I regret now that I did not, a year ago, make brief notes of
what was passing under my eye. Not write a journal, — I have no time nor
inclination for that, — but just such slight jottings as might serve to recall
the incidents of this most eventful year in our country's history. It is too
late now to attempt the review. While the year has not brought the sorrow and
trial to me, which it has to such multitudes of hearts, it still has had in it
much of trouble and perplexity. The sudden breaking up of my Father's family —
his and Sister Julia's departure to Philadelphia—my husband's long absence in
the army — my many cares incident upon this absence — my days and nights of
torturing apprehension while he was campaigning with General Jackson — my
entire ignorance of all that appertained to my Father, Sister, and most of my
friends — these were the troubles that made my year sorrowful. Thanks to God's
mercy, I got through all somehow, and was blest by having my husband
restored to me by February 1st.
Darkness seems gathering over the Southern land; disaster
follows disaster; where is it all to end? My very soul is sick of carnage. I
loathe the word — War. It is destroying and paralyzing all before it.
Our schools are closed —all the able-bodied men gone — stores shut up, or only
here and there one open; goods not to be bought, or so exorbitant that we are
obliged to do without. I actually dressed my baby all winter in calico dresses
made out of the lining of an old dressing-gown; and G. in clothes concocted out
of old castaways. As to myself, I rigidly abstained from getting a single
article of dress in the entire past year, except shoes and stockings. Calico is
not to be had; a few pieces had been offered at 40 cents per yard. Coarse,
unbleached cottons are very occasionally to be met with, and are caught op
eagerly at 40 cents per yard. Such material as we used to give nine-pence for
(common blue twill) is a bargain now at 40 cents, and then of a very inferior
quality. Soda, if to be had at all, is 75 cents per lb. Coffee is not to be
bought. We have some on hand, and for eight months have drunk a poor mixture,
half wheat, half coffee. Many persons have nothing but wheat or rye.
These are some of the very trifling effects of this
horrid and senseless war. Just now I am bound down under the apprehension of
having my husband again enter the service; and if he goes, he says he will not
return until the war closes, if indeed he come back alive. May God's providence
interpose to prevent his going! His presence is surely needed at home; his
hands are taken away by the militia draught, and he has almost despaired of
having his farms cultivated this year. His overseer is draughted, and will have
to go, unless the plea of sickness will avail to release him, as he has been
seriously unwell. The Institute is full, two hundred and fifty cadets being in
it; but they may disperse at any time, so uncertain is the tenure of everything
now. The College has five students; boys too young to enter the army.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and
Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 134-5
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