My diary has been somewhat neglected, for after looking over
commissary accounts for six hours in the day, and attending to home or hospital
duties in the afternoon, I am too much wearied to write much at night. There
are reports of movements in the armies which portend bloody work as the season
advances. Oh that the Lord may have us in his holy keeping!
We continue quite comfortable at home. Of course provisions
are scarce; but, thanks to our country friends and relatives, we have never
been obliged to give up meat entirely. My brother-in-law, Mr. N[ewton], has
lately sent us twelve hams, so that we are much better supplied thau most
persons. Groceries are extremely high. We were fortunate in buying ten pounds
of tea, when it only sold for $22 per pound. Coffee now sells for $12, and
brown sugar at $10 per pound. White sugar is not to be thought of by persons of
moderate means. Milk is very scarce and high, so that we have only had it once
for many months; and we, the Colonel, Mr. ––––, and myself, are very glad to
get a cup of tea, night and morning, sweetened with brown sugar, and without
milk or cream. Before the war we would have scorned it, but now we enjoy it
exceedingly, and feel ourselves very much blessed to have it. The girls have
given up tea and coffee; I attempted to do it, and for several days drank only
water, but such is the effect of habit upon old people, it made me perfectly
miserable; I lost my elasticity of spirit; the accounts in the office went on
heavily, everybody asked me if I had heard any bad news, and the family begged
me not to look so unhappy. I struggled and strived against the feeling, but the
girls pronounced me utterly subjugated, and insisted on my returning to my old
beverage. I found myself much more easily persuaded than it is my wont to be,
and was happy to resume my brown-sugar tea without cream.
On going down-stairs this evening, I found my friend Mrs.
Upshur awaiting me in the parlour. She is the widow of the Hon. Abel P. Upshur,
Secretary of War in Mr. Tyler's administration, whose untimely end we remember
so well. She is a refugee from Washington, and called to ask me to assist her
in finding a room to accommodate herself, her sister, and her little grandson.
Her present room, in the third story of a very nice house, suited her very
well, but the price was raised every month, until it had become beyond her
means. She is rich, but it is almost impossible for her to get funds from Washington.
To obtain a room is a most difficult task, but I cheerfully promised her to do
what I could; but that I must first go up the street to get some flour, for as
it was $300 per barrel, we could not get one, but must purchase it at $1.25 per
pound, until we could get some wheat, which we were then expecting from the
country, and have it ground. She at once insisted on lending me flour until
ours was ground; this being agreed to, we continued on our walk in pursuit of
the room. We naturally talked of the past. She related to me a circumstance
which occurred when I was a young girl, and was a striking illustration of the
change which time and the war had brought on us both. She said that during the
political Convention of 1829-30, she came to Richmond with her husband, who was
a member of it. The first entertainment to which she was invited was given at
my father's house. When she entered the room my mother was standing about the
centre of it, receiving her guests, and seeing that Mrs. Upshur was young and a
perfect stranger, she took her by the hand and seated her by Mrs. Madison, at
the same time introducing her to that celebrated woman. She said it was one of
the most pleasant evenings of her life, and she looked back upon it with
peculiar satisfaction, for she was then introduced to Mr. Madison, Mr. Monroe,
Mr. Benjamin Watkins Leigh, and many others of the celebrated men of the day,
who were attending the Convention. Could we then have looked through the vista
of time, and have seen ourselves in this same city, the one looking for a cheap
room in somebody's third story, the other looking for cheap bread, would
we have believed it? The anecdote saddened us both for a time, but we soon
recovered, and went on our way in cheerful, hopeful conversation. But we did
not find the room.
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 257-9
