THE BREAK-UP OF THE CONFEDERACY
"The little feet that never trod
Earth, never strayed in fields or street,
What hand leads upward back to God
The little feet?"
My readers must now be familiar with my surroundings, and after a lot
of consideration I have decided to relate much of my future experience
from the diaries I wrote in the very atmosphere of the times I am
depicting. Day by day the notes were made, short because I only wanted
them to stimulate memory and gratitude in the future. They have no
pretense whatever to being literature, even of the simplest kind, for
I never imagined that it could be possible, I should let any one but
God and myself see them. They are commonplace, but they are truth
itself. They are about household things, and the war is but
transiently mentioned, but they are human documents, and there are the
history books for those who want to know about the war.
I thought at first I would not copy the religious sentiments so
constantly interwoven, but when I tried to omit them, it felt like
putting God out of my life and book, and I could not do that, no, not
for the whole world. My first thought was that in this era of godless
youth, and material age, these spiritual aspirations and regrets
mingling with common daily life would provoke laughter. My second
thought refuted this opinion; there are plenty of good men and women
yet, I concluded, and to such a sincere religious sentiment, whether
expressed by mouth or pen, is respected. It may not always be
acceptable, but it is never ridiculous.
NOTES FROM MY DIARY OF 1862
_Jan. 1st._ Sat up to see the New Year in, and earnestly asked the
love and blessing of God on it. Mary poorly, and I sat by her making a
sacque for Lilly, and a little slip dress for Alice. Then I read an
hour to the children in "Nicholas Nickleby." Dr. and Jenny Alexander
called at night. Robert bought a hog, and had it cut up--must be
salted tomorrow.
_Jan. 10th._ A month ago today dear Ethel entered into rest. Robert
and I walked out to her grave, and strewed it with mignonette. When we
came back, Robert dug some potatoes out of the garden, and in the
evening I read "Nicholas Nickleby" to the children.
_Jan. 12th._ Sunday again. Ah, how little like Sundays that are past!
I feel no interest in church. I am afraid this is wrong. I went out to
Ethel's grave, and while there saw Mrs. Walker's baby buried. Died of
throat trouble. Lucy Goodrich walked home with me.
_Jan. 21st._ Robert had a conversation about changing this house for a
farm with a man I did not like. I have left this matter with God. I
was sewing and hearing children's lessons all day. In the evening I
read to them "Darius the Great."
_Jan. 27th._ Could not sleep, and got up soon after one o'clock and
sewed for two hours. Very high south wind, which always makes me
uncomfortable. All day long I was nervous and cross and alas! I may
say it was a lost day, for I neither made myself nor any one else
happy.
_Jan. 31st._ Teaching and sewing. Read "Cyrus" to Robert at night,
children at Mrs. Palm's for a candy pulling.
_Feb. 1st._ Teaching and sewing; Robert looking anxiously for a home
in the country. I do not say anything against it to him, but I have my
daily talks with God about it.
_Feb. 26th._ Bad political news. Fort Donelson and Nashville taken. It
has made us very low and anxious. Still, though much discouraged, I am
not hopeless. In some way or other, God always provides.
_Mar. 3rd._ Borrowed Mrs. Henrick's carriage, and drove out to see
the Bishop and Mrs. Gregg. Called on Mrs. Gillette coming back. Jenny
Alexander spent the evening with us.
_Mar. 13th._ Nashville and Columbus evacuated. Robert trying to sell
our house, and working for Palm balancing books. We went in the
evening to Ethel's grave, and planted jessamine and roses. Jenny
Alexander came out to us.
_Mar. 16th._ Sewing and hearing children's lessons, and at night
reading to them and Robert "Fortunes of Nigel." About eleven o'clock
we were awakened by the shouts of the Pony Post; Robert said they
meant good news, and he began to dress himself. Then all the bells in
town started ringing, and there was the greatest excitement. The
children were all awake, and I threw on my double gown and we went on
to the piazza to watch and listen until Robert came home. It was such
a lovely night, the mocking birds were singing rapturously, and I
think every dog in town was barking. When Robert came home, he said
Price and McCulloch had whipped the enemy in Missouri, and taken
thirty thousand prisoners, and Beauregard had taken fourteen regiments
in Tennessee. Texas may well rejoice, if it be so, but the Lord of
Hosts only knows.
_Mar. 29th._ I was doing some fine ironing all day; the negro in the
kitchen too sulky to trust. Jenny Alexander came in and helped me.
Bishop Gregg called in the afternoon, and I had a pleasant talk with
him. This is my thirty-first birthday. My birthday wish is, that I may
daily grow in grace. Robert was sad because he could give me no gift.
Poor fellow, I told him I would remember all the dear old ones, and I
asked God to bless me, and to direct all my way.
_Mar. 30th._ Thomas bought our house, and signed all the papers
relative to the sale.
_Mar. 31st._ A very unhappy day. I was in a bad temper, Robert was
miserable, and the children wondered at me. Dear God, forgive me!
_Apr. 9th._ Sewing and teaching; made a delicious beefsteak pie for
dinner. Went to see Mrs. Henrick's in the afternoon; in the evening to
Mrs. Durham's. Poor little Sally, whom I suckled for nearly two months
when her mother had fever, just dead of diphtheria!
_Apr. 10th._ Went to see Sally for the last time. It was Ben
McCulloch's funeral, also. The cemetery was crowded. When we got back
from Sally's funeral, her sister Leanore was dying. She breathed her
last at five o'clock.
_Apr. 19th._ A Mr. Stockton and his wife came to close with Robert for
their farm. I was glad the wife came. Women are so much harder to
please than men when they are buying. Everything went to pieces. I
knew it would from the woman's face. I wonder how it is that men like
women--at least, some women. Dear Robert tried to comfort me; he
thought I was disappointed, and I honestly tried to comfort him, for
he was very much disappointed. He smiled at my brave words, and said
of course all was for the best. I wonder if he really thought so--for
it has been a very hard, anxious week.
_Apr. 24th._ Made a shirt for Robert, and heard children's lessons.
Robert far from well, and hope sometimes dies within me. Dear God,
forget not that it is in Thee, in Thee only, I hope and trust.
_Apr. 28th._ Robert has gone with a Mr. Spenser to see his place on
the Brushy. I know it is all useless expense, but I dare not say so to
Robert. He seems to have no hope but in this direction, and I must not
take his last hope from him. Despondent men have bad temptations. He
must have his dream until he gets work. Make no tarrying, O my God!
David knew all about "waiting on God." He durst even ask God to hurry.
That is the way I feel this morning.
_May 3rd._ Gun boats at New Orleans; all gloom here in consequence.
Robert still looking for a farm. I asked him today what kind of farm
he wanted, and he said, a dairy farm, and then told me what Thaxton
made every week from his butter alone, and all gold. Butter! That
makes me still more set against farming. Who is to make the butter?
_May 4th._ Very, very anxious. I have hardly spirit left to attend to
the children. For many months I have been fighting this weary
bug-a-boo of a farm. I think a change of trouble would be a little
relief. This day I am "out" with life.
_May 5th._ I am so happy! God is so good! I knew He would be good.
Robert is to go back to his desk in the comptroller's office. Mr.
Durham called today and told him so. He has forgotten all about
farming. He went this afternoon and rented the Cook place, and
tomorrow we remove there. I have been singing all afternoon. God has
visited me with a blessing in both hands, for not only has Robert got
back his old desk, but I have been given the very desire of my heart.
Ever since I came to Austin, I have longed to live in the Cook place,
but never until now has it been to rent.
It was a big rambling log house on the top of a hill. The town, the
capitol and state offices were below it, and the river and the
mountains surround it. It stood in an enclosure full of forest trees
in front, and behind there was a yard shaded with mulberry trees,
ending in a meadow running down to a beautiful creek, and beside this
creek there was a stable. The main part of the house was built of
immense square cut logs in old Texan fashion, opposite doors to every
room, and no windows. It had cupboards and pantries to my heart's
content, and a little roofed passage way connected it with the kitchen
and servant's quarter. The parlor and one other room were of modern
construction, and I made the public welcome to them. I chose for
myself a large log room, with a fireplace one could burn a cord of
cedar in. It was always delightfully cool in the hottest weather; it
was always warm and cheerful in winter. If I had the money I would
build me a log house today. I would cover it with vines, and among the
leaves put gourds for the martins to build in, and I would say to the
swifts, "Sister swallows, you are welcome to my chimney."
For eighteen months I lived in this beautiful place, the life of a
completely happy woman. Time went back for me, and I grew young again
and joyous and hopeful as my own children. Robert made sufficient for
our necessities, and now that we had a stable he bought a couple of
mustang ponies. They were beautiful creatures, fine pacers, and cost
ten dollars in "specie" each. Robert and I rode out before breakfast
nearly every morning to Billingsley's garden, and bought cantaloupes
and tomatoes for the day, and Mary and Lilly soon became clever
horsewomen. Mary rode swiftly and gracefully; Lilly was very daring,
and took wood or water or anything that came in her way.
I followed my usual duties, attending first of all to my children's
lessons--then sewing, knitting, reading aloud to them, and to Robert,
cooking special dishes et cetera. My diary shows that I had an
extraordinary amount of company, and that, some way or other, I found
time to call upon a large number of friends, and moreover that for
days and weeks together, I helped Robert with the tax rolls of the
different counties. The following are a few illustrating notes:
_June 23rd._ Rode before breakfast with Robert to Billingsley's,
afterwards attended to the children. They went riding, and I was
checking rolls for Robert all day. Heard that Memphis had fallen.
Called on the Durhams in the evening.
_July 2nd._ Calvin's birthday. He is five years old. God bless the
boy. I thank God for him. Mary Gregg spent the day with us. I gave the
children a holiday, and was sewing, and tatting, and listening to Mrs.
Illingworth's troubles. After supper, Robert and I had a walk, and
then I played and sang an hour for him.
_July 11th._ This is my wedding anniversary. Twelve years ago Robert
and I were married. That was a happy day, this is twelve times
happier. Mr. Durham sent me a basket of grapes, and a pair of ducks
for dinner. Robert and I had a walk in the evening, and he said many
good and tender words to me. Oh, what a happy woman I am!
_July 18th._ Rode out to Illingworth's, and brought Mollie in to spend
the day. When I got home found Mollie Beadles, Mollie Peck, and Betty
Elgin were waiting. They brought the news of McClellan's defeat, and
surrender. The town seemed drunk with excitement. There was shouting
and bell ringing, and the continual cracking of firearms. I managed to
find dinner enough for everybody, and we had a merry meal. In the
evening Robert and I walked to Ethel's grave. Truly it is better to go
to the House of Mourning, than to the House of Mirth.
_Aug. 20th._ Have been working hard on the tax rolls every day for a
week, and a Mr. Bell worked till after midnight with Robert on his
roll. Robert has made a deal of money this month, but somehow it has
not been as happy as it should have been.
_Sept. 21st._ A pleasant day for Robert was at home, but I am not
happy. I have been drifting away from God, while I have been so busy.
I went to Ethel's grave in the afternoon, but felt no better. No swift
word of prayer or love leaped from my heart. There was no call for me,
and no word, or even thought for me. I was cold and lonely. The Great
Companion had left me. Well, I deserved it. I have neglected my
private reading and prayer for some weeks. I had no time. I made a few
dollars, and have lost what no money can buy. Dear Christ, forgive
me.
_Sept. 29th._ All day making over my hoop.
_Sept. 30th._ Heard lessons, and then went to Mrs. Millican's to learn
how to turn the heel of a stocking properly. Helping Robert at night
till very late.
_Nov. 3rd._ Sewing and knitting all day. Read to Robert at night from
Porte Crayon's work on Virginia.
_Nov. 7th._ Wrote long letters home, having an opportunity to send
them by a Mr. Ruthven.
_Nov. 15th._ My usual duties; baking cake, and went to sit with Mrs.
Durham an hour or two. Took Robert's sock I am knitting with me.
_Dec. 25th._ Christmas Day. My darling Edith would enter her ninth
year to-day if she had lived. The children were delighted with such
presents as we could get them. Most of their toys were of Robert's
making. We had a good breakfast all together. Plenty of chicken and
sausage and coffee for everybody, even for Crazy Billy,[4] who came as
usual to say "Merry Christmas!"
_Dec. 31st._ Had a severe cold but knit all day. We are all out of
stockings. Let Mary and Lilly sit up till ten o'clock, then they had
pecan nuts and home made wine; but Robert and I wanted to watch the
New Year in. I am going to be a better woman next year. I have
promised, and with God's help I will keep my promise. Amen.
For another year I was permitted to rest body and soul in this
pleasant home, and everything in the main events of life kept a very
even tenor. I taught my children, sewed, knit, read aloud to them, and
helped Robert with the tax rolls; went to see my friends, and
generally had one or more of them in my company. Yet no life is
without an almost daily variation; there was plenty of change to keep
me watchful, and sometimes a little anxiety, for the future had never
looked so dark and so uncertain.
On the thirteenth of March, I had another son, a fine boy whom we
called Alexander Gregg after the Bishop. We were very proud and happy
in his birth, and his brother Calvin took him to his child heart with
a passionate affection. From the first hour of his life he watched
over him. His care lasted a little over four years, and then in death,
they were not divided.
After Alexander's birth, any soul at all prescient might feel the end
of many things approaching. The stores of all kinds were nearly empty,
and I noticed that no stocks were renewed: I could not get an inch of
flannel for the new born child, and Mr. Illingworth sent me three of
his fine English undershirts to make barrow coats for him. With this
gentleman and his wife and children, we had been on the most familiar
terms for two years. He was the youngest son of an English family of
old and noble lineage, and had run away from college in his
twenty-second year. In some way he reached the Creek Indians, and
incorporated himself with the tribe, remaining seventeen years with
them. On his return to civilization he married a beautiful girl, and
had three children. His knowledge of Indian affairs made him of great
value to the government, and his desk in the Capitol was close to
Robert's.
Soon after Alexander's birth, an English lawyer came to Austin seeking
Mr. Illingworth. His father was dead, and there was a large fortune
waiting his identification. That night he and the lawyer took supper
with us, and we talked about England, until I went to bed with a pain
in my heart. At this time Mr. Illingworth was separated from his
wife, but in the morning I rode to her house, about two miles away,
and told her what had happened, advising her, for her children's sake,
to make up her quarrel with her husband. I was sorry that I had been
her confidant in the matter, for no one has any business to say a word
this way, or that way, between a man and his wife. The confidence
however had been forced on me, and I thought then, and I think yet,
that she was not much to blame. Given an Englishman inheriting all the
authoritative, stubborn qualities and prejudices of an aristocratic
family, the same carefully cultivated by the traditional education of
his class, and superinduced upon it the education of an American
Indian Chief, and you have a variety of the animal called man, any
woman might fail to please. I saw him on his return from England, and
he was, in spite of his quarter of a century in America, the most
English of all the Englishmen I had ever seen. What the cradle rocks,
the spade buries. But he was excellent company, and among other things
he related the following bit of conversation between himself and Lady
C---- at a dinner given to him by his mother's family, the high,
well-born Carews.
"Are you married yet, Mr. Illingworth?"
"I am, Lady C----.
"To an American?"
"Yes, to an American."
"Is she _very_ dark?"
This question illustrates well the amount of knowledge the noble
Englishwoman had of American woman, half a century ago.
Very soon I began to really feel the pinch of war. It seemed an
incredible thing not to be able to buy a little domestic or print,
when I had money to do so, but I could not. Many people were without
shoes, moccasins were commonly worn in the house. Pins and needles
were extraordinarily scarce, some were compelled to use mesquite
thorns for pins. I once gave a lady three needles number six, number
eight, and number ten, and she was so grateful she sent me a fine ham,
and two pounds of coffee; _real_ coffee that her husband had brought
from Mexico. Alas, there was no more real coffee in Austin, and a
majority of people were using the dried leaves of the beautiful Yupon
tree instead of real tea. Somehow or other, I cannot tell how, I never
wanted either tea or coffee; the Bishop sent me some, and also about
twenty pounds of rice. Mr. Durham sent me a little box of English
Breakfast tea, and I was just out of that, when Dr. Bacon of the
United States Sixth Cavalry sent me a fresh supply. And upon my honor,
I do not think there is anything that so firmly and pleasantly cements
friendship, as little courtesies of something good to eat. Though I am
in my eighty-first year now, I remember how delighted I was with these
things, and to go back no further than last Christmas, though I had
many gifts of many kinds, the one that gave me the most pleasure of
all, was a plum pudding and a dish of Nativity tarts, that an aged
Yorkshire lady visiting in Cornwall made for me with her own hands.
One of the symptoms speaking badly for the Confederate cause, was the
fact that the government was out of materials for the use of its
officers, which it could not manage to supply. Thus the printed and
ruled tax rolls were all used. There was paper of a kind, but it
needed a certain form of ruling, and Mr. Durham asked Robert if he
could rule it. Robert said he had not the time, but that I would do it
as well as anybody. So paper and rulers and pencils came to me, and
from henceforward until the break up, I ruled the sheets for the
assessors. Soon after the envelopes of three necessary sizes gave out,
and I made the envelopes. And Mr. Durham laughed when I sent in my
bill for "specie" payment.
"Barr," he said, "you would have taken Blue Williams,[5] but the
Confederacy can't fool women with them. I don't know a woman who has
done anything for it, that has not sent her modest little bill for
'specie.'"
These employments broke in upon my regular life very much, but the
"specie" was our domestic salvation. In the household also we were
obliged to help ourselves. No candles were to be bought, and we made
our own candles. We were as badly off for soap also, that is the soap
for washing clothes and kitchen use. I had yet a few boxes of Old
Brown Windsor which I had brought with me from England, and also
perhaps half a dozen of those semi-transparent balls made, I think, by
Pears. Among other utilities I painted a very respectable pack of
playing cards. I had bought, with my Newman's box of water colors, a
dozen large sheets of bristol board, which was just the proper
thickness. Robert with a sharp shoemaker's knife cut them even, and
exact, and then I painted them. I was quite pleased with this
achievement and sent word to Pat O'Gorman and Mr. Simcox, we could
have our game of whist once more. I have forgotten what became of this
pack, but I think one of these gentlemen took it as a memorial of the
evenings in the old log house.
Thus nearly every day there was a makeshift of some kind to devise,
and we found out, often with real happiness, that "necessity is the
mother of invention." Robert said it was like living in a Texas log
house the island life of the Swiss Family Robinson.
One day when the year was drawing close to Christmas, Robert came home
early. As soon as I saw him, I knew there was trouble, and I said,
"What is it, Robert?"
"Why, Milly, dear, this house has been sold, and we must leave it
before the first. Oh, my dear, I am so sorry!"
I was giving the Sally Lunns their second kneading, and I let the
dough fall to the floor. The tears sprang to my eyes, but I tried to
bear the loss as well as I could. Indeed I had been half afraid of
this very thing, for three nights previously I had dreamed of seeing
my furniture on a wagon. I sat down. Robert put his arm round me, and
whispered a few hopeful words, and I answered, "It is all right, dear.
We have had a fine rest here. We shall never forget it. Do you know
where we can rent anything as comfortable?"
"Not yet. Allen tells me, General Haney's place, just beyond the
Capitol will be for rent very soon, but there is nothing at present
but the Cartmel place, and if that will not do, we must store our
things, and go to the hotel."
"Then the Cartmel place must do. How can we go into two or three
rooms with five little children? Gracious Robert! It was not at all
pleasant with two. Where is the Cartmel place?"
"Just above Mrs. Green's."
"Not that little house with a Spanish dagger in the strip of ground
before it?"
"Yes."
"O Robert! It stands in a hole, down on the flat, too. I never could
bear living in a valley. I look unto the hills always. From the hills
cometh my strength, soul and body strength. And there is no stable to
it, and what about the ponies?"
"We must sell them, of course. There is a large corn field with the
house. It grew a famous crop this year."
"But what is the use of growing corn, when we cannot have horses?"
"No. Well, dear, I thought you had better know at once. Mr. Durham
advised me to come home and to help you pack. If we must go, the
sooner the better."
"You are right, we will begin this hour."
So we did, but there were delays about one thing or another that we
had not anticipated, and the twenty-ninth of December found us just
ready to move, in the very teeth of one of the most dreadful northers
I had ever experienced. But Robert had had negroes in the Cartmel
place for a week, cleaning and keeping the big fires night and day. So
with Alice and Alexander wrapped in blankets, we moved down there, the
people who had bought the log house, having invaded it with six
children, a dozen negroes, and all kinds of baggage, three days before
their legal tenure began.
Well, like all other troubles, the flitting came to an end, and things
were not as uncomfortable as I had expected. The ponies had to go, but
there was a shed close to the kitchen for a cow, and Robert said he
would try to get one as soon as he could. That put all right. To have
a cow and lots of milk and cream and butter! We could turn her into
the field and there was the shed to milk her in. I could hardly wait
for the creature.
Next day a man called Abner Blair called to see Robert about his
taxes, and I was repacking a trunk with trifles, I did not wish to use
in so small a house. He watched me, and lifted some of the books and
tartan things. His fingers clung to them, and I could see that he was
in a great mental tumult.
"Are you Scotch, Mr. Blair?" I asked.
"Scotch!" he cried. "I'm nothing else. Highland Scotch, from Aberdeen
way! Scotch for a thousand years! Scotch from the creation itself! My
wife is Scotch, and my children are Scotch, and there's nothing in
Blair house that isn't Scotch."
"Then," I said, "if you are from Aberdeen way, you will know what this
is;" and I held up the Scotch pebble bracelet I had bought on that
last walk I took up Buchanan Street, Glasgow.
He looked for a moment at the ornament, then he touched it, and asked,
"What will you take for it, I have a little lassie that would go crazy
to wear it. She will be twenty-one on Sunday next. Sell me the pretty
thing. My certie! I used to go gathering the stones--I did that--I
wanted them to pay my way through St. Andrews. What will you take for
it?"
"I will give it to you for your daughter's birthday," I answered.
"I'll give it to her with all kinds of good wishes."
"I take you at your word," he said in a perfect enthusiasm of
pleasure. "And I'll tell you what! I'll give you the best milch cow on
Abner Blair's ranch, and I'll bring her in to you on Saturday."
"Come back in half an hour," I said, "and I will clean the silver
settings and make them bright." He came back and went off with the
bawble proud and happy, and on Thursday brought me a milk cow which
justified all his promises. But as I rubbed bright the silver setting,
and very often since, I have wondered what power had prompted me in
1853, to buy a bracelet which I did not want, which I was rather
ashamed of buying, in order that it might get me and my children
plenty of milk and butter in 1863, when such things were scarce and
dear, and under ordinary circumstances beyond procuring.
My life in the Cartmel place was only a variation and accentuation of
what it had been in the Cook place. I did more and more work for the
government, and at the end of the year I confessed, that it had been
money in the purse, and not so well for me in other ways. The
children's lessons had been much neglected, and the half-hour I had
given daily to private prayer, ever since I was twelve years old, had
been put aside for ruling tax papers, or something else that seemed
more important. But this putting aside was neither happiness nor true
prosperity. It implied a trust in myself, rather than in God; and I do
believe at this day, as I did really then, that if I had gone on doing
my own duties, God would have sent the necessary money in some easier
and better way.
I notice in my diary, that soon after the New Year, Robert was often
on guard most of the night. There was at this time a great terror of
negro insurrections, and often I put the children to bed fully
dressed, in case there was a necessity to flee for life. We had all
our plans made for this emergency, the first and most surely safe one
being, a quick retreat to the grave yard, for no negro would venture
within its ghostly precinct. The nights Robert was on guard, I always
had company, very often a Miss Sophia Richardson, the daughter of the
editor of the _Austin Gazette_. She was a beautiful woman, well read,
witty and yet good-natured, and a singer of great power and sweetness.
She married after I left Austin the editor of the _New Orleans
Picayune_, and if this remembrance ever reaches her eyes, I want her
to think of me, as she knew me when we used to be happy together in
the old log house on the hill. It stood next to her own home. Here are
two notes on this life:
_Feb. 18th._ Sewing and hearing lessons, then ruling for Mr. Durham.
But I am weary and sleepy. Alexander is teething, and he does not let
me sleep an hour at a time. Sophy Richardson all day with me.
_Feb. 19th._ Had a bad night with Alexander, got up early and made hot
rolls for breakfast. Made sweet bread afterwards, also a chicken pie
for dinner. Heard lessons, sewing and knitting. Sophy Richardson came
in. Glad to see her. Betty Elgin called to borrow a book. Robert home
early, going on guard. There is a guard of well-armed citizens set
every night now. Robert told me it was necessary, for a devilish
negro plot had been discovered.
Plots and rumors of plots kept every one unhappy, and as we entered
the last year of the war, the air was full of miserable reports. It
was a brave heart that kept any hope now for the Confederate cause.
The weary ruling of paper, and making envelopes ceased. The Governor,
the Comptroller and George Durham all knew well, there would be no
need of them. On the eve of my thirty-fifth birthday I wrote:
_Mar. 28th, 1865._ None but the good God knows the history of the
coming year, but it is in His loving hands. I have had many cares and
sorrows, many pains and deprivations this past year, but not one too
many, because all is for the best. Every one is gloomy, for every one
is anticipating invasion. We have no money, and very little clothing
in the house--neither have I anything ready, either for myself or the
child I am expecting; but God is sufficient, and He will be sure to
provide.
_May 14th._ Robert went early up town. Heard of Lee and Johnson's
surrender. Jeff Davis said to be flying to the Trans-Mississippi. Many
say the Confederate cause is lost.
_May 25th._ The dream is over. No Southern independence now. Robert
thinks it will be Southern slavery. I have been ironing hard all day,
and sewing, but I heard no lessons. I was too troubled and anxious,
for Confederate soldiers, without officers or order, are coming in
every hour, and there is nothing but plunder and sack going on--and
the citizens are as bad as the soldiers.
_May 26th._ I had a very bad night, and feel headachey and sleepy. Had
to iron; the negro won't work; indeed Robert says both men and women
have deserted their homes, and are hanging about the streets, watching
the white men plundering, but too much afraid of the white man, to
take a hand in the work. I heard no lessons, but did a little sewing,
and all the housework that the negroes ought to do. In the evening
Robert went to a public meeting about protecting the town.
_May 27th._ Very anxious and unsettled. The town and all the adjacent
country is in a dreadful condition. From a man going north, Robert
bought seven bushels of meal, thirty-six pounds of salt, and fifty
pounds of sugar. Thankful to God for it, for in these days we know not
what may happen from hour to hour. Tried to sew in the afternoon, but
impossible; there is too much looting and quarreling going on. It
seems as if every one had a claim against the Confederacy, and were
paying themselves.
_June 2nd._ Everything in confusion. Everyone suspicious and watchful,
and there is no law. Governor Lubbock and the state officers have fled
to Mexico.
_June 11th._ The Rio Grande soldiers reached Austin today. I could not
help crying as they passed my door, and Robert lifted his hat to honor
them. These men were victors, though their cause was lost. Through
every deprivation and suffering, through hunger and thirst, through
heat and cold, weary, ragged, weather-beaten and battle-scarred, they
had carried aloft their flag with the single star. And they carried it
proudly that day through the streets of Austin. No one dared to forbid
it. Robert told me he saw many men weep as it passed them, and turn
away, but it floated fitly enough above the heads of those who had
given up everything for the ideals it typified. They went straight to
the Capitol, and demanded payment either in gold or government
property for their long service. And as no one had a right to pay
them, they paid themselves. The scene was indescribable, and Robert
slipped away and came home.
_June 14th._ Today the soldiers are looting the government stables.
They are dividing the mules and horses and saddlery among themselves.
The noise and tumult is indescribable. I was sewing, and ironing, and
cooking all day, and sewing again until midnight, for I must work hard
now, in order to have all comfortable for the children and Robert,
while I am sick. We keep quietly in doors, and are as happy as we can
be under the circumstances; but the poor country! My heart aches for
Texas, subjugated and all lost, even honor.
_June 15th._ Hot windy weather, but feel pressed to work, for I have
still much to do. But how thankful I ought to be for the health and
strength given me. God be near me for Christ's sake. My negro servant
comes home to eat, then she runs into the city again. I have all her
work to do, but she is waiting for her _freedom_. I cannot blame her.
_June 23rd._ The Emancipation Proclamation arrived. Robert said he was
glad of it, because the negroes knew they were free, and were
impatient for its public acknowledgment.
_June 24th._ The sheriff read the Emancipation Proclamation. He read
it with no more ceremony than if he was giving notice of a forced sale
of land, or a new city ordinance about negro passes, or any other
every day occurrence. He was surrounded by white men, who listened
without interest or remark, and the negroes were shocked and dismayed.
They had been sure that the news of their freedom would come with the
calling of trumpets, the firing of cannon, and the triumphant entry of
a victorious army. Robert said they were sick and silent with
disappointment, and vanished from the streets. I went into the kitchen
to tell Harriet. She was leaning against the open door, looking
intently eastward. Freedom was to come from the east, and she was
always listening and watching for its approach. Her child, a girl
about a year old, was sitting on the floor playing with some empty
spools. I had always thought her indifferent to it. "Harriet," I said,
and she turned her eyes upon me but did not speak, "you are free,
Harriet! From this hour as free as I am. You can stay here, or go; you
can work or sleep; you are your own mistress, now, and forever." She
stepped forward as I spoke, and was looking at me intently, "Say dem
words again, Miss Milly!" she cried, "say dem again." I repeated what
I had told her, making the fact still more emphatic; and as I did so,
her sullen black face brightened, she darted to her child, and
throwing it shoulder high, shrieked hysterically, "_Tamar, you'se
free! You'se free, Tamar!_" She did not at that supreme moment think
of herself. Freedom was for her child; she looked in its face, at its
hands, at its feet. It was a new baby to her--a free baby. Actually
the mother love in her face had humanized its dull, brutish
expression. I said again, "You are also free, Harriet. You are your
own mistress now. Will you hire yourself to me?" I asked.
"When dem Yankees coming, Miss Milly?"
"Nobody knows."
"How I free then?"
"They sent word."
"Mighty poor way to set folks free."
"Will you hire yourself to me, Harriet? I will give you six dollars a
month."
"Six dollars too little, Miss Milly."
"It is what I paid your master."
"Thank de Lord, I'se got no master now. I 'long to myself now. I want
eight dollars now. When a nigger free, they worth more."
So I agreed with the freed negro for eight dollars, but I noticed
three days later, I had a fresh free nigger at one dollar fifty cents
a day. Harriet had gone forever.
In this uncertain condition of affairs, it was perhaps astonishing
they worked at all. In fact it was only the women who made any
pretense of doing so, but they were generally mothers, and old master
was the only sure provider for the children until the Yankees came.
The men loafed about the streets, or made little camps in the corn
fields, for the young ears were then ripe and milky and good to eat.
But all were alike watching with weary impatience for the arrival of
the military.
_July 17th._ This was Robert's last day's work for the Confederacy. He
was working on his balance sheet. He has been three years, two months,
and twelve days in the employ of the late Confederate government--days
of goodness and mercy, every one of them. And I am not going to worry
about the future. God's arm is not shortened; it is as able to save
and to provide as it ever was. There was nearly two months due Robert,
which was of course paid in "specie." I shall use every cent
carefully, and more is sure to come, for God carries the purse for a
wise spender.
_July 20th._ Robert working for the Military Board. I suffer
constantly night and day trying to keep up my regular duties. Robert
helps all he can, but he is the best part of his day at the Military
Board. The weather is hot and very exhausting, even the children get
cross in it.
_July 25th._ About two hundred soldiers came into town. They hoisted
the Stars and Stripes on the Capitol, and went to work to prepare
tents, stabling, et cetera, for the troops to follow. They hardly
noticed the negroes, and showed no disposition whatever to affiliate
with them. On the contrary they were friendly with the white men, took
drinks with them, and passed around their tobacco bags, tobacco being
one thing our men were suffering for.
_July 27th._ About three thousand soldiers came in today. I was able
to iron a little, though I did not sleep an hour last night.
_July 28th._ Wagons and soldiers pouring into the town. Some of the
earliest troops raised the flag at the corner of Hancock's store. The
children went to see the ceremony. After it was raised, the troops
saluted it, and Judge Hancock called for cheers. The children said
there were a few weak little cheers, and the Judge was angry, and the
men walked away. Tried to iron and to bake; after Robert came home,
finished a pair of socks for him.
_Aug. 7th._ My dear Archibald was born at half past six this morning.
Robert stayed with me all day. Mrs. Carlton and Mrs. Green and Jenny
Alexander came and sat with me a little. I was very proud and happy
with my new son, and very grateful to God for all the love that
surrounded me. There is old Aunt Patsy in the kitchen; Mary, Lilly and
Calvin do all they can, and what they cannot do, Robert somehow
manages.
The daily record of my life at this time is chiefly remarkable for the
wonderful way in which it represents men of all ages, and all sorts
and conditions, taking hold of the heavy housework, thrown upon the
hands of the women by the refusal of negroes to work. They accepted it
with a kind of pride, and refused to feel any shame in relieving their
wives of labor beyond their strength. I went into a friend's house one
day and found her husband, with board and bathbrick, cleaning the
table knives. I knew men who "fired" all the food, for the cooking was
then done in skillets on the hearth, with hot coals underneath, and
upon the lid. I knew others who turned the mattresses and made the
beds, and though I was seldom quite without help, Robert found plenty
of housework to do, which he would not permit either Mary, or Lilly,
or myself to attempt. As illustrating the time, I insert here two
records, taken without option or choice, but reflecting the life of
the period so well, that I will not change them:
_Oct. 27th._ Been up and down all night with Archie, who is teething
and very restless. Robert had kindled the fire, and I made coffee and
muffins, and fried some bacon. After breakfast I attended to children,
then baked six loaves of light bread, cooked steak and mashed potatoes
for dinner. Mary and Lilly set the table very nicely. After dinner I
cleaned up, and when Robert came home about four o'clock, he parched
some coffee, and then helped me make candles. We had a pleasant
supper, and after the little ones were in bed, I read "Ivanhoe" to
Robert until bedtime.
_Nov. 1st._ Got up dull and tired, and made breakfast, then washed up,
and tidied the house. Robert gone up town to see what he can do about
a house. We must leave this place, and I would be glad to do so, if we
could find another. Robert hopes Major Pierce will pay him today, I
put no confidence in the man. I heard Mary and Calvin read, examined
them in other studies. Lilly is sick in bed yet. Robert came home
disappointed about both house and money. Well, God has both in store.
We must pay for them with faith and patience, and in the meantime, the
good Father sets my table, and provides for all my wants.
_Nov. 27th._ Robert rented the Morris place, just back of the Capitol.
I am delighted. I hated the house we are in, as soon as I heard of it;
and we have had nothing but trouble, while living under its roof.
Perhaps our moving may make a break in the long roll of anxious days
and nights, just as a nightmare is gone, the moment we stir under it.
The Morris place, to which I made all haste to remove, was almost in
the center of the camp of the Sixth Cavalry, and their tents were all
round our enclosure. A little behind them were the wigwams of the
Tonkaway and Lipan guides, but I had no fear of either white men or
Indians. And we soon found that we had come among the most courteous
and friendly people. A little offering of cream and new milk opened
the way for much mutual kindness; the officers came familiarly to our
house. Colonel Morris had the use of our stable, and the girls had the
use of horses when they wanted them.
I must notice here, that this kind treatment of "rebels" was not
specially for our case. Almost as soon as the Sixth Cavalry arrived in
Austin, its officers gave a Reconciliation Ball, and to their regular
afternoon promenade and concert, there was a hearty welcome for all
who chose to come. It was a great pleasure once more to feel myself
surrounded by happy, hopeful people; the atmosphere round the camp was
lighter and brighter than what I had been breathing for years, and my
nature responded gladly to its stimulus.
Nevertheless, the half year following this removal was full to the
brim of every sorrow that humanity can suffer. We were hardly settled
when Lilly fell very sick with camp measles, and one after the other
the whole family followed her. What we should have done without Dr.
Bacon of the Sixth Cavalry at this time, I cannot imagine. He watched
over every sick child with a care and tenderness that probably saved
their lives. There were but few ladies in the camp, but those present
were kind and sympathetic and Mrs. Madden, the wife of Captain Madden,
helped me nurse through many critical nights.
During these hard weeks of suffering and utter weariness, there was
always the haunting fear of poverty. At first, after the break-up
Robert was not anxious. The three richest men in Austin, Mr. Swenson,
Mr. Swisher and Mr. Raymond were intending to open a bank as soon as
affairs would warrant the project. They had engaged Robert as cashier,
and in the meantime he was putting the affairs of the Military Board
in order for Major Pierce. But the Military Board work was now
finished, and there was no prospect as yet for a bank in Austin.
Moreover, word had just come that Mr. Swenson had gone into the
banking business in New York. So we were anxious and uncertain, for
with six children it would not be as easy to move, as when we came to
Austin with two.
But money trials are not the hardest, and somehow or other, they are
always overcome. I have been constantly amazed in reading my diary for
this year, to see how wonderfully, and from what strange and
unlooked-for sources our purse was kept adequate to our wants. It was
my intention to burn this diary as soon as I had taken from its pages
the story it has so many years preserved, but after reading the record
of these sad weeks, I can never do it. As long as I live, it shall be
a witness between God and myself that in every trial and in every
sorrow He was sufficient. The stones of Bethel were not more sacred,
than this little book wet with my tears, and holding my prayers. For
over and over it acknowledges, "Thou drewest near in the day that I
called upon thee: thou saidst, Fear not!" (Lamentations, 3:57.)
Robert had just made up his mind to go to San Antonio to see what
business opportunities were there, when Archie was taken sick. He was
only a child of ten months old, but he had crept close into all our
hearts. I sent for Dr. Bacon, and his attitude from the first was one
of anxiety. The next day he told Robert he had better not leave home.
"The child is very sick," he said, "and his illness has taken a turn
that is nearly always fatal."
Three nights after this advice, Robert lay down to sleep and rest a
little, for he had been holding the child all day. It was then near
midnight, and Archie appeared to be sleeping. I sat down beside his
cot, and was knitting a stocking, and watching his every movement.
Suddenly a large picture of Lake Windermere, heavily framed, which was
hanging over the chimney piece crashed to the floor. No one moved, no
one heard the crash, and I went and looked at the picture. Nothing
about it was in any way injured. Then I bowed my head, and clasped my
hands. There was One present, and I saluted him. The words I expected
came.
From that hour Archie grew steadily worse and when Dr. Bacon called
the following afternoon, I said,
"He is very ill, Doctor?"
"Very."
"Dying?"
"Yes. Look at his small hands. See how firmly he has clasped his four
fingers over his thumbs. That is a very sure sign of death. Why do
they do it? Who can tell?"
Soon after midnight Archie died. It was a glorious night, and after I
had washed and dressed the dear child for his grave, I went out and
cut handfuls of white altheas, and strewed them over the little form.
All that day he lay thus, and his brothers and sisters came and kissed
him, and he was yet one of the household. The next morning the little
coffin was ready, I laid him in it, and then Robert gathered the
children and read the burial service over it. Colonel Morris had
loaned us the officer's carryall, and there was plenty of room in it,
not only for the whole family, but also for the little coffin. It was
in this way, we went to the graveyard, and laid him beside his sister
Ethel.
God accomplishes that which is beyond expectation. The next morning
Robert got an offer from a large cotton house in Galveston, which he
accepted. Of course this meant, that he must leave me and the children
in Austin until October; before that, there might be some danger from
yellow fever. But we both knew, that in the United States camp, there
was every security, and that the kindness already given would not be
withdrawn.
After a few days' preparation Robert went away one morning. We watched
him until he mounted the last step, leading over the Capitol wall.
There he stood a moment, and waved his hat, and we turned quickly into
the house because it is not lucky to watch the traveler out of sight.
And as I entered the sitting-room, the pendulum of the clock fell to
the floor, and I picked it up and said, "It is ten minutes past
eleven. We shall see that something will happen at that time." I was
not worried about the circumstance. I merely thought it prefigured
some unusual event.
The three months that followed were very happy ones. Colonel Morris
sent the bandmaster to sleep in the house, and to watch the Indians,
and I threw off all care, and gave myself and the children a holiday.
All lessons were dropped, and the girls rode every day to their
heart's content. I wrote cheerful, loving letters to Robert, and had
cheerful, loving letters in return. And the weeks went quickly away,
until the last one came. Then having sold all our furniture, and also
the good cow bought with the Scotch pebble bracelet, I was ready to
depart. Ten years previously I had come to Austin, and thought it a
city in fairy land. I had seen every charm vanish away. It was a dead
city that I was leaving. The dead houses and dead streets might live
again, but nothing could restore unto them the glory of the past. I
was not sorry to leave them.
_Sept. 24th._ This is my last entry in Austin. Went with Mary to the
graveyard and planted some more shrubs on the two little graves. Then
I knelt down and bid them farewell forever. Came home and had some
ironing and packing to do; old Anna was doing the last cleaning. In
the afternoon had a house full of callers, the Reverend Mr. Rogers,
Mrs. Henricks, the Beadles, et cetera; in the evening Lieutenant
Kramer, and Major Starr, and Mr. Blackwell. It has been a restless,
heart-achey day, and Galveston does not call me pleasantly, but
"Manifold are the changes,
Which Providence may bring;
Many unlooked-for things,
God's power hath brought about.
What seemeth likely happeneth not,
And for unlikely things,
God findeth out a way."
O little book, I shut up in you many sacred sorrows! But where on this
earth shall the mortal be found, who is free of all trouble? Even the
happy have secret griefs, they never utter:
"But anywhere, or everywhere,
If I fulfil God's will,
And do my Life's work bravely,
I shall be happy still."