Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: Sunday, June 12, 1864 – 3 P. M.

. . . I am in despair! Forty thousand troops are marching upon Richmond through here; eight thousand more left in Staunton, as an intelligent guard told us. Richmond must fall — how can it withstand such numbers!

I am astonished that in the midst of our frightful troubles we are enabled to be so calm. How awful is war! Who would think this was Sunday, and our intended Communion! One of our overseers has just come into town, and has told one of our servants that every sheep has been slaughtered, every cow, and the horses carried off. We are ruined, nearly; if this house is burned, then all is gone but the bare land. I continue to scratch down a line now and then, to occupy myself. I do it too, that my father and friends in the North may know — if ever I can send them these notes — something of what I am passing through.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 192

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: Monday, June 7, 1864 - First Entry

This has been one of the most exciting days we have ever had here. At half past six we gave the soldiers breakfast, and filled their haversacks. But at breakfast we heard of Gen. Elzey's arrival in town, and of the burning of the woollen factory of which Mr. P. is part owner, at Port Republic. After breakfast, we all went down street, to see the passage of the troops, 1700 men; G.'s company among them. Poor fellows! It was melancholy to see them with the bouquets with which the ladies had saluted them, in their hands. Such a mockery in the fresh, brilliant-looking flowers, and their soiled, jaded appearance. I knew they were marching to meet the enemy, and must be brought into action at once, and I could not but know that many of them would soon lie down in death. A courier arrived, as they came through the place, with news of an engagement a few miles from Staunton, in which Gen. Jones was killed. He had just reached the place — had only a small portion of his command with him, but he collected parts of some scattered commands, and attempted to withstand the enemy. His own troops fought bravely, but the others ran shamefully: Jones threw himself into the thickest of the fight to rally them, and fell dead. It is a great loss; he was esteemed a fine officer; was an attached friend of Gen. Jackson.

All has been wild excitement this afternoon. Stages and wagons loaded with negroes poured in from Staunton. Everybody was in alarm. In the midst of it, after hearing that the enemy was in possession of Waynesboro and Staunton both, we went to the daily prayer meeting. There Dr. White calmed the people by a succinct statement of facts, so far as it was possible to obtain them. . . .

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 183-4

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: May 18, 1864

Surely we have fallen upon evil times! Last night we received intelligence of the very severe battle at or near New Market, between Breckenridge and Seigle; the latter was repulsed, and is retreating, pursued by Breckenridge. The Cadets asked to be permitted to take the front; they were allowed to do so. (Later, this is doubtful, but General B. says, “They behaved splendidly!”) Five of them were killed, and forty-five wounded, some of them very badly. For a while we did not know but that Frank or Preston Cocke or William Lewis were among the killed; but when the list came, we could not find their names! Thank God for sparing them! But they are pushing the enemy on; another battle will probably ensue, and then their turn may come. We received a Richmond paper, the first for ten days, and find that a fight has taken place near Sister's; thirty killed; and there she is, alone on her plantation; her three only sons in battle. How do we ever live through such scenes as are daily coming to our notice! The reserve is ordered out all over the State. Matters are touching the point of desperation. All seems to depend upon the final throw. We will soon have attained “the zenith point of hope,” or “the nadir of despair.”

Father and J. do not begin to conceive what we go through here. How should they? Thank God they do not!

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 180-1

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: December 21, 1863

Averill has escaped! To-day Mr. P. returned; also Eben: all are terribly chagrined at the escape of Averill. We hear thro' a dispatch from Staunton that the enemy is advancing from Harrisonburg. A letter to-night from Sister Julia; thankful that my father is better.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 175

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: December 18, 1863

Went on the street to hear some news; found that a dispatch had been received, ordering a body of men to go on to Pattonsburg to burn down the fine bridge over the James river, to prevent Averill's escape ; Averill is at Salem with 4000 men.

At 11 o'clock, Imboden's cavalry and artillery passed through. It is the first time I have seen an army. Poor fellows ! with their broken down horses, muddy up to the eyes, and their muddy wallets and blankets, they looked like an army of tatterdemalions; the horses looked starved. Then came the Home Guard, drenched and muddy, as if they had seen hard service, though they had only been out four days; but such weather! It rained terribly, the rain part of the time freezing as it fell; and they were out in it all: stood round their fires all night, or lay down in the puddles of water. At 3 P. M. Gen. Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry (2700) passed through. Their horses were in better condition. All the men in both divisions looked in fine spirits, and cheered vociferously as the ladies waved scarves and handkerchiefs on their passing. People brought out waiters of eatables for the poor tired men. I put our dinner, which was just ready, on a waiter, and sent it down to them. Found Bro. E. and brought him home to dinner, and filled his haversack. All went on to Collierstown last night . Bro. W. is Lt. Col. of the Home Guards. They were all sent on for the protection of Lexington last night, it being supposed that Averill would advance upon us from Salem. An exciting day indeed.

At night my husband came; the Cadets were water bound; some of them waded to their waists in water, building bridges for artillery. Mr. P. says he saw one marching along in his naked feet. This is "glorious war "!

Received a note from A. enclosing a Flag of Truce letter from J. Thankful that my dear father is better.  J. says, “It doesn't matter how soon all of us go.” She would feel so indeed, if she were in the midst of such war scenes as now surround us.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 173-4

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: November 24, 1863

Wrote today to my dear father by Flag of Truce. Still suffering with my eyes, so as not to be able to read or write much. I pretend not to sew any, but am constrained to do some almost every day, though I always suffer in consequence.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 172

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: Tuesday, November 10, 1863

Hear that there was fighting yesterday all day at Callihans, six miles west of Covington; that the Home Guard and cadets were being pushed on as fast as they could move, in order to assist, and expected to arrive at 4 o'clock, P. M. So my husband and Bro. W. may have been in a battle — may be wounded — may be prisoners — may be killed — all is uncertainty. These torturing rumors are very hard to bear.

Exceedingly cold today. A Flag of Truce note from Julia to W. — Father is sick, to add to my anxieties. Had a letter in reply to mine to Judge Ould about William Cocke. Mine was sent on to Washington City, and is returned endorsed, “No record of W. F. Cocke.” So that settles the question; he perished in the assault upon Gettysburg. I have to communicate this to his mother. What awful times we live in!

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 170-1

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: March 24, 1863

Wrote yesterday to my dear father by Flag of Truce; hope and pray I may succeed in getting a reply from him or Julia.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 161

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: January 22, 1863

. . . I sew all day, and am busy with housekeeping; never go out, scarcely; have not paid a visit anywhere for months. At night, after the noisy children are asleep, I read a little, or hear Mr. P. read; and so the days pass. I think a great deal about my father and sister, and am about to try to get a letter to them thro' General Jackson.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 159

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: December 10, 1862

Have had the extreme joy of receiving today a short note from my precious sister; the first I have had from her since August 21st, 1861, a year and a half ago! No wonder I rejoice. It contained comfortable tidings of my beloved ones; my dear Father well and in good spirits; for which thank God! Julia had received my note of October 28th.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 156

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: June 3, 1862

Yesterday, Bro. Wm., Anna, and the children came in; W. was only here a short time. It was very sweet, however, to have even this little visit from some of my own kin. I feel so lonely and isolated. How I long often to fly to dear Father and Julia for a little while, have a good cry on their bosoms, and then fly back! It is very sorrowful to be so utterly cut off from them. They are in my thoughts every day, and almost every hour. So are my brothers and their families. When I am compelled to hear scorn and loathing predicated of everything Northern (as must continually be the case), my heart boils up, and sobs to itself. But I must be silent.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 143

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: April 10, 1862

Ground white with snow; no mails still: Mr. P. consents to postpone his going to the army, till there is a more decided change in George (an ill child). How this unnatural war affects everything! Mr. P. asks me for some old pants of Willy's or Randolph's, for a boy at the farm. I tell him that on them I am relying wholly to clothe John and George this summer.

For months we have had no service at night in any church in town, owing to the scarcity of candles, or rather to save lights and fuel. Common brown sugar, too dark to use in coffee, sells here now for 25 cents per lb. Salt is 50 cents per quart in Richmond. I jot down things like these, to show how the war is affecting us. A bit of silver is never seen. We are afraid of all sorts of notes. Mr. P. is trying to put what means he has left, from the wreck of his handsome fortune, in land, as the only safe investment; he bought a farm (which he does not want, and doesn't know how to get cultivated) the other day from Dr. Leyburn, so as to have something tangible for his money. While watching beside my child, I have managed to read, “Twelve Years of a Soldier's Life in India,” a most interesting book. What a brave, noble fellow Hodson was! But in its best, most exciting aspects, how unattractive (to me at least) is a soldier's life!

I think continually of Father and Julia, and long to hear from them. Thank God they are not suffering the apprehension — the undefined fear — the constant dread — which I am never free from. We hesitate about engaging in anything. Is it worth while to have garden made? We may be flying before an advancing Federal army before many weeks. Mrs. Cocke writes imploring us to come down to Oakland, bag and baggage; but to fly (in case of the occupation of the Valley) would be to give up everything to certain destruction. The disposition of people here seems to be

— very universally, to hold on to their homes. I shall do so, unless Mr. P. constrains me to go away.

One thing surprises me very much in the progress of this war; and I think it is a matter of general surprise — the entire quietness and subordination of the negroes. We have slept all winter with the doors of our house, outside and inside, all unlocked; indeed the back door has not even a hasp on it, and stands open. I have shut it frequently at midnight (when accident called me down stairs), to keep the dogs out; and some $600 worth of silver, most of it in an unlocked closet, is in the dining room. Would I get my Northern friends to believe this? It is more remarkable, this quietness and sense of security, because there are no men left in the town, except the old men and boys. I note this thing, by the way, as an unexpected phase of these war times. There is not, and never has been, a particle of fear of anything like insurrectionary movements. I am sure I have none.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 135-7

Diary of Margaret Junkin Preston: April 3, 1862

I regret now that I did not, a year ago, make brief notes of what was passing under my eye. Not write a journal, — I have no time nor inclination for that, — but just such slight jottings as might serve to recall the incidents of this most eventful year in our country's history. It is too late now to attempt the review. While the year has not brought the sorrow and trial to me, which it has to such multitudes of hearts, it still has had in it much of trouble and perplexity. The sudden breaking up of my Father's family — his and Sister Julia's departure to Philadelphia—my husband's long absence in the army — my many cares incident upon this absence — my days and nights of torturing apprehension while he was campaigning with General Jackson — my entire ignorance of all that appertained to my Father, Sister, and most of my friends — these were the troubles that made my year sorrowful. Thanks to God's mercy, I got through all somehow, and was blest by having my husband restored to me by February 1st.

Darkness seems gathering over the Southern land; disaster follows disaster; where is it all to end? My very soul is sick of carnage. I loathe the word — War. It is destroying and paralyzing all before it. Our schools are closed —all the able-bodied men gone — stores shut up, or only here and there one open; goods not to be bought, or so exorbitant that we are obliged to do without. I actually dressed my baby all winter in calico dresses made out of the lining of an old dressing-gown; and G. in clothes concocted out of old castaways. As to myself, I rigidly abstained from getting a single article of dress in the entire past year, except shoes and stockings. Calico is not to be had; a few pieces had been offered at 40 cents per yard. Coarse, unbleached cottons are very occasionally to be met with, and are caught op eagerly at 40 cents per yard. Such material as we used to give nine-pence for (common blue twill) is a bargain now at 40 cents, and then of a very inferior quality. Soda, if to be had at all, is 75 cents per lb. Coffee is not to be bought. We have some on hand, and for eight months have drunk a poor mixture, half wheat, half coffee. Many persons have nothing but wheat or rye.

These are some of the very trifling effects of this horrid and senseless war. Just now I am bound down under the apprehension of having my husband again enter the service; and if he goes, he says he will not return until the war closes, if indeed he come back alive. May God's providence interpose to prevent his going! His presence is surely needed at home; his hands are taken away by the militia draught, and he has almost despaired of having his farms cultivated this year. His overseer is draughted, and will have to go, unless the plea of sickness will avail to release him, as he has been seriously unwell. The Institute is full, two hundred and fifty cadets being in it; but they may disperse at any time, so uncertain is the tenure of everything now. The College has five students; boys too young to enter the army.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 134-5