Some persons in this beleaguered city seem crazed on the
subject of gayety. In the midst of the wounded and dying, the low state of the
commissariat, the anxiety of the whole country, the troubles of every kind by
which we are surrounded, I am mortified to say that there are gay parties given
in the city. There are those denominated “starvation parties,” where young
persons meet for innocent enjoyment, and retire at a reasonable hour; but there
are others where the most elegant suppers are served – cakes, jellies, ices in
profusion, and meats of the finest kinds in abundance, such as might furnish a
meal for a regiment of General Lee's army. I wish these things were not so, and
that every extra pound of meat could be sent to the army. When returning from
the hospital, after witnessing the dying scene of a brother, whose young sister
hung over him in agony, with my heart full of the sorrows of hospital-life, I
passed a house where there were music and dancing. The revulsion of feeling was
sickening. I thought of the gayety of Paris during the French Revolution, of
the “cholera ball” in Paris, the ball at Brussels the night before the battle
of Waterloo, and felt shocked that our own Virginians, at such a time, should
remind me of scenes which we were wont to think only belonged to the lightness
of foreign society. It seems to me that the army, when it hears of the gayety
of Richmond, must think it heartless, particularly while it is suffering such
hardships in her defence. The weddings, of which there are many, seem to be
conducted with great quietness. We were all very much interested in a marriage
which took place in this house a short time ago. Our sweet young friend, Miss
Annette Powell, was married to a Confederate States' surgeon from South
Carolina. We assembled in the parlour, which was brilliantly lighted, before
the dawn of day. The bride appeared in travelling costume; as soon as the
solemn ceremony was done the folding-doors were thrown open, revealing a
beautifully spread breakfast-table in the adjoining room. Breakfast being over,
the bride and groom were hurried off to the cars, which were to bear them
South. But, as usual in these war-times, the honeymoon was not to be
uninterrupted. The furlough of the groom was of short continuance — the bright
young bride will remain in the country with a sister, while he returns to his
duty on the field. As soon as the wedding was over and the bridal party had
gone, the excitement of the week had passed with us, leaving a blank in the
house; but the times are too unquiet for a long calm—the gap was closed, and we
returned to busy life. There seems to be a perfect mania on the subject of matrimony.
Some of the churches may be seen open and lighted almost every night for
bridals, and wherever I turn I hear of marriages in prospect.
"In peace Love
tunes the shepherd's reed;
In war he mounts the
warrior's steed,"
sings the “Last Minstrel” of the Scottish days of romance; and
I do not think that our modern warriors are a whit behind them either in love
or war. My only wonder is, that they find the time for the love-making amid the
storms of warfare. Just at this time, however, I suppose our valiant knights
and ladies fair are taking advantage of the short respite, caused by the
alternate snows and sunshine of our variable climate having made the roads
impassable to Grant's artillery and baggage-wagons. A soldier in our hospital
called to me as I passed his bed the other day, “I say, Mrs. –––, when do you
think my wound will be well enough for me to go to the country?” “Before very
long, I hope.” “But what does the doctor say, for I am mighty anxious to go?”
I looked at his disabled limb, and talked to him hopefully of his being
able to enjoy country air in a short time. “Well, try to get me up, for, you
see, it ain't the country air I am after, but I wants to get married, and the
lady don't know that I am wounded, and maybe she'll think I don't want to come.”
“Ah,” said I, "but you must show her your scars, and if she is a girl
worth having she will love you all the better for having bled for your country;
and you must tell her that
"'It is always
the heart that is bravest in war,
That is fondest and truest
in love.'"
He looked perfectly delighted with the idea; and as I passed
him again he called out, "Lady, please stop a minute and tell me the verse
over again, for, you see, when I do get there, if she is affronted, I wants to
give her the prettiest excuse I can, and I think that verse is beautiful.”
[Editor's Note: My research leads me to believe that Annette Powell is likely to be Marie Antoinette Powell (1841-1908), daughter of William Alexander Powell & Lucy Peachy Lee. She married Dr. James Evans (1831-1909), son of Thomas Evans and Jane Beverly Daniel, on January 4, 1865 in Richmond, Virginia.]
_______________
[Editor's Note: My research leads me to believe that Annette Powell is likely to be Marie Antoinette Powell (1841-1908), daughter of William Alexander Powell & Lucy Peachy Lee. She married Dr. James Evans (1831-1909), son of Thomas Evans and Jane Beverly Daniel, on January 4, 1865 in Richmond, Virginia.]
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 328-30
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