Saturday I was in bed with one of my worst headaches.
Occasionally there would come a sob and I thought of my sister insulted and my
little sweet Williams. Another of my beautiful Columbia quartette had rough
experiences. A raider asked the plucky little girl, Lizzie Hamilton, for a ring
which she wore. “You shall not have it,” she said. The man put a pistol to her
head, saying, “Take it off, hand it to me, or I will blow your brains out.” “Blow
away,” said she. The man laughed and put down his pistol, remarking, " You
knew I would not hurt you.” “Of course, I knew you dared not shoot me. Even
Sherman would not stand that.”
There was talk of the negroes where the Yankees had been — negroes
who flocked to them and showed them where silver and valuables had been hid by
the white people. Ladies’-maids dressed themselves in their mistresses' gowns
before the owners’ faces and walked off. Now, before this every one had told me
how kind, faithful, and considerate the negroes had proven. I am sure, after
hearing these tales, the fidelity of my own servants shines out brilliantly. I
had taken their conduct too much as a matter of course. In the afternoon I had
some business on our place, the Hermitage. John drove me down. Our people were
all at home, quiet, orderly, respectful, and at their usual work. In point of
fact things looked unchanged. There was nothing to show that any one of them
had even seen the Yankees, or knew that there was one in existence.
SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin
and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 402-3
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