This day General Scott promised himself and his Northern
friends to dine in Richmond. Poor old renegade, I trust he has eaten his last
dinner in Richmond, the place of his marriage, the birthplace of his children,
the home of his early friendships, and so near the place of his nativity and
early years.
How can he wish to enter Richmond but as a friend? But it is
enough for us to know that he is disappointed in his amiable and patriotic wish
to-day. So may it be.
I have seen W. H., who has just returned from Fairfax. Last
week he scouted near our house, and gives no very encouraging report for us.
Our hills are being fortified, and Alexandria and the neighbourhood have become
one vast barracks. The large trees are being felled, and even houses are
falling by order of the invader! Our prospect of getting home becomes more and
more dim; my heart sinks within me, and hope is almost gone. What shall we do,
if the war continues until next winter, without a certain resting-place? Our
friends are kind and hospitable, open-hearted and generous to a wonderful
degree. In this house we are made to feel not only welcome, but that our
society gives them heartfelt pleasure. Other friends, too, are most kind in
giving invitations “for the war” — “as long as we find it agreeable to stay,”
etc.; but while this is very gratifying and delightful, yet we must get some
place, however small and humble, to call home. Our friends here amuse
themselves at my fears; but should the war continue, I do not think that they
have any guarantee that they will not be surrounded by an unfriendly host. They
think that they will not leave their homes under any circumstances; perhaps
not, because they are surrounded by so much property that they must protect;
but the situation will be very trying. Whenever I express a feeling of
despondency, Mr. ____ meets it with the calm reply, that the “Lord will
provide,” so that I am really ashamed to give place to fear. The situation of
the people of Hampton is far worse than ours — their homes reduced to ashes;
their church in ruins! That venerable colonial church, in which for generations
they have been baptized, received the Holy Communion, been married, and around
which their dead now lie. Their very graves desecrated; their tomb-stones torn
down and broken; the slabs, sacred to the memory of their fathers, children,
husbands, wives, which have been watched and decorated perhaps for years, now
converted into dining-tables for the Yankee soldiery. How can human hearts bear
such things and live? We have not yet been subjected to any thing of the kind,
and I humbly trust that so dire a calamity may be averted.
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 35-6
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