Spring has long delayed her coming here as well as
northward. I could not be comfortable this P. M. in my room without a fire.
Still, despite the cold, I have seen the blossom of a species of magnolia,
which is very beautiful. It is in shape and size something like the African
lily, and grew upon a tree the size of the common apple. It is of a peachblow
hue upon the outside and white within, and with the mingled fragrance of the
roses and lemon.
Aunt Nanny, the former housekeeper of the rebel banker who
owned this residence, has just been giving me a highly interesting account of
the scenes here when it became known that our forces were coming towards
Nashville. It was on Sunday morning the news reached the white citizens, when
they were on their way to church. And the streets were soon filled with
half-crazed people flying here and there, women and children and even men running
out of breath, and screaming, "The Yankees are coming," while the
less excited ones were securing every possible conveyance to use for flight.
"We colored folks," said Aunt Nanny, "knew it
in the night, and all de mornin' while de white ones was so quiet a putin' on
dere finery for church, we knew it wouldn't last long. An' we was all so full
wid de great joy, dat we'se a sayin' in our hearts all de time "Bless de
Lord," "Thank de good God," for de "day of jubilee
has come!"
"But we was mighty hush, an' put on just as long faces
as we could, an' was might' 'sprized when they told us of it. An' missus
she come runnin' back from the street wid' her bonnet on her neck, an' the
strings a flyin', an' she come to the kitchen and put up both arms, an' she
said:
"Oh, Aunt Nanny, we'll all be killed! The Yankees are
coming! They'll hang or cut the throat of every niggar that's left here!'
"An' after that she tried to have me go south with her,
but I told her I'd risk the Yankees a killin' us, an' I wouldn't go."
Aunt Nanny is respected by all who know her. She is neat,
industrious, well-informed, although she cannot read, respectful, polite,
affectionate, virtuous, and a Christian. Her husband is here, and
she has one little daughter who is in my division at school.
She tells me also that only last Sunday she saw the body of
a dead negro boy of about nine years who died from blows received from his
mistress. The cause was her anger that his mother had run away in search of
freedom. But the mother heard of the illness of her child and returned in time
to hear him say that "the whipping his mistress had given him had killed
him," and to find upon his back the terrible gashes from the whip, and
bruises from blows.
I wish I had known of this before the child was buried. Having
the name of speaking my mind, it might be as well to do so, occasionally.
Have just listened to a little incident which occurred some
months since. While Grant had charge of this department, General Rousseau in
his absence, issued an order to the effect that slaveholders, who had taken the
oath of allegiance, might dispose of their slaves. One man from the country,
accordingly drove in several slave women tied hand to hand. But Grant had
suddenly returned and countermanded the permit, and he could not dispose
of them. He got into his carriage and ordered his negro women to march home.
They refused to obey. This was unprecedented insolence. He caught his
horse-whip and was about laying it over their shoulders when the "blue
coats" appeared as suddenly and as thick around him as if like fairies
they had popped out of the ground.
"No whipping here! No whipping here!" they
exclaimed, and the result was, he was forced to return alone, and they were
slaves no longer.
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. 70-2
