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

Congressman Horace Mann, March 13, 1850

MARCH 13, 1850.

The hallucination that seizes the South on the subject of slavery, is, indeed, enough to excite our compassion; but an excuse of their conduct to themselves on this ground, would, perhaps, enrage them more than any thing else. I would be willing to offer them any pecuniary indemnity which they might desire. Indeed, I had thought of bringing forward some such idea in my speech; but I feared they would only scout it.

I do not think Mr. Webster can be honest in the views expressed in his speech. I would struggle against a belief in his treachery to the last minute; but this speech is in flagrant violation of all that he has ever said before.

You are in an error in supposing that the exclusion of slavery from the Territories will affect the growth of cotton or rice unfavorably. Slaves are in great demand now for the cotton and rice fields. No production of the Territories would come in competition with their great staples. It is a fear of losing the balance of power, as they call it; and no doubt, in some cases, a fear that this is only a beginning of a war upon slavery in the States themselves. On this latter point, they will not be pacified by any declarations made by the North. Then, again, on this subject they are not a reasoning people.

To recur to Mr. Webster again. He has said some things it was quite unnecessary to say, and some things not true. Look at his interpretation of the admission of Texas! The act was, as he has quoted in his speech, that four new States—no more might be formed from Texas: those south of 36° 30′ might be slave States, and those north must be free States. Now, he says we are bound to admit four slave States. But we are bound to admit only four in the whole. Why, then, admit all these four as slave States, and then others, that is, if we get the consent of Texas, as free States? No: we are to admit but four in the whole; and, as one or two of these are to be free, there must not be four slave. He therefore not only proposes to execute that ungodly bargain, but to give one or two slave States to the South as a gratuity.

So his offer to take the proceeds of the public lands to deport free blacks is of the greatest service to slavery. It is just what the South wants, to get rid of its free blacks. It would enhance the value and the security of the slave property so called. Had he proposed to give the proceeds of the lands to deport manumitted slaves, that would encourage manumission, and be of real service to humanity. Indeed, the more I think of the speech, the worse I think of it.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 295-6

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: Saturday, July 4, 1865

Saturday I was in bed with one of my worst headaches. Occasionally there would come a sob and I thought of my sister insulted and my little sweet Williams. Another of my beautiful Columbia quartette had rough experiences. A raider asked the plucky little girl, Lizzie Hamilton, for a ring which she wore. “You shall not have it,” she said. The man put a pistol to her head, saying, “Take it off, hand it to me, or I will blow your brains out.” “Blow away,” said she. The man laughed and put down his pistol, remarking, " You knew I would not hurt you.” “Of course, I knew you dared not shoot me. Even Sherman would not stand that.”

There was talk of the negroes where the Yankees had been — negroes who flocked to them and showed them where silver and valuables had been hid by the white people. Ladies’-maids dressed themselves in their mistresses' gowns before the owners’ faces and walked off. Now, before this every one had told me how kind, faithful, and considerate the negroes had proven. I am sure, after hearing these tales, the fidelity of my own servants shines out brilliantly. I had taken their conduct too much as a matter of course. In the afternoon I had some business on our place, the Hermitage. John drove me down. Our people were all at home, quiet, orderly, respectful, and at their usual work. In point of fact things looked unchanged. There was nothing to show that any one of them had even seen the Yankees, or knew that there was one in existence.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 402-3