"From outward appearances in Richmond on the Sabbath of the battle of Manassas, no one would have supposed that any even of unusual importance had occurred, or was anticipated.
During the progress of these events the utmost quiet and calmness pervaded the city of Richmond. The news of the great victory was received by the Southern people with no violent manifestations of joy. To a partial observer the Confederate capital might have been considered unmoved by the stirring news. There were no bonfires kindled, no bells rung, no cannon fired, none of the parade which the event might have been expected to call forth; nor the indecent exultation which the low, vulgar and vicious might have indulged in.
The victory had been won by too much that was sorrowful to many of our people, for others, in the forgetfulness of the moment, to shock the tender sensibilities of the mourners by exultation. Many of our bravest and best had thus early fallen; and many a youth in whom were centered the brightest hopes of fond and ambitious friends, was cut down before those hopes had their fulfillment in manhood. Many over whom the crown of early manhood had settled in dignity were consigned to the grave of the soldier, and cut off from the life of usefulness to which nature had assigned them.
The Monday succeeding the battle was as different from the preceding day as one day in mid-summer could differ from another. The warm, bright, quiet Sabbath was followed by thunder and lighting and a storm of wind and rain, which fell in such profusion that the wind seemed to drift the torrents in liquid sheets, and twist them in fitful, fantastic eddies, rarely noticeable.
We remember with gratitude the heavy rain of the 22d of July, 1861, and like to regard it as especially sent for the relief of the wounded of the bloody battle of Manassas,--it matters not for what they fought, nor whence they hailed. The suffering and helpless are never enemies."