_Sunday, May 18._ Started [for church] directly after breakfast in the
buggy. It is the first time I have been up, and I am glad to have seen
the sight. The church[39] is of brick, in a grove of very beautiful
live-oak trees wreathed with grapevines and hanging moss, under which
were tied every conceivable description of horse and vehicle, from Mr.
Pierce's six-seated carriage and pair of fine Northern horses to the
one-seated sulkies, and mules saddled with cotton-bags. Just as we
arrived the people were all pouring out of church after Sunday School,
for a short intermission before the service. I was very sorry to lose
that part of the performances. Mr. Hooper is superintendent, and they
say has an admirable faculty at interesting the children, who are
taught besides by the white people present in classes. We had a
pleasant chat with Miss W. and Miss Towne and the gentlemen, most of
whom do not meet at all except once a week at church, and then the
people were collected again, and when they were seated, Mr. Pierce
summoned us, the four ladies, to an empty pew with himself. The church
is painted white inside, very plain, with galleries, and filled full
of black people,--doors, windows and aisles. Dr. French had come over
from "Biffert," as they call it, and conducted the services. He read a
hymn through, "Am I a soldier of the Cross?" etc., and then deaconed
out two lines at a time, while the negroes sang it in their peculiar,
nasal manner, one always leading. He preached them an admirable
sermon, familiar in its style. He told them of his visit to the men
who had been carried to Hilton Head, which interested them very much
and comforted them too, I guess. Compared them to the Israelites
coming out of Egypt, as in a transition state in which everything
depended upon themselves--they must not behave so ill that God would
make them wander forty years in the wilderness instead of reaching
Canaan in eighteen months. It was pleasant to see their interest--the
"elders" all sat under the pulpit and in the front seats, and many
would nod their heads from time to time in approbation, equivalent to
the "'zackly" and "jus' so" of their every-day speech. They were all
well dressed--a few in gaudy toggery, hoopskirts, and shabby bonnets,
but mostly in their simple "head hankerchers" [which] I hope they will
never give up. Many of the men on the road had their shoes in their
hands to put on when they got to church. Most of them wear none. The
women, many of them, came up to shake hands with us after church and
said they must come and see us. There are no white ladies on the
islands beside us and those at Pope's (Mr. Pierce's).
Mr. Hooper told us of General Hunter's proclamation declaring all
slaves free in South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida.[40] We got no
letters or news from the North of any sort, and are waiting anxiously
to know how this news is received there and what has happened since we
heard last. He promises free papers to all who enlist, and gives each
a chance to come home to his family if he concludes to do so.
Expresses great regret that the thing should have been done as it was,
but I don't know what he could expect, and it will be some time before
the impression will die out, particularly among the women. The men are
well contented there, and most of them will stay, I daresay; there are
over five hundred.
_May 19._ This evening Dr. Wakefield arrived with the Doctor of the
Roundhead Pennsylvania Regiment. Said the pilot of the _Planter_, as
he passed Fort Sumter at daybreak, broke into the Captain's room, put
on his regimentals, and walked up and down the deck mimicking the
Captain's gait, so that if they should use their glasses at Fort
Sumter no suspicion should be excited!
_May 20._ We are fortunate in being on a plantation so far from town,
the soldiers, and the influence of the cotton-agents. At Coffin's
Point the people have shown the effects of having soldiers quartered
there so long, though they were a less simple and quiet sort than
these in Secesh times. The quarters here are the cleanest and
prettiest I have seen, though there is room for improvement.
The day has been a very busy one. A large box of Philadelphia clothing
I overhauled, made a list of everything in it, and with H.'s help
rolled up half and packed again to go to Coffin's Point. It is the
last box of clothing we shall have, I hope. We thought we should enjoy
the giving more things, now that the goods have come by the piece
which they prefer to buy, but they are so jealous, and it is so hard
to keep the run of so many families so as to distribute the garments
equally, that it is hard work, and proves the wisdom of those who
decided it was best to sell in the first place. The old people and
babies of course we give to entirely, _i. e._, as far as we have the
means. I should like a box full of baby-clothes and flannel for the
old rheumaticky women, whose garments are all worn out.
Heard Joe tell Flora, "Don't call me 'Joe' again; my name Mr.
Jenkins." I find they all have surnames, of one sort and another, a
wife taking her husband's.
_May 22._ When they go into the field to work, the women tie a bit of
string or some vine round their skirts just below the hips, to shorten
them, often raising them nearly to the knees; then they walk off with
their heavy hoes on their shoulders, as free, strong, and graceful as
possible. The prettiest sight is the corn-shelling on Mondays, when
the week's allowance, a peck a hand, is given out at the corn-house by
the driver. They all assemble with their baskets, which are shallow
and without handles, made by themselves of the palmetto and holding
from half a peck to a bushel. The corn is given out in the ear, and
they sit about or kneel on the ground, shelling it with cleared
corn-cobs. Here there are four enormous logs hollowed at one end,
which serve as mortars, at which two can stand with their rude
pestles, which they strike up and down alternately. It is very hard
work, but quicker than the hand process. After it is all shelled, the
driver puts a large hide on the ground and measures each one's portion
into his basket, and men, women, girls, and boys go off with the
weight on their heads. The corn-house is in a very pretty place, with
trees about it, and it is always a picturesque sight--especially when
the sand-flies are about, and the children light corn-cob fires to
keep them off. The corn is ground by hand by each negro in turn for
themselves; it is hard work and there are only three hand-mills on the
place, but it makes very sweet meal and grits. The negroes do not like
the taste of that which is ground by steam-mill at Beaufort; I suppose
the heat of the stones hurts it. The blacks at Hilton Head, who have
had our Indian-meal given them as rations, cannot eat the "red
flour."[41] They separate the coarse and fine parts after it is ground
by shaking the grits in their baskets; the finest they call corn-flour
and make hoe-cake of, but their usual food is the grits, the large
portion, boiled as hominy and eaten with clabber.