[_Jan. 29._] Mr. Philbrick vaccinated all the children here last year,
and the few cases we have had have been among those grown persons who
were vaccinated many years ago, and have all been very mild. It may
run through the place, but it is not likely to be violent, and the
quarters are too far off to expose us.
_Feb. 26._ Rose came up as usual, but had such hot fever that I sent
her home to add one more to the sick list there, where all but one
have "the Pox," taken from Hester. I expected Rose would not escape.
Moreover, Uncle Sam now has it, so Robert may give out in a few weeks;
but no one has been very ill, and no one yet has died here. It seems
to be a milder form than that which appeared at the Oaks and at Mr.
Eustis', where a number have died, or else they give them more air
here, which is I believe the fact. I do not go to the quarters now at
all. I can do no special good in going, and they send to me for what
they want.
[_March 21._] Monday morning just after breakfast Rose came into the
parlor with a funny expression on her face and asked me if I had been
into the kitchen. "Well, Aunt Betty got de Gove_ment_ lump, for true;
I shum yere and yere," pointing to her chin and cheek. So I went
downstairs, and there was Betty on the floor, fairly in for the
small-pox. I find the people call it "Govement lump," and those who
have it "Union," those who don't "Secesh," while the fever which
precedes the eruption goes by the very appropriate name of "Horse
Cavalry!"
_March 9._ In the evening, a little after nine o'clock, the air was
suddenly filled, as it seemed to me, with a strange wild, screaming
wail. At first I thought it must be the mules; but it rose and fell
again and again in such agony, as I thought, that Mr. Soule and
William went out to investigate, while I opened the window to listen
more distinctly. It seemed to come from Uncle Sam's house, and though
now more subdued I thought it the sobbing of strong men, and that I
could distinguish Titus' and Robert's voices. But the gentlemen soon
came back, saying that there were evidently a good many people in
Uncle Sam's house having a merry time. I said that was strange, for
he was not well, and that it sounded so like distress to me that I
should think, if I supposed him sick enough, or that they ever
manifested grief so audibly, that he had suddenly died. Several times
before I went to bed I thought I heard the same sound, though more
subdued. As I went upstairs to bed there began, at first quite low,
then swelling louder with many voices, the strains of one of their
wild, sad songs. Once before when Uncle Sam was sick they have had
their praise-meeting up there, for he is the Elder. But it was not
praise-night, and as the hymn ceased and I could distinguish almost
the words of a fervent prayer, I was quite sure that, as is their
custom, they were sitting up and singing with the friends of the
dead,--all of the plantation who were not watching with the sick in
their own homes. And so it proved. The night was wild and stormy, but
above the tempest I could hear, as I woke from time to time, the
strangely "solemn, wildly sad strains" which were continued all the
night through. At sunrise they ceased and separated; the air of their
last hymn has been running in my head all day. Then came the stir in
the house--Robert making fires--I knew his step--and then Betty at my
bedside to ask about the breakfast. "And Bu' Sam dead too," was her
quiet remark when her business was done. "I dunner if you yeardy de
whoop when he gone."
This practice of sitting up all night with the dying, H. W.
justly enough condemns as "heathenish:" "The houses cannot
hold them all, of course, and they sit round out-of-doors in
the street, the younger ones often falling asleep on the
ground, and then they 'hab fever.'" But of course it was
useless to expostulate with them; to their minds the
omission of the watch would be a mark of the greatest
disrespect.
The next two extracts furnish further comments on the
mismanagement preliminary to the land-sales.