspired. Was it not enough to inspire him
to have the drawn sword of Washington, unsheathed in
defence of his invaded country, immediately over his head,
while the other hand of his great prototype points encouragingly
to the South? Had he not the life-like representations
of Jefferson, George Mason, and, above all, of Patrick
Henry, by his side? The latter with his scroll in his outstretched
hand, his countenance beaming, his lips almost
parted, and seeming on the point of bursting into one blaze
of eloquence in defence of his native South. How could
Southern tongues remain quiet, or Southern hearts but burn
within us, when we beheld our heroes, living and dead, surrounding
and holding up the hands of our great chief? By
him stood his cabinet, composed of the talent and the

patriotism of the land; then was heard the voice of our
beloved Assistant Bishop, in tones of fervid eloquence, beseeching
the blessings of Heaven on our great undertaking.
I would that every young man, from the Potomac to the
Rio Grande, could have witnessed the scene.

Last night was the first levee. The rooms were crowded.
The President looked weary and grave, but was all suavity
and cordiality, and Mrs. Davis won all hearts by her usual
unpretending kindness. I feel proud to have those dear old
rooms, arousing as they do so many associations of my
childhood and youth, filled with the great, the noble, the
fair of our land, every heart beating in unison, with one
great object in view, and no wish beyond its accomplishment,
as far as this world is concerned. But to-day is Saturday,
and I must go to the hospital to take care of our sick—
particularly to nurse our little soldier-boy. Poor child, he
is very ill!

27th.—Nothing new or important in our army. We
were relieved to hear that the number who surrendered at
Donelson was not so great as at first reported; the true
number is 7,000, which is too many for us to lose! I trust
they may be kindly treated. I know that we have friends
at the North, but will they dare to be friendly openly?
Oh, I hope they may have mercy on our prisoners! We
have had some hope of recognition by France and England,
but they still look on with folded arms.

March 3.—Last Friday was the third day appointed
by our President as a day of fasting and prayer within nine
months. The churches were filled to overflowing, with, I
trust, heart-worshippers, and I believe that God, in his
great mercy, will direct our Government and our army.

4th.—In statu quo as far as our armies are concerned.

The Nashville, a Confederate steamer, that has been
watched by eight Federal war vessels, came into port the
other day, at Beaufort, North Carolina, after many hairbreadth
escapes, bringing a rich burden.

Ash-Wednesday, March 5.—This morning Dr. Wilmer
gave us a delightful sermon at St. Paul's. He will be consecrated
to-morrow Bishop of Alabama. To-night Bishop
Elliott of Georgia preached for us, on the power of thought
for good or evil. I do admire him so much in every respect.

6th.—To-day we saw Bishop Wilmer consecrated—
Bishop Meade presiding, Bishops Johns and Elliott assisting.
The services were very imposing, but the congregation
was grieved by the appearance of Bishop Meade; he
is so feeble! As he came down the aisle, when the consecration
services were about to commence, every eye was
fixed on him; it seemed almost impossible for him to reach
the chancel, and while performing the services he had to be
supported by the other Bishops. Oh, how it made my
heart ache! and the immense crowd was deeply saddened
by it.

7th.—Just returned from the hospital. Several severe
cases of typhoid fever require constant attention. Our
little Alabamian seems better, but so weak! I left them
for a few moments to go to see Bishop Meade; he sent for
me to his room. I was glad to see him looking better, and
quite cheerful. Bishops Wilmer and Elliott came in, and
my visit was very pleasant. I returned to my post by the
bedside of the soldiers. Some of them are very fond of
hearing the Bible read; and I am yet to see the first soldier
who has not received with apparent interest any proposition
of being read to from the Bible. To-day, while reading,

an elderly man of strong, intelligent face sat on the side of
the bed, listening with interest. I read of the wars of the
Israelites and Philistines. He presently said, "I know why
you read that chapter; it is to encourage us, because the
Yankee armies are so much bigger than ours; do you
believe that God will help us because we are weak?"
"No," said I, "but I believe that if we pray in faith, as
the Israelites did, that God will hear us." "Yes," he replied,
"but the Philistines didn't pray, and the Yankees do;
and though I can't bear the Yankees, I believe some of
them are Christians, and pray as hard as we do; ["Monstrous
few on 'em," grunted out a man lying near him;] and
if we pray for one thing, and they pray for another, I don't
know what to think of our prayers clashing." "Well, but
what do you think of the justice of our cause? don't you
believe that God will hear us for the justice of our cause?"
"Our cause," he exclaimed, "yes, it is just; God knows it
is just. I never thought of looking at it that way before,
and I was mighty uneasy about the Yankee prayers. I am
mightily obleeged to you for telling me." "Where are you
from?" I asked. "From Georgia." "Are you not over
forty-five?" "Oh, yes, I am turned of fifty, but you see I am
monstrous strong and well; nobody can beat me with a rifle,
and my four boys were a-coming. My wife is dead, and my
girls are married; and so I rented out my land, and came
too; the country hasn't got men enough, and we mustn't
stand back on account of age, if we are hearty." And
truly he has the determined countenance, and bone and
sinew, which make a dangerous foe on the battle-field. I
wish we had 50,000 such men. He reminds me of having
met with a very plain-looking woman in a store the other
day. She was buying Confederate gray cloth, at what
seemed a high price. I asked her why she did not apply
to the quartermaster, and get it cheaper. "Well," she
replied, "I knows all about that, for my three sons is in
the army; they gets their clothes thar; but you see this is
for my old man, and I don't think it would be fair to get
his clothes from thar, because he ain't never done nothing
for the country as yet—he's just gwine in the army." "Is
he not very old to go into the army?" "Well, he's fifty-four
years old, but he's well and hearty like, and ought to do
something for his country. So he says to me, says he, `The
country wants men; I wonder if I could stand marching;
I've a great mind to try.' Says I, `Old man, I don't think
you could, you would break down; but I tell you what you
can do—you can drive a wagon in the place of a young man
that's driving, and the young man can fight.' Says he, `So
I will—and he's agwine just as soon as I gits these clothes
ready, and that won't be long.' " "But won't you be very
uneasy about him?" said I. "Yes, indeed; but you know
he ought to go—them wretches must be drove away."
"Did you want your sons to go?" "Want 'em to go!"
she exclaimed; "yes; if they hadn't agone, they shouldn't
a-staid whar I was. But they wanted to go, my sons did."
Two days ago, I met her again in a baker's shop; she was
filling her basket with cakes and pies. "Well," said I,
"has your husband gone?" "No, but he's agwine tomorrow,
and I'm getting something for him now." "Don't
you feel sorry as the time approaches for him to go?"
"Oh, yes, I shall miss him mightily; but I ain't never cried
about it; I never shed a tear for the old man, nor for the
boys neither, and I ain't agwine to. Them Yankees must
not come a-nigh to Richmond; if they does, I will fight them
myself. The women must fight, for they shan't cross Mayo's
Bridge; they shan't git to Richmond." I said to her,
"You are a patriot." "Yes, honey—ain't you? Ain't
everybody?" I was sorry to leave this heroine in homespun,
but she was too busy buying cakes, etc., for the "old
man," to be interrupted any longer.

8th.—The family of Captain —, of the navy, just
arrived. They have been "refugeeing" in Warrenton; but
now that there is danger of our army falling back from the
Potomac to the Rappahannock, they must leave Warrenton,
and are on their way to Danville. Their sweet home is utterly
destroyed; the house burned, etc. Like ourselves,
they feel as though their future was very dark.

March 11th.—Yesterday we heard good news from the
mouth of James River. The ship "Virginia," formerly
the Merrimac, having been completely incased with iron,
steamed out into Hampton Roads, ran into the Federal
vessel Cumberland, and then destroyed the Congress, and
ran the Minnesota ashore. Others were damaged. We
have heard nothing further; but this is glory enough for one
day, for which we will thank God and take courage.

13th.—Our hearts are overwhelmed to-day with our private
grief. Our connection, Gen. James McIntosh, has
fallen in battle. It was at Pea Ridge, Arkansas, on the
7th, while making a dashing cavalry charge. He had
made one in which he was entirely successful, but seeing
the enemy reforming, he exclaimed, "We must charge again.
My men, who will follow me?" He then dashed off, followed
by his whole brigade. The charge succeeded, but the
leader fell, shot through the heart. The soldiers returned,
bearing his body! My dear J. and her little Bessie are in
Louisiana. I groan in heart when I think of her. Oh
that I were near her, or that she could come to us!

These are the things which are so unbearable in this war.
That noble young man, educated at West Point, was Captain
in the army, and resigned when his native Georgia seceded.
He soon rose to the rank of Brigadier, but has
fallen amid the flush of victory, honoured, admired and beloved
by men and officers. He has been buried at Fort
Smith. The Lord have mercy upon his wife and child!
I am thankful that he had no mother to add to the
heart-broken mothers of this land. The gallant Texas Ranger,
General Ben McCulloch, fell on the same day; he will
be sadly missed by the country. In my selfishness I had
almost forgotten him, though he doubtless has many to
weep in heart-sickness for their loved and lost.

Bishop Meade is desperately ill to-day—his life despaired
of.

March 14th.—Our beloved Bishop Meade is dead! His
spirit returned to the God who gave, redeemed, and sanctified
it, this morning about seven o'clock. The Church in Virginia
mourns in sackcloth for her great earthly head. We
knew that he must die, but this morning, when we had assembled
for early prayers, it was announced to us from the
pulpit, a thrill of anguish pervaded the congregation, which
was evident from the death-like stillness. A hymn was
read, but who could then sing? A subdued effort was at
last made, and the services proceeded. Like bereaved children
we mingled our prayers and tears, and on receiving
the benediction, we went silently out, as in the pressure of
some great public calamity, and some bitter, heartfelt sorrow.
Thus, just one week after the solemn public services
in which he had been engaged, it pleased Almighty God to
remove him from his work on earth to his rest in heaven.
During his last illness, though often suffering intensely, he

never forgot his interest in public affairs. The blessed Bible
was first read to him, each morning, and then the news of
the day. He had an eye for every thing; every movement
of Government, every march of the troops, the aspect of
Europe, and the Northern States, every thing civil and military,
and all that belonged to God's Church upon earth—
dying as he had lived, true to Virginia, true to the South,
true to the Church, and true to the Lord his God.

Saturday Night.—Spent to-day at the hospital. Heard
of the shelling of Newbern, N. C., and of its fall. My
heart sickens at every acquisition of the Federals. No
further news from Arkansas. Yesterday evening I went to
see the body of our dear Bishop; cut a piece of his hair;
kissed his forehead, and took my last look at that revered
face.

Monday Night.—This morning I was at the funeral, at
St. Paul's Church; the service was read by the Rev. J. P.
McGuire and Rev. C. J. Gibson. Bishop Johns made a
most solemn address. The procession, long and sad, then
wended its way to Hollywood Cemetery.

15th.—Our army has fallen back to the Rappahannock,
thus giving up the splendid Valley and Piedmont country to
the enemy. This, I suppose, is right, but it almost breaks
our hearts to think of it. Winchester was occupied last
Wednesday! Lord, how long shall our enemies prosper?
Give us grace to bear our trials.

24th.—Our people continue to make every effort to repel
the foe, who, like the locusts of Egypt, overrun our land,
carrying the bitterest enmity and desolation wherever they
go. Troops are passing through Richmond on their way to
Goldsborough, N. C., where it is said that Burnside is expected
to meet them. Everybody is busy in supplying their

wants as they pass through. On Sunday, just as the girls
of one of the large seminaries were about to seat themselves
at table, the principal of the school came in: "Young
ladies," said he, "several extra trains have arrived, unexpectedly,
filled with troops. The committee appointed to
attend them are totally unprepared. What can we do to
help our hungry soldiers?" "Give them our dinner," cried
every young voice at once. In five minutes baskets were
filled and the table cleared. When the girls reached the
cars, the street was thronged with ladies, gentlemen, children,
servants, bearing waiters, dishes, trays, baskets filled
with meats, bread, vegetables, etc. Every table in Richmond
seemed to have sent its dinner to Broad Street, and
our dear, dusty, hungry gray coats dined to their hearts'
content, filled their haversacks, shouted "Richmond forever!"
and went on their way rejoicing.

March 27.—This has been a day of uneasiness to us
all. General Jackson has had a fight at Kernstown, near
Winchester. No particulars, except that the enemy were
repulsed, and our loss heavy. Many that are so dear to us
are in that "Stonewall Brigade;" and another day of suspense
must pass before we can hear from them. Our
Western army under Beauregard are fighting at Island No.
10, with what success we know not. The enemy presses
us on every side.

29th.—After much anxiety, more authentic information
from the "Valley" received this morning. We gave them
a good fight, but the field was left in the enemy's hand.
Poor, noble Winchester, to what degradation is she brought!
Our dear W. B. C. was shot through the hip; the wound
painful, but not mortal; he was carried to Staunton, and his
mother has gone to him. The rest of our own peculiar

"boys" are safe, but many lives were lost. It is thought
that a great crisis is at hand. The Peninsula is the place
appointed by rumour for a great battle. The croakers
dread much from their numbers; my trust is in One who
can save by many or by few.

April 7.—Just returned from a little trip to the country
in time to hear the morning news of a splendid victory yesterday,
at Shiloh. No particulars received. Skirmishing
near Yorktown reported; nothing definite.

9th.—Our victory at Shiloh complete, but General Albert
Sydney Johnston was killed. The nation mourns him as
one of our most accomplished officers. He fell while commanding
in the thickest of the fight. It is an overwhelming
loss to the Western army, and to the whole country.
Beauregard pursued the enemy, but their General (Grant)
having been reinforced very largely, our army had to retreat
to Corinth, which they did in good order. This was
done by order of General Johnston, should Buell reinforce
Grant. They are now at Corinth, awaiting an attack from
the combined forces. Van Dorn reinforced Beauregard.
We are anxiously awaiting the result.

10th.—Spent yesterday in the hospital by the bedside of
Nathan Newton, our little Alabamian. I closed his eyes
last night at ten o'clock, after an illness of six weeks. His
body, by his own request, will be sent to his mother. Poor
little boy! He was but fifteen, and should never have left
his home. It was sad to pack his knapsack, with his little
gray suit, and coloured shirts, so neatly stitched by his poor
mother, of whom he so often spoke, calling to us in delirium,
"Mother, mother," or, "Mother, come here." He so often
called me mother, that I said to him one day, when his
mind was clear, "Nathan, do I look like your mother?"

"No, ma'am, not a bit; nobody is like my mother." The
packing of his little knapsack reminds me of

11th.—The "Virginia" went out again to-day. The
Federal Monitor would not meet her, but ran to Fortress
Monroe, either for protection, or to tempt her under the
heavy guns of the fortress; but she contented herself by
taking three brigs and one schooner, and carrying them to
Norfolk, with their cargoes. Soldiers are constantly passing
through town. Every thing seems to be in preparation
for the great battle which is anticipated on the Peninsula.

Fort Pulaski has surrendered to the enemy's gun-boats.
The garrison fought until several breaches were made. They
then surrendered, and are now prisoners. Lord, have them
in thy holy keeping!

15th.—A panic prevails lest the enemy should get to
Richmond. Many persons are leaving town. I can't believe
that they will get here, though it seems to be their
end and aim. My mind is much perturbed; we can only
go on doing our duty, as quietly as we can.

20th.—On Wednesday we saw eight thousand troops
pass through town. We were anxious to see many who
were among them. The sidewalks were thronged with
ladies, many of them in tears. General C. passed with his
brigade, containing the 17th, with its familiar faces. Colonel
H. and himself rode to the sidewalk for a shake of the
hand, but the rest could only raise their hats in recognition.
I knew the cavalry would pass through Franklin Street,
and hurried there to see my dear W. B. N. The order
"Halt" was given just as he, at the head of his troop, was
passing. I called him aloud. Amid the din and tumult of
course he could not hear, but as he raised his cap to salute
the ladies near him, his quick eye met mine; in an instant
he was at my side: "My dear aunt, what are you doing here?"
"I came to look for you; where are you going?" "Our orders
extend to the steamers at the wharf," he replied;
"but don't be uneasy, we are going to the right place." His
face glowed with animation, and I meant to appear cheerful
to him, but I found, after he was gone, that my face was
bathed in tears. They all looked as if the world were
bright before them, and we were feeling the appalling uncertainty
of all things. A mother stood by, straining her
weeping eyes for the parting glance at her first-born; and
so many others turned their sad, weary steps homewards, as
their dear ones passed from their sight.

21st.—The ladies are now engaged making sand-bags for
the fortifications at Yorktown; every lecture-room in

town crowded with them, sewing busily, hopefully, prayerfully.
Thousands are wanted. No battle, but heavy skirmishing
at Yorktown. Our friend, Colonel McKinney, has
fallen at the head of a North Carolina regiment. Fredericksburg
has been abandoned to the enemy. Troops passing
through towards that point. What does it all portend?
We are intensely anxious; our conversation, while busily
sewing at St. Paul's Lecture-Room, is only of war. We
hear of so many horrors committed by the enemy in the
Valley—houses searched and robbed, horses taken, sheep,
cattle, etc., killed and carried off, servants deserting their
homes, churches desecrated!

27th.—The country is shrouded in gloom because of the
fall of New Orleans! It was abandoned by General Lovell—necessarily,
it is thought. Such an immense force was
sent against the forts which protected it, that they could
not be defended. The steamer Mississippi, which was nearly
finished, had to be burnt. We hoped so much from its protection
to the Mississippi River. Oh, it is so hard to see
the enemy making such inroads into the heart of our country!
it makes the chicken-hearted men and women despondent,
but to the true and brave it gives a fresh stimulus for
exertion. I met two young Kentuckians to-night who have
come out from their homes, leaving family and fortunes behind,
to help the South. After many difficulties, running
the blockade across the Potomac, they reached Richmond
yesterday, just as the news of the fall of New Orleans
had overwhelmed the city. They are dreadfully disappointed
by the tone of the persons they have met. They
came burning with enthusiasm; and anything like depression
is a shock to their excited feelings. One said to
me that he thought he should return at once, as he had

"left every thing which made home desirable to help Virginia,
and found her ready to give up." All the blood in
my system boiled in an instant. "Where, sir," said I, "have
you seen Virginians ready to give up their cause?" "Why,"
he replied, "I have been lounging about the Exchange all
day, and have heard the sentiments of the people." "Lounging
about the Exchange! And do you suppose that Virginians
worthy of the name are now seen lounging about
the Exchange? There you see the idlers and shirkers of
the whole Southern army. No true man under forty-five
is to be found there. Virginia, sir, is in the camp. Go
there, and find the true men of the South. There they
have been for one year, bearing the hardships, and offering
their lives, and losing life and limb for the South; it
is mournful to say how many! There you will find the
chivalry of the South; and if Virginia does not receive you
with the shout of enthusiasm which you anticipated, it is
because the fire burns steadily and deeply; the surface blaze
has long ago passed away. I honour you, and the many
noble young Kentuckians who have left their homes for
the sake of our country, but it will not do for Kentucky
to curl the lip of scorn at Virginia. Virginia blushes,
and silently mourns over her recreant daughter, and rejoices
over every son of hers who has the disinterestedness to
leave her and come to us in this hour of our bitter trial."

I do not believe that this young man really means, or
wishes, to return; he only feels disheartened by the gloom
caused by our great national loss.

May 2d.—The morning papers contain a most spirited
letter by the Mayor of New Orleans, in reply to the Federal
commander who demanded the surrender of the city,
and that the Confederate flag should be taken down. He

refuses to do either, telling him that the city is his by
brute force, but he will never surrender it.

Our young friend, J.S.M., is here, very ill; I am assisting
to nurse him. I feel most anxious about him; he and
his four brothers are nobly defending their country. They
have strong motives, personal as well as patriotic. Their
venerable father and mother, and two young sisters, were
forced to leave their comfortable home in Fairfax a year
ago. The mother has sunk into the grave, an early sacrifice,
while the father and sisters continue to be homeless.
Their house has been burnt to the ground by Federal soldiers—furniture,
clothing, important papers, all consumed.
Sad as this story is, it is the history of so many families
that it has ceased to call forth remark.

3d.—It is distressing to see how many persons are leaving
Richmond, apprehending that it is in danger; but it will
not—I know it will not—fall. It is said that the President
does not fear; he will send his family away, because he
thinks it is better for men, on whom the country's weal is so
dependent, to be free from private anxiety. General Johnston
is falling back from Yorktown, not intending to fight
within range of the enemy's gun-boats. This makes us very
anxious about Norfolk.

May 5th.—Yesterday we had a blessed Sabbath, undisturbed
by rumours; it is generally a day of startling
reports set afloat by idlers. The Bishop preached and
administered confirmation at St. Paul's. The President
was a candidate for confirmation, but was detained by
business. It is such a blessing to have so many of our
public men God-fearing, praying Christians!

7th.—Our "peaceful" Sabbath here was one of fearful strife at Williamsburg. We met and whipped the enemy

Oh, that we could drive them from our land forever! Much
blood spilt on both sides; our dear W. B. N. is reported
"missing"—oh, that heart-sinking word! How short a
time since that blessed glimpse of his bright face, as he
passed through town, and now he is on his weary way to
some Northern prison; at least we hope so. His poor wife
and mother! Our young friend G. W. was killed! How
many bright hopes were crushed in one instant by the fall
of that boy! I thank God that he had no mother. General
Johnston still falls back, leaving the revered Alma
Mater of our fathers to be desecrated, perhaps burned. A
party of Yankees landed on Sunday at the White House.
That Pamunky country, so fertile, now teeming with grain
almost ready for the sickle, is at their mercy; we can only
hope that they have no object in destroying it, and that
they will not do it wantonly. W. and S. H. and their dear
inmates are painfully near them. Richmond, or the croakers
of Richmond, have been in a panic for two days, because of
the appearance of gun-boats on James River. I believe
they will not get nearer than they are now. I sat up last
night at the hospital with D. L., who is desperately ill—his
mother in the Federal lines. My companion during the
night was Colonel M., of Maryland. While listening to
the ravings of delirium, two gentlemen came in, announcing
heavy firing on the river. We had been painfully conscious
of the firing before, but remembering that Drury's Bluff
was considered impregnable, I felt much more anxious about
the patient than about the enemy. The gentlemen, however,
were panic-stricken, and one of them seemed to think
that "sunrise would find gun-boats at Rocketts." Not
believing it possible, I felt no alarm, but the apprehensions
of others made me nervous and unhappy. At daybreak I
saw loads of furniture passing by, showing that people were
taking off their valuables.

12th.—Just returned from a visit to S. H. The family
full of patriotism and very bright. While there, dear W's
horse and servant came home. His family bore it well, considering
imprisonment the least casualty that could have
befallen him. If Richmond is invested, that beautiful
country will be in the hands of the enemy; the families
(except the gentlemen) will remain at home to protect the
property as best they may. They are now sending corn,
bacon, etc., into Richmond for safety. None but the
croakers believe for an instant that it will fall.

Two hours ago we heard of the destruction of the "Virginia"
by our own people. It is a dreadful shock to the
community. We can only hope that it was wisely done.
Poor Norfolk must be given up. I can write no more
to-day.

13th.—General Jackson is doing so gloriously in the
Valley that we must not let the fate of the "Virginia"
depress us too much. On the 9th of May he telegraphed
to General Cooper: "God blessed our arms with victory
at McDowell yesterday." Nothing more has been given
us officially, but private information is received that he is
in hot pursuit down the Valley. The croakers roll their
gloomy eyes, and say, "Ah, General Jackson is so rash!" and
a lady even assured me that he was known to be crazy when
under excitement, and that we had every thing to fear from
the campaign he was now beginning in the Valley. I would
that every officer and soldier in the Southern army was
crazed in the same way; how soon we would be free from
despotism and invasion!

May 14.—The anxiety of all classes for the safety of

Richmond is now intense, though a strong faith in the goodness
of God and the valour of our troops keeps us calm
and hopeful. A gentleman, high in position, panic-struck,
was heard to exclaim, yesterday: "Norfolk has fallen,
Richmond will fall, Virginia is to be given up, and to-morrow
I shall leave this city, an exile and a beggar." Others
are equally despondent, and, as is too frequently the case in
times of trouble, attribute all our disasters to the incompetency
and faithlessness of those entrusted with the administration
of public affairs. Even General Lee does not
escape animadversion, and the President is the subject of
the most bitter maledictions. I have been shocked to hear
that a counter-revolution, if not openly advocated, has been
distinctly foreshadowed, as the only remedy for our ills. The
public authorities of Richmond, greatly moved by the
defenceless condition of the city, appointed a committee,
and appropriated funds to aid in completing the obstructions
at Drury's Bluff. The Legislature also appointed a committee
to wait upon the President and ascertain the progress
of the work. A member of this committee, a near
connection of mine, has given me an account of their interview
with Mr. Davis. He received them, as is his invariable
custom, with marked cordiality and respect. The subject
was opened by the chairman of the Senate Committee,
who stated the object of the mission, and made appropriate
inquiries for information. The President proceeded to give
a distinct narrative of the progress of the work, expressed
his great desire for its early completion, and regretted that
the natural difficulties arising from frequent freshets in the
river, which the efforts of man could not overcome, had
rendered the progress of the work slow. He said he had
just returned from a visit to the Bluff, accompanied by
General Lee; and having heard complaints against the man
in charge of the work, he had discharged him, and had appointed
another, strongly recommended for efficiency. That
the flood was now subsiding, and he thought he could assure
the committee that the obstruction of the river would be
complete in twenty-four hours. At this point the door-bell
rang, and General Lee was announced. "Ask General
Lee in," said the President. The servant returned, saying
that the General wished to see the President for a few moments
in the ante-room. The President retired, met General
Lee and the Secretary of the Navy, and soon returned to
the committee. The conversation being renewed, some
further inquiry was made with regard to Drury's Bluff. The
President replied: "I should have given you a very different
answer to your question a few moments ago from that
which I shall be compelled to give you now. Those traitors
at Norfolk, I fear, have defeated our plans." "What
traitors?" asked nearly every member of the committee at
the same moment. He then proceeded to give a detail of
the desertion of the captain and crew of a steamer engaged
in transporting guns from Norfolk to Drury's Bluff,
who had gone over to the enemy with vessel and cargo, and
full information as to the unfinished condition of the works.
A member of the committee asked: "Can nothing be done
to counteract these traitors?" The President replied:
"Every thing will be done, I assure you, which can be
done." The member continued: "But, Mr. President,
what will be done?" The President politely declined to
answer the question, saying there were some things that it
was not proper to communicate. The member again pressed
for the information, saying: "This is a confidential meeting,
and, of course, nothing transpiring here will reach the
public." The President, with a smile on his countenance,
said: "Mr. —, I think there was much wisdom in the
remark of old John Brown at Harper's Ferry: `A man who
is not capable of keeping his own secrets is not fit to be
trusted with the business of other people.' " There was no
unpleasant feeling manifested in the committee, and the parting
was kind and cordial on both sides; yet, next morning,
it was rumoured on the streets that the President had been
rude to the committee, and that the meeting had been extremely
unpleasant. On the night of this meeting the river
was obstructed by the sinking of the steamer Patrick
Henry, and other vessels, in the channel. This, it is supposed,
was the plan agreed upon by Mr. Davis and General
Lee in their short interview. Several days have passed since
this interview, and I trust that all is now safe. How thankful
I am that I knew nothing of this until the danger was passed!

The Legislature is in almost constant session during these
dark days. It contains many gentlemen of great intelligence
and of ardent zeal in the public cause. The whole body is
as true as steel, and its constant effort is to uphold the
hands of the President, to fire the popular heart, and to
bring out all the resources of Virginia in defence of the
liberty and independence of the South. I am told that day
after day, and night after night, "thoughts that breathe
and words that burn" are uttered in that hall, which, in
other days, has often rung with the eloquence of the noblest
statesmen, patriots, and orators of the land. These proceedings
are all in secret session, and, for prudential reasons,
are withheld from the public; but are they never to see
the light? Is no one taking note of them? I trust so,
indeed, that the civil history of Virginia, during this great
struggle, may not be lost to posterity.

15th.—It is now ascertained beyond doubt that my
nephew, W. B. N., reported "missing," at Williamsburg,
is a prisoner in the enemy's hands. We are very anxious
for his exchange, but there seems some difficulty in effecting
it. His father, accompanied by Colonel Robertson, of
the Fourth Virginia Cavalry, called to see the President a
few nights ago, hoping to do something for him. The
President had just returned from a long ride to inspect the
fortifications. In answer to their card, he desired to see
the gentlemen in his study, where he was reclining on a sofa,
apparently much fatigued, while Mrs. Davis sat at a table
engaged in some fine needle-work. The President immediately
arose and received the gentlemen most courteously,
introducing them to Mrs. D. Colonel R. stated the object
of the visit, saying that Captain N. was one of the very
best officers of his rank in the army, and that his services
were almost indispensable to his regiment, and urged the
President to use every effort to procure his exchange. His
father seconded the request with the warmth natural to a
parent under such circumstances. The President seemed
deeply interested in the subject, and regretted that nothing
could then be done, as there was a difficulty pending between
the belligerents on the subject of exchange; as soon
as that difficulty was removed he would, with pleasure, do
all in his power to procure the exchange. Mrs. Davis listened
with much interest to the conversation, and her feelings
became warmly interested. She said that her husband
was a father, and would feel deep sympathy; but if, in the
pressure of public business, the subject should pass from
his mind, she would certainly remind him of it. She made
a very favourable impression on the minds of these gentlemen,
who had never seen her before, by her ease of manner,

agreeable conversation, and the kindness of heart
which she manifested. After a most pleasant interview of
an hour, the visitors arose to take leave, but Mrs. Davis
invited them with so much cordiality to remain to take a
cup of tea with them, which, she said, was then coming up,
that they could not decline. The servant brought in the
tea-tray, accompanied by some light refreshment. Mrs. D.
poured out the tea for the company of four. The scene reminded
them of the unpretending and genial hospitality
daily witnessed in the families of Virginia.

18th.—The 16th was the day appointed by the President
for fasting and prayer. The churches here were filled, as I
trust they were all over the land.

27th.—General Jackson's career going on gloriously.
After defeating Millroy, and Fremont's advance in the
Valley, and driving them back in confusion, so that nothing
was to be feared from his threatened union with Banks, he
pursued the enemy as far as Franklin, Pendleton County.
Then returning, he marched on rapidly, captured Front
Royal on the 23d, chasing the enemy through it at more
than double-quick. Still pressing hard upon Banks, he
gave him no rest night nor day, piercing his main column
while retreating from Strasburg to Winchester—the "rear
part retreating towards Strasburg. On Sunday, 25th, the
other part was routed at Winchester. At last accounts,
Brigadier-General George H. Stuart was pursuing them
with cavalry and artillery, and capturing many." I quote
from the General's own telegram, dated Winchester, May
26th. And now, notwithstanding our condition in Richmond,
our hearts and voices are attuned to praise, and our
pæans are more loud and bright in contrast to our late
distressing trials.

29th.—No official accounts from "Stonewall" and his
glorious army, but private accounts are most cheering.
In the mean time, the hospitals in and around Richmond are
being cleaned, aired, etc., preparatory to the anticipated
battles. Oh, it is sickening to know that these preparations
are necessary! Every man who is able has gone to
his regiment. Country people are sending in all manner of
things—shirts, drawers, socks, etc., hams, flour, fresh vegetables,
fruits, preserves—for the sick and wounded. It is
wonderful how these things can be spared. I suppose, if
the truth were known, that they cannot be spared, except
that every man and woman is ready to give up every
article which is not absolutely necessary; and I dare say
that gentlemen's wardrobes, which were wont to be numbered
by dozens, are now reduced to couples.

It is said that General Johnston, by an admirable series
of manœuvres, is managing to retreat from Williamsburg,
all the time concealing the comparative weakness of his
troops, and is retarding the advance of the enemy, until
troops from other points can be concentrated here.

31st.—The booming of cannon, at no very distant point,
thrills us with apprehension. We know that a battle is
going on. God help us! Now let every heart be raised
to the God of battles.

Evening.—General Johnston brought in wounded, not
mortally, but painfully, in the shoulder. Other wounded
are being brought in. The fight progressing; but we are
driving them.

Night.—We have possession of the camp—the enemy's
camp. The place is seven miles from Richmond. General
Lee is ordered to take General Johnston's place. The
fight may be renewed to-morrow.

June 1.—The loss yesterday comparatively small. General
Johnston had managed his command with great success
and ability until he received his wound. What a pity
that he should have exposed himself! but we are a blessed
people to have such a man as General Lee to take his
place. He (Gen. J.) is at the house of a gentleman on
Church Hill, where he will have the kindest attention, and
is free from the heat and dust of the city.

2d.—The battle continued yesterday near the field of
the day before. We gained the day! For this victory
we are most thankful. The enemy were repulsed with fearful
loss; but our loss was great. The wounded were
brought until a late hour last night, and to-day the hospitals
have been crowded with ladies, offering their services
to nurse, and the streets are filled with servants
darting about, with waiters covered with snowy napkins,
carrying refreshments of all kinds to the wounded. Many
of the sick, wounded, and weary are in private houses. The
roar of the cannon has ceased. Can we hope that the
enemy will now retire? General Pettigrew is missing—it
is thought captured. So many others "missing," never,
never to be found! Oh, Lord, how long! How long are
we to be a prey to the most heartless of foes? Thousands
are slain, and yet we seem no nearer the end than when we
began!!

7th.—Sad news from the Valley. The brave, gallant,
dashing General Ashby has fallen! He was killed yesterday,
in a vigorous attack made by the enemy on our
rear-guard, at a point between Harrisonburg and Port Republic.
The whole country will be shocked by the calamity,
for it had a high appreciation of his noble character and
achievements. General Jackson valued him very highly, as

did both men and officers. His daring was wonderful, and
wonderfully did he succeed in his dashing and heroic efforts.
"His sagacity in penetrating into the designs of the enemy
seemed almost intuitive."[1] It is so hard, in our weakness,
to give up such men!

9th, Night.—General Jackson is performing prodigies of
valor in the Valley; he has met the forces of Fremont and
Shields, and whipped them in detail. They fought at Cross
Keys and Port Republic yesterday and to-day. I must
preserve his last dispatch, it is so characteristic:

And now we are awaiting the casualties from the Valley.
This feeling of personal anxiety keeps us humble
amid the flush of victory. What news may not each mail
bring us, of those as dear as our heart's blood? Each
telegram that is brought into the hospital makes me blind
with apprehension, until it passes me, and other countenances
denote the same anxiety; but we dare not say a
word which may unnerve the patients; they are rejoicing
amid their pain and anguish over our victories. Poor fellows!
dearly have they paid for them, with the loss of
limb, and other wounds more painful still. They want to
be cured that they may be on the field again. "Thank
God," said a man, with his leg amputated, "that it was
not my right arm, for then I could never have fought

again; as soon as this stump is well I shall join Stuart's
cavalry; I can ride with a wooden leg as well as a real
one."

The "Young Napoleon" does not seem to be dispirited
by his late reverses. The New York Herald acknowledges
the defeat of the 31st, but says they recovered their loss
next day; but the whole tone of that and other Northern
papers proves that they know that their defeat was complete,
though they will not acknowledge it. They are
marshalling their forces for another "On to Richmond."
O God, to Thee, to Thee alone, do we look for deliverance.
Thou, who canst do all things, have mercy upon us
and help us!

June 12.—We are more successful in Virginia than elsewhere.
The whole Mississippi River, except Vicksburg and
its environs, is now in the hands of the enemy, and that
place must surrender, though it holds out most nobly,
amidst the inveterate efforts to take it. Memphis has
fallen! How my spirit chafes and grieves over our losses!
O God, let us not be given over a "hissing and a reproach
to our enemies."

15th.—General Stuart has just returned to camp after a
most wonderful and successful raid. He left Richmond two
or three days ago with a portion of his command; went to
Hanover Court-House, where he found a body of the enemy;
repulsed them, killing and wounding several, and losing one
gallant man, Captain Latané, of the Essex cavalry; continuing
his march by the "Old Church," he broke up their
camp and burnt their stores; thence to Tunstall's Station
on the York River Railroad; fired into the train, destroying
a part of it, and taking some prisoners; thence to Pamunky
River; found three transports loaded with provender, which

they burned; filled their haversacks with West India fruit,
which had been brought on for Federal consumption; then
went on towards Charles City Court-House, encountering a
train of wagons; took their horses, mules, and drivers, and
burnt the wagons and contents; thence they went to a
Yankee sutler's stand, took what they wanted, and burnt
the rest; thence across the Chickahominy and on to
Richmond; bringing 175 prisoners and a number of horses
and mules. We are all full of excitement and delight,
hoping that he discovered much about the Federal army
which may be useful, but which, of course, is kept from the
public; and I trust most fervently that our dear ones at S. H.
and W. may have been cheered by their presence, for they
must have gone very near them, if not immediately by their
gates—how the appearance of our men must have excited
them! I wish I could see some member of the cavalry who
could tell me all about it—where they went, and whom
they saw. General Stuart must have gone, it is said, within
a few miles, perhaps nearer, of his father-in-law, the Federal
General Cooke. I wonder what the old renegade Virginian
thinks of his dashing son-in-law? If he has a spark of
proper feeling left in his obdurate heart, he must be proud
of him.

June 27th.—Yesterday was a day of intense excitement
in the city and its surroundings. Early in the morning it
was whispered about that some great movement was on
foot. Large numbers of troops were seen under arms, evidently
waiting for orders to march against the enemy. A.
P. Hill's Division occupied the range of hills near "Strawberry
Hill," the cherished home of my childhood, overlooking
the old "Meadow Bridges." About three o'clock the
order to move, so long expected, was given. The Division

marched steadily and rapidly to the attack—the Fortieth
Regiment, under command of my relative, Colonel B., in
which are so many of our dear boys, leading the advance.
The enemy's pickets were just across the river, and the
men supposed they were in heavy force of infantry and artillery,
and that the passage of the bridge would be hazardous
in the extreme; yet their courage did not falter. The gallant
Fortieth, followed by Pegram's Battery, rushed across
the bridge at double-quick, and with exultant shouts drove
the enemy's pickets from their posts. The enemy was driven
rapidly down the river to Mechanicsville, where the battle
raged long and fiercely. At nine o'clock all was quite; the
bloody struggle over for the day. Our victory is said to
be glorious, but not complete. The fighting is even now
renewed, for I hear the firing of heavy artillery. Last night
our streets were thronged until a late hour to catch the last
accounts from couriers and spectators returning from the field.
A bulletin from the Assistant Surgeon of the Fortieth, sent
to his anxious father, assured me of the safety of some of those
most dear to me; but the sickening sight of the ambulances
bringing in the wounded met my eye at every turn. The
President, and many others, were on the surrounding hills
during the fight, deeply interested spectators. The calmness
of the people during the progress of the battle was
marvellous. The balloons of the enemy hovering over the
battle-field could be distinctly seen from the outskirts of the
city, and the sound of musketry as distinctly heard. All
were anxious, but none alarmed for the safety of the city.
From the firing of the first gun till the close of the battle
every spot favourable for observation was crowded. The
tops of the Exchange, the Ballard House, the Capitol, and
almost every other tall house were covered with human
beings; and after nightfall the commanding hills from the
President's house to the Alms-House were covered, like a
vast amphitheatre, with men, women and children, witnessing
the grand display of fireworks—beautiful, yet awful—and
sending death amid those whom our hearts hold so dear. I
am told (for I did not witness it) that it was a scene of unsurpassed
magnificence. The brilliant light of bombs bursting
in the air and passing to the ground, the innumerable
lesser lights, emitted by thousands and thousands of muskets,
together with the roar of artillery and the rattling of
small-arms, constituted a scene terrifically grand and imposing.
What spell has bound our people? Is their trust
in God, and in the valour of our troops, so great that they
are unmoved by these terrible demonstrations of our powerful
foe? It would seem so, for when the battle was over
the crowd dispersed and retired to their respective homes
with the seeming tranquility of persons who had been witnessing
a panorama of transactions in a far- off country, in
which they felt no personal interest; though they knew that
their countrymen slept on their arms, only awaiting the dawn
to renew the deadly conflict, on the success of which depended
not only the fate of our capital, but of that splendid army,
containing the material on which our happiness depends.
Ah! many full, sorrowful hearts were at home, breathing
out prayers for our success; or else were busy in the hospitals,
administering to the wounded. Those on the hill-sides
and house-tops were too nervous and anxious to stay at
home—not that they were apprehensive for the city, but
for the fate of those who were defending it, and their
feeling was too deep for expression. The same feeling,
perhaps, which makes me write so much this morning.
But I must go to other duties.

Ten o'Clock at Night.—Another day of great excitement
in our beleaguered city. From early dawn the cannon has
been roaring around us. Our success has been glorious!
The citizens—gentlemen as well as ladies—have been fully
occupied in the hospitals. Kent, Paine & Co. have thrown
open their spacious building for the use of the wounded.
General C., of Texas, volunteer aid to General Hood,
came in from the field covered with dust, and slightly
wounded; he represents the fight as terrible beyond example.
The carnage is frightful. General Jackson has joined
General Lee, and nearly the whole army on both sides were
engaged. The enemy had retired before our troops to their
strong works near Gaines's Mill. Brigade after brigade
of our brave men were hurled against them, and repulsed
in disorder. General Lee was heard to say to General
Jackson, "The fighting is desperate; can our men stand it?"
Jackson replied, "General, I know our boys—they will
never give back." In a short time a large part of our
force was brought up in one grand attack, and then the
enemy was utterly routed. General C. represents the
valour of Hood and his brigade in the liveliest colours, and
attributes the grand success at the close of the day greatly
to their extraordinary gallantry. The works were the
strongest ever seen in this country, and General C. says
that the armies of the world could not have driven our men
from them.

Another bulletin from the young surgeon of the Fortieth.
That noble regiment has lost heavily—several of the "Potomac
Rifles" among the slain—sons of old friends and
acquaintances. E. B., dreadfully wounded, has been brought
in, and is tenderly nursed. Our own boys are mercifully
spared. Visions of the battle-field have haunted me all

day. Our loved ones, whether friends or strangers—all
Southern soldiers are dear to us—lying dead and dying;
the wounded in the hot sun, the dead being hastily buried.
McClellan is said to be retreating. "Praise the Lord, O
my soul!"

28th.—The casualties among our friends, so far, not very
numerous. My dear R. T. C. is here, slightly wounded; he
hopes to return to his command in a few days. Colonel
Allen, of the Second Virginia, killed. Major Jones, of the
same regiment, desperately wounded. Wood McDonald
killed. But what touches me most nearly is the death of
my young friend, Clarence Warwick, of this city. Dearly
have I loved that warm-hearted, high-minded, brave boy,
since his early childhood. To-night I have been indulging
sad memories of his earnest manner and affectionate tones,
from his boyhood up; and now what must be the shock to
his father and brothers, and to those tender sisters, when
to-morrow the telegraph shall tell them of their loss! His
cousin, Lieutenant-Colonel Warwick, is desperately wounded.
Oh, I pray that his life may be spared to his poor father
and mother! He is so brave and skilful an officer that we
cannot spare him, and how can they? The booming of cannon
still heard distinctly, but the sound is more distant.

June 30.—McClellan certainly retreating. We begin to
breathe more freely; but he fights as he goes. Oh, that he
may be surrounded before he gets to his gun-boats! Rumours
are flying about that he is surrounded; but we do not believe
it—only hope that he may be before he reaches the
river. The city is sad, because of the dead and dying, but
our hearts are filled with gratitude and love. The end is not
yet—oh that it were!

Mecklenburg County, July 15.—Mr. — and myself

summoned here a short time ago to see our daughter, who
was very ill. Found her better—she is still improving.

Richmond is disenthralled—the only Yankees there are
in the "Libby" and other prisons. McClellan and his
"Grand Army," on James River, near Westover, enjoying
mosquitoes and bilious fevers. The weather is excessively
hot. I dare say the Yankees find the "Sunny South" all
that their most fervid imaginations ever depicted it, particularly
on the marshes. So may it be, until the whole army
melts with fervent heat. The gun-boats are rushing up and
down the river, shelling the trees on the banks, afraid to
approach Drury's Bluff. The Northern papers and Congress
are making every effort to find out to whom the fault
of their late reverses is to be traced. Our people think
that their whole army might have been captured but for the
dilatoriness of some of our generals. General Magruder is
relieved, and sent to take command in the West.

21st.—Mr. — sick, but better to-day. This is the anniversary
of the glorious battle of Manassas. Since that
time we have had many reverses, but our victories, of late,
have atoned for all, except the loss of life.

We have had another naval fight on the Mississippi, just
north of Vicksburg. Our large gun-boat, Arkansas, ran
into the Federal fleet of twelve or thirteen gun-boats and
rams, and overcame them completely. Vicksburg stands
the bombardment with unflinching gallantry. No news
from the Army of the Potomac. It is reported that General
Jackson has gone to meet General Pope, who is on this
side of the Blue Ridge, marching, it is supposed, to join
McClellan.

Mr. — takes a ride to-day; the first since his sickness.
My heart is full of gratitude for public and private blessings.

23d.—Letters and papers to-day. It is reported that
Hindman has captured Curtis and his whole command
in Arkansas. Delightful, if true. The army in Virginia,
and our dear ones, well.

28th.—The report of Hindman's having captured Curtis
untrue; but our army is doing well in the West. Murfreesboro',
in Tennessee, has been captured by Confederates—a
brigade, two brigadiers, and other officers, taken. "Jack
Morgan" is annoying and capturing the Kentucky Yankees.

The true Southerners there must endure an almost unbearable
thraldom!

A long letter from S. S., describing graphically their
troubles when in Federal lines. Now they are breathing
freely again. A number of servants from W. and S. H.,
and indeed from the whole Pamunky River, went off with
their Northern friends. I am sorry for them, taken from
their comfortable homes to go they know not where, and to
be treated they know not how. Our man Nat went, to
whom I was very partial, because his mother was the maid
and humble friend of my youth, and because I had brought
him up. He was a comfort to us as a driver and hostler,
but now that we have neither home, carriage, nor horses, it
makes but little difference with us; but how, with his slow
habits, he is to support himself, I can't imagine. The wish
for freedom is natural, and if he prefers it, so far as I am
concerned he is welcome to it. I shall be glad to hear that
he is doing well. Mothers went off leaving children—in
two instances infants. Lord have mercy upon these poor
misguided creatures! I am so thankful that the scurf of
the earth, of which the Federal army seems to be composed,
has been driven away from Hanover. I would that
"Clarke" were as free.

July 29.—No army news. In this quiet nook mail-day
is looked forward to with the greatest anxiety, and the
newspapers are read with avidity from eginning to end—
embracing Southern rumours, official statements, army telegrams,
Yankee extravaganzas, and the various et cœteras.
The sick and wounded in the various hospitals are subjects
for thought and action in every part of our State which is
free to act for them; we all do what we can in our own
little way; and surely if we have nothing but prayer to
offer, great good must be effected. Yesterday evening,
while walking out, a young woman with a baby in her arms
passed us rapidly, weeping piteously, and with the wildest
expressions of grief; we turned to follow her, but found that
another woman was meeting her, whom we recognized as
her mother; in another moment all was explained by her
father, whom we met, slowly wending his way homeward.
He had been to the hospital at Danville to see his son-in-law,
whose name appeared among the wounded there. On
reaching the place, he found that he had just been buried.
On returning he met his daughter walking; in her impatience
and anxiety about her husband, she could not sit still in
the house; and in her ignorance, she supposed that her
father would bring him home to be nursed. Poor thing!
she is one of thousands. Oh that the enemy may be driven
from our land, with a wholesome dread of encroaching upon
our borders again! Our people are suffering too much;
they cannot stand it. The family here suffers much anxiety,
as each battle approaches, about their young son, the pride
and darling of the household. He is a lieutenant in the—
Regiment; but during the fights around Richmond, as his
captain was unfit for duty, the first lieutenant killed in the
first fight, the command of the company devolved on this

dear, fair-haired boy, and many praises have they heard of
his bravery during those terrible days. He writes most
delightfully encouraging letters, and never seems to know
that he is enduring hardships. His last letter, written on a
stump near Charles City Court-House, whither they had followed
the enemy, was most exultant; and, brave young
Christian as he is, he gives the glory to God. He exults
in having helped to drive them, and, as it were, pen them up
on the river; and though they are now desecrating the fair
homes of his ancestors, (Berkeley and Westover,) yet, as
they dare not unfurl their once proud banner on any other
spot in Lower Virginia, and only there because protected by
their gun-boats, he seems to think that the proud spirits of
the Byrds and Harrisons may submit when they reflect that
though their ancestral trees may shelter the direst of all
foes, yet their ancestral marshes are yielding their malaria
and mosquitoes with an unstinting hand, and aiding unsparingly
the sword of the South in relieving it of invaders.
Dear B., like so many Southern boys, he was summoned
by the tocsin of war from the class-room to the camp. His
career was most successful in one of the first literary institutions
in this country, and if he lives he will return to his
studies less of a scholar, but more of a man, in the highest
sense of the word, than any collegiate course could have
made him. But we can't look forward, for what horrors
may come upon us before our independence is achieved it
makes my heart ache to dwell upon.

August 4.—The girls just returned from a visit to Mrs.
A. of several days, which they enjoyed greatly. Every
thing there very bright and cheerful, except the hearts of the
parents—they yearn for their sons on the field of danger!
A battle is now expected between Jackson and Pope.

August 5.—The papers of last night brought us no news,
except that our troops are firing upon the enemy's gun-boats
near Coggin's Point. The result not known. A battle
between Jackson and Pope still imminent. Major Bailey
made a brilliant cavalry raid a few days since upon the
enemy in Nicholas County, in which he took the command
of a lieutenant-colonel prisoners, burnt their stores, and
brought off many horses, mules, and arms. Morgan continues
his successful raids in the West. The enemy has
abandoned the siege of Vicksburg for the time.

9th.—We hear of a little cavalry fight at Orange Court-House,
in which we drove off the enemy. General Pope
continues to commit depredations in his district of operations.
He seems to have taken Butler as his model, and
even to exceed him in ferocity. Our President has just
given most sensible orders for retaliation.

The Misses N. are spending the summer here. Their
home in Clarke in possession of the enemy, together with
their whole property, they are dividing their time among
their friends. It is sad to see ladies of their age deprived of
home comforts; but, like the rest of the refugees, they bear
it very cheerfully. Born and reared at Westover, they are
indignant in the highest degree that it should now be desecrated
by McClellan's army. They are deeply mourning
the death of their noble young cousin, Captain B. Harrison,
of Upper Brandon, who was killed at the head of his troop,
in one of the battles near Richmond.

Lynchburg, August 20.—Mr. — and myself arrived
here last night, after a most fatiguing trip, by Clarksville,
Buffalo Springs, then to Wolf's Trap Station on the Danville
road, and on to the Southside Railroad. The cars
were filled with soldiers on furlough. It was pleasant to

see how cheerful they were. Poor fellows! it is wonderful
when we consider what the next battle may bring forth.
They were occupied discussing the late battle at Cedar Run,
between General Jackson and a portion of Pope's army,
commanded by Banks. It was a very fierce fight, and many
casualties on both sides; but we won the day—the Lord be
praised! Lynchburg is full of hospitals, to which the ladies
are very attentive; and they are said to be very well kept.
I have been to a very large one to-day, in which our old
home friends, Mrs. R. and Miss E. M., are matrons. Every
thing looked beautifully neat and comfortable. As a
stranger, and having so much to do for my patient at home,
I find I can do nothing for the soldiers, but knit for them
all the time, and give them a kind word in passing. I never
see one without feeling disposed to extend my hand, and
say, "God bless you."

29th.—The Richmond papers of yesterday mention two
severe skirmishes on the Rappahannock within a week
The enemy are retreating through Culpeper, Orange, etc.,
and our men are driving them on. General Jackson has
reached Warrenton. Burnside's army is said to be near
Fredericksburg, and Pope retreating towards Manassas.
The safe situation of this town makes it a city of refuge to
many. Several of our old friends are here. Mr. and Mrs.
D., of Alexandria, are just across the passage from us; the
J's are keeping house, and Mrs. M. is boarding very near
us. This evening our friends the S's arrived. None but
persons similarly situated can know the heartfelt pleasure of
meeting with home friends, and talking of home scenes—of
going back, as we did this evening, to the dear old times
when we met together in our own parlours, with none to
make us afraid. We see very little of Lynchburg society,

but in this pleasant boarding-house, with refugee society,
we want nothing more. The warmest feelings of my heart
have been called forth, by meeting with one of the most
intimate friends of my youth—now Mrs. Judge D. We
met the other day in the church-door, for the first time for
many, many years. Time has done its work with us both,
but we instantly recognized each other. Since that time,
not a day has passed without some affectionate demonstration
on her part towards us. At her beautiful home, more
than a mile from town, I found her mother, my venerable
and venerated friend Mrs. Judge C., still the elegant, accomplished
lady, the cheerful, warm-hearted, Christian Virginia
woman. At four-score, the fire kindles in her eye as she
speaks of our wrongs. "What would your father and my
husband have thought of these times," she said to me—
"men who loved and revered the Union, who would have
yielded up their lives to support the Constitution, in its
purity, but who could never have given up their cherished
doctrines of State rights, nor have yielded one jot or tittle
of their independence to the aggressions of the North?"
She glories in having sons and grandsons fighting for the
South. Two of the latter have already fallen in the great
cause; I trust that the rest may be spared to her.

I see that the Northern papers, though at first claiming
a victory at "Cedar Run," now confess that they lost three
thousand killed and wounded, two generals wounded, sundry
colonels and other officers. The Times is severe upon Pope—
thinks it extraordinary that, as he knew two days before that
the battle must take place, he did not have a larger force at
hand; and rather "strange" that he should have been within
six miles of the battle-field, and did not reach it until the fight
was nearly over! They say, as usual, that they were greatly

outnumbered! Strange, that with their myriads, they
should be so frequently outnumbered on the battle-field!
It is certain that our loss there was comparatively very
small; though we have to mourn General Winder of
the glorious Stonewall Brigade, and about two hundred
others, all valuable lives.

August 30th.—A package arrived last night from our
sisters, with my sister M's diary, for my amusement. It
was kept while our dear ones of W. and S. H. were surrounded
by McClellan's army. I shall use my leisure here
in copying it, that our children's children may know all that
our family suffered during this cruel war. During the six
weeks that they were surrounded by the foe, we only heard
from them through letters written to their husbands in Richmond.
These letters were captured by the enemy, and published
in a New York paper; and one was republished in
the Richmond Enquirer, where we were most delighted to
find it. In that way W. B. N., then incarcerated in the
walls of Fort Delaware, heard from his mother, wife,
and children, for the first time since he was captured, in
March.

Mrs. N's diary begins: "May 18th.—S. H., Hanover
County, Va. C. M. and myself set off yesterday morning
for church. At my brother's gate we met Dr. N., who told
us that there were rumours of the approach of the enemy
from the White House. We then determined not to go to
our own church, but in another direction, to the Presbyterian
church. After waiting there until the hour for service
had arrived, an elder came in and announced to us that the
minister thought it prudent not to come, but to have the
congregation dismissed at once, as the enemy were certainly
approaching. We returned home in a most perturbed

state, and found that my husband had just arrived, with several
of our sons and nephews, to spend a day or two with
us. In a short time a servant announced that he had seen
the Yankees that morning at the "Old Church." Then
there was no time to be lost; our gentlemen must go. We
began our hurried preparations, and sent for the carriage
and buggy. We were told that the driver had gone to
the Yankees. After some discussion, one of the gentlemen
determined to drive, and they were soon off. It was then
eleven o'clock at night, and the blackness of darkness reigned
over the earth. It was the most anxious night of my
life. Surrounded by an implacable foe, our gentlemen all
gone, we knew not how long we should be separated, or
what might not happen before we met, and the want of
confidence in our servants, which was now for the first time
shaken, made us very nervous. This morning we went to
W., and took leave of our sister, Mrs. C., and daughters.
Her sons are in the army, and being a refugee, she says she
must follow the army, and go where she can reach them if
they are wounded. We found C. busily dividing her year's
supply of bacon among the servants, that each may take
care of his own. As the enemy never regards locks, she
knows that her meat-house will be unsafe; we secreted two
guns, which had been inadvertently left, and returned, feeling
desolate, but thankful that our gentlemen were safely off.

"22d.—Papers from Richmond to-day. We are not yet
in the enemy's lines.

"23d.—The enemy's pickets gradually encroaching upon
us. A squad of their cavalry has been in the Hanover
Town lane all day; five or six lancers, with their red streamers,
rode slowly by our gate this evening. C. encountered
them in her walk home, and had a conversation with an officer,

Major Doyle, who made many professions of friendship!

"24th.—We were aroused this morning at an early hour,
by the servants rushing in, exclaiming: "The house is surrounded
by Yankees, and they are coming into the house."
I rushed to the window, and there they were. An officer
in the front porch, and a squad of cut-throat-looking fellows
on the steps; while a number, with their red streamers
and lances, were dashing hither and thither; some at
the stable, some at the kitchen, others around the servants'
quarters and at the barn, while the lane was filled
with them. Dr. T. had spent the night with little L., who
is ill with scarlet fever. I knocked at his door, and asked
him to go down and see what the people wanted. We
dressed as rapidly as possible. C. and M. had been up all
night with L., and were soon ready to go down. They
quickly returned, to say that the officer was Colonel Rush,
of Philadelphia, and demanded that my little son Edward
should be sent down immediately. It was in vain that they
told him that E. was a mere child—he had evidently heard
that he was a young man, and demanded his presence. The
child was aroused from his sleep, and hastily dressed himself,
but not quickly enough for our impatient Colonel, who
walked to the staircase and began to ascend, when C.
called to him, "Colonel R., do you mean to go to a lady's
chamber before she is dressed? The boy is in his mother's
room." Somewhat abashed, he stepped back. I soon descended,
accompanied by E. N. and W. S. There on the
mat before me stood a live Yankee colonel, with an aid
on either side. I approached; he pointed to W. S., saying,
"Is that Edward N?" "No," said I; "that is my grandson;
this is E. N." He said, "I want the boys to go with

me." Looking him full in the eye, I said, "Sir, will you
take these children prisoners?" His eye fell, and with
many grimaces he replied, "Oh, no; I only want to ask the
boys a few questions." He then took them across the lawn,
I all the time watching them; asked them many questions,
but finding that he could get nothing out of them, he sent
them back, calling them "little rebels," etc. The Colonel
had seen defiant looks enough while in the house, and did
not return. He asked M. to let him give her a remedy for
scarlet fever, which Mrs. Colonel Huger had given him.
"Mrs. General Huger you mean?" replied M. "Thank you,
I have perfect confidence in Dr. T." In the mean time his
commissary went to the meat-house, demanded the key, and
looking in, said, "I want three hundred pounds of this
bacon, and shall send for it this evening." Another man
went to the stable, took Dr. T's horse, saddle, and bridle,
and went off with them. The Colonel was immediately informed
of it, seemed shocked, and said, "Impossible;" but on
ordering it to be brought back, it was soon returned. Presently
the Quartermaster rode up to the door, calling out,
"Mrs. N., three horses were in your stable last night, and
they are not there now; the Colonel wishes their absence
accounted for." "Perhaps, sir," replied M., "they have been
stolen, as the other was; but as you get your information
from the servants, I refer you to them." He rode off, and
the whole party returned to their camp.

"Monday, 26th.—A cry of "Yankees," this morning,
sent us to the windows; there we saw a regiment of Lancers,
one of regulars, one of rifles, and another of zouaves, composed
of the most dreadful-looking creatures I ever beheld,
with red caps and trowsers; also two guns. They were
on their way to the Wyoming bridge, which they destroyed,

and then made a reconnoissance of the Court House road.
On their return they called here, boasting that they had killed
one of our men; they advised M. to hang out a white
flag to protect her house, which she, of course, declined
doing.

"27th.—Last night I could not sleep, in consequence of a
threat made by one of the Yankee soldiers in our kitchen.
He said that 30,000 soldiers had been ordered to the
Court-House to-day, to "wipe out" our people. Were our
people ignorant of this, and how should we let them know
of it? These were questions that haunted me all night.
Before day I formed my plan, and awakened S. to consult
her on the subject. It was this: To send W. S. to the
Court-House, as usual, for our letters and papers. If the
Yankee pickets stopped him, he could return; if he could
reach our pickets, he could give the alarm. She agreed to
it, and as soon as it was day we aroused the child, communicated
to him our plan, (for we dared not write;) he
entered into the spirit of it, and by light he was off. I
got up and went down to the yard, for I could not sit still;
but what was my consternation, after a short time had
elapsed, to see at the gate, and all along the road, the
hated red streamers of our enemy, going towards the Court-House!
S. and myself were miserable about W. M. and
C. gave us no comfort; they thought it very rash in us
to send him—he would be captured, and "Fax" (the
horse) would certainly be taken. We told them that it
was worth the risk to put our people on their guard; but,
nevertheless, we were unhappy beyond expression. Presently
a man with a wretched countenance, and, from his conversation,
an abolitionist of the deepest dye, rode in to
inquire if the artillery had passed along. My fears about

W. induced me to assume a bland countenance and manner,
and I told him of having sent a little boy for the mail, and I
wanted him to see that he came home safety; he said that
the boy would not be allowed to pass, and promised,
gruffly, to do what he could for him; but at the same time
made such remarks as made our blood boil; but, remembering
W's danger, we made no reply. He said he was
aid to General Warren. Before he left our gate, what was
our relief to see W. ride in, escorted by fourteen lancers,
he and his horse unmolested! The child had gone ahead of
the Yankees, reached our picket, told his story, and a
vidette had immediately been sent with the information to
head-quarters. I then for the first time took my seat, with
my heart full of gratitude for W's safety, and feeling
greatly relieved that I had done what I could. At three
o'clock the firing commenced; it was very heavy for some
hours; we knew they were fighting, and knew, too, that
our force at the Court-House was not large. Oh, what
anxious moments we have experienced this day! The firing
has now ceased, and the Yankees are constantly straggling
in, claiming a great victory; but we have learned to
believe nothing they say.

"28th.—Now our mail is broken up, and we feel that we
are indeed in the hands of the enemy. Oh, how forsaken
and forlorn we are! yet we do what we can to cheer each
other, and get on right well.

"30th.—This morning two horsemen rode up, and seeing
our cold looks, said, "Ladies, do you take us for Yankees?"
"Of course we do—are you not Yankees?" "Oh, no;
we belong to the Augusta troop, and want to hear something
of the movements of the enemy." We pointed to
their pickets, and implored them to go at once. We, of

course, filled their haversacks, and they were scouting about
the woods for some time. Oh, how our hearts go out
towards our own people!

"June 1st.—We heard very heavy firing all day yesterday,
and again to-day. At one time the roar was so continuous
that I almost fancied I heard the shouts of the combatants;
the firing became less about twelve o'clock, and
now (night) it has ceased entirely. Dr. N. and Dr. T. have
been accused by the Yankees of having informed our people
of their meditated attack the other day. They were cross-examined
on the subject, and of course denied it positively.
They were threatened very harshly, the Yankees contending
that there was no one else in the neighbourhood that could
have done it. Poor little W. was not suspected at all—
they little know what women and children can do.

"7th.—We have been now surrounded by the enemy for
two weeks, cut off from every relative except our two
households. Our male relations, who are young enough,
are all in the army, and we have no means of hearing one
word from them. The roar of artillery we hear almost
every day, but have no means of hearing the result. We
see the picket-fires of the enemy every night, but have, so
far, been less injured by them than we anticipated. They
sometimes surround our houses, but have never yet searched
them.

"8th.—The New York Herald reports a bloody fight on
the 31st of May and 1st of June. They acknowledge
from 3,000 to 4,000 killed and wounded—give us credit for
the victory on the first day, but say that they recovered on
the second day what they lost on the first. I have no
doubt, from their own account, that they were badly
whipped; but how long shall this bloody work continue?

Thousands and thousands of our men are slain, and we
seem to be no nearer the end than at first.

"9th.—Yankee wagons about all day, looking for corn
and fodder. I am thankful to say that M. has none for
them, the flood of last year having destroyed W's corn crop.
I felt to-day our short-sightedness; what they considered a
calamity when the flood came, we feel now to be a blessing,
as we are not able to furnish food for our foes. God forgive
me for my feelings towards them; but when I see
insolent fellows riding around and around our dwellings,
seeking what they may devour, every evil feeling of my
heart is kindled against them and their whole nation.
They, the murderers of our husbands, sons, fathers, thinking
themselves at liberty to riot over our homesteads!
They got their wagons filled from my brother's barn, and
in return pretended to give a bond, which they know is not
worth the paper on which it is written. One had the
assurance to tell C. that her husband would be paid if he
took the oath of allegiance. She told him that he would
not do that for all the corn in the Southern Confederacy.
Within two or three days they have become very bold;
they ride up and demand the key of the corn-house or
meat-house, and if it is not immediately given, they break
open the door and help themselves.

"11th.—Yesterday evening we had another visit from the
Lancers: they fed their horses at M's barn, ripping off the
planks that the corn might roll out. The door was opened
by the overseer, but that was too slow a way for thieves
and robbers. They encamped for the night in front of W.
C. was detained here yesterday by rain, and was not at
home all day, and they took that opportunity for searching
every thing. While they were filling the wagons at the

barn, four officers went over every part of the house, even
the drawers and trunks. They were moderate in their robberies,
only taking some damask towels and napkins from
the drawers, and a cooked ham and a plate of rolls from
the pantry. These men wore the trappings of officers!
While I write, I have six wagons in view at my brother's
barn, taking off his corn, and the choice spirits accompanying
them are catching the sheep and carrying them off.
This robbery now goes on every day. The worst part of our
thraldom is, that we can hear nothing from our own army

"13th.—Good news at last. Four letters were received
last night by way of Ashland. We learn that we certainly
whipped the Yankees on the 31st of May and 1st of
June, and that Jackson has had a most glorious campaign
in the Valley. We are grieved to hear that the gallant
Ashby has been killed, and trust that it is a mere rumour,
and that God has spared his valuable life. My sons were
not in the late fight, but are stationed at Strawberry Hill,
the home of my childhood. Every thing is being stolen on
these two places and elsewhere. A lieutenant on General
Porter's staff rode up this evening to ask M. to sell him
butter, fowls, eggs, etc. She told him that her poultry-yard
had been robbed the night before by some of his men.
He professed great horror, but had not gone fifty yards
when we heard the report of a pistol, and this wonderfully
proper lieutenant of a moment before had shot the hog of
an old negro woman who lives here.

"14th.—While quietly sitting on the porch yesterday
evening, I saw a young man rapidly approaching the house,
on foot; at first we took it for granted that he was a
Yankee, but soon found from his dress that he was one of
our soldiers, and from his excited manner that there was

something unusual the matter. He was Lieutenant Latané,
of Stuart's Brigade. They had been fighting on the road
from Hanover Court-House to the Old Church, and his
brother, the captain of the Essex Troop, had been killed
about two miles from W. The mill-cart from W. soon after
passed along, and he put his brother's body into it, and
brought it to W. There he found a Yankee picket stationed.
C. immediately took the dead soldier into her care, promising
to bury him as tenderly as if he were her brother;
and having no horse left on the place, (the enemy had taken
them all,) sent him here, by a private way, to elude the
vigilance of the picket, to get M's only remaining horse—
for the poor fellow had given up his to a soldier whose horse
had been killed. The horse was soon ready, and as soon as
we saw him safely off, we went over to W. to assist in preparing
the body for the burial. Oh, what a sad office!
This dear young soldier, so precious to many hearts, now in
the hands of sorrowing, sympathizing friends, yet, personally,
strangers to him! He looked so young—not more
than twenty years of age. He was shot in four places;
one ball had entered the region of his heart and passed out
at the back. We cut a large lock of his hair, as the only
thing we could do for his mother. We have sent for Mr.
Carraway to perform the funeral services, and shall bury him
by our dear Willie Phelps, another victim to this unholy
war.

"15th.—Yesterday was the only day for three weeks that
we have been free from the hated presence of Yankees.
Aaron, whom we sent for Mr. C., was not allowed to pass
the picket-post, so we took the body of our poor young
captain and buried it ourselves in the S. H. grave-yard, with
no one to interrupt us. The girls covered his honoured

grave with flowers. He and our precious W. lie side by
side, martyrs to a holy cause.

"We have heard nothing from General Stuart; he had
5,000 men and three guns. The pickets have disappeared
from around us. The servant we sent for Mr. C. says
that General S. burnt the encampment near the Old Church,
on Saturday evening, killed many horses, and severely
wounded a captain, who refused to surrender; the men
scampered into the woods. He represents the Yankees as
very much infuriated, vowing vengeance upon our people,
from which we hope that they have been badly used. We
feel intensely anxious about our brigade.

"16th.—Yesterday we sent letters to the Court-House
to be mailed, presuming, as we had not seen an enemy for
twenty-four hours, that the coast would be clear for awhile;
but Bartlett rode into a detachment of them in Taliaferro's
Lane. The poor old man, in his anxiety to save his letters,
betrayed himself by putting his hand on his pocket. They
were, of course, taken from him. [The letters I mentioned
as having been published in the New York papers.] They
are heartily welcome to mine; I hope the perusal may do
them good, but C. is annoyed. It was the first letter she
had written to her husband since the depredations at W.,
and she had expressed herself very freely.

"June 17.—The Yankees have returned upon us. They
came this morning early, and caught J. W's horse, which
they took off. We can hear nothing of General S. We
presume he has returned to Richmond. We shall have to
pay for it, I dare say, by being robbed, etc.; but if it has
done good to the great cause, we do not mind personal
loss. We are now honoured with a guard of twenty-five
men—why, we are at a loss to conjecture, unless our intercepted

letters may have convinced them that we are dangerous
characters. We doubtless have the will to do them
harm enough, but, surrounded and watched as we are, the
power is wanting. Our guard is composed of regulars,
who are much more decent men than the volunteers.

"C. commenced harvest yesterday, in a small way, but so
many servants are gone to the Yankees, that much of the
wheat must be lost, and the corn cannot be worked. The
milkmaid amused herself at their remarks to them: "Ladies,
why do you work for white people? You are all free now,"
etc., etc.

"18th.—Our guard in full force to-day. It is so absurd to
see the great fellows on their horses, armed from head to
foot, with their faces turned towards us, standing at our
yard-gate, guarding women and children, occasionally riding
about on the gravel-walks, plucking roses, with which they
decorate their horses' heads. A poor woman came to-day
in a buggy, in pursuit of corn. She had been robbed by
the enemy of every grain. This is the case with many
others, particularly with soldiers' wives. I asked an officer
to-day, what had become of General Stuart? He said he
was a `smart fellow,' and he `guessed' he had returned
to Richmond, but he `ought to have paid a visit to his
father-in-law, General Cooke, commanding the United States
cavalry not many miles distant.'

"20th.—Our guard withdrew to-day, and we walked to
W., a privilege we had not enjoyed for many days. We
received a Richmond Dispatch by underground railroad.
General Stuart's raid was like a story in the `Arabian
Nights' Entertainments.' He passed down from Hanover
Court-House, behind the whole of McClellan's army, in
many places so near as to hear the pickets, capturing and

burning every thing which they could not take with them.
They then crossed the Lower Chickahominy, and got back to
camp before the enemy had recovered from their surprise;
losing but one man, Captain Latané, whom we had the
honour of burying. The man who shot him, a Federal
officer, was immediately killed by a private in his (Captain
L's) company. The raiders burned two transports at the
White House, destroyed any number of wagons, mules,
stores, etc., and carried back 200 prisoners. The Yankees
have been making vast preparations for surrounding them
as they returned; but they were too wise to be caught in
that trap. Their masked batteries will be of no avail this
time. At New Kent Court-House our men refreshed themselves
with all manner of good things, at the expense of
the enemy, providing themselves with clothing, boots, etc.,
and taking the sleek proprietor of the establishment
prisoner.

"21st.—Yesterday we heard firing all day—heavy guns in
the morning, and musketry during the day, and heavy guns
again in the evening. Oh, that we could know the result!
This morning is as calm and beautiful as though all was
peace on the earth. O God, with whom all things are
possible, dispel the dark clouds that surround us, and permit
us once more to return to our homes, and collect the scattered
members of our flock around our family altar in peace
and safety! Not a word from my husband or sons.

"22d.—Dr. T. called to-day, to say that the firing we
heard on Friday was from our guns shelling the enemy, to
drive them lower down the Chickahominy. Letters, by
underground railroad, from our dear William, at Fort Delaware.
He complains of nothing but his anxiety to be
exchanged, and the impossibility of hearing from home.

C., at the same time, got a letter from my brother. He
writes in good spirits about our affairs. Jackson's career is
glorious. The sick and wounded are doing well; hospitals
are in good order, and the ladies indefatigable in nursing.
Surgeon-like, he tells more of the wounded than any thing
else. Rev. Mr. C. came up to-day, and gave us some
amusing incidents of Stuart's raid. As some of our men
rode by Mr. B's gate, several of them went in with Mr.
B's sons for a few moments. A dead Yankee lay at the
gate. Mrs. W. (Mrs. B's daughter) supposing he was only
wounded, ran out with restoratives to his assistance. While
standing there, two Yankees came up. Mrs. W. ordered
them to surrender, which one did without the slightest hesitation,
giving up his arms, which she immediately carried
in to her younger brother, who was badly armed. The other
escaped, but her prisoner went along with the crowd.
Yankee wagons are again taking off corn from W. The
men are very impertinent to C.

"24th.—Yankee scouts are very busy around us to-day.
They watch this river, and are evidently fearing a flank
movement upon them. Wagons passing to Dr. N's for
corn, guarded by Lancers, who are decidedly the worst specimens
we have seen. Compared with them, the regulars are
welcome guests. It is so strange that Colonel Rush, the
son of a distinguished man, whose mother belonged to one
of the first families in Maryland, the first-cousin of James
M. Mason, and Captain Mason of our navy, of Mrs.
General Cooper and Mrs. S. S. Lee, should consent to come
among his nearest of kin, at the head of ruffians like the
Lancers, to despoil and destroy our country! I suppose that
living in Philadelphia has hardened his heart against us, for
the city of Brotherly Love is certainly more fierce towards

us than any other. Boston cannot compare with it. This is
mortifying, because many of us had friends in Philadelphia,
whom we loved and admired. We hope and believe that
the Quaker element there is at the foundation of their ill-will.

"25th.—I got by chance a Philadelphia paper of the 20th.
Very little bragging, but an earnest appeal to their men to
be united, to forget that there will be any more presidential
elections, and to let squabbling among themselves alone;
that the critical time is at hand, etc.

"Friday, 27th.—The roar of cannon and musketry has
been incessant to-day; now as I sit in the yard it is terrific.
I doubt not that a general engagement is going on. O
God! be with us now; nerve the hearts and strengthen the
arms of our men! Give wisdom and skill to our commanders,
and grant us victory for thy great name's sake!

"28th.—We have just heard of our success, and that
Jackson and Ewell have come from the Valley, and have
flanked the enemy on the Chickahominy. Two of our
troopers called in this morning.

"July 1st.—Firing continues, but lower and lower down.
No news from my dear boys. I wish, but dread, to hear.

"2d.—My boys and nephews safe, God be praised! McClellan
in full retreat. C. and M. are sending off a wagon
with ice, chickens, bread, eggs, vegetables, etc., to our hospital
at Cold Harbor.

"July 4th.—A beautiful, glorious day, and one which the
Yankees expected confidently to spend triumphantly in
Richmond. Last Fourth of July old General Scott expected
to be there, to tread in triumph the fallen fortunes of
his quondam friends, and to-day McClellan has been obliged
to yield his visions of glory. `Man proposes, but God disposes.'

Many of their companions in arms are there, in the
Libby and other prisons, wounded in the hospitals, and dead
in the swamps and marshes, or buried on the battle-fields
while the `Grand Army' and the `Young Napoleon' are struggling desperately to get out of the bogs of the Chickahominy
to his gunboats on James River. I sent the carriage
to Richmond a day or two ago for Mr. N., but he writes
that he is sending it backwards and forwards to the battlefields
for the wounded. It is a season of wide-spread distress;
parties are going by constantly to seek their husbands,
brothers, sons, about whose fate they are uncertain. Some
old gentlemen passed yesterday, walking all the way from
Lancaster County. All the boats and bridges have been
destroyed on the rivers, and conveyances can't be put across.
Ladies are sent from river to river by those persons who
have conveyances and horses left to them. Oh, I trust that
blood enough has been spilled now! Dr. S. has just arrived;
he has been twenty miles below Richmond. He says the
Yankee dead still lie unburied in many places—our men are
too much worn out to undertake to bury them. The Yankee
hospitals, as well as our own, are all along the roads; their
hospital flag is red; ours is orange. They have their own
surgeons, and, of course, many delicacies that our men can't
have. The Northern papers speak of this retreat of McClellan's
as a `strategic movement.' The bloody fights of
eight days, the retreat of thirty miles, attended by immense
loss of life, thousands of prisoners, many guns, stores
of all kinds, etc., a `strategic movement!' But our loss
is heavy—so many valuable lives, and such suffering among
the wounded. O God! interpose and stop this cruel war!"

I quote no further from Mrs. N's diary, as the next page

was devoted to the visits of those dear ones whom God
had preserved amid strife and carnage. She mentions the
return of our dear W. B. N. from Fort Delaware on the
5th of August, where he had been for several months. He
asked but five days' furlough to be with his family, and then
returned to his regiment, (Fourth Cavalry.) His reception
by his company was most gratifying. As soon as he got to
camp, it drew up in line, and requested him to come to the
front, when the "Orderly" came up, leading a very handsome
bay horse, elegantly equipped, which he presented to
his "Captain," in the name of the company.

Lynchburg, September 2.—The papers to-day give
glorious news of a victory to our arms on the plains of
Manassas, on the 28th, 29th, and 30th. I will give General
Lee's telegram:

Nothing more to-day—my heart is full. The papers give
no news of the dead and wounded. The dreaded black-list

yet to come. In the mean time we must let no evil forebodings
mar our joy and thankfulness.

3d.—Wild stories on the street this morning, of the
capture of prisoners, killing of generals, etc. Burnside and
staff captured, they say. This last too good to be true.

4th.—Our victory at Manassas complete; the fight lasted
four days. General Kearney was killed in a cavalry fight
at Chantilly. Beautiful Chantilly has become a glorious
battle-field. The splendid trees and other lovely surroundings
all gone; but it is classic ground from this time. In
those fights I had eight nephews! Are they all safe?
I have heard from two, who fought gallantly, and are
unscathed. It is said that our army is to go to Maryland.

5th.—Our son J. arrived last night with quite a party,
his health greatly suffering from over-work in Richmond
during these exciting times. One of the party told me an
anecdote of General J. E. B. Stuart, which pleased me
greatly. Mrs. S. was in the cars, and near her sat a youth,
in all the pride of his first Confederate uniform, who had
attended General S. during his late raid as one of his guides
through his native county of Hanover. At one of the
water stations he was interesting the passengers by an
animated account of their hair-breadth escapes by flood and
field, and concluded by saying, "In all the tight places we
got into, I never heard the General swear an oath, and I
never saw him drink a drop." Mrs. S. was an amused
auditor of the excited narrative, and after the cars were in
motion she leaned forward, introduced herself to the boy,
and asked him if he knew the reason why General S. never
swears nor drinks; adding, "It is because he is a Christian
and loves God, and nothing will induce him to do what he

thinks wrong, and I want you and all his soldiers to follow
his example."

September 12.—No news from the army, except a letter
in the morning's paper speaking of General Lee's being
pleased with his reception in Maryland, and that our troops
are foraging in Pennsylvania. I hope so; I like the idea of
our army subsisting on the enemy; they certainly have subsisted
on us enough to be willing that we should return the
compliment. Took leave of our nephew, B. H. M., this
morning; he has been here on sick-leave, and has gone in
pursuit of his regiment, which is now across the Potomac.
Poor child! it was hard to see him go off alone, with his
child-like countenance and slender figure; but he is already
a veteran in the service, and has a most unflinching, undaunted
spirit.

Took a ride this evening with Mrs. D. through the beautiful
environs of this city. After getting beyond the hospitals,
there was nothing to remind us of war; all was
peaceful loveliness; we talked of days long passed, and
almost forgot that our land was the scene of bitter strife.
Sometimes I almost fancy that we are taking one of our
usual summer trips, with power to return when it terminates;
and then I am aroused, as from a sweet dream, to
find myself a homeless wanderer, surrounded by horrors of
which my wildest fancy had never conceived a possibility,
in this Christian land and enlightened day.

Sunday.—Just returned from church. Mr. K. gave us
a delightful sermon on our dependence on God as a people.
"When Moses held up his hand, then Israel prevailed; and
when he let down his hand, then Amalek prevailed." Oh,
that our hands may always be "held up" for our cause and
armies! Next Thursday (18th) is the day appointed by our

President as a day of thanksgiving for our successes. His
proclamation is so beautiful that I will copy it:

Tuesday, September 16th.—The papers to-day give no
account of our army in Maryland. General Loring has been
successful in the Kanawha Valley, in driving the enemy,
taking prisoners, and 5,000 stand of arms, etc. Our success
in the West still continues. Kentucky is represented to be
in a flame of excitement. General Kirby Smith asks for
20,000 stand of arms to be sent him to arm Kentuckians,
who are rushing to his standard. Cincinnati preparing for
defence, etc.

Yesterday I was surprised and delighted to see my nephew,
W. B. C. After passing through the bloody fight at
Manassas, he found he could not march into Maryland, in
consequence of the soreness of his wound received last
spring at Kernstown. He gives a graphic account of our
army's trials, tribulations, and successes at Manassas. Our
dear ones all passed safely through the fights.

Winchester once more disenthralled. My dear S. B. S.
about to return to her home there—but in what state will
she find it? When Jackson drove Banks down the Valley,
Dr. S., in passing through Winchester, stepped into the
open door of his house; found it had been Banks's headquarters;
the floors covered with papers torn up in haste;
the remnant of the General's breakfast on the dining-room
table, and other unmistakable signs of a recent and very
hurried departure.

September 18th.—Thanksgiving-day for our victories!
We went to church this morning and heard Mr. K's
admirable sermon from 1st Sam., chap. vii., v. 12: "Then
Samuel took a stone, and set it between Mizpeh and Shen,
and called the name of it Ebenezer, saying, Hitherto hath
the Lord helped us." Oh! I trust that this day has been
observed throughout the Confederacy. If all our duties
were as easily performed, we should be very good Christians;
but, alas! our hearts are often heavy, and do not cheerfully
respond to the calls of duty. In prosperity, praise and
thanksgiving seem to rise spontaneously to our lips, but to
humble ourselves, and feel our entire dependence, is a much
more difficult duty.

Saturday, September 20th.—An official account in the
morning's paper of the surrender of Harper's Ferry to our
men on Sunday last. Colonel Miles, the Federal commander,

surrendered, unconditionally, to General Jackson, 11,000
prisoners, 50 pieces of artillery, 12,000 stand of arms,
ammunition, quartermaster and commissary stores in large
quantities. McClellan attempted to come to the rescue of
Harper's Ferry. A courier was captured, sent by him to
Miles, imploring him to hold out until he could bring him
reinforcements. General Lee ordered General D. H. Hill
to keep McClellan in check, and, for this purpose, placed
him on the road near Boonesborough. It is said that McClellan
had a force of 80,000 men, and that General Hill,
on Saturday and Sunday, kept him in check all day—General
Longstreet getting up at night. Next day they
attacked him, repulsed and drove him five miles. The
details of the battle have not yet appeared. We have
further rumours of fighting, but nothing definite. It is
impossible for me to say how miserable we are about our
dear boys.

The body of Brigadier-General Garland was brought to
this, his native city, and his home, yesterday for interment.
He was killed in the battle near Boonesborough. This event
was a great shock to the community, where he was loved,
admired, and respected. His funeral yesterday evening was
attended by an immense concourse of mourning friends. It
made my heart ache, as a soldier's funeral always does. I
did not know him, but I know that he was "the only child
of his mother, and she is a widow;" and I know, moreover,
that the country cannot spare her chivalric sons.

Monday Night, September 22d.—Probably the most
desperate battle of the war was fought last Wednesday
near Sharpsburg, Maryland. Great loss on both sides.
The Yankees claim a great victory, while our men do the
same. We were left in possession of the field on Wednesday

night, and buried our dead on Thursday. Want of
food and other stores compelled our generals to remove our
forces to the Virginia side of the river, which they did on
Thursday night, without molestation. This is all I can
gather from the confused and contradictory accounts of the
newspapers.

24th.—Still no official account of the Sharpsburg fight,
and no list of casualties. The Yankee loss in generals very
great—they must have fought desperately. Reno, Mansfield,
and Miles were killed; others badly wounded. The
Yankee papers say that their loss of "field officers is unaccountable;"
and add, that but for the wounding of General
Hooker, they would have driven us into the Potomac!

25th.—The tables were turned on Saturday, as we succeeded
in driving a good many of them into the Potomac.
Ten thousand Yankees crossed at Shepherdstown, but
unfortunately for them, they found the glorious Stonewall
there. A fight ensued at Boteler's Mill, in which General
Jackson totally routed General Pleasanton and his command.
The account of the Yankee slaughter is fearful.
As they were recrossing the river our cannon was suddenly
turned upon them. They were fording. The river is represented
as being blocked up with the dead and dying, and
crimsoned with blood. Horrible to think of! But why
will they have it so? At any time they might stop fighting,
and return to their own homes. We do not want their
blood, but only to be separated from them as a people,
eternally and everlastingly. Mr. ——, Mrs. D., and myself,
went to church this evening, and after an address from Mr.
K. we took a delightful ride.

A letter from B. H. M., the first she has been able to
write for six months, except by "underground railroad,"

with every danger of having them read, and perhaps published
by the enemy. How, in the still beautiful but much
injured Valley, they do rejoice in their freedom! Their
captivity—for surrounded as they were by implacable
enemies, it is captivity of the most trying kind—has been
very oppressive to them. Their cattle, grain, and every
thing else, have been taken from them. The gentlemen are
actually keeping their horses in their cellars to protect them.
Now they are rejoicing in having their own Southern soldiers
around them; they are busily engaged nursing the wounded;
hospitals are established in Winchester, Berryville, and other
places.

Letters from my nephews, W. B. N. and W. N. The
first describes the fights of Boonesborough, Sharpsburg, and
Shepherdstown. He says the first of these was the severest
hand-to-hand cavalry fight of the war. All were terrific.
W. speaks of his feelings the day of the surrender of
Harper's Ferry. As they were about to charge the enemy's
intrenchments, he felt as if he were marching into the jaws
of death, with scarcely a hope of escape. The position
was very strong, and the charge would be up a tremendous
hill over felled timber, which lay thickly upon it—the
enemy's guns, supported by infantry in intrenchments, playing
upon them all the while. What was their relief, therefore,
to descry the white flag waving from the battlements!
He thinks that, in the hands of resolute men, the position
would have been impregnable. Thank God, the Yankees
thought differently, and surrendered, thus saving many valuable
lives, and giving us a grand success. May they ever
be thus minded!

30th.—The Richmond Examiner of yesterday contains
Lincoln's Proclamation, declaring all the negroes free from

the 1st of January next! The Abolition papers are in
ecstasies; as if they did not know that it can only be
carried out within their lines, and there they have been
practically free from the moment we were invaded. The
New York Tribune is greatly incensed at the capture of
Harper's Ferry; acknowledges that the battle of Sharpsburg
was a disaster to them—Sumner's corps alone having lost
5,000 men in killed and wounded. It says it was the
"fiercest, bloodiest, and most indecisive battle of the war."
Oh, that their losses could convince them of the wickedness
of this contest! but their appetite seems to grow on what it
feeds upon. Blood, blood, is still their cry. My heart sickens
at the thought of what our dear soldiers have yet to pass
through. Arise, O God, in thy strength, and save us from
our relentless foes, for thy great name's sake!

Mr. —— has improved so much in health that we return
in a few days to Richmond, that he may again enter upon
the duties of his office. Ashland is our destiny for next
year; the difficulty of obtaining a house or board in Richmond
has induced us to join a party of refugee friends in
taking a cottage there. Our children are already there, and
write that a comfortable room is awaiting us. Last night we
received a message from Mrs. and Miss S., of Alexandria,
that they were in this place, having run the blockade, from
their oppressed home, during the battles around Richmond,
when many of the soldiers had been withdrawn, and of
course the surveillance of the old town had become less severe.
Mrs. D., of Alexandria, and myself went directly
after breakfast to see them. They had much to tell of the
reign of terror through which they had gone, and nothing
very satisfactory of our homes. Mrs. D's house was occupied
as barracks, and ours as a hospital. Miss —— had accompanied

our friend Mrs. — there one day during the last winter;
it was used as a hospital, except the front rooms, which
were occupied by General N. (a renegade Virginian) as headquarters.
Can it be that any native of Virginia can be untrue
to her now? Let General Scott, General Newton,
and Captain Fairfax answer! General N. married a Northern
wife, which must account for his defection. The ladies
drove up to our poor old home, the road winding among
stumps of trees, which had been our beautiful oak grove;
but one tree was left to show where it had been; they inquired
for Mrs. N. She was out, and they determined to
walk over the house, that they might see the state of our
furniture, etc. They went up-stairs, but, on opening the
door of our daughter's room, they found a lady standing at
a bed, cutting out work. Mrs. — closed the door and
turned to my chamber; this she found occupied by a family,
children running about the room, etc.; these she afterwards
found were the families of the surgeons. With no very
amiable feelings she closed that door and went to another
room, which, to her relief, was unoccupied; the old familiar
furniture stood in its place, and hanging over the mantel
was my husband's portrait. We left it put away with other
pictures. The wardrobe, which we had left packed with
valuables, stood open and empty; just by it was a large
travelling-trunk filled with clothing, which, she supposed,
was about to be transferred to the wardrobe. She turned
away, and on going down-stairs met Mrs. N., who politely
invited her into her (!) parlour. The piano, sofas, etc., were
arranged precisely as she had been accustomed to see them
arranged, she supposed by our servants, some of whom were
still there. This furniture we had left carefully rolled together,
and covered, in another room. The weather was
cold, and the floor was covered with matting, but no carpet.
Mrs. N. apologized, saying that she had lately arrived, and
did not know that there was a carpet in the house until, the
day before, she was "exploring" the third story, and found
in a locked room some very nice ones, which the soldiers
were now shaking, and "she should make herself comfortable."
She had just before been expressing holy horror at
the soldiers in Alexandria having injured and appropriated
the property of others. Mrs. — looked at her wonderingly!
Does she consider these carpets her own? Our
parlour curtains were upon the passage-table, ready to
be put up. She found them, no doubt, while exploring
the third story, for there we left them securely wrapped
up to protect them from moths. Ah! there are some
species of moths (bipeds) from which bars and bolts
could not protect them. This we did not anticipate. We
thought that Federal officers were gentlemen!

October 1st.—Letters from Winchester, giving cheering
accounts of our army. It is stationed at Bunker's Hill, twelve
miles from Winchester, greatly increased since our recent
fights, and in fine spirits. We leave Lynchburg to-morrow,
and after spending a few days with our friends at
the University, proceed to Richmond and Ashland.

3d.—University of Virginia.—Arrived here yesterday,
and met with a glowing reception from the friends of my
youth, Professor and Mrs. Maupin. My sister, Mrs. C.,
and daughters, staying next door, at Professor Minor's.
In less than five minutes we were all together—the first
time for many anxious months. They are refugees, and
can only hear from home when our army finds it convenient
to clear "The Valley" of invaders. One of her sons,
dear R., was ordered last winter, by General Jackson, to

command a body of soldiers, whom he sent to break the dam
in the Potomac, which at that point supplied the Ohio and
Chesapeake Canal with water—(it also worked his mother's
mill)—and the breaking of which, if effectually done, would
prevent the Yankees from using the canal for transportation.
This dangerous project was undertaken most cheerfully, and
was most thoroughly effected. It was necessarily done in the
night, to elude the vigilance of the Yankees on the Maryland
shore. In the dead hour of the winter's night did
some of the first gentlemen's sons in the South, who happened
to belong to that portion of the army, work up to
their waists in water, silently, quietly, until the work was
finished; nor were they discovered until day dawned, and
revealed them retiring; then shot and shell began to fall
among them furiously. One of the brave band fell! Notwithstanding
their danger, his companions could not leave
him, but lifted him tenderly, and carried him to a place of
safety, where he might at least have Christian burial by
sympathizing friends. The large old mill, which had for
many years sent its hundreds and thousands of barrels of
flour to the Baltimore and Georgetown markets, still stood,
though its wheels were hushed by the daring act of the
night before. It had been used of late by the Yankees for
their own purposes. The enemy seemed to have forgotten
to destroy it, but the Union men could not allow their old
friend and neighbour, though the widow of one whom they
had once delighted to honour, to have such valuable property
left to her; they immediately communicated to the Yankees
that it belonged to the mother of the leader of the party who
broke the dam. It was, of course, shelled and burned to
the ground, except its old stone walls, which defied their
fury; but if it helped the cause, the loss of the property
did not weigh a feather with the family. This son has
just been promoted to the lieutenant-colonelcy of the Second
Regiment. His mother expressed her gratification, but
added, that he had been so successful as captain of the
company which he had raised, drilled, and led out from his
own county, that she dreaded a change; besides, in that
Second Regiment so many field-officers had fallen, that she
had almost a superstitious dread of it. My dear R., his
heart is so bound up in the cause, that self-preservation is
the last thing that ever occurs to him. Oh! I trust that
all evil may be averted from him.

It is sad to see these elegant University buildings, and
that beautiful lawn, which I have always seen teeming with life
and animation, now almost deserted. Two of the Professors
are on the field; the Professors of Medicine and Surgery are
surgeons in the neighbouring hospitals, and Dr. B. is Assist
ant Secretary of War. Others, unfitted by age and other
circumstances for the service, are here pursuing their usual
avocations with assiduity, but through many difficulties.
The students are mere boys, not arrived at military age, or,
in a few instances, wounded soldiers unfit for service. The
hospitals at Charlottesville are very large, and said to be
admirably managed. Every lady at this place, or in town,
seems to be actively engaged in making the patients comfortable.
The kitchens are presided over by ladies; each
lady knows her own day to go to a particular kitchen to see
that the food is properly prepared and served to the patients—I
mean those who are confined to their beds or
wards—the regular "matrons" do every thing else. This
rich country supplies milk, butter, fruit, vegetables, fresh
meat, etc.; and all kinds of delicacies are prepared by the
ladies. Our friends, Dr. and Mrs. M., have sons in the

field. The elder, though not of military age at the time,
shouldered his musket at the first tap of the drum; he
would not be restrained. When I saw him, with his slight
figure and boyish look, in his uniform and soldier's trappings,
my heart sank within me, as I remembered that 'twas
but as yesterday that this child, with his picture beauty,
was the pet of the household. Now he is quite a veteran;
has fought on many a field; scorns the idea of danger; prides
himself on being a good soldier; never unnecessarily asking
for furloughs, and always being present at roll-call. The
second son, but sixteen, as his father would not allow him
to enlist, has gone as an independent in a cavalry company,
merely, he said, for the "summer campaign." Ah! in this
"summer campaign," scarcely equalled in the annals of history,
what horrors might have come! But he has passed
through safely, and his father has recalled him to his college
duties. Their mother bears the separation from them, as
women of the South invariably do, calmly and quietly, with
a humble trust in God, and an unwavering confidence in
the justice and righteousness of our cause.

W., Hanover County, October 6th.—We left the University
on the 4th, and finding J. B. N. on the cars, on
"sick-leave," I determined to stop with him here to spend
a few days with my sisters, while Mr. — went on to
Richmond and Ashland. I do nothing but listen—for
my life during the last three months has been quiet, compared
with that of others. J. gives most interesting
accounts of all he has seen, from the time he came up the
Peninsula with the army in May, until he was broken down,
and had to leave it, in Maryland, after the battle of Sharpsburg.
As a surgeon, his personal danger has not been so
great as that of others, but he has passed through scenes

the most trying and the most glorious. My sisters and M.
give graphic descriptions of troubles while in the enemy's
lines, but, with the exception of loss of property, our whole
family has passed through the summer unscathed. Many
friends have fallen, and one noble young relative, E. B., of
Richmond County; and I often ask myself, in deep humility
of soul, why we have been thus blessed, for since our dear
W. P. and General McIntosh fell, the one in December,
the other in March, we have been singularly blessed. Can
this last, when we have so many exposed to danger? O,
God, spare our sons! Our friend, Dr. T., of this neighbourhood,
lost two sons at Sharpsburg! Poor old gentleman! it
is so sad to see his deeply-furrowed, resigned face.

McClellan's troops were very well-behaved while in this
neighbourhood; they took nothing but what they considered
contraband, such as grain, horses, cattle, sheep, etc., and
induced the servants to go off. Many have gone—it is
only wonderful that more did not go, considering the inducements
that were offered. No houses were burned, and
not much fencing. The ladies' rooms were not entered
except when a house was searched, which always occurred
to unoccupied houses; but I do not think that much was
stolen from them. Of course, silver, jewelry, watches, etc.,
were not put in their way. Our man Nat, and some others
who went off, have returned—the reason they assign is, that
the Yankees made them work too hard! It is so hard to
find both families without carriage horses, and with only
some mules which happened to be in Richmond when the
place was surrounded. A wagon, drawn by mules, was sent
to the depot for us. So many of us are now together that we
feel more like quiet enjoyment than we have done for months.

8th.—Mr. N. joined us this morning, and we all gathered

here for the day. It seemed so much like old times, that C.
broke a war rule, and gave us pound-cake for supper.

9th.—A very pleasant day at S. H. The ladies all
busily knitting for our soldiers—oh, that we could make
them comfortable for the winter!

10th.—Bad news! The papers bring an account of the
defeat of our army at Corinth. It was commanded by
General Van Dorn—the Federals by Rosecranz. They
fought Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The fight said to
have been very bloody—great loss on both sides. The first
two days we had the advantage, but on Sunday the Yankees
"brought up reinforcements," and our men had to retire to
Ripley. The Northern papers do not brag quite so much
as usual; they say their loss was very great, particularly in
officers; from which, I hope it was not quite so bad with us
as our first accounts represent. This bringing up of reinforcements,
which the Yankees do in such numbers, is ruinous
to us. Ah! if we could only fight them on an equal
footing, we could expunge them from the face of the earth;
but we have to put forth every energy to get rid of them,
while they come like the frogs, the flies, the locusts, and the
rest of the vermin which infested the land of Egypt, to
destroy our peace.

Richmond, October 15th.—Yesterday morning my sister
M., J. W., and myself, drove up from W. to the depot,
seven miles, in a wagon, with four mules. It was a charming
morning, and we had a delightful ride; took the accommodation
cars at twelve and arrived here at two. We drove
to the Exchange, and were delighted to find there our dear J.
McI. and her little Bessie, on her way to W. to spend the
winter. Poor thing, her lot is a sad one! She was excited
by seeing us, and was more cheerful than I expected to see

her; though she spoke constantly of her husband, and dwelt
on her last days with him. She was in Memphis; her little
Jemmie was excessively ill; she telegraphed for her husband
in Arkansas. He came at once, and determined that
it would be better to take the little boy to the house of his
aunt in Louisiana, that J. might be with her sister. They
took the boat, and after a few hours arrived at Mr. K's
house. The child grew gradually worse, and was dying,
when a telegram came to General McIntosh from General
Price, "Come at once—a battle is imminent." He did not
hesitate; the next steamer bore him from his dying child
and sorrowing wife to the field of battle, Pea Ridge. He
wrote to her, immediately on his arrival at camp, the most
beautifully resigned letter, full of sorrow for her and for his
child, but expressing the most noble, Christian sentiments.
Oh, how she treasures it! The lovely boy died the day
after his father left him! The mother said, "For a week
H. and myself did nothing but decorate my little grave, and
I took a melancholy pleasure in it; but darker days came,
and I could not go even to that spot." She dreamed, a few
nights after little Jemmie's death, of being at Fort Smith,
her home before the war; standing on the balcony of her
husband's quarters, her attention was arrested by a procession—an
officer's funeral. As it passed under the balcony
she called to a passer-by: "Whose funeral is that?"
"General McIntosh's, madam." She was at once aroused,
and ran to her sister's room in agony. She did what she
could to comfort her, but the dream haunted her imagination.
A few days afterwards she saw a servant ride into
the yard, with a note for Mrs. K. Though no circumstance
was more common, she at once exclaimed, "It is about my
husband." She did not know that the battle had taken
place; but it was the fatal telegram. The soldiers carried
his body to Fort Smith, and buried it there. To-morrow
she returns, with her aunt, to W. She wishes to get to
her mother's home in Kentucky, but it is impossible for
her to run the blockade with her baby, and there is no other
way open to her.

Ashland, October 19.—We are now snugly fixed in Ashland.
Our mess consists of Bishop J. and family, Major J.
and wife, Lieutenant J. J. and wife (our daughter,) Mrs. S.
and daughter, of Chantilly, Mr. —, myself, and our two
young daughters—a goodly number for a cottage with eight
small rooms; but we are very comfortable. All from one
neighbourhood, all refugees, and none able to do better, we
are determined to take every thing cheerfully. Many
remarks are jestingly made suggestive of unpleasant collisions
among so many families in one house; but we anticipate
no evils of that kind; each has her own place, and her
own duties to perform; the young married ladies of the
establishment are by common consent to have the housekeeping
troubles; their husbands are to be masters, with the
onerous duties of caterers, treasurers, etc. We old ladies
have promised to give our sage advice and experience,
whenever it is desired. The girls will assist their sisters,
with their nimble fingers, in cases of emergency; and the
clerical gentlemen are to have their own way, and to do
their own work without let or hindrance. All that is required
of them is, that they shall be household chaplains,
and that Mr. — shall have service every Sunday at the
neglected village church. With these discreet regulations,
we confidently expect a most pleasant and harmonious
establishment. Our young gentlemen are officers stationed
in Richmond. Mr. — and themselves go in every morning

in the cars, after an early breakfast, and return to
dinner at five o'clock. J. J. and myself have free tickets
to go on the cars to attend to our hospital duties. I go in
twice a week for that purpose.

A dispatch just received from General Bragg, claiming a
signal victory at Perryville; but in consequence of the arrival
of large reinforcements to the enemy, he had fallen back
to Cumberland Gap. These victories without permanent
results do us no good, and so much blood is spilled. There
seems to be a revolution going on at the North. Ohio,
Indiana, and Pennsylvania have given the Democrats a
large majority for Congress! So may it be!

November 4.—A letter from my dear S. at Winchester.
She says she is wearing herself down in the Confederate
service; but there are so many soldiers in the hospitals that
she is too much interested to give up nursing them even for
a day. Our army still at Bunker's Hill. We are expecting
daily to hear that it is falling back. When they leave the
Valley all the sick that can be moved will be brought down
to the Richmond hospitals, which are now comparatively
empty.

November 7.—The snow falling rapidly—the trees and
shrubs in full leaf, and the rose-bushes, in bright bloom, are
borne down by the snow. Our poor soldiers! What are
they to do to-night, without shelter, and without blankets?
Everybody seems to be doing what they can to supply their
wants; many persons are having carpets made into soldiers'
blankets. My brother J. told me that he had every chamber
carpet in the house, except one, converted into coverlets;
and this is by no means a singular instance. A number of
coverlets, made of the most elegant Brussels carpeting, were
sent by Mr. B., of Halifax County, the other day, to our

hospital, with a request to Miss T. that blankets should be
given from the hospital to the camp, as more easily transported
from place to place, and the carpeting retained in
the hospital. This was immediately done. The blankets
that could be spared from private houses were given last
winter. How it gladdens my heart when I see that a vessel
has run the blockade, and arrived safely at some Southern
port, laden with ammunition, arms, and clothing for the
army! The Bishop and J. have just left us, for the council
of the Southern Church, to meet at Augusta, Georgia. Oh
that their proceedings may be directed by the All-wise Counsellor!

12th.—Spent yesterday at the hospital—very few patients.
Our army in the Valley falling back; and the two armies
said to be very near each other, and much skirmishing.
Our dear W. B. N. had his horse shot under him a few days
ago. This is fearful. Our country is greatly afflicted, and
our dear ones in great peril; but the Lord reigneth—He,
who stilleth the raging of the seas, can surely save us from
our enemies and all that hate us—to Him do we look for
help.

A Baltimore paper of the 11th gives an account of
McClellan having been superseded by Burnside. We are
delighted at this, for we believe McC. to be the better
general of the two. It is said that he was complained of
by Halleck for not pushing the army on, and preventing the
capture of Harper's Ferry and the 11,000. McC. knew it
could not be done, for he had General Jackson to oppose
him! His removal was an unexpected blow to the North,
producing great excitement. Oh that the parties there
would fight among themselves! The Northern papers are
insisting upon another "On to Richmond," and hint that

McC. was too slow about every thing. The "Young
Napoleon" has fallen from his high estate, and returns to his
family at Trenton! The Yankees are surely an absurd
race, to say the least of them. At one moment extolling
their generals as demi-gods, the next hurling them to the
dust—none so poor as to do them reverence. "General
McClellan is believed to have passed through Washington
last night," is the announcement of a late Yankee paper,
of the idol of last week.

18th.—Another raid upon Fredericksburg; much mischief
done! They are preparing for a second evacuation of the
town! The number of refugees will be greatly increased,
and where are they to go? Poor homeless wanderers,
leaving business and the means of support to the mercy of
a vindictive soldiery!

Letters from our Valley friends taking leave of us,
written some time ago, when the enemy were again closing
around them. We are very anxious about them. Their
situation is becoming pitiable; every new set of troops
help themselves to whatever suits their fancy—stock of all
sorts, grain, meat, every thing valuable and portable!
Silver, glass, china, has to be buried, and very adroitly, or
it is found. Some of the servants are very unfaithful, and
let the enemy in to the most private places. There are some
honourable exceptions to this last remark. Our relative,
Mr. P., has moved below the mountains for security; but
he was in the habit, when at home, of intrusting every thing
to his house-servant, including his wine and ardent spirits—
and it was all kept sacredly—the master knew not where;
but on each departure of the enemy every thing would be
returned to its accustomed place, in good order.

November 23.—Poor Fredericksburg! The enemy on

the Stafford side of the river in force; their cannon planted
on the hills. Day before yesterday they demanded the surrender
of the town, which was declined by General Lee.
They then threatened to shell it, at nine o'clock this morning;
but it is now night and it has not been done. It is hourly
expected, however, and women and children are being hurried
off, leaving every thing behind, except what they can get
off in bundles, boxes, etc. There is no transportation for
heavy articles. The Vandals threw a shell at a train of
cars filled with women and children. It burst very near
them, but they were providentially protected. A battle is
daily expected. In the mean time the sufferings of wandering
women and children are very great.

November 25.—Just from the depot. The cars have
gone to Richmond, filled with non-combatants from Fredericksburg—ladies,
with their children, many of whom
know not where to go. They will get to Richmond after
dark, and many propose staying in the cars this cold night,
and seeking a resting-place to-morrow. The feeling of
desolation among them is dreadful. Oh, how I wish that
I had even one room to offer! The bombardment has not
commenced, but General Lee requested last night that
the women and children who had not gone should go without
delay. This seems to portend hot work.

29th.—Nothing of importance from the army. The
people of Fredericksburg suffering greatly from the sudden
move. I know a family, accustomed to every luxury at
home, now in a damp basement-room in Richmond. The
mother and three young daughters cooking, washing, etc.;
the father, a merchant, is sick and cut off from business,
friends, and every thing else. Another family, consisting of
mother and four daughters, in one room, supported by the

work of one of the daughters who has an office in the Note-Signing
Department. To keep starvation from the house is
all that they can do; their supplies in Fredericksburg can't
be brought to them—no transportation. I cannot mention
the numbers who are similarly situated; the country is
filled with them. Country houses, as usual, show a marvellous
degree of elasticity. A small house accommodating
any number who may apply; pallets spread on the floor;
every sofa and couch sheeted for visitors of whom they
never heard before. If the city people would do more in
that way, there would be less suffering. Every cottage in
this village is full; and now families are looking with wistful
eyes at the ball-room belonging to the hotel, which, it seems
to me, might be partitioned off to accommodate several
families. The billiard-rooms are taken, it is said, though
not yet occupied. But how everybody is to be supported
is a difficult question to decide. Luxuries have been
given up long ago, by many persons. Coffee is $4 per
pound, and good tea from $18 to $20; butter ranges from
$1.50 to $2 per pound; lard 50 cents; corn $15 per barrel;
and wheat $4.50 per bushel. We can't get a muslin
dress for less than $6 or $8 per yard; calico $1.75,
etc. This last is no great hardship, for we will all resort to
homespun. We are knitting our own stockings, and regret
that we did not learn to spin and weave. The North Carolina
homespun is exceedingly pretty, and makes a genteel
dress; the only difficulty is in the dye; the colours are
pretty, but we have not learned the art of setting the wood
colours; but we are improving in that art too, and when
the first dye fades, we can dip them again in the dye.

30th.—The Yankee army ravaging Stafford County dreadfully,
but they do not cross the river. Burnside, with the

"greatest army on the planet," is quietly waiting and watching
our little band on the opposite side. Is he afraid to
venture over? His "On to Richmond" seems slow.

December 10.—Just returned from a visit of a week to
my old friend Mrs. C. Her home in Richmond is the very
picture of comfort and hospitality; having wealth, she
uses it freely, in these troublous times, for the comfort of
others. If all hearts were as large as hers, there would be
no refugees in garrets and cellars. I was touched by her
attention to Mr. —, whom she had always seen engaged
in his duties as a minister of the Gospel. She seemed to
think it a kind of sacrilege to see him employed from nine
until four o'clock in the duties of his secular office, and
"to think of his reverend and hoary head bending over a
clerk's desk;" she would say: "Oh, what awful times!" I
told her that she must not think of it in that light; that
he had been greatly blessed to get the office, which supported
us so much better than many other refugees. While
talking this way, she would be suiting the action to the
word, by rolling up a most delightful chair to the fire, placing
a small table before it, ready for some nice refreshment
when he returned. It is trying to see him work so hard for
our support, in his delicate state of health. The girls and
myself are very anxious to get work from Government,
signing notes, copying—any thing to assist in supporting
ourselves; but we have tried in vain, and I suppose it is
right, for there are so many widows and orphans who have
a much higher claim to any thing that Government can do
for them. We have heard heavy firing to-day. The car passengers
report that there is skirmishing near Port Royal.

13th.—Our hearts are full of apprehension! A battle
is going on at or near Fredericksburg. The Federal army

passed over the river on their pontoons night before last.
They attempted to throw the bridges over it at three places;
from two of these they were driven back with much slaughter;
at the third they crossed. Our army was too small
to guard all points. The firing is very heavy and incessant.
We hear it with terrible distinctness from our portico. God
of mercy, be with our people, and drive back the invaders!
I ask not for their destruction; but that they may be driven
to their own homes, never more to put foot on our soil;
that we may enjoy the sweets of peace and security once
more. Our dear boys—now as ever—I commit them into
Thy hands.

Night.—Passengers report heavy skirmishing before they
left Fredericksburg this morning, but cannonading tells us
of bloody work since. A few wounded men were carried
by to-night. We went to the depot to see if there were any
particular friends among them, but found none.

14th.—Firing in the direction of Fredericksburg renewed
this morning, but at irregular intervals. Telegraph
wires are cut. No news except from passengers in the
trains. The cars are not allowed to go to the town, but
stop at a point some miles below. They report that every
thing goes on well for us, of which we were sure, from the
receding sound of the cannon. Praise the Lord, O my
soul, and all that is within me praise His holy name! How
can we be thankful enough for such men as General Lee,
General Jackson, and our glorious army, rank and file!

Nine o'Clock at Night.—A sad, sad train passed down
a short time ago, bearing the bodies of Generals Cobb, of
Georgia, and Maxcy Gregg, of South Carolina. Two noble
spirits have thus passed away from us. Peace to their
honoured remains! The gentlemen report many wounded on

the train, but not very severely. I fear it has been another
bloody Sabbath. The host of wounded will pass to-morrow;
we must be up early to prepare to administer to their
comfort. The sound of cannon this evening was much more
distant, and not constant enough for a regular fight. We
are victorious again! Will they now go from our shores
forever? We dread to hear of the casualties. Who may
not be among the wounded to-morrow?

15th.—An exciting day. Trains have been constantly
passing with the wounded for the Richmond hospitals.
Every lady, every child, every servant in the village, has
been engaged preparing and carrying food to the wounded
as the cars stopped at the depot—coffee, tea, soup, milk,
and every thing we could obtain. With eager eyes and
beating hearts we watched for those most dear to us. Sometimes
they were so slightly injured as to sit at the windows
and answer our questions, which they were eager to do.
They exult in the victory. I saw several poor fellows shot
through the mouth—they only wanted milk; it was soothing
and cooling to their lacerated flesh. One, whom I did
not see, had both eyes shot out. But I cannot write of the
horrors of this day. Nothing but an undying effort to administer
to their comfort could have kept us up. The
Bishop was with us all day, and the few gentlemen who remained
in the village. When our gentlemen came home at
five o'clock they joined us, and were enabled to do what we
could not—walk through each car, giving comfort as they
went. The gratitude of those who were able to express it
was so touching! They said that the ladies were at every
depot with refreshments. As the cars would move off, those
who were able would shout their blessings on the ladies of
Virginia: "We will fight, we will protect the ladies of Virginia."

Ah, poor fellows, what can the ladies of Virginia
ever do to compensate them for all they have done and suffered
for us? As a train approached late this evening,
we saw comparatively very few sitting up. It was immediately
surmised that it contained the desperately
wounded—perhaps many of the dead. With eager eyes
we watched, and before it stopped I saw Surgeon J. P.
Smith (my connection) spring from the platform, and come
towards me; my heart stood still. "What is it, Doctor?
Tell me at once." "Your nephews, Major B. and Captain
C., are both on the train, dangerously wounded."
"Mortally?" "We hope not. You will not be allowed to
enter the car; come to Richmond to-morrow morning; B.
will be there for you to nurse. I shall carry W. C. on
the morning cars to his mother at the University. We
will do our best for both." In a moment he was gone.
Of course I shall go down in the early cars, and devote
my life to B. until his parents arrive. I am writing now
because I can't sleep, and must be occupied. The cars
passed on, and we filled our pitchers, bowls and baskets,
to be ready for others. We cannot yield to private feelings
now; they may surge up and rush through our hearts
until they almost burst them, but they must not overwhelm
us. We must do our duty to our country, and it
can't be done by nursing our own sorrows.