Cornelia & the Civil War

Meredith Bean McMath

Run, Rabbit, Run Productions, Inc. ©2003 All Rights Reserved

Before the war, the McDonalds were a well-to-do southern family, their large home and gardens seated high on a hill overlooking the town of Winchester, Virginia. Cornelia Peake McDonald, who could remember being kissed by Lafayette when she was only three, was married to Angus W. McDonald III, a lawyer 23 years her senior. Angus's paternal grandparents were Catholics, Highlanders and Jacobites who escaped to America from Scotland after the famous rebellion of 1745.

When the Civil War began, Cornelia and Angus had nine children, six boys and three girls, with the oldest, Harry, only thirteen. Mr. McDonald was appointed a Colonel to the Confederate Army, and Cornelia was left to manage the household.

In the spring of 1861, pro-Confederate women of Virginia told themselves to hold up their chin, smile brightly and keep back the tears. The women seemed as ready for war as the men at the time (some more so, perhaps). The last verse of the popular tune, "A Southern Soldier Boy," entreated with the words, "And now, young man, a word to you, If you would win the fair, Go to the field where honor calls, And win your lady there. Remember that our brightest smiles Are for the true and brave, And that our tears are all for those Who fill a soldier's grave."

As Cornelia's husband marched out of Winchester, he asked her to keep a diary to keep him apprised of happenings in and around the town.

After the men marched away, the dust settled on the suddenly quiet town and women began to manage the households, farms and businesses, and - at least in the beginning - they had plenty of help. Only the older sons would sign up to fight, and the slaves - who had only an inkling the war might one day concern itself with their freedom - continued to tend the farms and businesses as they always had.

But Life for the Left Behind soon became complex - a fight for survival pitting resourcefulness and creativity against a lack of daily necessities. Then Cornelia Peake McDonald discovered resources within herself she didn't know she had. A women of deep convictions and strong faith who had always wrestled with the question of slavery, her daily struggle and ultimate triumph makes a fascinating and encouraging study.

Food became scarce, as passing armies emptied general stores and pantries. By 1862, cloth was scarce as hen's teeth, and clothing was made from anything the family could find - curtains, yes, a tablecloth - anything. Cornelia was sick at heart to see her boys walking outside in November without shoes, so the family carpets were cut up to for boots. She once found a skein of fringe in her attic and spent a day unraveling it and then winding it into balls for yarn for sweater knitting. They made "Confederate Candles" from beef tallow and string, held upright by boards, casting a tiny light that lasted ten minutes at a time before the "wick" needed raising. Her oldest son, Harry, was sent on a 20 mile walk to a relative who had a bag of wool. He carried it back home on his back. The wool was carded, turned into yarn and woven for winter coverings.

Worse yet, there were no doctors to be found and no medicine to be had. Cornelia's toddling daughter, Bess, became ill and slowly faded before her mother's eyes. She died in her mother's arms in August of 1862. Cornelia recorded, "after [Bess] was buried, I was lying in bed with a feeling only of indifference to everything, a perfect deadness of soul and spirit. If I had a wish it was the world, with its fearful trials and sorrows, its mockeries, and its vanishing joys, could come to an end." As if a prophecy were fulfilled, she went on to say: "Suddenly the house was shaken to its foundations, the glass was shivered from the windows and fell like rain all over me as I lay in bed; a noise, terrific as of crashing worlds, followed, prolonged for some fearful moments."

Turns out, when the Union Army left town that night, they blew up the depot and other storage buildings, including a great magazine of gun powder which created the horrific noise. Many other buildings, including a large hotel, went up along with them.

A couple days later, Cornelia's sons went scavenging for any weapons left behind and found the remains of "the poor creature who had been sent back to see if the fuse was burning. One foot was found in our garden."

Before the war, Cornelia's family had owned two slaves and rented others from neighbors for various tasks, including the care of the children. Her diary reflects a deep concern for their welfare. In late 1862, Cornelia discovered their rented slave, Lethea, was about to be sold south by her owner. Selling southward was a typical response of slave owners to the threat of their "property" running off with the Union Army to become contraband. Cornelia then describes her various arguments with the owner over the sale, her distress at the thought of the woman's children being sold away from her, and Lethea coming to her to beg her help. Cornelia was deeply frustrated, knowing her husband would have kept the man from selling. In the end, Lethea was sold - her baby was allowed to go with her, but her toddling daughter was sold to parts unknown.

At one point, Cornelia's own slaves left to follow the Union Army and found if you weren't a man able to work for them, they wouldn't lift a finger to help you. One of Cornelia's slaves willingly returned home: "When I saw her gaunt figure approaching the house with her poor baby on her arm and the other little one clinging to her ragged skirt, I could not believe the starved, forlorn creature could be my trim-looking, neat nurse, who looked so prosperous when she left me. She said she had had only three hard crackers in the three days past, and that she had turned back because she women drop by the roadside with their babies to die."

Cornelia hated all of it.

Toward the end of her diary, she wrote, "I never in my heart thought slavery was right, and having in my childhood seen some of the worst instances of its abuse, and in my youth, when surrounded by them and daily witnessing what I considered great injustices to them, I could not think how the men I most honored and admired, my husband among the rest, could constantly justify it, and not only that, but say that it was a blessing to the slave, his master, and his country; and, (even now I say it with a feeling of shame), that the renewal of the slave trade would be a benefit and blessing to all. . ."

Although she might have agreed with the government line of emancipation, she was never going to let the Union Army know it. Every time they took over Winchester, they tried to take her house for headquarters, and she was bitter over the intrusions. Sometimes they succeeded, but sometimes she was able to win the ear of a sympathetic General.

In January of 1863, the Union Army was once more in town (the town was taken 72 times during the conflict), and Cornelia found herself in General Milroy's office, once more asking for Union pickets to protect her home and her children. Clearly irritated, the General told her, "'They [Confederates] leave you unprotected and expect us to take care of you.' 'We would not need your care, if we were allowed to take care of ourselves,' said I. 'It is only from the army you command that we want protection.' He then asked if my husband was not Angus McDonald, and if he had not several sons in the Confederate army [sons from his previous marriage]. I told him yes, and in a loud tone he said, 'There is not a greater rebel in the South.' 'That may be,' said I, 'but he is fighting for what he considers the right, General Milroy.' After a pause he said, 'There is a gentleman in my command [a Capt. McDonald] who is a relative of your husband I believe. We have been in Hampshire County where he once lived, and have heard all about him. There is not a greater rebel in the south.' A tall red faced man had risen as he spoke and I, not replying to the last part of his remarks asked, looking at the man, 'Where is Capt. McDonald from?' 'From Indiana,' was the answer.

"'Oh, no!' I said, 'he can be no relative of ours, for we never had any in Indiana, besides my husband had only one brother, and they were children of Maj. McDonald of the U.S. army who lost his life in active service during the war of 1812. He was the only son of his father who fled from Scotland after the rebellion of 1745, the last effort in the cause of the Pretender. So you see, Gen. Milroy,' I said turning to him, 'rebellion, if it is rebellion, is in the blood of the race.' 'Ah,' said he with an interested look, 'my ancestors came from Scotland, too, at the same time, and for the same reason.' 'Then,' said I, 'have you no sympathy for us, our ancestors having suffered in the same cause.'

"'He turned away without replying, and said to Capt. McDonald, 'Go with her and see what can be done.'"

The McDonald family got their protection.

But by May 22 Cornelia was compelled to write, "To day I received another intimation that my house would be wanted for a regimental hospital. I feel a sickening despair when I think of what will be my condition if they do take it. Where can I go what can I do without home or shelter, and no means to buy it if it could be had? The children, some of them are sick, and how can I leave poor old Aunt Winnie?

"I have had so many startling visits, and been so often summoned to surrender the house, and so often intruded upon by rude men, that if I hear a step on the porch my heart palpitates and flutters in a way to frighten me. It is often long before I can quiet its beatings. I am growing thin and emaciated from anxiety and deprivation of proper food and am weak; and now have become faint-hearted. So I fear if they make many more demands I must give up and leave all, for I do not think I can much longer continue the struggle."

The decision to refugee was often the most painful aspect of a woman's life. The October before, her husband wrote to tell her to leave with the children for Richmond. But Cornelia couldn't bring herself to go. Leaving prevented a place of home-coming for the war-weary soldier, made communication difficult, opened the doors to bushwhackers and vandals, or provided the Union Army with the possibility of taking over your home... for good. Above all, it was seen as a failure to persevere and protect at all cost. As a result, refugees were not always looked upon with kindness.

In 1862, some young ladies of Cornelia's acquaintance had come to stay with the McDonalds. They'd been boarding with refugees in Lynchburg for a while and said the town was not disposed to be kind to the migrant population. In fact, at church one Sunday, the pastor rose and asked the "visitors" to find seats in the upper gallery, so the regular congregants could have their usual pews. They retired to the upper seats, but then came the hymn. The last lines of the first stanza read, "Haste my soul; Oh! haste away To seats prepared above!" The refugees tittered, and the Reverend and congregants grew red-faced. The next Sunday, the greeters told the refugees to sit wherever they liked. The girls told the greeters they preferred "The seats prepared above."

In May of 1863, she seemed ready to give up the home for a Union hospital, but once more the world turned upside down. A battle began near Winchester that flushed the Union out. But then the battle grew closer. Cornelia's house did become a hospital - for Confederate soldiers, and the battle raged around them.

She records, "Ambulances were backed up to let out their loads of wounded, and horses reared frantic with pain from their bleeding wounds... All made an effort to crowd in there and the close atmosphere was almost suffocating... All the while the batteries thundered, and booming of cannon, the screaming of shells (who that has ever heard that scream can ever forget it?), and the balls of light go shooting over our heads, followed by that fearful explosion. All the weary while the children were leaning on my lap."

The Confederates won that battle, but the victory was soon swallowed by the Army's retreat from Winchester. After they left, Cornelia made the fateful decision to leave as well. Harry was by then old enough to assist in the army and seven children went with her as refugees.

While heading south with her children, she wrote of the lot of a fellow refugee: "Miss Ball. . . belonged to a wealthy and highly respectable family of Prince William, and had been employed in one of the Richmond Hospitals to take care of the linen. She had set out to try to get into the Federal lines to take care of her brother, Colonel Ball of the 11th Virginia Cavalry, who had been wounded in one of the battles in the valley. She was to travel in an open wagon seated on a plank by the driver, had three days travel before her, and her only wrapping was a thin shawl, her clothing a calico gown with a cotton petticoat, and not a particle of flannel on her. She had a distressing cough, and I hated to see her drive off in the cold, dark morning, for I felt that she would not reach her journey's end." [p. 220]

In the book, Women in the Civil War, author Mary Elizabeth Massey, writes of war's effect on the hearts of southern women: "For a quarter-century after secession thousands of women felt... that they were "uprooted and floating." (p. 291) They never really ceased being refugees.

Cornelia's wit often came to the rescue when suffering the lot of a refugee. She wrote, "We had many laughs at our privations, and especially at the increasing appetites of our boys, which concerned us much. She [her friend] had six hungry mouths to supply, and I had seven. Our fellow sufferer, Mrs. Dailey, had eight. There being little else but bread for them, of course they had to consume a great deal of that. . . [Mrs. Powell] was bemoaning her fate in being obliged to make her own bread, and especially being obliged to put it to rise in an immense coffee pot &emdash; some cast off of a hotel. With her thin hands clasped in her lap, and her eyes fixed on the floor, she said, 'I would not mind it half so much if I did not have to clean that dreadful old coffee pot.' I burst out laughing at her woe begone face. . . and she joined me." [p. 211]

When the McDonald family reached Amherst Court House, Virginia, Cornelia received a dispatch from Richmond. She discovered her husband had been in a prisoner of war for some time, then released due to illness. As he was unable to travel, she went to him in Richmond right away. "I at first could not believe that wreck was my husband. Worn and emaciated, and with hair snow-white, he was unable to move from his chair... He would not let me leave him for a moment, and his poor sad eyes followed me wherever I went. "

During her ten-day stay, Cornelia and Angus decided to settle the family in Lexington, Virginia. One morning before she was to leave, she found him with his head in his hands. "He raised his head and looked at me with a face full of distress. 'I can get no money for you,' he said. 'They have refused my pay because I an unable to go on duty. What will you do?' he sobbed out in the deepest grief. I wept, too, for him and me and the poor children, for I did not know what I could do. We were homeless as well as penniless."

After selling jewelry and any clothing she could, she'd gathered $65; with that amount, she took the children to Lexington and waited for Angus.

At Lexington, luck finally came her way. The owner of an empty home wished to lease it to someone who could teach his several daughters. In fact, there were other neighbors who wished for a teacher, as well. Cornelia garnered a house and job in one fell swoop.

In December, her husband was finally well enough to come, but she noted he was a changed man, not just physically but mentally. Eventually he went back to army service, but he never overcame the bitterness he felt at what he considered the grave injustice of his held pay.

In May of 1864, Col. McDonald was captured once again. Although ill once more, he was denied medicine. When his situation grew grave, they released him, but again he was too ill to travel. He made it no further than Wheeling. I presume the responsibilities of the school made it impossible for Cornelia to go to him; she relied on his letters to let her know if he was improving.

But months passed, and he was still unable to travel.

In October, she had an odd dream: "...that startled and distressed me greatly. . . . I dreamed that he [my husband] was going to be married, that preparations were going on for the wedding; that I came into a room and saw him sitting alone at a long table covered with a white cloth. On the table, just before him was laid a large green wreath; nothing else was on it."

She decided to go to her husband at Wheeling. It took a few weeks, but she finally came to the door of the home where her husband was recuperating.

Here, she tells us, "Mr. Green met me at the door, and stood rubbing his hands and absently looking at me without saying a word. . . Soon Mrs. Holliday came out of a room, and in her usual unthinking way pointed to an open door and asked me if I would go in there now. I went, and the object I first saw was my husband's corpse, stretched on a white bed with a large green wreath around his head and shoulders, enclosing them as in a frame!. . . Ah, how familiar it looked, that wreath; I had seen it, weeks before; when my body slept, but my spirit was awake." [p. 216]

They survived that last winter knowing the end was coming. Cornelia McDonald wrote, "Groups of murmuring men were all around, and I first began to realize that the patience of the people was worn out; that their long suffering and endurance was to be depended on no longer; that they were beginning to see that it was of no avail to deliver the country from her enemies." [p. 215]

Spring came. Peace.

But those, like Cornelia, that survived the conflict were permanently changed. We may not agree with Cornelia's politics, but no one can help but admire her courage, wit and determination. Her diary remains one of the most eloquent, humble and honest recollections of the conflict, making it worth a read... in any century.