Norwood, Near
Berryville. – On a visit of a few days to our relative, Dr. M. The
people of this neighbourhood occupied as they are in the one I left. All hearts
and hands seem open to our army. Four heavily laden wagons have left Berryville
within a few days, for the hospitals below. We are all anxious about Western
Virginia, of which we can hear so little. General Lee and General Floyd are
there, and if they can only have men and ammunition enough we have nothing to
fear.
The army in Fairfax seems quiet. Colonel Stuart, with his
cavalry, has driven the enemy back, and taken possession of “Chestnut Hill” as
head-quarters. There they are overlooking Washington, Georgetown, and our
neighbourhood, all bristling with cannon, to prevent their nearer approach.
Some of those young men can almost point from the hills on which they are
encamped, to chimneys of their own firesides, the portals of their own homes.
The woods are cleared away for miles; even the yard trees are gone, leaving the
houses in bold relief, with nothing to shade, nothing to obscure them. I do
pity those who were obliged to stay in Southern homes, with Southern hearts,
surrounded by bitter and suspicious enemies. My old friend Mrs. D. is sometimes
in their lines, sometimes in ours. When our men are near her, they are fed from
her table, and receive all manner of kindness from her hands. Some of my
nephews have been invited to her table, and treated as her relations. When they
entered her house she advanced towards them with outstretched hands. “You don't
know me, but I knew your mother, father, and all your relations; and besides, I
am connected with you, and you must come to my house while near me, as to that
of an old friend.” Nothing could be more grateful to a soldier far away from
home and friends. But these were her bright moments. She has had many trials
while in the enemy's lines. Her husband and grown son are in the Confederate
service; she has sent her two young daughters to her friends in the lower
country, and has remained as the protector of her property, with her two sons
of eight and ten, as her companions. On one occasion her servant was driving
the cows from her yard to be milked; from very loneliness she called to the
servant to remain and milk them where they were; the very tinkling of the
cow-bell was pleasant to her. It was scarcely done when a posse of soldiers
came with their bayonets gleaming in the moonlight, and demanded, “Why did you
have a bell rung in your yard this evening?” “Do you mean, why did the cow-bell
ring? Because the cow shook her head while she was being milked.” “But you
don't have the cows milked in the yard every evening. It was a signal to the
rebels — you know it was — and your house shall be burnt for it.” She then had
to plead her innocence to save her house, which they pretended not to believe
until the servants were called up to prove her statements. They then, with
threats and curses, went off. Another night she carried a candle from room to
room to seek some missing article. In a short time several soldiers were seen
running to her house with lighted torches, yelling “Burn it, burn it to the
ground!” She ran to the yard to know the cause; instantly this lonely woman was
surrounded by a lawless, shouting soldiery, each with a burning torch,
revealing, by its lurid and fitful light, a countenance almost demoniac. They
seemed perfectly lawless, and without a leader, for each screamed out, “We are
ordered to burn your house.” “Why?” said she. “Because you have signal-lights
at your windows for the d----d rebels.” She immediately suspected that no such order
had been given, and summoning firmness of voice and manner to her aid, she
ordered them off, saying that she should send for an officer. They did go,
uttering imprecations on her defenceless head. But a still more trying scene
occurred a short time ago. Our soldiers were surrounding her house, when
Colonel Stuart sent off a raiding party. During that night the Yankees
advanced, and our men retired. The Yankees at once heard that the raiders were
out; but in what direction was the question. They came up to her house, and
knowing the mother too well to attempt to extort any thing from her, ordered
the little boys to tell them in what direction Colonel Stuart had gone. The
boys told them that they could tell nothing. Threats followed; finally
handcuffs and irons for the ankles were brought. Still those little heroes
stood, the one as pale as ashes, the other with his teeth clenched over his
under lip, until the blood was ready to gush out, but not one word could be
extorted, until, with a feeling of hopelessness in their efforts, they went
off, calling them cursed little rebels, etc. The mother saw all this, and stood
it unflinchingly — poor thing! It is harrowing to think of her sufferings. Yet,
if she comes away, her house will be sacked, and perhaps burnt.
We are sometimes alarmed by reports that the enemy is
advancing upon Winchester; but are enabled to possess our souls in patience,
and hope that all may be well. I see that they are encroaching upon the Northern
Neck. I trust they may be repulsed from that fair land.
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 50-3
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