Ten Years on a Georgia
Plantation
Since the War:
Electronic Edition
Leigh, Frances Butler, 1838-1910
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Library of Congress Subject Headings
- Keywords:
- Georgia -- Social life and customs.
- Women -- Georgia -- Biography.
- Plantation life -- Georgia -- History -- 19th century.
- African Americans -- Georgia -- History -- 19th century.
- Leigh, Frances Butler, 1838-1910.
- Reconstruction (U.S. history, 1865-1877) -- Georgia.
- Women plantation owners -- Georgia -- Biography.
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1998-10-12,
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finished scanning (OCR) and proofing.
TEN YEARS
ON A
GEORGIA PLANTATION
SINCE THE WAR
BY
FRANCES BUTLER LEIGH
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY& SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1883
All rights reserved
'Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon
these slain, that they may live' -
Ezekiel xxxv, 9
'O
wheresoever these may be
Betwixt
the slumber of the poles
To-day they count as kindred souls'
- In Memoriam
Page v
BROTHERS AGAIN:
SUGGESTED BY DECORATION DAY, 1877.
I.
Great Land! of all thy children 'tis the part
To give themselves to thee, to shelter thee,
To live for thee, and love with their whole heart,
Or die for thy fair fame, if needs must be:
And of thy children, both from South and North,
Some went to battle called in thousands forth
By thy dear voice, and conquered, though they
died;
And some, who heard indeed that solemn call,
But wrongly heard, fell on a vanquished side,
Yet well contented for that side to fall;
Brothers with brothers fought, and in that fight
Let all rejoice who fell, still thinking they were
right.
Page vi
Great Land! of all thy children 'tis the part
To give themselves to thee, to shelter thee,
To live for thee, and love with their whole heart,
Or die for thy fair fame, if needs must be:
And of thy children, both from South and North,
Some went to battle called in thousands forth
By thy dear voice, and conquered, though they died;
And some, who heard indeed that solemn call,
But wrongly heard, fell on a vanquished side,
Yet well contented for that side to fall;
Brothers with brothers fought, and in that fight
Let all rejoice who fell, still thinking they were right.
Page vi
II.
I wandered slowly through a far off-town,
Where the white winter comes not, nor the storm
Lashes with icy scourge fair flowers down
To early graves; where balmy winds disarm
The wrathful tempest's rage; and as I went,
Sudden I came upon a monument.
Inscribed was this: To the Confederate Dead:
And underneath, the period of the strife, -
Those four dire years that dashed away the life,
The life of priceless thousands, and o'erspread
Our land with mourning; - on the other side
Only these words: 'Come from the four winds, O
Breath,
And breathe upon these slain that they may live:'
No bitterness, no anger, naught beside
A sigh of silence, unexpressed, that saith
Of sorrow more than tears could weep, loud grief
could give.
III.
Then the whole story of the war, methought,
Passed in its dreary length from first to last,
By those great words into my memory brought,
Summoned from out the pages of the past.
An April dawn, near ninety years before,
Had seen a horseman in the shadowy night
Page vii
Flit through New England's towns announcing war,
Calling the stout old patriots out to fight: -
An April dawn saw that first crashing shell
Rush through the startled air, and thundering
burst
On Sumter's head; and as it shattering fell,
The herald sound shrieked discord. This the last
Alarm of strife, and then in dark array
Battle on battle followed, fray on fray:
Name after name, in stern succession falling,
Bears with it countless tales of blood and woe;
What countless others, mournful, sad, appalling,
Must silent rest, with voices silent too!
What multitudes of heroes now are resting
Unknown beneath the sod where first they fell!
And slander's tongue their name has ceased molesting, -
Has let them lie untroubled where they fell;
While through the country each name with it bears
A memory of triumph or of tears.
Sadly to hearts bereaved they now must sound,
Beginning with themselves a life-long grief,
Recalling as each separate year comes round
Some sorrow borne alone beyond relief.
See quiet Williamsburg, where swaying shade
O'erspreads the tree-girt college; fire and blood
In all their ghastly shapes her halls invade,
While flames resistless scar the scorching wood.
High soars the blaze, nor deigns on earth to tread,
Page viii
But flies remorseless o'er the silent dead.
Above that fitful glare the leaden sky
Grows lurid at the sight of agony,
Till darker ever as the cloud descends
Heaven pours the flood; and night the horror ends.
Then followed seasons when the deadly heat
Fell in its fury on the parching earth,
And on the springing crops resistless beat,
Bearing a time of drought, a time of dearth:
Then gloomy Autumn, dismal with its rains,
A weary time, when our fair nation's brow
Was racked with sorrow, while on marshy plains
Still poured her life-blood, still increased her woe;
Huge swamps extended o'er the tedious track,
And rivers rose, and pestilence was shed
On saddened ranks, and as report came back
Of some new fight, of some new hero dead,
Our land was forced to weep upon the graves
Of sons unnatural, of erring braves.
Still the grim trump of war, whose thrilling blast
Shaketh the battlements of peace, whose shock
Has made our country reel, its summons cast
Forth to the skies, and to the battle smoke
Marshalled both young and old, and wider through
Both North and South the desolation grew.
Up to the Northern gates the contest surges,
And three long days at Gettysburg runs high:
Out went both young and old; the funeral dirges
Blend with the glorious chant of victory.
Page ix
Three fearful days beneath the burning sun!
What hopes soared up, and fell, ere they were done!
And when the twilight bless'd came gently creeping,
For the third time over that bloody scene,
Where their last slumber gallant forms were sleeping
On hills that once, alas! were fair and green -
When in that night of stillness, sad, serene,
Fond mothers sought their voiceless sons with
weeping,
And sounds of nature sang a solemn song
Through the deep woods, and rushing brooks
along -
Then was the land in the abysm of war,
Yet still, how long a time ere it was o'er!
IV.
Here the grim picture on my sight
Crowded too swift to see each fight,
But in the darkness of the night,
The Wilderness I saw;
And fighting forms and charging lines -
Or in the dusk the beacon signs
As through the wood the watch-fire shines,
And skulking foes withdraw: -
Swift and more swift the pageant moves,
Now climbing hills, and now in groves,
Page x
Now on some blasted heath,
While still the lurid smoke and glare
Cover the sky and choke the air,
Leaving their work beneath;
For all along that weary way
The dead and dying scattered lay.
And so proceeding to the close,
They fight, and fall, and die,
Until no more the watch-fire glows,
Nor swells the battle cry:
'Tis done; - the dead are now at rest
Upon their country's rugged breast.
V.
The wild bird builds her nest in branches tall,
Amid the sheltering foliage of the tree
Whose life was shattered by the deadly ball
That crashed its green boughs once so ruthlessly:
The wild bird sings his carol o'er the graves
Of many fallen heroes where the grass
Has grown, or where the ceaseless murmuring
waves
The site of some past conflict scarce can trace:
If Nature thus, with all her healing arts,
Hath striven to smooth the furrows from the breast
Of our dear land, should we not do our best
To smooth all furrows from our wounded hearts?
Then let us pray that as the sun and showers
Page xi
Have charmed with their soft spell the dreary
scenes,
Till scarce they know themselves through all the
flowers
Strewn in their brakes and on their sloping greens,
So we may let the showers of Lethe flow
Upon the memory of that time of woe.
VI.
Shade-wrapped Savannah! By thy monument
A lesson hath been taught to great and small,
O may thy prayers be heard, its answer sent,
Granted by Heaven's grace unto us all!
And when th' Eternal breath shall come at last,
Breathing upon the land and summoning
From all the battle-field an army vast,
And by its power from every region bring
Both young and old, from every sepulchre
On mountain side, by stream and forest brake,
And shall along the moaning ocean stir,
Causing our dead from their long sleep to wake -
The soldiers shall arise, mingled in death,
And come together to the throne all bright,
Each to be judged according to his light,
Made perfect by that Great All-healing Breath;
No strife, no rancour, nothing bitter then,
But they shall join their hands Brothers again.
O. W.
Page 1
TEN YEARS
ON
A GEORGIA PLANTATION.
CHAPTER I.
CHAOS.
THE year after the war between the North
and the South, I went to the South with my
father to look after our property in Georgia
and see what could be done with it.
The whole country had of course undergone a complete revolution. The changes that a four years' war must bring about in any country would alone have been enough to give a different aspect to everything; but at the South, besides the changes brought about by the war, our slaves had been freed; the
Page 2
white population was conquered, ruined, and disheartened, unable for the moment to see anything but ruin before as well as behind, too wedded to the fancied prosperity of the old system to believe in any possible success under the new. And even had the people desired to begin at once to rebuild their fortunes, it would have been in most cases impossible, for in many families the young men had perished in the war, and the old men, if not too old for the labour and effort it required to set the machinery of peace going again, were beggared, and had not even money enough to buy food for themselves and their families, let alone their negroes, to whom they now had to pay wages as well as feed them.
Besides this, the South was still treated as a conquered country. The white people were disfranchised, the local government in the hands of either military men or Northern adventurers, the latter of whom, with no desire to promote either the good of the
Page 3
country or people, but only to advance their own private ends, encouraged the negroes in all their foolish and extravagant ideas of freedom, set them against their old masters, filled their minds with false hopes, and pandered to their worst passions, in order to secure for themselves some political office which they hoped to obtain through the negro vote.
Into this state of things we came from the North, and I was often asked at the time, and have been since, to write some account of my own personal experience of the condition of the South immediately after the war, and during the following five years. But I never felt inclined to do so until now, when, in reading over a quantity of old letters written at the time, I find so much in them that is interesting, illustrative of the times and people, that I have determined to copy some of my accounts and descriptions, which may interest some persons now, and my children hereafter. Soon everything will be
Page 4
so changed, and the old traits of the negro slave have so entirely vanished, as to make stories about them sound like tales of a lost race; and also because even now, so little is really known of the state of things politically at the South.
The accounts which have been written from time to time have been written either by travellers, who with every desire to get at the truth, could but see things superficially, or by persons whose feelings were too strong either on one side or the other to be perfectly just in their representations. I copy my impressions of things as they struck me then, although in many cases later events proved how false these impressions were, and how often mistaken I was in the opinions I formed. Indeed, we very often found ourselves taking entirely opposite views of things from day to day, which will explain apparent inconsistencies and contradictions in my statements; but the new and unsettled condition of everything could not fail to produce
Page 5
this result, as well as the excited state we were all in.
I mention many rumours that reached us, which at the time we believed to be true, and which sometimes turned out to be so, but as often, not, as well as the things I know to be facts from my own personal experience, for rumours and exaggerations of all kinds made in a great measure the interest and excitement of our lives, although the reality was strange and painful enough.
On March 22, 1866, my father and myself left the North. The Southern railroads were many of them destroyed for miles, not having been rebuilt since the war, and it was very questionable how we were to get as far as Savannah, a matter we did accomplish however, in a week's time, after the following adventures, of which I find an account in my letters written at the time. We stopped one day in Washington, and went all over the new Capitol, which had been finished since I was there five years ago.
Page 6
On Saturday we left, reaching Richmond at four o'clock on Sunday morning. I notice that it is a peculiarity of Southern railroads that they always either arrive, or start, at four o'clock in the morning. That day we spent quietly there, and sad enough it was, for besides all the associations with the place which crowded thick and fast upon one's memory, half the town was a heap of burnt ruins, showing how heavily the desolation of war had fallen upon it. And in the afternoon I went out to the cemetery, and after some search found the grave I was looking for. There he lay, with hundreds of others who had sacrificed their lives in vain, their resting place marked merely by small wooden headboards, bearing their names, regiments, and the battles in which they fell. The grief and excitement made me quite ill, so that I was glad to leave the town before daylight the next morning, and I hope I may never be there again.
We travelled all that day in the train,
Page 7
reaching Greensborough that night at eight o'clock. Not having been able to get any information about our route further on, we thought it best to stop where we were until we did find out. This difficulty was one that met us at every fresh stopping place along the whole journey; no one could tell us whether the road ahead were open or not, and, if open, whether there were any means of getting over it. So we crawled on, dreading at each fresh stage to find ourselves stranded in the middle of the pine woods, with no means of progressing further.
That night in Greensborough is one never to be forgotten. The hotel was a miserable tumble-down old frame house, and the room we were shown into more fit for a stable than a human habitation; a dirty bare floor, the panes more than half broken out of the windows, with two ragged, dirty calico curtains over them that waved and blew about in the wind. The furniture consisted of a bed, the clothes of which looked as if
Page 8
they had not been changed since the war, but had been slept in, in the meanwhile, constantly, two rickety old chairs, and a table with three legs. The bed being entirely out of the question, and I very tired, I took my bundle of shawls, put them under my head against the wall, tilted my chair back, and prepared to go to sleep if I could. I was just dozing off when I heard my maid, whom I had kept in the room for protection, give a start and exclamation which roused me. I asked her what was the matter, to which she replied, a huge rat had just run across the floor. This woke me quite up, and we spent the rest of the night shivering and shaking with the cold, and knocking on the floor with our umbrellas to frighten away the rats, which from time to time came out to look at us.
At four in the morning my father came for us, and we started for the train, driving two miles in an old army ambulance. From that time until eight in the evening we did not leave the cars, and then only left them to
Page 9
get into an old broken-down stage coach, which was originally intended to hold six people, but into which on this occasion they put nine, and, thus cramped and crowded, we drove for five hours over as rough a road as can well be imagined, reaching Columbia at three o'clock A.M., by which time I could hardly move. Our next train started at six, but I was so stiff and exhausted that I begged my father to wait over one day to rest, to which he consented. At this place we struck General Sherman's track, and here the ruin and desolation was complete. Hardly any of the town remained; street after street was merely one long line of blackened ruins, which showed from their size and beautifully laid-out gardens, how handsome some of the houses had been. It was too horrible!
On Thursday, at six A.M., we again set off, going about thirty miles in a cattle van which brought us to the Columbia River, the bridge over which Sherman had destroyed. This we crossed on a pontoon bridge, after
Page 10
which we walked a mile, sat two hours in the woods, and were then picked up by a rickety old car which was backed down to where we were, and where the rails began again, having been torn up behind us. In this, at the rate of about five miles an hour, we travelled until four in the afternoon, when we were again deposited in the woods, the line this time being torn up in front of us. Here, after another wait, we were packed into a rough army waggon, with loose boards put across for seats, and in which we were jolted and banged about over a road composed entirely of ruts and roots for four more hours, until I thought I should not have a whole bone left in my body.
It was a lovely evening however, and the moon rose full and clear. The air, delicious and balmy, was filled with the resinous scent of the pine and perfume of yellow jessamine, and we were a very jolly party, four gentlemen, with ourselves, making up our number, so I thought it good fun on the whole. In fact,
Page 11
rough as the journey was, I rather enjoyed it all; it was so new a chapter in my book of travels.
Between nine and ten in the evening we arrived at a log cabin, where, until three A.M. we sat on the floor round a huge wood fire. The train then arrived and we started again, and did not stop for twenty-four hours; at least, when I say did not stop, I mean, did not leave the cars, for we really seemed to do little else but stop every few minutes. This brought us, at three A.M., to Augusta, where we were allowed to go to bed for three hours, starting again at six and travelling all day, until at seven in the evening we at last reached Savannah. Fortunately we started from the North with a large basket of provisions, that being our only luggage, the trunks having been sent by sea; and had it not been for this, I think we certainly should have starved, as we were not able to get anything to eat on the road, except at Columbia and Augusta.
Page 12
The morning after our arrival in Savannah, my father came into my room to say he was off to the plantation at once, having seen some gentlemen the evening before, who told him if he wished to do anything at all in the way of planting this season, that he must not lose an hour, as it was very doubtful even now if a crop could be got in. So off he went, promising to return as soon as possible, and report what state of things he found on the island. I consoled myself by going off to church to hear Bishop Elliot, who preached one of the most beautiful sermons I ever heard, on the Resurrection, the one thought that can bring hope and comfort to these poor heart-broken people. There was hardly anyone at church out of deep mourning, and it was piteous to see so many mere girls' faces, shaded by deep crape veils and widows' caps.
I can hardly give a true idea of how crushed and sad the people are. You hear no bitterness towards the North; they are too
Page 13
sad to be bitter; their grief is overwhelming. Nothing can make any difference to them now; the women live in the past, and the men only in the daily present, trying, in a listless sort of way, to repair their ruined fortunes. They are like so many foreigners, whose only interest in the country is their own individual business. Politics are never mentioned, and they know and care less about what is going on in Washington than in London. They received us with open arms, my room was filled with flowers, and crowds of people called upon me every day, and overwhelmed me with thanks for what I did for their soldiers during the war, which really did amount to but very little. I say this, and the answer invariably is, 'Oh yes, but your heart was with us,' which it certainly was.
We had, before leaving the North, received two letters from Georgia, one from an agent of the Freedmen's Bureau, and the other from one of our neighbours, both
Page 14
stating very much the same thing, which was that our former slaves had all returned to the island and were willing and ready to work for us, but refused to engage themselves to anyone else, even to their liberators, the Yankees; but that they were very badly off; short of provisions, and would starve if something were not done for them at once, and, unless my father came directly (so wrote the agent of the Freedmen's Bureau), the negroes would be removed and made to work elsewhere.
On Wednesday, when my father returned, he reported that he had found the negroes all on the place, not only those who were there five years ago, but many who were sold three years before that. Seven had worked their way back from the up country. They received him very affectionately, and made an agreement with him to work for one half the crop, which agreement it remained to be seen if they would keep. Owing to our coming so late, only a small crop could be
Page 15
planted, enough to make seed for another year and clear expenses. I was sorry we could do no more, but too thankful that things were as promising as they were. Most of the finest plantations were lying idle for want of hands to work them, so many of the negroes had died; 17,000 deaths were recorded by the Freedmen's Bureau alone. Many had been taken to the South-west, and others preferred hanging about the towns, making a few dollars now and then, to working regularly on the plantations; so most people found it impossible to get any labourers, but we had as many as we wanted, and nothing could induce our people to go anywhere else. My father also reported that the house was bare, not a bed nor chair left, and that he had been sleeping on the floor, with a piece of wood for a pillow and a few negro blankets for his covering. This I could hardly do, and as he could attend to nothing but the planting, we agreed that he should devote himself to that, while I looked
Page 16
after some furniture. So the day after, armed with five hundred bushels of seed rice, corn, bacon, a straw mattress, and a tub, he started off again for the plantation, leaving me to buy tables and chairs, pots and pans.
We heard that our overseer had removed many of the things to the interior with the negroes for safety on the approach of the Yankees, so I wrote to him about them, waiting to know what he had saved of our old furniture, before buying anything new. This done, I decided to proceed with my household goods to the plantation, arrange things as comfortably as possible, and then return to the North.
I cannot give a better idea of the condition of things I found on the Island than by copying the following letter written at the time.
April 12, 1866.
Dearest S - , I have relapsed into barbarism total! How I do wish you could see me; you would be so disgusted. Well, I
Page 17
know now what the necessaries of life mean, and am surprised to find how few they are, and how many things we consider absolutely necessary which are really luxuries.
When I wrote last I was waiting in Savannah for the arrival of some things the overseer had taken from the Island, which I wished to look over before I made any further purchases for the house. When they came, however, they looked more like the possessions of an Irish emigrant than anything else; the house linen fortunately was in pretty good order, but the rest I fancy had furnished the overseer's house in the country ever since the war; the silver never reappeared. So I began my purchases with twelve common wooden chairs, four washstands, four bedsteads, four large tubs, two bureaux, two large tables and four smaller ones, some china, and one common lounge, my one luxury - and this finished the list.
Thus supplied, my maid and I started last Saturday morning for the Island; halfway
Page 18
down we stuck fast on a sand-bar in the river, where we remained six hours, very hot and devoured by sand-flies, till the tide came in again and floated us off, which pleasant little episode brought us to Darien at 1 A.M. My father was there, however, to meet us with our own boat, and as it was bright moonlight we got off with all our things, and were rowed across to the island by four of our old negroes.
I wish I could give you any idea of the house. The floors were bare, of course, many of the panes were out of the windows, and the plaster in many places was off the walls, while one table and two old chairs constituted the furniture. It was pretty desolate, and my father looked at me in some anxiety to see how it would affect me, and seemed greatly relieved when I burst out laughing. My bed was soon unpacked and made, my tub filled, my basin and pitcher mounted on a barrel, and I settled for the rest of the night.
Page 19
The next morning I and my little German maid, who fortunately takes everything very cheerily, went to work, and together we made things quite comfortable; unpacked our tables and chairs, put up some curtains (made out of some white muslin I had brought down for petticoats) edged with pink calico, covered the tables with two bright-coloured covers I found in the trunk of house linen, had the windows mended, hung up my picture of General Lee (which had been sent to me the day before I left Philadelphia) over the mantelpiece, and put my writing things and nicknacks on the table, so that when my father and Mr. J - came in they looked round in perfect astonishment, and quite rewarded me by their praise.
Our kitchen arrangements would amuse you. I have one large pot, one frying-pan, one tin saucepan, and this is all; and yet you would be astonished to see how much our cook accomplishes with these three utensils, and the things don't taste very much alike.
Page 20
Yesterday one of the negroes shot and gave me a magnificent wild turkey, which we roasted on one stick set up between two others before the fire, and capital it was. The broiling is done on two old pieces of iron laid over the ashes. Our food consists of corn and rice bread, rice, and fish caught fresh every morning out of the river, oysters, turtle soup, and occasionally a wild turkey or duck. Other meat, as yet, it is impossible to get.
Is it not all strange and funny? I feel like Robinson Crusoe with three hundred men Fridays. Then my desert really blooms like the rose. On the acre of ground enclosed about the house are a superb magnolia tree, covered with its queenly flowers, roses running wild in every direction; orange, fig, and peach trees now in blossom, give promise of fruit later on, while every tree and bush is alive with red-birds, mocking-birds, blackbirds, and jays, so as I sit on the piazza the air comes to me laden with sweet smells and sweet sounds of all descriptions.
Page 21
There are some drawbacks; fleas, sandflies, and mosquitoes remind us that we are not quite in Heaven, and I agree with my laundry woman, Phillis, who upon my maid's remonstrating with her for taking all day to wash a few towels, replied, 'Dat's true, Miss Louisa, but de fleas jist have no principle, and day bites me so all de time, I jist have to stop to scratch.'
The negroes seem perfectly happy at getting back to the old place and having us there, and I have been deeply touched by many instances of devotion on their part. On Sunday morning, after their church, having nothing to do, they all came to see me, and I must have shaken hands with nearly four hundred. They were full of their troubles and sufferings up the country during the war, and the invariable winding up was, 'Tank the Lord, missus, we's back, and sees you and massa again.' I said to about twenty strong men, 'Well, you know you are free and your own masters now,' when they broke out
Page 22
with, 'No, missus, we belong to you; we be yours as long as we lib.'
Nearly all who have lived through the terrible suffering of these past four years have come back, as well as many of those who were sold seven years ago. Their good character was so well known throughout the State that people were very anxious to hire them and induce them to remain in the 'up country,' and told them all sorts of stories to keep them, among others that my father was dead, but all in vain. One old man said, 'If massa be dead den, I'll go back to the old place and mourn for him.' So they not only refused good wages, but in many cases spent all they had to get back, a fact that speaks louder than words as to their feeling for their old master and former treatment.
Our overseer, who was responsible for all our property, has little or nothing to give us back, while everything that was left in charge of the negroes has been taken care of and given back to us without the hope or wish of
Page 23
reward. One old man has guarded the stock so well from both Southern and Northern marauders, that he has now ninety odd sheep and thirty cows under his care. Unfortunately they are on a pine tract some twelve miles away up the river, and as we have no means of transporting them we cannot get them until next year.
One old couple came up yesterday from St. Simon's, Uncle John and Mum Peggy, with five dollars in silver half-dollars tied up in a bag, which they said a Yankee captain had given them the second year of the war for some chickens, and this money these two old people had kept through all their want and suffering for three years because it had been paid for fowls belonging to us. I wonder whether white servants would be so faithful or honest! My father was much moved at this act of faithfulness, and intends to have something made out of the silver to commemorate the event, having returned them the same amount in other money.
Page 24
One of the great difficulties of this new state of things is, what is to be done with the old people who are too old, and the children who are too young, to work? One Northern General said to a planter, in answer to this question, 'Well, I suppose they must die,' which, indeed, seems the only thing for them to do. To-day Mr. J - tells me my father has agreed to support the children for three years, and the old people till they die, that is, feed and clothe them. Fortunately, as we have some property at the North we are able to do this, but most of the planters are utterly ruined and have no money to buy food for their own families, so on their plantations I do not see what else is to become of the negroes who cannot work except to die.
Yours affectionately,
F. -
desire and intention to work for us, but their
idea of work, unaided by the stern law of
necessity, is very vague, some of them working
only half a day and some even less. I
don't think one does a really honest full day's
work, and so of course not half the necessary
amount is done and I am afraid never will
be again, and so our properties will soon be
utterly worthless, for no crop can be raised
by such labour as this, and no negro will
work if he can help it, and is quite satisfied
just to scrape along doing an odd job here
and there to earn money enough to buy a
little food.
1 They are affectionate and
often
trustworthy and honest, but so hopelessly
lazy as to be almost worthless as labourers.
My father was quite encouraged at first,
the people seemed so willing to work and
said so much about their intention of doing
so; but not many days after they started he
came in quite disheartened, saying that half
the hands had left the fields at one o'clock
and the rest by three o'clock, and this just at
our busiest time. Half a day's work will
keep them from starving, but won't raise a
crop. Our contract with them is for half
the crop; that is, one half to be divided
among them, according to each man's rate of
work, we letting them have in the meantime
necessary food, clothing, and money for their
present wants (as they have not a penny)
which is to be deducted from whatever is due
to them at the end of the year.
This we found the best arrangement to
make with them, for if we paid them wages,
the first five dollars they made would have
seemed like so large a sum to them, that they
would have imagined their fortunes made
and refused to work any more. But even this
arrangement had its objections, for they told
us, when they missed working two or three
days a week, that they were losers by it as
well as ourselves, half the crop being theirs.
But they could not see that this sort of work
would not raise any crop at all, and that such
should be the result was quite beyond their
comprehension. They were quite convinced
that if six days' work would raise a whole
crop, three days' work would raise half a one,
with which they as partners were satisfied,
and so it seemed as if we should have to be
too.
The rice plantation becoming unhealthy
early in May, we removed to St. Simon's, a
sea island on the coast, about fifteen miles
from Butler's Island, where the famous Sea
Island cotton had formerly been raised.
This place had been twice in possession of
the Northern troops during the war, and the
negroes had consequently been brought under
the influence of Northerners, some of whom
had filled the poor people's minds with all
sorts of vain hopes and ideas, among others
that their former masters would not be
allowed to return, and the land was theirs, a
thing many of them believed, and they had
planted both corn and cotton to a considerable
extent. To disabuse their minds of
this notion my father determined to put in a
few acres of cotton, although the lateness of
the season and work at Butler's Island prevented
planting of any extent being done this
season.
Our departure from one place and arrival
at another was very characteristic. The house
on St. Simon's being entirely stripped of
furniture, we had to take our scanty provision
of household goods down with us from
Butler's Island by raft, our only means of
transportation. Having learned from the
negroes that the tide turned at six A.M., and
to reach St. Simon's that day it would be
necessary to start on the first of the ebb, we
went to bed the night before, all agreeing to
get up at four the next morning, so as to
have our beds&c. on board and ready to
start by six. By five, Mr. J - , my maid,
and I were ready and our things on board,
but nothing would induce my father to get
up until eight o'clock, when he appeared on
the wharf in his dressing-gown, clapped his
hands to his head, exclaiming, 'My gracious!
that flat should be off; just look at the tide,'
which indeed had then been running down
two good hours. Without a word I had his
bedroom furniture put on, and ordered the
men to push off, which they did just as my
father reappeared, calling out that half his
things had been left behind, a remark which
was fortunately useless as far as the flat was
concerned, as it was rapidly disappearing on
the swift current down the river.
At three o'clock we started in a large six-oared
boat, with all the things forgotten in
the morning piled in. The day was cloudless,
the air soft and balmy; the wild semi-tropical
vegetation that edged the river on both sides
beautiful beyond description; the tender
new spring green of the deciduous trees
and shrubs, mingling with the dark green of
the evergreen cypress, magnolia, and bay, all
wreathed and bound together with the yellow
jessamine and fringed with the soft delicate
grey moss which floated from every branch and
twig. Not a sound broke the stillness but the dip
of our oars in the water, accompanied by the wild
minor chant of the negro boatmen, who sang
nearly the whole way down, keeping time with the
stroke of the oar.
Half-way down we passed the unfortunate raft
stuck in the mud, caught by the turning tide. Unable
to help it, we left it to wait the return of the ebb,
not however without painful reflections, as we had
had no dinner before starting, and our cook with
his frying pan and saucepan, was perched on a bag
of rice on the raft.
Shortly after five o'clock we reached St.
Simon's, and found the house a fair-sized
comfortable building, with a wide piazza running
all round it, but without so much as a stool or
bench in it. So, hungry and tired, we
sat down on the floor, to await the arrival of the
things. Night came on, but we had no candles,
and so sat on in darkness till after ten o'clock,
when the raft arrived with almost
everything soaked through, the result of a heavy
thunder shower which had come on while it was
stuck fast. This I confess was more than I could
bear, and I burst out crying. A little cold meat and
some bread consoled me somewhat, and finding the
blankets had fortunately escaped the wetting,
we spread these on the floor over the wet
mattresses, and, all dressed, slowly and sadly
laid us down to sleep.
The next morning the sun was shining as it only
can shine in a southern sky, and the birds were
singing as they only can sing in such sunlight. The
soft sea air blew in at the window, mingled with the
aromatic fragrance of the pines, and I forgot all my
miseries, and was enchanted and happy. After
breakfast, which was a repetition of last night's
supper, with the addition of milk-less tea, I set
about seeing how the house could be made
comfortable. There were four good-sized rooms
down and two upstairs, with a hall ten feet wide
running through the
house, and a wide verandah shut in from the
sun by Venetian shades running round it;
the kitchen, with the servants' quarters, was
as usual detached. A nice enough house,
capable of being made both pretty and
comfortable, which in time I hope to do.
My father spent the time in talking to the
negroes, of whom there were about fifty on
the place, making arrangements with them
for work, more to establish his right to the
place than from any real good we expect to
do this year. We found them in a very
different frame of mind from the negroes on
Butler's Island, who having been removed
the first year of the war, had never been
brought into contact with either army, and
remained the same demonstrative and noisy
childish people they had always been. The
negroes on St. Simon's had always been the
most intelligent, having belonged to an older
estate, and a picked lot, but besides, they
had tasted of the tree of knowledge. They
were perfectly respectful, but quiet, and
evidently disappointed to find they were not
the masters of the soil and that their new
friends the Yankees had deceived them.
Many of them had planted a considerable
quantity of corn and cotton, and this my
father told them they might have, but that
they must put in twenty acres for him, for
which he would give them food and clothing,
and another year, when he hoped to put in
several hundred acres, they should share the
crop. They consented without any show of
either pleasure or the reverse, and went to
work almost immediately under the old negro
foreman or driver, who had managed the
place before the war.
They still showed that they had confidence
in my father, for when a miserable
creature, an agent of the Freedmen's Bureau,
who was our ruler then, and regulated all
our contracts with our negroes, told them
that they would be fools to believe that my
father would really let them have all the
crops they had planted before he came, and
they would see that he would claim at least
half, they replied, 'No, sir, our master is a
just man; he has never lied to us, and we
believe him.' Rather taken aback by this,
he turned to an old driver who was the
principal person present, and said, 'Why,
Bram, how can you care so much for your
master - he sold you a few years ago?' 'Yes,
sir,' replied the old man, 'he sold me and I
was very unhappy, but he came to me and
said, "Bram, I am in great trouble; I have no
money and I have to sell some of the people,
but I know where you are all going to, and
will buy you back again as soon as I can."
'And, sir, he told me, Juba, my old wife, must
go with me, for though she was not strong,
and the gentleman who bought me would not
buy her, master said he could not let man
and wife be separated; and so, sir, I said,
"Master, if you will keep me I will work for
you as long as I live, but if you in trouble
and it help you to sell me, sell me, master, I
am willing."'And now that we free, I come
back to my old home and my old master,
and stay here till I die." ' This story the
agent told a Northern friend of ours in utter
astonishment.
To show what perfect confidence my
father had on his side in his old slaves, the
day after starting the work here, he returned
to Butler's Island, leaving me and my maid
entirely alone, with no white person within
eight miles of us, and in a house on no door
of which was there more than a latch, and
neither then nor afterwards, when I was alone
on the plantation with the negroes for weeks
at a time, had I the slightest feeling of fear,
except one night, when I had a fright which
made me quite ill for two days, although it
turned out to be a most absurd cause of
terror. The quiet and solitude of the plantation
was absolute, and at night there was not
a movement, the negro settlement being two
miles away from the house.
I was awaked one night about two o'clock
by a noise at the river landing, which was not
the eighth of a mile from the house, and on
listening, heard talking, shouting. and apparently
struggling. I got up and called my little
German maid, who after listening a moment
said, 'It is a fight, and I think the men are
drunk.' Knowing that it could not be our
own men, I made up my mind that a party
of strange and drunken negroes were trying
to land, and that my people were trying to
prevent them. Knowing how few my people
were, I felt for one moment utterly terrified
and helpless, as indeed I was. Then I took
two small pistols my father had left with me,
and putting them full cock, and followed by
my maid, who I must say was wonderfully
brave, I proceeded out of the house to the
nearest hut, where my man servant lived. I
was a little reassured to hear his voice in
answer when I called, and I sent him down
to the river to see what was the matter. It
turned out to be a raft full of mules from
Butler's Island, which I had not expected.
and who objected to being landed, hence the
struggling and shouting. I had been too
terrified to laugh, and suddenly becoming
aware of the two pistols at full cock in my
hands, was then seized with my natural terror
of firearms. So I laid them, full cocked as
they were, in a drawer, where they remained
for several days, until my father came and
uncocked them. This was my only real
fright, although for the next two or three
years we were constantly hearing wild
rumours of intended negro insurrections,
which however, as I never quite believed,
did not frighten me.
I had a pretty hard time of it that first
year, owing to my wretched servants, and to
the scarcity of provisions of all sorts. The
country was absolutely swept; not a chicken,
not an egg was left, and for weeks I lived
on hominy, rice, and fish, with an occasional
bit of venison. The negroes said the Yankees
had eaten up everything, and one old woman
told me they had refused to pay her for the
eggs, but after they had eaten them said
they were addled; but I think the people
generally had not much to complain of.
The only two good servants we had remained
with my father at Butler's Island,
and mine were all raw field hands, to whom
everything was new and strange, and who
were really savages. My white maid, watching
my sable housemaid one morning
through the door, saw her dip my toothbrush
in the tub in which I had just bathed,
and with my small hand-glass in the other
hand, in which she was attentively regarding
the operation, proceed to scrub her teeth
with the brush. It is needless to say I presented
her with that one, and locked my new
one up as soon as I had finished using it.
My cook made all the flour and sugar I
gave him (my own allowance of which was
very small) into sweet cakes, most of which
he ate himself, and when I scolded him,
cried. The young man who was with us,
dying of consumption, was my chief anxiety,
for he was terribly ill, and could not eat the
fare I did, and to get anything else was an
impossibility. I scoured the island one day
in search of chickens, but only succeeded in
getting one old cock, of which my wretched
cook made such a mess that Mr. J - could
not touch it after it was done. I tried my
own hand at cooking, but without much
success, not knowing really how to cook a
potato, besides which the roof of the kitchen
leaked badly, and as we had frequent
showers, I often had to cook, holding up an
umbrella in one hand and stirring with the
other.
I remained on St. Simon's Island until
the end of July, my father coming down
from Butler's Island from Saturday till
Monday every week for rest, which he sorely
needed, for although he had got the negroes
into something like working order, they required
constant personal supervision, which
on the rice fields in midsummer was frightfully
trying, particularly as, after the day's
work was over, he had to row a mile across
the river, and then drive out six miles to the
hut in the pine woods where he slept. The
salt air, quiet, and peace of St. Simon's was
therefore a delightful rest and change, and
he refused to give an order when he came
down, referring all the negroes to me. One
man whom he had put off in this way
several times, revenged himself one day
when my father told him to get a mule cart
ready, by saying, 'Does missus say so?'
which, however, was more fun than impudence.
I will finish my account of this year by
copying a letter written on the spot at the
time.
Hampton Point: July 9, 1866.
Dearest S - , I did
not expect to write
to you again from my desert island. Aber ich
bin als noch hier, rapidly approaching the
pulpy gelatinous state. Three times have I
settled upon a day for leaving, and three
times have I put it off; the truth is, I am
very busy, very useful, and very happy.
Then I am anxious about leaving my father,
for fear the unusual exposure to this Southern
sun may make him ill; and with no doctor,
no nurse, no medicine, and no proper food
nearer than Savannah, it would be a serious
thing to be ill here.
I am just learning to be an experienced
cook and doctress, for the negroes come to
me with every sort of complaint to be treated,
and I prescribe for all, pills and poultices
being my favourite remedies. I was rather
nervous about it at first, but have grown
bolder since I find what good results always
follow my doses. Faith certainly has a great
deal to do with it, and that is unbounded on
the part of my patients, who would swallow
a red-hot poker if I ordered it.
The other day an old woman of over
eighty came for a dose, so I prescribed a
small one of castor oil, which pleased her so
much she returned the next day to have it
repeated, and again a third time, on which
I remonstrated and said, 'No, Mum Charlotte,
you are too old to be dosing yourself so.' To
which she replied, 'Den, dear missus, do
give me some for put on outside, for ain't
you me mudder?'
We are living directly on the Point, in the
house formerly occupied by the overseer, a
much pleasanter and prettier situation, I think,
than the Hill House, in which you lived when
you were here. Of course it is all very rough
and overgrown now, but with the pretty water
view across which you look to the wide
stretch of broad green salt marsh, which at
sunset turns the most wonderful gold bronze
colour, and the magnolia, orange, and superb
live oak trees around and near the house,
it might, by a little judicious clearing and
pruning, be made quite lovely, and if I am
here next winter, as I suppose I shall be,
I shall try my hand at a little
landscape-gardening.
The fishing is grand, and we have fresh
fish for breakfast, dinner, and tea. Our fisherman,
one of our old slaves, is a great character,
and quite as enthusiastic about fishing as I
am. I have been out once or twice with
him, but not for deep-sea fishing yet, which
however I hope to do soon, as he brings
in the most magnificent bass, and blue fish
weighing twenty and thirty pounds. The other
day when we were out it began to thunder,
and he said, 'Dere missus, go home. No use
to fish more. De fish mind de voice of de
Lord better den we poor mortals, and when
it sunders dey go right down to de bottom
of de sea.'
I have two little pet bears, the funniest,
jolliest little beasts imaginable. They have no
teeth, being only six weeks old, and have to
be fed on milk, which they will drink out of
a dish if I hold it very quietly, but if I make
the least noise they rush off, get up on their
hind legs, and hiss and spit at me like cats.
One spends his time turning summersets,
and the other lies flat on his back, with his
two little paws over his nose. They are too
delightful.
I have been very fortunate in my weather,
for although the days are terribly hot, there
is always a pleasant sea-breeze, and the
evenings and nights are delightfully cool.
In fact I have suffered much less from the
heat here than I usually do near Philadelphia
in summer. The great trouble is
that I cannot walk at all on account of the
snakes, of which I live in terror. The daytime
is too hot for them, and they take
their walks abroad in the cool of the eveniug.
Last evening I was sauntering up the
road, when about a quarter of a mile from
the house I saw something moving very
slowly across the path. At first I thought
it was a cat, crouching as they do just before
they spring, but in a moment more I saw it
was a huge rattlesnake, as large round as
my arm and quite six feet long. Two little
birds were hovering over him, fluttering lower
and lower every moment, fascinated by his
evil eye and forked tongue which kept darting
in and out. He was much too busy to
notice me, so after looking at him for one
moment I flew back to the house, shrieking
with all my might, 'Pierce! John! Alex!
William!' Hearing my voice they all rushed
out, and, armed with sticks, axes, and spades,
we proceeded to look for the monster, who
however had crawled into the thick bushes
when we had reached the spot, and although
we could hear him rattle violently when we
struck the bushes, the negroes could not see
him, and were afraid to go into the thick
undergrowth after him, so he still lives to
walk abroad, and I - to stay at home.
Mr. James Hamilton Cooper died last
week, and was buried at the little church on
the island here yesterday. The whole thing
was sad in the extreme, and a fit illustration
of this people and country. Three years ago
he was smitten with paralysis, the result of
grief at the loss of his son, loss of his property,
and the ruin of all his hopes and
prospects; since which his life has been one
of great suffering, until a few days ago, when
death released him. Hearing from his son
of his death, and the time fixed for his
funeral, my father and I drove down in the
old mule cart, our only conveyance, nine
miles to the church. Here a most terrible
scene of desolation met us. The steps of the
church were broken down, so we had to walk
up a plank to get in; the roof was fallen in,
so that the sun streamed down on our heads;
while the seats were all cut up and marked
with the names of Northern soldiers, who
had been quartered there during the war.
The graveyard was so overgrown with
weeds and bushes, and tangled with cobweb
like grey moss, that we had difficulty in
making our way through to the freshly dug
grave.
In about half an hour the funeral party
arrived. The coffin was in a cart drawn by
one miserable horse, and was followed by
the Cooper family on foot, having come this
way from the landing, two miles off. From
the cart to the grave the coffin was carried
by four old family negroes, faithful to the
end. Standing there I said to myself, 'Some
day justice will be done, and the Truth shall
be heard above the political din of slander
and lies, and the Northern people shall see
things as they are, and not through the dark
veil of envy, hatred, and malice.' Good-bye.
I sail on the 21st for the North.
Yours affectionately,
Pierce, and a little girl of ten, whom I was
taking South for companionship, I started
again for Georgia on March 10.
Owing to a mistake about my ticket I
took the wrong route, went two hundred
miles out of my way, and found myself one
night, or rather morning at 2 A.M., landed in
Augusta, where I was forced to remain until
six the next morning, and where I had never
been before and did not know anyone even
by name. I felt rather nervous, but picking
out the most respectable-looking man among
my fellow-travellers, I asked him to recommend
me to the best hotel in Augusta, which
he did, and on my arriving at it found to my
great joy that it was kept by Mr. Nickleson,
formerly of the Mills House, Charleston, who
knew who I was perfectly, received me most
courteously, and after giving me first a comfortable
bed, and then a good breakfast, sent
me off the following morning with a nice little
luncheon put up, a most necessary consideration,
for it was impossible to get anything to
eat on the road, and the day before we had
nothing but some biscuits and an orange which we
happened to have brought with us. We reached
Savannah that evening, having been exactly ninety-four
hours on the road, with no longer rest than the
one at Augusta of four hours.
In Savannah I remained a week, and the
following Saturday started for St. Simon's Island,
sticking fast in the mud as usual, and being delayed
in consequence six hours. The K - 's were on board
with us, returning to their home for the first time
since the war, bringing with them all their household
goods and chattels; and a funnier sight than our
disembarkation was never seen, as we looked like
a genuine party of emigrants. The little wharf was
covered with beds, tables, chairs ploughs, pots,
pans, boxes, and trunks, for we also had quantities
of things of all kinds. A mule cart awaited us and
an ox cart them,
into which elegant conveyance we
clambered, surrounded by our beds and pots and
pans,
and solemnly took our departure, each in a
separate direction, for the opposite ends of the
island.
I had not gone far when I met Major D - , a
young Philadelphian, who with his brother had
rented a plantation next ours, and who is the proud
possessor of a horse and waggon, in which he
kindly offered to drive me to Hampton Point, an
offer I very gladly accepted, thereby reaching my
destination sooner than I should otherwise have
done. I thought things would be better this year,
but notwithstanding my Northern luxuries, I found it
much harder to get along. My father, finding it
impossible to manage the rice plantation on Butler's
Island and the cotton one here, gladly agreed to the
Missus D - 's offer to plant on shares, they
undertaking the management here, which allowed
him to devote all his time to the other place. The
consequence is that 'the crop,' being the only thing
thought of, every able-bodied man, woman, and
child is engaged on it, and I find
my household staff reduced to two. I inquired
after my friend Fisherman George,
'oh, he was ploughing,' so I could have no fish,
my cook and his wife have departed altogether,
and my washerwoman and sempstress
'are picking cotton seed,' so Major
D - smilingly informed me, leaving me
Daphne, who is expecting her eleventh
confinement in less than a month, and Alex her
husband, who invariably is taken ill just as he
ought to get dinner, and Pierce, who since his
winter at the North is too fine to do anything
but wait at table. So I cook, and my maid
does the housework, and as it has rained hard
for three days and the kitchen roof is half off,
I cook in the dining-room or parlour. Fortunately,
my provisions are so limited that I have
not much to cook; for five days my food has
consisted of hard pilot biscuits, grits cooked
in different ways, oysters, and twice, as a great
treat, ham and eggs. I brought a box of
preserves from the North with me, but half
of them upset, and the rest were spoilt.
One window is entirely without a sash, so
I have to keep the shutters closed all the time,
and over the other I have pasted three pieces
of paper where panes should be. My bed
stood under a hole in the roof, through which
the rain came, and I think if it rains much
more there will not be a dry spot left in
the house. However, as I would not wait at
the North till the house on Butler's Island
was finished, I have no one to blame for my
present sufferings but myself, and when I get
some servants and food from there, I shall be
better off.
The people seem to me working fairly
well, but Major D - , used only to Northern
labour, is in despair, and says they don't do
more than half a day's work, and that he
has often to go from house to house to drive
them out to work, and then has to sit under
a tree in the field to see they don't run
away.
A Mr. G - from New York has bought
Canon's Point, and is going to the greatest
expense to stock it with mules and farming
implements of all sorts, insisting upon it that
we Southerners don't know how to manage
our own places or negroes, and he will show
us, but I think he will find out his mistake.
1
My father reported the negroes on Butler's
Island as working very well, although requiring
constant supervision. That they should
be working well is a favourable sign of their
improved steadiness, for, as last year's crop
is not yet sold, no division has been possible.
So they have begun a second year, not having
yet been paid for the first, and meanwhile
they are allowed to draw what food, clothing,
and money they want, all of which I fear
will make trouble when the day of settlement
comes, but it is pleasant to see how completely
they trust us.
On both places the work is done on the
old system, by task. We tried working by the
day, indeed I think we were obliged to do so
by the agent of the Freedmen's Bureau, to
whom all our contracts had to be submitted,
but we found it did not answer at all, the
negroes themselves begging to be allowed to
go back to the old task system. One man
indignantly asked Major D - what the use
of being free was, if he had to work harder
than when he was a slave. To which Major D - ,
exasperated by their laziness, replied
that they would find being free meant harder
work than they had ever done before, or
starvation.
In all other ways the work went on just
as it did in the old times. The force, of about
three hundred, was divided into gangs, each
working under a head man - the old negro
drivers, who are now called captains, out of
compliment to the changed times. These men
make a return of the work each night, and it
is very amusing to hear them say, as each
man's name is called, 'He done him work;'
'He done half him task;' or 'Ain't sh'um'
(have not seen him). They often did overwork
when urged, and were of course credited for
the same on the books. To make them do
odd jobs was hopeless, as I found when I got
some hands from Butler's Island, and tried to
make them clear up the grounds about the
house, cut the undergrowth and make a
garden,&c. Unless I stayed on the spot all
the time, the instant I disappeared they
disappeared as well. On one occasion, having
succeeded in getting a couple of cows, I set a
man to churn some butter. After leaving
him for a few moments, I returned to find him
sitting on the floor with the churn between
his legs, turning the handle slowly, about
once a minute. 'Cato,' I exclaimed, 'that
will never do. You must turn just as fast as
ever you can to make butter!' Looking up
very gravely, he replied, 'Missus, in dis
country de butter must be coaxed; der no
good to hurry.' And I generally found that
if I wanted a thing done I first had to tell the
negroes to do it, then show them how, and
finally do it myself. Their way of managing
not to do it was very ingenious, for they
always were perfectly good-tempered, and
received my orders with, 'Dat's so, missus;
just as missus says,' and then always somehow
or other left the thing undone.
The old people were up to all sorts of
tricks to impose upon my charity, and get
some favour out of me. They were far too old
and infirm to work for me, but once let them
get a bit of ground of their own given to them,
and they became quite young and strong
again. One old woman, called Charity, who
represented herself as unable to move, and
entirely dependent on my goodness for food
&c., I found was in the habit of walking
six miles almost every day to take eggs to
Major D - to sell. I was complaining
once to him of my want of provisions, and
said, 'I can't even get eggs; in old times all the
old women had eggs and chickens to sell, but
they none of them seem to have any left.'
'Why,' said he, 'we get eggs regularly from
one of your old women, who walks down
every day or two to us; Charity her name is.'
'Charity! impossible,' I exclaimed; 'she can
hardly crawl round here from her hut.' 'It is
true though, nevertheless,' said he. So the
next time Mistress Charity presented herself,
almost on all fours, and said, 'Do, dear
missus, give me something for eat,' I said,
'No, you old humbug, I won't give you one
thing more. You know how much I want eggs,
and yet you never told me you had any, and
take them off to Major D - to sell, because
you think if I know you have eggs to sell I
won't give you things.' For one moment the
old wretch was taken aback at being found
out, and then her ready negro wit came to
her aid, and she exclaimed with a horrified
and indignant air, 'Me sell eggs to me
dear missus. Neber sell her eggs; gib dem
to her.' I need hardly say she had never
given me one, but after that did sell them to
me.
I spent my birthday at the South, and my
maid telling the people that it was my birthday,
they came up in the evening to 'shout
for me.' A negro must dance and sing, and
as their religion, which is very strict in such
matters, forbids secular dancing, they take it
out in religious exercise, call it 'shouting,'
and explained to me that the difference
between the two was, that in their religious
dancing they did not 'lift the heel.' All day
they were bringing me little presents of honey, eggs,
flowers,&c., and in the evening about fifty of them,
of all sizes and ages and of both sexes, headed by
old Uncle John, the preacher, collected in front of
the house to 'shout.' First they lit two huge fires of
blazing pine logs, around which they began to move
with a slow shuffling step, singing a hymn beginning
'I wants to climb up Jacob's ladder.' Getting
warmed up by degrees, they went faster and faster,
shouting louder and louder, until they looked like a
parcel of mad fiends. The children, finding
themselves kicked over in the general mêlée, formed
a circle on their own account, and went round like
small Catherine wheels.
When, after nearly an hour's performance, I
went down to thank them, and to stop them - for
it was getting dreadful, and I thought some of them
would have fits - I found it no easy matter to do
so, they were so excited. One of them, rushing up
to my father, seized him by the hand, exclaiming,
'Massa, when
your birthday? We must "shout" for you.' 'Oh,
Tony,' said my father, 'my birthday is long
passed.' Upon which the excited Tony turned to
Major D - , who with Mr. G -
Had been dining with us, and said, 'Well den,
Massa Charlie, when yours?' I told him finally it
was Miss Sarah's birthday as well as mine. On
hearing this he turned to the people, saying,
'Children, hear de'y (hear do you), dis Miss
Sarah's birthday too. You must shout so loud Miss
Sarah hear you all de way to de North!' At which
off they went again, harder than ever. Dear old
Uncle John came up to me, and taking my hands in
his, said, 'God bless you, missus, my dear
missus.' My father, who was standing near, put his
arm round the old man's shoulders, and said, 'You
have seen five generations of us now, John, haven't
you?' 'Yes, massa,' said John, 'Miss Sarah's
little boy be de fifth; bless de Lord.' Both Major
D - and Mr. G - spoke of this afterwards, saying
'How fond your father is of the people.' 'Yes,'
said I, 'this is a relationship
you Northern people can't understand,
and will soon destroy.'
I remained on St. Simon's Island this
summer until the end of July, enjoying every
moment of my time. The climate was perfect,
and I had a delightful Southern-bred mare,
on which I used to take long rides every day.
My father had seen her running about the
streets of Darien, and thought her so handsome
he had bought her from the man who
professed to own her. She was afterwards
claimed by a gentleman from Virginia, who
said she was a sister of Planet's, and had been
raised on his brother's plantation. When the
war ended he had gone to Texas, leaving her
with a friend out of whose stable she had
been stolen by a deserter from the 12th Maine
Regiment, who sold her to the man from
whom my father bought her. The story, which
was proved to be quite true, nearly cost me
my mare, who was the dearest and most
intelligent horse I ever had, and who grew to
know me so well that she would follow me
about like a dog, and come from the furthest
end of her pasture when she heard my voice,
but fortunately the owner at last agreed to a
compromise, and I kept my beauty.
Twice a week I rode nine miles to
Frederika, our post town, to get and take our
letters, and often, with a little bundle of clothes
strapped on behind my saddle, I rode down
twelve miles to the south end of the island,
and spent the night with my dear friends the
K - 's, returning the next morning before
the heat of the day. There was a good shell
road the whole twelve miles, and six of it at
least ran through a beautiful wood of pines and
live oak, with an undergrowth of the picturesque
dwarf palmetto and sweet-smelling
bay. In many places the trees met overhead,
through which the sun broke in showers of
gold, lighting up the red trunks of the pines
and soft green underneath, while the grey
moss floated silently overhead like a gossamer
veil, covering the whole. I never met a human
being, nor heard a sound save the notes of
the different birds, and the soft murmur of
the wind through the tall pines, which came
to me laden with their fragrant aroma, mingled
with the sweet salt breeze from the sea.
I have often thought since, that it was
really hardly safe for me to ride about alone,
or indeed live alone, as I did half the week;
but I believe there was less danger in doing
so then, than there would be now. The
serpent had not entered into my paradise.
One day I went on a deer hunt with some
of the gentlemen, quite as much in hopes of
getting some venison as of seeing any real
sport. My diet of ham, eggs, fish, rice,
hominy, to which latterly, endless watermelons
had been added, had become almost
intolerable to me, and I absolutely longed for
animal food. The morning was perfect and I
was very much excited, although I did not
see any deer. They shot one, however, and
generously gave me half. We were to have
gone again, but the weather got warm and
the rattlesnakes came out, so it was not safe.
My neighbours the H - 's were great
sportsmen, and had before the war a famous
pack of hounds, of which a story is told that,
after chasing a deer all one day and across
two rivers, the gentlemen returned home
worn out, and without either deer or hounds.
After waiting for two weeks for the return of
the dogs, they went out to look for them, and
on a neighbouring island found the skeletons
of their hounds, in a circle round the skeleton
of a deer. Fortunately, one or two of this
breed had been left behind, and they were
still hunting with them, and after our first
hunt often sent me presents of venison,
which were most acceptable.
But while my summer was gliding away
in such peace and happiness, things outside
were growing more and more disturbed, and
my father from time to time brought me news
of political disturbances, and a general growing
restlessness among the negroes, which he
feared would end in great trouble and destroy
their usefulness as labourers. Our properties
in such a case would have become worthless.
White labour could be used on these sea
islands, but never on the rice fields, which
if we lost our negro labourers would have
to be abandoned. A letter written at that
time shows how different reports reached and
affected us then, and also the condition our
part of the South was in, the truth of which
never has been known.
St. Simon's Island: June 23, 1867.
Dearest S - , We are,
I am afraid, going
to have terrible trouble by-and-by with
the negroes, and I see nothing but gloomy
prospects for us ahead. The unlimited power
that the war has put into the hands of the
present Government at Washington seems to
have turned the heads of the party now in
office, and they don't know where to stop.
The whole South is settled and quiet, and
the people too ruined and crushed to do anything
against the Government, even if they
felt so inclined, and all are returning to their
former peaceful pursuits, trying to rebuild
their fortunes, and thinking of nothing else.
Yet the treatment we receive from the Government
becomes more and more severe every
day, the last act being to divide the whole
South into five military districts, putting each
under the command of a United States
General, doing away with all civil courts and
law. Even D - , who you know is a
Northern republican, says it is most unjustifiable,
not being in any way authorised by the
existing state of things, which he confesses he
finds very different from what he expected
before he came. If they would frankly say
they intend to keep us down, it would be
fairer than making a presence of readmitting
us to equal rights, and then trumping up
stories of violence to give a show of justice
to treating us as the conquered foes of the
most despotic Government on earth, and by
exciting the negroes to every kind of insolent
lawlessness, to goad the people into acts of
rebellion and resistance.
The other day in Charleston, which is
under the command of that respectable
creature General S - , they had a firemen's
parade, and took the occasion to hoist
a United States flag, to which this modern
Gesler insisted on everyone raising his cap
as he passed underneath. And by a hundred
other such petty tyrannies are the people,
bruised and sore, being roused to desperation;
and had this been done directly after
the war it would have been bad enough, but
it was done the other day, three years after
the close of the war.
The true reason is the desire and intention
of the Government to control the elections
of the South, which under the constitution of
the country they could not legally do. So they
have determined to make an excuse for setting
aside the laws, and in order to accomplish
this more fully, each commander in his
separate district has issued an order declaring
that unless a man can take an oath that he
had not voluntarily borne arms against the
United States Government, nor in any way
aided or abetted the rebellion, he cannot
vote. This simply disqualifies every whited
man at the South from voting, disfranchising
the whole white population, while the negroes
are allowed to vote en masse.
This is particularly unjust, as the question
of negro voting was introduced and passed in
Congress as an amendment to the constitution,
but in order to become a law a majority
of two-thirds of the State Legislatures must
ratify it, and so to them it was submitted,
and rejected by all the Northern States with
two exceptions, where the number of negro
voters would be so small as to be harmless.
Our Legislatures are not allowed to meet, but
this law, which the North has rejected, is to be
forced upon us, whose very heart it pierces
and prosperity it kills. Meanwhile, in order to
prepare the negroes to vote properly, stump
speakers from the North are going all through
the South, holding political meetings for the
negroes saying things like this to them: 'My
friends, you will have your rights, won't you?'
('Yes,' from the negroes.) 'Shall I not go
back to Massachusetts and tell your brothers
there that you are going to ride in the street
cars with white ladies if you please?' ('Yes,
yes,' from the crowd.) 'That if you pay your
money to go to the theatre you will sit where
you please, in the best boxes if you like?'
('Yes,' and applause.) This I copy verbatim
from a speech made at Richmond the other
day, since which there have been two serious
negro riots there, and the General commanding
had to call out the military to suppress them.
These men are making a tour through
the South, speaking in the same way to the
negroes everywhere. Do you wonder we
are frightened? I have been so forcibly
struck lately while reading Baker's 'Travels
in Africa,' and some of Du Chaillu's lectures,
at finding how exactly the same characteristics
show themselves among the negroes there, in
their own native country, where no outside
influences have ever affected them, as with
ours here. Forced to work, they improve and
are useful; left to themselves they become
idle and useless, and never improve. Hard
ethnological facts for the abolitionists to
swallow, but facts nevertheless.
It seems foolish to fill my letter to you
with such matters, but all this comes home to
us with such vital force that it is hard to
write, or speak, or think of anything else,
and the one subject that Southerners discuss
whenever they meet is, 'What is to become
of us?'
Affectionately yours,
the night before he died, giving him extract
of beef-tea every hour. My sister had sent
us down two little jars as an experiment, and
although it did not save poor old Carolina's
life, I am sure it did mine, as it was the only
nourishment I could get in the shape of
animal food after my fever. When Carolina
was buried in the beautiful and picturesque
bit of land set apart for the negro burying-ground
on the island, my father had a tombstone
with the following inscription on it
erected over him.
CAROLINA,
We had engaged a gentleman as overseer
in Savannah, and appointed another our
financial agent for the coming year, and
besides this all my father's affairs were in the
hands of an executor appointed by the Court
to settle his estate, but before anything else
could be done the negroes had to be settled
with for the past two years, and their share
of the crops divided according to the amount
due to each man. My father had given each
negro a little pass-book, in which had been
entered from time to time the food, clothing,
and money which each had received from
him on account. Of these little books there
were over three hundred, which represented
their debits; then there was the large plantation
ledger, in which an account of the work
each man had, or had not, done every day
for nearly two years, had been entered,
which represented their credits. To the
task of balancing these two accounts I set
myself, wishing to feel sure that it was fairly
done, and also because I knew the negroes
would be more satisfied with my settlement.
Night after night, when the days work
was over, I sat up till two and three o'clock in
the morning, going over and over the long
line of figures, and by degrees got them pretty
straight. I might have saved myself the
trouble. Not one negro understood it a bit,
but all were quite convinced they had been
cheated, most of them thinking that each man
was entitled to half the crop. I was so
anxious they should understand and see they
had been fairly dealt with, that I went over
and over again each man's account with him,
and would begin, 'Well, Jack (or Quash, or
Nero, as the case might be), you got on such
a date ten yards of homespun from your
master.' 'Yes, missus, massa gave me dat.'
'Then on such and such a day you had ten
dollars.' 'Yes, missus, dat so.' And so on
to the end of their debits, all of which they
acknowledged as just at once. (I have
thought since they were not clever enough to
conceive the idea of disputing that part of
the business.) When all these items were
named and agreed to, I read the total
amount, and then turned to the work account.
And here the trouble began, every man insisting
upon it that he had not missed one day
in the whole two years, and had done full
work each day. So after endless discussions,
which always ended just where they began, I
paid them the money due to them, which
was always received with the same remark,
'Well, well, work for massa two whole years,
and only get dis much.' Finding that their
faith in my father's justice never wavered, I
repeated and repeated and repeated, 'But I
am paying you from your master's own books
and accounts.' But the answer was always
the same, 'No, no, missus, massa not treat
us so.' Neither, oddly enough, did they seem
to think I wished to cheat them, but that I
was powerless to help matters, one man saying
to me one day, 'You see, missus, a woman
ain't much 'count.' I learnt very soon how
useless all attempts at 'making them sensible'
(as they themselves express it) were, and
after a time, used to pay them their wages
and tell them to be off, without allowing any
of the lengthy arguments and discourses over
their payments they wished to indulge in,
often more, I think, with an idea of asserting
their independence and dignity, than from
any real belief that they were not properly
paid.
Their love for, and belief in my father,
was beyond expression, and made me love
them more than I can say. They never spoke
of him without some touching and affectionate
expression that comforted me far more
than words uttered by educated lips could
have done. One old woman said, 'Missus,
dey tell me dat at de North people have to
pay to get buried. Massa pay no money
here; his own people nurse him, his own
people bury him, and his own people grieve
for him.' Another put some flowers in a
tumbler by the grave; and another basin,
water, and towels, saying, 'If massa's spirit
come, I want him see dat old Nanny not
forget how he call every morning for water
for wash his hands;' and several of them used
the expression in speaking of his death, 'Oh,
missus, our back jest broke.' No wonder I
loved them.
Their religion, although so mixed up
with superstition, was very real, and many
were the words of comfort I got from them.
One day, when I was crying, an old woman
put her arms round me and said, 'Missus,
don't cry; it vex de Lord. I had tirteen
children, and I ain't got one left to put
even a coal in my pipe, and if I did not
trust de Lord Jesus, what would become of
me?'
I am sorry to say, however, that finding
my intention was to alter nothing that my
father had arranged, some of them tried to
take advantage of it, one man assuring me
his master had given him a grove of orange
trees, another several acres of land, and so
on, always embellished with a story of his
own long and useful services, for which 'Massa
say, Boy, I gib you dis for your own.'
Notwithstanding their dissatisfaction at
the settlement, six thousand dollars was paid
out among them, many getting at much as
two or three hundred apiece. The result
was that a number of them left me and
bought land of their own, and at one time
it seemed doubtful if I should have hands
at all left to work. The land they bought,
and paid forty, fifty dollars and even more
for an acre, was either within the town limits,
for which they got no titles, and from which
they were soon turned off, or out in the pine
woods, where the land was so poor they could
not raise a peck of corn to the acre. These
lands were sold to them by a common class
of men, principally small shopkeepers and
Jews (the gentlemen refusing to sell their
land to the negroes, although they occasionally
rented it to them), and most frightfully
cheated the poor people were. But they had
got their land, and were building their little
log cabins on it, fully believing that they
were to live on their property and incomes
the rest of their lives, like gentlemen.
The baneful leaven of politics had begun
working among them, brought to the South by the
lowest set of blackguards who ever undertook the
trade, making patriotism in truth the 'last refuge of
a scoundrel,' as Dr. Johnson facetiously defines it,
and themselves 'factious disturbers of the
Government,' according to his equally pleasant
definition of a patriot. Only in this case they came
accredited from the Government, and the agent of
the Freedmen's Bureau was our master, one
always ready to believe the wildest complaints
from negroes, and to call the whites to account for
the same.
A negro carpenter complained that a
gentleman owed him fifty dollars for work done,
so without further inquiry or any trial, the agent
sent the gentleman word to pay at once, or he
would have him arrested, the sheriff at that time
being one of his own former slaves. My brother-in-law,
who was with me this year, for a short time
was a Northern man and a strong Republican in
his feelings, this being the first visit he had ever
paid to the South. But such a high-handed
proceeding as this astonished him, and he expressed
much indignation at it, and declared he would send an
account of it to a Republican paper in Philadelphia, as
the people at the North had no idea of the real state of
things at the South. He had also expressed himself
surprised and pleased at the courteous reception he
had received, although known to be a Northerner, and
also at the quietness of the country generally. I told
him they would not publish his letter in the Philadelphia
paper, and I was right, they did not.
A rather amusing incident occurred while
he was with me. Having been in quiet
possession of our property on St. Simon's
Island for two years, we were suddenly notified one day, I
never quite knew by whom, and in those days it was
not easy always to know who our lawgivers were,
that St. Simon's Island came under the head of
abandoned property, being occupied by former
owners, who, through contempt of
the Government and President's authority,
had refused to make application for its restoration
under the law. 'Therefore,' so ran the
order, 'such property shall be confiscated
on the first day of January next, unless
before that date the owners present themselves
before the authorities (?), take the
required oath of allegiance to the Government,
and ask for its restoration.' This
nothing would induce me to do, the
whole thing was so preposterous, but
my brother-in-law decided that under the
circumstances it was better to obey. So he, a
strong Republican, who had first voted for
Lincoln and then for Grant, had never been
at the South before in his life, and during the
war had done all in his power to aid and
support the Northern Government, even
gallantly offering his services to his country
when Pennsylvania was threatened by
General Lee before the battle of Gettysburgh,
had to go and take the oath of allegiance
to the United States Government on
behalf of his wife's property, she also having
always sympathised with the Northern cause,
and having been so bitter in her feelings at
first as to refuse to receive a Southerner
her house.
What a farce it was! My brother-in-law
could not help being amused, it was such an
absurd position to find himself in, and he
declared it all came of ever putting his foot
in this miserable Southern country at all, and
he had no doubt the result would be that on
his return to the North he would find all his
Northern property confiscated, and be hung
as a rebel. He soon after left me, and then
my real troubles began. It seemed quite
hopeless ever to get the negroes to settle
down to steady work, and although they
still professed the greatest affection for and
faith in me, it certainly did not show itself
in works. My new agent assured me that
there must be a contract made and signed
with the negroes, binding them for a year, in
order to have any hold upon them at all, and
I am not sure that the Freedmen's Bureau
agent did not require such an agreement to
be drawn up and submitted to him for
approval before having it signed. Whether
they were right or not as regarded the hold
it gave us over the labourers I cannot say.
I think possibly it impressed them a little
more with the sense of their obligations, but
after having two of them run off in spite of
the solemnity of the contract, and having to
pay something like twenty dollars to the
authorities to fetch them back, we didn't
trouble ourselves much about enforcing it
after that. At first the negroes flatly refused
to sign any contract at all, having been
advised by some of their Northern friends
not to do so, as it would put them back to
their former condition of slavery, and my
agents were quite powerless to make them
come to any terms. So I determined to try
what my personal influence would accomplish.
The day before I was to have my interview
with the Butler's Island people, I
received a most cheerful note from Major
D - , saying that he had paid off all the
hands at St. Simon's, who seemed perfectly
satisfied, and were quite willing to contract
again for another year. I felt a little surprised
at this, as it is not the negro's nature
to be satisfied with anything but plenty to
eat and idleness, but was rejoicing over the
news, when I was summoned to the office
to see six of the Hampton Point people who
had just arrived from St. Simon's. There they
were, one and all with exactly the same story
as the people here, reserved for my benefit as
their proper mistress and protector; 'that
they had not received full credit for their
day's work, had been underpaid and overcharged,'
&c.&c. winding up with, 'Missus,
de people wait to see you down dere, and dey
won't sign de contract till you come.' 'But,'
said I, in despair, 'I can't possibly leave here
for a week at least, and the work must
begin there at once, or we shall get in no crop
this year.' But in vain; they merely said,
'We wait, missus, till you come.' 'Very well,'
I said, 'I'll go to-morrow. Only, mind you
are all there, for I must be back here the next
day to have this contract signed.'
The next morning, at a little after seven,
I started for St. Simon's in my small boat,
rowed by my two favourite men, reaching
there about ten, and taking Major D -
utterly by surprise, as he knew nothing of
what had happened. From the way the
negroes spoke the day before, one would
have supposed the mere sight of my face
would have done, but not one signed the
contract without a long argument on the
subject, most of them refusing to sign at all,
though they all assured me they wished to
work for me as long 'as de Lord spared
dem.' I knew, however, too well, that this
simply meant that they were willing to continue
to live on St. Simon's as long as the
Lord spared them, but not to work, so I was
firm, and said, 'No, you must sign or go
away.' So one by one, with groans and
sighs, they put their marks down opposite
to their names, and by five I had them all in.
At nine o'clock, on the first of the flood tide,
I started back, reaching Butler's Island at
midnight, nearly frozen, but found my maid,
who really was everything to me that year,
waiting for me with a blazing fire and hot tea
ready to warm me.
The next morning at ten, I had the big
mill bell rung to summon the people here to
sign the contract, and then my work began
in earnest. For six mortal hours I sat in the
office without once leaving my chair, while
the people poured in and poured out, each
one with long explanations, objections, and
demonstrations. I saw that even those
who came fully intending to sign would have
their say, so after interrupting one man and
having him say gravely, ' 'Top, missus, don't
cut my discourse,' I sat in a state of dogged
patience and let everyone have his talk out,
reading the contract over and over again as
each one asked for it, answering their many
questions and meeting their many objections
as best I could. One wanted this altered
in the contract, and another that. One was
willing to work in the mill but not in the
field. Several would not agree to sign unless
I promised to give them the whole
of Saturday for a holiday. Others, like the
St. Simon's people, would 'work for me till
they died,' but would put their hand to no
paper. And so it went on all day, each one
'making me sensible,' as he called it.
But I was immovable. 'No, they must
sign the contract as it stood.' 'No, I could
not have anyone work without signing.' 'No,
they must work six days and rest on Sunday,'
&c.,&c. Till at last, six o'clock in the
evening came and I closed the books with
sixty-two names down, which was a good
deal of a triumph, as my agent told me he
feared none would sign the contract, they
were so dissatisfied with last year's settlement.
Even old Henry, one of the captains,
and my chief friend and supporter, said in
the morning, 'Missus, I bery sorriful, for half
de people is going to leave.' 'Oh no, they
won't, Henry,' said I. But I thought sixty-two
the first day, good work, though I had
a violent attack of hysterics afterwards, from
fatigue and excitement. Only once did I
lose my temper and self-control, and that was
when one man, after showing decided signs
of insolence, said, 'Well, you sign my paper
first, and then I'll sign yours.' 'No,' I
replied in a rage, 'I'll neither sign yours nor
you mine. Go out of the room and off the
place instantly.' But I soon saw how foolish
I was, for looking up five minutes after, I
beheld the same man standing against the
door with a broad grin on his face, who,
when I looked at him in perfect astonishment,
said with the most perfect good nature, 'I'se
come back to sign, missus.'
The next day, Sunday, I tried to keep
clear of the people, both for rest and because
I wanted to make some arrangements for my
school, the young teacher having arrived on
Friday.
Monday morning the bell again rang, and
though I did not see more than twenty-five
people, I was again in the office from ten A.M.
to six P.M., and found it far more unpleasant
than on Saturday, as I had several troublesome,
bad fellows to deal with. One man,
who proposed leaving the place without paying
his debts, informed me, when I told him he
must pay first, 'he'd see if he hadn't a law as
well as I;' and another positively refused to
work or leave the place, so he had to be
informed that if he was not gone in three
days he would be put off, which had such an
effect that he came the next day and signed,
and worked well afterwards.
Tuesday and Wednesday my stragglers
came dropping in, the last man arriving under
a large cotton umbrella, very defiant that he
would not sign unless he could have Saturday
for a holiday. 'Five days I'll work, but
(with a flourish of the umbrella) I works
for no man on Saturday.' 'Then,' said I,
'William, I am sorry, but you can't work for
me, for any
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1. N.B. I was mistaken. In the years 1877 and 1880 upwards
of thirty thousand bushels of rice was raised on the
place by these same negroes.
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F -
Page 48CHAPTER II.
A FRESH START.
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1. The history of Canon's Point is as follows. Mr. G -
having started by putting the negroes on regular wages
expecting them to do regular work in return, and not being
at all prepared to go through the lengthy conversations and
explanations which they required, utterly failed in his attempts
either to manage the negroes or to get any work out of them.
Some ran off, some turned sulky, and some stayed and did
about half the work. So that at the end of two years he gave
the place up in perfect disgust, a little to our amusement, as
he had been so sure, like many another Northern man, that
all the negroes wanted was regular work and regular wages,
overlooking entirely the character of the people he was
dealing with, who required a different treatment every day
almost; sometimes coaxing, sometimes scolding, sometimes
punishing, sometimes indulging, and always - unlimited
patience. After Mr. G failed in his management of the
negroes he gave the place up, leaving an agent there merely
to keep possession of the property. This man in turn moved
off, leaving about fifty negro families in undisputed possession
who two years later were driven off by a new tenant
who undertook to charge them high rent for their land; and
it is now finally in the hands of a Western farmer and his
son, who told my husband last winter that they were delighted
with the place and climate, but had not learned to manage
the negroes yet, as when he scolded them they got scared
and ran off, and when he did not they would not work.
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F -
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DIED JUNE 26, 1866,
AGED 100 YEARS.
A long life, marked by devotion to his Heavenly Father and
fidelity to his earthly masters.
Page 73CHAPTER III.
1867 - 1868.
ALONE.
IN August of 1867 my father died, and as
soon after as I was able I went down to the
South to carry on his work, and to look after
the negroes, who loved him so dearly and
to whom he was so much attached. My
brother-in-law went with me, and we reached
Butler's Island in November. The people
were indeed like sheep without a shepherd,
and seemed dazed.
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