We surely “dwell in the midst of alarms.” We were roused
from our beds this morning at five o'clock by an order for the impressment of
our horses to haul the Institute cannon: then came Frank, Preston Cocke, and
William Lewis for a hurried breakfast, and provision for their haversacks;
ordered towards Winchester, where is Seigle with a large Yankee force. They
left at seven o'clock; all the Home Guard is ordered out too; so Lexington is
left without men. Last night firing was heard by a great many persons, more
distinctly they say than ever before. They suppose it to be at Richmond. I'm
thankful my husband is away, on the errand of God's Church, and so escapes
going to Winchester. He will regret it no little!
I was very much struck, a few weeks ago, in listening to my
children at play. They dramatized that familiar passage in Childe Harold as
closely as if it had been explained to them, —
“There was a sound of
revelry by night,” &c.
Of course they had never even heard it read; but they got
their “Mammy” to cut paper soldiers and ladies; then they had a “party,” and
made the soldiers and ladies dance together. While they were busy dancing, came
a shout from George: “The enemy — the Yankees — they are coming! Your guns!
Your guns!” So the soldiers tore themselves away. “There was mounting in hot
haste,” and they made them rush to battle, leaving the poor paper ladies
scattered disconsolately about the floor. The thought of war is never out of
our minds. If it could be, our children would bring it back by their plays! For
they are almost wholly of a military character. Oh! when will the end come! No
mail last night; but news by stage that Pickett has been successful above
Petersburg.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and
Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 179-80
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