 | Diary of a southern refugee during the war |  |
DIARY
OF A
SOUTHERN REFUGEE.
At Home, May 4, 1861.—I am too nervous, too wretched
to-day to write in my diary, but that the employment will
while away a few moments of this trying time. Our friends
and neighbors have left us. Every thing is broken up. The
Theological Seminary is closed; the High School dismissed.
Scarcely any one is left of the many families which surrounded
us. The homes all look desolate; and yet this beautiful
country is looking more peaceful, more lovely than ever, as
if to rebuke the tumult of passion and the fanaticism of
man. We are left lonely indeed; our children are all gone—
the girls to Clarke, where they may be safer, and farther
from the exciting scenes which may too soon surround
us; and the boys, the dear, dear boys, to the camp, to be
drilled and prepared to meet any emergency. Can it be
that our country is to be carried on and on to the horrors
of civil war? I pray, oh how fervently do I pray, that our
Heavenly Father may yet avert it. I shut my eyes and
hold my breath when the thought of what may come upon
us obtrudes itself; and yet I cannot believe it. It will, I
know the breach will be healed without the effusion of
blood. The taking of Sumter without bloodshed has somewhat
wiser than I, that men must fall on both sides by the score,
by the hundred, and even by the thousand. But it is not
my habit to look on the dark side, so I try hard to employ
myself, and hope for the best. To-day our house seems so
deserted, that I feel more sad than usual, for on this morning
we took leave of our whole household. Mr. — and myself
are now the sole occupants of the house, which usually
teems with life. I go from room to room, looking at first
one thing and then another, so full of sad associations. The
closed piano, the locked bookcase, the nicely-arranged
tables, the formally-placed chairs, ottomans and sofas in the
parlor! Oh for some one to put them out of order! And
then the dinner-table, which has always been so well surrounded,
so social, so cheerful, looked so cheerless to-day, as
we seated ourselves one at the head, the other at the foot,
with one friend,—but one,—at the side. I could scarcely
restrain my tears, and but for the presence of that one
friend, I believe I should have cried outright. After dinner,
I did not mean to do it, but I could not help going into
the girls' room, and then into C.'s. I heard my own footsteps
so plainly, that I was startled by the absence of all
other sounds. There the furniture looked so quiet, the beds
so fixed and smooth, the wardrobes and bureaux so tightly
locked, and the whole so lifeless! But the writing-desks,
work-boxes, and the numberless things so familiar to my
eyes! Where were they? I paused, to ask myself what it
all meant. Why did we think it necessary to send off all
that was so dear to us from our own home? I threw open
the shutters, and the answer came at once, so mournfully!
I heard distinctly the drums beating in Washington. The
evening was so still that I seemed to hear nothing else. As
believe my senses. That Capitol of which I had always
been so proud! Can it be possible that it is no longer
our Capitol? And are our countrymen, under its very
eaves, making mighty preparation to drain our hearts' blood?
And must this Union, which I was taught to revere, be rent
asunder? Once I thought such a suggestion sacrilege; but
now that it is dismembered, I trust it may never, never be
röunited. We must be a separate people—our nationality
must be different, to insure lasting peace and good-will.
Why cannot we part in peace?
May 10.—Since writing last, I have been busy, very
busy, arranging and röarranging. We are now hoping that
Alexandria will not be a landing-place for the enemy, but
that the forts will be attacked. In that case, they would
certainly be repulsed, and we could stay quietly at home.
To view the progress of events from any point will be sad
enough, but it would be more bearable at our own home, and
surrounded by our family and friends. With the supposition
that we may remain, and that the ladies of the family at
least may return to us, I am having the grounds put in
order, and they are now so beautiful! Lilacs, crocuses,
the lily of the valley, and other spring flowers, are in
luxuriant bloom, and the roses in full bud. The greenhouse
plants have been removed and grouped on the lawn,
verbenas in bright bloom have been transplanted from the
pit to the borders, and the grass seems unusually green after
the late rains; the trees are in full leaf; every thing is so
fresh and lovely. "All, save the spirit of man, is divine."
War seems inevitable, and while I am trying to employ
the passing hour, a cloud still hangs over us and all
that surrounds us. For a long time before our society was
the surrounding country were busily employed sewing for
our soldiers. Shirts, pants, jackets, and beds, of the heaviest
material, have been made by the most delicate fingers. All
ages, all conditions, meet now on one common platform.
We must all work for our country. Our soldiers must be
equipped. Our parlor was the rendezvous for our neighborhood,
and our sewing-machine was in requisition for weeks.
Scissors and needles were plied by all. The daily scene was
most animated. The fires of our enthusiasm and patriotism
were burning all the while to a degree which might have
been consuming, but that our tongues served as safety-valves.
Oh, how we worked and talked, and excited each
other! One common sentiment animated us all; no doubts,
no fears were felt. We all have such entire reliance in the
justice of our cause and the valor of our men, and, above all,
on the blessing of Heaven! These meetings have necessarily
ceased with us, as so few of any age or degree remai at
home; but in Alexandria they are still kept up with great
interest. We who are left here are trying to give the
soldiers who are quartered in town comfort, by carrying
them milk, butter, pies, cakes, etc. I went in yesterday to
the barracks, with the carriage well filled with such things,
and found many young friends quartered there. All are
taking up arms; the first young men in the country are the
most zealous. Alexandria is doing her duty nobly; so is
Fairfax; and so, I hope, is the whole South. We are very
weak in resources, but strong in stout hearts, zeal for the
cause, and enthusiastic devotion to our beloved South; and
while men are making a free-will offering of their life's blood
on the altar of their country, women must not be idle.
We must do what we can for the comfort of our brave
sick, keep up the faint-hearted, give them a word of encouragement
in season and out of season. There is much for
us to do, and we must do it. The embattled hosts of the
North will have the whole world from which to draw their
supplies; but if, as it seems but too probable, our ports are
blockaded, we shall indeed be dependent on our own exertions,
and great must those exertions be.
The Confederate flag waves from several points in
Alexandria: from the Marshall House, the Market-house,
and the several barracks. The peaceful, quiet old town
looks quite warlike. I feel sometimes, when walking on
King's street, meeting men in uniform, passing companies of
cavalry, hearing martial music, etc., that I must be in a
dream. Oh that it were a dream, and that the last ten
years of our country's history were blotted out! Some of
our old men are a little nervous, look doubtful, and talk of
the impotency of the South. Oh, I feel utter scorn for
such remarks. We must not admit weakness. Our soldiers
do not think of weakness; they know that their hearts are
strong, and their hands well skilled in the use of the rifle.
Our country boys have been brought up on horseback, and
hunting has ever been their holiday sport. Then why shall
they feel weak? Their hearts feel strong when they think
of the justice of their cause. In that is our hope.
Walked down this evening to see —. The road looked
lonely and deserted. Busy life has departed from our midst.
We found Mrs. — packing up valuables. I have been
doing the same; but after they are packed, where are they
to be sent? Silver may be buried, but what is to be done
with books, pictures, etc.? We have determined, if we are
obliged to go from home, to leave every thing in the care of
believe they will be; but my hope becomes stronger and
stronger that we may remain here, or may soon return if we
go away. Every thing is so sad around us! We went to the
Chapel on Sunday as usual, but it was grievous to see the
change—the organ mute, the organist gone; the seats of
the students of both institutions empty; but one or two
members of each family to represent the absentees; the
prayer for the President omitted. When Dr. — came to
it, there was a slight pause, and then he went on to the next
prayer—all seemed so strange! Tucker Conrad, one of the
few students who is still here, raised the tunes; his voice
seemed unusually sweet, because so sad. He was feebly
supported by all who were not in tears. There was night
service, but it rained, and I was not sorry that I could
not go.
May 15.—Busy every moment of time packing up, that
our furniture may be safely put away in case of a sudden
removal. The parlor furniture has been rolled into the
Laboratory, and covered, to keep it from injury; the books
are packed up; the pictures put away with care; house linen
locked up, and all other things made as secure as possible.
We do not hope to remove many things, but to prevent
their ruin. We are constantly told that a large army would
do great injury if quartered near us; therefore we want to
put things out of the reach of the soldiers, for I have no
idea that officers would allow them to break locks, or that
they would allow our furniture to be interfered with. We
have a most unsettled feeling—with carpets up, curtains
down, and the rooms without furniture; but a constant
excitement, and expectation of we know not what, supplants
all other feelings. Nothing but nature is pleasant, and that
appearing, and the peonies are splendid; but the horrors of
war, with which we are so seriously threatened, prevent the
enjoyment of any thing. I feel so much for the Southerners
of Maryland; I am afraid they are doomed to persecution,
but it does seem so absurd in Maryland and Kentucky
to talk of armed neutrality in the present state of the
country! Let States, like individuals, be independent—be
something or nothing. I believe that the very best people
of both States are with us, but are held back by stern
necessity. Oh that they could burst the bonds that bind
them, and speak and act like freemen! The Lord reigneth;
to Him only can we turn, and humbly pray that He may
see fit to say to the troubled waves, "Peace, be still!" We
sit at our windows, and see the bosom of our own Potomac
covered with the sails of vessels employed by the enemies of
our peace. I often wish myself far away, that I, at least,
might not see these things. The newspapers are filled with
the boastings of the North, and yet I cannot feel alarmed.
My woman's heart does not quail, even though they come, as
they so loudly threaten, as an avalanche to overwhelm us.
Such is my abiding faith in the justice of our cause, that I
have no shadow of doubt of our success.
May 16.—To-day I am alone. Mr. — has gone to
Richmond to the Convention, and so have the Bishop and
Dr. S. I have promised to spend my nights with Mrs.
J. All is quiet around us. Federal troops quartered
in Baltimore. Poor Maryland! The North has its heel
upon her, and how it grinds her! I pray that we may have
peaceful secession.
17th.—Still quiet. Mrs. J., Mrs. B., and myself, sat at
the Malvern windows yesterday, spying the enemy as they
laden, carrying provisions, etc., to their troops. I think if
all Virginia could see their preparations as we do, her vote
would be unanimous for secession.
21st.—Mr. — has returned. Yesterday evening we
rode to the parade-ground in Alexandria; it was a beautiful
but sad sight. How many of those young, brave boys
may be cut off, or maimed for life! I shudder to think of
what a single battle may bring forth. The Federal vessel
Pawnee now es before the old town, with its guns pointing
towards it. It is aggravating enough to see it; but the
inhabitants move on as calmly as though it were a messenger
of peace. It is said that an undefended, indefensible
town like Alexandria will hardly be attacked. It seems to
me strange that they do not go immediately to the Rappahannock,
the York, or the James, and land at once in the
heart of the State. I tremble lest they should make a
direct attack upon Richmond. Should they go at once to
City Point, and march thence to the city, I am afraid it
could hardly be defended. Our people are busy in their
preparations for defence; but time is necessary—every day
is precious to us. Our President and military chiefs are
doing all that men can do to forward preparations. My ear
is constantly pained with the sound of cannon from the
Navy-Yard at Washington, and to-day the drum has been
beating furiously in our once loved metropolis. Dr. S. says
there was a grand dress parade—brothers gleefully preparing
to draw their brothers' blood!
Day after to-morrow the vote of Virginia on secession
will be taken, and I, who so dearly loved this Union, who
from my cradle was taught to revere it, now most earnestly
hope that the voice of Virginia may give no uncertain
that she did not take so important a step hastily, but that
she set an example of patience and long-suffering, and
made an earnest effort to maintain peace; but as all her
efforts have been rejected with scorn, and she has been required
to give her quota of men to fight and destroy her
brethren of the South, I trust that she may now speak
decidedly.
Fairfax C. H., May 25.—The day of suspense is at
an end. Alexandria and its environs, including, I greatly
fear, our home, are in the hands of the enemy. Yesterday
morning, at an early hour, as I was in my pantry, putting
up refreshments for the barracks preparatory to a ride to
Alexandria, the door was suddenly thrown open by a servant,
looking wild with excitement, exclaiming, "Oh, madam,
do you know?" "Know what, Henry?" "Alexandria is
filled with Yankees." "Are you sure, Henry?" said I,
trembling in every limb. "Sure, madam! I saw them
myself. Before I got up I heard soldiers rushing by the
door; went out, and saw our men going to the cars." "Did
they get off?" I asked, afraid to hear the answer. "Oh,
yes, the cars went off full of them, and some marched
out; and then I went to King Street, and saw such crowds
of Yankees coming in! They came down the turnpike, and
some came down the river; and presently I heard such
noise and confusion, and they said they were fighting, so I
came home as fast as I could." I lost no time in seeking
Mr.—, who hurried out to hear the truth of the story.
He soon met Dr.—, who was bearing off one of the
editors in his buggy. He more than confirmed Henry's
report, and gave an account of the tragedy at the Marshall
House. Poor Jackson (the proprietor) had always said
house should never be taken down but over his dead body.
It was known that he was a devoted patriot, but his friends
had amused themselves at this rash speech. He was suddenly
aroused by the noise of men rushing by his room-door,
ran to the window, and seeing at once what was going on,
he seized his gun, his wife trying in vain to stop him; as
he reached the passage he saw Colonel Ellsworth coming
from the third story, waving the flag. As he passed Jackson
he said, "I have a trophy." Jackson immediately
raised his gun, and in an instant Ellsworth fell dead. One
of the party immediately killed poor Jackson. The Federals
then proceeded down the street, taking possession of public
houses, etc. I am mortified to write that a party of our
cavalry, thirty-five in number, was captured. It can
scarcely be accounted for. It is said that the Federals
notified the authorities in Alexandria that they would enter
the city at eight, and the captain was so credulous as to
believe them. Poor fellow, he is now a prisoner, but it will
be a lesson to him and to our troops generally. Jackson
leaves a wife and children. I know the country will take
care of them. He is the first martyr. I shudder to think
how many more there may be.
The question with us was, what was next to be done?
Mr. — had voted for secession, and there were Union
people enough around us to communicate every thing of the
sort to the Federals; the few neighbours who were left were
preparing to be off, and we thought it most prudent to
come off too. Pickets were already thrown out beyond
Shuter's Hill, and they were threatening to arrest all secessionists.
With a heavy heart I packed trunks and boxes,
as many as our little carriage would hold; had packing-boxes
valuables of various sorts, when I go down on Monday;
locked up every thing; gave the keys to the cook, enjoining
upon the servants to take care of the cows, "Old Rock,"
the garden, the flowers, and last, but not least, J—'s
splendid Newfoundland. Poor dog, as we got into the carriage
how I did long to take him! When we took leave
of the servants they looked sorrowful, and we felt so. I
promised them to return to-day, but Mr. — was so sick
this morning that I could not leave him, and have deferred
it until day after to-morrow. Mr. — said, as he looked
out upon the green lawn just before we set off, that he
thought he had never seen the place so attractive; and as
we drove off the bright flowers we had planted seemed
in full glory; every flower-bed seemed to glow with the
"Giant of Battles" and other brilliant roses. In bitterness
of heart I exclaimed, "Why must we leave thee, Paradise!"
and for the first time my tears streamed. As we
drove by "The Seminary," the few students who remained
came out to say "Good-by." One of them had just returned
from Alexandria, where he had seen the bodies of
Ellsworth and Jackson, and another, of which we had heard
through one of our servants who went to town in the morning.
When the Federal troops arrived, a man being ordered
to take down the secession flag from above the market-house,
and run up the "stars and stripes," got nearly to
the flag, missed his foothold, fell, and broke his neck. This
remarkable circumstance was told me by two persons who
saw the body. Is it ominous? I trust and pray that it
may be.
When we got to Bailey's Cross Roads, Mr. — said to
me that we were obliged to leave our home, and as far as
difference which road we take—we might as well drive to
the right hand as to the left—nothing remains to us but the
barren, beaten track. It was a sorrowful thought; but we
have kind relations and friends whose doors are open to us,
and we hope to get home again before very long. The
South did not bring on the war, and I believe that God
will provide for the homeless.
About sunset we drove up to the door of this, the house
of our relative, the Rev. Mr. B., and were received with
the warmest welcome. As we drove through the village
we saw the carriage of Commodore F. standing at the
hotel door, and were soon followed by the C.'s of our
neighbourhood and many others. They told us that the
Union men of the town were pointing out the houses of
the Secessionists, and that some of them had already been
taken by Federal officers. When I think of all this my
heart quails within me. Our future is so dark and shadowy,
so much may, nay must, happen before we again become
quiet, and get back, that I feel sad and dreary. I have no
fear for the country—that must and will succeed; but our
dear ones!—the representatives of every State, almost every
family, from the Potomac to the Gulf of Mexico—how
must they suffer, and how must we at home suffer in their
behalf!
This little village has two or three companies quartered
in it. It seems thoroughly aroused from the quiescent state
which it was wont to indulge. Drums are beating, colours
flying, and ever and anon we are startled by the sound of a
gun. At Fairfax Station there are a good many troops, a
South Carolina regiment at Centreville, and quite an army
is collecting at Manassas Station. We shall be greatly
zeal and patriotism of our Southern men fighting for home
and liberty.
May 29.—I cannot get over my disappointment—I am
not to return home!—The wagon was engaged. E.W. had
promised to accompany me; all things seemed ready; but
yesterday a gentleman came up from the Seminary, reporting
that the public roads are picketed far beyond our house,
and that he had to cross fields, etc., to avoid an arrest, as
he had no pass. I know that there are private roads which
we could take, of which the enemy knows nothing; and
even if they saw me, they surely would not forbid ingress
and egress to a quiet elderly lady like myself. But Mr.—
thinks that I ought not to risk it. The fiat has gone forth,
and I am obliged to submit. I hear that the house has
been searched for arms, and that J's old rifle has been
filched from its corner. It was a wonderfully harmless rifle,
having been innocent even of the blood of squirrels and
hares for some time past. I wonder if they do suppose
that we would leave good fire-arms in their reach when they
are so much wanted in the Confederacy, or if it is a mere
pretext for satisfying a little innocent curiosity for seeing
the interior of Southern homes? Ah, how many Northerners—perhaps
the very men who have come to despoil
these homes, to kill our husbands, sons and brothers, to
destroy our peace—have been partakers of the warmhearted
hospitality so freely offered by our people! The
parlours and dining-rooms now so ignominiously searched,
how often have they been opened, and the best cheer which
the houses could afford set forth for them! I do most
earnestly hope that no Northern gentleman, above all, no
Christian gentleman, will engage in this wicked war of invasion.
private rooms, our chambers, our very sanctums, are thrown
open to a ruthless soldiery. But let me not do them injustice.
I believe that they took nothing but the rifle, and
injured nothing but the sewing-machine. Perhaps they
knew of the patriotic work of that same machine—how it
had stitched up many a shirt and many a jacket for our
brave boys, and therefore did it wrong. But this silent
agent for our country's weal shall not lie in ruins. When
I get it again, it shall be repaired, and shall
Band, and gusset, and seam,"
vigorously for the wrongs it has suffered.
I am indulging myself in writing on and on, because I
have so little occupation now, and I feel so anxious and restless
about those so near and dear to us, who have gone forth
to defend us. The loss of property will be as nothing if our
boys are spared. I am willing to be poor, but let, oh, let
our family circles be unbroken! But I may feel too much
anxiety, even on this subject. Our children have gone forth
in a just and righteous cause; into God's hands let us consign
them; they are doing their duty; to His will let us
submit!
29th, Night.—Several of our friends from Alexandria
have passed to-day. Many families who attempted to stay
at home are escaping as best they may, finding that the
liberty of the hoary-headed fathers of patriotic sons is at
stake, and others are in peril for opinion's sake. It is too
provoking to think of such men as Dr. — and Dr. —
being obliged to hide themselves in their houses, until their
out of town! Now they go with large and helpless
families, they know not whither. Many have passed whom
I did not know. What is to become of us all?
Chantilly, June 1.—We came here (the house of our
friend Mrs. S.) this morning, after some hours of feverish
excitement. About three o'clock in the night we were
aroused by a volley of musketry not far from our windows.
Every human being in the house sprang up at once. We
soon saw by the moonlight a body of cavalry moving up
the street, and as they passed below our window (we were
in the upper end of the village) we distinctly heard the
commander's order, "Halt." They again proceeded a few
paces, turned and approached slowly, and as softly as
though every horse were shod with velvet. In a few
moments there was another volley, the firing rapid, and to
my unpractised ear there seemed a discharge of a thousand
muskets. Then came the same body of cavalry rushing by
in wild disorder. Oaths loud and deep were heard from the
commander. They again formed, and rode quite rapidly
into the village. Another volley, and another, then such
a rushing as I never witnessed. The cavalry strained by,
the commander calling out "Halt, halt," with curses and
imprecations. On, on they went, nor did they stop. While
the balls were flying, I stood riveted to the window, unconscious
of danger. When I was forced away, I took refuge
in the front yard. Mrs. B. was there before me, and
we witnessed the disorderly retreat of eighty-five of the
Second United States Cavalry (regulars) before a much
smaller body of our raw recruits. They had been sent from
Arlington, we suppose, to reconnoitre. They advanced on
the village at full speed, into the cross-street by the hotel
Episcopal church. We could only oppose them with the
Warrenton Rifles, as for some reason the cavalry could not
be rendered effective. Colonel Ewell, who happened to be
there, arranged the Rifles, and I think a few dismounted
cavalry, on either side of the street, behind the fence, so as
to make it a kind of breastwork, whence they returned the
enemy's fire most effectively. Then came the terrible suspense;
all was confusion on the street, and it was not yet
quite light. One of our gentlemen soon came in with the
sad report that Captain Marr of the Warrenton Rifles, a
young officer of great promise, was found dead. The gallant
Rifles were exulting in their success, until it was whispered
that their captain was missing. Had he been captured?
Too soon the uncertainty was ended, and their exultant
shouts hushed. His body was found in the high grass—
dead, quite dead. Two of our men received slight flesh-wounds.
The enemy carried off their dead and wounded.
We captured four men and three horses. Seven of their
horses were left dead on the roadside. They also dropped
a number of arms, which were picked up by our men.
After having talked the matter over, we were getting quite
composed, and thought we had nothing more to fear, when
we observed them placing sentinels in Mr. B.'s porch,
saying that it was a high point, and another raid was expected.
The gentlemen immediately ordered the carriages,
and in half an hour Mr. B's family and ourselves were
on our way to this place. As we approached the house,
after a ride of six miles, the whole family came out to
receive us. L. and B. ran across the lawn to meet us,
with exclamations of pleasure at seeing us. We were
soon seated in the parlour, surrounded by every thing that
making the house pleasant and attractive. It was indeed
a haven of rest to us after the noise and tumult of the
court-house. They were, of course, in great excitement,
having heard wild stories of the fight. We all rejoiced,
and returned thanks to God that He had enabled our men
to drive off the invaders.
This evening we have been enjoying a walk about these
lovely grounds. Nature and art have combined to make it
one of the most beautiful spots I ever saw—"So clean, so
green, so flowery, so bowery," as Hannah More wrote of
Hampstead; and we look on it sadly, fearing that the "trail
of the serpent may pass over it all." Can it be that other
beautiful homes are to be deserted? The ladies of the
family are here alone, the sons are where they should be, in
the camp; and should the Northern army sweep over it,
they cannot remain here. It is pitiful to think of it. They
all look so happy together, and then if they go they must
be scattered. Colonel Gregg and others of a South Carolina
regiment dined here yesterday. They are in fine spirits,
and very sanguine.
June 6.—Still at Chantilly. Every thing quiet, nothing
particularly exciting; yet we are so restless. Mrs. C. and
myself rode to the camp at Fairfax Court-House a day or
two ago to see many friends; but my particular object was
to see my nephew, W. B. N., first lieutenant in the Hanover
troop. He looks well and cheerful, full of enthusiasm
and zeal; but he feels that we have a great work before us,
and that we have entered upon a more important revolution
than our ancestors did in 1775. How my heart yearned
over him, when I thought of his dear wife and children, and
his sweet home, and how cheerfully he had left all for the
successful career at the bar, which for one so young was so
remarkable, his future in every respect so full of hope and
promise—all, all laid aside. But it is all right, and when he
returns to enjoy his unfettered country, his hardships will
be all forgotten, in joy for his country's triumphs. The
number in camp there has greatly increased since we came
away. We came home, and made havelocks and haversacks
for the men. The camp at Harper's Ferry is said to be
strong and strengthening.
Mrs. General Lee has been with us for several days. She
is on her way to the lower country, and feels that she has
left Arlington for an indefinite period. They removed their
valuables, silver, etc., but the furniture is left behind. I
never saw her more cheerful, and she seems to have no
doubt of our success. We are looking to her husband as
our leader with implicit confidence; for besides his great
military abilities, he is a God-fearing man, and looks for
help where alone it is to be found. Letters from Richmond
are very cheering. It is one great barracks. Troops are
assembling there from every part of the Confederacy, all
determined to do their duty. Ladies assemble daily, by
hundreds, at the various churches, for the purpose of sewing
for the soldiers. They are fitting out company after company.
The large stuccoed house at the corner of Clay and
Twelfth streets, so long occupied by Dr. John Brockenbrough,
has been purchased as a residence for the President.
I am glad that it has been thus appropriated. We
expect to leave this place in a day or two for Clarke County
for the summer, and we part with this dear family with a
sad feeling that they may too soon have to leave it too.
Mrs. S. has already sent off her plate and paintings to a
left home when the army approached our neighborhood;
she could not stay alone with her little son. Like ourselves,
she brought off in her carriage what valuables she could,
but necessarily has left much, which she fears may be ruined.
Oh, that I had many things that are locked up at home!
so many relics—hair of the dead, little golden memorials,
etc.—all valueless to others, but very dear to our hearts.
Alas, alas! I could not go back for them, and thieves may
break through and steal. I trust that the officers will not
allow it to be done, and try to rest contented.
The Briars, June 12.—We are now in the beautiful Valley
of Virginia, having left Chantilly on the 8th. The
ride through the Piedmont country was delightful; it looked
so peaceful and calm that we almost forgot the din of war
we had left behind us. The road through Loudoun and Fauquier
was picturesque and beautiful. We passed through
the villages of Aldie, Middleburg, and Upperville. At
Middleburg we stopped for an hour, and regaled ourselves
on strawberries and cream at the house of our excellent
brother, the Rev. Mr. K. At Upperville we spent the
night. Early next morning we went on through the village
of Paris, and then began to ascend the Blue Ridge,
wound around on the fine turnpike, paused a moment at the
top to "view the landscape o'er," and then descended into
the "Valley." The wheat, which is almost ready for the
reaper, is rich and luxuriant, foreshadowing an abundant
commissariat for our army. After driving some miles over
the delightful turnpike, we found ourselves at this door, receiving
the warm-hearted welcome of the kindest of relatives
and the most pleasant of hosts. Our daughters were here
before us, all well, and full of questions about "home." This
voluntary visit to this family, as in days gone by, to return
home when the visit is over, hoping soon to see our friends
by our own fireside; but when the reality is before us that
we were forced from home, and can only return when it
pleases our enemy to open the way for us, or when our men
have forced them away at the point of the bayonet, then
does our future seem shadowy, doubtful, and dreary, and
then we feel that our situation is indeed sorrowful. But
these feelings must not be indulged; many are already in
our situation, and how many more are there who may have
to follow our example! Having no houses to provide for,
we must be up and doing for our country; idleness does not
become us now—there is too much to be done; we must
work on, work ever, and let our country's weal be our being's
end and aim.
Yesterday we went to Winchester to see my dear S.,
and found her house full of refugees : my sister Mrs. C.,
and her daughter Mrs. L., from Berkeley County. Mrs.
C.'s sons are in the army; her eldest, having been
educated at the Virginia Military Institute, drilled a company
of his own county men during the John Brown raid;
he has now taken it to the field, and is its commander; and
Mr. L. is in the army, with the rank of major. Of
course the ladies of the family were active in fitting out the
soldiers, and when an encampment was near them, they did
every thing in their power to contribute to the comfort of
the soldiers; for which sins the Union people around them
have thought proper to persecute them, until they were
obliged to leave home—Mrs. L. with two sick children.
Her house has been searched, furniture broken, and many
depredations committed since she left home; books thrown
fury.
Winchester is filled with hospitals, and the ladies are
devoting their energies to nursing the soldiers. The sick
from the camp at Harper's Ferry are brought there. Our
climate seems not to suit the men from the far South. I
hope they will soon become acclimated. It rejoices my
heart to see how much everybody is willing to do for the
poor fellows. The ladies there think no effort, however self-sacrificing,
is too great to be made for the soldiers. Nice
food for the sick is constantly being prepared by old and
young. Those who are very sick are taken to the private
houses, and the best chambers in town are occupied by
them. The poorest private and the officer of high degree
meet with the same treatment. The truth is, the élite of
the land is in the ranks. I heard a young soldier say, a few
nights ago, that his captain was perhaps the plainest man,
socially, in the company, but that he was an admirable
officer. We heard a good story about a wealthy young
private whose captain was his intimate friend, but not being
rich, he could not afford to take a servant to camp; it therefore
fell to the lot of the privates to clean the captain's
shoes. When the turn of the wealthy friend came, he
walked up, cap in hand, with an air of due humility, gave
the military salute, and said, with great gravity, "Captain,
your shoes, if you please, sir." The ludicrousness of the
scene was more than either could stand, and they laughed
heartily. But the wealthy private cleaned the captain's
shoes.
June 15.—Yesterday was set apart by the President as
a day of prayer and fasting, and I trust that throughout
the Confederacy the blessing of God was invoked upon the
heard Bishop Meade. His sermon was full of wisdom and
love; he urged us to individual piety in all things, particularly
to love and charity to our enemies. He is full of
enthusiasm and zeal for our cause. His whole heart is in
it, and from the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh,
for he talks most delightfully and encouragingly on the
subject. He says that if our ancestors had good reason for
taking up arms in 1775, surely we had much better, for
the oppression they suffered from the mother-country was
not a tithe of the provocation we have received from the
Government at Washington.
16th.—Rumours are abundant to-day of a Federal force
approaching Strasburg. We are not at all credulous of the
flying reports with which our ears are daily pained, and yet
they make us restless and uneasy. We thank God and
take courage from the little successes we have already had
at Pigs Point, Acquia Creek, Fairfax Court-House, and Philippi.
These are mere trifles, they say; well, so they are,
but they are encouraging to our men, and show that we can
hold our own.
A most decided revolution is going on in our social
system throughout our old State: economy rules the day.
In this neighbourhood, which has been not a little remarkable
for indulging in the elegancies of life, they are giving
up desserts, rich cake, etc. The wants of the soldiers are
supplied with a lavish hand, but personal indulgences are
considered unpatriotic. How I do admire their self-denying
spirit! I do not believe there is a woman among us who
would not give up every thing but the bare necessaries of
life for the good of our cause.
16th, Night.—I can scarcely control myself to sit quietly
to-day; I mean the victory—on our side almost bloodless
victory—at Bethel. It took place on the 10th. Strange
that such brilliant news was so long delayed! The enemy
lost 200 men, and we but one. He, poor fellow, belonged
to a North Carolina regiment, and his bereaved mother received
his body. She lives in Richmond. It seems to me
that Colonel Magruder must have displayed consummate skill
in the arrangement of his little squad of men. His "blind
battery" succeeded admirably. The enemy had approached
in two parties from Fortress Monroe, and, by mistake, fired
into each other, causing great slaughter. They then united
and rushed into the jaws of death, or, in other words, into
the range of the guns of the blind battery. I feel sorry,
very sorry, for the individual sufferers among the Yankees,
particularly for those who did not come voluntarily; but
they have no business here, and the more unsuccessful they
are the sooner their government will recall them. I do
believe that the hand of God was in this fight, we were so
strangely successful. How we all gathered around M. M.
as she read the account given in the paper; and how we
exulted and talked, and how Mr. P. walked backwards and
forwards, rubbing his hands with delight!
The camp at Harper's Ferry is broken up. General Johnston
knows why; I am sure that I do not. He is sending
out parties of troops to drive off the Yankees, who are
marauding about the neighbouring counties, but who are very
careful to keep clear of the "Ferry." The Second Regiment,
containing some of our dear boys, has been lately
very actively engaged in pursuit of these marauders, and
we are kept constantly anxious about them.
18th.—We go to-day to dine with Bishop Meade. He
he must have the "refugees," as he calls us, at his house.
Dear me, I am not yet prepared to think ourselves refugees,
for I do hope to get home before long. How often do I
think of it, as I left it! Not only blooming in its beauty,
but the garden filled with vegetables, the strawberries turning
on the vines, the young peach-orchard in full bloom;
every thing teeming with comfort and abundance.
But the family is waiting for me; the carriage is at the
door, and my sad thoughts must end.
Night.—The day was passed delightfully; the Bishop,
his son, and daughter-in-law, all so kind, hospitable and
agreeable. It amused me to see with what avidity the old
gentleman watches the progress of events, particularly
when I remember how much opposed he was to secession
only a few months ago. He clung to the Union with a
whole-souled love for all that he had been educated to
revere, as long as he could do it; but when every proposal
for peace made by us was spurned, and when the President's
proclamation came out, calling for 75,000 troops,
and claiming Virginia's quota to assist in fighting her
Southern brethren, he could stand it no longer, and I only
hope that the revolution may be as thorough throughout
the land as it is in his great mind.
"Mountain View" is beautiful by nature, and the Bishop
has been collecting exotic trees and shrubs for many years,
and now his collection is perfectly magnificent. This
country is so far very peaceful, but we are constantly subjected
to the most startling rumours, and the frequent,
though distant, booming of cannon is very trying to our
nervous and excitable temperaments. Many, so many, of
our dear ones are constantly exposed to danger; and
that one of them should hesitate to give his life's-blood
to his country—yet it is heart-breaking to think of what
may happen.
June 19.—Yesterday evening we heard rumours of the
Federal troops having crossed the Potomac, and marching
to Martinsburg and Shepherdstown in large force. General
Johnston immediately drew up his army at a place called
"Carter's," on the Charlestown road, about four miles beyond
Winchester. Messrs. B. and R. M. called this morning,
and report that the location of the Federals is very uncertain;
it is supposed that they have retreated from Martinsburg.
Oh, that our Almighty Father, who rules all
things, would interpose and give us peace, even now when
all seem ready for war! He alone can do it.
June 24.—We have been in Winchester for the last two
days, at Dr. S's. General Johnston's army encamped at
"The Lick." Some Southern regiments encamped near
Winchester. The army at Manassas said to be strongly
reinforced. Measles prevailing there, and near Winchester,
among the troops. There has been a slight skirmish in
Hampshire, on New Creek, and another at Vienna, in Fairfax
County. We repulsed the enemy at both places. Captain
Kemper, of Alexandria, led our men in the latter fight,
and is much extolled for his dexterity and bravery.
July 1.—A rumour of a skirmish, in which the Messrs.
Ashby were engaged, and that Richard Ashby was severely
wounded. I trust it may not be true.
July 3.—A real fight has occcurred near Williamsport,
but on the Virginia side of the Potomac. General Cadwallader
crossed the river with, it is said, 14,000 men, to
attack our force of 4,000 stationed there under Colonel
with so small a force, and therefore ordered a retreat; but
quite a body of artillery remained to keep the enemy at
bay. They retained with them but one gun, a six-pounder.
The Rev. Dr. Pendleton, now captain of artillery, commanded
this gun, and whenever he ordered its discharge,
he was heard to say, reverently, "The Lord have mercy
upon their souls—fire!" The result was almost miraculous;
but four of our men were missing, two of whom were killed;
twenty were wounded, and have been brought to the Winchester
hospitals; sixty-five prisoners were taken, and are
now in Winchester. Many of their men were seen to fall.
Our men, who did this deadly firing, retreated in perfect
order. I heard this from one who was on the field at the
time. It is said that in Dr. Pendleton the soldier and the
chaplain are blended most harmoniously. A gentleman who
went to the camp to visit his sons, who belong to the "Rockbridge
Battery," told me that he arose before daylight, and
was walking about the encampment, and when near a dense
wood his attention was arrested by the voice of prayer; he
found it was the sonorous voice of Dr. P., who was surrounded
by his company, invoking for them, and for the
country, the blessing of Heaven. What a blessing it is for
those young men, away from the influences of home, and
exposed to the baneful associations of the camp, to have
such a guide! It has almost reconciled me to the clergy
going upon the field as soldiers. The Bishop of Louisiana
has been to Mountain View, to consult Bishop Meade on the
subject of his taking the field. I do not know what advice
was given. These reverend gentlemen, who were educated
at West Point, are perfectly conscientious, and think it their
duty to give their military knowledge to their country, and
army.
Brave Richard Ashby is dead; how I grieve for his
family and for his country, for we cannot afford to lose such
men!
July 4.—This day General Scott promised himself and his Northern friends to dine in Richmond. Poor old renegade,
I trust he has eaten his last dinner in Richmond,
the place of his marriage, the birthplace of his children,
the home of his early friendships, and so near the place of
his nativity and early years.
How can he wish to enter Richmond but as a friend?
But it is enough for us to know that he is disappointed in
his amiable and patriotic wish to-day. So may it be.
I have seen W. H., who has just returned from Fairfax.
Last week he scouted near our house, and gives no very
encouraging report for us. Our hills are being fortified, and
Alexandria and the neighbourhood have become one vast
barracks. The large trees are being felled, and even houses
are falling by order of the invader! Our prospect of getting
home becomes more and more dim; my heart sinks
within me, and hope is almost gone. What shall we do, if
the war continues until next winter, without a certain resting-place?
Our friends are kind and hospitable, open-hearted
and generous to a wonderful degree. In this house we are
made to feel not only welcome, but that our society gives
them heartfelt pleasure. Other friends, too, are most kind
in giving invitations "for the war"—"as long as we find it
agreeable to stay," etc.; but while this is very gratifying and
delightful, yet we must get some place, however small and
humble, to call home. Our friends here amuse themselves
at my fears; but should the war continue, I do not think
by an unfriendly host. They think that they will
not leave their homes under any circumstances; perhaps not,
because they are surrounded by so much property that they
must protect; but the situation will be very trying. Whenever
I express a feeling of despondency, Mr. — meets it
with the calm reply, that the "Lord will provide," so that
I am really ashamed to give place to fear. The situation
of the people of Hampton is far worse ours—their
homes reduced to ashes; their church in ruins! That venerable
colonial church, in which for generations they
have been baptized, received the Holy Communion, been
married, and around which their dead now lie. Their very
graves desecrated; their tomb-stones torn down and broken;
the slabs, sacred to the memory of their fathers, children,
husbands, wives, which have been watched and decorated
perhaps for years, now converted into dining-tables for the
Yankee soldiery. How can human hearts bear such things
and live? We have not yet been subjected to any thing of
the kind, and I humbly trust that so dire a calamity may be
averted.
July 5.—Yesterday M. P. and myself spent several
hours riding about to visit our friends. The news of the
day was, that General Patterson, with a large force, had
crossed the river and taken possession of Martinsburg, and
that General Johnston had sent Colonel Stuart, with his
cavalry, to reconnoitre and cut off his supplies, and to prevent
a retreat. All these things make us anxious, particularly
as the booming of cannon is not unfrequent; but my
faith in the justice of our cause is strong.
6th.—No army news to be relied on. We spent our
time as usual. Knitting for the soldiers is our chief employment.
the house.
Sunday, 9th.—About to go to church. I trust that this
Sabbath may be instrumental of much spiritual good, and
that the hearts of the people may be busy in prayer, both
for friends and enemies. Oh, that the Spirit of God may
be with the soldiers, to direct them in keeping this holy day!
We are in the Lord's hands—He alone can help us.
July 18.—During the last ten days we have been visiting
among our friends, near Berryville, and in Winchester. The
wheat harvest is giving the most abundant yield, and the
fields are thick with corn. Berryville is a little village surrounded
by the most beautiful country and delightful society.
Patriotism burns brightly there, and every one is busy
for the country in his or her own way. It is cheering to
be among such people; the ladies work, and the gentlemen—
the old ones—no young man is at home—give them every
facility. But Winchester, what shall I say for Winchester
that will do it justice? It is now a hospital. The soldiers
from the far South have never had measles, and most unfortunately
it has broken out among them, and many of them
have died of it, notwithstanding the attention of surgeons
and nurses. No one can imagine the degree of self-sacrificing
attention the ladies pay them; they attend to their
comfort in every respect; their nourishment is prepared at
private houses; every lady seems to remember that her son,
brother, or husband may be placed in the same situation
among strangers, and to be determined to do unto others
as she would have others to do unto her.
War still rages. Winchester is fortified, and General
Johnston has been reinforced. He now awaits General Patterson,
who seems slowly approaching.
While in Winchester, I heard of the death of one who
has been for many years as a sister to me—Mrs. L. A. P.,
of S. H., Hanover County. My heart is sorely stricken by
it, particularly when I think of her only child, and the many
who seemed dependent on her for happiness. She died on
Saturday last. With perfect resignation to the will of God,
she yielded up her redeemed spirit, without a doubt
of its acceptance. In cœlo quies. There is none for us
here.
We have been dreadfully shocked by the defeat at Rich
Mountain and the death of General Garnett! It is the
first repulse we have had, and we should not complain, as
we were overpowered by superior numbers; but we have
so much to dread from superior numbers—they are like the
sand upon the sea-shore for multitude. Our men say that
one Southern man is equal to three Yankees. Poor fellows!
I wish that their strength may be equal to their
valour. It is hard to give up such a man as General
Garnett. He was son of the late Hon. Robert S. Garnett,
of Essex County; educated at West Point; accomplished
and gallant. His military knowledge and energy will be
sadly missed. It was an unfortunate stroke, the whole
affair; but we must hope on, and allow nothing to depress
us.
I have just returned from a small hospital which has
recently been established in a meeting-house near us. The
convalescent are sent down to recruit for service, and to
recover their strength in the country, and also to relieve
the Winchester hospitals. The ladies of the neighbourhood
are doing all they can to make them comfortable. They
are full of enthusiasm, and seem to be very cheerful, except
when they speak of home. They are hundreds of miles
again? I have been particularly interested in one who is
just recovering from typhoid fever. I said to him as I
sat fanning him: "Are you married?" His eyes filled
with tears as he replied, "Not now; I have been, and my
little children, away in Alabama, are always in my mind.
At first I thought I could not leave the little motherless
things, but then our boys were all coming, and mother said,
`Go, Jack, the country must have men, and you must bear
your part, and I will take care of the children;' and then I
went and 'listed, and when I went back home for my things,
and saw my children, I 'most died like. `Mother,' says I, `I
am going, and father must take my corn, my hogs, and
every thing else he likes, and keep my children; but if I
never get back, I know it will be a mighty burden in your
old age; but I know you will do your best.' `Jack,' says
she, `I will do a mother's part by them; but you must not
talk that way. Why should you get killed more than another?
You will get back, and then we shall be so happy.
God will take care of you, I know He will.' " He then took
a wallet from under his pillow, and took two locks of hair:
"This is Peter's, he is three years old; and this is Mary's,
she is a little more than one, and named after her mother,
and was just stepping about when I left home." At that
recollection, tears poured down his bronzed cheeks, and I
could not restrain my own. I looked at the warm-hearted
soldier, and felt that he was not the less brave for shedding
tears at the recollection of his dead wife, his motherless children,
and his brave old mother. I find that the best way
to nurse them, when they are not too sick to bear it, is to
talk to them of home. They then cease to feel to you as
a stranger, and finding that you take interest in their "short
they at once feel themselves among friends.
July 19.—This day is perhaps the most anxious of my
life. It is believed that a battle is going on at or near
Manassas. Our large household is in a state of feverish
anxiety; but we cannot talk of it. Some sit still, and are
more quiet than usual; others are trying to employ themselves.
N. is reading aloud, trying to interest herself and
others; but we are all alike anxious, which is betrayed by
the restless eye and sad countenance. Yesterday evening
we were startled by the sound of myriads of horses, wheels,
and men on the turnpike. We soon found the whole of
General Johnston's army was passing by, on its way to join
Beauregard, below the mountain. A note from J. M. G.,
written with a pencil at the Longwood gate, was soon
brought in, to say that they would halt at Millwood. The
carriages were soon ready, and as many of the family as
could go went to Millwood to meet them. I gave up my
seat to another, for I felt too sad to meet with those dear
boys marching on to such danger. Mr. — and the girls
went. They saw my nephews, R. C. W. and B. B., and
others who were very dear to us. They report them all as
in fine spirits. The people all along the road, and in the
village of Millwood, went out to meet them with refreshments.
While halting at Millwood, General Johnston announced
to them that General Beauregard had been successful
in a fight the day before, near Manassas, and that another
fight was hourly pending. The troops became wild with
excitement. It is said that General Patterson has gone to
join McDowell. I trust that General Johnston may get
there in time. They were passing here from about four in
the afternoon until a late hour in the night. After midnight
we ever and anon heard the tap of the drum. We
did not retire until all was still, and then none of us
slept.
July 20.—R. P. arrived to-night from Norfolk. He
passed Manassas yesterday, and saw J. very busy with the
wounded. The fight of the 18th quite severe; the enemy
were very decidedly repulsed; but another battle is imminent.
We were shocked by the death of Major C. Harrison.
J. wrote to his father. He fears to-morrow may be
a bloody Sabbath. Oh, that Providence would now interpose
and prevent further bloodshed! Oh, that strength may
be given to our men. Let not the enemy overcome them.
Oh, God of Nations! have mercy on the South!
The fight on Thursday lasted several hours; our loss was
fifteen killed, about forty wounded; in all about eighty to
eighty-five missing. It is believed that at least 900 of the
enemy were left on the field; 150 of their slightly wounded
have been sent to Richmond as prisoners. Their severely
wounded are in the hands of our surgeons at Manassas.
Sunday, 21.—We were at church this morning and heard
Bishop Meade, on the subject of "Praise." He and his
whole congregation greatly excited. Perhaps there was no
one present who had not some near relative at Manassas,
and the impression was universal that they were then fighting.
This suspense is fearful; but we must possess our
souls in patience.
Monday.—We can hear nothing from Manassas at all
reliable. Men are passing through the neighbourhood giving
contradictory reports. They are evidently deserters.
They only concur in one statement—that there was a battle
yesterday.
Tuesday.—The victory is ours! The enemy was routed!
The Lord be praised for this great mercy.
Evening.—Mr. — and myself have just returned from
a neighbouring house where we heard the dread particulars
of the battle. We saw a gentleman just from the battlefield,
who brought off his wounded son. It is said to have
been one of the most remarkable victories on record, when
we consider the disparity in numbers, equipments, etc. Our
loss, when compared with that of the enemy, was small, very
small; but such men as have fallen! How can I record
the death of our young friends, the Conrads of Martinsburg,
the only sons of their father, and such sons! Never can
we cease to regret Tucker Conrad, the bright, joyous youth
of the "High School," and the devoted divinity student
of our Theological Seminary! Noble in mind and spirit,
with the most genial temper and kindest manners I have
ever known. Mr. — saw him on Thursday evening on
his way to the battle-field, and remarked afterwards on his
enthusiasm and zeal in the cause. Holmes, his brother, was
not one of us, as Tucker was, but he was in no respect inferior
to him—loved and admired by all. They were near
the same age, and there was not fifteen minutes between
their deaths. Lovely and pleasant in their lives, in their
deaths they were not divided. But my thoughts constantly
revert to that desolated home—to the parents and sisters
who perhaps are now listening and waiting for letters from
the battle-field. Before this night is over, loving friends
will bear their dead sons home. An express has gone from
Winchester to tell them all. They might with truth exclaim,
with one of old, whose son was thus slain, "I would
not give my dead son for any living son in Christendom."
But that devoted father, and fond mother, have better and
give! Their sons were Christians, and their ransomed
spirits were wafted from the clash and storm of the battlefield
to those peaceful joys, "of which it has not entered
into the heart of man to conceive." I have not heard which
was there to welcome his brother to his home in the skies;
but both were there to receive the spirit of another, who
was to them as a brother. I allude to Mr. Peyton Harrison,
a gifted young lawyer of the same village. He was
lieutenant of their company, and their mother's nephew, and
fell a few moments after the last brother. He left a young
wife and little children to grieve, to faint, and almost to die,
for the loss of a husband and father, so devoted, so accomplished,
so brave. Like his young cousins, he was a Christian;
and is now with them rejoicing in his rest. Martinsburg
has lost one other of her brave sons; and yet another
is fearfully wounded. I thank God, those of my own
household and family, as far as I can hear, have escaped,
except that one has a slight wound.
We certainly routed the enemy, and already wonderful
stories are told of the pursuit. We shall hear all from
time to time. It is enough for us now to know that their
great expectations are disappointed, and that we have
gloriously gained our point. Oh, that they would now
consent to leave our soil, and return to their own homes!
If I know my own heart, I do not desire vengeance upon
them, but only that they would leave us in peace, to be
forever and forever a separate people. It is true that we
have slaughtered them, and whipped them, and driven
them from our land, but they are people of such indomitable
perseverance, that I am afraid that they will
come again, perhaps in greater force. The final result I
men.
"Mountain View," July 29.—Mr. — and myself
came over here on Friday, to spend a few days with the
Bishop and his family. He delivered a delightful address
yesterday in the church, on the thankfulness and praise due
to Almighty God, for (considering the circumstances) our
unprecedented victory at Manassas. Our President and
Congress requested that thanks should be returned in all of
our churches. All rejoice for the country, though there are
many bleeding hearts in our land. Among our acquaintances,
Mr. Charles Powell, of Winchester, Col. Edmund
Fontaine, of Hanover, and Mr. W. N. Page, of Lexington,
each lost a son; and our friend, Mr. Clay Ward, of
Alexandria, also fell. The gallant Generals Bee and Bartow
were not of our State, but of our cause, and we all
mourn their loss. Each mail adds to the list of casualties.
The enemy admit their terrible disaster, and are busy inquiring
into causes.
This house has been a kind of hospital for the last month.
Several sick soldiers are here now, men of whom they know
nothing except that they are soldiers of the Confederacy.
They have had measles, and are now recruiting for service.
One who left here two weeks ago, after having been carefully
nursed, was killed at Manassas. The family seem to
lament him as an old friend, though they never saw him
until he came here from the Winchester hospital. Two sons
of this house were in the fight; and the Bishop had several
other grandchildren engaged, one of whom, R. M., lost his
right arm. His grandfather has been to Winchester to see
him, and is much gratified by the fortitude with which he
bears his suffering. He says, "R. is a brave boy, and has
to him, and make up the loss of his arm to him, as far as
possible." It is delightful to be with Bishop Meade. There
is so much genuine hospitality and kindness in his manner
of entertaining, which we perhaps appreciate more highly
now than we ever did before. His simple, self-denying
habits are more conspicuous at home than anywhere else.
We sit a great deal in his study, where he loves to entertain
his friends. Nothing can be more simple than its
furniture and arrangements, but he gives you so cordial a
welcome to it, and is so agreeable, that you forget that the
chair on which you sit is not cushioned. He delights in
walking over the grounds with his friends, and as you stop
to admire a beautiful tree or shrub, he will give you the
history of it. Many of them he brought with him from
Europe; but whether native or foreign, each has its association.
This he brought in his trunk when a mere scion,
from the tide-water section of Virginia; that from the
"Eastern Shore;" another from the Alleghany mountains;
another still, from the Cattskill mountains. Here is the
oak of old England; there the cedar of Lebanon; there
the willow from St. Helena, raised from a slip which had
absolutely waved over the grave of Napoleon. Here is
another, and prettier willow, native of our own Virginia
soil. Then he points out his eight varieties of Arbor Vitæ,
and the splendid yews, hemlocks, spruces, and firs of every
kind, which have attained an immense size. Our own forest
trees are by no means forgotten, and we find oaks, poplars,
elms, etc., without number. He tells me that he has more
than a hundred varieties of trees in his yard. His flowers,
too, are objects of great interest to him, particularly the old-fashioned
damask rose. But his grape-vines are now his
and I never saw them so luxuriant. It has been somewhat
the fashion to call him stern, but I wish that those who call
him so could see him among his children, grandchildren, and
servants. Here he is indeed a patriarch. All are affectionately
respectful, but none of them seem at all afraid of him.
The grandchildren are never so happy as when in "grandpapa's
room;" and the little coloured children frequently
come to the porch, where he spends a great deal of his
time, to inquire after "old master's health," and to receive
bread and butter or fruit from his hands.
July 30th.—I have just been conversing with some young
soldiers, who joined in the dangers and glories of the
battle-field. They corroborate what I had before heard of
the presence of Northern females. I would not mention it
before in my diary, because I did not wish to record any
thing which I did not know to be true. But when I receive
the account from eye-witnesses whose veracity cannot
be doubted, I can only say, that I feel mortified that such
was the case. They came, not as Florence Nightingales to
alleviate human suffering, but to witness and exult over it.
With the full assurance of the success of their army they
meant to pass over the mutilated limbs and mangled corpses
of ours, and to go on their way rejoicing to scenes of festivity
in the halls of the vanquished, and to revel over the
blood of the slain, the groans of the dying, the wails of
the widow and the fatherless. But "Linden saw another
sight," and these very delicate, gentle, womanly ladies,
where were they? Flying back to Washington, in confusion
and terror, pell-mell, in the wildest excitement. And
where were their brave and honourable escorts? Flying, too;
not as protectors to their fair friends, but with self-preservation
cabriolets, barouches, buggies, flying over the roads, as
though all Fairfax were mad.
I see—I see thee near.
I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!
Like thee, I start; like thee, disordered fly!
savage Confederate. Cannon seemed thundering in the
summer breeze, and in each spark of the lightning-bug,
glinted and gleamed the sword and Bowie-knife of the
blood-thirsty Southerner. Among the captured articles
were ladies' dresses, jewels, and other gew-gaws, on their
way to Richmond to the grand ball promised to them on
their safe arrival. There were also fine wines, West India
fruits, and almost everything else rich, or sweet, or intoxicating,
brought by the gay party, for a right royal pic-nic
on the field of blood. The wines and brandies came in well
for our wounded that night, and we thank God for the
superfluities of the wicked.
July 30.—News from home. Mr. McD., of the Theological
Seminary, an Irish student, who was allowed to remain
there in peace, being a subject of Great Britain, has just
arrived at this house as a candidate for ordination. He
says that our house has been taken for a hospital, except
two or three rooms which are used as headquarters by an
officer. Bishop Johns' house is used as headquarters; and
the whole neighbourhood is one great barracks. The families
who remained, Mrs. B., the Misses H., and others, have
been sent to Alexandria, and their houses taken. Mr. J's
and Mr. C's sweet residences have been taken down to the
ground to give place to fortifications, which have been
such elegant hospitality, the refined and dearly-loved home
of the F. family, has been levelled to the earth, fortifications
thrown up across the lawn, the fine old trees felled, and the
whole grounds, once so embowered and shut out from public
gaze, now laid bare and open—Vaucluse no more! There
seems no probability of our getting home, and if we cannot
go, what then? What will become of our furniture, and
all our comforts, books, pictures, etc.! But these things
are too sad to dwell on.
Mr. McD. gives an amusing account of the return of the
Northern troops on the night of the 21st, and during the
whole of the 22d. Such a wild, alarmed, dispirited set he
had never an idea of. He had seen them pass by thousands
and thousands, first on one road and then on the other, well
armed, well mounted, in every respect splendidly equipped,
only a few days before. As a Southern sympathizer, he
had trembled for us, and prayed for us, that we might not
be entirely destroyed. He and one or two others of similar
sentiments had prayed and talked together of our danger.
Then what was their surprise to see the hasty, disordered
return!
August 1.—This whole neighbourhood is busy to-day,
loading a wagon with comforts for the hospital at Fairfax
Court-House. They send it down once a week, under the
care of a gentleman, who, being too old for the service,
does this for the sick and wounded. The hospitals at
Centreville and the Court-House are filled with those who
are too severely wounded to be taken to Richmond, Charlottesville,
and the larger hospitals. They are supplied, to a
very great degree, by private contributions. It is beautiful
to see the self-denying efforts of these patriotic people.
Millwood, where the wagon is filled to overflowing with garments,
brandy, wine, nice bread, biscuit, sponge cake, butter,
fresh vegetables, fruit, etc. Being thoroughly packed, it
goes off for a journey of fifty miles.
The Briars, August 10.—Nothing new from the army.
All seems quiet; no startling rumours within the past week.
The family somewhat scattered : M. P. has gone to the
"Hot Springs," J. to Capon Springs, both in quest of
health; E. P. and E. M. are at "Long Branch" (Mr. H.
N's) on a visit to a young friend.
J. P. has just called, having resigned his commission in
the United States Navy, and received one in the Confederate;
he is on his way to Richmond for orders. He
tells me that my dear W. B. P. has come in from Kentucky,
with the first Kentucky Regiment, which is stationed near
Centreville. It is right he should come; and I am glad he
has, though it is another source of painful anxiety to me.
12th.—Still nothing from the army. We go on here
quietly and happily—as happily as the state of the country
will allow. The household peaceful and pleasant. The
ladies—all of us collect in one room—work, while one reads
some pleasant book. We are mercifully dealt with, and I
hope we are grateful for such blessings.
The Northern papers tell us that General Patterson has
withdrawn from the Northern army. The reason thereof is
not mentioned; but we shrewdly suspect that the powers
at Washington are not entirely satisfied that he was so
completely foiled by General Johnston. General Johnston
was fighting the battle of Manassas before General P. knew
that he had left the Valley. The rumour that he had gone
to join McDowell was unfounded. For many days there
Federal army and that occupied by ours; pickets were
placed on every road, to prevent any one from passing
towards General P. Gentlemen who had come to Winchester
and Berryville on business for a few hours, were not
allowed to return home for days. So how could the poor
man know what was going on? We only fear that his
place may be supplied by one more vigilant. General Scott,
too, has been almost superseded by General McClellan, who
seems just now to be the idol of the North. The Philadelphia
papers give a glowing description of his reception
in that city. It was his luck, for it seems to me, with his
disciplined and large command, it required no skill to overcome
and kill the gallant General Garnett at Rich Mountain.
For this he is feted and caressed, lionized and
heroized to the greatest degree. I only hope that, like
McDowell and Patterson, he may disappoint their expectations.
August 20.—We are rejoicing over a victory at Springfield,
Missouri—General Lyon killed and his troops routed.
Our loss represented large. I have only seen the Northern
account.
No news from home, and nothing good from that quarter
anticipated. We are among dear, kind friends, and have
the home feeling which only such genuine and generous
hospitality can give; but it sometimes overpowers me, when
I allow myself to think of our uncertain future.
Norwood, near Berryville, August 26.—On a visit of
a few days to our relative, Dr. M. The people of this
neighbourhood occupied as they are in the one I left. All
hearts and hands seem open to our army. Four heavily
laden wagons have left Berryville within a few days, for the
of which we can hear so little. General Lee and
General Floyd are there, and if they can only have men and
ammunition enough we have nothing to fear.
The army in Fairfax seems quiet. Colonel Stuart, with
his cavalry, has driven the enemy back, and taken possession
of "Chestnut Hill" as head-quarters. There they are overlooking
Washington, Georgetown, and our neighbourhood,
all bristling with cannon, to prevent their nearer approach.
Some of those young men can almost point from the hills on
which they are encamped, to chimneys of their own firesides,
the portals of their own homes. The woods are cleared
away for miles; even the yard trees are gone, leaving the
houses in bold relief, with nothing to shade, nothing to obscure
them. I do pity those who were obliged to stay in
Southern homes, with Southern hearts, surrounded by bitter
and suspicious enemies. My old friend Mrs. D. is sometimes
in their lines, sometimes in ours. When our men are near
her, they are fed from her table, and receive all manner of
kindness from her hands. Some of my nephews have been
invited to her table, and treated as her relations. When
they entered her house she advanced towards them with
outstretched hands. "You don't know me, but I knew
your mother, father, and all your relations; and besides, I
am connected with you, and you must come to my house
while near me, as to that of an old friend." Nothing could
be more grateful to a soldier far away from home and
friends. But these were her bright moments. She has had
many trials while in the enemy's lines. Her husband and
grown son are in the Confederate service; she has sent her
two young daughters to her friends in the lower country,
and has remained as the protector of her property, with her
her servant was driving the cows from her yard to
be milked; from very loneliness she called to the servant to
remain and milk them where they were; the very tinkling
of the cow-bell was pleasant to her. It was scarcely don
when a posse of soldiers came with their bayonets gleaming
in the moonlight, and demanded, "Why did you have a bell
rung in your yard this evening?" "Do you mean, why did
the cow-bell ring? Because the cow shook her head while
she was being milked." "But you don't have the cows
milked in the yard every evening. It was a signal to the
rebels—you know it was—and your house shall be burnt for
it." She then had to plead her innocence to save her house,
which they pretended not to believe until the servants were
called up to prove her statements. They then, with
threats and curses, went off. Another night she carried a
candle from room to room to seek some missing article. In
a short time several soldiers were seen running to her house
with lighted torches, yelling "Burn it, burn it to the ground!"
She ran to the yard to know the cause; instantly this lonely
woman was surrounded by a lawless, shouting soldiery, each
with a burning torch, revealing, by its lurid and fitful light,
a countenance almost demoniac. They seemed perfectly
lawless, and without a leader, for each screamed out, "We
are ordered to burn your house." "Why?" said she.
"Because you have signal-lights at your windows for the
d—d rebels." She immediately suspected that no such
order had been given, and summoning firmness of voice and
manner to her aid, she ordered them off, saying that she
should send for an officer. They did go, uttering imprecations
on her defenceless head. But a still more trying scene
occurred a short time ago. Our soldiers were surrounding
During that night the Yankees advanced, and our men retired.
The Yankees at once heard that the raiders were
out; but in what direction was the question. They came
up to her house, and knowing the mother too well to attempt
to extort any thing from her, ordered the little boys to tell
them in what direction Colonel Stuart had gone. The boys
told them that they could tell nothing. Threats followed;
finally handcuffs and irons for the ankles were brought. Still
those little heroes stood, the one as pale as ashes, the other
with his teeth clenched over his under lip, until the blood
was ready to gush out, but not one word could be extorted,
until, with a feeling of hopelessness in their efforts, they went
off, calling them cursed little rebels, etc. The mother saw
all this, and stood it unflinchingly—poor thing! It is harrowing
to think of her sufferings. Yet, if she comes away,
her house will be sacked, and perhaps burnt.
We are sometimes alarmed by reports that the enemy
is advancing upon Winchester; but are enabled to possess
our souls in patience, and hope that all may be well. I see
that they are encroaching upon the Northern Neck. I trust
they may be repulsed from that fair land.
"The Briars, Sept. 6.—We returned home, as we are
wont to call this sweet place, yesterday, and are just now
taken up with family matters of deep interest. The army in
Virginia seems quiet; but our arms had a severe reverse on
Thursday. Fort Hatteras was bombarded and taken by
Federal vessels. They also secured many prisoners.
General Floyd, in Western Virginia, had a severe skirmish
with the enemy, about a week ago, and drove them off with
considerable loss. Our loss was small.
Sept. 12th.—Yesterday was the wedding of our dear—.
separation, but particularly so under such circumstances.
But surely never were refugees so blessed with
friends. Our plan was to have the ceremony in the church,
and then to proceed to Winchester, where the bridal party
would take the stage for Strasburg, and thence by the cars
to Richmond; but we were overruled by Mr. P., who invited
his and our friends for the evening, and a beautiful
entertainment was prepared for them. We all exercised our
taste in arranging the table, which, with its ices, jellies, and
the usual etceteras of an elegant bridal supper, made us forget
that we were in a blockaded country. A pyramid of
the most luscious grapes, from Bishop Meade's garden,
graced the centre of the table. The bridesmaids were three,
and groomsman one, and he, poor fellow, had to go off in
the storm of last night, because his furlough lasted but
forty-eight hours, and his station is Culpepper Court-House.
The groom had a furlough of but three days, to come from
and return to Richmond. The Bishop and Mrs. J. arrived
in the morning. The party consisted of ladies, and gentlemen
too old for the service. Bishop J. performed the ceremony.
Bishop Meade professed to be too old for such
occasions, and declined coming. We feel very lonely this
morning, and turn to the newspapers more than we have
done for some time.
I saw a young soldier the other day, who told me he
could see the top of our house distinctly from "Munson's
Hill." Oh, that I could know what is going on within those
walls, all encompassed by armies as it is. With my mind's
eye I look into first one room and then another, with all
the associations of the past; the old family Bible, the family
pictures, the library, containing the collection of forty years,
will become of them? Who are now using or abusing
them?
Sept. 16th.—Just returned from Annfield, where we have
spent a charming day, with most delightful society. The
papers brought us news of success in the West, General
Floyd having overcome Rosecranz on Gauley River. This
gave us great satisfaction, as we are peculiarly anxious
about that part of Virginia. We passed the time in talking
over the feats of our heroes, as well as in enjoying
the elegancies by which we were surrounded.
Sept. 18th.—I have been greatly interested in a letter,
which has been sent me, written by my nephew, Lt. W. B.
N., to his wife, the day after the battle of Manassas. I
copy it here because I want his little relations, for whom I
am writing this diary, to have a graphic description of the
fight, and to know what their family and friends suffered
for the great cause.
"My dear —— :—For the last four days we have never
been longer than two hours in any one place, have slept
upon the ground in good weather and bad, eaten nothing
but crackers and fried bacon, and rested little at any time;
for all of which privations and a thousand others we have
been more than compensated (thanks to the just God who
governs the councils of history and decrees the destiny of
nations) in the glorious results of yesterday. On the morning
of the 17th, we had received reliable information that
the enemy was advancing, over 50,000 strong, and were not
surprised, at five o'clock in the morning, to hear the fire of
our pickets, who were slowly retiring before the advancing
was packed, tents struck, and the wagons driven to
the rear; and the whole command forward to line of battle.
In a few minutes the glittering bayonets of the enemy lined
the neighbouring hills. From the heavy signal-guns being
fired at intervals along our line—commencing at German
town and stretching along to Fairfax Court-House—it wa
evident that the enemy was endeavouring to surround ou
little band; but our "Little Trump," as the men call
Beauregard, was not to be taken by any such game. Every
preparation was made to deceive the enemy, by inducing
him to believe that we meditated a vigorous resistance
Meantime our column defiled through a densely wooded
road, and was far on the way to Centreville when the enemy
discovered his mistake. He followed on very cautiously.
To our troop, with Kemper's Battery, was assigned the
post of honour, and charged with the duty of covering the
retreat. We were the last to leave the village, and as we
went out at one end of the street, his column appeared at
the other. We halted at this place about four o'clock in
the afternoon, and again made show of battle—slept until
twelve o'clock at the heads of our horses. We silently left
the place, the enemy's pickets being within hailing distance
of our own. At daybreak we were across Bull Run, having
marched very slowly to keep pace with the infantry. We
found beds of leaves in the woods, wrapped ourselves in our
blankets, and slept for an hour or two, until we were aroused
by the roar of the enemy's guns as he opened his batteries
upon our lines. For two mortal hours shot and shell flew
thick along our whole line. This day's work was evidently
intended only to draw the fire of our artillery, and show
where our batteries were. In consequee of which our
point-blank range. After thus opening the ball, two dense
masses of infantry were sent to defile to the right and left,
to make two separate attacks. It was indeed a beautiful
sight as they came down in perfect order, and with the
stealthy step of veterans. They came nearer and yet
nearer, and yet no shot from our guns. Our men began to
mutter, and say that we were preparing for another retreat.
But in a few moments the appointed time arrived. A single
shot from the Washington Artillery gave the signal of
death, and for half an hour there was nothing but a continuous
sheet of flame along the right of our lines. The
enemy fell back, rallied, and charged again, with a like
result. Again they rested, and rushed forward, but old
Virginia was true to herself, and the gallant Seventeenth
and Eighteenth Regiments charged them with the bayonet,
and drove them back in utter confusion. The cavalry were
held in reserve, and although within range of the artillery,
and constantly experiencing the sensation which men may
be supposed to indulge, who know there is a hidden danger
hovering in the air, without knowing where it is to light,
took no part in the action. Our time came yesterday, however.
Our troop was for four hours in the hottest of the
fight, and every man in it won the applause and approbation
of the whole camp. The action commenced at eight o'clock
on the sweet Sabbath morning. The enemy commenced
with quite a heavy cannonade upon our right, which proved
to be a mere feint, to distract our attention, as his main
attack was directed to our left wing. At ten o'clock the
enemy had crossed the river on our left, and then the fighting
commenced in earnest. From the hill on which we
stood, we could see, from the smoke and dust, though at
our left. Some thought the enemy was retreating; others
that our men had fallen back. It was an hour of painful
interest. At eleven o'clock an aid-de-camp rode up in a
gallop, and said our men were retiring—the cavalry was
ordered to the left. We were temporarily attached to Radford's
regiment—ours was the first company, and mine was
the first platoon. On we dashed in a gallop, and as we
passed within range of a battery of rifled cannon a ball
was fired at us which passed between Wickham and myself,
knocking up a cloud of dust. Without wavering in their
ranks, the men and horses dashed forward at a gallop. As
we reached the scene of action the sight was discouraging
in the extreme. The enemy had at first the advantage of
every attacking party. He had concentrated his forces for
an attack upon one point. The First Louisiana Regiment
and the Fourth Alabama, attacked in flank and centre by
30,000 men, were literally cut to pieces. They refused to
surrender, but retired slowly, disputing every inch of ground.
As we rode up we could meet parts of companies which had
been utterly overwhelmed—the men wounded, their arms
broken, while some of them were carrying off their dead in
blankets. Every thing looked like retreat. We were ordered
up to within five hundred yards of the enemy's artillery,
behind a hill which afforded some protection against
their destructive fire. For one hour the fire raged with
incessant fury. A ball passed over the hill and through our
ranks, grazing one of our men. A shell exploded just
under Radford's horse, and every minute shot and shell
were continually whistling by us. I can give you no conception
of that awful hour. Not a man shrank from his
post. Two of our men were taken exceedingly sick, one
composure I never witnessed. To make the matter worse,
despondency, if not despair, was fast writing itself upon
every face. The fire was evidently approaching us. Our
friends were retiring, and the whispered rumour passed from
lip to lip that our artillery ammunition was running low.
In a moment, however, a cloud of dust in our rear showed
the approach of our wagons, coming up at a dashing rate,
with a fresh supply. Our reinforcements now commenced
pouring in. Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi,
and Tennessee swept by in their glittering array with the
calm light of battle on their faces, and their bayonets gleaming
in the quiet Sabbath sunshine. No man faltered, no
man lagged behind. Neither the groans of the dying nor
the shrieks of the wounded, as they passed by in crowded
ambulances, seemed to produce any impression except to
fix the determination upon the countenances of all, to win
or to die upon the field. The tide now seemed to ebb, just
enough to keep us from despair. The firing did not advance,
although the explosion of their shells was terrific in the
extreme. A gleam of hope, too, gradually broke in upon
us, when Kemper's Battery, which had been posted in our
centre, galloped up and opened a destructive fire upon our
extreme left. The advance was evidently checked, when
a loud cheer in the front told us that something unusual
had happened. What was it? Was it the triumph of our
enemies over our poor stricken friends; or was it some
advantage gained by courage in defence of right? The
suspense was awful. Men stood straight in their stirrups
and stretched their eyes as if they could pierce the rugged
bosom of the barren hill which raised its scarred front
between them. An aid passed up. His message is written
breaks from the throats of thousands. When he speaks,
another, another and another round of cheers told the
story to our hitherto sinking hearts. The Fourth Virginia
Regiment had taken Sprague's Rhode Island Battery of
six pieces, at the point of the bayonet. Scarcely had the
echo of our cheers died away when again the noise of shouting
broke upon the air. What was it? Had the enemy
rallied and retaken the guns? Fear struggled with hope.
But no: the gallant Twenty-seventh, envious of the glorious
achievement of the Fourth, at a single dash had charged a
regiment of regulars, swept them from the field, and taken
every gun in Sherman's Battery.[See note at end of Book.]
The firing of musketry and the rattling of bayonets was
now terrible beyond description. For one hour there was
an incessant cracking of rifles, without a single moment's
pause. The enemy were evidently retiring, and unless
reinforced from the left and centre, the day was ours.
"To prevent this, our field telegraph had already given
the signal for movement upon our own right, and a heavy
fire of musketry and artillery told us that Bonham's Brigade,
to which we had been attached in the morning, had crossed
the run and were pouring it into the enemy's centre. The
South Carolina boys dashed up the hill in face of a murderous
fire, bayoneted their gunners, and took quiet possession
of their central battery. It was three o'clock, and the day
was ours. The Washington Artillery galloped up the hill
on which we were posted, and opened a perfect Vesuvius of
shot and shell upon the receding foe. Colonel Lay then
rode up and told us that the time for us to act had arrived.
Our whole body of cavalry, 2,700 strong, now rushed like
the wind to the front. It was indeed a brilliant spectacle, as,
dashed past. The whole line resounded with continued
cheering. The force was divided into different detachments.
Colonel Radford, with six companies, was ordered to cross
a short distance below the enemy's extreme right, and intercept
his column. Our company was in front, and I was
riding in front of my platoon, when, after crossing the
swamp, we came suddenly on a detachment of the enemy
concealed in the bushes, with their pieces levelled. The
Colonel ordered the charge, and our boys rushed on. Poor
E. F. was at my side when we rode over two of them, and
they grounded their arms to E. W., who was just in our
rear. We galloped on in pursuit of the rest, who retreated
across a field, towards the road on which the enemy was retreating.
Fontaine was just behind me. Saunders, a fine
young fellow, just twenty-four years of age, and splendidly
mounted, dashed by us. The enemy had concealed themselves
behind a fence; we rode up, and I demanded their
surrender; they made no reply. I ordered Saunders to fire;
before he levelled his carbine the whole squad poured in a
volley. Saunders fell dead at my feet, and Edmund Fontaine
reeled in his saddle, exclaiming, "Save me, boys; I
am killed!" He was caught in the arms of his cousin, who
was just in my rear. Three of my platoon fired, and the
two who had shot Fontaine and Saunders fell dead in their
tracks. We were now in full view of the enemy's columns,
passing in rapid and disorderly retreat along the road, with
two pieces of artillery, a large number of baggage-wagons,
and some officers' carriages. Colonel Radford, who is a
soldier of experience, knew the strength of the enemy and
ordered a halt, commanding the men to form. But such a
thing was utterly impossible. The men seemed perfectly
guns, the guns!" our whole company rushed pell-mell upon
the battery, which proved to be another detachment of the
Rhode Island Artillery. Such a scene of wild excitement I
never witnessed. My platoon had been detached from the
company, and the company from the regiment. There were
two caissons and two guns; the guns behind the caissons.
My platoon, which was furthest down the road, rushed upon
the men who guarded them. One fellow was standing on
the caisson, whipping the horses to make them run; they had
become so much alarmed that they stood perfectly still, and
trembled. I made a blow at him with my sabre, knocked
him off the caisson, and he was shot twice before he reached
the ground. Meantime W. (who behaved admirably), with
the main body, crossed the road higher up, and when the
main body of the regiment came up, our company, with
some of the Alexandria cavalry, had killed and wounded
every man at the guns, and driven the infantry supports in
rapid retreat. When we left we expected to be supported
by infantry and artillery, and you may imagine our astonishment
when, with not quite 300 men, we found that we had
nearly cut into the enemy's column, and upon looking one
hundred yards down the road, we found them preparing to
open on us with two guns supported by six regiments of infantry.
The Colonel at once ordered a retreat, so we shot the
horses to the caissons, so as to block up the road, and retreated,
not, however, before they had poured in upon us four
rounds of grape and canister at one hundred and fifty yards'
distance. How we escaped a perfect massacre I cannot say.
Had they not been so close to us the slaughter would have
been terrible. Four of our men were killed. Captain Radford,
brother of the Colonel, was literally blown to pieces.
excepting quite a severe bruise caused by my horse having
pressed my leg against the wheel to the gun-carriage. We
brought off several prisoners, a great many pistols, and several
horses. Just ahead of the guns was a very handsome
open carriage. As soon as they saw us, such a rush! It
is suspected, or rather hoped, that Wilson, of Massachusetts,
(who was, it is known, on the field,) was in it. One of our
men, Linkey by name, took it into his head that General
Scott was in it, pursued and overtook it, but at the distance
of thirty steps fired his musketine, with eighteen buck-shot,
right into the back window.
"As we returned, a melancholy mistake occurred. Bowles,
our second lieutenant, who was carrying poor Fontaine to
the hospital, with one or two others, met a detachment of
four of the Appomattox cavalry, who hailed him. It is said
that, instead of giving the signal agreed upon in our camp,
by raising the hand to the top of the head, he took them
for the enemy, and answered "Federal troops." They fired
and he fell dead. Our company received, upon its return,
the congratulations of every officer on General Bonham's
staff, to whom Colonel R. had spoken of the conduct of our
men. To-day it has been raining incessantly. Our column
pushed on this morning to this place. Our company
was assigned the advance-guard, and this morning at ten
o'clock, I had the honor of occupying the city of Centreville.
The citizens tell us that about twelve o'clock last
night the cry passed through the camp that the Virginia
horsemen were upon them, when they left in wild confusion.
Our triumph has been complete. In two days our noble
army has driven them back to Alexandria, captured forty-two
guns, many colors, and how many prisoners I will not
ordered to explore the surrounding country in quest of fugitives.
We took eighteen prisoners, and got back just at
night, very wet. You never saw such a collection of property
as was left in their flight. Hundreds of muskets, gun-carriages,
wagon horses; thousands of knapsacks, oil-cloths
and blankets, hogsheads of sugar, barrels of pork, beans,
etc.; in short, every thing you can conceive. We found
to-day over five hundred splendid army overcoats.
"The men are amusing themselves to-night reading letters,
of which there were thousands left on the field. Some of
them were directed to Mr. So-and-So, expected at Manassas
Junction. Some asked for a piece of the floor of the house
in which Ellsworth was killed, with blood on it; while others
confidently express the belief that Beauregard's scalp was
to be carried to Washington. When I tell you that we
supped to-night on Yankee crackers, Yankee coffee, and a
nice beef-tongue, actually left on the hearth of one of the
officers' quarters, in a kettle, ready to be set on the fire—
that this is written with a Yankee pencil, given me by
one of the men, and on Yankee paper, taken from their
wagons, and that I am sitting on a Yankee camp-stool, and
writing by a Yankee candle, you can form some idea of the
utter rout. I have a pincushion for L., picked up on the
field, a needle-case for K., and a sword taken from a Vermont
volunteer, for W. Our troops occupy Fairfax Court-House
to-day. I will try and see you soon. Good-night.
God bless and protect you. I feel that he has protected
me in the last few days, in answer to the prayers of a pious
wife. I hope that I feel grateful for my preservation."
"Mountain View," September 22.—Came down here
so profitably as I desired. The ride to the "old chapel,"
where we had service, is so long, that we spent a great deal
of time upon the road. Bishop Meade delivered a most interesting
address. He mentioned with great feeling the death
of Mr. John A. Washington, of Mount Vernon, who fell at
"Cheat Mountain" a few days ago, while, with some other
officers, he was observing the movements of Rosecranz.
It is heart-rending to hear of the number of valuable lives
which are lost in this cruel war.
25th.—The last two days spent with pleasant friends—
one day with Miss M. M., and the other with my old
acquaintance, Mrs. Dr. F., of the "White Post." These
ladies, like all others, are busy for the soldiers. To-day I
received a copy of "Headley Vicars," abridged for the camp,
by my friend J. J. Mr. M. will take it to-morrow to the
camp, when he goes with the wagon. To-day we have been
helping the Bishop to pack a barrel of grapes, and another
with tomatoes and other fresh vegetables; and yet another
Mrs. M. has packed with bread, biscuit, and a variety of
things for the sick.
"The Briars," October 2d.—We returned yesterday,
everybody anxious and apprehensive. Battles seem to be
imminent, both in Western Virginia and on the Potomac.
Constant skirmishing reported in both places.
General Price, it is said, has taken Lexington, Missouri,
with a large number of prisoners. Our army in Fairfax has
fallen back from "Munson's Hill" to the Court-House;
thus leaving our dear homes more deeply buried in the
shades of Yankeeism than ever. There are many refugees
in this neighbourhood, like ourselves, wandering and
waiting. Mrs. General Lee has been staying at Annfield,
has open doors for the family of General Lee; but in her
state of health, how dreadful it is to have no certain
abiding place. She is very cheerful, and showed me the
other day a picture of "Arlington," in a number of Harpers'
Magazine, which had mistaken its way and strayed
to Dixie. She thought the representation good, as it certainly
is of what Arlington was; but it is said that those
fine trees are living trees no more—all felled to make
room for the everlasting fortifications. She clings to the
hope of getting back to it; but I begin to feel that we may
all hang our harps upon the willows; and though we do not
sit by the waters of a strange land, but among our whole-souled
friends in our own Virginia, yet our "vine and fig-tree"
is wanting. Home and its surroundings must ever
be our chief joy, and while shut out from it and its many
objects of interest, there will be a feeling of desolation.
The number of refugees increases fearfully as our army falls
back; for though many persons, still surrounded by all the
comforts of home, ask why they do not stay, and protect
their property, my only answer is, "How can they?"
In many instances defenceless women and children are left
without the means of subsistence; their crops destroyed;
their business suspended; their servants gone; their horses
and other stock taken off; their houses liable at any hour
of the day or night to be entered and desecrated by a
lawless soldiery. How can they remain without even the
present means of support, and nothing in prospect? The
enemy will dole them out rations, it is said, if they will
take the oath! But who so base as to do that? Can
a Southern woman sell her birthright for a mess of pottage?
Would she not be unworthy of the husband, the
on the altar of his country? And our old men, the hoary-headed
fathers of heroic sons, can they bear the insults, the
taunts of an invading army? Can they see the spot of
earth which they have perhaps inherited from their fathers
covered with the tents of the enemy; their houses used as
head-quarters by officers, while they and their families are
forced into the poorest accommodations; ancestral trees
laid low, to make room for fortifications, thrown across
their grounds, from which cannon will point to the very
heart of their loved South? How can the venerable
gentlemen of the land stay at home and bear such things?
No—let them come out, and in some way help the Confederacy.
Our new government will want officers, and
the old men had better fill them, and leave the young
ones free to swell the army. But I will no longer indulge
in this strain; it makes me sad, and it is my duty
to give at least the meed of cheerfulness to our kind
friends; in truth, we have a right cheerful household. It
would be amusing to an observer to see us on mail days.
The papers are read aloud, from "Terms" to "finis," by N.,
who, being a good reader, and having the powers of endurance
to a great degree, goes on untiringly, notwithstanding
the running commentaries kept up throughout from
many voices.
October 5.—M. P. and myself drove to Millwood yesterday,
and heard various rumours of victories in Western
Virginia, and in Missouri; but we are afraid to believe
them. At home we go on as usual.
October 8.—At church yesterday; the services interesting;
the Communion administered. Rev. Dr. A. delivered
an address, perhaps a little too political for the occasion.
The news from Western Virginia not confirmed. Another
rumour of a fight on Cheat Mountain, in which General
Jackson, with some regiments of Georgians, repulsed the
Federal General Reynolds.
11th.—Every thing apparently quiet, and we, in the
absence of bad news, are surrounded by a most peaceful
and pleasant atmosphere. Our communication with the
outer world cut off by the freshet in the Shenandoah, so
that we had no mail yesterday. Mr. — has gone to
Richmond on business. He wrote from Culpeper Court-House,
at which place he stopped to see J., a most pleasing
account of the hospitals, and the care taken of the sick.
12th.—M. P. and myself drove to Millwood for the
mail, and then made an agreeable visit to Mr. and Mrs. J.
We found several letters from family and friends; one from
my sister, Mrs. C., who with her whole family (except her
sons,) married daughters and single, are about to rent the
Presbyterian Parsonage, in Hanover, and keep house. As
they are all refugees, and have the means, it is a most
pleasant idea. The Rev. Mr. H., who was the occupant of
the house, has gone to the army as captain of a company
which he raised for the purpose.
The papers mentioned the capture of a vessel called
"The Fanny," on the coast of North Carolina, laden with
blankets, greatcoats, arms and ammunition. A most valuable
prize.
October 16.—We had a pleasant evening. While N.
read the papers we were knitting for the soldiers. An
account is given of some small successes. Our men, near
Pensacola, have broken up the camp of "Billy Wilson's
Zouaves," of which we have heard so much; and Captain
Hollins of the navy has broken the blockade at New
without the least damage to himself and men. Rosecranz
has retreated before our men at Big Sewell Mountain. For
these things we desire to be truly grateful, without rejoicing
in the misfortunes of our enemies, except as they tend to
the welfare of our invaded and abused country.
Sunday Night.—To-day went to church, and heard an
admirable sermon from Mr. J. As we returned, we called
at the post-office, and received a newspaper from Dr. Drane,
of Tennessee, in which is recorded the death of his son
James. He belonged to the army in Western Virginia,
and died there of typhoid fever. He was one of the late
pupils of the E. H. S., a most amiable, gentlemanly youth;
and it seems but as yesterday that I saw him, light-hearted
and buoyant, among his young companions. He is constantly
before my mind's eye. His parents and young
sister—how my heart bleeds for them! Our poor boys!
What may not each battle bring forth? Scarcely a battalion
of the army, in any part of the Confederacy, where
they are not.
Thursday, 24th.—An account reached us to-day of a
severe fight last Monday (21st), at Leesburg—a Manassas
fight in a small way. The Federals, under General Stone,
came in large force to the river; they crossed in the morning
8,000 or 10,000 strong, under command of Colonel Baker,
late Senator from Oregon. They came with all the pomp and
circumstance of glorious war, and rushed on as if to certain
victory over our small force. "But when the sun set, where
were they?" They were flying back to Maryland, that her
hills might hide and her rocks shelter them. They crowded
into their boats, on their rafts; multitudes plunged into the
water and swam over; any thing, any way, that would bear
pursuit, firing upon them incessantly, until the blue waters
of the Potomac ran red with blood. It was a "famous
victory," as old Caspar would say, and I am thankful
enough for it; for if they come to kill us, we must kill or
drive them back. But it is dreadful to think of the dead
and the dying, the widows and the orphans. Mr. William
Randolph, who brought us this account, says there were between
five and six hundred prisoners, a number of wounded,
and 400 killed and drowned—among them Colonel Baker
killed. They had no business here on such an errand; but
who, with a human heart, does not feel a pang at the
thought that each one had somebody to grieve for him—
somebody who will look long for the return of each one of
the four hundred! The account goes on to state with exultation,
that we lost but twenty-seven killed. There are but
twenty-seven bereaved households in the length and breadth
of this Confederacy from this one fight—a great disparity,
and very few considering the violence of the fight; but it is
difficult to think with composure of the lacerated hearts in
those twenty-seven homes!
Tuesday, 29th.—A little reverse to record this morning.
It is said that Colonel McDonald's cavalry made an unfortunate
retreat from Romney the other day, as the enemy
approached. It may have been wise, as the enemy outnumbered
us greatly.
Mr. — and myself have just returned from a delightful
walk to Pagebrook. We were talking of our future, about
which he will not allow me to despond. The Lord will
provide, he says, and begins at once to count up our mercies.
We constantly hear that our children and near relatives are
well—none of them have been wounded, all mercifully
or allow a feeling of despondency.
Wednesday.—Captain and Mrs. W. N. dined with us
to-day. It was gratifying to see him look so well, after the
intense suffering through which he has passed. He was
borne from the field of Manassas, with what seemed to be a
mortal wound; a ball had passed through his body. But,
thanks to a merciful Providence, good nursing and surgery
have saved his valuable life. We are now planning to go
to the lower country, but when and where we do not
know.
November 3d.—To-day we were at church, and heard a
good sermon from the Rev. Mr. Walker, of Alexandria—a
refugee in pursuit of an abiding-place.
An immense Federal fleet left Hampton Roads a few
days ago, for what point destined we do not know. Oh,
that it may find its resting-place in the bottom of the ocean!
The terrific storm yesterday gave us comfort. The mighty
rushing of the winds was music to our ears. We thought
of the Spanish Armada, thanked God and took courage.
Was this wicked? I think not. They must lose their lives,
or we must lose ours; and if it will please the Almighty
Ruler of the wind and waves to use them in our defence,
we shall be most grateful.
6th.—Mr. — gone to the prayer-meeting at Millwood,
accompanied by Mr. —; both will cast their votes for
Mr. Davis to be President of these Confederate States for
the next six years. We yesterday dined at "Mountain
View," with the Rev. Mr. Walker and family. He has been
called to South Carolina to be professor in the Episcopal
Theological Seminary of that State. He will go, as there is
no hope of his getting back to Alexandria during the war.
Nothing from the "Fleet."
November 9.—Our hearts cheered by news from the
fleet. A part of it stranded—one vessel on the coast of
North Carolina, from which seventy prisoners have been
taken; others on the coast of South Carolina. Unfortunately,
a part is safe, and is attacking Tybee Island. The
fortifications there are said to be strong and well manned.
10th.—Returning from church to-day, we were overtaken
by W. B. C., on horseback. We were surprised and
delighted. He soon explained his "position." Jackson's
Brigade has been ordered to take charge of the Valley, and
is coming to-day to Strasburg, and thence to Winchester.
He rode across on R's horse. He dined with us, and told
us a great deal about the army, particularly about our own
boys. We are greatly relieved to have that noble brigade
in our midst; we have felt, for a long time, the want of
protection.
Monday Night.—To-day M. P. and myself went to
Winchester, and thence to the camp. We took Mr. P. N's
children to see their father. There we saw W. B., J. M. G.,
and many other young friends, and were much pleased at
their cheerfulness. They look sunburnt and soldierly. I
returned to Winchester to see my dear S. S. R. C. was
sitting with her, looking well and happy. Camp-life agrees
with him. These poor boys expect to be ordered to Romney;
but wherever they go, they hope, by God's help, to
repel the invaders.
15th.—This was fast-day—a national fast proclaimed by
our President. I trust that every church in the Confederacy
was well filled with heart-worshippers. The Rev. Mr. Jones
preached for us at Millwood. This whole household was
there—indeed, the whole neighbourhood turned out.
We have been anxiously awaiting the result of an anticipated
fight between Price and Fremont; but Fremont
was superseded while almost in the act of making the attack.
We await further developments.
Winchester, December 9.—Mr. — and myself have
been here for three weeks, with Dr. S. and our dear niece.
Jackson's Brigade still near, which gives these warm-hearted
people a good opportunity of working for them, and supplying
their wants. We see a great deal of our nephews,
and never sit at the table without a large addition to the
family circle. This is always prepared for, morning, noon,
and night, as it is a matter of course that soldiers will be
brought in just at the right time, and so cordially received
that they feel that they have a perfect right to come again
when it is convenient to them.
A regiment or two have been sent to protect the Chesapeake
and Ohio Canal near Honeywood. Affairs in the
army are very quiet. I hope that the calm does not portend
a storm; I pray that it may be averted.
"The Briars," December 18.—Sadly negligent of my diary
lately. Nothing new has occurred. We pleasantly pursue
the even tenor of our way, but are now preparing to go to
my brother's, in Hanover, next week. We have been to
"Mountain View" for a couple of days, on a farewell visit
to the family. The Bishop has sent his study-carpet to the
camp, along with every thing he could possibly spare, for
the soldiers' comfort. He looks cheerfully upon our prospects,
and is now listening to "Motley's Dutch Republic"
with "infinite zest." It is read to him by his daughter-in-law,
on these long winter nights. His manner of life is certainly
most amiable, as well as pleasant to himself and instructive
to others.
Newspapers have just come, giving an account of a fight
at Cheat Mountain, on the 13th of December, in which we
were successful. Rumours also of a fight on the Chesapeake
and Ohio Canal; and another rumour that England
has demanded the restoration of "Mason and Slidell," and
in case of non-compliance with the demand, that Lord
Lyons should demand his passports. How ardently I do
wish that England would break up the blockade!
| Diary of a southern refugee during the war | |