This is the blessed Sabbath, the day upon which He who came to bring
peace and good will upon earth rose from His tomb and ascended to
intercede for us poor fallen creatures. But how unlike this day to any
that have preceded it in my once quiet home. I had watched all night,
and the dawn found me watching for the moving of the soldiery that was
encamped about us. Oh, how I dreaded those that were to pass, as I
supposed they would straggle and complete the ruin that the others had
commenced, for I had been repeatedly told that they would burn
everything as they passed.
Some of my women had gathered up a chicken that the soldiers shot
yesterday, and they cooked it with some yams for our breakfast, the
guard complaining that we gave them no supper. They gave us some
coffee, which I had to make in a tea-kettle, as every coffee-pot is
taken off. The rear-guard was commanded by Colonel Carlow, who
changed our guard, leaving us one soldier while they were passing.
They marched directly on, scarcely breaking ranks. Once a bucket of
water was called for, but they drank without coming in.
About ten o'clock they had all passed save one, who came in and wanted
coffee made, which was done, and he, too, went on. A few minutes
elapsed, and two couriers riding rapidly passed back. Then, presently,
more soldiers came by, and this ended the passing of Sherman's army by
my place, leaving me poorer by thirty thousand dollars than I was
yesterday morning. And a much stronger Rebel!
After the excitement was a little over, I went up to Mrs. Laura's to
sympathize with her, for I had no doubt but that her husband was
hanged. She thought so, and we could see no way for his escape. We all
took a good cry together. While there, I saw smoke looming up in the
direction of my home, and thought surely the fiends had done their
work ere they left. I ran as fast as I could, but soon saw that the
fire was below my home. It proved to be the gin house [cotton gin]
belonging to Colonel Pitts.
My boys have not come home. I fear they cannot get away from the
soldiers. Two of my cows came up this morning, but were driven off
again by the Yankees.
I feel so thankful that I have not been burned out that I have tried
to spend the remainder of the day as the Sabbath ought to be spent.
Ate dinner out of the oven in Julia's [the cook's] house, some stew,
no bread. She is boiling some corn. My poor servants feel so badly at
losing what they have worked for; meat, the hog meat that they love
better than anything else, is all gone.
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