_Jan. 8._ Miss Towne told some amusing stories of the Georgia
refugees. Some of them, being very destitute, were bemoaning their
condition, and wishing they had never left their old plantations,
feeling rather abashed at the responsibility of taking care of
themselves. The old Edisto people, who have been there a year or two,
encourage them, saying, "Look 'o we," "We come here wi' noffin at
all," "Now we have money for cotton and all the tater and hominy we
can eat," etc. One woman said, "Bress the Lord, I have striven and got
enough to give _seven_ gowns to these poor folk." So it seems they do
what they can for the new-comers. I guess these Edisto people, who
have their own recent destitution fresh in mind, are more kind than
the natives of St. Helena, who are rather inclined to be jealous of
the new-comers, who make the labor market rather easier than before.
_Jan. 6. Monday._ I had a talk with the people, who came up to see me
in a crowd in the forenoon. They seemed jolly, and had no complaints
to make about the past, but wanted higher wages for the future. I
talked with them very quietly for an hour, told them I would give
higher wages if I felt sure the price of cotton a year hence would
pay me as well as the past crop,[180] and told them if they wanted to
share this risk with me, I would give them a share of the cotton for
their wages. They all objected to this except one or two of the men,
who said they would like such an arrangement, but their _families_
couldn't wait so long for their money. On the whole they preferred
wages, and therein showed their sense, I think. I find that when my
last cargo arrived in the _Redwing_, the people who had worked for me
had their pockets full of money and bought what they wanted, but the
men who had been cultivating cotton on their own hook looked on with
envious eyes and empty pockets, creating a very general impression in
favor of the _wages system_. Under this impression, I think they will
fall to work gradually at similar wages to what I have been paying,
but will probably lie idle a few weeks to think about it, in hopes I
will offer more.
_Tuesday morning._ I heard that the schooner was at Fuller Place to
take our cotton. We have been at it ever since till yesterday noon,
when we put in the last we had, nearly filling her up. There was about
half of it negro cotton, brought from one hundred and seventy-six
different proprietors, for whom I act as agent in forwarding and
selling it. I drove over to spend the night at Mr. Wells' house on
Wednesday. He had gone to Morgan Island to receive and stow away some
one hundred and fifty Georgia refugees, which were expected by a
steamer from Beaufort. After he had waited for them all day, they
arrived about sunset, and he spent half the night there in the rain,
stowing them in houses and getting their baggage up from the steamer,
which lay at anchor in the river discharging into small boats. They
came from the shore counties near to Savannah, and brought a good deal
of truck, beds, and blankets, and some rice and peas. Mr. Wells gave
them rations for a week, and I suppose will continue to do so, for
they can't get anything to eat till next harvest in any other way. The
able-bodied have all been taken either by the rebels or our Government
for fatigue duty and quartermaster service, so those who come here are
all women, children, or cripples, such as we had before. They will
doubtless be so glad of a home, however, that they will do a good deal
of work. Of course it is not an economical class of labor, for it
takes too much land to feed the non-workers to allow a great deal to
be planted in cotton. In the morning I walked out with Mr. Wells and
sold him both the plantations of which he has had charge for me, viz.,
the Jenkins place, where he lives, for $1600 or $10 per acre, and
Morgan Island for $1200, or about $5 per acre, which is more than any
one would have given a few weeks ago, when we couldn't get a negro to
stay there for fear of the rebels. I daresay he may do very well with
it now, but it is a vexatious thing to get rations to them in such an
out-of-the-way place, and, after all, young Mr. Fripp may make them
another visit some night and carry off some more negroes.