1 August, 1861
My dearest Adah,
I am amazed at the speed with
which your letter reached us, through all the clamor of battle and the smoke of
strife. I suppose the ability to send
something along with an army courier assures its safety and its haste! In truth the last few months have flown by, and
though I dearly missed your correspondence, its absence was a mere pinprick of
sorrow compared with the storms which gathered to ravage my spirit here on The
Hill. Indeed, my most precious Adah, I
sat down many a time to write to you, but have been unable through heaviness of
heart to complete the task. Oh Adah, how
much has changed! The war seems to have
yet left your family in relative peace, or at least stability, but mine has
been turned on its head.
There was such a tumult in
mid-April here, as news of Sumter ,
Mr. Lincoln’s proclamation, and the vote of the Richmond Convention came in
quick succession. Relations between
neighbors in this and surrounding counties cooled considerably – there are many
Unionists here and with the onrush of war I find that every mind is now filled
with suspicions and scurrilous judgments towards those we once held friends. Mason and Father quarreled more than ever,
and it was all we could do to keep George chained to his chores in hopes he
would not run away to join one of the many bands of young men fancying themselves
military units even before the secession referendum. Then in May we could deny the reality of war
no longer, for Fairchild came home to ask permission of my father to join the
Army. My father consented with a proud
but heavy heart. My brother was followed a few days later by Mr. Fleming,
determined to pay court to me before he also ran away after the call of fife
and drum. How bitter and how sweet those
last weeks with them were. Fairchild
brought out his fiddle every evening, and we sang out on the porch long after
each sunset. The earth seemed so
content, so unaware of this distant thunder in our souls, as Alfred and I
walked under the apple blossoms on the sunny afternoons.
Adah, how I wish I could
write the following news with the joy and abundant spirit which ought to
accompany it. Alfred and I have come to
an understanding, and my father agrees that we shall be married as soon as this
conflict dies away. How gentle he was
when he asked for my hand, one warm May evening as we walked back up to the
house – and yet how firm was his determination to leave my side and fight for Virginia ’s honor. His speech was full of Livy and Virgil – “Dulce
et decorum est . . .” – so of course I could not match his arguments with
eloquence. I had to content myself with
his presence while it lasted. Our brief
time together ended at Fairchild’s wedding in June – a beautiful affair, yet
shrouded, I thought, by the presence of so many young men of our acquaintance
who were headed to Winchester
the next day to enlist or join their regiments.
The Wilcoxes, of course, made much of the departure - their own son, David,
was among the volunteers. They hung their
house with bunting and the ball they hosted after the ceremony was so full of
patriotic songs and speeches as too leave almost no space for attentions to the
bride and groom. The men all rode off
the next morning from Woodlee with much fanfare and many, many tears. I will not repeat the words that Alfred
whispered in my ear before he mounted up with the rest, but I will treasure
them up in my heart until the end of my days.
The fact that Mason was not
among the volunteers left another shadow on the day – I am not sure how he
could bear up under the cold glances of all the Middleburg ladies. Everyone was the picture of manners over the
matter, of course, and paid him the proper deference as brother of the groom. But he spent most of the night alone, and I
could not but detect contempt in his own soul for this show of aristocratic
pleasures built on what he terms “our most wicked institution.” Father and he could barely stand to be in
each others presence for more than a few minutes our entire stay at
Woodlee. Perhaps the shame of the day
contributed most to what came next.
I had hoped that Mason’s
quiet spirit and Quaker ways would keep him from going off with the hotheads on
either side of this conflict. But he is
a man, and a man who feels his principles as strong and mighty chains which
bind his mind to his actions as surely as God binds the ocean to the shore. A few days after we returned from Middleburg,
Mason left us. He left only a note,
indicating that he was going “North” but did not signify where or when he might
return. I suspect he has followed Mr.
Samuel Means – a dear mentor and friend to my brother from Waterford now forced to flee on account of
his outspoken Unionism and abolitionism.
Whether he means to fight or simply to wait out the war in friendlier
climes I am not certain – but I am hard pressed to imagine any son of my father
unwilling to stake his body on behalf of his beliefs.
We have not heard from Mason
since, nor do I think we may expect to.
We have heard from Fairchild and Alfred, however, first to convey news
of their enlistment in the 1st VA Cavalry and the 4th VA
Infantry, respectively. I had thought
they might enlist together, but it seems Alfred would prefer to fight on his
feet, and is eager to join his comrades from Washington College
who have enlisted in the 4th under the moniker of “The Liberty Hall
Volunteers.” My heart encountered
terrors for them when we heard of the fight at Manassas , glorious victory though it
was. Imagine my joy and relief when
Fairchild managed to send word the next day, assuring us that he and Alfred
were safe – not to mention brimming with all the manly pride such a victory
must bring to hearts such as theirs. I
pray the thrashing we have given the Yankee will deter him from any further
thought of invasion, and that we may see F. & A. safe at home by
Christmas. Our table every day is silent
and bereft, for Father, passionately but silently, mourns each of his departed
sons as if he already held in his hands news of their deaths: yet one he
remembers with a fierce pride and the other with conflicted shame.
I am not so passionate in my
temperament as my Father, but I feel his anguish almost as acute in my own
bones. I pray ever morning for the
Deliverance of our fair new country from the claws of tyranny – but I pray even
more fervently for the safe return of all my beloved ones, for the restoration
of our joys and the healing of our hearts.
May Omnipotence provide it.
I hope you, Adah, may be able
to avoid similar pains. Will Timothy
finish his studies or join up? Will Mr.
Mr. McCarty leave you as bereft as I have been? Has Lincoln ’s army swept as hard into your part
of Virginia
as we have heard rumored? I pray to God
not. Do write and assure me of your
continued safety in that town so close to the chief den of our mortal
enemies.
I apologize for the length of
this letter – I hope you do not overburden your eyes in reading it – but my
heart was so full of events that my pen found my 3 allotted pages would not
suffice. May God be ever with you, and
with all whom you love.
Yours ever,
Margaret-Ellen