The horrible, horrible time that has come to us; our world seems turned topsy turvy. We feel that we can trust none of the dear black folks who, before this, we had relied on at every turn. I am afraid to say a word for fear it will prove to be just what should have been left unsaid.
When the mail comes in we crowd about the mail-bag as though something could be told by looking at the outside and, when it is opened, some one must read the news aloud, the news from Virginia, for we are impatient. What will become of us? Will our Father in Heaven let us be destroyed? Will the people we have always loved put the torch to our homes and murder us when we seek to escape? This is what John Brown was urging them to do.
I cannot see that there has been any change; Lulu is just as good and kind as ever; the rest are more quiet but they do not seem disturbed or ill natured. Frances said to me last night, “Do you understand what all this is about?” I told her I did not; I told her we would know more after a few days. She laughed, a crazy kind of laugh, and said: “Yes, you will; you white folks will know a heap you ain’t never knowed before,” and then she ran out of the room. I did not tell this, for I am sure she has heard something I have not and if I keep quiet she may tell me more.
The newspapers from Richmond and from New York come daily and they give the details of proceedings in Virginia. It is more exciting than anything I have ever read either in history or fiction.
