Memories of the Civil War | goddard-reagan

Springfield during the Civil War

Jaquelin Smith Ware, Robert Macky Ware, Josiah William Ware Jr., Sigismund S. Ware, Edmonia Ware, Virginia, 1907

Written about Josiah William Ware by his son, Josiah William Ware, Jr. (Brother of Robert Macky Ware) in 1924

Dedication

At the desire of my dear children I have written this memoir. To them I lovingly dedicate it with all its recognized defects.

And I had in my mind all the time my children's children. That the only worth-while life, the only one which will bring comfort in retrospect, is that devoted to service to others - and in His dear name - has been my conviction for many years. And it has grown as the years have passed. Such service means consistent opposition to every form of wrong doing and injustice as well as setting an example of right living. Such a life will provoke opposition, and may make enemies. Jesus "increased.... in favour with God and man" until He made war against sin, then men "hated me without a cause." But he never lost favour with "my Father." As He "went about doing good," He could say at the close of that life's work: "I have finished the work Thou gavest Me to do."

I was born November 23, 1853, at "Springfield" in Clarke County, Virginia. The house was built by my Father in 1833 and burned in 1899 and was imposing in appearance; the lumber was seasoned for three years before being used.

My father, Josiah William Ware, was born in Clarke County on August 19, 1802. His parents were James Ware and Elizabeth Alexander. He married (first) Fannie T. Glassell, February 22, 1827. She died May 10, 1842, leaving five children - James A., John G., Elizabeth A., Lucy B. and Charles Alexander.

My mother was Edmonia Jaquelin Smith, daughter of Edward Jaquelin Smith and Elizabeth Macky. She was married January 30, 1845 at "Smithfield," Clarke County (near Wickliffe). She was born March 7, 1817. Of this marriage four children survived both parents; Jaquelin Smith, born February 7, 1846, died November 28, 1919; Sigismund S. born February 5, 1851, died November 2, 1934; Josiah William, born November 25, 1853; Robert Macky born May 5, 1857. (Two sons died in infancy, viz: Sigismund S. and Josiah William.)

"Springfield" to 1865

Of course I cannot convey an adequate idea of the social life at Springfield. Some conception may be formed from what is recorded here. When one deplores the contrast between the past and the present it must be remembered that the conditions are so altered, and that the spirit of hospitality remains, e.g., our house was large, and the rooms were spacious, and there were, I am sure, at least 20 servants on the place. My mother had her maid; each of my sisters had hers; then there was the butler and cook (and young assistants) and the wash-woman. There were, besides the carriage horses, eleven (I think) horses that had never "seen through a collar." Some of the latter were gaited "saddlers," some were thoroughbreds for racing. Each member of the family old enough to ride has his (or her) individual horse. Nothing gave my generous father more pleasure than to have his house filled with joyous young people, whose happiness he shared fully. (On one occasion when the Hollidays (1) (Governor later) and the Baldwins (Dr. Robert, later doctor and superintendent of the Insane Asylum at Staunton) were at Springfield, the young gentlemen informed their generous host that one horse was not sufficient -- that they must each have two. "Cousin Jo" replied: "Well, boys, if one thoroughbred horse is not enough you can ride "Shank's mare"-- foot it.) With such resources for hospitality it is easily seen how one who delighted in the happiness of others, especially the young, could gratify his spirit of hospitality.

Though my father kept a wine cellar, he was a total abstainer. He used neither liquor in any form, not even wine, nor tobacco. These, i.e., wine and cigars, were served at dinners. When President Tyler was a guest at "Springfield," he was taken into the dining room where the decanters and wine glasses were on the side-board. The "saddle of mutton" was brought in, and he was more enthusiastic over it than the refreshments. The fact that he had never seen anything like it, I will explain.

"Springfield" was a stock farm chiefly - thoroughbred (i.e. race) horses and pure bred other stock. And all the silver in the family was bought with prize money awarded at agricultural fairs. Father exhibited at the state fairs in Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania. He kept the finest Cotswold sheep in this country, always taking the first prize in the U. S. Fair in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A competitor in that state, mortified because of Virginia carrying off the highest honour, published a challenge for competition at the next fair for the best spring lamb. Father exhibited twin lambs, which are not expected to be as large as single ones, and again won. They weighed over 190 lbs. - the larger, 199. I am confident that these weights are correct though incredible in the minds of those who have never seen sheep such as my father's. The rival was a good sport and gracefully yielded.

What I am writing seems as fairy tales. I have seen in his scrapbook, clippings from newspapers describing these sheep, and I well remember the sheep with their broad backs and briskets. If one were to get on its back and were not found, it would die because unable to turn. Butchers in Washington bought these sheep at $50. When asked how they could afford the price which farmers paid for them on the place, the reply was that he sold them to high government officials for state occasions. And I have advertisements taken from Washington papers, that the dealer had muttons from Colonel Ware's farm in the valley of Virginia on exhibition at his stalls. Also with the superfluous fat of these he could line carcasses of other muttons.

Father bought the buck which won the first prize at the Royal Fair, paying $500 in London. The transportation added considerably to the cost. Hence, I am justified in saying not only the "finest sheep in the U.S.A.," but also the finest individual sheep in England. And sixty (or more) such sheep were killed by the U.S. troops, and left (or many of them) on the hills at "Springfield." Senator Thurman, of Ohio, known as "the noblest Roman of them all," told father, when he was a guest at the White House during President Hayes' administration, that he should be compensated for them, since their destruction was a loss to the agricultural interests in the United States, and that father was a benefactor of it for introducing such stock at so great a cost. But it was too near 1861-5, and the feeling against the South was bitter.

While father was at the White House, Cousin Lucy Ware Hayes darned his socks and made a new silk stock for him. A "stock" was a stiff cravat worn by that and former generations. And she and the President gave him a fine copy of Shakespeare, which I have.

When she learned that he was going to the Eastern Shore to see us, she said "I am going with you. I think that it will be such fun to run in unannounced on the young couple." But something unexpected occurred to prevent her leaving.

I must pass by many matters of interest and I will give some impression of father's relations to his "servants" -- they were not spoken of as slaves.

I wonder what proportion of labour enjoy as great a degree of physical comforts as the Negroes at Springfield did. (And I will here say that I am not defending slavery; and I agree with the statement that the Emancipation proclamation emancipated more whites -- rather, the whites more than the blacks. No one unfamiliar with the actual situation, can realize what the owners of this unfortunate -- in some respects -- race experienced. And the history of legislation in regard to them in the South, previous to 1861, shows what study they were giving to emancipation. It was the plight of the poor Negro, which was the chief concern. And had the abolitionists been reasonable and patient, the South, the real friend of the Negro, would have evolved a solution more favourable to the Negro than the method adopted.)

In the fall of each year an itinerant tailor would cut out suits for the men and boys, which the women would make. My father would take wool to the cloth (Porter's) factory in Jefferson County. (I think that the building still is standing). He would get bolts of heavy drab woolen cloth for these suits, and blankets. There would be provided also heavy boots, nearly to the knees, and warm hats. The women would knit warm woolen socks. For the women would be gotten linsy-woolsy goods, which the women would make, under the supervision of the older ones. The "quarters" for the servants was a large stone building, two stories, well lighted, and if anyone was cold, it was because the men or women were too lazy to keep up fires -- there was no limit to fuel -- of course, wood. Besides the rooms for the married, there was a large room for the single of each sex; and I think an infirmary. They had the attention of the family doctor and I have gone with mother when she called on the sick.

As they became old, light work was assigned, or none. They were comfortable and carefree. How often I have seen the "retired ones" sleeping in the sun. And how many of them, who had been excused from "cradling" in the harvest field or the heavier labour on the farm, do the same work ten or fifteen years "after the war!" Father worked in the harvest field until he was at least 65 years of age. He raked the wheat into bundles, and was always just behind his "cradler"; and if one had not been able to keep up, he would help such a one. A hand bound the bundles after him.

As an evidence of Father's leniency, there was a saying among the Negroes: "I like Marse Jo's way, 'the next time you do it, I will have you whipped.'"

As another illustration I give an account of a "deal" which failed, and why. While Col. Wm. R. Johnson (2), known as the "Napoleon of the turf," was on a visit to Springfield, he was anxious to buy father's head groom.

"I do not wish to sell Bob, and if I were to consent to do so, I would ask a large price, as he is a valuable, intelligent and trustworthy man."

"I don't care about the price, fix that yourself."

"You would have to get Bob's consent, as I never sell a Negro except under two conditions: that he was so incorrigibly depraved that he corrupted others, or by request." (It sometimes happened that a mate belonging to another man (or estate) was sold, and then in order not to separate the pair he would sell.)

Col. Jo would then interview "Uncle Bob." He reported that he told Bob that if he would go with him (Col. Johnson)(2), he would treat him just as well as Col. Ware, would make him head of his stables, that he would go to all the great races, etc.; but that he would invariably reply, "I won't leave Marse Jo."

"Now, Col. let's talk business," dismissing Bob's sentiments.

"No Sir, Bob has closed all negotiations."

And he had. He was never sold. The abolitionists would have found it hard to believe such a relationship.

It is doubtful whether the servants at Springfield were a source of net profit.

Let it not be thought that the welfare of the Negroes in spiritual matters was overlooked by their owners. I think that I have never seen an old parish register, in which there were no records of the baptism of Negro children. And the churches of that period had galleries for them. And I remember seeing the old Negroes coming to the Holy Communion (years, I think) after the war. And I remember attending religious services for them at Springfield on Sunday afternoon. Indeed, this was, in my judgment, the heavy responsibility which most seriously impressed their owners.

In this connection I will relate an interesting experience which Bishop Randolph (of Va. then Southern Virginia diocese) told me that he had at one of these services. (His father had his sons conduct them in rotation.) At one of them, after he had expounded some passage of Scripture, he felt exhalted by his success. He called on a coloured exhorter to lead in prayer. During his prayer the Negro offered this petition "And, Lord, bless our young marster. Bless him much, for Thou knowest that he is standing on the prickly precipice of Hell!"

1861-1865

I recall the animated discussions before hostilities began. I was then 7 1/2 years of age. But about all that I recall distinctly is my impatience for something to start. Of course, I had heard about General Washington and Cornwallis, and I felt that these were tense times, and I wanted to know what war was like. Before 1865 I was most anxious to experience what peace was like. But I was never to know again what the former peace was like.

I now sketch a few occurrences coming under my own observation. They are not given in sequence. The U. S. Army had many "camp-followers." These men were bullies -- and of course cowards. They trailed the army as it advanced, plundering and intimidating. On one occasion two of these came to Springfield, when only mother and the three youngest children were there. The servants, on the approach of any of the enemy, would cry out, "Miss Edmonia, the Yankees is coming." This announcement caused her to become pale and to tremble, but she would soon recover her usual composure. There were two, -- they entered the house. The first thing to appeal to their cupidity was a "work table," in which were kept a lady's sewing outfit, such as thimbles, scissors, etc. One of them remarked, "This is where the jewelry and diamonds are kept." Then to Mother, "Unlock these drawers." She said, "I will not turn a key in any lock in this house." "Then we will smash the table." She said, "I am powerless to prevent it, but there is nothing in it except my sewing materials." Simpletons, to suppose that jewelry, etc., would be left so accessible!

They then went to the "store room" -- pantry. One of them peeped through the key hole, and said to the other, "That is where they keep liquor. Look at the demijohns," To my mother, "Open the door, or we will break it open." She: "There is nothing there to drink except vinegar, but I will not open any lock."

They took out of a bureau drawer the pride of my life -- a blue jacket with brass buttons. While they were thus behaving, my mother said, "I am going to the camp and request a guard." (It was customary to assign a soldier to stand guard around a home while the enemy army was in camp near.) They said that she should not. When she stood in front of the house one of the skunks threatened to shoot her. And she would have gone had not we held her. We thought then that he would shoot her, as he raised his gun.

How vividly I recall these experiences! But the next day! They returned, evidently to complete an unfinished patriotic(?) duty. This day father was at home. He met the soldiers in front of the house and pointed out the lines of his property. "I will give you --- minutes to leave."

"What can you do?"

"Your time is passing." He was holding his watch, as I recall.

They slunk off. He had a small pistol in his pocket. I am sure that I do not know which day's proceedings frightened me most.

I must here insert a history of my father's military experience. Before the war he was for a number of years colonel of a regiment of the State Militia (5). The State Militia was (and is) organized, maintained and drilled and is subject to the orders of the Governor to preserve order and put down lawless uprisings. It is to the state what the regular army is to the U. S. I think that it was while father was recruiting a regiment that he was captured. And believing that at his age (he was nearly 59 when the war commenced) he could not stand prison life, he was paroled for as long as it lasted.

It must have been our first personal acquaintance with "these people" when the following was staged. We had a flock of turkeys, about grown, in a field in sight of the house. The "Yanks," thinking them good "Rebs," were shooting them. Mother told the servants to drive them to the house.

"No, can't let the Yankees shoot us!"

Then what must Sig do but say that he and I will get them. My heart sank at the thought, and while I do not think that I am by nature brave, I have always despised cowardice. And my self-respect would not let me act the coward, so away we ran. To my surprise the soldiers, probably because they respected the audacity of such small chaps, permitted us to drive them off. While the turkeys were making long strides for the house, a soldier followed us, "unbeknown," and while we were double-quicking after our rescue, and I suppose we were about five yards apart, a bullet buzzed between us and broke a turkey's leg. Then followed a race, we and the Yank chasing the bird, and he racing for his life. But the soldier's long legs won out, and he carried off the prize. He had rested his gun against a tree for a sure shot.

Father Taken to Prison

Col. McReynolds, U.S.A.(3), had his winter quarters at Berryville. This was in 1863. Father called on him and he returned the call. This led to cordial relations between them. Being a graduate of West Point Military Academy, and fond of fine horses, he was greatly interested in my father's knowledge of Col. William R. Johnson(2) and the great races. (I remember seeing him pick up a switch from the ground while riding at a gallop.)

He asked father whether he would like to go inside the lines to get some groceries. We had a blind horse, "Old Queen," so with her my father and "Sister Lucy" -- Mrs. E. P. C. Lewis of "Audley," -- drove over 20 miles to Martinsburg, then Virginia, now West Virginia. This was where the nearest stores could be found. Of course he had a pass through the picket lines, signed by Colonel McReynolds. A short time after his return, I guess within a week, we were awakened in the night by the cavalry surrounding the house. Then we heard the clanging of spurs and swords on the vestibule floor, followed by banging on the door. As he opened it an officer said, "You are my prisoner and you will go with me." He finished dressing, said goodbye, and disappeared in the night. There was no mail service then, and one can only imagine what the suspense was until we heard of the whereabouts of father. Mother said that she lived in constant expectation of hearing of the finding of his dead body. Finally we learned -- My guess now is through Col. McReynolds -- that he was a prisoner in Washington. Col. McReynolds was put on trial as a rebel sympathizer, but was promptly acquitted. The charge against father was that of being a spy. He could not get a trial because, of course, Col. McReynolds pass and testimony would have acquitted him. He was kept in prison, the old Carroll prison, for seven months. And we were as much surprised -- a different quality -- by his return as by his departure.

I may mention here several things father mentioned as occurring during his imprisonment. The prisoners played cards as a pastime. (My father taught his sons to play, believing that it was a protection to learn in a wholesome home than elsewhere, and let the fascination of it somewhat wear off. He also impressively warned us never to play for stakes and to play preferably with ladies. It was then an unknown thing for them to play for a prize. -- would that it were so now! As for smoking!! I think that it was easier and more natural for men to be chivalrous then than now. And none of his seven sons cared for cards -- so far as I know.)

To resume, these prisoners played for fictitious stakes--their homes! And the guards would comment, "We have heard how reckless about money these Southerners were and here they are gambling for their homes with such unconcern."

Another: They were the (unwilling) guests of "UncleSam," but the host did not furnish a generous table. Sometimes a guard on the outside would bayonet a rat and throw it inside, where there would be a scramble for the delicacy! The cats (that were put in the prison to catch the rats) and the rate were on most companionable terms for the short time the experiment was tried (because) there were too many rats.

Our first knowledge of his release was seeing him walking up the road to the house. Oh joy! I recall, and have often done so with much feeling, what he brought me. I cannot say that it was a pocket knife--it was a black horn knife handle with a half blade in it. How I would like to know how he got it -- and would like to own it now! I think that a relation of Mother's -- a Union man living in Rockville -- succeeded in getting President Lincoln to pardon him. I have among my prized possessions a bible presented to him while in prison, inscribed, "To Col. J. W. Ware, Carroll Prison, from M. Davison." From that time to his final illness -- and he could recall no illness previously, and did not "know what a headache is" -- he read that bible, the Old Testament once a year, the Now Testament twice. And the record is there. He died August 13, 1883, lacking six days of reaching 81 years.

Springfield Narrowly Escaped Burning

In 1865 a picket was killed by one of Mosby's men on "Morgan's Lane," running along the west side of Durham farm. In retaliation an order was issued that four of the homes in the neighborhood should be burned. Springfield was first on the list. Without any warning a troop of cavalry rode up to the side of the house. Getting some straw, they entered pell-mell, announcing that they had orders to burn the house. I took "Lee," Jaque's setter dog, which always slept in the house, and led him behind the smoke house to save him. There I heard soldiers smashing things. Soon I saw them leaving the house. I could not conceive what its meaning was. My mother's presence of mind and prompt action had saved the house.

Here is the interesting history. Just previous to this Gen. Wesley Merritt had made his headquarters at Springfield, occupying one of the guest rooms. On leaving he had assured the family that in appreciation of the hospitality shown him, he would guarantee that the property should be unharmed by the Union Army. When the soldiers entered, mother asked to see the officer in command. Though I do not recall, I surmise that she persuaded the soldier in command of the men to refrain until she could speak to his superior. She was told that he was behind the trees at the woodpile. He came to the house at her request, and courteously said, "Madam, this is the most painful experience I have ever had -- so much so that I could not bring myself to do more than to see that the orders given me were executed." She then told him of General Merritt's guarantee. He was greatly relieved, and asked to see the order. She said that it was verbal, but that if he would hold his action in abeyance until he could dispatch a soldier to the camp, the statement would be verified.

"No Madam," he said, "if the order were in writing, it was his duty to see it, but the word of a lady is sufficient." All honour to such chivalry!

(When General Merritt came to Springfield he pitched his tent on the circle in front of the house. My father put the guest room and dining room, and all in it, as well as the remaining house servants, at his service, regretting that he was unable to supply the table. He accepted on condition that he would supply the table from the commissariat. So under this most unusual arrangement each became the host and guest of the other, as our family and the general became one family.)

From our house they went to that of Mr. Province McCormick, the adjoining farm, which they burned. The widow daughter, Mrs. Ann Brown (with two very young children) was leaving with her father. A soldier said to her, "I am a chaplain. Would you like me to go with you while you save your trinkets?" She accepted his offer, but as she was saving what she could she observed that he was filling his pockets.

"Did you say that you are a Chaplain -- a minister of the gospel?"

"Yes, Madam."

"And stealing with both hands!"

Then they went to "Cedar Hall" south of Durham, the home of Aunt Catherine Hall, sister of mother. Finding there a sick (or wounded) Union soldier in the home, cared for by my Aunt, they saved the house. Singular coincidence? Both sisters' homes saved.

They went to the home of Benjamin Morgan, west of "Cedar Hall" farm. They set fire to his home. While the house was burning Mosby's men surrounded the place. The orders were to show no quarter to house burners. A few escaped. I hope that the officer in command was one of them.

Then Colonel Mosby notified the Union authorities that for every home burned by them he would shoot --- prisoners. Later, there were 100 prisoners to be executed. The lots had been drawn and the unfortunate hundred had written their farewell letters to their people at home. Then Col. Mosby showed that war had not made him lose his milk of human kindness. He asked for a volunteer to catty a communication to the Colonel (or General) in Winchester, for it was too dangerous undertaking for him to order anyone to go. One soldier stopped forward, John Russell, of Clarke County, 18(?) years of age. (He is now living in Clarke).

Colonel Mosby said, "John, do you understand what you are offering to do?"

"Yes, Colonel."

"Do you know that the orders are to kill every Mosby man, and that they know there are no Confederates in this section but us, and they will not recognize a flag of truce?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you realize that there is but small chance of your returning?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then, John, why do you volunteer?"

"Because I cannot get out of my mind the faces of those doomed men, and I am willing to risk my life in an effort to save the lives of these hundred lives."

Fine? So Col. Mosby wrote to the Commander at Winchester offering to save the lives of these prisoners, provided the house burning should be discontinued.

On route to Winchester he (Russell) called on Judge Page for advice. He was told that his life would be sacrificed if he made the attempt, and to spend the night and report back to the Colonel in the morning. But he approached the picket showing a flag of truce and was threatened. He withdrew and spent the night at "Pagebrook." The next morning the picket, after some delay, recognized the flag of truce. Russell made known that he had a letter of Colonel Mosby's to the Commander.

"Show it."

"My orders are to show it to none but the Commander."

Finally he was escorted, blindfolded, to the officer. After considerable rudeness, the officer, softened by the unselfish courage and the manly bearing of Russell, read Mosby's proposal. Finally he gave Russell the desired pledge, blindfolded him, and gave him an escort through the lines. (He had carried with him the 100 letters.)

I can imagine Russell recalling this experience whenever he enters Winchester. All honour to John Russell! It is easy to believe that Col. Mosby declared him to be the bravest man in his command.

I recall some things connected with a short but furious battle just at and below Castleman's Ferry. At this time a young Colonel(4) from North Carolina had just rejoined his regiment after an absence caused by a wound. He had the appearance of a boy, and my recollection is that he was 19, and a Colonel! In half an hour (I think) after his return in the fight he was killed. They brought his body to Springfield and requested permission to bury him. And his grave was between the parlour window and the garden. I recall so vividly the impression made upon me. I had felt that shedding tears was unmanly. How amazed I was as I saw these soldiers, hardened to the sight of death and suffering, sobbing as they laid away their beloved commander. (Later his brother came from North Carolina and took his remains home. Among my father's papers there is now a letter thanking him for allowing the brother to be interred there.)

The "Confeds" withdrew in the night -- needed elsewhere. Then the next day! The "Yanks" were infuriated and revengeful. They took away or killed all animals, practically. They left at Springfield one blind mare, some three very young calves, a turkey, half grown, which had hid, and some dozen newly hatched chickens which we succeeded in raising. They killed the flock of Cotswold sheep. They heard that my father was at home and came to hang him. Fortunately, he had walked away that day, and when satisfied that he was not there, they left, declaring that they were coming for him that night. They did, but Mother had persuaded him to leave. For a long time this "bird" would disappear when a blue coat came on the scene. It was amusing and we never learned of his hiding place.

I wonder sometimes on what we lived when times were hardest. But if asked what tasted best, or what I had enjoyed most in the form of food, I might say "middling." When the family had not tasted meat of any kind, or butter for so long, Mr. Province McCormick (more fortunate in hiding some bacon) sent us a side of bacon (cured). How economically we used it! And then we shaved it! And I remember how largely apples figured. In summer we cut and dried them for winter use. Uncle Wm. Smith used to tell us children to "eat dried apples, then drink plenty of water," and as the apples swelled we would have our stomachs full. And what else does a boy want?

At times a soldier, when near enough to his home and when he could be spared, would get a furlough to visit his home for a few days. On one such occasion Jaque got as far as the east side of the river and then learned that the Union soldiers in the country were in such numbers that he could not reach home. His whereabouts became known through the underground telegraph. Mother and "Sister Anne" Stribling started in the carriage with old blind "Queen" with Sig as driver, to "spend the day with a friend." They apparently carried nothing. But those were the days of hoops. Under her hoops mother carried a pair of big cavalry boots fastened to a cord or band suspended from her waist! What graceful steps she must have taken! In the boots were, I am confident, some yarn socks and I do not know what else. So they delivered the goods, and were home by sunset, having forded the river twice driving a blind horse.

**************

As I review my life, I am filled with love and gratitude to the Giver of every good and perfect gift, for the many expressions of his loving kindness which have crowned my life. Chief among these are those which have enriched my life spiritually, for the "precious faith" which fills me with peace as I wait for "that, His most joyful voice" of welcome Home. I bless God for having called me to the ministry in His church and the fruits of my ministry in His dear name. I am grateful for the many evidences of "special providence," which made my faith among "the things which may not be shaken." Above all else I return thanks for my faith in, and love for, the beloved Son of God who by "His one oblation of Himself once offered and made a full, perfect and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world." May such experiences bring like enrichment into the lives of those who succeed me!

I gladly record my gratitude for the influence of my mother's life, teaching and prayers. To the last of these I attribute the divine call to the ministry of my bother Sig and myself.

Again I gratefully record my thanks for the wife who in God's goodness has blest my life for so many years. Great is His mercy in sparing her life for so many years. Great is His mercy in sparing her life so long not only to enrich my life, but also those of our children. Gifted intellectually with a character which has been enriched by a noble charity for the faults of others, generous in her judgments, liberal in the use of limited means, she is an inspiration to her husband and children.

Highly blessed have we been in the love of our children, both those born to us and also those who have entered our family circle by marriage. All are leading honorable and useful lives.

Notes, courtesy of Bruce Allardice

1. The family of future governor of Virginia Frederick W. M. Holliday (1828-99).

2. William Ransom Johnson of Virginia (1782-1849), who was known as the "Napoleon of the Turf."

3. Col. Andrew T. McReynolds (1808-98) of the 1st New York Cavalry, a cousin of President Jackson. He was not a West Point graduate, but WAS an officer in the regular US Army during the Mexican-American War.

4. The Young colonel who dies on the estate is Col. James Hall Wood of the 4th NC Infantry (1840-64), killed at the Battle of Castleman's Ferry, July 17-18, 1864. For a brief bio, see Confederate Colonels by Bruce Allardice

5. "Colonel... state militia:--He was colonel of the 34th Regiment, Virginia Militia prewar. And later Brigadier General Virginia Militia. For more information, see More Generals in Grey by Bruce Allardice.