Friday, June 19, 2015

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: Monday Morning, June 13, 1864

I had a calm, solemn, two-hours conversation yesterday, with an intelligent and seemingly Christian man, which has filled me with entire despair for the Confederacy. He listened to my solemn declarations that I knew the spirit which animated every man, woman, and child was a martyr spirit; was a conscientious belief that in the sight of heaven they were doing their holiest duty; that there was a deadly earnestness among our men which would make the last remnant of them fly to our mountain fastnesses and fight like tigers till the last inch of ground was taken from them: that then the women and children would be swept into the Ocean on one side, and into the wilds of Mexico on the other, but there could be no yielding. “If,” said he, after listening with deep interest to what I had been saying, if I believed that your spirit animated your army, I would feel obliged to lay down this sword; I could not fight against men who fought for conscience’ sake.” “I beseech you, sir,” I said, “to believe it; for it is as true as that the heavens are above us.” This is the sentiment expressed by the best of them. He took from his pocket-book some leaves which he had gathered from Jackson's grave, which he said he would keep as sacred mementos. One of the guard which he sent us, decent fellows, who have kept us from being insulted, asked me for some trifle that had belonged to Jackson, saying, “We think as much of him as you do.” I gave them each an autograph.

We were told the house was to be searched for arms as some of our neighbors’ have been. I delivered up all the sporting guns, but forgot that I had hidden Jackson’s sword in a dark loft above the portico. At one o'clock last night I crept up there as stealthily as a burglar, and brought it down, intending to deliver it up to this Lt. B.; but on running up the back way to Dr. White's gate, and consulting him, he said he had his old sword, which had never been in the service, and advised me to keep it as long as I could. I have hidden it in Anna Jackson's piano. We hear that we are to be searched this morning; almost every house in town has been, and but for the interest this Lt. has taken in us, I believe we should have been too.

Gen. Smith's house has not been burned; they have not yet discovered our wounded man. Oh! I am so exhausted — so heart and soul weary! We have heard many times this morning that the Cadets have been captured. Lynchburg no doubt has fallen, for there was no force there. The servants are flocking away. The soldiers almost force them into the omnibuses. We have a young girl here now, our Mary's sister, whom they were about to drag away; Mary went and brought her here for safe keeping.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 192-4

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