Contrary to our expectations, we left camp early this morning and marched to Montpelier, once the country seat of Madison. As I wandered over the magnificent fields belonging to that splendid estate, and by the marble tomb of that departed statesman, I could but think of the many changes that had befallen our unhappy country since he guided its destinies—the ship of State has drifted powerless upon the breakers of civil war. Lincoln, the western buffoon, is at the helm, and now the gallant ship, all shattered and torn to pieces by the wild raging storm, has fallen a prey to its sanguinary crew. Methinks that he, even in his silent tomb, thanks God that he was called away before this terrible calamity befell us.
Feeling disposed to view the halls in which this great man once lived and moved and had his being, and also presuming, soldier-like, that I might at the same time procure something to comfort the inner man, little heeding my personal appearance, which was rather seedy, I must confess, I walked boldly up to the mansion and knocked at the door. A very slovenly-looking servant woman answered my call, and I asked if I could get something to eat?
She replied: "Sir, I deem it altogether impracticable to furnish you with a meal this evening; in fact, I make it a rule never to feed soldiers!"
Shade of Madison!—where be your State rights now? Astounded at the high-flown language of this dirty negro woman, I made my most deferential bow and retired to seek my supper in more humble quarters.
SOURCE: William S. White, A Diary of the War; or What I Saw of It, pp. 141-2
