8th. Read in the morning. Went with Brown to Mrs. Kellogg’s to dinner. Belong to Tenney family. Had a good visit. All act and look much like Tenney family. Another large meeting in evening. Great interest manifested. Several spoke.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Brazos de Santiago, Texas,
July 8, 1865.
Dear Sister L.:—
I have written of our voyages, its pleasures, and the shipwreck at the end. I have told you the features of the country here, its lack of vegetation and its abundance of salt and sand. There is not much more to tell, except that we are just about ready for a march away up the Rio Grande, into the wilderness of the Comanche country. I expect danger and hardship, heat, thirst and all the troubles and pleasures incident to a trip in the wilderness of this romantic country.
The rebellion is dead—we have no more rebels to fight, and the work laid out for us seems to be to garrison the forts and posts along the frontier, from the mouth of the Rio Grande away up into New Mexico. I saw an officer yesterday, who had just come down from up there, who said he had not seen a white man beside his own company for two years. Greasers (Mexicans) and Comanche Indians are the inhabitants up there. With us, it will be some different. We have a whole army corps to be scattered along the frontier, and there will be frequent communication.
You do well to talk about heat and rain. What would you think of a country where the average heat is from 96 to 100 and you lived in a cotton house where it did not rain for three months, and then the whole three months’ rain came down in one day, where you would have to get your water by condensing the steam from sea brine? It wouldn’t suit me for a home, but a sojourn here does very well for an episode in one’s life. There is no use in your disliking my coming here. I was well on my way when you wrote the words, and here before I read them.
If you find the time when you can go on a visit to Michigan, you better go, without making any calculations of my going with you. Our “best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley,” and there is no telling what may happen to any of us. I have a plan in my mind now, which I intend to work out. The war is over, the object of my enlistment is accomplished, and I propose to resign about the middle or latter part of September, so as to start for home about the first of October. I shall go via the Mississippi River, make a visit to our parents in Michigan (I cannot say go home, because I have no home yet), then come for another visit to you, and about the first of January go for a term of instruction in the forwarding and commission business, to Eastman’s Business College at Poughkeepsie. After that go to New Orleans or St. Louis and get a position as agent for some firm in the business, till such time as I get ready to go into business on my own account. An officer in the regiment, whom I have known intimately for nearly two years, will join me at the school, and we shall go together for better or worse. It is a business that can be carried on with less capital and produce surer and larger profits than any other I know of, and one which will suit my tastes better than a quiet country life. Now what do you think of my plan?
Saturday, 8th—Captain Spencer returned to our company today. He is in ill health and it is supposed that he has consumption. He is a fine officer, tall, and as straight as an arrow. He is kind to his men at all times, on or off duty. We still have dress parade every evening.
Saturday, July 8.—What excitement there must have been in Washington yesterday over the execution of the conspirators. It seems terrible that Mrs. Surratt should have deserved hanging with the others. I saw a picture of them all upon a scaffold and her face was screened by an umbrella. I read in one paper that the doctor who dressed Booth’s broken leg was sentenced to the Dry Tortugas. Jefferson Davis, I suppose, is glad to have nothing worse served upon him, thus far, than confinement in Fortress Monroe. It is wonderful that 800,000 men are returning so quietly from the army to civil life that it is scarcely known, save by the welcome which they receive in their own homes.
July 8th, 1865.—Things go from bad to worse. Father has been sick for several days; not very sick at first, but he grew worse and yesterday and today we have felt uneasy about him and our doctor brother has been with him until this morning. Mother’s room never looked cleaner or cooler, or daintier than it did today. Father’s room opens into hers and everything, in both rooms,, except the mahogany furniture was white. These apartments were always clothed in the crispest, snowiest of draperies during the summer months; even the cushioned chairs wore white dresses in summer.
Father was sleeping, Mother sat reading her Bible by the west window. Into this pure and peaceful atmosphere walked Peggy, unkempt, unwashed, dirty and disgusting beyond description.
Mother looked up from her Bible and asked, “What can I do for you Peggy?” I was arranging a bowl of roses out in the hall and hearing voices, came into the room.
“I is jis’ kum fur a visit Miss Patsey,” and, with that she came forward and seated herself in one of the large, white-cushioned rockers.
“Get up Peggy,” said Mother, but Peggy tossed her knotty head.
“I ain’t agwine ter git up. De ladies what kums here sets in dese cheers an’ I is jis’ as good as dey is.”
What a picture she made, leaning back, her dirty head making dirty prints on the chair cover, her scaley feet stuck straight out before her and the most impudent expression on her black face that you ever saw.
My diary, I was so angry I could scarcely see. I fear I am not of much use in an emergency but Sister Mart is and she rose quickly to the occasion. Calling Bill and Fannie to help her, she forced Peggy to leave the house.
We thought the incident was disposed of, but no, Peggy went straightway to Centreville and reported to the military authorities that “Miss Patsey done gie me a insult.”
Finding that she really had been forcibly ejected from the house, they sent an orderly with a note saying Mother must apologize at once to Peggy or she would be arrested at twelve o’clock on the following day and tried before the court presided over by Lieutenant Zachendorf. These may not be the words he used but I am giving the gist of the note.
Father was too ill to tell him of it, and Mother does not think anything will be done but we are terribly anxious. Sister Mart has made a plan, which I hope will prove to be the right thing. She has bound me over to secrecy and she and Jordan and Fannie have had a confidential talk. Early in the morning Jordan is to have the carriage at the door and Fannie will be in readiness to accompany Sister Mart to Tallahassee to interview General Foster. She will get Uncle Arvah to go with her to call on the general. She will hurry back and I must keep mother in good heart until she gets home.
