September 1st, 1863. —The children have not been well at Bath, so Brother Amos is bringing his family home next week. The War Department will not accept his services, so he is going direct to his plantation on Lake Jackson and try to make lots of syrup, sugar and meat for the armies in the field; such as this is certainly needed.
We are busy spinning, weaving, sewing and knitting, trying to get together clothing to keep our dear soldiers warm this winter. Brother Junius writes that he has worn all his under garments to shreds and wants to know if it would be possible to get some flannel, or some kind of wool goods to make him some new ones? We have tried but none can be had, so I am spinning some wool into knitting yarn and with some big wooden needles I have I am going to knit both drawers and shirts for him. I am so impatient to get to work on them and see if my plan is feasible, that I spend all the time I can at the spinning wheel. I know the shirts can be knit, for I made some for father last winter which he found quite comfortable but I am somewhat doubtful as to the drawers. After awhile we will learn how to supply most of our needs.
Cousin Rob did not have a hat when he was getting ready for school, which opens today, so I plaited palmetto and sewed it into shape and Aunt Robinson, who knows everything, pressed it on a block and then I sewed a ribbon around it and there it was, a sure enough hat and very becoming. He sat near and admired the braid all the time I was making it. I had no shoes except some terribly rough ones that old Mr. McDermid made and Cousin Rob tanned some squirrel skins and made me a pair of really beautiful shoes, nice enough to wear with my one and only silk dress. This dress, you must know, is “made of Mammy’s old one” like Jim Crack Corn’s coat—Little Diary, I am afraid you do not know very much of Mother Goose.
August 20th, 1863.—Captain Beall has improved amazingly, he can now speak in a natural voice and is allowed to converse when he feels like it. At first his voice was so weak and it hurt him to speak, so he made signs for his wants. He is very pleasant, the doctors, who come now and again to see him, say his lungs are still in bad shape and he requires just the care and good nursing he is getting here. Father has inserted silver tubes in his right side to draw off the pus, which has collected there. The right lung is not healing as the left one has done and they forbid him to think of going back for months to come. A winter in Florida may make him as sound as ever.
Today Father took him for a short ride in the buggy. He drove Dabney, who is old and steady, so he would not be jolted or jarred. I wish Sister Mart was at home, she could play for him and entertain him. I have taken up the book-keeping again but it is not quite as heavy as it was because the saw-mill is not running. The hands who formerly did the work at the mill are needed in the crops that more provisions may be made.
The people who live in town and have no plantations to draw upon, have a bad time indeed. Father often sends articles of food to his friends in Tallahassee. Judge Baltzell said he had not tasted meat for weeks, so Father promptly sent him a ham, smoked after the most approved North Carolina fashion and it was touching to see how pleased the judge was. He often sends things to Major Beard, too, and none of us ever forget Bishop Rutledge, when something good is on hand. The Bishop eats like a bird, he has so little appetite, and has to be tempted to eat.
August 18th, 1863.—Tonight we had with us at supper two of the heroes of Gettysburg; John Nash and Nicholas Eppes. They were recommended for promotion by their colonel, for gallantry on the battle field of Gettysburg. On that field, where deeds of daring, which will live forever, were done, what did these boys do that could be singled out? They must have distinguished themselves for the War Department to notice and promote. I wanted to ask about the great battle but they were leaving home as they had, only a short hour or two ago, said goodbye to those they loved. They were on their way to the army of the West, even now fighting Rosecrans army. They were going to face death, just as they had faced it at Gettysburg, and so, I could not ask questions which would call up scenes of blood and agony.
When they had said goodbye and were out of sight Aunt Robinson said, “Mrs. Bradford, isn’t it a pity for that pretty boy to be killed by the Yankees? He is enough like Sue to be her brother.” Mother shuddered. “I am glad he isn’t,” she said, “I am afraid it is not patriotic but I am glad I have no sons.”
It used to be a grievance to poor mother that, as Johnnie expressed it, “Aunt Patsey’s boys were all girls,” but she seems to be taking comfort in it now.
July 3rd, 1863.—Another telegram brings more news from Gettysburg—such awful news—death and destruction and perhaps defeat. God help our poor country. Holding my breath I listen and tears come, though I try to be calm. So many of our brave men, who went forward can never come back. Oh, this horrible, horrible WAR!
July 2nd, 1863.—Yesterday fighting began on Pennsylvania soil. The army of Northern Virginia, the bravest army in the history of wars, may, even now be struggling with the foe. Oh, how horrible it is to know that those you love are in such danger! There must be aching hearts at the North as well as here. I feel for all who suffer and it seems to me the bond of brotherhood, which once united the two sections, ought to make us kinder in our judgments; more merciful in our actions. But war is a monster and destroys charity.
June 28th, 1863. The army of Northern Virginia is pushing on to the invasion of the North. In this land of ours a curious species of fault-finders has developed. While the men, the true men, are at the front, struggling with might and main to save the South from destruction, there are others, poor weak-kneed cowards, who stand on street corners and criticise President Davis and the generals in command of our armies.
These cowardly back-biters have never smelled gun powder, they are Carpet Generals and yet, to listen to them talk, you would think that the only thing needed to insure victory would be to put them in command. I turn sick with scorn when I am obliged to be present while they are exploiting their wisdom.
June 17th, 1863.—Vague and contradictory rumors fill the air; we seem to be upon the brink of a change some way. The army of Northern Virginia is on the move and we can only pray and work, for it grows more difficult with every passing day to provide the barest necessities for our brave boys at the front. Never did men fight under greater disadvantages. The armies must be supplied even if the home-folks starve. We do not let them know how we have to stint ourselves. They must not have our burdens to bear in addition to their own.
June 12th, 1863.—Our patient, the newest one, likes his quarters very much. Father and Mother wait on him themselves, they are so afraid something may go wrong. The piano is kept closed and Mattie’s poodle has been banished pro tern.
June 10th, 1863.—Dr. English came today and with him Captain John Yates Beall, the soldier he had written about. Captain Beall is young and very good-looking. He has the front room up stairs, where he can be cool and we have our orders to make no noise. He must not talk and he has to take nourishment every three hours. Father dressed his wound and left him to sleep a while. I hope I do not forget and make a noise.
Sister Mag, with her family, and Sister Mart have gone to Bath, where Brother Amos has a furnished house, left to him in his father’s will. It is large and pleasantly located, built expressly for the summer-time and cool and airy. Brother Amos has never recovered from his wound and the doctors, who have examined him, say he will never be fit for service again, but he says he is going back, just as soon as he feels well again. That is the spirit which animates all our soldiers.
Mother keeps surprisingly well. We are so glad of it for it is impossible to leave home in search of health in these busy days.
June 3rd, 1863. —I have been sick, dear Diary. I have not been able even to think at times and I am a fright. The fever made my hair drop out and I am wearing a black silk cap, which makes me look like the picture of the Jesuits.
So much has happened since I wrote here last. I miss Susie and Aunt Nancy and I am so sorry for Aunt Margaret. The whole country misses Uncle Daniel for he was such a fine officer, so splendidly equipped to command men.
My pupils have all gone away. I did not know when they went but the father died and the boys are scattered among their relatives. I hope they can go to school for they were actually learning a little.
Father says I can resume the book-keeping when I am well again. The call for troops made it necessary for Mr. Ansell and Mr. Edmondson, the brother-in-law, to enlist or leave the country. Rather than return to England they took the oath of allegiance to the Confederate Government and have joined the Gamble Artillery; that is, they expect to be in Colonel Gamble’s command. Mrs. Ansell will stay on in the house provided for the mill manager.
Dr. English has written to Father in regard to a wounded soldier he is bringing with him from a hospital in Virginia. The doctor went on to see his nephew, who was wounded in a skirmish near Harper’s Ferry, but when he reached the hospital his nephew had been dead two weeks. He found there a young Virginian, whose injuries were severe and painful; the surgeons in attendance said he was shot through both lungs, the bullet making what they term “a clean wound,” entering on one side cutting its way through and leaving the body in a direct line. They think if he could get to some quiet place, where his wound could receive close medical treatment he might recover. Of course Father wants him to come here.
We always keep Charley when the doctor goes and he is with us now. He is like a little brother to me and Father and Mother are more like parents to him than his own father. The doctor is a scientific man, not an M. D., but a Ph.D., and a long list of other letters, which mean so much to him. He is so wrapped up in his researches that he does not find his own young son very interesting. Charley is happy here, however, and we love the poor motherless boy.
