Letters and diary of Laura M. Towne

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] 18th.

Ellen had her first adult school to-day, in the back room — nine scholars. I assisted.

The girls were much interested in seeing the people come, with their flat baskets on their heads, to the corn-house, to “take allowance,” and then sit down in the sand, and old and young fall to shelling the corn from the cob with a speed that was marvellous, the little babies toddling about or slung on the backs of their mammies, or lugged about by the older sisters, not able to stand straight under their weight. It was very picturesque.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] 16th.

To-day Mr. McKim, Lucy, Ellen, and I went over to Gabriel Caper’s, Edgar Fripp’s, Dr. Scott’s, and to Oliver Fripp’s, where we dined with Mr. Sumner, Mr. Park, and Mr. Gannett. They rode beside our carriage on their horses, and as the rains made the roads bad, they explored the broken bridges and fords. We had a jolly time except when Mr. McKim was questioning the people about their treatment in the old time. Such dreadful stories as they told! Dr. Scott’s own daughter and granddaughter had marks of their mistresses’ whip to show. They lived in a very nice house built entirely by the husband of one of them.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] June 15, Sunday.

The “Secesh” came over to Hutchinson’s Island and carried off some of the people, and so General Hunter[1] has removed all the remaining to Beaufort. Some men on the island were shot. Hunter cares well for the people.

[1] Major-General David Hunter, in command of the Department of the South.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] June 14, Saturday

Mr. McKim has returned from his excursion with Mr. French and he is so impressed by our dangerous situation, regarding the enemy and the climate, that he urges us to go home at once. Ellen and I are determined not to go and I think our determination will prevail over his fears, so that he will not order us home, as he has the power, I suppose. We are troubled about this. The military cram every newcomer with fears.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

St. Helena Island, June 13, 1862.

You do not know how comfortable and even elegant our apartments are, now that we have all the furniture the cotton agent had in his half of the house. There are no other such accommodations in this region, and we shall be foolish to go away for anything but health. If there should be any likelihood of sickness, we can remove easily to the watering-place of the islands, St. Helenaville, about six miles from here, and then we can ride over twice a week or so to see our people. But I do not see why this place cannot be a good enough location to stay in all summer. As for the late alarm about “Secesh” coming, everybody is ashamed of it, and all try to prove that they were not frightened at such an unlikelihood. It is an impossibility now, as gunboats are stationed on all sides. I am so glad we did not run. It was a great shame we had all the bother of packing our trunks and unpacking them again. . . .

You may imagine that I was not well pleased to see my entire letter printed. That last — “but I must get a little sleep” — seems so boasting, and in other places I would have modified it. But I do not care much. If my present leisure continues, I shall perhaps write for the Tribune an occasional letter; but Mr. McKim is taking notes, and will tell everything, I fancy. Lucy is a very nice girl and she is busy collecting facts, etc. Mr. French, too, is writing a book, and so there will be an overstock of information, I think. . . .

Dr. Hering’s looking-glasses have come, but not his violins, and the candy and sugar are enjoyed hugely….

I wish you were as free from every fret as I am, and as happy. I never was so entirely so as now, and no wonder. We found the people here naked, and beginning to loathe their everlasting hominy, — afraid and discontented about being made to work as slaves, and without assurance of freedom or pay, of clothes or food, — and now they are jolly and happy and decently fed and dressed, and so full of affection and gratitude to the people who are relieving them that it is rather too flattering to be enjoyed. It will not last, I dare say, but it is genuine now and they are working like Trojans. They keep up the tasks of those who have gone to the forts and do not complain of any amount of little extra jobs. It is such a satisfaction to an abolitionist to see that they are proving conclusively that they can and will and even like to work enough at least to support themselves and give something extra to Government.

All my affairs go swimmingly (I have the Boston clothing too now, only there is none to sell), so do not think of me as being a martyr of any kind.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] June 11.

We four girls rode to “Mary Jenkins,”[1] where the children screamed and ran to hide at the sight of white faces. Dr. Hering sent a consignment of looking-glasses for distribution, and Mr. Hastings a number of bags of salt, etc., etc.

[1] Plantation.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] June 9.

This afternoon the cotton agent, or rather the sutler, Mr. Whiting, and his little wife, left the place. We are so glad to have their half of the house. Mr. Pierce left with me an injunction that they should take away none of the furniture, and they left most of it. Mr. Elmendorff gave into my charge some things which he should claim should he come again, but he has only the right of prior seizure to them.

To-night we all went to Rina’s house where the people had a “shout,” which Mr. McKim was inclined to think was a remnant of African worship.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] Sunday, June 8, 1862.

Before church we all, superintendents and the few ladies, stood under the oaks and talked of our dangers, and then Mr. Horton led us in to service. After service we talked long again, till the coming rain made our party from the Oaks hasten home, Park and others going to the Episcopal church to try the organ. Mr. Pierce had gone to Hilton Head, as a steamer was expected. I had reached home before the rain and was lying down, when Rina rushed into my room with a haste and noise so strange to her, calling out, “Miss Murray has come!” I got up suddenly, but felt so faint that I had to lie down again. Jerry and his boat’s crew had arrived with her trunk, but she did not come for an hour. The men had told Mr. Pierce that they would row up sooner than he could ride up to tell the news, but he did not believe them, and galloped all the way from Land’s End to be the first to make the announcement to me. He came in about a quarter of an hour after they did, and as I was then upstairs, heard from Nelly the arrival of the men. When I came down he greeted me with “So you fainted at the news?” “No,” I said, “not at the news, but I have not been well for a week and was startled by Rina, and getting up so suddenly made me faint.” He was determined to see a scene if possible, but when Ellen came and I stood on the porch as she came up the steps from the carriage, we shook hands very quietly and walked into the parlor in the ordinary manner of acquaintances. It was not till we were upstairs that we cut any capers of joy. She had been detained by the rain, the whole party stopping in the Episcopal church where they played on the organ and sang, Mr. McKim and Lucy[1] being highly delighted at the ride, the romantic church, and the meeting with some of the superintendents.

In the evening we went to a praise meeting, and Mr. McKim spoke to the people. We heard a very fine address from old Marcus. Afterwards we sat up late — Mr. Pierce and Mr. McKim having a long talk over the affairs of our little colony and we listening. Ellen and I are to sleep on the floor, Lucy McKim and Nelly Winsor in the beds in the same room. Ellen and I talked all night nearly.

[1] Miss Lucy McKim.

Written from the Sea islands of South Carolina.

[Diary] Saturday, June 7, 1862.

An exciting day. This morning Mr. Eustis came over and told Mr. Hooper that we ought to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. For two weeks we have been quite unprotected, and last night an attempt was made to pass the pickets at Port Royal Ferry. A flat was seen coming. Our pickets challenged it, and the negroes exclaimed, “Don’t shoot, massa!” Then fifty men rose up in the boat and fired into the guard, killing four of them. The others fled to Port Royal, I believe, carrying dismay, and this morning all the ladies, cotton agents, and civilians, except our men, embarked on the Ottawa and went down to Hilton Head, Miss Walker among them. Our men, of the Commission, have been bold enough. Little Taylor has shouldered his gun and he this morning went to within four miles of the enemies’ lines. Ashly acted as guide to the scouts and others have gone readily to the aid of the soldiery. Yet Mr. Pierce says the soldiers are swearing at the “nigger lovers,” who have all gone — run away at the first danger. Not a man has gone — not one.

There is quite a panic in Beaufort and several gunboats have gone up to it, apparently to take away the commissary stores. It will then be evacuated, and what will become of the poor negroes if the masters return! It seems to me that this is a causeless panic.

We packed our trunks to-day according to Mr. Hooper’s orders, and we can run at any time, but leaving much behind us. I cannot bear the thought of going while these poor people must stay — Aunt Bess, whose leg is so bad; and some of the babies are ill now — they will suffer so in the woods and marshes if they have to fly. While we were packing this morning, Susannah, then Rina, came and asked anxiously about our going. I told them all we knew — that we might have to go off, but would not if we could help it; that our soldiers had all gone off to take Charleston and that Secesh might come down to attack us, and then the gentlemen would insist upon our going. Mr. Pierce came home about eleven, and he thinks we may remain. So we have composed ourselves as best we can. The gentlemen are going to patrol to-night, but I am more afraid of the exposure than of Secesh for them, and us too.

Mr. Pierce has gone to Beaufort again. Several gentlemen were here to-day, Mr. Horton among them, who wanted to know if we were “going to trust the Lord and keep our powder dry.” I want to have Mr. Pierce secure half a dozen guns for each plantation, and then if Secesh come, call upon the negroes to help us and stay. I am sure we shall be safe. I am entirely opposed to our flying. If Mr. Pierce were not going North, this would be the case, I am pretty sure, but he is determined to have us safe while he is gone. We have a boat in readiness to set out by water, and the horses are kept fresh to take us by land. One of them died to-day of poison plants, or colic, — one of the handsome bays.

I have been in other excitement lately and feel almost ill from it. But first about the alarm at Beaufort. It was so great that the arsenal was open, and anybody wishing it could go in and get a gun. It appears that the Pennsylvania regiment, or a guard of fifty, were stationed at Port Royal Ferry, and on this alarm they ran, after firing, and burned the bridge between themselves and the enemy. Their panic alarmed Beaufort. The ladies fled to the gunboats and to Hilton Head. They will return to-morrow probably. All Beaufort was in confusion. To-night all is safety and quiet there. We have had quite a cosy evening here — Mr. Pierce, Mr. Hooper, Miss Winsor, and I.