April 24th, 1866.—William Henry Harrison bade us goodbye this morning. Long since he has discarded the Yankee uniform he wore when he first came, and looks well in his suit of white and the cap, which he insisted on wearing, though we told him it belonged to a chef.
“Never mind” he said, “when I gets back to ole Virginny to my ole mistis, the fust thing she is gwine to ask me is, ‘William, are your dining room suits clean?’ ”
He said the cap was considered a part of this equipment. We are sorry to give him up, his “ole mistis” certainly knew how he ought to be trained. Many of the negro soldiers, who were disbanded here at Centreville, have hired out on the plantations in the vicinity and some have invested their pay in small farms. Land sells for almost nothing now.
Brother Amos says we are all “land poor,” and we truly have but little else. I had a crowd of girls to stay a few days and we had a delightful time. In the evenings the boys of our acquaintance came and we danced or played cards.
I do not let anyone but Father see my diary and sometimes he criticises. He only reads selected portions but he asked, “Why is it you say so little of your girl friends, when you are so fond of them and take such pleasure in their company?”
I told him that from my earliest recollection of such matters, Mother has impressed upon me the importance of speaking well of other girls. She says nothing sounds worse than to hear one girl speak ill of her companions, and that a woman should always take sides with her sister woman. This is why I do not write or speak of any faults I see and with this thought continually following me I have fallen into the habit of saying nothing, in that way I cast no reflections.
April 23rd, 1866.—Father is looking better than he has for a year past. After the negroes left us in January, he concluded not to plant a crop of any kind but simply use his broad acres for pasture. He has a very large herd of cattle and a vast number of hogs, and these continue to increase. Though the number is often cut down by the freedmen, who lose no opportunity to help themselves, there are enough left to make quite a show. When the year 1865 ended Sergeant Cornell and Private Hibell were recalled by General Foster and I rather dreaded for Father, in his state of health, to have to struggle with plantation life. I see now I need not have feared for him.
Once having made up his mind as to the best course to pursue he is perfectly content; he has always been a student and he finds great pleasure in study. He also likes us to listen, in his leisure hours, while he tells us of his researches. This is very improving and, what I like even better, are the arguments carried on in his library. When men of bright minds get together it is a treat to listen. We go to ride every morning in Father’s big, old-fashioned buggy. He taught me to drive long ago and I enjoy it.
Colonel Wyatt Aiken was here a few days ago and he drove over all three plantations with Father. He is preparing to bring out a new farming magazine, “The Rural Carolinian,” and is gathering all available material. I wish he had been here when Dr. Caldwell spent the night with us. I learned from hearing him talking to Father what causes the difference between the white and the black races. Father, being a physician, knew it but he had not thought best to tell me. I am no longer a child, however, and while I have not exactly “laid aside childish things,” I take a deep interest in scientific investigation. I came near going to sleep over some statistics Colonel Wyatt gave us relating to soils and fertilizers.
April 22nd, 1866.— I have had a trying time today. Soon after breakfast this morning my friend, the captain was announced. He came alone and he was in no hurry to go. Again he offered for my acceptance the splendid, sparkling French Marquise ring. He has made all his arrangements to go to Brazil and there make his home and he wants me to go with him, but that, I cannot do. Even if there was no other reason I would not be willing to leave our poor, conquered country to her fate. This is the time for every true-hearted, loyal son and daughter of the South to bend every energy to restore and upbuild the ruin the war has wrought. We can do this and with God’s help we will. But there is another reason still and I had to tell the captain this before he could be convinced that his case was a hopeless one. He described in glowing colors the ease and luxury of the life in Brazil; the wealth to be acquired in that favored land; he painted sad pictures of the trials which awaited those who elected to cast in their fortunes with a country devastated and ruined as this is; he said Southern women were totally unfit for hardship. Perhaps so, but like my Scotch ancestress, “I am minded to try it” and, though I forbore to tell him so.
“I had rather wed Jamie, wi’ bonnet in han’, than to wed Saundie wi’ housen and lan’.”
April 3rd, 1866.—As soon as they could pull themselves together after the war, the women of the South organized The Southern Woman’s Memorial Association. We all belong to it and a call has been made on the members to get to work and prepare for a fair, to be held in Tallahassee. This Fair is to raise money to erect a monument to our heroes. The plan is for each section of the State to have in readiness the best of the productions of that section, and in December we will have the Fair and the call is for as many as possible to be present.
It was made so far ahead that the housekeepers and those who embroider might have time enough to prepare their wares. Only in this way can we erect a monument. Our people are ruined by the war; few have enough left to provide for daily needs. Some wealthy ones still have a little left but I fear they, too, will come to want, as they do not realize the conditions which confront us. It is so natural to spend when you can get the money, with no thought for the future. Anyway, we must have that monument.
