Through Some Eventful Years by Susan Bradford Eppes

December 25th, 1861.—Christmas night! No festive gathering tonight. We did not have a Christmas tree. Mattie and Eddie hung up their stockings but they had so many things they might better have hung up a two bushel sack. I found a number of gifts on the lightstand beside my bed, when I awoke this morning. The grown folks had presents, too, but somehow the flavor of Christmas was not there. The servants and all the hands on the plantation came as usual and Father had fixed for them, just, as is always done. He says they are just children and must have their pleasure the same as ever.

They shouted, “Crismus gif,” they sang and danced, they had the “Sweetened Dram.” Gifts were not lacking, good wishes were spoken just the same but, was it in my imagination, or was there really a difference?

Uncle William and Aunt Mary came and brought the children but Uncle Richard and Aunt Nancy did not come—their sorrow was too fresh and keen. Cousin Rob came and of course Cousin William and Cousin Sarah came but we missed the others. Aunt Sue is sick and that, too, cast a gloom over the day. Sister Mag had a letter this morning from Brother Amos. She had not heard for some time and this was written somewhat after the fashion of my diary. Of course he wrote a lot of her and Eddie, with messages for the rest of us. He also told her why the letter was so long delayed. The snow is deep there now as the Howell Guards are stationed at Evansport, on the Potomac and they cannot mail a letter every day. He thinks it is funny that they enlisted first as a Cavalry company, then they were Infantry and now they are serving as Artillery, manning a battery of big guns.

He wrote of many of the Tallahassee boys; John Day Perkins, he says, is the very quietest man in camp; he rarely makes a remark of any kind. He says the battery has sunk several small craft and recently the battleship Pennsylvania went down. When they were first stationed there Captain Parkhill tested the boys to see which were the best marksmen. He found he had enough skilled men to fire the guns but the very best marksman in the company proved to be Nick Eppes, a stripling of seventeen, as pretty as a girl and looks like one, too. He was placed in command of the biggest gun in the battery and, when the Pennsylvania was sighted, few of the guns struck her except the shots from the big guns, which went to the mark every time. The Pennsylvania sank and still lies beneath the waters of the Potomac. Talking it over afterward, John Day surprised them all by remarking, “Nick didn’t shoot all those turkeys for nothing.” The company cheered and clapped so enthusiastically that he was encouraged to speak again, “I had rather be at home shooting turkeys than here at Evansport shooting Yankees.” The applause was louder than ever and they all voiced John Day’s sentiments. Brother Amos says Dick Parkhill is as gay and full of fun as ever; he makes love to every girl he meets, does it, “to keep his hand in.”

Frank Papy is low-spirited and almost sick. Brother Amos is coming home in March to stay three weeks and Sister Mag can hardly wait. We will all be delighted to see him. He is the most hopeful person I ever met; “the war will be over in thirty days” “sixty days”—”ninety days” —I do not know what comes next but I do know he is a very pleasant person to talk to—you feel so cheered up. He wrote, too, that the War Department has ordered all independent companies to be merged into the different regiments. The Howell Guards will enter the 2nd Florida Regiment in General Perry’s command.

December 1st, 1861.—Father was reading what I had written about the Battle of Manassas and he said, “My baby has forgotten to write of school plans. They should be recorded by all means. In years to come you will read of it with great interest and it should have come before the account of the battle.” As he thinks it is not too late to tell of it I will write it here, though I do not like to think of it. I was so opposed to it at first and so disappointed when I had to give it up. In June, last, Grandpa wrote to Mother, urging her to send me to Raleigh to school. Mother was educated in that city and many of her old friends still live there. I would probably have their children as classmates. Grandpa, himself, would take me to Raleigh and see to all details necessary. His plan was for me to go on to Enfield with cousin Johnnie, who was then at home on a furlough and would see me safely in his hands. I could visit Grandma and himself until school opened. He said Raleigh was so far in the interior that there would be no danger of the enemy reaching it and he could think of no safer place in these days of war. He went on to say he thought the war would be over in sixty days; a great many people think so. Father was opposed to this but Mother thought well of it and though I hated the thought of leaving them, Mother told such entrancing tales of school life in Raleigh, that I soon became reconciled. Then, too, I dearly love to please Grandpa. Mother graduated with first honors and her father was so delighted that he gave her that lovely set of jet and gold, which I have always admired. I thought to myself, I, too, can study hard and perhaps I can get first honors and Father and Mother may be proud of their “ugly duckling” yet. Though the blockade is much more effective than we had any idea it would or could be, it was still an easy matter to fit out a school girl.

In the fall of 1860 uncle Arvah had bought an unusually large stock of goods and when, in the following January, Florida seceded, he wired his commission merchants in New York, to buy such goods as he was in the habit of supplying himself with, to the value of the cotton in his name, which they held in their possession. When these goods arrived, and they were shipped immediately, the bills of lading showed one hundred and forty-two thousand dollars worth of merchandise. So Mother had no difficulty in finding pretty materials; she and Lulu made my dresses and Mrs. Manning made my underwear. They were so beautifully made that I told sister Mag it was almost like her bridal trousseau. My traveling dress was brown, a soft, rough-surfaced material of wool, with small flecks of gold color woven in. There is a long cape, lined with satin of the same shade as the dress, quilted in small diamonds. My hat is of beaver felt, the color of the dress, three fluffy little ostrich tips are fastened in with a gold arrow. The cape, too, is fastened with three gold clasps. Such a pretty dress. But I will not wear it to North Carolina, for as soon as I had made up my mind to go things began to happen. The Battle of Manassas did not seem to alarm them but when the enemy attacked the coast of North Carolina, Father and Mother were quite positive that I must stay at home. So, war interferes with everything, even with education. It may be all for the best, I am sure it is, since Cousin Richard was killed. I believe what made Father and Mother change their minds is the discovery that the enemy are sending spies through the country to cut off telegraphic communication, when they get ready to attack. It would be dreadful to be cut off from your own home folks.

November 1st, 1861.—School had opened on the first of last month, but, after the trouble which came to us, mother let Miss Sadie go to visit her sister for a while. She came back on the 15th and the other girls have been going to school while I was away. This morning I began again, there are no others in my class so it did not really make much difference. Miss Sadie does not teach Trigonometry, so I have laid that aside until Father feels better and can help me with it. I feel so strange—and the war news hurts me as it never did before. I seem to be looking for bad news all the time. Father says I must try to overcome this feeling, he has given me a poem to learn and I think I shall copy it here:

“Let us try to be happy,

We may if we will,

Find some good in life

To o’er balance the ill.

.

“There are times when

The lightest of spirits must bow

And the sunniest face

Wear a cloud on its brow.

.

“But the deeper our own grief

The greater the need,

To try to be happy

Lest other hearts bleed.

.

“Let us each in all earnestness

Work for the best;

And leave to our God and

Our conscience the rest

.

“Still holding this truth

Both in word and in deed

That who tries to be happy

Is sure to succeed.”

August 12th, 1861.—It is late at night but I cannot sleep so will write up the events of the day. The Howell Guards left on the mid-day train. A crowd had gathered around the depot to see them off. Mothers, wives, sisters, sweethearts and friends—all were there. Standing on the platform and looking around I marveled at what I saw. Women with bright, smiling faces, looking tenderly on the soldiers, who were ready to depart. Saying fond, loving words of advice and of hope: pressing the beloved gray-clad figure in a parting embrace kissing the dear lips, maybe for the last time, and yet those brave women smiled. As soon as the train pulled out and the soldier boys could not see, the scene changed. Sobs and tears, wild outbursts of grief on every side, and yet, this had been suppressed lest it grieve those brave hearts, who were going forth to battle for home and country.

On the way home Eddie seemed to try to see how entertaining he could be, he took my handkerchief and wiped his mother’s eyes, he kissed her over and over, then he put on somebody’s big glove and gravely offered her his hand, saying, “Tell de popes howty.” That brought a smile; Niobe herself could not have resisted the bright little baby face and the piping little voice.

Many a prayer goes up tonight from anxious hearts. May God bless our dear soldiers and may God bless the South.

August 1st, 1861.—The Howell Guards are going to Virginia on the 12th of this month. Poor sister Mag, she is not a bit patriotic and she is almost brokenhearted at this news. Her baby is more than a year old now, fifteen months old, and he is learning to talk and is so funny and sweet but even Eddie cannot bring a smile to his mother’s face, she is the very picture of woe.