May 27th, 1862.—They have gone. It is bad enough to give up the sisters but it is even worse to let the children go. Mother says I love them too well. But she loves them as well as I do if the truth was known. The girls have promised to write us every day, that is, if the writing paper holds out; nearly everything is scarce and hard to get. At last I am growing taller, and pretty soon my dresses will all be too short. Mother is having a piece of checked homespun woven and she is going to make me some dresses for next winter from that; the dresses she made me last fall for the trip to Raleigh are getting too small as well as too short. A growing girl in these days doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance.
Through Some Eventful Years by Susan Bradford Eppes
Susan Bradford Eppes, "Through Some Eventful Years"
May 16th, 1862.—There is light skirmishing around Richmond, so say last night’s papers; somebody is killed in these skirmishes—God help the South. A letter from Grandpa insists that Sister Mag and Sister Mart stop with him at Enfield; trains to and from Richmond pass his home every day and night and daily news from the front comes from reliable people. If Brother Amos should be wounded she could get to him right away. Then, too, it is almost impossible to procure accommodations in Richmond, it is so crowded at present with the divisions of the army, changing from point to point. Sister Mag wrote at once accepting his invitation; it hurts me so to think I cannot see my darling Grandpa; he cannot come to Florida, while this war is going on.
Susan Bradford Eppes, "Through Some Eventful Years"
May 10th, 1862.—There are rumors that McClellan has been removed from Richmond and McDowell appointed instead. With this new commander we may expect more fighting. “A new broom sweeps clean,” they say. Sister Mag has made up her mind to go to the front where she can be at hand if Brother Amos should be wounded. This dreadful waiting, waiting, has almost broken her heart. In June she will take her children, Eddie and the baby girl, whom her father has never seen, and go to Richmond. Sister Mart will accompany her and, of course, there are nurses for both babies. The whole neighborhood is interested and is busy embroidering pretty things for the children. No other trimming to be had in this blockaded country. But that is the least of all the inconveniences.
The book-keeper is getting on quite well with the work and Mrs. Ansell is a really cultivated woman, she comes to every meeting of the Sewing Society and seems as patriotic as the rest. Her little son sticks to me like a burr.
Susan Bradford Eppes, "Through Some Eventful Years"
May 5th, 1862.—We are continually hearing rumors of a fierce battle at Williamsburg but we do not know on what these rumors are based; we have no telegraphic communication and for weeks the mails have been so irregular as to amount to no news at all. No letters; no passing; just no news at all that can be relied on. We can only hope and pray.
Susan Bradford Eppes, "Through Some Eventful Years"
May 1st, 1862.—Father has engaged a book-keeper to come next week. He says it keeps me too close. This man is an Englishman with a wife, a small son and a brother-in-law; a strong, healthy man, who looks as if he ought to be in the army but he says being an Englishman he is not subject to military duty. Uncle Henry got his arm cut off just above the elbow, in the shingle mill and this young man is to take his place. They live in the house formerly occupied by the sawyer, Mr. Wheeler.
Father is so terribly afraid we will develop consumption because our grandmother Bradford died of it. That is why he requires us to spend so much time in out-door exercise. I am a little sorry to give up the book-keeping for I felt that I was helping, but there is a plenty to do in other ways. Fighting is going on all along the line but the telegraph wires have been cut and no certain news comes to us.
Susan Bradford Eppes, "Through Some Eventful Years"
April 5th, 1862.—Sewing societies were organized long ago and every neighborhood has one. Ours meets first at one house and then at another, and all of us sew steadily all day long. Mother cuts many of the garments and Mrs. Manning helps her, that is, when they meet with us.
Peter and Mac make packing cases and it is astonishing how many garments go forward from the Bradford neighborhood.
I did not know much about sewing at first; at the beginning I made Charley Hopkins two flannel shirts but I am ashamed to say Lulu did most of the sewing. Now I can take any kind of a garment and make it entire, even the buttonholes, though Sister Mag says my button holes “gape.” I mean to improve on them. I have to do my book-keeping early in the morning and sometimes I have to work at night to finish up the day’s work. Since we have been sewing so steadily I have given up my horseback rides. Father does not approve of that. I take a good deal of exercise in other ways, however, and I feel well and strong.
March 23rd, 1862.—This is Eddie’s birthday, Adeline made him a cake, (no white sugar to ice it) and by great good luck I found in my doll things, which have been packed away, two toy candles which delighted his heart.
Though the weather is still cold in Virginia the army seems to be on the move and I am afraid we will hear of more battles soon. If I, who have only brothers and cousins in the army, dread this so, what must it be to the poor wives and mothers and fathers? Uncle Richard has never been the same since Cousin Rich was killed.
March 16th, 1862.—The entire family wrote to Brother Amos this morning, he will surely find out he has a young daughter. As scarce as paper is Eddie had to have a whole sheet to write his letter on. He looked so in earnest that I asked what he was writing? He said, “I is sayin’, Father come home and wear de beautiful cloes.” He admires the gray and gold as much as the rest of us do.
March 15th, 1862.—Sister Mag has a daughter, born this morning. Poor little girl. She will, in all probability, never see her father’s face. I do not believe the war is going to end in even ninety days. Sister Mag is very ill tonight and I have Eddie upstairs with me, that he may not disturb his mother. He is as sweet and good as can be. When I told him about his baby sister he said, “Don’t bring her upstairs, let her be Aunt Pat’s baby, I is yours.” I certainly love him.
March 13th, 1862.—Brother Amos left this morning and our hearts ache for both of them. The women of the South have much to bear. Father takes me with him every other day to search for certain medicinal plants and roots, from which supplies for hospital use can be made. Medicines of all kinds are scarce in the Confederacy. Occasionally a vessel will run the blockade but not often; the Yankees have succeeded in making us very uncomfortable, to say the least of it.
Last week we sent to the hospital in Richmond a case of iron tonic for convalescents. We are now making a decoction of Boneset for chills and fever; this having been tried at home with good results was considered good enough for our dear soldiers. We make a salve too, from the leaves of what the negroes call “Jimson Weed.” It is healing and soothing and the small quantity of spirits of turpentine, we add to it, makes it more effective. Another salve is made from the root of the elder, grated and stewed in lard. With this salve goes a decoction of elder flowers, these used in conjunction are a preventive of gangrene and will sometimes cure it. Oh, if our poor soldiers could only have half the medicines they need; it is so hard to see them suffer for simple things that all the world besides can have. I think this blockade is devilish.
