My thirty-seventh
birthday yesterday. Never thought I would spend it in South Carolina, on a
plantation too, and there by right as occupant.
It was beautiful
this morning at church. The live-oaks were more mossy and gray than ever and
the spot more lovely. The crowd was greater, and the dresses cleaner and more
picturesque too. The man with the carpet poncho did not have it on to-day,
probably as it was so warm. But the turbans were grand. Mr. Horton conducted
the services finely, with plenty of old-fashioned doctrine, to be sure, but
with good sense, especially when he told them how much greater men are than the
beasts of the field. One old negro made a fine prayer after the service, just
what it should be, in which he prayed that God would guide and bless the good
folks who had come down to help them. He did not dare to mention General
Hunter's call for black soldiers, and all the superintendents fear it will not
be responded to. Will Capers has enlisted, however, and others talk of it. Will
is a fine fellow in every respect.
After church, groups
formed outside. It was a beautiful scene. The church overflowed; there were
over three hundred inside and many out — seven hundred and thirty-eight in all,
Mr. Horton says. The children behaved well and I think the Sunday School was a
success. I talked of Christ's love for children and how He would take them to
Heaven if they were kind to each other. I had between twenty and thirty in my
class. I also taught them their letters and a card of words. There were several
black teachers. After church the superintendents gathered around and had a
little talk. Their ration bread was taken in the carriage with us and
distributed after church. That is the time for getting letters, too, for those
poor, out-of-the-way fellows on some plantations.
It was amusing to
see the vehicles by which some of the gentlemen came. Mr. Philbrick rode on a
skin-and-bone horse with rope for bridle, and a side saddle. Mrs. Philbrick
accompanied him in a sulky, holding the ropes and an umbrella, while the little
negro clung on the “tree” between the wheels with the whip and used it when
directed by Mrs. P. Behind was tied a square box for bread. As we left the
church, the long line of negroes going slowly home was very pretty. Some of
them carried shoes to church in their hands and kept them so, to show
they owned a pair, I suppose. Decidedly they were more cleanly and better
clothed to-day than before, and happier too. Paying them even a little has
reassured them. They are very eager to believe we are their friends, but have
had some things to make them doubt. At the paying-off on this plantation the
other night they seemed all thankful, though some objected to the bank bills.
Mr. Pierce was very sorry they had not specie to give them. It was a strange
looking spectacle, all those black faces peering in at door and window, for
they assembled on the front porch and answered when Mr. Pierce called their
names. Mr. Hooper had the money and handed it over to Mr. Pierce, who gave it
to each. The earnings were from seventy-five cents to three dollars each.
Cotton only is paid for, not corn. Each man took his money with a scrape
backwards of his foot, each woman with a curtsey. Rina says that they never had
anything but ground for floors to their cabins, and they had no lofts. But
after massa left, they took his boards, floored their own cabins and put in
lofts. This does not seem as if they preferred to live in their present style.
Mr. Boutwell, of the
Coast Survey, was here to-day. He says the St. Helena people were hard, and not
considered well educated or good specimens of planters. Certainly they were
hard to their negroes, especially on this place. It was being prepared for Mr.
Fuller's residence when the flight occurred.
Yesterday Mrs.
French, Mrs. Nicholson, and Miss Curtis were here with Lieutenant Gregory and
Lieutenant Belcher, of the Michigan regiment. They have some special care of
the ladies at Mr. French's. Lieutenant Gregory said we have but 4000 soldiers
here; 15,000 in all Port Royal; and the enemy are concentrating around us. They
have already 20,000 surrounding us and may take it into their heads to rout us.
Their approach would be in three directions, one through this island.
We have heard to-day
that there is a mail to Beaufort, a late one, the earlier having been detained
at Hampton Roads — why, we know not. It is over three weeks since a mail came
in. I expect Ellen to-night. I have often expected her before; but to-night she
must come, and Mr. Hooper has gone for her and the letters.
I heard a story of a
negro the other day who was saying all manner of hard things of the old masters
and his own in particular. “Well,” said an officer, standing by, “we have
caught him and now what shall we do with him?” “Hang him, hang him — hanging is
too good for him,” cried the negro, in great excitement. “Well,” said the
officer, “he shall be hung, boy, and since he injured you so much, you shall
have a chance now to pay him back. You shall hang him yourself, and we'll
protect you and see it done.” “Oh, no, can't do it — can't do it — can't see
massa suffer. Don't want to see him suffer.” . . .
One of the most
touching of all songs I have heard is that “croon” in a minor key —
“Poor Rome — poor gal —
(is to)
Heaven (will) be my home."
I never heard
anything so sad. I will get the words and tune some day.
My housekeeping
experiences are very funny. No milk — and breakfast. I send Lucy to send Aleck
to find Robert and bring the milk. Aleck comes back, saying, “Can't get no
milk, ma’am. Calf run away. Cow won't give milk if the calf don’t suck, ma’am.”
Two hours or so after, milk comes. The cow will give no milk except while the
calf is having its supper, and so it is a race between old Robert and the calf
to see which will get the most or enough.
There are sometimes
six negroes in the dining-room at once during meal-times — the other day Aleck
making his appearance with two huge fish, which he held up triumphantly, raw
and fresh from the water. On the other hand, often at meal-times not a negro
can be found; the table is not set, for Lucy has gone; the fire cannot be
kindled, for there is no wood and Aleck has gone; the milk has not come, etc.,
etc.
A sad thing here is
the treatment of animals. The other day one of the oxen came home almost
flayed, with great skinless welts, and a piece of skin (and flesh, too, I
think), taken out over the tail. This afternoon Miss Winsor and I stopped Joe,
who had taken Mr. Whiting's little colt and harnessed him without any
permission. Then he drove him at a gallop, with negroes hanging on, through the
deep sand, so that he came home all of a tremble. All the gentlemen being gone,
and nearly all the ladies, they thought they could do as they pleased; but Miss
Winsor, with admirable tact and authority, made Joe dismount, unharness, and
care for the horse after his return from a first trip. The dogs are all
starved, and the horses are too wretched.
Last night we heard
the negroes singing till daylight. Rina said they thought as they had Sunday to
rest they would keep up their meeting all night. It was a religious meeting.
Mr. Hooper has
returned with letters — none from home for me; one from Sophie, fortunately.
The other two were with supplies from Philadelphia — $2000 worth to be
distributed by me. They speak of having read my letters to committees, etc.,
and that frightens me.
New Orleans is ours
— has capitulated. Mr. Hooper, Mr. Ruggles, and Mr. Horton, the Baptist
minister, were sitting in the parlor this Sunday afternoon. Suddenly we heard
three lusty cheers. I ran in, little bird in hand, and heard the joyful
announcement of this news.
Miss W. has been
sick and I have taught her school. Did very well, but once heard a slash and
found Betty with a long switch whipping two of the girls. I soon stopped that
and told them I had come here to stop whipping, not to inflict it. Aleck, that “limb,”
stopped in front of the desk and harangued me in orator style to prove that
Betty was authorized by Miss Nelly. Mr. Severance drove me there and back, with
a rabble of negroes hanging on behind. We rode to church to-day with nearly
half a dozen somewhere about the carriage.
Lieutenant Belcher,
who was Provost Marshal of Port Royal, is a stanch homoeopathist, and we have
promised to doctor each other should occasion require. I have a great many
patients on hand — “Too many,” as the negroes say.
SOURCE: Rupert Sargent Holland, Editor, Letters and
Diary of Laura M. Towne: Written from the Sea Islands of South Carolina 1862-1864,
p. 32-7
