Since writing in my diary, our plans have been entirely
changed. Our old friend, Mrs. R., offered us rooms in Richmond, on such terms
as are within our means, and a remarkable circumstance connected with it is,
that they are in the house which my father once occupied, and the pleasant chamber
which I now occupy I left this month twenty-nine years ago. It is much more
convenient to live in Richmond than in Ashland, so that we have rented the
little cottage to another. One room answers the purpose of dining-room and
sleeping-room, by putting a large screen around the bed; the girls have a room,
and we use the parlour of the family for entertaining our guests. For this we
pay $60 per month and half of the gas bill.
But this has been a sad, sad month to me, and I find it very
difficult to bring my mind to attend to the ordinary affairs of life. On the
11th of this month, our nephew, Captain William B. Newton, was killed while
leading a cavalry charge in Culpeper County. We have the consolation of
believing that his redeemed spirit has passed into heaven; but to how many has
the earth been left desolate! His young wife and three lovely children; his
father, mother, sisters, brothers, uncles and aunts, have seen the pride of
their hearts pass away. His country mourns him as a great public loss. The bar,
the legislative hall, and the camp proudly acknowledge his brilliant talents.
In peace, the country looked to him as one to whom her best interests would
hereafter be intrusted; in war, as one of the most gallant officers on the
field. An early and ardent Secessionist, he was among the first to turn from
the delightful home circle, where he ever sought his happiness, to go to the
defence of right. He came into the field as First Lieutenant of the Hanover
Troop; shortly after became its Captain, loved and revered by his men; and the
commission of Lieutenant-Colonel of his regiment, the Fourth Virginia Cavalry,
was on its way to him; but, alas! alas! it reached its destination a few hours
too late. God be with my precious and her sweet children! I long and yet dread
to go to that once bright home, the light of which has faded forever.
I was shocked to hear that on the fatal Sunday on which my
darling William fell, three of our E. H. S. boys had come to a glorious, though
untimely end, on the same field — Surgeon John Nelson, Lientenant Lomax Tayloe,
and Private J. Vivian Towles; and at Bristow Station, a few days afterwards,
dear little Willie Robinson, son of my old friends, Mr. Conway and Mrs. Mary
Susan Robinson. He was but eighteen. I attended his funeral on Wednesday last,
and there learned that he was a devoted Christian. These dear boys! Oh, I trust
that they sprang from the din of the battle-field to the peace of heaven! Lord,
how long must we suffer such things?
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 240-2
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