Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Friday, April 22, 1864

Yesterday morning, Mr. F., a gentleman from my native State, Massachusetts, and who has charge of the Refugee Farm, asked if I would not like to ride out to the place, they "wanted a teacher and perhaps I might be willing to engage as one, if not the ride and fresh air would do me good." "Yes, I should enjoy it."

Then hour after hour passed away, with the fresh morning air, and not until at the dinner table did I meet my expected cavalier. He explained:

The fact was the poor old nag, which had been turned out some months before by government to die, like some other contrabands of war, wouldn't work—he was free! But he had confiscated another animal from Government and hoped he might not long say of that as in the nursery ballad, that

"The horse wouldn't go,"

as it was

"Time he and I were gone an hour and a half ago."

One, two and three o'clock came, and I overheard Lucy, one of the black girls, of about fourteen—though she doesn't know her age—laughing about "that thar Mr. F., who had been for two long hours, a curryin' an' pattin' an' feedin' that old horse with sugar, to coax it to be good: but I know by its actions it has never been harnessed 'fore a carriage in its life. For it acts, for all the world, like I did, when I ran away to find my freedom. I couldn't tell for my life, whether to go backwards or forward, to keep out of danger."

In answer to my questions, she tells me that she was "the very first one that Lincoln set free in Winchester, but that as soon as she was gone, all the other nigs left."

Of course, her remarks about the horse were not very encouraging as regarded the safety or pleasure of the trip, even if he decided at last to go forward instead of backward. At half-past three, the equipage was announced in readiness, when, with a most self-denying spirit, I assured the gentleman, that I would willingly forego the pleasure, if the animal was not perfectly safe. But he was quite positive upon that subject, and as I perceived the appearance of the contraband did not indicate anything vicious or powerful enough to be very dangerous, we started. Had a ride of perhaps two miles upon the other side of the town, stopped a moment by the guard, then allowed to proceed a mile farther to the Refugee Farm.

This is best known to citizens as the Eweing farm. It was a splendid place, but has been nearly ruined by General Buel's army who camped upon it. Trees were felled, fences torn down, windows broken entirely out, and several fine outbuildings destroyed, such as a spring-house and conservatory, which I would like to have seen in its glory. Picked a beautiful bouquet of apple-japonica and pomegranate blossoms. Saw a "Butternut" planting cotton. He told me he expects, if the crop does well, to realize "one bale of picked cotton" from the two acres, which at present prices will bring $250. The yield, he said, was only about a half or a third what it would be three degrees farther south.

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 58-9