University of Virginia Library

1864.

January 1, 1864.—A melancholy pause in my diary.
After returning from church on the night of the 13th, a
telegram was handed me from Professor Minor, of the University
of Virginia, saying, "Come at once, Colonel Colston
is extremely ill." After the first shock was over, I wrote
an explanatory note to Major Brewer, why I could not be
at the office next day, packed my trunk, and was in the
cars by seven in the morning. That evening I reached the
University, and found dear R. desperately ill with pneumonia,
which so often follows, as in the case of General Jackson,
the amputation of limbs. Surgeons Davis and Cabell
were in attendance, and R's uncle, Dr. Brockenbrough,
arrived the next day. After ten days of watching and nursing,
amid alternate hopes and fears, we saw our friend Dr.
Maupin close our darling's eyes, on the morning of the 23d;
and on Christmas-day a military escort laid him among
many brother soldiers in the Cemetery of the University of
Virginia. He died in the faith of Christ, and with the glorious
hope of immortality. His poor mother is heart-stricken,
but she, together with his sisters, and one dearer still, had
the blessed, and what is now the rare privilege, of soothing
and nursing him in his last hours. To them, and to us all,
his life seemed as a part of our own. His superior judgment
and affectionate temper made him the guide of his whole

family. To them his loss can never be supplied. His country
has lost one of its earliest and best soldiers. Having
been educated at the Virginia Military Institute, he raised
and drilled a company in his native County of Berkeley, at
the time of the John Brown raid. In 1861 he again led
that company to Harper's Ferry. From that time he was
never absent more than a week or ten days from his command,
and even when wounded at Gaines's Mills, he absented
himself but three days, and was again at his post
during the several last days of those desperate fights. His
fatal wound was received in his nineteenth general engagement,
in none of which had he his superior in bravery and
devotion to the cause. He was proud of belonging
to the glorious Stonewall Brigade, and I have been told
by those who knew the circumstances, that he was confided
in and trusted by General Jackson to a remarkable
degree.

Thus we bury, one by one, the dearest, the brightest, the
best of our domestic circles. Now, in our excitement, while
we are scattered, and many of us homeless, these separations
are poignant, nay, overwhelming; but how can we estimate
the sadness of heart which will pervade the South
when the war is over, and we are again gathered together
around our family hearths and altars, and find the circles
broken? One and another gone. Sometimes the father
and husband, the beloved head of the household, in whom
was centred all that made life dear. Again the eldest son
and brother of the widowed home, to whom all looked for
guidance and direction; or, perhaps, that bright youth, on
whom we had not ceased to look as still a child, whose fair,
beardless cheek we had but now been in the habit of smoothing
with our hands in fondness—one to whom mother and

sisters would always give the good-night kiss, as his peculiar
due, and repress the sigh that would arise at the thought
that college or business days had almost come to take him
from us. And then we will remember the mixed feeling of
hope and pride when we first saw this household pet don
his jacket of gray and shoulder his musket for the field;
how we would be bright and cheerful before him, and turn
to our chambers to weep oceans of tears when he is fairly
gone. And does he, too, sleep his last sleep? Does our
precious one fill a hero's grave? O God! help us, for the
wail is in the whole land! "Rachel weeping for her children,
and will not be comforted, because they are not." In
all the broad South there will be scarcely a fold without
its missing lamb, a fireside without its vacant chair. And
yet we must go on. It is our duty to rid our land of invaders;
we must destroy the snake which is endeavouring to
entwine us in its coils, though it drain our heart's blood. We
know that we are right in the sight of God, and that we must
The Lord reigneth, be the earth never so unquiet.

January 3.—Entered on the duties of my office on the
30th of December. So far I like it well. "The Major" is
very kind, and considerate of our comfort; the duties of the
office are not very onerous, but rather confining for one who
left school thirty-four years ago, and has had no restraint
of the kind during the interim. The ladies, thirty-five
in number, are of all ages, and representing various parts
of Virginia, also Maryland and Louisiana. Many of

them are refugees. It is melancholy to see how many
wear mourning for brothers or other relatives, the victims
of war. One sad young girl sits near me, whose two
brothers have fallen on the field, but she is too poor to
buy mourning. I found many acquaintances, and when I
learned the history of others, it was often that of fallen
fortunes and destroyed homes. One young lady, of high-sounding
Maryland name, was banished from Baltimore,
because of her zeal in going to the assistance of our Gettysburg
wounded. The society is pleasant, and we hope to
get along very agreeably. I am now obliged to visit the
hospital in the afternoon, and I give it two evenings in the
week. It is a cross to me not to be able to give it more
time; but we have very few patients just now, so that it
makes very little difference.

January 15.—Nothing new from the armies—all quiet.
At home we are in statu quo, except that we have had
a very agreeable accession to our family party in the person
of Colonel C. F. M. G. He sleeps in his office, and messes
with us. He cheers us every day by bringing the latest
news, in the most pleasant form which the nature of the
case will admit. My occupation at home just now is
as new as that in the office—it is shoe-making. I am
busy upon the second pair of gaiter boots. They are
made of canvas, presented me by a friend. It was
taken from one of our James River vessels, and has been
often spread to the breeze, under the "Stars and Bars."
The vessel was sunk among the obstructions at Drury's
Bluff. The gaiters are cut out by a shoemaker, stitched
and bound by the ladies, then soled by a shoemaker, for
the moderate sum of fifty dollars. Last year he put soles
on a pair for ten dollars. They are then blacked with the

material used for blacking guns in the navy. They are
very handsome gaiters, and bear polishing by blacking and
the shoe-brush as well as morocco. They are lasting, and
very cheap when compared with those we buy, which are
from $125 to $150 per pair. We are certainly becoming
very independent of foreign aid. The girls make beautifully
fitting gloves, of dark flannel, cloth, linen, and any other
material we can command. We make very nice blacking,
and a friend has just sent me a bottle of brilliant black
ink, made of elderberries.

February 15.—A pause in my diary; but nothing of
importance has occurred, either at home or with the country.
The armies are mud-bound—I wish they could continue so.
I dread the approach of Spring, with its excitements and
horrors.

Prices of provisions have risen enormously—bacon $8
per pound, butter $15, etc. Our old friends from the lower
part of Essex, Mr. —'s parishioners for many years, sent
over a wagon filled most generously with all manner of necessary
things for our larder. We have no right to com
plain, for Providence is certainly supplying our wants. The
clerks' salaries, too, have been raised to $250 per month,
which sounds very large; but when we remember that flour
is $300 per barrel, it sinks into insignificance.

28th.—Our hearts ache for the poor. A few days ago,
as E. was walking out, she met a wretchedly dressed woman,
of miserable appearance, who said she was seeking
the Young Men's Christian Association, where she hoped
to get assistance and work to do. E. carried her to the
door, but it was closed, and the poor woman's wants were
pressing. She then brought her home, supplied her with
food, and told her to return to see me the following afternoon.

She came, and with an honest countenance and
manner told me her history. Her name is Brown; her
husband had been a workman in Fredericksburg; he joined
the army, and was killed at the second battle of Manassas.
Many of her acquaintances in Fredericksburg fled last
winter during the bombardment; she became alarmed, and
with her three little children fled too. She had tried to
get work in Richmond; sometimes she succeeded, but could
not supply her wants. A kind woman had lent her a room
and a part of a garden, but it was outside of the corporation;
and although it saved house-rent, it debarred her
from the relief of the associations formed for supplying the
city poor with meal, wood, etc. She had evidently been in
a situation little short of starvation. I asked her if she
could get bread enough for her children by her work? She
said she could sometimes, and when she could not, she "got
turnip-tops from her piece of a garden, which were now
putting up smartly, and she boiled them, with a little salt,
and fed them on that." "But do they satisfy your hunger,"
said I? "Well, it is something to go upon for awhile,
but it does not stick by us like as bread does, and then we
gets hungry again, and I am afraid to let the children eat
them too often, lest they should get sick; so I tries to get
them to go to sleep; and sometimes the woman in the
next room will bring the children her leavings, but she is
monstrous poor." When I gave her meat for her children,
taken from the bounty of our Essex friends, tears of gratitude
ran down her cheeks; she said they "had not seen
meat for so long." Poor thing, I promised her that her
case should be known, and that she should not suffer so
again. A soldier's widow shall not suffer from hunger in
Richmond. It must not be, and will not be when her case
is known. Others are now interested for her. This evening
Mrs. R. and myself went in pursuit of her; but though we
went through all the streets and lanes of "Butcher Flat"
and other vicinities, we could get no clue to her. We
went into many small and squalid-looking houses, yet we
saw no such abject poverty as Mrs. Brown's. All who
needed it were supplied with meal by the corporation, and
many were supporting themselves with Government work.
One woman stood at a table cutting out work; we asked
her the stereotyped question—"Is there a very poor widow
named Brown in this direction?" "No, ladies; I knows two
Mrs. Browns, but they ain't so poor, and ain't no widows
nuther." As neither of them was our Mrs. B., we turned
away; but she suddenly exclaimed, "Ladies, will one of
you read my husband's last letter to me? for you see I can't
read writing." As Mrs. R. took it, she remarked that it
was four weeks old, and asked if no one had read it to
her? "Oh yes, a gentleman has read it to me four or five
times; but you see I loves to hear it, for may-be I shan't
hear from him no more." The tears now poured down her
cheeks. "He always writes to me every chance, and it has
been so long since he wrote that, and they tell me that they
have been fighting, and may-be something has happened to
him." We assured her that there had been no fighting—
not even a skirmish. This quieted her, and Mrs. R. read
the badly written but affectionate letter, in which he expresses
his anxiety to see her and his children, and his inability
to get a furlough. She then turned to the mantelpiece,
and with evident pride took from a nail an old felt
hat, through the crown of which were two bullet-holes.
It was her husband's hat, through which a bullet had
passed in the battle of Chancellorsville, and, as she remarked,
must have come "very nigh grazing his head." We
remarked upon its being a proof of his bravery, which gratified
her very much; she then hung it up carefully, saying
that it was just opposite her bed, and she never let it be
out of her sight. She said she wanted her husband to
fight for his country, and not "to stand back, like some
women's husbands, to be drafted; she would have been
ashamed of that, but she felt uneasy, because something
told her that he would never get back." Poor woman!
we felt very much interested in her, and tried to comfort
her.

March 10.—There has been much excitement in Richmond
about Kilpatrick's and Dahlgren's raids, and the death of the
latter. The cannon roared around the city, the alarm-bell
rang, the reserves went out; but Richmond was safe, and
we felt no alarm. As usual, they did all the injury they
could to country-people, by pillaging and burning. They
steal every thing they can; but the people have become
very adroit in hiding. Bacon, flour, etc., are put in most
mysterious places; plate and handsome china are kept under
ground; horses are driven into dense woods, and the cattle
and sheep are driven off. It is astonishing, though much is
taken, how much is left. I suppose the raiders are too
much hurried for close inspection.

20th.—Our Lent services in St. Paul's Lecture-room, at
seven o'clock in the morning, are delightful. The room is
always crowded to overflowing—the old, the young, the
grave, the gay, collect there soon after sunrise; also military
officers in numbers. When General Lee is in town, as
he now is, he is never absent, and always one of the most
devout worshippers. Within a few days I have seen General
Whiting there; also Generals Ransom, Pegram, and

others. Starred officers of all grades, colonels, majors,
etc., together with many others belonging to the rank and
file; and civilians of every degree. It is delightful to see
them, all bending together before high Heaven, imploring
the help which we so much need.

The Transportation Office is just opposite to us, where
crowds of furloughed soldiers, returning to their commands,
are constantly standing waiting for transportation. As I
pass them on my way to the office in the morning, I always
stop to have a cheerful word with them. Yesterday
morning I said to them: "Gentlemen, whom do you suppose
I have seen this morning?" In answer to their inquiring
looks, I said: "General Lee." "General Lee," they exclaimed:
"I did not know he was in town; God bless him!"
and they looked excited, as if they were about to burst
forth with "Hurrah for General Lee!" "And where do
you suppose I saw him so early?" "Where, Madam—
where?" "At prayer-meeting, down upon his knees, praying
for you and for the country." In an instant they seemed
subdued; tears started to the eyes of many of those hardy,
sunburnt veterans. Some were utterly silent, while others
exclaimed, with various ejaculations, "God bless him!"
"God bless his dear old soul!" etc. As I walked away,
some followed me to know where he was to be seen. One
had never seen him at all, and wanted to see him "monstrous
bad;" others had seen him often, but wanted to see
him in town, "just to look at him." I told them where his
family residence was, but as they feared that they could
not leave the Transportation Office long enough to find
"Franklin Street," I dare say the poor fellows did not see
General Lee. This morning I had almost the same conversation
with another crowd in the same place. It is delightful

to see how they reverence him, and almost as much for
his goodness as for his greatness.

April 1.—My diary has been somewhat neglected, for
after looking over commissary accounts for six hours in the
day, and attending to home or hospital duties in the afternoon,
I am too much wearied to write much at night.
There are reports of movements in the armies which portend
bloody work as the season advances. Oh that the Lord
may have us in his holy keeping!

We continue quite comfortable at home. Of course provisions
are scarce; but, thanks to our country friends and
relatives, we have never been obliged to give up meat entirely.
My brother-in-law, Mr. N., has lately sent us twelve
hams, so that we are much better supplied than most persons.
Groceries are extremely high. We were fortunate
in buying ten pounds of tea, when it only sold for $22 per
pound. Coffee now sells for $12, and brown sugar at $10
per pound. White sugar is not to be thought of by persons
of moderate means. Milk is very scarce and high, so that
we have only had it once for many months; and we, the
Colonel, Mr.—, and myself, are very glad to get a cup
of tea, night and morning, sweetened with brown sugar,
and without milk or cream. Before the war we would have
scorned it, but now we enjoy it exceedingly, and feel ourselves
very much blessed to have it. The girls have given
up tea and coffee; I attempted to do it, and for several
days drank only water, but such is the effect of habit upon
old people, it made me perfectly miserable; I lost my elasticity
of spirit; the accounts in the office went on heavily,
everybody asked me if I had heard any bad news, and the
family begged me not to look so unhappy. I struggled and
strived against the feeling, but the girls pronounced me utterly

subjugated, and insisted on my returning to my old
beverage. I found myself much more easily persuaded
than it is my wont to be, and was happy to resume my
brown-sugar tea without cream.

On going down-stairs this evening, I found my friend
Mrs. Upshur awaiting me in the parlour. She is the widow
of the Hon. Abel P. Upshur, Secretary of War in Mr.
Tyler's administration, whose untimely end we remember so
well. She is a refugee from Washington, and called to ask
me to assist her in finding a room to accommodate herself,
her sister, and her little grandson. Her present room, in the
third story of a very nice house, suited her very well, but
the price was raised every month, until it had become beyond
her means. She is rich, but it is almost impossible for
her to get funds from Washington. To obtain a room is a
most difficult task, but I cheerfully promised her to do what
I could; but that I must first go up the street to get some
flour, for as it was $300 per barrel, we could not get one,
but must purchase it at $1.25 per pound, until we could get
some wheat, which we were then expecting from the country,
and have it ground. She at once insisted on lending
me flour until ours was ground; this being agreed to, we
continued on our walk in pursuit of the room. We naturally
talked of the past. She related to me a circumstance
which occurred when I was a young girl, and was a striking
illustration of the change which time and the war had
brought on us both. She said that during the political
Convention of 1829-30, she came to Richmond with her husband,
who was a member of it. The first entertainment to
which she was invited was given at my father's house. When
she entered the room my mother was standing about the
centre of it, receiving her guests, and seeing that Mrs. Upshur

was young and a perfect stranger, she took her by the
hand and seated her by Mrs. Madison, at the same time introducing
her to that celebrated woman. She said it was
one of the most pleasant evenings of her life, and she
looked back upon it with peculiar satisfaction, for she was
then introduced to Mr. Madison, Mr. Monroe, Mr. Benjamin
Watkins Leigh, and many others of the celebrated
men of the day, who were attending the Convention. Could
we then have looked through the vista of time, and have
seen ourselves in this same city, the one looking for a cheap
room in somebody's third story, the other looking for cheap
bread, would we have believed it? The anecdote saddened
us both for a time, but we soon recovered, and went on our
way in cheerful, hopeful conversation. But we did not find
the room.

April 25.—Our family in statu quo. The country in
great excitement. We have lately had a splendid little
victory at Plymouth, North Carolina. We have also had
successes in Florida, at Shreveport, and other places in the
South and South-west. The God of battles is helping us,
or how could we thus succeed? This city is quite excited
by Mr. Memminger having ordered off the Note-signing
Department, consisting entirely of ladies, to Columbia, South
Carolina. It has caused much distress, for many of them,
whose living depends on the salary, can't possibly go.
Mothers cannot leave their children, nor wives their husbands.
No one seems to understand the motive which
prompted the order. It seems to be very arbitrary. It is
thought by some persons that all the departments will be
ordered off. I trust not; for I, among many others, would
be obliged to resign, and I cannot imagine how we would
live without the salary. I see no reason to believe that any

such move is intended, and I will not be unhappy about it.
"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

The enemy threatens Richmond, and is coming against it
with an immense army. They boast that they can and will
have it this summer; but, with the help of God, we hope to
drive them back again. Our Government is making every
effort to defeat them. I don't think that any one doubts
our ability to do it; but the awful loss of life necessary
upon the fights is what we dread.

April 27.—Another day and night have passed, and
nothing of importance has occurred to the country. We
are expecting movements in every direction. O God!
direct our leaders!

Our daughter M. is with us, quite sick; her husband has
just arrived from North Carolina, where he is attached to
General Whiting's command.

29th.—The country seems to continue quiet, but the
campaign on the Rapidan is expected to open every day.
Oh, how I dread it! The morning is bright and beautiful;
it seems hardly possible that such strife is abroad in the
land.

May 2.—Just taken leave of J. J., who has gone to
Halifax, where the Bishop resides. It seems so strange
that she does not want to go to the country. If I could
only get to some quiet nook, some lodge in a vast wilderness,
where rumours of unsuccessful or successful war could
never reach me more, I think I should be happy. The
Bishop says it is too expensive here for his income, and so
it is for everybody's income, but were we to leave it we
should have none; our whole dependence is now upon the
Government, except the interest on a small amount invested
in Confederate bonds.

Our army, it is said, is fighting at or near Newbern,
North Carolina. I trust they are following up the Plymouth
victory.

Tuesday Morning, May 3.—Yesterday passed as usual.
We attended Mr. Peterkin's prayer-meeting before breakfast,
which we generally do, and which was very interesting.
Then came by market for our daily supplies; and at
nine I commenced my labour in the office, while Mr. —
went to his hospital, which occupies a great deal of his
time.

Washington, North Carolina, has been evacuated by the
Federals, who have retired to Newbern. All quiet on the
Rapidan. Six steamers have run the blockade within a
few days, laden with ammunition, etc. Surely God is with
us. It is a delightful thing to contemplate that so many of
our officers of high position, who are leading and giving an
example to our soldiers, should be God-fearing men; from
the President and General Lee down, I believe a majority
of them are professing Christians. On Sunday I saw General
R. Ransom (who has lately been put in command here)
and General Kemper, who has just recovered from the
wound received at Gettysburg, both at the communion-table.

On Saturday our President had a most heart-rending accident
in his family. His little son was playing on the back-portico,
fell over, and was picked up apparently lifeless.
Both parents were absent, nor did they get home in time to
see their child alive. The neighbours collected around him,
physicians were immediately called in, but the little fellow
could not be aroused; he breathed for about three-quarters
of an hour. His devoted parents returned to find their
boy, whom they had left two hours before full of "life in

every limb," now cold in death. They have the deep
sympathy of the community.

May 5.—Our army on the Rapidan is in line of battle.
Grant is moving his mighty columns. Where the battle
will take place Heaven only knows. I pray that God may
be with us, and that the enemy may be driven far from our
borders.

We are now attending the prayer-meetings held by the
Young Men's Christian Association, which are very interesting;
three of them will be held this week for our dear army,
and for the battle now pending.

May 6, 1864.—The Federals are this morning ascending
James River, with a fleet of thirty-nine vessels—four monitors
among them. The battle between Lee and Grant
imminent. God help us! We feel strengthened by the
prayers of so many good people. All the city seems quiet
and trusting. We feel that the Lord will keep the city.
We were at our own prayer-meeting at St. James's this
morning at half-past six. Yesterday evening we heard
most fervent prayers from the Young Men's Christian Association.
To-day Dr. Reid's Church will be open all day for
prayer. I am sorry that I shall not be able to go before
the afternoon.

Grant's force is said to be between one hundred and fifty
and one hundred and eighty thousand men. The "battle
is not always to the strong," as we have often experienced
during the past three years.

We spent last evening at the Ballard House, with Dr. S.
and my dear S. She is hastening to her ill child; he must
return to his post; private griefs cannot now be indulged.

Sunday, May 8.—By the blessing of God, I now record
that, as far as heard from, our arms have been signally

victorious. On Thursday and Friday the enemy were driven
off, and the telegram of yesterday from General Lee spoke
of our cause as going on prosperously, and with comparatively
little loss to us. Grant had been driven back, and
10,000 prisoners taken, but how far he has gone is not yet
known. General Lee's telegram last night was very encouraging;
he speaks of having captured two major-generals
and killed three brigadiers. We have not yet heard
of our casualties, except in one or two instances. We have
been dreadfully shocked by the death of Colonel William
Randolph, of Clarke County. He fell on the 6th of May.
The country has lost no more devoted patriot, the army no
more gallant officer, and society no more brilliant member.
It was but last Sunday that his sister-in-law, Miss M. S.,
said to me with natural pride and pleasure: "William
Randolph has been promoted; he is now colonel of the
Second." I expressed the pleasure which I then felt; but
as she passed out of the room, and my thoughts again
turned to the subject, a superstitious horror came over me,
and I said to those around me, "This is a fatal honour conferred
upon W. R.," and I could not get rid of the impression.
The Second Regiment has invariably lost its field
officers. It is one of the most gallant regiments of the
Stonewall Brigade, and has frequently had what is called
the post of honour. Colonel Allen, Colonel Botts, Lieutenant-Colonel
Lackland, Lieutenant-Colonel Colston, Major
Jones, and now Colonel Randolph, have fallen! and Colonel
Nadenboush, of the same regiment, has been so mutilated by
wounds, as to be obliged to retire from the service.

The fleet upon James River has landed about 30,000 or
40,000 troops. One of their gunboats ran upon a torpedo,
which blew it to atoms. We repulsed them near Port Walthall.

Yesterday they came with a very strong force upon the
Petersburg Railroad. They were too strong for us, and we
had to fall back; the enemy consequently took the road, and,
of course, injured it very much; but they have fallen back;
why, we do not know, unless they have heard of Grant's
failure. The alarm-bell is constantly ringing, making us
nervous and anxious. The militia have been called out, and
have left the city, but where they have gone I know not.
It is strange how little apprehension seems to be felt in the
city. Our trust is first in God, and, under Him, in our
brave men. At this moment Yankee prisoners are passing
by. I do not know where they were captured. Those
taken at the battle of "The Wilderness" were sent South.

I went to the Monumental Church this morning. Mr.
— read the service, and Mr. Johnston, of Alexandria,
preached.

Wednesday, May 11.—The last three days have been
most exciting. The enemy on the south side of the river
have made heavy demonstrations; their force is perhaps
40,000; ours not half that number. The militia, the City
Battalion, and the clerks have gone from Richmond. They
have had a heavy fight at Port Walthall, and another near
Chester, in which we had, upon the whole, the advantage of
them. In the mean time a large body of raiders are going
over the country. They have cut the Central Railroad, and
burnt three trains of cars, laden with provisions for General
Lee's army, and are doing all manner of mischief to public
and private property. Not a word can we hear from General
Lee, except through private telegrams sent from
Guiney's Station. The wires (telegraph) above that place
have been cut. Our accounts from Guiney's are very
encouraging. It is astonishing how quiet everybody is—all

owing, I must believe, to an abiding faith in the goodness
of God. Prayer-meetings are held in almost all the
churches, and we take great comfort in them. It seems
to me evident that the Lord is fighting our battles for
us.

The last was a most disturbed night. We knew that the
attachés of the War Department had received orders to
spend the night there, and our son had promised us that if
any thing exciting occurred he would come up and let us
know. We were first aroused by hearing a number of soldiers
pass up Broad Street. I sprang up, and saw at least
a brigade passing by. As we were composing ourselves to
sleep, I heard several pebbles come against the window.
On looking out, I saw J. standing below. In a moment the
door was opened and he was in our room, with the information,
brought by a courier, that 7,000 raiders were within
sixteen miles of us, making their way to the city. He also
said that 3,000 infantry had marched to meet them. Every
lady in the house dressed immediately, and some of us went
down to the porch. There we saw ladies in every porch,
and walking on the pavements, as if it were evening. We
saw but one person who seemed really alarmed; every one
else seemed to expect something to occur to stop the raiders.
Our city had too often been saved as if by a miracle. About
two o'clock a telegram came from General Stuart that he
was in pursuit of the enemy. J. came up to bring us the
information, and we felt that all was right. In a very short
time families had retired to their chambers, and quietness
reigned in this hitherto perturbed street. For ourselves,
we were soon asleep. To-day General Stuart telegraphs
that the enemy were overtaken at Ashland by Lomax's
Brigade, and handsomely repulsed. We have just heard

that they have taken the road to Dover's Mills, and our
men are in hot pursuit.

Thursday, May 12.—The cannon is now roaring in our
ears. It cannot be more than three miles off. The Lord
reigneth; in that is our trust. There was a severe cavalry
fight yesterday morning, in which our brilliant cavalry leader,
General J. E. B. Stuart, was severely wounded. He was
brought to the city last night. One of his aids, our relative,
Lieutenant T. S. Garnett, has told us with what
difficulty they got him here; in an ambulance, going out of
the way, hither and thither, to avoid the enemy; of course,
every jolt inflicting intense agony. He is now at the house
of his brother-in-law, Dr. Brewer, surrounded by the most
efficient surgeons and devoted friends. The prayers of the
community are with him.

My time, when out of the office, is much absorbed by
the hospital. Many wounded are brought in from both
sides of the river. This morning, as I entered St. James's
Church, I saw the smoke from the cannon distinctly. I
stood for a moment on the steps and listened to the continued
roaring, and felt that the contest was fearfully near to
us. The prayers, hymns, psalms, and address were most
comforting. God be praised for his goodness, that we are
still surrounded by Christian people, and have the faith and
trust of Christians. The town is as calm as if it were not
the great object of desire to hundreds of thousands of implacable
enemies, who desire nothing so much as its destruction.

General Lee's telegram last night gave us an account of
another repulse given General Grant, with great slaughter.
"We suffered little in comparison;" such was his telegram,
signed "R. E. Lee." His signature is always cheering to

our people. For some time we had not seen it, in consequence
of cut telegraphic wires. Both armies are now
fortifying. The Yankees have such indomitable perseverance,
that they will never give up.

May 13.—General Stuart died of his wounds last night,
twenty-four hours after he was shot. He was a member of
the Episcopal Church, and expressed to the Rev. Dr.
Peterkin his resignation to the will of God. After much
conversation with his friends and Dr. P., and joining them
in a hymn which he requested should be sung, he calmly
resigned his redeemed spirit to the God who gave it. Thus
passed away our great cavalry general, just one year after
the immortal Jackson. This seems darkly mysterious to us,
but God's will be done. The funeral took place this evening,
from St. James's Church. My duty to the living prevented
my attending it, for which I am very sorry; but I
was in the hospital from three o'clock until eight, soothing the
sufferers in the only way I could, by fanning them, bathing
their wounds, and giving them a word of comfort. Mr.
— and others of our household were at the funeral.
They represent the scene as being very imposing.

14th.—The cavalry fight on the Chickahominy was very
severe. The Yankees escaped on Thursday night; they
should not have been allowed to get off. Our sad deficiency
in numbers is always in our way.

The death of another of our beloved E. H. S. boys has
shocked us greatly—I mean that of Colonel Robert Randolph,
of Fauquier, for a long time the chivalric captain
of the famous "Black Horse Company." After fighting
desperately for hours, he was ordered to change his position;
he immediately raised himself in his saddle, exclaiming,
"Boys, we will give them one round more before we go!"

fired, and was at that moment struck in the forehead by a
Minié ball, and laid low, a few hours after the fall of his
General. Thus our young men, of the first blood of the
country—first in character and education, and, what is more
important to us now, first in gallantry and patriotism—fall
one by one. What a noble army of martyrs has already
passed away! I tremble for the future; but we must not
think of the future. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof."

General Lee's last telegram tells of a furious fight on
Thursday, near Spottsylvania Court-House. The enemy was
repulsed, and driven back; and yet General Grant prepares
for a fresh attack. It is said that 15,000 wounded Yankees
are in Fredericksburg. We have heard cannon
all day in the direction of Drury's Bluff; yet we are
calm!

Tuesday Morning, May 17.—For some days the cannon
has been resounding in our ears, from the south side of
James River. Colonel Garnett has come in to tell us that
for the first two days there was only heavy skirmishing, but
that on yesterday there was a terrific fight all along the
lines. Yesterday evening a brigadier, his staff, and 840
men, were lodged in the Libby Prison. Nothing definite
has been heard since that time. The impression is, that we
have been generally successful. Very brilliant reports are
afloat on the streets, but whether they are reliable is the
question. My nephew, Major B., has just called to tell me
that his brother W. is reported "missing." His battery
suffered dreadfully, and he has not been seen. God grant
that he may be only a prisoner! We suppose that it would
have been known to the fragment of his battery which is
left, if he had fallen.

18th.—W. B. certainly captured. I thank God for it,
as the least of casualties.

Generals Lee and Grant still fighting.

On the south side, Beauregard has driven Butler to
Bermuda Hundreds, where he is under shelter of his gunboats.
Oh! when will this fearful state of things end?

23d.—Our young relative, Lieutenant G., a member of
General Stuart's staff, who was always near hi person,
has just been giving us a most gratifying account of General
Stuart's habits. He says, that although he considered him
one of the most sprightly men he has ever seen, devoted to
society, particularly to that of the ladies, always social and
cheerful, yet he has never seen him do any thing, even
under the strongest excitement, unbecoming his Christian
profession or his high position as a soldier; he never saw
him drink, or heard an oath escape his lips; his sentiments
were always high-minded, pure, and honourable, and his actions
entirely coincided with them. In short, he considered
him, whether on the field or in the private circle, the model
of a Christian gentleman and soldier. When speaking of
his gallantry as an officer, Lieutenant G's admiration knows
no bounds. He speaks of the devotion of the soldiers to
him as enthusiastic in the extreme. The evening before his
fatal wound, he sent his troops on in pursuit of Sheridan,
under the command of General Fitz Lee, as he was unavoidably
detained for some three or four hours. General
Lee overtook the enemy, and a sharp skirmish ensued, in
which Sheridan's rear suffered very much. In the mean time,
General Stuart determined to overtake General Lee, and,
with his staff, rode very rapidly sixteen miles, and reached
him about nightfall. They were halting for a few moments,
as General Stuart rode up quietly, no one suspecting he was

there, until a plain-looking soldier crossed the road, stopped,
peered through the darkness into his face, and shouted out,
"Old Jeb has come!" In an instant the air was rent with
huzzas. General Stuart waved his cap in recognition; but
called out in rather a sad voice, "My friends, we won't
halloo until we get out of the woods!" intimating that
there was serious work before them. At that hour the
next night he was pursuing his weary and suffering way to
Richmond. A friend, who knows how much I regretted
not being able to serve General Stuart in any way, or even
to be at his funeral, has been so kind as to write me a
minute account of his sickness, death, and burial. "Perhaps
(she says) it is not generally known how entirely
General Stuart sacrificed his life to save Richmond. An
officer of high rank, who knew the circumstances, told me
that in all the war there was not one man more truly a martyr
to our cause. In the many raids upon Richmond there
was none in which we seemed in such imminent peril as the
one in which General Stuart has just fallen. How we
listened, and watched, and prayed, as the cannon sounded
nearer and nearer, and even the volleys of musketry could
be heard out on the roads by which the enemy were approaching!
We knew that General Stuart had a band of
about 2,000 cavalry against overwhelming odds on the
Yankee side, and that he knew that upon this 2,000 men
alone it depended to bar the enemy's approach on that side.
He met the Yankees, 5,000 strong, beat them back, and
fell in the encounter! It was with difficulty that he could
be rescued from those who were bearing him away, but one
of his own troopers saved him, and with his staff and surgeon
(Dr. John Fontaine) bore him to the city. We heard
that he was dying, and, in spite of the anxiety and confusion
reigning at such a time, many of us rushed to Dr.
Brewer's house to hear tidings of the beloved commander,
whose gallantry, whose youthful gayety and chivalrous
character, made him the prince among our cavalry officers.
His life was ebbing out from internal hemorrhage; but his
senses were as clear and his mind as calm as noontide. He
asked repeatedly for his wife, who, though but fifteen miles
away, could not be reached, so completely was the city
hemmed in by the enemy. By his side stood our President,
who, upon hearing of his situation, had hastened to thank
him in the name of his country. `I have but done my
duty,' was the soldier's reply. And near him was the minister
of God, good Mr. Peterkin, of whose church (Episcopal)
General S. was a member. He asked for his favourite
hymn, and joined his feeble voice with the touching words:
`I would not live alway.' From time to time, he turned
his head to ask, `Is she come?' But she, for whom his
loving heart so yearned, came not till that heart was stilled
forever. At the funeral—at the head of his coffin—sat the
soldier who had rescued him, all battle-stained and soiled;
and near by, the members of his staff, who all adored him.
Upon the coffin lay a sword, formed of delicate white
flowers, a cross of white roses, and above these the heavenly
crown, symbolized by one of green bay-leaves. We followed
him to the church, where, after appropriate ceremonies,
attended by many persons, his body was taken to
Hollywood Cemetery. No martial pomp, no soldier's funeral,
but— Everybody was struck with the resemblance to the funeral
so beautifully described in the lines just quoted. As
we passed, in slow procession— These guns were his funeral knell, sounding at intervals
the solemn peal, with which, in the haste and uncertainty of
the time, it was impossible for us to honour him."

One of the morning papers has some lines on the same
subject, more poetic, though not so graphic, as the account
given by my friend:

May 26.—We are now anticipating a fight at Hanover
Junction. General Lee fell back to that point on

Sunday last, for some good purpose, no doubt. Our army
is in line of battle on the Cedar Hill plantation. The ladies
of the family have come to Richmond to avoid the awful
collision about to take place. That house, I sadly fear, is
to be another sacrifice. Our successes have been wonderful,
and evidently, I think, directed by God. We have, however,
just met with a sad reverse in Charles City County.
General Fitz Lee, commanding two brigades, fought a much
larger body of men, who were strongly fortified, and was
of course repulsed. Alas, alas for our gallant army! bravery
cannot always contend safely against overwhelming
numbers. We are very uneasy about our dear ones who
were in that fight. Strange stories are told of the wounded
having been bayoneted. It is difficult to believe that men
of human hearts could do such things; and while I feel unhappy
about the rumour, I cannot credit it.

May 27.—News from Fitz Lee's fight; it was not disastrous
as at first reported; many were wounded, many
captured, and but four killed. But four desolated homes
by this stroke! but four widows, or broken-hearted mothers,
in addition to the bereaved of the land! God be with
them to comfort them! Nothing farther of the bayoneted
wounded: I trust that it was all a fabrication.

We returned to the office yesterday, which had been
closed for a week. It is pitiable to see how the rations are
being reduced by degrees. The Government is exerting
itself for the relief of the soldiers. God have mercy upon
and help us!

June 4.—There has been skirmishing for some days.
One day a fight at Ashland, another at Cold Harbour; but
yesterday the heaviest cannonading I ever heard continued
all day, until after dark. The fighting was between Bethesda

Church and Cold Harbour. We were well fortified, and
General Lee reports great success to our arms. "It is the
Lord's doings, and it is marvellous in our eyes." We went
to church this evening and returned thanks.

June 5.—Our daughter-in-law, Mrs. Dr. —, came
from Charlottesville this evening. The regular communication
being cut off, she went up to Lynchburg, taking that
route to Richmond; but the Government having impressed
the cars, she was obliged to take a freight-train, and was
fortunate in finding a friend coming down in the same way,
who acted as her escort. At Burkesville (shall I record it
of a Virginia house of any degree?) she was treated with
such inhospitality, that she was compelled to pass the night
in a car filled with bags of corn, which the gentlemen fixed
so carefully as to give her almost a comfortable resting-place.
When she returned from her unsuccessful application
for quarters, one of the soldiers said to her, (she was
the only lady in the company,) "Lady, where are you from?"
"The Valley of Virginia," was her reply. He instantly
sprang up: "Boys, we must burn that house!" he exclaimed;
"they won't take in this lady from the `Valley,' where
we have been treated so kindly." Of course he had no
idea of burning the house, though he seemed highly
indignant. She came to us looking well after a three
days' journey, having borne her difficulties with great cheerfulness.

11th.—Just heard from W. and S. H. Both places
in ruins, except the dwelling-houses. Large portions of the
Federal army were on them for eight days. S. H. was used
as a hospital for the wounded brought from the battle-fields;
this protected the house. At W. several generals had
their head-quarters in the grounds near the house, which, of

course, protected it. General Warren had his tent in the
"shrubbery" for two days, General Burnside for a day or
two, and those of lesser rank were there from time to time.
General Grant was encamped at S. H. for a time. Dr. B.
was at home, with several Confederate wounded from the
battle of "Haw's Shop" in the house. Being absent a mile
or two from home when they arrived, they so quickly threw
out pickets, spread their tents over the surrounding fields
and hills, that he could not return to his house, where his
wife and only child were alone, until he had obtained a pass
from a Yankee officer. As he approached the house, thousands
and tens of thousands of horses and cattle were
roaming over the fine wheat fields on his and the adjoining
estate, (that of his niece, Mrs. N.,) which were now ripe for
the sickle. The clover fields and fields of young corn were
sharing the same fate. He found his front porch filled with
officers. They asked him of his sentiments with regard to
the war. He told them frankly that he was an original
Secessionist, and ardently hoped to see the North and South
separate and distinct nations now and forever. One of them
replied that he "honoured his candour," and from that moment
he was treated with great courtesy. After some
difficulty he was allowed to keep his wounded Confederates,
and in one or two instances the Federal surgeons assisted
him in dressing their wounds. At S. H. the parlour was
used for an amputating room, and Yankee blood streamed
through that beautiful apartment and the adjoining passage.
Poor M. had her stricken heart sorely lacerated in every
way, particularly when her little son came running in and
nestled up to her in alarm. A soldier had asked him, "Are
you the son of Captain Newton, who was killed in Culpeper?"
"Yes," replied the child. "Well, I belong to the
Eighth Illinois, and was one of the soldiers that fired at
him when he fell," was the barbarous reply.

On these highly cultivated plantations not a fence is left,
except mutilated garden enclosures. The fields were as free
from vegetation after a few days as the Arabian desert; the
very roots seemed eradicated from the earth. A fortification
stretched across W., in which were embedded the fence
rails of that and the adjoining farms. Ten thousand cavalry
were drawn up in line of battle for two days on the
two plantations, expecting the approach of the Confederates;
bands of music were constantly playing martial airs in all
parts of the premises; and whiskey flowed freely. The
poor servants could not resist these intoxicating influences,
particularly as Abolition preachers were constantly collecting
immense crowds, preaching to them the cruelty of the
servitude which had been so long imposed upon them, and
that Abraham Lincoln was the Moses sent by God to
deliver them from the "land of Egypt and the house of
bondage," and to lead them to the promised land. After
the eight days were accomplished, the army moved off,
leaving not a quadruped, except two pigs, which had ensconced
themselves under the ruins of a servant's house, and
perhaps a dog to one plantation; to the other, by some
miraculous oversight, two cows and a few pigs were left.
Not a wheeled vehicle of any kind was to be found; all the
grain, flour, meat, and other supplies were swept off, except
the few things hid in those wonderful places which could
not be fathomed even by the "Grand Army." Scarcely a
representative of the sons and daughters of Africa remained
in that whole section of country; they had all gone to
Canaan, by way of York River, Chesapeake Bay, and the
Potomac—not dry-shod, for the waters were not rolled back

at the presence of these modern Israelites, but in vessels
crowded to suffocation in this excessively warm weather.
They have gone to homeless poverty, an unfriendly climate,
and hard work; many of them to die without sympathy,
for the invalid, the decrepit, and the infant of days have
left their houses, beds, and many comforts, the homes of
their birth, the masters and mistresses who regarded them
not so much as property as humble friends and members of
their families. Poor, deluded creatures! I am grieved not
so much on account of the loss of their services, though that
it excessively inconvenient and annoying, but for their grievous
disappointment. Those who have trades, or who are brought
up as lady's maids or house servants, may do well, but woe
to the masses who have gone with the blissful hope of idleness
and free supplies! We have lost several who were
great comforts to us, and others who were sources of care,
responsibility, and great expense. These particulars from
W. and S. H. I have from our nephew, J. P., who is now a
scout for General W. H. F. Lee. He called by to rest a
few hours at his uncle's house, and says he would scarcely
have known the barren wilderness. The Northern officers
seemed disposed to be courteous to the ladies, in the little
intercourse which they had with them. General Ferrara,
who commanded the negro troops, was humane, in having a
coffin made for a young Confederate officer who died in Dr
B's house, and was kind in other respects. The surgeons,
too, assisted in attending to the Confederate wounded. An
officer one morning sent for Mrs. N. to ask her where he
should place a box of French china for safety; he said that
some soldiers had discovered it buried in her garden, dug it
up and opened it, but he had come up at this crisis and
had placed a guard over it, and desired to know where she
wished it put. A place of safety of course was not on the
premises, but she had it taken to her chamber. She
thanked him for his kindness. He seemed moved, and said,
"Mrs. N., I will do what I can for you, for I cannot be too
thankful that my wife is not in an invaded country." She
then asked him how he could, with his feelings, come to the
South. He replied that he was in the regular army, and
was obliged to come. Many little acts of kindness were
done at both houses, which were received in the spirit in
which they were extended. Per contra: On one occasion
Miss D., a young relative of Mrs. N's, was in one of the
tents set aside for the Confederate wounded, writing a letter
from a dying soldier to his friends at home. She was
interrupted by a young Yankee surgeon, to whom she was
a perfect stranger, putting his head in and remarking pertly,
"Ah, Miss D., are you writing? Have you friends in
Richmond? I shall be there in a few days, and will with
pleasure take your communications." She looked up calmly
into his face, and replied, "Thank you; I have no friends
in the Libby!" It was heard by his comrades on the outside
of the tent, and shouts and peals of laughter resounded
at the expense of the discomfited surgeon. The ladies
frequently afterwards heard him bored with the question,
"Doctor, when do you go to the Libby?"

12th.—I am grieved to say that we have had a reverse
in the "Valley," and that General Jones, of the
cavalry, has been killed, and his command repulsed. They
have fallen back to Waynesborough, leaving Staunton in
the hands of the enemy. General Johnston is doing well
in Georgia. Oh, that he may use up Sherman entirely!
We are getting on well at home; everybody looks as calm
as if there were no belligerent armies near.

24th.—I have been much occupied nursing the sick,
not only in the hospital, but among our own friends; and a
sad, sad week has the last been to us. We have had very
little time to think of public affairs, but now that the last
sad offices have been performed for one very, very dear to
us, with sore hearts we must go back to busy life again. It
is wonderful to me that we retain our senses. While the
cannon is booming in our ears from the neighbourhood of
Petersburg, we know that Hunter is raiding among our
friends in the most relentless way; that the Military Institute
has been burnt, and that we have nothing to hope for
the West, unless General Early and General Breckinridge
can destroy him utterly.

July 18.—Since the last note in my diary we have been
pursuing our usual course. The tenor of our way is singularly
rough and uneven, marked by the sound of cannon,
the marching of troops, and all the paraphernalia of grim-visaged
war; but we still visit our friends and relatives, and
have our pleasant social and family meetings, as though we
were at peace with all the world. The theme of every
tongue is our army in Maryland. What is it doing?
What will be the result of the venture? The last accounts
are from the Washington papers. Early, they say, is before
Washington, throwing in shells, having cut the railroads
and burnt the bridges. We are of course all anxiety, and
rumour is busier than ever. The army, it is said, has driven
innumerable horses, beeves, etc., into Virginia. I trust so;
it is surmised that to supply the commissariat is the chief
object of the trip. Grant still before Petersburg, sending
transports, etc., with troops to defend Washington.

24th.—Amid all the turbulent scenes which surround us,
our only grandchild has first seen the light, and the dear

little fellow looks as quiet as though all were peace. We
thank God for this precious gift, this little object of all-absorbing
interest, which so pleasantly diverts our troubled
minds. His father has left his far-off military post to welcome
him, and before he returns we must by baptism receive
him into the Church on earth, praying that he may be a
"member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of
the kingdom of heaven." This rite thus early administered,
bringing him into the Episcopal Church, seems to belong to
him by inheritance, as he is the grandson of a Presbyter on
one side, and of a Bishop on the other.

The city looks warlike, though the inhabitants are quiet.
Troops are constantly passing to and fro; army wagons,
ambulances, etc., rattle by, morning, noon, and night.
Grant remains passive on the Appomattox, occasionally
throwing a shell into Petersburg, which may probably explode
among women and children—but what matters it?
They are rebels—what difference does it make about their
lives or limbs?

July 27.—General Early has returned from Maryland,
bringing horses, cattle, etc. While near Washington, the
army burned Mr. Montgomery Blair's house, which I cannot
persuade myself to regret, and spared the residence of his
father, by order, it is said, of General Breckinridge. I
know that General B. was right, but I think it required
great forbearance, particularly in the soldiers, who have felt
in their own persons and families the horrors of this cruel
war of invasion. It seems to our human view that unless
the war is severely felt by those in high authority, it will
never cease. Hunter has just passed through the upper
part of the Valley of Virginia, his pathway marked by fire
and sword; and Sheridan has followed Early into Virginia,

with no very gentle intent, I fear. I am glad that Maryland
was spared as a general thing, particularly as our
friends might have suffered with our foes, for it would have
been difficult to discriminate; but I cannot avoid thinking
that if other places, besides Governor Bradford's house and
the town of Chambersburg, had been burnt, it would
shorten the war. Yet God has said, "Vengeance is mine,
I will repay;" and I hope that Christian principles will
ever be observed by our commanders. There seems to be
no touch of pity in the hearts of many of the Federal generals.
Women and children are made homeless at midnight,
and not allowed to save any thing, even their clothes.
When houses are not burned, they are robbed of every thing
which a rapacious soldiery may desire. The last barrel of
flour, the last ham, is taken from store-rooms; and this is
done, not in Virginia only; nor are Hunter, Sheridan,
Kilpatrick, or Stoneman the only men who do it; but every
State in the Confederacy has felt the heel of the despot.
North and South Carolina have suffered on their eastern
borders most severely; the same of Georgia and Florida.
Alabama has had much to bear. The Mississippi country
in Louisiana, Arkansas, and the State of Mississippi, has
been ravaged and desolated; Tennessee has perhaps had
more to bear than any of them. But poor old Virginia
has been furrowed and scarred until her original likeness is
gone. From the Potomac to the Roanoke, from the seaboard
to the Kentucky boundary, including the downtrodden
Eastern Shore, she could scarcely be recognized by
her sons. Marked by a hundred battle-fields, and checkered
by fortifications, almost every spot is classic ground. From
the beginning she has acted her part nobly, and has already
covered herself with glory; but when the war is over, where
shall we find her old churches, where her noble homesteads,
scenes of domestic comfort and generous hospitality? Either
laid low by the firebrand, or desecrated and desolated. In
the march of the army, or in the rapid evolutions of raiding
parties, woe betide the houses which are found deserted!
In many cases the men of the family having gone to the
war, the women and children dare not stay; then the lawless
are allowed to plunder. They seem to take the greatest
delight in breaking up the most elegant or the most humble
furniture, as the case may be; cut the portraits from the
frames, split pianos in pieces, ruin libraries, in any way that
suits their fancy; break doors from their hinges, and locks
from the doors; cut the windows from the frames, and leave
no pane of glass unbroken; carry off house-linen and carpets;
the contents of the store-rooms and pantries, sugar,
flour, vinegar, molasses, pickles, preserves, which cannot be
eaten or carried off, are poured together in one general
mass; the horses are of course taken from the stables;
cattle and stock of all kinds driven off or shot in the woods
and fields. Generally, indeed I believe always when the
whole army is moving, inhabited houses are protected. To
raiders such as Hunter and Co. is reserved the credit of
committing such outrages in the presence of ladies—of
taking their watches from their belts, their rings from their
fingers, and their ear-rings from their ears; of searching
their bureaux and wardrobes, and filling pockets and haversacks
in their presence. Is it not then wonderful that
soldiers whose families have suffered such things could be
restrained when in a hostile country? It seems to me to
show a marvellous degree of forbearance in the officers
themselves, and of discipline in the troops.

August 11.—Sheridan's and Early's troops are fighting

in the Valley. We suffered a disaster near Martinsburg,
and our troops fell back to Strasburg; had a fight on the
old battle-ground at Kernstown, and we drove the enemy
through Winchester to Martinsburg, which our troops took
possession of. Poor Winchester, how checkered its history
throughout the war! Abounding with patriotism as it is,
what a blessing it must be to have a breath of free air, even
though it be for a short time! Their welcome of our soldiers
is always so joyous, so bounding, so generous! How
they must enjoy the blessed privilege of speaking their own
sentiments without having their servants listening and acting
as spies in their houses, and of being able to hear from
or write to their friends! Oh! I would that there was a
prospect of their being disenthralled forever.

12th.—I am sorry to record a defeat near Moorfield, in
Hardy County. These disasters are very distressing to us all,
except to the croakers, who find in them so much food for their
gloom, that I am afraid they are rather pleased than otherwise.
They always, on such occasions, elongate their mournful
countenances, prophesy evil, and chew the cud of discontent
with a better show of reason than they can generally
produce. The signal failure of Grant's mine to blow
up our army, and its recoil upon his own devoted troops,
amply repay us for our failure in Hardy. God's hand was
in it, and to Him be the praise.

One of my friends in the office is a victim of Millroy's
reign in Winchester. She wrote to a friend of hers at the
North, expressing her feelings rather imprudently. The
letter was intercepted, and she was immediately arrested,
and brought in an ambulance through the enemy's lines to
our picket-post, where she was deposited by the roadside.
She says that she was terribly distressed at leaving her

mother and sisters, but when she got into Confederate lines
the air seemed wonderfully fresh, pure and free, and she soon
found friends. She came to Richmond and entered our office.
About the same time a mother and daughters who lived
perhaps in the handsomest house in the town, were arrested,
for some alleged imprudence of one of the daughters. An
ambulance was driven to the door, and the mother was
taken from her sick-bed and put into it, together with the
daughters. Time was not allowed them to prepare a lunch
for the journey. Before Mrs.—was taken from her house
Mrs. Millroy had entered it, the General having taken it
for his head-quarters; and before the ambulance had been
driven off, one of their own officers was heard to say to Mrs.
M., seeing her so entirely at home in the house, "For goodness'
sake, madam, wait until the poor woman gets off." Is
it wonderful, then, that the Winchester ladies welcome our
troops with gladness? that they rush out and join the band,
singing "The bonnie blue flag" and "Dixie," as the troops
enter the streets, until their enthusiasm and melody melt
all hearts? Was it strange that even the great and glorious,
though grave and thoughtful, Stonewall Jackson should,
when pursuing Banks through its streets, have been excited
until he waved his cap with tears of enthusiasm, as they
broke forth in harmonious songs of welcome? Or that
the ladies, not being satisfied by saluting them with their
voices, waving their handkerchiefs, and shouting for joy,
should follow them with more substantial offerings, filling
their haversacks with all that their depleted pantries could
afford? Or is it wonderful that our soldiers should love
Winchester so dearly and fight for it so valiantly? No, it
is beautiful to contemplate the long-suffering, the firmness
under oppression, the patience, the generosity, the patriotism
of Winchester. Other towns, I dare say, have borne their
tyranny as well, and when their history is known they will
call forth our admiration as much; but we know of no such
instance. The "Valley" throughout shows the same devotion
to our cause, and the sufferings of the country people
are even greater than those in town.

Some amusing incidents sometimes occur, showing the
eagerness of the ladies to serve our troops after a long separation.
A lady living near Berryville, but a little remote
from the main road, says, that when our troops are passing
through the country, she sometimes feels sick with anxiety
to do something for them. She, one morning, stood in her
porch, and could see them turn in crowds to neighbouring
houses which happened to be on the road, but no one turned
out of the way far enough to come to her house. At last
one man came along, and finding that he was passing her gate,
she ran out with the greatest alacrity to invite him to come
in to get his breakfast. He turned to her with an amused
expression and replied: "I am much obliged to you, madam;
I wish I could breakfast with you, but as I have already
eaten four breakfasts to please the ladies, I must beg you
to excuse me."

14th.—Norfolk, poor Norfolk! nothing can exceed its
long-suffering, its night of gloom and darkness. Unlike
Winchester, it has no bright spots—no oasis in its blank
desert of wretchedness. Like Alexandria, it has no relief,
but must submit, and drag on its chain of servility, till
the final cry of victory bursts its bonds, and makes it free.
I have no time to write of all I hear and know of the
indignities offered to our countrymen and countrywomen
in Alexandria, Norfolk, Portsmouth, and other places
which remain incarcerated in the sloughs of Federal tyranny.

God help them, and give us strength speedily to
break the chain that binds them.

August 15.—An account from my relatives, of the
raid of the 19th of June into the village of Tappahannock,
has lately reached me. The village had been frequently
visited and pillaged before, and both sides of the beautiful
Rappahannock, above and below, had been sadly devastated;
but the last visit seems to carry with it more of the
spirit of revenge than any before. My aunt writes:

"About daybreak on that peaceful Sabbath morn six gunboats
were seen returning down the river. A rumour that
Hampton was after them, had driven them from their work
of devastation in the country above us to their boats for
safety. By six o'clock six hundred negroes and four hundred
cavalry and marines were let loose upon the defenceless
town. The first visit I received was from six cavalrymen; the
pantry-door was unceremoniously broken open, and a search
made for wine and plate; but all such things had been
removed to a place of safety, and when I called loudly for
an officer to be sent for, the ruffians quietly went to their
horses and departed. Next came a surgeon from Point
Lookout, to search the house, and deliver the key to Dr.
R's store, which he had sent for as soon as he landed—
making a great virtue of his not breaking open the door,
and of his honesty in only taking a few pills. This dignitary
walked through the rooms, talking and murdering the
`king's English' most ludicrously. However, he behaved
quite well through the day, and was, under Heaven, the
means of protecting us from aggressions by his frequent
visits. In a short time every unoccupied house in the village
was forcibly entered, and every thing taken from them
or destroyed. Dr. R's house was completely sacked. L.

had made all necessary preparations for returning home,
but all was swept by the Vandals. Dr. R's surgical instruments,
books, medicines, his own and his sister's clothes,
as well as those of their dead parents, were taken, the officers
sharing the plunder with the soldiers. The furniture,
such as was not broken up, was carried off in dray-loads
to the boats, and these two young people were as destitute
of domestic comforts as though a consuming fire had
passed over their pleasant residence. My lot was filled with
the creatures going in and out at pleasure, unless the cry,
`The Johnnies are coming,' sent them running like scared
beasts to their rendezvous, and gave us a few moments of
quiet. The poor negroes belonging to the town seemed to
lose all power over themselves, and to be bereft of reason.
Some seemed completely brutalized by the suggestions that
were constantly whispered in their ears; others so frightened
by the threats made, that reason deserted them;
others so stupefied that they lost all power to direct themselves,
and gave up to the control of others. It is impossible
to describe the madness that possessed them. For
myself, I had but one care left—to keep them from polluting
my house any farther by keeping them out; and this I was
enabled to do after shutting and locking the door in the face
of one of them. The most painful event of the day was
when a little coloured girl, a great pet with us, was dragged
from the house. The aunt of the child was determined to
take her with her, but she resisted all her aunt's efforts,
and came to the house for protection. An officer came for
her, and after talking with her, and telling her that he
would not `trouble her, but she was not old enough to
know what was good for her,' he went off. About night
a white man and the most fiendish-looking negro I ever
saw came for her in the name of the aunt, and vowed they
would have her at all risks.

"The officers had all gone to the boats, and it was in vain
to resist them, and with feelings of anguish we saw the
poor child dragged from us. I cannot think of this event
without pain. But night now set in, and our apprehensions
increased as the light disappeared; we knew not what
was before us, or what we should be called on to
encounter during the hours of darkness. We only knew
that we were surrounded by lawless banditti, from whom
we had no reason to expect mercy, much less kindness;
but above all, there was an eye that never slumbered,
and an arm mighty to defend those who trusted to it,
so we made the house as secure as we could, and kept
ready a parcel of sharp case-knives (don't laugh at our
weapons) for our defence, if needed, and went up-stairs,
determined to keep close vigils all night. Our two faithful
servants, Jacob and Anthony, kept watch in the
kitchen. Among the many faithless, those two stood as
examples of the comfort that good servants can give in
time of distress. About nine o'clock we heard the sound
of horses' feet, and Jacob's voice under the window. Upon
demanding to know what was the matter, I was answered
by the voice of a gun-boat captain, in broken German, that
they were going to fire over my house at the `Rebs' on
the hill, and that we had better leave the house, and seek
protection in the streets. I quietly told our counsellor
that I preferred remaining in my own house, and should go
to the basement, where we should be safe. So we hastily
snatched up blankets and comforts, and repaired to the
basement, where pallets were spread, and G's little baby
laid down to sleep, sweetly unconscious of our fears and

troubles. We sent to apprise the Misses G. of the danger,
and urge them to come to us. They came, accompanied by
an ensign, who had warded off danger from them several
times during the day. He was a grave, middle-aged man,
and was very kind. At the request of the ladies, he came
into the room with us and remained until twelve o'clock.
He was then obliged to return to the gun-boat, but gave us
an efficient guard until daybreak. He pronounced Captain
Schultz's communication false, as they had no idea of
firing. We knew at once that the object had been to
rob the house, as all unoccupied houses were robbed
with impunity. This gentleman's name was Nelson. I
can never forget his kindness. During the night our relative,
Mrs. B—m, came to us in great agitation; she had
attempted to stay at home, though entirely alone, to pro
tect her property. She had been driven from her house at
midnight, and chased across several lots to the adjoining one,
where she had fallen from exhaustion. Jacob, hearing cries
for help, went to her, and brought her to us. Our party
now consisted of twelve females of all ages. As soon as
the guard left us at daybreak, they came in streams to the
hen-yard, and woe to the luckless chicken who thought itself
safe from robbers! At one o'clock on Monday the
fleet of now eight steamers took its departure. Two of the
steamers were filled with the deluded negroes who were
leaving their homes. We felt that the incubus which had
pressed so heavily upon us for thirty hours had been removed,
and we once more breathed freely, but the village
was left desolate and destitute."

18th.—For several days our whole time has been occupied
nursing the dear little grandchild, whose life was despaired
of for two days. We are most thankful for his recovery

The army is now on the north side of James River, and
this evening, at this moment, we hear heavy cannonading,
and musketry is distinctly heard from the hills around the
city. Oh, Heavenly Father! guide our generals and troops,
and cause this sanguinary conflict to end by a desirable, an
honourable peace!

20th.—A friend from the Valley has described a successful
attack made by Mosby on a Federal wagon-train near
Berryville. It was on its way to the army near Strasburg,
and Mosby was on the other side of the Shenandoah. He
crossed in the night with one cannon and about seventy-five
men, and at daylight surprised the drivers and guard as
they were beginning to hitch their mules, by a salute from
the cannon and seventy-five pistols. There was a general
stampede in an instant of all who were unhurt. As quick
as thought, 600 mules were turned towards the river, and
driven to the command in Loudoun. In the mean time, the
wagons were set on fire, and most of them and their contents
were consumed before the luckless drivers could return
to their charge.

It is said that our new steamer, the "Tallahassee," has been
within sixty miles of the city of New York, very much to the
terror of the citizens. It also destroyed six large vessels.
I bid it God-speed with all my heart; I want the North to
feel the war to its core, and then it will end, and not before.

22d.—Just been on a shopping expedition for my sister
and niece, and spent $1,500 in about an hour. I gave
$110 for ladies' morocco boots; $22 per yard for linen; $5
apiece for spools of cotton; $5 for a paper of pins, etc. It
would be utterly absurd, except that it is melancholy, to see
our currency depreciating so rapidly.

31st.—The last day of this exciting, troubled summer of

1864. How many young spirits have fled—how many
bleeding, breaking hearts have been left upon earth, from
the sanguinary work of this summer! Grant still remains
near Petersburg; still by that means is he besieging Richmond.
He has been baffled at all points, and yet his indomitable
perseverance knows no bounds. Sherman still
besieges Atlanta. God help us!

We are again troubled in mind and body about engaging
rooms; we find we must give up these by the 1st of October,
and have begun the usual refugee occupation of room-hunting.

Letters from our friends in the Valley, describing the
horrors now going on there. A relative witnessed the
burning of three very large residences on the 20th of August.
General Custar was stationed with his brigade of
Michigan Cavalry near Berryville. He had thrown out
pickets on all the roads, some of which were fired on by
Mosby's men. This so exasperated the Federals, that an
order was at once issued that whenever a picket-post was
fired on the nearest house should be burned. On the morning
of the 20th this dreadful order was put into execution,
and three large houses were burnt to the ground, together
with barns, wheat-stacks, and outhouses. The house of
Mr. — was near a picket-post, and about midnight on
the 19th a messenger arrived with a note announcing the
sudden death of Mrs. —'s sister, on a plantation not
many miles distant. A lamp was lighted to read the note,
and, unfortunately, a little while afterwards the picket-post
was fired on and one man wounded. The lighting of the
lamp was regarded as a signal to Colonel Mosby. During
the same night the pickets near two other large houses
were fired on. This being reported at head-quarters, the

order was at once issued to burn all three houses. Two
companies of the Fifth Michigan Cavalry, commanded by
Captain Drake, executed the fearful order. They drew up
in front of Mr. —'s house and asked for him. "Are you
Mr. — ?" demanded the Captain. "I have orders to
burn your house." In vain Mr. — remonstrated. He
begged for one hour, that he might see General Custar and
explain the circumstances of the night before; he also
pleaded the illness of his son-in-law, then in the house. No
reply was vouchsafed to the old gentleman, but with a look
of hardened ferocity, he turned to the soldiers, with the
order: "Men, to your work, and do it thoroughly!" In
an instant the torch was applied to that home of domestic
elegance and comfort. One soldier seized the sick son-in-law,
who is a surgeon in our service, threatening to carry him
to head-quarters, and was with difficulty prevented by the
kind interposition of Dr. Sinclair, the surgeon of the regiment.
They allowed the family to save as much furniture
as they could, but the servants were all gone, and there was
no one near to help them. The soldiers at once went to
Mr. —'s secretary, containing $40,000 in bonds, destroyed
it, and scattered the mutilated papers to the winds.
Matches were applied to window and bed curtains; burning
coals were sprinkled in the linen-closet, containing every
variety of house and table linen. Mrs. —, the daughter,
opened a drawer, and taking her jewelry, embracing an elegant
diamond ring and other valuables, was escaping with
them to the yard, when she was seized by two ruffians on
the stair-steps, held by the arms by one, while the other
forcibly took the jewels; they then, as she is a very small
woman, lifted her over the banister and let her drop
into the passage below; fortunately it was not very far
and she was not at all injured. Nothing daunted, she
rushed up-stairs, to rescue a box containing her bridal
presents of silver, which was concealed in the wall above a
closet. She climbed up to the highest shelf of the closet,
seized the box, and, with unnatural strength, threw it
through the window into the yard below. While still on
the shelf, securing other things from their hiding-place, all
unconscious of danger, a soldier set fire to some dresses
hanging on the pegs below the shelf on which she stood.
The first intimation she had of it was feeling the heat; she
then leaped over the flames to the floor; her stockings were
scorched, but she was not injured. She next saw a man
with the sign of the Cross on his coat; she asked him if he
was a chaplain? He replied that he was. She said,
"Then in mercy come, and help me to save some of my
mother's things." They went into her mother's chamber,
and she hurriedly opened the bureau drawer, and began
taking out the clothes, the chaplain assisting, but what was
her horror to see him putting whatever he fancied into his
pocket—among other things a paper of pins. She says she
could not help saying, as she turned to him, "A minister
of Christ stealing pins!!" In a moment the chaplain was
gone, but the pins were returned to the bureau. Mrs. —
is the only daughter of Mr. —, and was the only lady
on the spot. Her first care, when she found the house
burning, was to secure her baby, which was sleeping in its
cradle up-stairs. A guard was at the foot of the steps,
and refused to let her pass; she told him that she was going
to rescue her child from the flames. "Let the little
d—d rebel burn!" was the brutal reply. But his bayonet
could not stop her; she ran by, and soon returned, bearing
her child to a place of safety. When the house had become
a heap of ruins, the mother returned from the bedside
of her dead sister, whither she had gone at daylight that
morning, on horseback, (for her harness had been destroyed
by the enemy, making her carriage useless.) She was, of
course, overwhelmed with grief and with horror at the scene
before her. As soon as she dismounted, a soldier leaped
on the horse, and rode off with it. Their work of destruction
in one place being now over, they left it for another
scene of vengeance.

The same ceremony of Captain Drake's announcing his
orders to the mistress of the mansion (the master was a
prisoner) being over, the torch was applied. The men had
dismounted; the work of pillage was going on merrily; the
house was burning in every part, to insure total destruction.
The hurried tramp of horses' feet could not be heard amidst
the crackling of flames and falling of rafters, but the sudden
shout and cry of "No quarter! no quarter!" from many
voices, resounded in the ears of the unsuspecting marauders
as a death-knell. A company of Mosby's men rushed
up the hill and charged them furiously; they were aroused
by the sound of danger, and fled hither and thither.
Terrified and helpless, they were utterly unprepared for
resistance. The cry of "No quarter! no quarter!" still
continued. They hid behind the burning ruins; they
crouched in the corners of fences; they begged for life;
but their day of grace was past. The defenceless women,
children, and old men of the neighbourhood had
borne their tortures too long; something must be done,
and all that this one company of braves could do, was
done. Thirty were killed on the spot, and others, wounded
and bleeding, sought refuge, and asked pity of those whom
they were endeavouring to ruin. — writes: "Two came to

us, the most pitiable objects you ever beheld, and we
did what we could for them; for, after all, the men are
not to blame half so much as the officers. Whether these
things have been ordered by Sheridan or Custar, we do
not know. These two wounded men, and all who took
refuge among Secessionists, were removed that night, contrary
to our wishes, for we knew that their tortures in the
ambulances would be unbearable; but they were unwilling
to trust them, and unable to believe that persons who were
suffering so severely from them could return good for
evil.

"One man gruffly remarked: `If we leave any of them with
you all, Mosby will come and kill them over again.' We have
since heard that those two men died that night. The
pickets were then drawn in nearer to head quarters. All
was quiet for the rest of the day, and as Colonel Mosby
had but one company in that section of the country, it had
of course retired. That night, two regiments (for they
could not trust themselves in smaller numbers) were seen
passing along the road; their course was marked by the
torches which they carried. They rode to the third devoted
house, and burned it to the ground. No one knows whose
house will be the next object of revenge. Some fancied
wrong may make us all homeless. We keep clothes, house-linen,
and every thing compressible, tied up in bundles, so
that they can be easily removed."

Such are some of the horrors that are being enacted in Virginia
at this time. These instances, among many, many others,
I note in my diary, that my children's children may know
what we suffer during this unnatural war. Sheridan does
not mean that Hunter or Butler shall bear the palm of
cruelty—honours will at least be divided. I fear, from

appearances, that he will exceed them, before his reign of
terror is over. — says she feels as if she were nightly
encircled by fire—camp-fires, picket-fires, with here and
there stacks of wheat burning, and a large fire now and
then in the distance, denote the destruction of something—
it may be a dwelling, or it may be a barn.

September 1.— — has this day entered on her duties as
clerk in the "Surgeon-General's Department," which she
obtained with very little trouble on her part. We had
always objected to her applying for an office, because we
were afraid of the effect of sedentary employment on her
health; but now it seems necessary to us, as the prices of
provisions and house-rent have become so very high. Providence
has dealt most mercifully with us from the beginning
of the war: at first it seemed to be the pleasure of
our friends as well as ourselves that we should be with
them; then, when it became evident that the war would
continue, Mr. — obtained an office, which gave us a
limited, but independent, support. Then, when prices became
high, and we could not live on the salary, the chaplaincy
came, with a little better income. As provisions
continued to increase in price, and our prospect seemed
very poor for the winter, my office was obtained without the
least effort on my part, though I had often sought one in the
Treasury without success; and now, when difficulties seem
to be increasing with the great scarcity of provisions, the
way is again made comparatively easy. So it seems that the
Lord intends us to work for our daily bread, and to be independent,
but not to abound.

10th.—We must give up our rooms by the last of
this month, and the question now arises about our future
abode. We are searching hither and thither. We had

thought for a week past that our arrangements were most
delightfully made, and that we had procured, together with
Dr. M. and Colonel G., six rooms in a house on Franklin
Street. The arrangement had been made, and the proprietor
gone from town. The M's and ourselves were to take
four rooms in the third story; the back parlour on the first
floor was to be used by all parties; and Colonel G. would
take the large front basement room as his chamber, and at
his request, as our dining-room, as we could not be allowed
to use the upper chambers as eating-rooms. Our large screen
was to be transferred to the Colonel's bedstead and washing
apparatus, and the rest of the room furnished in dining-room
style. These rooms are all furnished and carpeted. Nothing
could have suited us better, and we have been for some
days anticipating our comfortable winter-quarters. The
M's have left town with the blissful assurance of a nice home;
to add to it all, the family of the proprietor is all that we
could desire as friends and companions. Last night I met
with a friend, who asked me where we had obtained rooms.
I described them with great alacrity and pleasure. She
looked surprised, and said, "Are you not mistaken? those
rooms are already occupied." "Impossible," said I; "we have
engaged them." She shook her head, saying, "There was
some mistake; they have been occupied for some days by a
family, who say that they have rented them." None but persons
situated exactly in the same way can imagine our disappointment.
The Colonel looked aghast; Mr. — pronounced
it a mistake; the girls were indignant, and I went
a little farther, and pronounced it bad treatment. This
morning I went up before breakfast to hear the truth of
the story—the family is still absent, but the servants confirmed
the statement by saying that a family had been in
the rooms that we looked at for a week, and that a gentleman,
a third party, had been up the day before to claim the
rooms, and said that the party occupying them had no right to
them, and must be turned out. The servant added, that
this third gentleman had sent up a dray with flour which
was now in the house, and had put his coal in the coal-cellar.
All this seems passing strange. Thus have we but
three weeks before us in which to provide ourselves with
an almost impossible shelter. The "Colonel" has written
to Mr. — for an explanation, and the M's have been apprised
of their dashed hopes. I often think how little the
possessors of the luxurious homes of Richmond know of the
difficulties with which refugees are surrounded, and how
little we ever appreciated the secure home-feeling which we
had all enjoyed before the war began. We have this evening
been out again in pursuit of quarters. The advertisements
of "Rooms to let" were sprinkled over the morning
papers, so that one could scarcely believe that there would
be any difficulty in our being supplied. A small house that
would accommodate our whole party, five or six rooms in a
large house, or two rooms for ourselves, if it were impossible
to do better, would answer our purpose—any thing for
a comfortable home. The first advertisement alluded to
basement rooms—damp, and redolent of rheumatism. The
next was more attractive—good rooms, well furnished, and
up but two flights of stairs; but the price was enormous,
far beyond the means of any of the party, and so evidently
an extortion designed to take all that could be extracted
from the necessity of others, that we turned from our hard-featured
proprietor with disgust. The rooms of the third
advertisement had been already rented, and the fourth
seemed more like answering our purpose than any we had
seen. There were only two rooms, and though small, and
rather dark, yet persons whose shelter was likely to be the
"blue vault of heaven" could not be very particular. The
price, too, was exorbitant, but with a little more self-denial
it might be paid. The next inquiry was about kitchen, servant's
room and coal-house; but we got no further than
the answer about the kitchen. The lady said there was no
kitchen that we could possibly use; her stove was small,
and she required it all; we must either be supplied from a
restaurant, or do our own cooking in one of the rooms.
As neither plan was to be thought of, we ended the parley.
A part of a kitchen is indispensable, though perhaps the
most annoying thing to which refugees are subjected. The
mistress is generally polite enough, but save me from the self-sufficient
cook. "I would like to oblige you, madam, but you
can't have loaf-bread to-morrow morning, because my mistress
has ordered loaf-bread and rolls, and our stove is small;"
or, "No, madam, you can't `bile' a ham, nor nothing else
to-day, because it is our washing-day;" or, "No, ma'am,
you can't have biscuits for tea, because the stove is cold,
and I've got no time to heat it." So that we must either
submit, or go to the mistress for redress, and probably find
none, and thus run the risk of offending both mistress and
maid, both of whom have us very much in their power. As
I walked home from this unsuccessful effort, it was nearly
dark; the gas was being lighted in hall, parlour, and chamber.
I looked in as I passed, and saw cheerful countenances
collecting around centre-tables, or sitting here and there
on handsome porticoes or marble steps, to enjoy the cool
evening breeze—countenances of those whose families I had
known from infancy, and who were still numbered among
my friends and acquaintances. I felt sad, and asked myself,
if those persons could realize the wants of others, would
they not cheerfully rent some of their extra rooms? Rooms
once opened on grand occasions, and now, as such occasions
are few and far between, not opened at all for weeks and
months together.

Would they not cheerfully remove some of their showy
and fragile furniture for a time, and allow those who had
once been accustomed to as large rooms of their own, to
occupy and take care of them? The rent would perhaps
be no object with them, but their kindness might be
twice blessed—the refugees would be made comfortable and
happy, and the money might be applied to the wants of the
soldiers or the city poor. And yet a third blessing might be
added—the luxury of doing good. Ah, they would then find
that the "quality of mercy is not strained," but that it
would indeed, like the "gentle dew from heaven," fall into
their very souls, and diffuse a happiness of which they know
not. These thoughts filled my mind until I reached the
present home of a refugee friend from Washington. It
was very late, but I thought I would run in, and see if she
could throw any light upon our difficulties. I was sorry to
find that she was in a similar situation, her husband having
that day been notified that their rooms would be required
on the first of October. We compared notes of our room-hunting
experiences, and soon found ourselves laughing
heartily over occurrences and conversations which were both
provoking and ridiculous. I then wended my way home,
amid brilliantly lighted houses and badly lighted streets.
Squads of soldiers were sauntering along, impregnating the
air with tobacco-smoke; men were standing at every
corner, lamenting the fall of Atlanta or the untimely end
of General Morgan. I too often caught a word, conveying

blame of the President for having removed General
Johnston. This blame always irritates me, because the
public became so impatient at General Johnston's want of
action, that they were clamorous for his removal. For
weeks the President was abused without measure because
he was not removed, and now the same people are using
the same terms towards him because the course which they
absolutely required at his hands has disappointed them.
The same people who a month ago curled the lip in scorn
at General Johnston's sloth and want of energy, and
praised General Hood's course from the beginning of the
war, now shrug their unmilitary shoulders, whose straps
have never graced a battle-field, and pronounce the change
"unfortunate and uncalled for." General Hood, they say,
was an "admirable Brigadier," but his "promotion was
most unfortunate;" while General Johnston's "Fabian policy"
is now pronounced the very thing for the "situation"—
the course which would have saved Atlanta, and have made
all right. This may all be true, but it is very distressing
to hear it harped upon now; quite as much so as it was
six weeks ago to hear the President called obstinate, because
he was ruining the country by not removing General
J. But I will no longer make myself uneasy about what I
hear, for I have implicit confidence in our leaders, both in
the Cabinet and on the field. Were I a credulous woman,
and ready to believe all that I hear in the office, in the hospital,
in my visits and on the streets, I should think that
Richmond is now filled with the most accomplished military
geniuses on which the sun shines. Each man expresses
himself, as an old friend would say, with the most "dogmatic
infallibility" of the conduct of the President, General
Lee, General Johnston, General Hampton, General
Beauregard, General Wise, together with all the other
lights of every degree. It is true that there are as many
varieties of opinion as there are men expressing them, or I
should profoundly regret that so much military light should
be obscured among the shades of the Richmond Departments;
but I do wish that some of them would refrain from
condemning the acts of our leaders, and from uttering such
awful prophecies, provided the President or General Lee
does not do so and so. Although I do not believe their forebodings,
yet the reiteration of such opinions, in the most
assured tones, makes me nervous and uneasy. I would that
all such men could be sent to the field; I think at least a
regiment could be spared from Richmond, for then the women
of the city at least would be more peaceful.

12th.—After holding a consultation with a particular
friend of Dr. M., together with Mr. — and the "Colonel,"
we have determined to await the decision of Mr. — about
the rooms on Franklin Street, and not to attempt to get
others, hoping that as there are so many competitors for
them, we may be considered the rightful claimants. There
can be no doubt that they were promised to us.

The morning papers report "all quiet" at Petersburg,
except that shells are daily thrown into the city, and that
many of the women and children are living in tents in the
country, so as to be out of the reach of shells.

The death of the bold and dashing General Morgan is
deeply regretted. He has done us great service throughout
the war, but particularly since his wonderful escape
from his incarceration in the Ohio Penitentiary. It seems
so short a time since he was here, all classes delighting to do
him reverence. It is hard for us to have to give up such men.

General Hood telegraphs that the inhabitants of Atlanta

have been ordered to leave their homes, to go they know
not whither. Lord, how long must we suffer such things?
I pray that the enemy's hands may be stayed, and that they
may be driven from our fair borders to their own land. I ask
not vengeance upon them, but that they may be driven to
their own homes, and that we may be henceforward and
forever a separate people.

16th.—A visit to-day from my brother Dr. B., who
bears the utter desolation of his home quietly, though so
sudden a change of circumstances is of course very depressing.
He tells me that he has lately had a visit from a very
interesting young South Carolinian, who came to look for
the body of his brother. The two brothers were being
educated in Germany when the war broke out; and as soon
as they were of military age, with the consent of their parents,
they hastened home to take part in their country's
struggle. In one of the cavalry fights in Hanover, in May
last, one brother was killed, and the other, "not being able
to find the body at the time, was now seeking it." His
mother was on the ocean returning to her home, and he
could not meet her with the information that her son's body
could not be found. He had heard that some of the fallen
had been buried at S. H. or W. He mentioned that
their intimate friend, young Middleton, had fallen in the same
fight. Mr. Middleton had been buried at S. H., and his
grave had been marked by Mrs. N.; but young Pringle
(the name of the brothers) had been carried to neither
place. Mr. Pringle had seen in a New York paper an
account given by a Yankee officer of several wounded Confederates
who had been captured, and having died on their
way to the "White House," they were buried by the roadside,
and he had some reason to believe that his brother was

among them. It was then remembered that there were
three graves on the opposite side of the Pamunky River, and
one was marked with the name "Tingle." It was an excessively
warm Sunday morning; but as the young soldier's
furlough only extended to the following day, there was no
time to be lost. Dr. B. and the brother set out upon their
melancholy mission, having obtained a cart, one or two men,
and given an order at a neighbouring carpenter's shop for a
coffin. After crossing the river they found the three
graves, at the place designated, in the county of King William.
The one marked "Tingle" contained the body of a
Federal and one of a Confederate soldier, but not the brother.
The next one opened was not the right one; but the
third contained the much-loved remains, which were easily
recognized by the anxious brother. Tenderly and gently,
all wrapped in his blanket, he was transferred from his
shallow grave to his soldier's coffin, and then conveyed to
S. H., to be placed by his friend Middleton. It was now
night, the moon shone brightly, and all was ready. The families
from both houses gathered around the grave. "Slowly
and sadly they laid him down." No minister of the
Gospel was near to perform the services. Dr. B. stood at
the head with a Prayer-Book for the purpose, but his defective
sight obliged him to yield the book to Mrs. N., who,
with a clear, calm voice read by the light of a single lantern
the beautiful ritual of the Episcopal Church. The
grave was filled in solemn silence, the brother standing at
the foot. When all was over, the young ladies and children
of the families advanced with wreaths and bouquets,
and in an instant the soldier's grave was a mound of fresh
flowers. The brother could no longer restrain his feelings;
he was completely overwhelmed, and was obliged to retire
to his room, where he could indulge them freely. Next
morning he returned to his command, after a leave-taking
in which the feelings expressed by all parties evinced more
of the friendship of years than the acquaintance of hours.
It seems strange indeed that this scene, so similar to that
of the burial of the lamented Captain Latané, should have
occurred at the same place. But who could relate, who
could number the sad scenes of this war? Many such have
probably occurred in various parts of the country.

18th.—Nothing yet from Mr. — about our rooms.
All the furnished rooms that I have seen, except those,
would cost us from $100 to $110 per month for each
room, which, of course, we cannot pay; but we will try and
not be anxious overmuch, for the Lord has never let us
want comforts since we left our own dear home, and if we
use the means which He has given us properly and in His
fear, He will not desert us now.

I went with Mr. — as usual this morning to the "Officers'
Hospital," where he read a part of the service and delivered
an address to such patients among the soldiers as were well
enough to attend. I acted as his chorister, and when the services
were over, and he went around to the bedsides of the
patients, I crossed the street, as I have done several times
before, to the cemetery—the old "Shockoe Hill Cemetery."
It is, to me, the most interesting spot in the city. It is a
melancholy thought, that, after an absence of thirty years,
I am almost a stranger in my native place. In this cemetery
I go from spot to spot, and find the names that were
the household words of my childhood and youth; the names
of my father's and mother's friends; of the friends of my
sisters, and of my own school-days. The first that struck
me was that of the venerable and venerated Bishop Moore,

on the monument erected by his church; then, that of his
daughter, the admirable Miss Christian; then the monument
to Colonel Ambler, erected by his children. Mrs.
Ambler lies by him. Mr. and Mrs. Chapman Johnson,
Judge and Mrs. Cabell, Mr. and Mrs. John Wickham, surrounded
by their children, who were the companions of my
youth; also, their lovely grand-daughter, Mrs. W. H. F.
Lee, who passed away last winter, at an early age, while
her husband was prisoner of war. Near them is the grave
of the Hon. Benjamin Watkins Leigh; of Judge and Mrs.
Stanard, and of their gifted son; of dear Mrs. Henningham
Lyons and her son James, from whose untimely end she never
recovered; of our sweet friend, Mrs. Lucy Green. Then
there is the handsome monument of Mrs. Abraham Warwick
and the grave of her son, dear Clarence, who died
so nobly at Gaines's Mill in 1862. His grave seems to be
always covered with fresh flowers, a beautiful offering to
one whose young life was so freely given to his country.
Again I stood beside the tombs of two friends, whom I
dearly loved, Mrs. Virginia Heth and Mrs. Mary Ann Barney,
the lovely daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Gwathney,
whose graves are also there. Then the tomb of our
old friend, Mr. James Rawlings, and those of Mr. and Mrs.
Herbert A. Claiborne and their daughter, Mary Burnet.
Just by them is the newly-made grave of our sweet niece,
Mary Anna, the wife of Mr. H. Augustine Claiborne,
freshly turfed and decked with the flowers she loved so
dearly. A little farther on lies my young cousin, Virginia,
wife of Major J. H. Claiborne, and her two little daughters.
But why should I go on? Time would fail me to enumerate
all the loved and lost. Their graves look so peaceful
in that lovely spot. Most of them died before war
came to distress them. The names of two persons I cannot
omit, before whose tombs I pause with a feeling of veneration
for their many virtues. One was that of Mrs. Sully,
my music-teacher, a lady who was known and respected by
the whole community for her admirable character, accompanied
by the most quiet and gentle manner. The other
was that of Mr. Joseph Danforth, the humble but excellent
friend of my precious father. The cemetery at Hollywood
is of later date, though many very dear to me repose amid
its beautiful shades.

But enough of the past and of sadness. I must now turn
to busy life again, and note a little victory, of which General
Lee telegraphed yesterday, by which we gained some
four hundred prisoners, many horses and wagons, and 2,500
beeves. These last are most acceptable to our commissariat!

The Southern Army are having an armistice of ten days,
for the inhabitants of Atlanta to get off from their homes.
Exiled by Sherman, my heart bleeds for them. May the
good Lord have mercy upon them, and have them in His holy
keeping!

21st.—Bad news this morning. General Early has had
a defeat in the Valley, near Winchester, and has fallen back
to Strasburg. Our loss reported heavy. Major-General
Rodes killed, and Brigadier-General Godwin and General
Fitz Lee wounded. No other casualties heard of; and I
dread to hear more.

28th.—Mr. P. came home, and at once decided that we
were entitled to the rooms. By this arrangement we are
greatly relieved. The family who occupied them have
moved off, and Mr. — having convinced the third
party of his mistake, has taken off his hands the coal and

flour which he had stored away, and now all is straight.
The "Colonel" and ourselves moved our goods and chattels
to these rooms yesterday. The M's will be here in a day
or two. We have a long walk to our offices, but it is very
near my hospital. Mr.—'s hospital is very far from every
point, as it is on the outskirts of the city; but he thinks the
walk is conducive to his health, so that we are, upon the
whole, very comfortable.

October 10.—I am cast down by hearing that J. P. has
been captured; he was caught while scouting in the enemy's
lines, on James River. Poor child! I feel very, very
anxious about him.

Our army in the Valley has regained its foothold, the
enemy having retreated. E. C. had his horse killed under
him in a fight near Waynesborough, but he escaped unhurt.

The Federal Army below Richmond advanced a few days
ago, and took "Fort Harrison." We live now amid perpetual
firing of cannon. The loss of Fort Harrison is, I am
afraid, a very serious loss to us. The enemy made a second
advance, which has been handsomely repulsed. They seem
to be putting forth their utmost efforts against us. I pray
that our armies may be able to resist them and drive them
to their own land.

12th.—The armies around Richmond remain quiet. Butler
is digging the canal at "Dutch Gap," and Grant is fortifying
"Fort Harrison" most vigorously. General Rosser
has had a little reverse in the Valley, losing some guns. He
had a cavalry fight, overcame the enemy, and drove them
for miles; but encountering a body of infantry which was too
much for him, he had to retreat, leaving his guns to the
enemy.

The hospitals are full of the wounded; my afternoons

are very much engaged, nursing them. I was very sorry
yesterday to find R. S. painfully wounded.

13th.—The day has passed as usual—six hours in the
Commissary Department, and the remainder occupied in
various ways. Rumours of fighting below Richmond; we
hear the cannon, but it is said to be merely a skirmish.

20th.—Nothing new in the field. Armies quiet; perhaps
preparing for dreadful work. I got a note last night
from J. P., written with a pencil. He and other prisoners
are working ten hours a day on "Dutch Gap Canal."
They work under the fire of our own batteries. Poor fellow!
my heart yearns over him.

26th.—The armies around Richmond continue quiet.
General Early's second misfortune was very depressing to
us all. We are now recovering from it. I trust that God
will turn it all to our good. A striking and admirable address
from him to his soldiers was in the morning papers.
Oh, I trust they will retrieve their fortunes hereafter.

28th.—Very much interested lately in the hospitals; not
only in our own, "the Robertson hospital," but in Mr.
—'s, "the officers' hospital."

He has just told me of a case which has interested me deeply.
An officer from the far South was brought in mortally
wounded. He had lost both legs in a fight below Petersburg.
The poor fellow suffered excessively; could not be
still a moment; and was evidently near his end. His
brother, who was with him, exhibited the bitterest grief,
watching and waiting on him with silent tenderness and
flowing tears. Mr. — was glad to find that he was not
unprepared to die. He had been a professor of religion for
some years, and told him that he was suffering too much to
think on that or any other subject, but he constantly tried

to look to God for mercy. Mr. — then recognized him,
for the first time, as a patient who had been in the hospital
last spring, and whose admirable character had then much
impressed him. He was a gallant and brave officer, yet so
kind and gentle to those under his control that his men
were deeply attached to him, and the soldier who nursed
him showed his love by his anxious care of his beloved captain.
After saying to him a few words about Christ and his
free salvation, offering up a fervent prayer in which he
seemed to join, and watching the sad scene for a short time,
Mr. — left him for the night. The surgeons apprehended
that he would die before morning, and so it turned out; at
the chaplain's early call there was nothing in his room but
the chilling signal of the empty "hospital bunk." He was
buried that day, and we trust will be found among the redeemed
in the day of the Lord. This, it was thought,
would be the last of this good man; but in the dead of night
came hurriedly a single carriage to the gate of the hospital.
A lone woman, tall, straight, and dressed in deep mourning,
got quickly out, and moved rapidly up the steps into the
large hall, where, meeting the guard, she asked anxiously,
"Where's Captain T.?" Taken by surprise, the man
answered hesitatingly, "Captain T. is dead, madam, and
was buried to-day." This terrible announcement was as a
thunderbolt at the very feet of the poor lady, who fell to
the floor as one dead. Starting up, oh, how she made that
immense building ring with her bitter lamentations! Worn
down with apprehension and weary with travelling over a
thousand miles by day and night, without stopping for a
moment's rest, and wild with grief, she could hear no voice
of sympathy—she regarded not the presence of one or many;
she told the story of her married life, as if she were alone—
how her husband was the best man that ever lived; how
everybody loved him; how kind he was to all; how devoted
to herself; how he loved his children, took care of, and did
every thing for them; how, from her earliest years almost,
she had loved him as herself; how tender he was of her,
watching over her in sickness, never seeming to weary of it,
never to be unwilling to make any sacrifice for her comfort
and happiness; how that, when the telegraph brought the
dreadful news that he was dangerously wounded, she never
waited an instant nor stopped a moment by the way, day
nor night, and now "I drove as fast as the horses could
come from the depot to this place, and he is dead and
buried!—I never shall see his face again!" "What shall
I do?"—"But where is he buried?" They told her where.
"I must go there; he must be taken up; I must see him!"
"But, madam, you can't see him; he has been buried some
hours." "But I must see him; I can't live without seeing
him; I must hire some one to go and take him up; can't
you get some one to take him up? I'll pay him well; just
get some men to take him up. I must take him home; he
must go home with me. The last thing I said to his
children was, that they must be good children, and I would
bring their father home, and they are waiting for him now!
He must go; I can't go without him; I can't meet his children
without him!" and so, with her woman's heart, she
could not be turned aside—nothing could alter her purpose.
The next day she had his body taken up and embalmed.
She watched by it until every thing was ready, and then carried
him back to his own house and his children, only to seek
a grave for the dead father close by those he loved, among
kindred and friends in the fair sunny land he died to defend.

Many painfully interesting scenes occur, which I would like

so much to write in my diary, but time fails me at night,
and my hours of daylight are very closely occupied.

November 13.—The "military situation" seems very
much the same. Some cheering intimations from Georgia.
Hood has made movements on Sherman's flank, and Forrest
upon his rear, which it is thought promise most valuable
results, but nothing final has been yet accomplished,
and we may be too sanguine.

General Price is still successful in Missouri.

In the Valley of Virginia an immense amount of private
property has been destroyed. Sheridan, glorying in his
shame, boasts of, and probably magnifies, what has been
done in that way. He telegraphs to Grant that he has
burned 2,000 barns. The Lord shorten his dreadful work,
and have mercy upon the sufferers!

Nothing new about Richmond. A few days ago the enemy
made several attempts to advance upon the Darbytown
road, and were handsomely repulsed. The firing of cannon
is so common a sound that it is rather remarkable when we
do not hear it.

Mr.—has been telling us of some other interesting
cases in his hospital; among them, that of Captain Brown,
of North Carolina, has awakened our sympathies. He came
into the hospital bright and cheerful, with every appearance
of speedy recovery. He talked a great deal of his wife and
six children at home, one of whom he had never seen.
Knowing that his wife would be sick, he had obtained a
furlough, and made arrangements to go home, but the recent
battles coming on, he would not leave his post. Through
many a hard-fought action God had kept him unharmed; he
had never been touched by a solitary weapon, until he began
to feel that there was not the slightest danger to him,

even amid the harvest of death. He wrote that he should be
at home as soon as this fight was over; but it was not to
be so, and he soon came into the hospital severely wounded.
As he lay upon his bed of suffering, the image of his dear
wife in her sickness and sorrow, and then with her new-born
infant, seemed constantly before him. "I intended to be
there," he would say dreamily; "I made all my arrangements
to be there; I know she wants me; she wrote to me
to come to her; oh, I wish I was there, but now I can't go,
but I hope I did right; I hope it is all right." A letter
from her, speaking of herself and infant as doing well,
relieved his anxiety, and he tried to bear the disappointment
with patience, still hoping soon to be at home. God,
however, had ordered it otherwise. The word had gone
forth, "He shall not return to his house, neither shall his
place know him any more." Gangrene appeared, and it
was melancholy to see his strength giving way, his hopes
fading, and death coming steadily on. He was a professor
of religion, and Mr.—says he was always ready to hear
the word of God, and, though anxious to live, yet he put
himself into the Lord's hand, with humble faith and hope,
such as may give his friends assurance that death was gain
to him.

The war news seems encouraging. Many persons are
very despondent, but I do not feel so—perhaps I do not understand
the military signs. Our men below Richmond
have certainly had many successes of late. Sheridan, instead
of capturing Lynchburg, as he promised, is retreating
down the Valley. In the South, the army of Tennessee is
in Sherman's rear, and Forrest still carries every thing before
him. General Price seems to be doing well in Missouri;
Arkansas and Texas seem to be all right. Kentucky,

too, (poor Kentucky!) seems more hopeful. Then why
should we despond? Maryland, als for Maryland! the
tyrant's heel appears too heavy for her, and we grievously
fear that the prospect of her union with the South is rapidly
passing away. If we must give her up, it will not be
without sorrow and mortification. We shall mournfully
bewail her dishonour and shame. If her noble sons who
have come to the South must return, they will take with
them our gratitude and admiration for their gallant bearing
in many a hard-fought battle. Readily will we receive
those who choose to remain among us; and in holy ground
take care of her honoured dead, who so freely gave their lives
for Southern rights. The Potomac may seem to some the
natural boundary between North and South; but it is hard
to make up one's mind yet to the entire surrender of our sister
State; and if we could, gladly would we hope for Maryland,
even as we hope for the Southern Confederacy herself.

21st.—We attended hospital services yesterday as usual.
There are few patients, and none are very ill. On Friday
night a most unexpected death took place, under very painful
circumstances. A young adjutant lost his life by jumping
out of a window at the head of his bed, about ten feet
from the ground. His attendants were a sister, brother, and
two servants. His suffering with a wound in his foot had
been so intense that he would not allow any one to touch it
except the ward-master, who handled it with the greatest
tenderness. Yet while his attendants were asleep (for they
thought it unnecessary to be up with him all night) he
managed to get up, raise the window, and throw himself
out, without disturbing one of them. His mind was no
doubt unsettled, as it had been before. He lived about an
hour after being found. His poor sister was wild with

grief and horror, and his other attendants dreadfully
shocked.

23d.—Military movements are kept very much in the
dark. Nothing going on about Richmond, except cannonading,
particularly at Dutch Gap.

Sherman is moving across Georgia in direction of Milledgeville,
looking towards Savannah, or perhaps Charleston,
or to some intermediate point on the coast, where he
may, if necessary, meet with reinforcements and supplies
from Federal shipping already there, or on their way down
the Atlantic coast for that very purpose. Efforts are being
made by the Governors of South Carolina and Georgia to
arrest him. Beauregard, too, has made a short, stirring
address, assuring them that he was hastening down to their
aid, and that with proper exertions which might be made
on their part, the destruction of the enemy would be certain.
Nothing equal to the démands of these trying times
has yet been done by any of the authorities. Oh that they
would strain every nerve to put a stop to this bold and
desolating invader! It would require united effort, made
without delay. No hesitation, no doubting and holding
back must there be; every human being capable of bearing
arms must fly to the rescue; all the stores of every kind
should be destroyed or removed; bridges burned, roads
torn up or obstructed; every difficulty should be thrown in
the way. He should be harassed day and night, that he
might be delayed, and entrapped, and ruined. Oh that
these things could be done! It may be a woman's thought,
but I believe that had Georgia one tithe of the experience
of the ruined, homeless Virginians, she would exert every
fibre of her frame to destroy the enemy; she would have
no delusive hope of escape. I trust that the doctrines of

Brown, Stephens, and such like, are not now bearing their
bitter fruits! that the people of patriotic Georgia have not
been rendered unfit for the sacrifices and dangers of this
fearful day, when every man is required to stand in the
deadly breach, and every earthly interest, even life itself,
must be surrendered rather than yield to the barbarous
foe, by their treasonable doctrines of reconstruction, reunion,
etc. Oh, I trust not; and I hope that our now uncertain
mails may bring information that all Georgia and
South Carolina are aroused to their awful condition.

December 4, Sunday.—We attended this evening the
funeral of Colonel Angus W. McDonald, the relative of
Mr. —. His is a sad story. He was educated at
West Point, but in early life resigned his position in the
regular army and joined a company of fur traders, went
with them to the Rocky Mountains, where he led an adventurous
life, well suited to his excitable temper. For years
his life was full of adventure, with the broad heavens for
his roof and the cold earth for his couch. With a bold
spirit and great muscular power, he soon acquired extensive
influence with the Indian tribes among which he moved,
and was chosen as the chief of one of them, where he was
known as the "Big Warrior." As such he led his braves to
many a hard-fought battle, and taught surrounding tribes to
fear him and them, by such courage and prowess as always
so deeply impress the savage mind. Many incidents of his
life among the Indians are full of interest. On one occasion,
having received an injury from a neighbouring tribe,
he sent to them that he was coming to settle with them for
it, and that they must meet him for the purpose, at a
certain time and place. Accordingly, all their warriors were
assembled and seated in due form, at the proper distance

from and around a central post, ready and waiting for the
conference. At the appointed time, the "Big Warrior," in
full dress, made his appearance, and striding through to the
centre of the dark, silent circle, he struck his tomahawk
deep into the "post," and looking quietly but sternly
around from one gloomy warrior to another, he in few
words told them why he was there, and what he required
of them. "You have insulted me," said he; "you robbed
some of my men, and you killed two of them; you must
restore the goods and give up the murderers, or you must
fight it out, and I am here for that purpose." His imposing
appearance, his boldness, the justice of his cause, and
his steady purpose of retaliating to the full, so awed them,
that his terms were promptly assented to, and he quickly
returned to his people with the most ample satisfaction
for the injuries they had received. He grew weary of this
life after some years, and determined to return to his early
home and associations. Acting upon this impulse, we next
find him in Romney, Hampshire County, among his kindred,
where he quietly resumed the duties of civilized life, was
married, and practised law for years. Still restless and different
from other men, he was constantly speculating in one
thing and another—politics, property, etc. At one time he
was in the Virginia Legislature, and controlled the vote
of his county in a way new to our republican experience.
For this purpose he got possession of a large mountain
region, filling it with a population whom he ruled very
much as a Scottish chief would have done in his ancestral
Highlands, and using their votes to decide any public controversy
in which he chose to engage. This, of course, did
not last long; it was too much opposed to the public views
and feelings, and under the consequent changes around him,
he found it expedient to return to private life. From this
retirement, however, his native State soon recalled him, as
one of the three commissioners to settle the boundary line
between Maryland and Virginia. In his capacity as such,
the Virginia Legislature sent him to England to examine
the public records bearing upon this subject. He discharged
the duties of his mission with ability and success, as his
voluminous report will show. The present war found him
residing with his large family near Winchester, his native
place. The Confederate Government having given him the
commission of a colonel, it was hoped that he would be of
great use in the bloody contest; but a discipline better
suited in its severity to Indian warriors than to our high-minded
volunteers, together with advanced years and declining
health, disappointed the expectations of himself
and his friends. He found, indeed, that bodily infirmity
alone rendered him unfit for active service, and this, with
other difficulties, made it proper to break up his command.
Thus it happened that when that brute, Hunter, marched
through Lexington, spreading desolation in his path,
Colonel McDonald, then a resident of the town, believing
that the enemy, who had manifested great harshness towards
him, injuring his property near Winchester, etc.,
would arrest him, determined to keep out of their way,
and with others took refuge in a neighbouring forest.
Here, unfortunately, the enemy found him, with his son Harry,
a youth of some sixteen years, and took them prisoners.
It is somewhat singular that the presence of this devoted
son caused the father's arrest. He had always determined
that he would never surrender, never be taken alive. But
when he looked at this boy, who had fought so nobly by
his side, and who would surely be sacrificed if he refused to
surrender, he could fight no longer; it seemed to im, as
he afterwards said, as the voice from Heaven which stayed
the armed hand of Abraham, and he could not fire another
shot. Father and son were thus captured. Harry
escaped in a day or two; but the father was tied and
dragged along at a rapid pace towards the Maryland line.
When he could no longer walk a step, they allowed him to
get into a wagon with nothing to rest upon but some old
iron, rough tools, etc. Thus they hastened him to Cumberland,
Maryland, where they handcuffed him and put him into
solitary confinement; thence he was hurried to Wheeling,
where he was again, with his manacles on, shut up in a dungeon,
seven feet by ten, with nothing to relieve the sufferings
incident to such a fate, nothing to expect or hope for,
but the bitterest cruelty. From this dreadful captivity he
was released two or three weeks ago, and reached the house
of his daughter, in this city, with health, bad for years, now
worse than ever, and constitution entirely broken by hard
and cruel bondage. Cheered by freedom, and the society
of his children who were here, he flattered himself that he
would be enabled to return to his home of refuge in Lexington.
This hope proved delusive. It soon appeared that
his whole nervous system was shattered, and his end rapidly
approaching; his wife was sent for, but did not arrive
until the day after he died. Not dreaming of what awaited
her, she came full of hope and joy at the anticipated meeting.
But who may describe the grief which overwhelmed
her on her arrival? His checkered life was closed in his
sixty-sixth year. The funeral took place this evening at
St. Paul's Church. He was buried with military honors, at
Hollywood Cemetery. While manacled in the horrid dungeon,
his only petition was to be allowed to keep a Bible, from
which he professed to have derived great peace and comfort.
His family think that he returned from prison a changed
man. His spirit, which was naturally stern, had become
gentle and loving, and strangely grateful to every being who
showed him the least kindness. The Bible was still his daily
companion; from it he seemed to derive great comfort and an
abiding faith in Christ his Saviour.

17th.—The military movements are important, but to
what they tend we know not. More troops have been
added from Sheridan to Grant, and Early to Lee, and Sherman
has crossed Georgia with little opposition or loss. Our
last news is, that he has taken Fort McAllister, some miles
below Savannah. What fate awaits that city we tremble
to think of. A raid on Bristol and up the railroad, towards
Saltville, has alarmed us for the salt-works; but
General Breckinridge having turned up in the right place,
suddenly appeared in their front and drove them off, to the
great relief of the public mind.

24th.—Savannah has been evacuated, without loss to us,
except of some stores, which could not be removed. The
city was surrendered by its mayor, Arnold by name,
and he seems to be worthy of the traitorous name. Our
troops marched towards Charleston. Savannah was of little
use to us for a year past, it has been so closely blockaded,
and its surrender relieves troops which were there for its
defence, which may be more useful elsewhere; but the
moral effect of its fall is dreadful. The enemy are encouraged,
and our people depressed. I never saw them
more so.

On the 22d General Rosser beat a division of the
enemy near Harrisonburg, and on the 23d General Lomax
repulsed and severely punished another, near Gordonsville.

To-morrow is Christmas-day. Our girls and B. have
gone to Cedar Hill to spend a week. Our office has suspended
its labours, and I am anticipating very quiet holidays.
A Christmas present has just been handed me from
my sweet young friend S. W.—a box filled with all manner
of working materials, which are now so scarce and expensive,
with a beautiful mat for my toilet at the bottom of it.
Christmas will come on the Sabbath. The "Colonel" is
gone, but J. and C. will take their usual Sunday dinner,
and I have gotten up a little dessert, because Christmas
would not be Christmas without something better than
usual; but it is a sad season to me. On last Christmas-day
our dear R. T. C. was buried; and yesterday I saw my
sweet young cousin E. M. die, and to-morrow expect to
attend her funeral. Full of brightness and animation, full
of Christian hope and charity, she was the life of her
father's house, the solace and comfort of her already afflicted
mother, one of the many mothers whose first-born has fallen
a sacrifice to the war. This interesting girl, with scarcely
a warning, has passed into heaven, leaving a blank in the
hearts of her family never to be filled.

26th.—The sad Christmas has passed away. J. and C.
were with us, and very cheerful. We exerted ourselves to
be so too. The Church services in the morning were sweet
and comforting. St. Paul's was dressed most elaborately
and beautifully with evergreens; all looked as usual; but
there is much sadness on account of the failure of the South
to keep Sherman back. When we got home our family
circle was small, but pleasant. The Christmas turkey and
ham were not. We had aspired to a turkey, but finding
the prices range from $50 to $100 in the market on Saturday,
we contented ourselves with roast-beef and the various

little dishes which Confederate times have made us believe
are tolerable substitutes for the viands of better days. At
night I treated our little party to tea and ginger cakes—
two very rare indulgences; and but for the sorghum, grown
in our own fields, the cakes would be an impossible indulgence.
Nothing but the well-ascertained fact that Christmas
comes but once a year would make such extravagance
at all excusable. We propose to have a family gathering
when the girls come home, on the day before or after New
Year's day, (as that day will come on Sunday,) to enjoy together,
and with one or two refugee friends, the contents of
a box sent the girls by a young officer who captured it
from the enemy, consisting of white sugar, raisins, preserves,
pickles, spices, etc. They threaten to give us a plum-cake,
and I hope they will carry it out, particularly if we have
any of our army friends with us. Poor fellows, how they
enjoy our plain dinners when they come, and how we love
to see them enjoy them! Two meals a day has become the
universal system among refugees, and many citizens, from
necessity. The want of our accustomed tea or coffee is very
much felt by the elders. The rule with us is only to have
tea when sickness makes it necessary, and the headaches
gotten up about dark have become the joke of the family.
A country lady, from one of the few spots in all Virginia
where the enemy has never been, and consequently where
they retain their comforts, asked me gravely why we did
not substitute milk for tea. She could scarcely believe me
when I told her that we had not had milk more than twice
in eighteen months, and then it was sent by a country
friend. It is now $4 a quart.

28th.—A bright spot in our military horizon. The
enemy's fleet of more than thirty gun-boats made a furious

attack on Fort Fisher, near Wilmington, N. C., on the
24th, (last Saturday;) they kept up an average fire of
thirty shots per minute until night. On the 25th the attack
was renewed, and on the 27th, after being three times repulsed,
the enemy abandoned his position above Fort
Fisher, and re-embarked. The damage done to us was
very slight—only two guns disabled, and but few other
casualties. Thus failed utterly this great expedition of
land and sea forces, from which the Federal authorities and
the whole North confidently expected such grand results.
And so may it ever be; the Lord help us, and deliver us in
every such hour of need.

Yesterday we had a pleasant little dinner-party at Dr.
G's—so rare a thing now, that I must note it in my
diary. Many nice things on the table were sent by country
friends. What would we do without our country friends?
Their hearts seem warm and generous to those who are not
so well off as themselves. They set a good example, which
I trust will not be lost on us. Our relatives and friends,
though they have been preyed upon by the enemy almost
to exhaustion, never seem to forget us. Sausage from one,
a piece of beef from another, a bushel of dried fruit, a
turkey, etc., come ever and anon to our assistance. One
can scarcely restrain tears of affection when it is remembered
that these things are evidences of self-denial, and not
given from their abundance, as at the beginning of the war.
The soldiers are not forgotten by these country friends—
those who remember the refugees are never forgetful of the
soldiers. Take our people as a whole, they are full of generosity
and patriotism. The speculators and money-makers
of these trying times are a peculiar class, of which I neither
like to speak, think, nor write; they are objects of my implacable

disgust. They do not belong to our noble Southern
patriots. They are with us, but not of us! I should
think that a man who had made a fortune during the war
would, when the war is over, wish to hide it, and not own
his ill-gotten gains. I trust there are not many such. The
year 1864 has almost passed away. Oh, what a fearful
account it has rendered to Heaven! What calamities and
sorrows crowd into its history, in this afflicted country of
ours! God help us, and guide us onward and upward, for
the Saviour's sake!