Through Some Eventful Years by Susan Bradford Eppes

February _ _, 1864. —I did not write yesterday, nor for three days before that and now I cannot quite remember the date. We have had a delightful visit, or rather two delightful visits, first at. Goodwood and then at Woodstock; just the two pleasantest places that you could imagine. I am sure no girl ever had two sweeter aunts than Aunt Sue and Aunt Nannie; both are charming, each in a different way.

Eliza Lane was at Goodwood with us and, when we went home with her, I was so glad to see dear little Sallie, who is so anxious to be “a grown-up young lady” too.

Aunt Nannie has a beautiful bride staying with her, Mrs. Dr. Goldthwaite, from Mobile, as well as I can remember. She told us of her wedding, which took place some ten days ago. Dr. Goldthwaite had thirty-six hours leave of absence, so there was need for haste. There is a dearth of young men, when you get away from a military post and she had twenty young ladies for attendants. The groom, the minister and the bride’s father were the only men present. They left immediately after the ceremony for Tallahassee, where Dr. Goldthwaite thought he was stationed but, much to his disappointment, his regiment had moved on, so he left his wife with Aunt Nannie. Everybody is just as kind as possible and tries to make things cheerful for her and she is as pretty and sweet as can be.

But I am not telling you of the exciting day we missed. On our way home, opposite the Berryhill Place, to be exact, we saw a number of soldiers, preparing to camp. We could see that it was a battery of artillery but that was all, we could not even go slowly by the camp, for Father and Mother are very strict in their ideas and, while some girls do not mind stopping to talk with any stranger who wears the gray, we have been told not to do it. So we went on, wondering as we went, who they could be?

As we drove in at home, we met uncle Randal with one wagon and little Randal with another, we thought nothing of this, but no sooner had we entered the house than Mother and Mattie began to tell us all we had missed. This same battery of artillery had dined at Pine Hill that day.

Mother was enthusiastic in her praises of Colonel Capers and his command and Father was so taken with them that he had sent the wagons we met to take them some supper. Well, we can’t have everything. When uncle Randal came home he brought just the nicest note of thanks you ever read to Father, for his kindness to him and his men.

February 9th, 1864.—For more than a year we have not attended large parties nor have we given entertainments. Of course we have had our friends with us in social intercourse and enjoyed it, too, but we were wearing black and, while we do this, it is not suitable that we should be seen in gay places.

We are taking off black now and there is some talk of a great big affair at Goodwood. This has put us to thinking of something to wear; a far more difficult problem than that which confronted “Miss Flora McFlimsey of Madison Square.”

Sister Mag is living in Georgia now, but we get letters from her nearly every day. Last night, when mother opened and read a letter from her, she gave me a key and told me I could search through the big black trunk in the attic and see if I could find anything worth having. I had never been allowed to do this before and it sounded so interesting I could hardly wait until morning. As soon as breakfast was over I rushed up stairs and what do you suppose I found? That trunk was full of party finery sister Mag had worn when she was a young lady. It has not been so very long either, for she was married in 1859.

December 4th, 1863.—We had that musicale last night and it was fine. We had an unexpected guest; in the afternoon cousin Mary wrote a note asking if she might bring Miss Maria Eppes. She had come to visit at Greenwood. Of course we were glad to have her and when she came we were delighted; she is beautiful, and has such charming ways. I have a picture of Lieutenant Mecklenburg Polk, which he sent me by Cousin Sam. He must be remarkably handsome if he looks like his picture and I have framed it in pine cones, the kind that grow on the short leaf pines. It makes a very pretty frame and it occupies a prominent place on the mantel. I do not know this fine young soldier boy, but whenever I look at the picture it seems to recall some one whom I have known; just a fleeting impression, which I cannot quite grasp.

Last night Maria Eppes saw it and she called out in a rather excited tone: “Where did my brother’s picture come from?”

I told her who it was but she could hardly believe me, and said, “It is exactly like Nick.”

I knew then why the face looked familiar and I told Maria of the night her brother took supper with us. Then she told me of the part he took in the great battle of Chickamauga; of Finley’s Brigade, of which his regiment is a part, how they charged the enemy with the bayonet three times before they succeeded in breaking General Thomas’ line; how they yelled as they drove the enemy down Snodgrass Hill; how terrible the fighting was; how the ground was covered with dead and dying men and of the awful groans of the wounded horses.

They had a truce for a short time to bury their dead, not really a decent burial, but just a trench, in which they were laid. The battle lasted three days and covered many acres of ground, miles, it seemed to those engaged.

Just think, exactly one month before, Lieut. Eppes was sitting so quietly at our table, he and cousin John, and so soon after this bloody battle came to them.

Maria said her mother had a letter that morning, telling of the battle of Missionary Ridge and the crossing to Lookout Mountain, where another battle was fought. Maria says her brother escaped almost by a miracle at Missionary Ridge, as most of his comrades were either killed or taken prisoners. We have heard that cousin John and cousin Henry, who were in that battle were taken prisoner and thus far we have not heard where they were carried.

Maria is very glad her brother is safe so far, but then you never know what you will hear next. Maria says if I will send Lieutenant Polk’s picture back, she will give me one of her brother and I can have the original as well as the photograph, too, funny, isn’t she? I do not expect ever to see either one of them.

Cousin Julia had a nice time last night; she likes Hattie better than any of the girls. I do not wonder at that for she is delightful company, so witty and so original. When I have girls staying with me Hattie always entertains for them and then when she has company I reciprocate. It makes it pleasanter all around. Captain Lester and my father “spoil their daughters” the neighbors say, but it is a fine thing to do, according to our way of thinking. It gives us a good time even if we are spoiled. I don’t think we are bad girls either, and how we do love our indulgent fathers.

November 2nd, 1863.—Now, while Cousin Julia is with us, I am trying to make things as pleasant as possible for her. All the boys are away in the army, so we have what Aunt Dinah calls “hen parties.” We have been the rounds of the family to dinings; we have had picnics, to which we have taken the children from the various families in the neighborhood, rides on horseback, walks to look for chinquepins and hickory nuts and now we want some evening parties. As Cousin Julia is a minister’s daughter and does not dance or play cards, the question of amusement is a little difficult, but we will play games and next week we will set the ball rolling with a musicale. We have several fine musicians in the neighborhood and mother never fails to have plenty of good things to eat.

Brother Amos and sister Mag are with us and they are splendid help in entertaining. He is still on crutches but is as jolly as a cricket and she is so sweet everybody loves her.

(this entry follows the one for October 27th in the book so it is posted here in the same sequence, though dated several weeks earlier)

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October 6th, 1863.—Yesterday morning we got up with the sun and had a bath and some clean clothes, then came breakfast of corn hoe-cake and fried fish. Mother wanted to pack a basket of eatables for us but Father said we must eat camp fare, so the only thing we brought along in that line was a jar of preserves, for Cousin Joe, and some coffee. Breakfast was fine and when it was over we went fishing, still inside the cove. After dinner we went to Newport and had a bath in the sulphur spring. There we had some delicious October peaches, and we also saw many of our soldier friends in Colonel Scott’s battalion. I admire Colonel Scott most sincerely, he is a Pennsylvanian by birth but he came in early life to make his home in Tallahassee. His home was a little way out of town and his wife and babies were his world. When the war began he volunteered his services to the Confederacy; it had not been expected of him because of his Northern birth, but there is no better friend to the South. He says it is his country. He was in the mercantile business but he has developed unusual military ability and he seems never to tire. Last winter he took cold, being so constantly in the marshy coast region, and rheumatism followed the cold. He still suffers and at times he has to have assistance in mounting his horse, but he drills his men regularly and last night one of the boys told me of the burning of the bridge across the St. Mary’s river.

The enemy were advancing. The only hope of stopping them was to burn that bridge and Colonel Scott and his cavalry were miles away. Night was fast coming on, when the Colonel walked into camp and said, “Boys, I want volunteers to go with me to burn St. Mary’s bridge; we may get back or we may not, I am going.” Very nearly all wanted to go but Colonel Scott picked eight young men, almost boys, the most of them. He was so stiff from rheumatism that they had to put him on his horse, but “there is a spirit in man,” and he led them off in the darkness.

Rapidly they rode; through brake and briar their way lay, but they reached the river not one moment too soon. Each soldier carried, tied to his saddle, a supply of fat pitch pine. The tramp of the enemy’s cavalry could be heard approaching. Lighting their torches, they had the bridge blazing merrily in the twinkling of an eye.

By this time the Yankees were in sight and a howl of rage went up, as they discovered the blaze. Swiftly the gray figures disappeared into the night and, though volley after volley followed them, not one was wounded. Five of the eight I know and am proud to claim as friends.

Tomorrow we go home. Cousin Julia has enjoyed it hugely—apart from the pleasure of seeing her father, it is her first visit to the coast and everything was new to her. I think our Florida coast is more attractive than the Virginia seashore, though it is rank heresy to say so.

October 27th, 1863.—We went to the salt works today and, though I am tired and dirty and have no good place to write, I am going to try to tell you about it.

A year ago salt began to get scarce but the people only had to economize in its use, but soon there was no salt and then Father got Cousin Joe Bradford to come down from Georgia and take charge of some salt works he was having installed on the coast. He had plenty of hands from the plantation but they had to have an intelligent head and then, too, it is a rather dangerous place to work, for the Yankee gunboats can get very near the coast and they may try shelling the works.

Though they have been in operation quite awhile this is my first visit. Father brought us with him and we will stay three days, so he can see just how they are getting on. We are to sleep in a tent, on a ticking filled with pine straw. It will be a novel experience.

I am so interested in seeing the salt made from the water. The great big sugar kettles are filled full of water and fires made beneath the kettles. They are a long time heating up and then they boil merrily. Ben and Tup and Sam keep the fires going, for they must not cool down the least little bit. A white foam comes at first and then the dirtiest scum you ever saw bubbles and dances over the surface, as the water boils away it seems to get thicker and thicker, at last only a wet mass of what looks like sand remains. This they spread on smooth oaken planks to dry. In bright weather the sun does the rest of the work of evaporation, but if the weather is bad fires are made just outside of a long, low shelter, where the planks are placed on blocks of wood. The shelter keeps off the rain and the fires give out heat enough to carry on the evaporation. The salt finished in fair weather is much whiter and nicer in every way than that dried in bad weather, but this dark salt is used to salt meat or to pickle pork. I think it is fine of Father to do all this. It is very troublesome and it takes nine men to do the work, besides Cousin Joe’s time; and Father does not get any pay whatever for the salt he makes.

We expected to have a grand time swimming and fishing. We are both good swimmers, but Father and Cousin Joe will not allow us to go outside of this little cove. Yankee gun-boats have been sighted once lately and there is no knowing when the salt works may be attacked.

October 4th, 1863.—I saw something awful this morning; I wish I had not seen it. We were taking a box of hospital supplies to the depot, to ship to Richmond and, when we turned the corner by Fisher’s Green, a group of soldiers were standing there. It was early, the sun had been up but just a few minutes and it shone bright on the group. I always look at soldiers, but I am sorry I looked at these for they had two poor fellows, who had deserted and been caught and, while we were looking, the squad fired and the deserters fell dead. Isn’t it perfectly awful? I didn’t think it ought to be done. So many are killed in battle and lives are worth more than that. To kill them when maybe they meant to come back. I am afraid I shall not sleep a wink tonight.

September 29th, 1863.—This is Mother’s birthday and the house is full of friends who have come to show their love for her. She is just the daintiest little lady in all the land and she is so gracious to everybody; it makes no difference who it is, and I believe that is one reason so many people love her. Father thinks she is perfect and he does not countenance the least disobedience to her wishes.

Some wounded men from the west came on the train to Tallahassee yesterday, only a few, however, and there is plenty of room in the hospital, so Dr. Geddings did not send any out to Father; if more come he will send them.

September 25th, 1863.—The telegraph wires are up and working again and the news we get is both encouraging and distressing. A great victory has been won at Chickamauga, but at such a fearful loss of life. It is said to be as bloody a battle as Gettysburg and it lasted three days, beginning on the nineteenth of this month.

We have such glorious news of the courage displayed by Gen. Finley’s Florida Brigade. They are in Longstreet’s Corps and they formed the entering wedge, which broke Thomas’s line; they charged with the bayonet three times with dreadful loss, before Thomas gave way. It is grand, it is heroic, but oh, those poor boys and their wives and mothers! Sometimes I am glad I have no real, true brothers for wouldn’t I love them just a little better than these I have?