February 17th, 1866.—The house party is a thing of the past and will be long remembered. The Sprague girls, Maggie and Mary, (Tudie seems to be her name to her intimates), are such nice, pleasant young ladies. When I had known them a few days I said I would not have imagined they were from the North. They laughed and said they had been almost raised in the South. I like them very much.
Mrs. Reed, to quote from my black mammy, “Ain’t my sort,” and I have never been thrown with one of her kind before. Mrs. Miller is a sweet old lady, a South Carolinian by birth, who married a Northern man. Her invalid son, Lieutenant Charles Miller, excited my pity to such an extent that I have tried to forget his blue uniform and remember only that he suffers. I think the almost constant contact with the sick and wounded soldiers in our own army has automatically made me tender of those who are ill. His mother watches over him day and night. Aunt Sue is just as good to them both as if they were kinsfolk and, though Uncle Arvah is such a busy man, he does all he can to lighten her burden. She was very glad to have a little help in filling in his lonely hours.
I look at it in this way; I am trying to be of some assistance to dear aunt Sue and if she wants me to read to and talk to, this poor, sick boy, it is my duty to do it. So, for a while, each morning, after his breakfast tray has been brought down stairs, I relieve his mother and, while I read some entertaining book, or glean the freshest news from the papers, she walks out among the flowers, or chats with the other guests.
Our own boys tease me about my “sick Yankee,” but I think it is right or I would not do it. He, poor fellow, is grateful; I told him doctors did not know everything, even the wisest of them. I told him I was supposed to have consumption, of which Drs. Clark and Geddings were quite positive, but I would not listen to them. My doctor Brother did not agree with them and he says, “help yourself to get well; do not think of the disease but fill your mind with bright thoughts and, if possible find something for your hands to do; live in the open and hope, Hope, HOPE.”
He was much interested in this and, the next day, instead of lying on the couch in his mother’s room, as he had done, he came down stairs, with Frank and Jack assisting him, and sat in the large cushioned rocker in the hall.
The young people in the house came about his chair and Aunt Sue said he was holding a reception. He enjoyed it until he got tired, and his mother was delighted that he had made the effort. Poor boy! He has hemorrhages but I used to have them, too, and I have quite made up my mind to live to be a hundred; if I can.
One of Aunt Sue’s friends among the younger officers of General Foster’s command, brought a set of croquet and offered to teach us to play. We have a lovely croquet ground and we play a part of every day. Of course we are thrown together a great deal and in this way I have become better acquainted with the guests who are continually coming in and out. There are several young lieutenants among aunt Sue’s blue-coated friends but I notice they are called plain “mister,” by their own people, so in future I shall drop the title.
Mr. Bumford is probably the eldest of them; he has thin, “kitty kat” whiskers and his comrades make all manner of fun at his expense, but he is good nature personified and bears his yoke easily. Mr. Wessels is quite different, he seems to have been fed on green persimmons in babyhood and contracted a habit of puckering his countenance. He is also disagreeable in his manner to me. Mr. Coolidge I have already told you of; he is the nicest one of all. There are a lot of others, too, but I have nothing special to say about them.
One day when we had played croquet a long time Mr. Bumford and I went back to the house to rest a while. On the sides of the broad steps leading up on the piazza were two immense bronze lions, their heads resting on their paws; these made comfortable seats and we proceeded to occupy them.
Sitting thus Mr. Bumford said, “Do you know what this space between us typifies to my mind?” Of course I did not. “I’ll tell you then, it is the gulf which seems to lie between the North and the South and I asked myself will it ever be bridged?”
I was surprised for I had not credited him with any depth. I parried the thrust. “Why do you think there is a gulf?”
“I do not think it,” he said, “I know it, just take you and myself for instance. I come in filled with the milk of human kindness, at peace with all the world, then I catch sight of you and I immediately congeal, and in your icy atmosphere, I continually grow colder.”
At first I felt angry but his manner was much pleasanter than these words sound written down, so I concluded to meet him on his own ground.
“It is a pity you are so susceptible to cold. What has become of the “hot-blooded Southerner?” said I.
“Gone where the woodbine twineth, I guess,” he replied. “You Johnnie Rebs keep your tempers pretty well.”
“Are you trying to make us angry when you call us Rebels?” I asked. “If you are you are missing the mark for we are proud of the name, General Washington was a Rebel, so was Thomas Jefferson and all the men who fought under Washington, and all the men who signed the Declaration of Independence were Rebels, too. In the middle of the Seventeenth Century an ancestor of mine said ‘Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God,’ and today England owes to him many of her liberties; I am glad to be called a Rebel.”
“The ice is beginning to melt when we can get up a quarrel,” he said. “As long as you already think me impertinent, I would like to ask a few questions.”
I waited but he seemed to have forgotten I was there. Breaking a twig from a japonica close at hand, he took his knife from his pocket and whittled away for dear life.
“I did not wish to make you angry when I called you a Johnnie Reb. I suppose I called you that in the same spirit which inspires you to call us Yankees. We do not love that name, of course you know it was given to the Revolutionary troops in derision?”
“Yes, I have heard that,” said I. “It was a pity to foist such a name upon them. I had three great-grand fathers and one grandfather at Yorktown, when Cornwallis surrendered and I am proud of it —I hope you bear in mind that this brave army were ALL REBELS.”
“Suppose we let history alone and come down to every-day facts,” he said. “You are Mrs. Hopkins’ name-child and a favorite niece; she is a most delightful hostess and if you would be a little less chilling you could be ‘the belle of the regiment.’ ”
I laughed; I could not help it, for that was the least desirable position in the world to me, but, as Mammy says, “I ‘membered my manners,” and answered politely.
Wasn’t it funny though?
The Regimental Band comes out to Goodwood often to play for us to dance, it makes fine music and we enjoy it. One night the band serenaded us and Aunt Eue sent a large tray of refreshments for their delectation. Uncle Arvah went out and thanked them and Aunt Sue hurried Sallie upstairs with flowers for us to throw down to them, but I let Sallie, herself, throw the flowers from my window.
Aunt Sue is strictly impartial and she invites the young people from both sections and we manage to enjoy it all. I am telling you this foolishness, little Diary, that when my great-great-grandchildren shall read these pages they will see for themselves that great-grandmamma stood fast by the colors of her country.
I am going home tomorrow and it will be good to get back though it really is delightful at Goodwood. The Millers say they are “heart-broken” to have me go. Charley wanted me to kiss him goodbye but I explained that Mother did not approve of kissing. I do not either, if the truth must be told.
I am going home to breakfast and will take the home-folks by surprise, so have to bid adieu to all tonight. I have met some very pleasant ladies from the North. Mrs. Major Foster is lovely; she was a school-mate of my sweet sister who died. They were in Georgetown at Miss English’s school for girls and she recognized me while we were dancing the lancers and asked if my name was Bradford? She says she never saw such a likeness, it was as if she was facing her old schoolmate again.
The Spragues have gone to St. Augustine and I suppose I will not see them again. I was sorry to tell them goodbye.
I was so amused at something that happened a few minutes ago, Lucy, the up-stairs maid, came in my room and said, “Miss Sue, is you busy?”
“No, Lucy,” I answered, “not too busy to listen to you.”
“Well, den, I jis’ want ter tell you ’bout Mrs. Reed. She telled me when she fust cum,’ Miss Lucy, ‘wait on me good while I am here an’ when I goes I gwine do suppen hansum fer you.’ I done all I knowed how fer her an’ now you jis’ look what she gin me.”
Lucy spread out on her knee a handkerchief which had once upon a time been a useful, if not a beautiful article, but now too ragged for any self-respecting person to use.
“Ain’t dat mean, Miss Sue?”
“What did you expect?” I asked.
“I dun kno’, but I is wurked lak a nigger fur her an’ I ain’t got no use fur dis.” With that she laid it on the burning coals and left the room.
