Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: Wednesday, May 13, 1863

I have just heard that my dear nephew, Will’by N., was wounded at Chancellorsville, and that his left leg has been amputated. He is at Mr. Marye's, near Hamilton's Crossings, receiving the warm-hearted hospitality of that house, now so widely known. His mother has reached him, and he is doing well. I pray that God may have mercy upon him, and raise him up speedily, for the Saviour's sake.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 213

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: February 20, 1863

A letter this morning from Sister M., who has returned to her home on the Potomac. She gives me an account of many “excitements” to which they are exposed from the landing of Yankees, and the pleasure they take in receiving and entertaining Marylanders coming over to join us, and others who go to their house to “bide their time” for running the blockade to Maryland. “Among others,” she says, “we have lately been honoured by two sprigs of English nobility, the Marquis of Hastings and Colonel Leslie of the British army. The Marquis is the future Duke of Devonshire. They only spent the evening, as they hoped to cross the river last night. They are gentlemanly men, having no airs about them; but ‘my lord’ is excessively awkward. They don't compare at all in ease or elegance of manner or appearance with our educated men of the South. They wore travelling suits of very coarse cloth — a kind of pea-jacket, such as sailors wear. As it was raining, the boots of the Colonel were worn over his pantaloons. They were extremely tall, and might have passed very well at first sight for Western wagoners! We have also had the Rev. Dr. Joseph Wilmer with us for some days. He is going to Europe, and came down with a party, the Englishmen included, to cross the river. The Doctor is too High Church for my views, but exceedingly agreeable, and an elegant gentleman. They crossed safely last night, and are now en route for New York, where they hope to take the steamer on Wednesday next.” She does not finish her letter until the 17th, and gives an account of a pillaging raid through her neighbourhood. She writes on the 14th: “There had been rumours of Yankees for some days, and this morning they came in good earnest. They took our carriage horses, and two others, in spite of our remonstrances; demanded the key of the meat-house, and took as many of our sugar-cured hams as they wanted; to-night they broke open our barn, and fed their horses, and are even now prowling around the servants’ houses in search of eggs, poultry, etc. They have taken many prisoners, and all the horses they could find in the neighbourhood. We have a rumour that an infantry force is coming up from Heathsville, where they landed yesterday. We now see many camp-fires, and what we suppose to be a picket-fire, between this and the Rectory. My daughters, children and myself are here alone; not a man in the house. Our trust is in God. We pray not only that we may be delivered from our enemies, but from the fear of them. It requires much firmness to face the creatures, and to talk with them. The Eighth New York is the regiment with which we are cursed. The officers are polite enough, but are determined to steal every thing they fancy.” On the 15th she says: “This morning our enemies took their departure, promising to return in a few days. They visited our stable again, and took our little mare ‘Virginia.’ The servants behaved remarkably well, though they were told again and again that they were free.” Again, on the 17th, she writes: “I saw many of the neighbours yesterday, and compared losses. We are all pretty severely pillaged. The infantry regiment from Heathsville took their departure on Sunday morning, in the ‘Alice Price,’ stopped at Bushfield, and about twelve took breakfast there. Mr. B. says the vessel was loaded with plunder, and many negroes. They took off all the negroes from the Mantua estate; broke up the beautiful furniture at Summerfield, and committed depredations everywhere. A company of them came up as far as Cary's on Saturday evening, and met the cavalry. They stole horses enough on their way to be pretty well mounted. They will blazon forth this invasion of a country of women, children, and old men, as a brilliant feat! Now that they are gone, we breathe more freely, but for how long a time?” We feel very anxious about our friends between the Rappahannock and Potomac, both rivers filled with belligerent vessels; but they have not yet suffered at all, when compared with the lower Valley, the Piedmont country, poor old Fairfax, the country around Richmond, the Peninsula; and, indeed, wherever the Yankee army has been, it has left desolation behind it, and there is utter terror and dismay during its presence.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 192-4

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: October 15, 1862

RICHMOND. – Yesterday morning my sister M., J. W., and myself, drove up from W. to the depot, seven miles, in a wagon, with four mules. It was a charming morning, and we had a delightful ride; took the accommodation cars at twelve and arrived here at two. We drove to the Exchange, and were delighted to find there our dear J. McI. and her little Bessie, on her way to W. to spend the winter. Poor thing, her lot is a sad one! She was excited by seeing us, and was more cheerful than I expected to see her; though she spoke constantly of her husband, and dwelt on her last days with him. She was in Memphis; her little Jemmie was excessively ill; she telegraphed for her husband in Arkansas. He came at once, and determined that it would be better to take the little boy to the house of his aunt in Louisiana, that J. might be with her sister. They took the boat, and after a few hours arrived at Mr. K's house. The child grew gradually worse, and was dying, when a telegram came to General Mcintosh from General Price, “Come at once — a battle is imminent.” He did not hesitate; the next steamer bore him from his dying child and sorrowing wife to the field of battle, Pea Ridge. He wrote to her, immediately on his arrival at camp, the most beautifully resigned letter, full of sorrow for her and for his child, but expressing the most noble, Christian sentiments. Oh, how she treasures it! The lovely boy died the day after his father left him! The mother said, “For a week H. and myself did nothing but decorate my little grave, and I took a melancholy pleasure in it; but darker days came, and I could not go even to that spot.” She dreamed, a few nights after little Jemmie's death, of being at Fort Smith, her home before the war; standing on the balcony of her husband's quarters, her attention was arrested by a procession — an officer's funeral. As it passed under the balcony she called to a passer-by: “Whose funeral is that?” “General McIntosh's, madam.” She was at once aroused, and ran to her sister's room in agony. She did what she could to comfort her, but the dream haunted her imagination. A few days afterwards she saw a servant ride into the yard, with a note for Mrs. K. Though no circumstance was more common, she at once exclaimed, “It is about my husband.” She did not know that the battle had taken place; but it was the fatal telegram. The soldiers carried his body to Fort Smith, and buried it there. To-morrow she returns, with her aunt, to W. She wishes to get to her mother's home in Kentucky, but it is impossible for her to run the blockade with her baby, and there is no other way open to her.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 166-8

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: Friday, June 27, 1862

The roar of cannon and musketry has been incessant to-day; now as I sit in the yard it is terrific. I doubt not that a general engagement is going on. O God! be with us now; nerve the hearts and strengthen the arms of our men! Give wisdom and skill to our commanders, and grant us victory for thy great name's sake!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 148

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 28, 1862

We have just heard of our success, and that Jackson and Ewell have come from the Valley, and have flanked the enemy on the Chickahominy. Two of our troopers called in this morning.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 148

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: July 1, 1862

Firing continues, but lower and lower down. No news from my dear boys. I wish, but dread, to hear.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 148

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: July 2, 1862

My boys and nephews safe, God be praised! McClellan in full retreat. C. and M. are sending off a wagon with ice, chickens, bread, eggs, vegetables, etc., to our hospital at Cold Harbor.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 148

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: July 4, 1862

A beautiful, glorious day, and one which the Yankees expected confidently to spend triumphantly in Richmond. Last Fourth of July old General Scott expected to be there, to tread in triumph the fallen fortunes of his quondam friends, and to-day McClellan has been obliged to yield his visions of glory. “Man proposes, but God disposes.” Many of their companions in arms are there, in the Libby and other prisons, wounded in the hospitals, and dead in the swamps and marshes, or buried on the battle-fields while the “Grand Army” and the “Young Napoleon” are struggling desperately to get out of the bogs of the Chickahominy to his gunboats on James River. I sent the carriage to Richmond a day or two ago for Mr. N., but he writes that he is sending it backwards and forwards to the battlefields for the wounded. It is a season of wide-spread distress; parties are going by constantly to seek their husbands, brothers, sons, about whose fate they are uncertain. Some old gentlemen passed yesterday, walking all the way from Lancaster County. All the boats and bridges have been destroyed on the rivers, and conveyances can't be put across. Ladies are sent from river to river by those persons who have conveyances and horses left to them. Oh, I trust that blood enough has been spilled now!. Dr. S. has just arrived; he has been twenty miles below Richmond. He says the Yankee dead still lie unburied in many places — our men are too much worn out to undertake to bury them. The Yankee hospitals, as well as our own, are all along the roads; their hospital flag is red; ours is orange. They have their own surgeons, and, of course, many delicacies that our men can't have. The Northern papers speak of this retreat of McClellan's as a “strategic movement.” The bloody fights of eight days, the retreat of thirty miles, attended by immense loss of life, thousands of prisoners, many guns, stores of all kinds, etc., a “strategic movement !” But our loss is heavy — so many valuable lives, and such suffering among the wounded. O God! interpose and stop this cruel war!

[Returning to her diary, Mrs. Judith W. McGuire writes:]

I quote no further from Mrs. N[ewton]'s diary, as the next page was devoted to the visits of those dear ones whom God had preserved amid strife and carnage. She mentions the return of our dear W. B. N. from Fort Delaware on the 5th of August, where he had been for several months. He asked but five days' furlough to be with his family, and then returned to his regiment, (Fourth Cavalry.) His reception by his company was most gratifying. As soon as he got to camp, it drew up in line, and requested him to come to the front, when the “Orderly” came up, leading a very handsome bay horse, elegantly equipped, which he presented to his “Captain,” in the name of the company.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 148-9

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 25, 1862

I got by chance a Philadelphia paper of the 20th. Very little bragging, but an earnest appeal to their men to be united, to forget that there will be any more presidential elections, and to let squabbling among themselves alone; that the critical time is at hand, etc.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 148

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 24, 1862

Yankee scouts are very busy around us to-day. They watch this river, and are evidently fearing a flank movement upon them. Wagons passing to Dr. N's for corn, guarded by Lancers, who are decidedly the worst specimens we have seen. Compared with them, the regulars are welcome guests. It is so strange that Colonel Rush, the son of a distinguished man, whose mother belonged to one of the first families in Maryland, the first-cousin of James M. Mason, and Captain Mason of our navy, of Mrs. General Cooper and Mrs. S. S. Lee, should consent to come among his nearest of kin, at the head of ruffians like the Lancers, to despoil and destroy our country! I suppose that living in Philadelphia has hardened his heart against us, for the city of Brotherly Love is certainly more fierce towards us than any other. Boston cannot compare with it. This is mortifying, because many of us had friends in Philadelphia, whom we loved and admired. We hope and believe that the Quaker element there is at the foundation of their illwill.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 147-8

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 22, 1862

Dr. T. called to-day, to say that the firing we heard on Friday was from our guns shelling the enemy, to drive them lower down the Chickahominy. Letters, by underground railroad, from our dear William, at Fort Delaware. He complains of nothing but his anxiety to be exchanged, and the impossibility of hearing from home. C, at the same time, got a letter from my brother. He writes in good spirits about our affairs. Jackson's career is glorious. The sick and wounded are doing well; hospitals are in good order, and the ladies indefatigable in nursing. Surgeon-like, he tells more of the wounded than any thing else. Rev. Mr. C. came up to-day, and gave us some amusing incidents of Stuart's raid. As some of our men rode by Mr. B's gate, several of them went in with Mr. B's sons for a few moments. A dead Yankee lay at the gate. Mrs. W. (Mrs. B's daughter) supposing he was only wounded, ran out with restoratives to his assistance. While standing there, two Yankees came up. Mrs. W. ordered them to surrender, which one did without the slightest hesitation, giving up his arms, which she immediately carried in to her younger brother, who was badly armed. The other escaped, but her prisoner went along with the crowd. Yankee wagons are again taking off corn from W. The men are very impertinent to C.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 146-7

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 21, 1862

Yesterday we heard firing all day — heavy guns in the morning, and musketry during the day, and heavy guns again in the evening. Oh, that we could know the result! This morning is as calm and beautiful as though all was peace on the earth. O God, with whom all things are possible, dispel the dark clouds that surround us, and permit us once more to return to our homes, and collect the scattered members of our flock around our family altar in peace and safety! Not a word from my husband or sons.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 146

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 20, 1862

Our guard withdrew to-day, and we walked to W., a privilege we had not enjoyed for many days. We received a Richmond Dispatch by underground railroad. General Stuart's raid was like a story in the “Arabian Nights' Entertainments.” He passed down from Hanover Court-House, behind the whole of McClellan's army, in many places so near as to hear the pickets, capturing and burning every thing which they could not take with them. They then crossed the Lower Chickahominy, and got back to camp before the enemy had recovered from their surprise; losing but one man, Captain Latane, whom we had the honour of burying. The man who shot him, a Federal officer, was immediately killed by a private in his (Captain L's) company. The raiders burned two transports at the White House, destroyed any number of wagons, mules, stores, etc., and carried back 200 prisoners. The Yankees have been making vast preparations for surrounding them as they returned; but they were too wise to be caught in that trap. Their masked batteries will be of no avail this time. At New Kent Court-House our men refreshed themselves with all manner of good things, at the expense of the enemy, providing themselves with clothing, boots, etc., and taking the sleek proprietor of the establishment prisoner.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 145-6

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 18, 1862

Our guard in full force to-day. It is so absurd to see the great fellows on their horses, armed from head to foot, with their faces turned towards us, standing at our yard-gate, guarding women and children, occasionally riding about on the gravel-walks, plucking roses, with which they decorate their horses' heads. A poor woman came to-day in a buggy, in pursuit of corn. She had been robbed by the enemy of every grain. This is the case with many others, particularly with soldiers' wives. I asked an officer to-day, what had become of General Stuart? He said he was a “smart fellow,” and he “guessed” he had returned to Richmond, but he “ought to have paid a visit to his father-in-law, General Cooke, commanding the United States cavalry not many miles distant.”

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 145

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 17, 1862

The Yankees have returned upon us. They came this morning early, and caught J. W's horse, which they took off. We can hear nothing of General S. We presume he has returned to Richmond. We shall have to pay for it, I dare say, by being robbed, etc.; but if it has done good to the great cause, we do not mind personal loss. We are now honoured with a guard of twenty-five men — why, we are at a loss to conjecture, unless our intercepted letters may have convinced them that we are dangerous characters. We doubtless have the will to do them harm enough, but, surrounded and watched as we are, the power is wanting. Our guard is composed of regulars, who are much more decent men than the volunteers.

C. commenced harvest yesterday, in a small way, but so many servants are gone to the Yankees, that much of the wheat must be lost, and the corn cannot be worked. The milkmaid amused herself at their remarks to them: “Ladies, why do you work for white people? You are all free now,” etc., etc.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 144-5

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 16, 1862

Yesterday we sent letters to the Court-House to be mailed, presuming, as we had not seen an enemy for twenty-four hours, that the coast would be clear for awhile; but Bartlett rode into a detachment of them in Taliaferro's Lane. The poor old man, in his anxiety to save his letters, betrayed himself by putting his hand on his pocket. They were, of course, taken from him. [The letters I mentioned as having been published in the New York papers.] They are heartily welcome to mine; I hope the perusal may do them good, but C. is annoyed. It was the first letter she had written to her husband since the depredations at W., and she had expressed herself very freely.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 144

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 15, 1862

Yesterday was the only day for three weeks that we have been free from the hated presence of Yankees[.]  Aaron, whom we sent for Mr. C, was not allowed to pass the picket-post, so we took the body of our poor young captain and buried it ourselves in the S. H. grave-yard, with no one to interrupt us. The girls covered his honoured grave with flowers. He and our precious W. lie side by side, martyrs to a holy cause.

We have heard nothing from General Stuart; he had 5,000 men and three guns. The pickets have disappeared from around us. The servant we sent for Mr. C. says that General S. burnt the encampment near the Old Church, on Saturday evening, killed many horses, and severely wounded a captain, who refused to surrender; the men scampered into the woods. He represents the Yankees as very much infuriated, vowing vengeance upon our people, from which we hope that they have been badly used. We feel intensely anxious about our brigade.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 143-4

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 14, 1862

While quietly sitting on the porch yesterday evening, I saw a young man rapidly approaching the house, on foot; at first we took it for granted that he was a Yankee, but soon found from his dress that he was one of our soldiers, and from his excited manner that there was something unusual the matter. He was Lieutenant Latane, of Stuart's Brigade. They had been fighting on the road from Hanover Court-House to the Old Church, and his brother, the captain of the Essex Troop, had been killed about two miles from W. The mill-cart from W. soon after passed along, and he put his brother's body into it, and brought it to W. There he found a Yankee picket stationed. C. immediately took the dead soldier into her care, promising to bury him as tenderly as if he were her brother; and having no horse left on the place, (the enemy had taken them all,) sent him here, by a private way, to elude the vigilance of the picket, to get M's only remaining horse — for the poor fellow had given up his to a soldier whose horse had been killed. The horse was soon ready, and as soon as we saw him safely off, we went over to W. to assist in preparing the body for the burial. Oh, what a sad office! This dear young soldier, so precious to many hearts, now in the hands of sorrowing, sympathizing friends, yet, personally, strangers to him! He looked so young — not more than twenty years of age. He was shot in four places; one ball had entered the region of his heart and passed out at the back. We cut a large lock of his hair, as the only thing we could do for his mother. We have sent for Mr. Carraway to perform the funeral services, and shall bury him by our dear Willie Phelps, another victim to this unholy war.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 142-3

"The Burial of Latané"

by William D. Washington, 1864

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 13, 1862

Good news at last. Four letters were received last night by way of Ashland. We learn that we certainly whipped the Yankees on the 31st of May and 1st of June, and that Jackson has had a most glorious campaign in the Valley. We are grieved to hear that the gallant Ashby has been killed, and trust that it is a mere rumour, and that God has spared his valuable life. My sons were not in the late fight, but are stationed at Strawberry Hill, the home of my childhood. Every thing is being stolen on these two places and elsewhere. A lieutenant on General Porter's staff rode up this evening to ask M. to sell him butter, fowls, eggs, etc. She told him that her poultry-yard had been robbed the night before by some of his men. He professed great horror, but had not gone fifty yards when we heard the report of a pistol, and this wonderfully proper lieutenant of a moment before had shot the hog of an old negro woman who lives here.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 142

Diary of Mary Brockenbrough Newton: June 11, 1862

Yesterday evening we had another visit from the Lancers: they fed their horses at M's barn, ripping off the planks that the corn might roll out. The door was opened by the overseer, but that was too slow a way for thieves and robbers. They encamped for the night in front of W.  C. was detained here yesterday by rain, and was not at home all day, and they took that opportunity for searching every thing. While they were filling the wagons at the bam, four officers went over every part of the house, even the drawers and trunks. They were moderate in their robberies, only taking some damask towels and napkins from the drawers, and a cooked ham and a plate of rolls from the pantry. These men wore the trappings of officers! While I write, I have six wagons in view at my brother's barn, taking off his corn, and the choice spirits accompanying them are catching the sheep and carrying them off. This robbery now goes on every day. The worst part of our thraldom is, that we can hear nothing from our own army

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 141-2