my old schoolmates, Northern girls, of whom I was fond, and opening
the clasps I stood them all in a row on the mantel, hoping that should
some commander find among them the face of a relative, he would spare
the house for the sake of friendship. It was a vain hope, for my
lovely house was destroyed with all the others. However, a soldier,
brother of one of the girls, did find among the pictures the likeness
of his sister and he wrote me after the war about thus seeing amid the
roar of battle the likeness of his angel sister, for she was then
dead.
You will often hear of the "reconstruction period," the period when
the situation had to be faced by the beaten Southerner, and everything
had to be managed on a new and strange basis. That period in my life
had now come, for we all resolved to return home and do the best we
could with what we had left.
Father had loaned the Confederate Government fifty horses and mules;
twenty-five were returned to him, good, bad, and indifferent. We took
the journey home by the aid of these animals, and our carriage was
drawn by one large "raw-boned" horse helped by a little pony. We
camped out at night, and drove all day. Sometimes we were able to get
shelter for our parents. It was very rough traveling; the roads were
destroyed, and trees had been cut down blocking the way. We finally
reached the only house left standing near our former home, at eleven
o'clock at night, after ten days of travel. This house was far off
from all plantations, situated in a pine forest. It was used by our
family for a summer retreat. It had large airy rooms; one measuring
twenty-five feet, and one fifty feet. In this house, bereft of all
its furniture, our family gathered. We found our negroes scattered and
completely demoralized.
Starvation seemed imminent. The men of our family went to work to cut
timber, to be shipped to Savannah on rafts. In the meantime, before we
could expect any monetary return from this industry, what else could
we do to better our condition? was the question we asked one another.
One of my brother's former negroes came to me and said, "I think you
could make money by baking pies and bread for the colored Northern
troops."
Those soldiers were quartered on my father's plantation. My dear, war
was nothing compared to the horrors of that reconstruction period. For
six months we never went to bed without bidding one another good-by,
not expecting to be alive the next morning. We sold our jewelry, all
that was left, to the soldiers, and they would come to the house,
march around it with bayonets drawn, and curse us with the vilest
oaths. We would gather the little ones around us, bar the door, and
wait, for we knew not what.
When you are old enough, Dorothy, dear, read "The Leopard's Spots,"
which gives a better description of what we endured, than I ever can
write.
However, we needed money to buy food with. I, therefore, set to work
making bread, and any number of green-apple pies. Tom, a negro, built
us a clay oven and we secured a negro's service for the baking; I got
up at four o'clock in the morning, and by ten o'clock Tom was off with
the pony and wagon, to sell articles for us. We had enough to live on,
but no meat except bacon.
By request of every white person the Government removed the colored
troops six months after the war, and sent white troops in their place.
Poor grandpa would sit all day with bowed head and say over and over,
"My poor daughters, my poor daughters." We tried to appear brave and
cheerful and would say in reply, "Why we can manage; do not trouble
about us." But father's heart was broken and though he appeared well,
he instinctively felt that his days were numbered and asked to have
our former pastor called.
When the minister came, we and some neighbors gathered together in a
little supply store that was "thrown up" after the war, and there we
stood, or sat on the counters, during service. It was a touching
scene. Your mother was a little girl of five years, and she feeling
the sadness of it all, wept through the whole service. Father
gathered her in his arms and tenderly wiped her tears away.
As service closed an old church member and father advanced to shake
hands with each other saying simultaneously: "We shall drink no more
of the fruit of the vine, until we drink in our Father's Kingdom."
It seemed in the nature of a prediction, for three days afterwards
father passed peacefully away, without apparent illness.
Mother lived until her eighty-seventh year, weary, sad years for her.
She lived with her children, but none were able to make her
comfortable. Poverty reigned everywhere, and still exists in that once
luxurious country. We thanked God that father had not to endure, for
long, the sight of our want and distress. Before he died, however, we
left the large house in which we first took refuge, and started
housekeeping separately in outhouses or cabins in the pinelands, which
were formerly used for storerooms, kitchens, laundries, etc.
We fitted up one of these cabins as comfortably as we could for
father's and mother's use, and in another little house situated about
three and a half miles from them, I lived a while with your mamma and
Dr. De Saussure. In this little house we had to endure great hardships
for many years, and led the most desolate lives.
Your precious mother was our only comfort; she was always happy. She
had few books, no school, and as my husband was an invalid, he was
often too ill to see her, or to be left alone. She would study her
lessons and sit outside the door of his darkened room, and when I
could leave him she would recite to me what she had learned.
Another time we lived in a little cabin, part of which was curtained
off for the accommodation of a sister of Dr. De Saussure's and her
baby. Our kitchen stove was under an open shed built against the side
of the house. Heavy rain would flow over the dirt floor, and remain
standing several inches deep.
At this time your mother's one delight was her pony Brownie. She would
drive the cows up from the swamps, and Brownie soon learned to give
them a bite on their backs when they stopped to graze.
"Jeff Davis" was also a great pet; he was a young calf we never
allowed to leave the yard for fear the negroes would take him. Poor
Jeff was sacrificed for food, but your mother's heart was broken for
her pet, and she could not be induced to taste any portion of the
meat.
Before I undertook to make pies and bread for the colored troops, and
when we were very hard pressed, as I said before, I went and spent a
night with my parents. My adopted sister, the housekeeper of whom I
told you, called me out of the house and taking me some distance away
so we could not be heard by them, said: "We have but a pint of corn
meal in the house, and if I cook that for our supper I have nothing to
give father and mother for breakfast." We cried together, and wondered
what we could do. One of our negro men from the plantation approached
me and said, "Miss Nancy" (they called me by that name, and the
grandchildren of our old negroes still use it), "the steamboat has
just landed at the dock, and there are lots of boxes for you." Amazed,
I exclaimed, "Why, who has sent me anything?" I looked then upon all
Northern friends as enemies. I had not heard from any of them in
years; the war had separated us. I told the man to take a cart and
hasten to the dock. He returned laden. Still in amaze I had the boxes
opened, wherein we found all sorts of provisions: hams, sugar, tea,
coffee, crackers, etc., etc., and better than all a letter from a
gentleman, who wrote that he had read in the papers of the great
distress of Southern people; he knew nothing of my condition, but
judged of it by what he read of the pitiful state of others, and he
wished me to draw whatever amount we needed from his agent in Savannah
to relieve our necessities. To me the heavens had opened and from them
came these gifts. I saw in this relief when we most needed help the
kind care of our heavenly Father, who had put into the heart of this
generous man to come to our assistance. We drew enough money to
enable us to buy food and to begin work on our own place. With the
account of my acquaintance with this gentleman my story will close.
He was an Englishman, who had settled with his family in the Bahamas.
When I met him I was in my sixteenth year, and was on my way to school
in Philadelphia. Agnes and three brothers were with me, one brother
going to Princeton to finish his theological course, one to
Lawrenceville to school, and the third to Colgate University.
On the steamer was this gentleman, taking his son to Philadelphia to
school. My eldest brother became acquainted with him, and introduced
him to me. It took much longer in those days to make the trip, the
journey comprising three and a half to four days.
Agnes and I saw a great deal of the father, and the son was with my
brother most of the time, so that when we reached Philadelphia, we
felt well acquainted. Mr. Saunders, for that was the name of our new
friend, said to my brother upon landing: "I shall be in Philadelphia a
fortnight, or until my son becomes acquainted in the city. If you will
allow me, I will be pleased to take your sisters driving with us, and
show them the places of interest." Many pleasant drives we had
together, and grew better acquainted each day.
At the end of his visit he came to bid us farewell, and said to me:
"Miss Nannie, I have a request to make of you, will you grant it?" I
replied, "If I can, I will gladly." He had often spoken of his elder
son who was studying at Oxford, England, and he continued: "In two
years my son will graduate, I want you to promise me that you will
wait until you see him before engaging yourself to anyone." I
laughingly promised him to wait the two years.
When I was seventeen years old I returned home. I had been there
perhaps three years, when I went on a brief visit to a friend who
lived about twenty miles away from us. My visit ended, I returned
home, and as I drove up to the door, my young brother ran out to meet
me and said, "Guess who is here to see you," and when I failed in
guessing he said, "Mr. Saunders's son."
I then met the young gentleman, a handsome, fine young man, who
brought letters of introduction from leading men in his own home, and
one from his father, who wrote that he had not forgotten my promise to
him, but that he had been delayed in fulfilling his desire in having
us meet by his son's failing to find me.
He had lost the address of my home, and thinking Charleston the
nearest town, his son was sent there to inquire for us. The next
winter he sent him to Savannah to find me, and from there the young
man was directed to my father's home.
Mr. Saunders wrote that it had been his dearest wish to have me for
his daughter, and he had talked so much to his son about me that he
was quite willing to fall in with his father's wishes in the matter.
In the meantime I had met your grandfather, and had decided that I
would marry him, or no one. My father was bitterly opposed to my
marrying at all, as he did not want to part with me, and therefore, I
was waiting until he gave his consent.
We made Mr. Saunders's visit as pleasant as possible, and I told him
at once of my affection for your grandfather, as I did not wish to
deceive him.
The young man spent some weeks with us, and upon his return home I
received another letter from his father saying he could not give up
his cherished hope of having me for a daughter, and as his son had
fallen in love with me, he hoped I would reconsider my decision. At
the same time his son wrote of his attachment, offering himself to me.
But it was useless to urge me, and though I felt grateful to be looked
upon with so much affection I declined the offer.
This was the beginning of a very remarkable friendship which sprang up
between the father and myself.
Upon receipt of the letter expressing myself as steadfast to Dr. De
Saussure, he wrote in reply asking that he might consider himself as a
father, and to me and your mother, who always called him grandfather,
he was like a father.
During the latter part of the war, I wrote to him asking if he would
receive cotton through the blockade and arrange to send us in return
many necessary things. We were without shoes, and were wearing clothes
made from our gay silk dresses carded up and spun with cotton, thus
woven into cloth by our own people. We then had an abundance of food,
but other things were not to be bought. In reply he said: "Do not send
your cotton, you will run a double risk; I will send you all you need,
for I have more than enough for my family and yours."
Never dreaming we would ever be in a position where we could not repay
Mr. Saunders, I wrote to him and sent a list of needed articles,
pieces of linen, merino, and silk, and stockings and shoes for us all.
He sent us two thousand dollars worth of goods in gold value, thus
generously supplying every child and grandchild in our family with
clothes.
Alas for us, the war ended disastrously, and forgetting all he had
previously done for me and mine, he now sent money and provisions to
aid us, which help arrived in our darkest hour.
I am glad to tell you that these debts were paid, though it took us
years to do it.
Until Mr. Saunders's death, we corresponded regularly, and fifteen
years after the war he came to see me at Vassar College, for after
your grandfather's death, I came North with your darling mother who
was fifteen years of age, and went first to Philadelphia, placing her
in the same school where I had been educated, with the same principals
still in charge, the Misses Bonney and Dillaye. I kept house in
Philadelphia in a quiet way in two rooms, and had been there two
years when I learned that the gentleman whom your grandfather had
left in charge of my affairs had speculated and lost every cent I had
in the world.
Immediately I tried to find some work by which I could support your
mother and myself, and through one of my former teachers, Miss Morse,
who was then assistant to Dr. Raymond of Vassar College, I was offered
the position of assistant principal. There I remained for five years.
While at Vassar your mother took up a special course at the College
and graduated from the Art Department.
One day my dear old friend Mr. Saunders was announced. The last time
we met, I was fifteen and he forty-five years old. This latter meeting
took place twenty-five years later. It was a sad meeting for both of
us. He had lost most of his property, and was comparatively poor. He
took me in his arms and said; "My child, if I were able to take care
of you and your daughter you would not be here one minute, for I would
take you home with me and take care of you both." The last letter I
received from him said: "I am nearly home and when I get there I shall
watch for your coming."
ADDENDUM
BEAUFORT, S. C., January 8, 1906.
MY DEAR AUNT NANNIE:
I fear you have by this time lost all hope of hearing from me, but I
have not forgotten my promise. I am afraid, however, you will be very
much disappointed, as I have so little information to give about
family history, and that little is very scrappy. Our branch of the
family have been criminally careless about preserving records.
While I have not what we lawyers would consider strict evidence of the
fact, still I am quite satisfied from circumstances and inferences,
which I shall not undertake in this letter to detail, that our family
and the Northern family of Bostick were one and the same. Our
American progenitor landed in Plymouth, Mass., sometime about the
middle of the seventeenth century, coming from Chester County,
England, and being probably a political refugee. His wife also came
with him from England. In England the family history was both ancient
and distinguished, the founder landing on English soil with William
the Conqueror, in whose service he was of distinguished rank, both
military and social. In England he became one of the barons of the
realm. The title remained for centuries in the family, and may be
still in existence, and has been adorned by many distinguished
representatives in the English wars especially. The original stock in
Massachusetts seems to have migrated, mine northward and some
gradually drifting southward. The intermediate links I cannot supply,
but finally these brothers settled, two in Carolina, the youngest
being our great-grandfather Richard, and one in Georgia. In Jones's
history of Georgia mention is made of Captain Littlebury Bostick, a
wealthy rice planter near Savannah. He, I think, was the brother, or
son of the brother who settled in Georgia. Richard was the youngest of
the three. The other brother, John, bought a large landed estate near
Columbia on which he lived and died quite an old man. During his life
he maintained the style and reputation of a man of great wealth, but
at his death it was found that his affairs were financially involved.
He never married, but was known as a cultured man of decidedly
literary tastes, and was a leading figure in the social life of his
section. His most intimate friend was General Hampton, father of the
Confederate general of same name.
Richard settled in old Blackswamp, where he married three times, the
last two wives being sisters, both Roberts. The last, first married
Singleton, and at his death our ancestor. By the last marriage there
were no children; by the second marriage to Miss Robert, we are
descended through your father Benjamin Robert Bostick; by the first
marriage the other Blackswamp Bosticks are descended.
I have not a copy of the Bostick coat of arms, but the motto is
"Always ready to serve," bestowed, or adopted, I presume, in
recognition of their martial spirit exhibited on many great
battlefields. The Robert family, of whom your grandmother was a
member, settled in Sumter. The progenitor, Rev. Pierre Robert, led a
colony of Huguenot refugees from France. Many other Huguenot families
in the State claim descent on maternal lines from him. He seems to
have been a man of wealth and ancient lineage. I have a copy of the
French coat of arms.
Your mother, who was a Maner, came of no less distinguished line. They
were of Welsh descent, and probably more remotely of Norman French
descent, as the progenitor was Lord de Maner.
Grandma's mother was a May from an old Dutch family. The original May
came to Charleston, and founded the first large importing house (tea
chiefly) in copartnership with the famous Dutchman, Admiral Gillon.
I presume you know, of course, that your great-grandfather, William
Maner, and his brother Samuel were both captains in the famous Marion
Brigade in the Revolution. Your grandfather was a captain at eighteen
years of age.
I may mention also, that grandma's mother, who was a May, was on her
maternal side a daughter of an English Colonel Stafford. The English
Staffords are also of ancient stock, I believe.
I am afraid the foregoing very meager account of the family
connections will give you very little that you do not know already.
While I have stated the main features of the family history, as I know
them, the statement is very general. If you desire more of detail with
reference to any individual or any part of the family history, I may
be able to give you a little more, and will take pleasure in answering
any inquiries on this line. I have had to write this very hastily.
With love from us all, I remain,
Affectionately,
A. MCIVER BOSTICK.
End of Project Gutenberg's Old Plantation Days, by Mrs. N. B. De Saussure