[Diary] March 5.
Set off with little Charley to go to the ferry with my buggy, to leave it for Mr. Wilson to mend. At “The Oaks” the people gave me the warmest kind of welcome, and would, as usual, have loaded me with eggs, potatoes, etc., but I told them I was to return on horseback and could take none of these things. They began to tell me how much they missed us all, and said that Mr. Tomlinson was gone too — that Mr. Fairfield had “chased every bit.” They say the house looks too lonely, that no buckra[1] come there now.
I left the buggy at the ferry and set out on Charley, who is a splendid saddle horse, in a crowd of riders and drivers who had just come over from Beaufort. Charley grew gay and began to prance and rear a little. This frightened me horribly, and I called to Mr. A. to let me take his buggy, and to mount my horse, for Charley would break my neck, — “And what about mine? Won’t he break that?” he said, and he did not come to my rescue. Mr. Wells, who is a good rider, then offered, and gave Mr. A. his steady riding-horse. He gave Charley a good canter, I riding in the buggy and admiring in safety, and when we came to the church road I mounted Charley again, and rode, cantering the rest of the way to the village, enjoying it hugely.
[1] White people.
