The Burning of Bedford, Memories of Henrietta Bedinger Lee (44)
Bedford, built in 1799, was the home of home of Daniel Bedinger and Sarah Rutherford. In 1798, Daniel resigned his position in the Customs House at Norfolk, Virginia; he acquired the property where his father had built the first Bedinger home near Shepherdstown. There, Daniel began to build a fine mansion. It was to be called “Bedford”.
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During the Civil War, Bedford was the home of Henrietta Bedinger Lee, Daniel's daughter, and her husband Edmund Jennings Lee. Then on ____,____ Bedford was burned by the order from General David Hunter, of the U. S. Army. The home was not rebuilt. Henrietta and her husband rebuilt the Lee home, Leeland, that had burned many years before, using many of the stones salvaged from the burned rubble of Henrietta's beloved childhood home, Bedford. In November of 1880, the "Bedford" property was sold. Henrietta Bedinger Lee visited the remains of her cherished childhood home and wrote of her final good-bye visit to her ancestral home.
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August 10, 1880 – Henrietta Bedinger Lee, now aged 70 years, widowed and living at her home, Leeland in Shepherdstown, writes:
"Anniversary of my beloved husband’s death. Three years a widow. The first dream I had after his death was short and brief and oh so comforting. He came to me and said, “Come with me and I will show you something beautiful”.
November 6, 1880 – The Lee’s burned out home Bedford is put up for sale. The Lees lived in Leeland, their rebuilt home on the Old Philadelphia Wagon Road, today Route 480. Anxiously Henrietta writes in her diary:
November 6, 1880 - "The sale is not confirmed, so it is still mine. This day, Bedford, the home and birthplace of my dear Father and sisters as well as myself and two brothers, was sold. It has passed away forever from me. I have shed so many tears in the last ten years that I thought the font was dry. But when my boys came from town and told me Bedford was sold the sobs came up and my tears gave way. How I prayed that this portion of the wreck of my poor husband’s property might be kept for me. God alone knoweth. It has not pleased my Father to grant this prayer and I bow submissively and humbly to his will. No tie of earthly goods remains to keep me united to the world. My grasp upon perishable things is loosened and my wearisome journey to the end will be easier, 'Near to thee my God, nearer to thee even though it be a cross that raiseth me.' Thou hast given me the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet thine hand upholdeth me still."
"Anniversary of my beloved husband’s death. Three years a widow. The first dream I had after his death was short and brief and oh so comforting. He came to me and said, “Come with me and I will show you something beautiful”.
November 6, 1880 – The Lee’s burned out home Bedford is put up for sale. The Lees lived in Leeland, their rebuilt home on the Old Philadelphia Wagon Road, today Route 480. Anxiously Henrietta writes in her diary:
November 6, 1880 - "The sale is not confirmed, so it is still mine. This day, Bedford, the home and birthplace of my dear Father and sisters as well as myself and two brothers, was sold. It has passed away forever from me. I have shed so many tears in the last ten years that I thought the font was dry. But when my boys came from town and told me Bedford was sold the sobs came up and my tears gave way. How I prayed that this portion of the wreck of my poor husband’s property might be kept for me. God alone knoweth. It has not pleased my Father to grant this prayer and I bow submissively and humbly to his will. No tie of earthly goods remains to keep me united to the world. My grasp upon perishable things is loosened and my wearisome journey to the end will be easier, 'Near to thee my God, nearer to thee even though it be a cross that raiseth me.' Thou hast given me the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet thine hand upholdeth me still."
November 19, 1880: “'November winds howl idly by' This evening alone and sadly I turned my footsteps to Bedford. Now Bedford no more. The house and name dead. As I walked pensively over its once beautiful, now ruined grounds, I wondered what had been the especial sin of my forefathers that thus it was swept away from the earth with such destruction scarce one stone upon another to tell it had once been a beautiful stately habitation of joy and happiness, my grandfather’s home and my father’s birthplace as well as mine. And my heart asks, “who did sin, this man or his father?” that their home and memory are swept away from the children of men. Alas who can tell? Perhaps they reject the way, the truth, and the life” and this is the end. Ah me! Lovely homes are given us, but ruin and destruction follow the gift. I sat me down upon a part of the old foundation and wept aloud. Not even a bird heard the sobs as they welled up from my desolate heart. I called each dear familiar name of my childhood but none answered. There was neither voice nor sound. I stood in the ruin which was once my angel mother’s room and called blessed name of mother. But the cold gray sky only heard. I put my arms and faded grief worn cheeks upon every tree. My arms encircling the old decaying trunks and my cheek pressed to the bark as furrowed and almost old as the tree, yet my dear father planted them and in childhood I rest under their shade or with active and nimble limbs climbed and sat happily among the branches. Alas childhood! What a brief period. Visitations of dark grief and sorrow have been visited upon me. Such a checkered life that I almost am inclined to doubt I was ever a child. That period is so far away and the flowing shadows of the present so entirely envelope my existence. Oh why is it that we so cling to life. From cradle to grave tears are meted out to us. Has it been so with everyone born on earth? Yes! For all have sinned and sin brings sorrow and death. A beloved house is like a mother’s bosom, go from it afar, yet we can never forget or cease to love and cling to it. Often I wish I was miles and miles away from my scattered and ruined home, but here it is constantly before my eyes, saddened by what it is and what it was. The dear old beech trees where my angel sister Virginia and I played in childish merriment have all gone, dead or dying. My lovely sister’s poem written to unworthy me."
From Virginia to Henrietta, Bedford 1827:
Oft pensive memory wakes,
With all her feeling train,
And silently her way she takes,
O’er childhood’s paths again,
Thine image then she brings to me,
And me thinks thy form I see,
With laughing eye and curls of jet,
Little blooming Henriett;
When thru fields and meadows gay,
Decked with blooming flowers,
Joyously we used to stray,
And spend the rosy hours,
Or beneath the beech trees shade,
Oft in sportive mood we played,
The moss grown rock, it is there yet,
Doth remember Henriett?
Every joy my childhood knew,
Is blended still with thee,
Rapidly the moments flew,
Which brought such bliss to me,
The stream which wandered thro’ the wood.
How oft upon its banks we stood,
I cannot think without regret,,
Of these loved scenes now, Henriett.
But though these joys have passed,
Which gilded life’s bright morn;
Unfading still our love will last,
Its evening to adorn.
When Pain or sickness pales my cheek,
Thy sympathies heart I seek,
Oh do not think I can forget,
Thee, my sister, Henriett.
Through this world you rove,
And many friends you find,
No love is like your sister’s love,
So constant true and kind,
And when this weary life is o’er,
Oh may we meet on yon bright shore,
No more to part when once we’ve met,
My gentle sister Henriett.
Oft pensive memory wakes,
With all her feeling train,
And silently her way she takes,
O’er childhood’s paths again,
Thine image then she brings to me,
And me thinks thy form I see,
With laughing eye and curls of jet,
Little blooming Henriett;
When thru fields and meadows gay,
Decked with blooming flowers,
Joyously we used to stray,
And spend the rosy hours,
Or beneath the beech trees shade,
Oft in sportive mood we played,
The moss grown rock, it is there yet,
Doth remember Henriett?
Every joy my childhood knew,
Is blended still with thee,
Rapidly the moments flew,
Which brought such bliss to me,
The stream which wandered thro’ the wood.
How oft upon its banks we stood,
I cannot think without regret,,
Of these loved scenes now, Henriett.
But though these joys have passed,
Which gilded life’s bright morn;
Unfading still our love will last,
Its evening to adorn.
When Pain or sickness pales my cheek,
Thy sympathies heart I seek,
Oh do not think I can forget,
Thee, my sister, Henriett.
Through this world you rove,
And many friends you find,
No love is like your sister’s love,
So constant true and kind,
And when this weary life is o’er,
Oh may we meet on yon bright shore,
No more to part when once we’ve met,
My gentle sister Henriett.
"Here at dear Bedford or what was once Bedford my angel sister next in age to me, in 1827 wrote this poem. She was the most lovely and highly gifted. And now, for the last time alone I visited her home and mine. What utter ruin and desolation lay around me, Then wearily and heart sick, I bent my way to both springs. It seemed to me that the hand of spite had tried to destroy even the spring, for the spot which was once the dairy an deep refreshing fountain of water, was filled in with huge stones, what was once the doorway was blocked with rocks and rubbish as if it were the design of wicked mischief to utterly and for all time make useless and ruin that beautiful dairy and spring which had so comforted and blest us. A little irresponsible stream was gushing from under the obstruction from which I drank, I wandered to the second and more beautiful spring. How brightly the water sparkled and murmured a perpetual requiem for the memory of my dead home. This spring the hand of violence and mischief could not injure for it gushed from in between two friendly planted rocks. Oh how my young heart in years gone by rejoiced to sit and listen to its singing, drink of the sparkling water so refreshing and grateful. That rushing stream was the only thing unchanged. I stooped and drank of its precious life-giving waters of Lethe to me, and cause entire forgetfulness of the past, “O memory cease nor wake one thought that slumbers in this aching breast.” How cool, how deliciously sweet was the water, the last drop I should ever take from that consecrated spot. I filled my cup, a little drinking cup, my dear little grandson George Rust gave me. And I poured the water out as libation to my once happy home and the joys of my childhood. And why on this chill gray evening with November wind sighing, moaning idly past did I go to this dear and sacred spot. Because in one month more it will be no longer mine. Another will have it in possession, as his, and the one I cannot bear to name as the possessor of my home. Therefore it is mine no longer. My home is gone, swept away by enemies, and now an enemy of my husband’s has purchased it as it is his. As I retraced my sad and long footsteps homeward I knelt upon a cold gray rock the last prayer that shall ever rise to heaven from the spot. Lord they will be done I cried. There is nothing now to hold my heart from thee, or keep me clinging to this world. Make me resigned and satisfied. My life is rapidly drawing to its close and the beloved ones “oh may we meet on your bright shores! No more to part whence once we’ve met.”
Source:
My thanks to Jim Surkamp who generously shared the writing of Henerietta Bedinger(Lee) and the poem of her sister, Virginia Ann Bedinger (Lucas). Additional historical background on lives and times in Jefferson County, West Virginia after the Civil War can be found in Jim Surkamps post, "Thy Will" (27-28) -- War Ends; Tender Sprouts of a New World" at http://civilwarscholars.com/2014/12/thy-will-27-war-ends-george-slow-dudley-pendleton-
My thanks to Jim Surkamp who generously shared the writing of Henerietta Bedinger(Lee) and the poem of her sister, Virginia Ann Bedinger (Lucas). Additional historical background on lives and times in Jefferson County, West Virginia after the Civil War can be found in Jim Surkamps post, "Thy Will" (27-28) -- War Ends; Tender Sprouts of a New World" at http://civilwarscholars.com/2014/12/thy-will-27-war-ends-george-slow-dudley-pendleton-