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. It makes my blood boil when I
remember that our 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
“Stitch, stitch, stitch,
Band, and gusset, and
seam,”
for the comfort of our men, and it shall work all the more
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!
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 21-2
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