A bright spot in our military horizon. The enemy's fleet of
more than thirty gun-boats made a furious attack on Fort Fisher, near
Wilmington, N. C, on the 24th, (last Saturday;) they kept up an average fire of
thirty shots per minute until night. On the 25th the attack was renewed, and on
the 27th, after being three times repulsed, the enemy abandoned his position
above Fort Fisher, and re-embarked. The damage done to us was very slight — only
two guns disabled, and but few other casualties. Thus failed utterly this great
expedition of land and sea forces, from which the Federal authorities and the
whole North confidently expected such grand results. And so may it ever be; the
Lord help us, and deliver us in every such hour of need.
Yesterday we had a pleasant little dinner-party at Dr. G's —
so rare a thing now, that I must note it in my diary. Many nice things on the
table were sent by country friends. What would we do without our country
friends? Their hearts seem warm and generous to those who are not so well off
as themselves. They set a good example, which 1 trust will not be lost on us.
Our relatives and friends, though they have been preyed upon by the enemy
almost to exhaustion, never seem to forget us. Sausage from one, a piece of
beef from another, a bushel of dried fruit, a turkey, etc., come ever and anon
to our assistance. One can scarcely restrain tears of affection when it is
remembered that these things are evidences of self-denial, and not given from their
abundance, as at the beginning of the war. The soldiers are not forgotten by
these country friends — those who remember the refugees are never forgetful of
the soldiers. Take our people as a whole, they are full of generosity and
patriotism. The speculators and money-makers of these trying times are a
peculiar class, of which I neither like to speak, think, nor write; they are
objects of my implacable disgust. They do not belong to our noble Southern
patriots. They are with us, but not of us! I should think that a man who had
made a fortune during the war would, when the war is over, wish to hide it, and
not own his ill-gotten gains. I trust there are not many such. The year 1864
has almost passed away. Oh, what a fearful account it has rendered to Heaven!
What calamities and sorrows crowd into its history, in this afflicted country
of ours! God help us, and guide us onward and upward, for the Saviour's sake!
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 324-26
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