December 2011

December 25th, 1861.—Christmas night! No festive gathering tonight. We did not have a Christmas tree. Mattie and Eddie hung up their stockings but they had so many things they might better have hung up a two bushel sack. I found a number of gifts on the lightstand beside my bed, when I awoke this morning. The grown folks had presents, too, but somehow the flavor of Christmas was not there. The servants and all the hands on the plantation came as usual and Father had fixed for them, just, as is always done. He says they are just children and must have their pleasure the same as ever.

They shouted, “Crismus gif,” they sang and danced, they had the “Sweetened Dram.” Gifts were not lacking, good wishes were spoken just the same but, was it in my imagination, or was there really a difference?

Uncle William and Aunt Mary came and brought the children but Uncle Richard and Aunt Nancy did not come—their sorrow was too fresh and keen. Cousin Rob came and of course Cousin William and Cousin Sarah came but we missed the others. Aunt Sue is sick and that, too, cast a gloom over the day. Sister Mag had a letter this morning from Brother Amos. She had not heard for some time and this was written somewhat after the fashion of my diary. Of course he wrote a lot of her and Eddie, with messages for the rest of us. He also told her why the letter was so long delayed. The snow is deep there now as the Howell Guards are stationed at Evansport, on the Potomac and they cannot mail a letter every day. He thinks it is funny that they enlisted first as a Cavalry company, then they were Infantry and now they are serving as Artillery, manning a battery of big guns.

He wrote of many of the Tallahassee boys; John Day Perkins, he says, is the very quietest man in camp; he rarely makes a remark of any kind. He says the battery has sunk several small craft and recently the battleship Pennsylvania went down. When they were first stationed there Captain Parkhill tested the boys to see which were the best marksmen. He found he had enough skilled men to fire the guns but the very best marksman in the company proved to be Nick Eppes, a stripling of seventeen, as pretty as a girl and looks like one, too. He was placed in command of the biggest gun in the battery and, when the Pennsylvania was sighted, few of the guns struck her except the shots from the big guns, which went to the mark every time. The Pennsylvania sank and still lies beneath the waters of the Potomac. Talking it over afterward, John Day surprised them all by remarking, “Nick didn’t shoot all those turkeys for nothing.” The company cheered and clapped so enthusiastically that he was encouraged to speak again, “I had rather be at home shooting turkeys than here at Evansport shooting Yankees.” The applause was louder than ever and they all voiced John Day’s sentiments. Brother Amos says Dick Parkhill is as gay and full of fun as ever; he makes love to every girl he meets, does it, “to keep his hand in.”

Frank Papy is low-spirited and almost sick. Brother Amos is coming home in March to stay three weeks and Sister Mag can hardly wait. We will all be delighted to see him. He is the most hopeful person I ever met; “the war will be over in thirty days” “sixty days”—”ninety days” —I do not know what comes next but I do know he is a very pleasant person to talk to—you feel so cheered up. He wrote, too, that the War Department has ordered all independent companies to be merged into the different regiments. The Howell Guards will enter the 2nd Florida Regiment in General Perry’s command.