Agitated and nervous, I turn to my diary to-night as the
means of soothing my feelings. We have passed through a fatal thirty-six hours.
Yesterday morning (it seems a week ago) we went, as usual, to St. James's
Church, hoping for a day of peace and quietness, as well as of religious
improvement and enjoyment. How short-sighted we are, and how little do we know
of what is coming, either of judgment or mercy! The sermon being over, as it
was the first Sunday in the month, the sacrament of the Lord's Supper was
administered. The day was bright, beautiful, and peaceful, and a general
quietness and repose seemed to rest upon the congregation, undisturbed by
rumours and apprehensions. While the sacred elements were being administered,
the sexton came in with a note to General Cooper, which was handed him as he
walked from the chancel, and he immediately left the church. It made me
anxious; but such things are not uncommon, and caused no excitement in the
congregation. The services being over, we left the church, and as the
congregations from the various churches were being mingled on Grace Street, our
children, who had been at St. Paul's, joined us, on their way to the usual
family gathering in our room on Sunday. After the salutations of the morning,
J. remarked, in an agitated voice, to his father, that he had just returned
from the War Department, and that there was sad news — General Lee's lines had
been broken, and the city would probably be evacuated within twenty-four hours.
Not until then did I observe that every countenance was wild with excitement.
The inquiry, “What is the matter?” ran from lip to lip. Nobody seemed to hear
or to answer. An old friend ran across the street, pale with excitement,
repeating what J. had just told us, that unless we heard better news from
General Lee the city would be evacuated. We could do nothing; no one suggested
any thing to be done. We reached home with a strange, unrealizing feeling. In
an hour J. (who is now Professor of Mathematics in the Naval School) received
orders to accompany Captain Parker to the South with the Corps of Midshipmen.
Then we began to understand that the Government was moving, and that the
evacuation was indeed going on. The office-holders were now making arrangements
to get off. Every car was ordered to be ready to take them south. Baggage-wagons,
carts, drays, and ambulances were driving about the streets; every one was
going off that could go, and now there were all the indications of alarm and
excitement of every kind which could attend such an awful scene. The people
were rushing up and down the streets, vehicles of all kinds were flying along,
bearing goods of all sorts and people of all ages and classes who could go
beyond the corporation lines. We tried to keep ourselves quiet. We could not go
south, nor could we leave the city at all in this hurried way. J. and his wife
had gone. The “Colonel,” with B., intended going in the northern train this
morning — he to his home in Hanover County, and she to her father's house in
Clarke County, as soon as she could get there. Last night, when we went out to
hire a servant to go to Camp Jackson for our sister, we for the first time
realized that our money was worthless here, and that we are in fact penniless.
About midnight she walked in, escorted by two of the convalescent soldiers.
Poor fellows! all the soldiers will go who can, but the sick and wounded must
be captured. We collected in one room, and tried to comfort one another; we
made large pockets and filled them with as many of our valuables as we could
suspend from our waists. The gentlemen walked down to the War Office in the
night to see what was going on. Alas! every sight and sound was grievous and
heavy.
A telegram just received from General Lee hastened the
evacuation. The public offices were all forsaken. They said that by three
o'clock in the morning the work must be completed, and the city ready for the
enemy to take possession. Oh, who shall tell the horror of the past night! Hope
seemed to fade; none but despairing words were heard, except from a few brave
hearts. Union men began to show themselves; treason walked abroad. A gloomy pall
seemed to hang over us; but I do not think that any of us felt keenly, or have
yet realized our overwhelming calamity. The suddenness and extent of it is too
great for us to feel its poignancy at once. About two o'clock in the morning we
were startled by a loud sound like thunder; the house shook and the windows
rattled; it seemed like an earthquake in our midst. We knew not what it was,
nor did we care. It was soon understood to be the blowing up of a magazine
below the city. In a few hours another exploded on the outskirts of the city,
much louder than the first, and shivering innumerable plate-glass windows all
over Shockoe Hill. It was then daylight, and we were standing out upon the
pavement. The Colonel and B. had just gone. Shall we ever meet again? Many
ladies were now upon the streets. The lower part of the city was burning. About
seven o'clock I set off to go to the central depot to see if the cars would go
out. As I went from Franklin to Broad Street, and on Broad, the pavements were
covered with broken glass; women, both white and coloured, were walking in
multitudes from the Commissary offices and burning stores with bags of flour,
meal, coffee, sugar, rolls of cotton cloth, etc.; coloured men were rolling
wheelbarrows filled in the same way. I went on and on towards the depot, and as
I proceeded shouts and screams became louder. The rabble rushed by me in one
stream. At last I exclaimed, “Who are those shouting? What is the matter?” I seemed to be answered by a hundred
voices, “The Yankees have come.” I turned to come home, but what was my horror,
when I reached Ninth Street, to see a regiment of Yankee cavalry come dashing
up, yelling, shouting, hallooing, screaming! All Bedlam let loose could not
have vied with them in diabolical roarings. I stood riveted to the spot; I
could not move nor speak. Then I saw the iron gates of our time-hououred and
beautiful Capitol Square, on the walks and greensward of which no hoof had been
allowed to tread, thrown open and the cavalry dash in. I could see no more; I
must go on with a mighty effort, or faint where I stood. I came home amid what
I thought was the firing of cannon. I thought that they were thundering forth a
salute that they had reached the goal of their ardent desires; but I afterwards
found that the Armory was on fire, and that the flames having reached the
shells deposited there for our army, they were exploding. These explosions were
kept up until a late hour this evening; I am rejoiced they are gone; they, at
least, can never be turned against us. I found the family collected around the
breakfast-table, and was glad to see Captain M's family with them. The captain
has gone, and the ladies have left their home on “Union Hill” to stay here
among friends, Colonel P. having kindly given them rooms. An hour or two after
breakfast we all retired to our rooms exhausted. No one had slept; no one had
sought repose or thought of their own comfort. The Federal soldiers were
roaming about the streets; either whiskey or the excess of joy had given some
of them the appearance of being beside themselves. We had hoped that very
little whiskey would be found in the city, as, by order of the Mayor, casks
were emptied yesterday evening in the streets, and it flowed like water through
the gutters; but the rabble had managed to find it secreted in the burning
shops, and bore it away in pitchers and buckets. It soon became evident that
protection would be necessary for the residences, and at the request of Colonel
P. I went to the Provost Marshal's office to ask for it. Mrs. P. was
unfortunately in the country, and only ladies were allowed to apply for guards.
Of course this was a very unpleasant duty, but I must undertake it. Mrs. D.
agreed to accompany me, and we proceeded to the City Hall — the City Hall,
which from my childhood I had regarded with respect and reverence, as the place
where my father had for years held his courts, and in which our lawyers, whose
names stand among the highest in the Temple of Fame, for fifty years expounded
the Constitution and the laws, which must now be trodden under foot. We reached
it. After passing through crowds of negro soldiers there, we found on the steps
some of the elderly gentlemen of the city seeking admittance, which was denied
them. I stopped to speak to Mr. –––, in whose commission house I was two days ago,
and saw him surrounded by all the stores which usually make up the
establishment of such a merchant; it was now a mass of blackened ruins. He had
come to ask protection for his residence, but was not allowed to enter. We
passed the sentinel, and an officer escorted us to the room in which we were to
ask our country's foe to allow us to remain undisturbed in our own houses. Mrs.
D. leant on me tremblingly; she shrank from the humiliating duty. For my own
part, though my heart beat loudly and my blood boiled, I never felt more
high-spirited or lofty than at that moment. A large table was surrounded by
officials, writing it or talking to the ladies, who came on the same mission
that brought us. I approached the officer who sat at the head of the table, and
asked him politely if he was the Provost Marshal, “I am the Commandant, madam,” was the respectful reply. “Then to
whom am I to apply for protection for our residence?” “You need none,
madam; our troops are perfectly disciplined, and dare not enter your premises.”
“I am sorry to be obliged to undeceive you, sir, but when I left home seven of
your soldiers were in the yard of the residence opposite to us, and one has
already been into our kitchen.” He looked surprised, and said, “Then, madam,
you are entitled to a guard. Captain, write a protection for the residence on
the corner of First and Franklin Streets, and give these ladies a guard.” This
was quickly done, and as I turned to go out, I saw standing near me our old
friend, Mrs. —. Oh! how my heart sank when I looked into her calm, sad face, and remembered that
she and her venerable and highly esteemed husband must ask leave to remain in
peace in their home of many years. The next person who attracted my attention
was that sweet young girl, S. W. Having no mother, she of course must go and
ask that her father's beautiful mansion may be allowed to stand uninjured.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pressed my hand in passing. Other friends
were there; we did not speak, we could not; we sadly looked at each other and
passed on. Mrs. D. and myself came out, accompanied by our guard. The fire was
progressing rapidly, and the crashing sound of falling timbers was distinctly
heard. Dr. Read's church was blazing. Yankees, citizens, and negroes were
attempting to arrest the flames. The War Department was falling in; burning
papers were being wafted about the streets. The Commissary Department, with our
desks and papers, was consumed already. Warwick & Barksdale's mill was
sending its flames to the sky. Cary and Main Streets seemed doomed throughout;
Bank Street was beginning to burn, and now it had reached Franklin. At any
other moment it would have distracted me, but I had ceased to feel any thing.
We brought our guard to Colonel P., who posted him; about three o'clock he came
to tell me that the guard was drunk, and threatening to shoot the servants in
the yard. Again I went to the City Hall to procure another. I approached the
Commandant and told him why I came. He immediately ordered another guard, and a
corporal to be sent for the arrest of the drunken man. The flames had
decreased, but the business part of the city was in ruins. The second guard was
soon posted, and the first carried off by the collar. Almost every house is
guarded; and the streets are now (ten o'clock) perfectly quiet. The moon is
shining brightly on our captivity. God guide and watch over us!
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 342-9
