Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: Sunday Morning, June 12, 1864

A day I will never forget. I slept undisturbed during the night, but was called down stairs early this morning by the servants, who told me the throng of soldiers could not be kept out of the house. I went down and appealed to them as a lone woman who had nobody to protect her.

[M]ight as well have appealed to the bricks. I had left the smokehouse door open, to let them see that every piece of meat was taken (I had some hid under the porch, which as yet they have not found). They came into the dining-room, and began to carry away the china, when a young fellow from Philadelphia (he said) took the dishes from them, and made them come out. I told them all I was a Northern woman, but confessed that I was ashamed of my Northern lineage when I saw them come on such an errand. They demanded to be let into the cellar, and one fellow threatened me with the burning of the house if I did not give them just what they demanded. I said, “Yes, we are at your mercy — burn it down — but I won't give you the key.” They then demanded arms; we got the old shot guns and gave them; these they broke up, and left parts of them in the yard; broke into the cellar; carried off a firkin of lard hidden there; a keg of molasses, and whatever they could find; but did not get the bacon. They asked me if we had no more than this: I answered “Yes, but it is in the mountains.” Sent to Gen. Crooke for a guard. At last they pressed into the house, and two began to search my dressing room. What they took I don't know. They seized our breakfast, and even snatched the toasted bread and egg that had been begged for the sick man's breakfast. My children were crying for something to eat; I had nothing to give them but crackers. They set fire to the Institute about nine o'clock; the flames are now enveloping it; the towers have fallen; the arsenal is exploding as I write. Governor Letcher's house has been burned down, and they told me that all the V. M. I. professors' houses were to be burned, Col. Preston's among them. At last old Dr. McClung came, and Phoebe asked him to go to Averill's Head Quarters with her (Averill has his Head Quarters in Dr. White's yard); she went; did not see the General, but found a young man there (from Philadelphia!) who came back with her and ordered the men off. By and by an officer came, and asked for me; told me he had heard we were annoyed; said he was mortified, and would send a guard, though he had no authority to do so.  . . . Let me note here, and I do it with chagrin and shame, that the only really civil men have been those from Western Virginia and these two Philadelphians. Invariably those from Virginia were polite; one offered silver for some bread; I had nothing but crackers, which I gave him, remarking that he was on the wrong side for a Virginian. He looked decidedly ashamed.

It was twelve o'clock before we could get any breakfast. They carried off the coffee pot and every thing they could lay their hands on, and while the guard, a boy of 17, was walking around the house, emptied the corn-crib. I asked Dr. P. to take the library for his medical stores, which he agreed to do; he was really polite. We asked him if they were going to burn our house; he said “not if it is private property.” Gen. Hunter has ordered the burning of all the V. M. I. professors' houses. Mrs. Smith plead for hers to be spared, on account of her daughter, who lies there desperately ill; that alone saved it. Hunter has his Head Quarters in it. This has been an awful day, and it may be worse before night. One cavalryman told me that if they all talked as I did, they would fire the entire town.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 189-91

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