Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

Saturday Evening.—Just heard from W. and S. H.; both terribly robbed by the raiders in the last three days. All of my brother’s horses and mules taken. Some of the servants were forced off, who staid so faithfully by them, and resisted all the Yankee entreaties twice before. They attempted to burn the wheat, which is shocked in the field, but an opportune rain made it too wet to burn. The raiders came up the river, destroying crops, carriages, etc., stealing horses and cattle, and carrying off the servants from every plantation, until they got to Hickory Hill, (Mr. W. F. Wickham’s,) where they found a prize in the person of General W. F. Lee, who was wounded at the cavalry fight of Beverley’s Ford, and was at Mr. Ws, unable to move. Notwithstanding the remonstrances of his wife and mother, they took him out of his bed, placed him in Mr. Wickham’s carriage, and drove off with him. I can’t conceive greater hardness of heart than it required to resist the entreaties of that beautiful young wife and infirm mother. F. has just received a note from the former, written in sorrow and loneliness. She fears that the wound may suffer greatly by locomotion; beyond that, she has much to dread, but she scarcely knows what.