The Daily Dispatch: August 28, 1861., [Electronic resource]

Correspondence of the Richmond Dispatch.
a lady's opinion of our invaders — a view of them in and about Alexandria.

I will not tell of my feelings on Sunday, the battle day, as I heard the incessant boom of the cannon. It was awful — a day I can never forget. Mother was very desponding, but I can truthfully say my faith in our men never wavered, not even when an officer told us that he had received a dispatch saying that Bull Run was taken and the ‘"Grand Army"’ was marching on Manassas. Not even when late at night. I was told that Manassas was taken and 30,000 Southerners had laid down their arms! My indignation passed all bounds at this. The first thing I heard the next morning was that the Federals were pouring down the road, the Confederates in full chase. (Oh, if it had been altogether true!) And so they continued to come all day, twenty or thirty at a time, sometimes fewer; but early in the morning it was one continual stream of broken down, beaten, famished men. They declared that for two days they had had nothing to eat or drink, and we all on the hill sent them every available thing in the house; and mother had coffee made and sent to them, and, what do you think, they actually thought it was to sell! They were treated in the same way in town, every one opening their hearts and hands to a broken down, conquered foe. I certainly never saw such a forlorn set. Some had even thrown off their shoes and jackets. To see one with a knapsack was a rarity, and very few were armed. Some were perfectly infuriated, and swore they would pay us Southerners for it if they ever got a chance; but most of them seemed to be inspired with a pretty wholesome fear of Bull Run, and have no desire to return. One old Irishman who was asked by some one as he came hobbling by, grumbling at ‘"them big batteries,"’ ‘"Why they didn't take them?"’ replied naively enough--‘"Faith, sir, and we couldn't. They's been building them batteries and digging them plus these three years, and all the South was in 'em and behind 'em, and could ye expect the min to take 'em?"’ Some swore vengeance on Congress, and were for starting right off to Washington. They rushed in such swarms that the draws of the Long Bridge were kept open all day and night, and all travel stopped between here and Washington. This dismay extended to the officers — probably begun with them too; all seemed to be disheartened. But the next day, such a change! Saying, ‘"it wasn't much of a beating; they'd soon remedy it,"’ &c., and telling all sorts of abominable lies about the cruelty and barbarity of our men. It gives me an utter contempt for the whole crew to hear how they abuse each other — the soldiers, their officers, the volunteers, the regulars, and all pitch into McDowell. McClellan, who has superseded him, is expected to do great things, but they glorify them all until they get a whipping, and then quietly drop them or speak of them with contempt. Better adopt the system of the Carthaginian: kill all who are not victorious; it is not much more contemptible than their present course, and, perhaps, might have a salutary effect, as fear seems to have been the motive power which has governed a good many; it has undoubtedly moved them to take one good run. As I heard some one say, the Yankees went up avowedly to see the Virginia races, but we will give them the palm and allow ourselves beaten in running. I glory over them now, for I am sickened out with their bombast and brag. But the day they came back I really felt heartily sorry for them, and never thought of exulting — though I have had many and many of them tell me to my face, knowing that I was Southern, that the Southerners were all cowards. I told them whenever they said this, that it did not speak very highly for their bravery, to come down in such hordes to fight an enemy, who, in their opinion, were all cowards and numerically inferior. The way in which they gloss over their defeat is contemptible. Before the fight we were told that 80,000 had marched up to Manassas, and that we had only 30,000 and could get no more; now they swear they had not more than 30,000, some say 10,000, and that we had 90,000. How they reconcile these statements I cannot see.

August 13th.--I am hopeless about getting this to you, but I still write. The New York 15th leave to-day, at which we are really very much grieved. It is the regiment stationed at the Seminary — the officers, at least the Colonel, Major, &c., have been very polite, and have their men under excellent discipline. We have had a guard stationed at our gate to keep the stragglers out by which we had been very much annoyed. To-day some officers came in search of a camp ground; I told them this was private property, and enlarged on its incapacities for such a purpose so eloquently, that they finally went off; but no further than the Bishop's field across the road where they have pitched their tents. As we sit on the porch we can hear the neighing of their horses and the rattle of their sabres. In the adjoining fields back are encamped two or three regiments; at Mr. Lockwood's another troop of cavalry; in Dr. Sparrow's field another, and at the Seminary still another, besides one or two regiments of infantry, and on Mr. Herbert's hill one or two more regiments, I don't know which. General Kearney commands a brigade out here and has his headquarters at the Seminary, so you see we are quite surrounded by the military. I wish every time I look at them that the Confederates would come down on them. It would be such fun to have them chased from under our very noses. All this is, as you may imagine, very uncomfortable, as the roads are full of soldiers, and some of them are very impertinent; and in town it is no better. Ladies are never seen on the streets now. I can only say how long! how long! Report says they have mined the fort, and I know they are throwing up embankments in the road by Vaucluse — I suppose, of course, we know all about this however. I would give everything to be away from these horrible wretches. The only friends I have seen were three of our men who came in with a flag of truce-- Lieutenant Edmonson, and privates Meek and McChesney. Several saw them before, but when I met them in the road, and thought they were prisoners, it almost broke my heart. The officers at the seminary where they were staying were kind enough to allow us to send them refreshments, an opportunity which I assure you we availed ourselves of.