Norwood, Near Berryville, August 26.—On a visit of a few days to our relative, Dr. M. The people of this neighbourhood occupied as they are in the one I left. All hearts and hands seem open to our army. Four heavily laden wagons have left Berryville within a few days, for the hospitals below. We are all anxious about Western Virginia, of which we can hear so little. General Lee and General Floyd are there, and if they can only have men and ammunition enough we have nothing to fear.
The army in Fairfax seems quiet. Colonel Stuart, with his cavalry, has driven the enemy back, and taken possession of “Chestnut Hill” as head-quarters. There they are overlooking Washington, Georgetown, and our neighbourhood, all bristling with cannon, to prevent their nearer approach. Some of those young men can almost point from the hills on which they are encamped, to chimneys of their own firesides, the portals of their own homes. The woods are cleared away for miles; even the yard trees are gone, leaving the houses in bold relief, with nothing to shade, nothing to obscure them. I do pity those who were obliged to stay in Southern homes, with Southern hearts, surrounded by bitter and suspicious enemies. My old friend Mrs. D. is sometimes in their lines, sometimes in ours. When our men are near her, they are fed from her table, and receive all manner of kindness from her hands. Some of my nephews have been invited to her table, and treated as her relations. When they entered her house she advanced towards them with outstretched hands. “You don’t know me, but I knew your mother, father, and all your relations; and besides, I am connected with you, and you must come to my house while near me, as to that of an old friend.” Nothing could be more grateful to a soldier far away from home and friends. But these were her bright moments. She has had many trials while in the enemy’s lines. Her husband and grown son are in the Confederate service; she has sent her two young daughters to her friends in the lower country, and has remained as the protector of her property, with her two sons of eight and ten, as her companions. On one occasion her servant was driving the cows from her yard to be milked; from very loneliness she called to the servant to remain and milk them where they were; the very tinkling of the cow-bell was pleasant to her. It was scarcely done when a posse of soldiers came with their bayonets gleaming in the moonlight, and demanded, “Why did you have a bell rung in your yard this evening?” “Do you mean, why did the cow-bell ring? Because the cow shook her head while she was being milked.” “But you don’t have the cows milked in the yard every evening. It was a signal to the rebels—you know it was—and your house shall be burnt for it.” She then had to plead her innocence to save her house, which they pretended not to believe until the servants were called up to prove her statements. They then, with threats and curses, went off. Another night she carried a candle from room to room to seek some missing article. In a short time several soldiers were seen running to her house with lighted torches, yelling “Burn it, bum it to the ground!” She ran to the yard to know the cause; instantly this lonely woman was surrounded by a lawless, shouting soldiery, each with a burning torch, revealing, by its lurid and fitful light, a countenance almost demoniac. They seemed perfectly lawless, and without a leader, for each screamed out, “We are ordered to burn your house.” “Why?” said she. “Because you have signal-lights at your windows for the d__d rebels.” She immediately suspected that no such order had been given, and summoning firmness of voice and manner to her aid, she ordered them off, saying that she should send for an officer. They did go, uttering imprecations on her defenceless head. But a still more trying scene occurred a short time ago. Our soldiers were surrounding her house, when Colonel Stuart sent off a raiding party. During that night the Yankees advanced, and our men retired. The Yankees at once heard that the raiders were out; but in what direction was the question. They came up to her house, and knowing the mother too well to attempt to extort any thing from her, ordered the little boys to tell them in what direction Colonel Stuart had gone. The boys told them that they could tell nothing. Threats followed; finally handcuffs and irons for the ankles were brought. Still those little heroes stood, the one as pale as ashes, the other with his teeth clenched over his under lip, until the blood was ready to gush out, but not one word could be extorted, until, with a feeling of hopelessness in their efforts, they went off, calling them cursed little rebels, etc. The mother saw all this, and stood it unflinchingly—poor thing! It is harrowing to think of her sufferings. Yet, if she comes away, her house will be sacked, and perhaps burnt.
We are sometimes alarmed by reports that the enemy is advancing upon Winchester; but are enabled to possess our souls in patience, and hope that all may be well. I see that they are encroaching upon the Northern Neck. I trust they may be repulsed from that fair land.
