Through Some Eventful Years by Susan Bradford Eppes

October 31st, 1865.—All this time I have dressed as a school girl. In the time of war we did not make any effort to follow fashion, just so we had a dress, it really mattered very little to what age it properly belonged. If it was suitable and becoming, so much the better, but no one offered criticism of another’s dress; we simply wore what we could get. Now it seems to be different;

I am actually grown up, though they say I do not look it, and now that Sister Mart is to be married in December, I shall be “Miss Bradford” and must dress accordingly.

Father ordered some things from New York and Mother has had some dresses with trains made for me,, and Uncle Arvah will select a cloak and bring with him, when he comes, bringing his winter stock of goods. Of course I felt somewhat elated over these new possessions but I do not know if I like the idea of giving up my free and happy childhood.

August 5th, 1865.—I have very little time for writing these days; not that there is so much work to do, our hands seem almost empty now that the war is over. We must try to make up to our soldiers for the years of hardship and privation. We have company nearly all the time and Mother makes ready for them as cheerfully as ever. Aunt Morea and Adeline have orders to serve a bountiful supper every night.

The way this order came about was very amusing. In the neighborhood, about seven miles away, a youthful uncle, with six nephews, were keeping bachelor’s hall; they were frequent callers and often spent the evening. One night they were announced while we were at supper. Mother went into the parlor and invited them to join us.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bradford,” spoke up six of them, almost simultaneously, “we have had our supper.”

The seventh one, who was really better acquainted than the others, said, “Mrs. Bradford, they may have eaten supper but I am a guest in the house and they did not give me any, so if I may, I will gladly accept your invitation.”

It was a laughing crowd Mother ushered into the dining room and, on leaving, they were given to understand that supper waited their pleasure any, or every night.

It is not the fault of these boys that they are idle. After four years of war, they came home to find an absolutely demoralized business world and until conditions change, they cannot hope to find positions. Of course those who have homes can find employment of a sort, but some, like these boys of whom I write, are far from home.

There is another family only two miles distant. Dr. Burroughs was a surgeon in the army and when his family fled before the enemy, who were bombarding their home in Savannah, he rented this place for his wife and babies. Under such conditions they did not have much of comfort around them and, when Dr. Burroughs came after the surrender, he brought with him four young soldier brothers, who brought with them only the clothes they wore and these very much the worse for the wear.

They were very cheerful over it and the doctor kindly shared his scant wardrobe with them, but unfortunately, the youngest one was tall and large, while the doctor was equally small. The clothes just would not either stretch or grow and poor Charley was disconsolate until a kind friend stepped in to the rescue, with a full-sized suit. These boys are also frequent visitors and one and all were made welcome at Pine Hill; so, little Diary, you see why it is necessary to have plentiful suppers. Mother says, “Boys love good things to eat,” and I am sure she is right. Let them have a good time while they can, there is work, hard work before us all if the South is to be salvaged.

These are serious days and there is much food for thought; but we cannot always be sad and wear a long face. We must cheer these soldiers of the Confederacy who have so many battles ahead of them. A hand to hand fight with poverty is no joke and that is what is staring us Southerners starkly in the face in the near future. Even so we will be merry while we may.

July 10th, 1865.—We have always had a late breakfast; early this morning Adeline, who usually has a second nap before she comes to the kitchen to get breakfast, woke us all to tell us she had orders from “dem sojers” to have breakfast ready in ten minutes. There was some hurrying, you may be sure, but even so we were not in time, Mother being the only member of the family to put in an appearance. We’ll do better tomorrow.

Ever “sence freedom drapped,” we have had trouble with the milkers. The cows would be left standing for hours, and we would not have fresh milk for the morning’s meal. The poor little calves would call mournfully for their mothers, until some one of the household would turn them together. Of course, at such times we had no milk. Today Pat elected to leave the cows and calves to shift for themselves, but it did not work. Cornell and Hibell came in, each with a foaming pail of milk and, not even looking towards us, said in a gruff voice, “Strain it, and put it up.” This is something I know all about for “Granny Vi’let’s” spotless dairy was ever an attractive place to me. I suppose we are to obey the guard also. Pat got her deserts, but I am a wee bit sorry for her.

Father has found out that we have two Union soldiers on the plantation and he is glad they are here. He is too ill to manage the negroes himself.

July 9th, 1865.—Our troubles are over, hurrah for Genera Foster! Sister Mart and Uncle Arvah made General Foster an early visit. She went in much trepidation, for she had not been quite civil when she met him at Goodwood. He had offered her his hand in greeting and she had drawn back, putting her hands behind her and saying, “Please excuse me.”

She told him what had happened; she described Peggy; she told of our indignation, of Father’s serious illness and of the constant difficulty of life on the plantation.

General Foster listened attentively as she talked; then he said, “I will give you a guard for your premises, Miss Bradford; a sergeant and one man, will, I think, be sufficient. I shall also give you an order to Lieutenant Zachendorf and this order Sergeant Cornell will deliver in person.

“Your guard will be instructed to attend to all plantation affairs and all I ask of you is that they be fed and housed and that they be given the freedom of the premises.”

Sister Mart was delighted. She is very impulsive and extended her hand to General Foster.

“General,” she said, “the last time we met I refused to shake hands with you, now I ask the privilege.”

It is a piece of merciful consideration for us and we cannot thank him enough. I have not seen him for I stay rather close at home.

When Sister Mart got back from town, we had not yet left the breakfast table. She entered the room, followed by two soldiers in blue uniforms. I thought they had come to arrest Mother and my heart stood still. What a relief it was when the situation was explained. Sergeant Cornell took the order to Centreville and we have heard nothing more of the arrest for “impertinence to Peggy.” We will sleep better tonight.

July 8th, 1865.—Things go from bad to worse. Father has been sick for several days; not very sick at first, but he grew worse and yesterday and today we have felt uneasy about him and our doctor brother has been with him until this morning. Mother’s room never looked cleaner or cooler, or daintier than it did today. Father’s room opens into hers and everything, in both rooms,, except the mahogany furniture was white. These apartments were always clothed in the crispest, snowiest of draperies during the summer months; even the cushioned chairs wore white dresses in summer.

Father was sleeping, Mother sat reading her Bible by the west window. Into this pure and peaceful atmosphere walked Peggy, unkempt, unwashed, dirty and disgusting beyond description.

Mother looked up from her Bible and asked, “What can I do for you Peggy?” I was arranging a bowl of roses out in the hall and hearing voices, came into the room.

“I is jis’ kum fur a visit Miss Patsey,” and, with that she came forward and seated herself in one of the large, white-cushioned rockers.

“Get up Peggy,” said Mother, but Peggy tossed her knotty head.

“I ain’t agwine ter git up. De ladies what kums here sets in dese cheers an’ I is jis’ as good as dey is.”

What a picture she made, leaning back, her dirty head making dirty prints on the chair cover, her scaley feet stuck straight out before her and the most impudent expression on her black face that you ever saw.

My diary, I was so angry I could scarcely see. I fear I am not of much use in an emergency but Sister Mart is and she rose quickly to the occasion. Calling Bill and Fannie to help her, she forced Peggy to leave the house.

We thought the incident was disposed of, but no, Peggy went straightway to Centreville and reported to the military authorities that “Miss Patsey done gie me a insult.”

Finding that she really had been forcibly ejected from the house, they sent an orderly with a note saying Mother must apologize at once to Peggy or she would be arrested at twelve o’clock on the following day and tried before the court presided over by Lieutenant Zachendorf. These may not be the words he used but I am giving the gist of the note.

Father was too ill to tell him of it, and Mother does not think anything will be done but we are terribly anxious. Sister Mart has made a plan, which I hope will prove to be the right thing. She has bound me over to secrecy and she and Jordan and Fannie have had a confidential talk. Early in the morning Jordan is to have the carriage at the door and Fannie will be in readiness to accompany Sister Mart to Tallahassee to interview General Foster. She will get Uncle Arvah to go with her to call on the general. She will hurry back and I must keep mother in good heart until she gets home.

July 6th, 1865.—Something disagreeable happened today. The Riding class was to meet at Hattie’s and we were going around Lake Iamonia, and as the distance was longer than our rides usually are, we had to make an earlier start.

At four o’clock Cousin Lizzie and I were leaving the grove by the big front gate, which opens on the Thomasville road. “Rebel,” the pony I was riding, has an ugly trick of backing and kicking, if a noise alarms him, and just as we were riding through the gate Lieutenant Zachendorf and a squad of his men came riding past. Their accoutrements made a jingling noise, which offended “Rebel’s” ears and he immediately backed toward the soldiers, kicking with all his might, his heels fairly flying. I could do nothing with him; he paid no attention to either rein or whip and orders were of no avail. I was in despair. Lieutenant Zachendorf halted his squad and ordered me to “Stop that Devil.” I explained that I could not manage him and they rode away, after telling me if it ever happened again he would have me arrested and tried before his court. We went on to Captain Lester’s house, where we joined the party but I did not enjoy the afternoon. I think I shall have to stay at home hereafter.

July 5th, 1865.—We had a grand time at Greenwood last night. The Shakespeare Club is the most entertaining mode of amusement I ever tried. I had a sore throat and could not read so my part was given to one of the other girls, Nora Holland, it was. That being the case I had a better opportunity of judging the rest. Most of the readers did remarkably well; all were educated and all were more or less accomplished, and well-read. The readers made a pretty picture as they sat around the big kerosene lamps which were a new acquisition in the Holland household, for four years we have had lights of domestic manufacture only, so these looked quite grand.

I sat in an open window and listened and looked, but I fear my attention was somewhat distracted from the subject in hand, because, just outside, on the porch, some one was kneeling, talking of far different matters. Having heard that the next meeting would be held at Uncle Tom’s we adjourned for supper. Cousin Peggy is a famous housekeeper and this was a fair sample of her skill. It has been a long time since the southern housekeeper felt that she could be spared from the camp and the hospital for entertainments, but our soldiers are at home now and we must give them the very best we have.

July 4th, 1865. Never in all my life have I known a Fourth of July, which did not mean a frolic for both white and black. Today there is no barbecue. We are not going to listen to spread-eagle oratory of the Glorious Fourth. To be sure we have not observed this ceremonial during the four years of war, but in days gone by we were most particular to observe the day.

I wonder what the negroes think of this change of program? I would like to know how they are spending the day? I haven’t much time for such speculations, for Josie Evans is spending the summer with us and I love to be in her company. She is a delightful companion and a veritable star in all social gatherings. She has a marvellously beautiful, sweet and powerful voice and she has made a study of music. It was her intention to go on the stage but her mother would not permit it. I am sorry, for she would be wonderful on the stage, she has just the pose of an actress and her fine figure and graceful bearing would make for success. Isn’t it strange that appearance means so much? She is a fine elocutionist and her reading tonight will be well worth listening to.

June 24th, 1865.—Mid-summer day. I long to go to the woods, down to the “Fairy Dell,” where the wonderful spring is bubbling musically and little Mabel is filling her pitcher with the sparkling waters. I seem to hear my sweet sister’s voice again as she pressed me to her side and repeated,

“ ‘Tis good to make all duty sweet,

To be alert and kind,

‘Tis good, like little Mabel,

To have a willing mind.”

I cannot go to the Fairy Spring, however, it is a full half mile from the house and even our own woods are no longer safe from intrusion. The negro soldiers are everywhere. We are spied upon by our own servants at every turn and so we do not feel safe to get out of hearing of the rest of the family, unattended.

Though the war is over we have not replenished our wardrobes; this for the good and sufficient reason that we have no money, something new to us. Never before have we known the lack of it. Indeed, in the days of the Southern Confederacy we had it in such quantities that it has been said by some wag: “In days gone by, the Southerner went to town with his pocket full of money and took along a wagon to take his purchases home; in these war times, he takes a wagon load of money to town and brings back his goods in his pocket.” Well, we will get used to it after a while.

But to go back to the scant wardrobe. When the Club meets we like to look as brother Junius says, “As pretty as pinks,” and, with that end in view, I have been hard at work remodeling a dress. It is of white Paris muslin, trimmed with baby ribbon in a pale shade of blue. Again Sister Mag has come to the rescue and has lent me a lovely white sash, edged with picots of blue, which exactly matches my ribbon. A lucky girl, am I not? Will I look pretty in it, little Diary?