Letters of a Confederate Mother: Charleston in the Sixties

CHARLESTON, S. C. (No date)
DEAR MR. DODGE: —
Answers to your eight questions.
1. It is wonderful, considering the inexperience of the men and the crowded state of the Forts, that so few mishaps have occurred. It is also strange that, though it poured rain half of last month and the sentinels have been drenched, while the men on the night boats are standing half the time in water, or in the marshes, guarding the creeks and inlets, there has not been a death from disease.
2. Of course business is in a very different state from what it would be in the palmy time of peace, but as the revolution was not sudden, people prepared themselves. Our banks were particularly provident and cautious. If it is hard to collect money, people are very patient & hopeful, which balances the difficulty.
3. With regard to young men being drafted & forced — the trouble is that they are too eager to volunteer, and become restless as clerks and apprentices. The Gov. has refused hundreds.
4. The men are building fortifications at every available point, but from what I hear from Washington and Willie, they are all willing and cheerful. I heard of one youth who refused to sweep under orders, but no other mutiny or discontent.
5. The idea of parties of soldiers entering houses & demanding money is the merest fiction.
6. The only family I have heard of as removing, was old Mr. Gibbon with his wife, two children, and two nurses. They all came back last week and are at their home in New Street.
7. The wealthy are called upon and willingly contributing to furnish uniforms, clothing to the military volunteers. Mr. Mordecai has given ten thousand dollars to the State. Plowden Weston, a member of the legislature, whose income is 75 thousand per year, has kept twenty-five thousand for himself, and given the remainder to the use of the State. It has not been published. He also entirely furnished a Georgetown company. Planters are sending rice, potatoes, etc. gratuitously. Washington says that a farmer up the road sent two loads of cabbages to Morris Island. One of the exquisites of our city, wanting some milk for his coffee, took a cabbage in one hand, and his tin cup in the other, and coaxed a stray cow to stand still while he milked her. A few of the donations are mentioned in the papers, but not one third. The merchants continue the salaries of their clerks, while at the Forts. Frank pays six, and does not employ more than two, at the Counting House. Mr. Atkinson, Frank’s friend in England, wrote to him to draw on him for $100 for the city’s wants.
Circles of ladies all over the city are at work for the soldiers.
That there must be pecuniary pressure by and by, I suppose no one can doubt. If Fort Sumter is attacked, which I pray God to avert, Charleston must be a city of mourners and the widows and orphans destitute.
8. You ask if Mr. Petigru and Mr. Bryan are the only Unionists. I doubt not that there may be others. So many were proud of our beautiful mother, but they are hidden by the mass who think themselves aggrieved.
I have been led to speculate on the subject of war, now that it has been brought so near. Next to the fact that all animals prey on other animals, this seems the most difficult to reconcile to the idea of a God of Love. But I must bow in humble faith, trusting that He ‘doeth all things well.’
Farewell all. Whatever betide, let us keep a kindly and loving spirit, and so ‘fulfil the law of Christ.’
YOUR AFFECTIONATE MOTHER

CHARLESTON, S. C., Dec. 16th, '60
MY DEAR CHILDREN: —
The Arsenal in Cannonsboro belongs to the U. S. A Federal officer is in command, with a few soldiers.
The state of things seems to be this, as far as I can learn, though I have seen nothing official. When our citizens (for it was common movement) decided on a revolution or Secession, there was danger that they would seize the Arsenal, in some moment of excitement; there was danger, on the other hand, that the Federal Gov. would send more troops.
Either of these movements might have led to civil war, which was foreign to the original plan.
The Governor of our state, as I understand, guaranteed the safety of the Arsenal to the Pres. and ordered the Washington Light Infantry to keep guard. The State soldiers and the Federal officer are on amicable terms. It is a peculiar state of things, but if kept in good faith on both sides, may save bloodshed.
I had a conversation recently with James. I told him that I wished him to understand the cause of the difficulty between the North and South. I said, ‘You know the old thirteen states made laws together, called a constitution, and promised to keep them. One of the laws was that runaway slaves should be returned to their owners. The North has broken the law, encourages the slaves to run away, and sends them to Canada. They do not take them home and make ladies and gentlemen of them, but put them in a freezing climate, to labor for their own living, good and bad together.
‘Another trouble is about the territories. Can you tell me, James, who owned Louisiana before the U. S. bought it?’
‘The French, ma’am,’ said he, without hesitation.
‘Well, that state, and the other territories were bought by all the States, North and South. The South paid as much money as the North and had the same right to them. After a while some of the Northern States began to say the Southerners should not carry their slaves into new territories. Of course they could not live without their slaves, who are their support, and this made another difficulty. Now the South wants to separate from the North and have nothing more to do with them. James, do you understand all this?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.’
‘Now James, I hope and trust there will be no fighting, but if there is, you must take good care of me, and I will take care of you.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
To show you how tranquil I am, dear children, I tell you that I sleep alone, on this floor, without fastening my door. Can the Northern ladies say the same?
In all events your
LOVING MOTHER

EAST BATTERY, CHARLESTON, Aug. 7th
DEAR, DEAR DAUGHTER: —
I have a few moments to write you by a private opportunity to tell you of our health and welfare. We do see all the worst threats of the North in our papers and so are prepared, but you cannot see the calm indomitable spirit that prevails here. Every old man and boy is prepared all over the South. You need not be told what the military are after the experience at Bull Run; and as for the blockade, it is almost a farce. One would think that Pres. Lincoln and his Cabinet had never studied geography. They have overlooked the numberless creeks and inlets on our shores, that must, from their peculiar navigation, be the outlet for privateers, while dangerous to outsiders.
As yet we are unstinted in our wishes for the good things of this life —our markets full — dividends good, and everybody willing to bear a reverse if it should come. I write you thus, that your fears for us may be removed.
MOTHER

CHARLESTON, S. C., March 12, 1861
DEAR CHILDREN: —
The dearth of public amusement here is made up by the excitement of slipping the blockade. In the last month thirteen vessels have run out, and three steamers have come in, the Ella Warley, the Catawba, and one large steamer, now lying in full sight from my window, whose name I have not yet learned. How these vessels pass over and through Lincoln’s hulks and by the fleet is wonderful. In the history of the war the daring of Southern sailors will form a conspicuous part of the picture. . . .
Frank is with us until the 20th and Willie also. They are preparing for their destination for the war; Washington has gone. We do not know when we shall see any of them again. If Charleston is in real danger we shall go to Greenville, where we have a house engaged.
I have said nothing about the Naval victory at James’s river, for even that will be a nine days’ wonder over, when this reaches you. Well may Lincoln be in tears. He with his Cabinet has made two nations weep.
I know nothing of my Island House, which is open for the soldiers. So farewell, dear ones all.
MOTHER

CHARLESTON, S. C., March 31, 1861
MY DEAR CHILDREN: —
I was able to give the Wilkies great pleasure, by taking them with my permit to Sullivan’s Island on Friday. The wharf presents a very animated appearance from the number of soldiers and the different uniforms — the Zouaves I think the most picturesque. Lieut. W. met us at the Cove, after we had passed the guard. In a short time Willie and Washington joined us. Lieut. W. borrowed the State wagon, and putting some of our chairs for extra seats, the party were made very comfortable for a drive to Fort Washington, the quarters of the Washington Light Infantry. Washington drove me in a buggy. The first battery on the way, now finished and mounted, is the next lot to mine, the terrible cannon pointing Sumter-wise. We stopped to see the recruits (regulars) drill. The second battery is on Mrs. McDowell’s lot; the third is Fort Moultrie, where the fearful machinery of war is so artistically arranged; the fourth and fifth are near the Curlew grounds, and the Myrtles. After our drive of three miles, so different from our Summer associations, we turned at East End, and saw the battery now named Fort Washington, which our boys have been blistering their hands in building. Lieut. Wilkie ordered the guns to be fired that we might see the force of their action. The first regiment of rifles, including the Washington Light Infantry, are all in tents, at the East End, and form quite a picturesque village. We went first to the Officers’ tent, where Lieut. Wilkie unrolled a new flag beautifully wrought with a Palmetto symbol and recently presented by Mrs. Beauman of Charleston. Knowing where to touch the heart of a W. L. I. man, I asked to see the old Eutaw Standard. He unrolled it reverently. It is of red damask and in tatters.
From the Officers’ tent we went to Willie’s. Willie was full of fun as waiter, with his tin drinking cups, and Washington was over-running with sentiment about Carrie, who was absent, and for whom he made a charming bouquet, with an appropriate kiss sentiment hidden in the centre. After about an hour of chat and inspection we drove home, with Fort Sumter in view, the calm waters and glittering beach in all their old beauty. Fort Sumter looks like a noble stag at bay, with Morris Ft. where the largest force is stationed, and James Fort bristling with cannon in the rear, Sullivan’s in front; and the floating battery ready for the first note of reinforcement, for Beauregard says all is ready. When will it be surrendered? The men, ours, have finished their work, and are growing impatient of delay. It requires all the wisdom of their superiors to keep them cool. Think of so many thousand men leaving plantations, mercantile life, shops, colleges, and every department of labor, since December, and working like journeymen. The dragoons, who have been waited on all their lives, curry their own horses.
Such is my faith in peace, that I carried down a gardener to arrange my flower beds.
MOTHER

CHARLESTON, S. C., April 16, 1861
MY DEAR CHILDREN: —
On Thursday the 11th we heard that the attack on Sumter was to commence at 7 o’clock P.M. We went with beating hearts to Lou, but all was still. At ten Caroline and the children went home, and as Frank was with his company at Morris Is., I decided to remain with Lou until his return. I had an agitated night, but fell asleep towards morning. At half past four I was awoke by the signal gun, which I thought was to be the forerunner of death in its most horrid form. Then followed the action, with which by this time you are familiar. The wind was in a direction to blow the sound towards us, and from that time, until seven in the evening, we heard every gun. Instantly, after every firing on the Islands and at Fort Sumter a cloud of white smoke rose before the explosion, and thus, the sight of every discharge was as distinct as the sound. We could hear the whiz of the balls, and feel the house shake at each concussion. A strange fascination drew us to the windows, to gaze and tremble. Many friends came in and out through the day, and the most part of them were immediately employed in making cartridge bags. A group of ladies, from time to time, cutting them out in the dining-room. They are made of strong red baize, and sewed with worsted, as cotton thread ignites more readily. For the largest guns, they are about ½ a yard long and a quarter wide. Little was said, except when rumours were brought in by the few gentlemen who could call and then we clustered around them, as if life and death hung on their words. At seven, the guns of Fort Sumter stopped for the night, but all through the next ten hours, the relentless shells rose from the batteries like stars, careered in light prismatic shades over Fort Sumter, and then dropped their fearful burdens within the walls, or sent up a shower of spray outside. All the long night this went on, and amid a thunder storm I still saw them and saw too the flag we once loved so well, waving unhurt.
In the morning, a glorious morning in nature, Anderson, the brave soul, resumed fire, but about eight our hearts stood still, for a shout came from the spectators — Fort Sumter was in flames. Still the flag waved, as if only a summer breeze stirred its folds. We forgot our people, we forgot everything, for a few moments, but the gallant band within the burning crater. You know the rest. You will read of the courtesy and even tenderness of our military commanders, to a man whom they cannot but honor in defeat.
YOUR LOVING MOTHER

CHARLESTON, S. C., Oct. 20, 1861
DEAK ANNIE: —
Are your ladies as busy as ours are for the soldiers? The amount of work done, and the zeal which characterizes it, is wonderful all over the Confederacy.
At the Island, recently, Capt. Wagner of Fort Moultrie gave out that he wanted several thousand cartridge bags in twenty-four hours, for the Coast. Some ladies sat up all night, and we rose at daylight. Of course the order was completed. You see everywhere ladies knitting stockings for the soldiers.
Lou and I were driving, and little Lou took a small basket with pieces of carpet about an inch square, and began to ravel in the carriage. I asked her what it was for, and she said ‘ for the sick soldiers’ pillows.’ Wool is very scarce. Madame Girard has a society of little children, for the purpose, in her school. . . .
I referred a little while since to the state of our country. Let me beg you to distrust all extracts you may see from the Mercury against our Authorities — the editor belongs to a little clique, who have no influence of importance. Pres. Davis is almost idolized by the mass of the people, and the military commanders are still more popular.
What a curious picture the South presents, storing piles of their staple every hour; in a few weeks they will open the ground for new planting. The sea-coast only will be disturbed, and plans are laid for the negroes to fall back, after the fortifications are completed, to safe residences. The utter impossibility of simultaneous attacks on our immense coast, and the greater impossibility of the Lincolnites leaving an army of occupation behind them, renders the margin of retreat for the negroes very wide. I suppose it is pretty well understood that the Southerners do not mean to retreat.
Whatever I am besides,
YOUR LOVING MOTHER

CHARLESTON, S. C., NOV. 3rd, 1861 MY DEAR DAUGHTERS: —
The history of the Gordon seems like a romance. Three weeks ago, dismantled of her guns, dressed with flowers, and christened Theodora (God’s blessing) she left this port and passed the blockading vessels with our Commissioners Slidell and Mason with four ladies and their female attendants. Frank, who is agent for the Theodora, says the young girls were as gay and lighthearted on that momentous night at 12 o’clock, as if they were going to a party, and in raptures with the beautiful roses with which Lou had decorated the cabin. Now she lies at one of our wharves, having discharged a splendid return cargo. In view of the expected attack at Bay Point, near Beaufort, by the Lincoln Fleet, she was engaged immediately on her arrival yesterday as a transport. Frank and Willie went down to her wharf last night, at 9 o’clock, and returned this morning at six, having employed twenty laborers and four drays all night.
I had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Slidell, who does not look the ‘wily politician’ he is said to be. This is one of the most agitating periods of the war, as the Great Fleet is momentarily expected. A telegraph just announces that two of the Lincoln transports are aground off Georgetown, but they can afford to lose a few.
The buoyancy of our people is wonderful, and so calm too.
Mrs. Harleston was at church this morning, pale but cheerful. No one here thinks that her son and the other privateers will be sentenced. If they are, God be with the prisoners here, for man will hardly help them. The retaliation will be fearful. Jan. 25th, ‘62
After writing the above, Mason and Slidell were captured, and I had no spirit to continue.
MOTHER

CHARLESTON, S. C., Feb. 1st, ‘62
MY DEAR CHILDREN: —
I think all your letters must have reached me safely; mine, giving most substantial evidence of the inefficacy of the blockade, you have acknowledged, five in all.
The second instalment of the Stone blockade was deposited one week ago, seen by observers from Sullivans Is., with good glasses. Last night six vessels went out over our bar, from our wharves, two of them probably carrying letters from me. I hoped to have sent P. D. a map of the burnt district drawn by a friend, but have not rec. it in season. . . .
My Orange Street house was struck by a shell, through the pantry, which entered the cellar without exploding.
It is no child’s play here.
YOUR LOVING MOTHER

GREENVILLE, S. C., March 27, ‘63
MY DEAR CHILDREN : —
The incident of the past month has been a call from one of the surgeons on the Coast, for our Ladies Aid Society, for flags and rosettes for his department, the flags to be nailed to fences and trees from a battle field to a hospital, to designate the road, and the rosettes to be attached to the arms of those who are to carry the wounded. I volunteered at the Directors meeting to have twenty flags made, and Lou gave the material. All that were required were completed and sent seaward in thirty-six hours, but the expected attack at the last ‘spring tide’ has not taken place. We are now awaiting the third of April when it (the tide) serves again in our harbor.
The Confederate authorities also called on us to have a hundred sheets made for a receiving hospital in Greenville for convalescent soldiers from other hospitals in case nearer ones should be wanted after a fight. In a week the ladies had everything ready. Beauregard is a splendid officer for precaution; minute details are not below his large military vision.
One year since we came to Greenville and not subjugated!
YOUR LOVING MOTHER,
C. G.

GREENVILLE, S. C., Aug. 21, ‘63
DEAR CHILDREN: —
Situation public
Charleston besieged. Men fighting on the Islands, women nursing in the City — singularly few casualties. Many private families not removing. Mrs. Crafts and Mrs. Miles, for instance, are still on the battery. Supplies and men coming in. All willing to meet the emergency. Frank says we should not know Sullivans Is. The houses on Front Beach from my lot, where Battery Bee is, to Fort Moultrie pulled down and batteries in place. To-day is Jefferson Davis’s Presidential Fast.
Situation private
And now, dear children, farewell. No matter if you wish or fear that Charleston may fall. Vicksburg and Hudson have gone, but look at the rallying along the Mississippi, where the abolition commerce trembles under its treble guards; so will it be in South Carolina; let Charleston be annihilated (for it never will be taken) and resistance will spring up in every new form that valor and ingenuity can devise.
In Greenville, among the negroes, you would still not think of war. Like other refugees, they are mending up their old clothes, but they are not yet losing fathers and brothers like the whites. The same merry laugh is heard, the same willing labor seen.
YOUR LOVING MOTHER

(No date)
MY DEAR ANNIE : —
We have a constant succession of Frank’s relatives and friends here. He is so hospitable that he will share his last with others. Not a week passes but we have an improvised bed, what the soldiers call a ‘shake-down’ in the parlor.
Willie is a paroled prisoner and came home on a walk of two hundred miles from Johnston’s army. Notwithstanding the times he and Nina went to a surprise party last night and stayed until the small hours.
We are living in a strange way now. Isolated by the cutting off the R. R.s we have only accidental communication with the outer world, no stores for two years open; without currency; no post-office, that is, no paid P. M., and a future dependent on the strangest combination of human affairs. It requires more than Ariadne’s thread to carry us through this labyrinth.
Love to the children,
YOUR LOVING MOTHER

Christmas Day, 1864
MY DEAR ELIZA: —
Savannah has gone; Charleston is in danger, and though they are not the Confederacy, and there is a strong recuperative power after every blow, yet the suffering must be immense. By the way, Atlanta has started a newspaper again, and the road is open to Macon.
The children rose at daylight to examine their stockings, for we sympathize with them. By a singular accident my gifts were quite belligerent, fighting cocks, made of pumpkin seeds, and worsted balls. To give you an idea of prices, Lou gave twenty dollars for an india rubber round comb for Louly, and $1.50 for a set of wire knitting needles. I paid $10 for the making of a pr. of leather shoes for little Phillis, and Lou found the material. Men’s coarse shoes are $90. You should see Frank’s bill for his yard family, eleven in number.
Lou had a grand present from her friend Jennie Wardlaw yesterday — sausages, chines, hogs-cheese, butter and eggs. By the way, eggs were offered at the door yesterday at five dollars per doz! And yet strange to say, we hear of no real want in Greenville.
I suppose Sherman will not turn the women and children out and burn Savannah as he did Atlanta, but keep it as a base of operations.
How that march through those feminine foes in Georgia will read in History! The cry of those ruined households will sound along the ages, when he might, like our General Lee, have made it so glorious by lenity.
Whatever happens, however, do not think the South gives up for the burning of her cities. The field is too wide for that. It will still be a give-and-take game, while our internal resources are so varied.
By the way, I just heard Frank say, ‘ Albert, gather me a quantity of poison berries (Pride of India) to make some blacking.’ Three cheers for Confederate blacking!
YOUR LOVING MOTHER

GREENVILLE, S. C., August 5th, 1865
If you have rec. all my letters, you will have learned, my dear daughter, that Frank after covering his wagon, and making a whip, borrowed two hundred dollars and went to Charleston to buy goods. You and Annie who have been purchasing about that amount lately, can fancy the quantity. On his return, he hired by the week, an empty store, and he and Willie placed their stock of Eng. goods in a bow window, and glass case, in one corner, with a bag of coffee, some boxes of herring etc. near the door of entrance. It is a large store, well arranged, and it was amusing as well as sad to see the empty shelves beyond. Every evening Willie comes home and hands over his little purse to Frank, and they have as long a talk as when they bought thousands of dollars worth of cotton. One very funny incident occurred in the store, luckily to Frank, and not to Willie. Two girls came in dressed in homespun, with sunbonnets. They fell into great admiration at the straw hats trimmed with red feathers, which Frank had brought from Charleston, and immediately selecting two, put them on. On asking the price, Frank told them five dollars a piece.
‘Wait a bit’ said one, and stooping a little, she raised her dress, turned down her stocking and handed out the amount in greenbacks. This is worthy of Sterne’s Sentimental Journey. We had no greenbacks in circulation, the garrison having arrived only two days previous, so the greenbacks told their own story.
Frank and Lou and I were driving in Main Street, when the garrison, arriving from the cars, took possession of their quarters. There was no demonstration of feeling of any kind. A gaze of curiosity in the negro population; a grave stolidity in the conquered rebels. They have been here three weeks, and our people walk opposite. By the way, I was saddened by your allusion to Peace celebration, the contrast was so strong. All here was so still, so Polandlike in its cold, stern acquiescence. I hear, however, that ‘in fifty years the South will be proud of the Union.'
Did you know that all the old residences on Ashley River were burned by the Northerners, except Drayton Hall, which was used by them for a small post?
YOUR LOVING MOTHER

1865
I destroyed my will yesterday, ‘circumstances having altered cases’ as the copy book says. Caroline calls it my won’t. It was with a very peculiar feeling that I ran over the items donated to all of you children and grandchildren, now either in possession of a Northern soldier, or destined to be sold for my temporary support. The silver and your father’s college table I shall retain.
I asked Lucas R. in a recent letter, to write you my account of the recovery of her family portraits. We have them here, and Louisa says she is becoming attached to them, as they look at us, some of them sadly mutilated, in our parlor. Gov. Ed. Rutledge we cannot recover. It is probably in some hovel. When the raiders, who came during the armistice, found nothing valuable to them in a box, they threw out the contents to the negroes and women of ill fame who surrounded them. I cannot divine the motive for their cutting the figure of the full-length by Romney from the back-ground, for it required some time to do it. We have it here. The features can all be recognized and the form is entire, but the coloring is almost lost. It has been trodden under foot, in a negro yard, I suppose in mere recklessness or carelessness.
Frank has just returned from his country trip, and there is the usual amount of bustle. I dare not dwell on the idea that we shall never be a united or loving family again. Time is a healer, but the scars are so deep! Poland! Poland! Will Frank ever be Annie’s Frank in this world? How he did love her next to his own children!
Frank exchanged his coffee for corn, to a family of maiden ladies and a decrepit old woman in an old fashioned house, and fairly set them dancing with delight. He says it is one of the drollest sights he ever saw, to see the old ladies fly around when they heard the word coffee. He says the corn crops are splendid; no starvation but — no cotton.
Now I have shown you all in these few phrases, can you fancy us as we are? With love to the dear children, your ‘owny, downy’
MOTHER

June 2nd, ‘65
MY DEAR ELIZA: —
I think you will be interested in an account of the Raid in Greenville, which, occurring as it did after the announcement of the armistice, may not be published.
On the 2nd day of May, Louisa, Caroline, the children and myself, seated ourselves at the dinner table, with some pleasant jests on the subject of a roast pig, which Lou had provided, as a great treat, after a long series of bacon. A sense of calm, if not happiness, was shed over us by the thought that our friends were not in mortal combat, and we had full confidence that the flag of truce would be respected. What was our horror, then, to hear a cry from the servants. ‘The Yankees are coming.’ We sprang from the table, and rushing to the piazza, saw Albert throwing up his arms in a phrenzied manner, calling out ‘Lord Jesus, the Yankees are coming! The Yankees are coming!’ Presently a negro man, in a cart, whipping his horse to a full gallop, came tearing along to escape, but in vain; a dozen of the enemy’s cavalry came after him and fired. In an instant, almost, his horse was unharnessed and taken possession of.
Not having any immediate object to pursue, the riders, who were a portion of Stoneman’s Brigade, under Major Lawson, turned back and Caroline and I went to the front gate, where she hailed them with ‘Have you an officer here?’ One of them rode in advance, the rest followed. ‘Yes,’ was the reply. ‘ I am Lieut. West.’ ' Will you give us a guard?’ ‘That is not at all necessary. Our men have strict orders to respect private property.’ ‘But,’ I urged, ‘there may be stragglers, or your men may become intoxicated. Pray let us have a guard.’ ‘I assure you, madam, your houses are perfectly safe.’
Caroline ran up the piazza steps, and taking her baby from the nurse’s arms, stood by the Lieut. who was on horseback. ‘I have heard’ she said, ‘that some of Sherman’s men tore the clothing of infants to strips. Do give me a guard for this one.’ The gallant Lieut, stooped from his horse, took Clare in his arms, and caressed her under the boughs of the apple tree which reached his head. Our servants, twenty in number, were peeping from every accessible opening. The Lieut, glanced at his followers, and then called to a stolid looking man, and said, ‘Shertz, guard this house strictly, and watch the streets. Let none of our men disturb these ladies.’ Then giving Clare back to her mother, he added, ‘Madam, [ have been four years in the war, and I can say I have never injured a woman or child.’
‘But,’ said I, before he rode away, ‘How is it that you come to a place like this, where there are only non-combatants, during the Armistice?’ ‘Oh, madam,’ was the reply, ‘The Armistice did not hold after Lincoln’s death.’ He rode off, promising to look after us. . .. Shertz took his stand on the piazza. Clusters of horsemen passed, looked, and rode on without a question, while in other houses they were searching for arms and horses. One man came on foot, while I was leaning over the rails, and demanded coffee. I said I had been without coffee two months. ‘I hear you have coffee,’ said he, ‘and if I find it is so, I ‘ll be damned if I don’t burn your house down.’ Shertz pointed his musket towards him and he went away.
The Raiders, about two hundred in number, went to Main Street and opened the Commissary Stores, robbed the Bank, pillaged every article from the rooms of the Ladies’ Association, and then proceeded to private houses and property. The Refugees from the Coast had put their property in various closed chambers in empty stores three years ago, all over the town. Everything was rifled; books, costly plate, wines, pictures and bed linen thrown into the streets to be picked up by any passer-by. All the afternoon we saw white and black, laden with goods, passing by the house.
At twilight I was on the piazza, when Lieut. W. made his appearance with a stand of U. S. colors. ‘I hope you will excuse me, madam,’ he said, ‘for bringing my flag, which I have captured in the foundry. I hope I don’t hurt your feelings,’ walking into the parlor and unrolling it. ‘I should be very sorry to do so. You will allow me to place it here,’ extending the flag staff along the high, old fashioned mantel, and letting the colors spread out at full, against the wall.
‘We are in your power, and of course you must do as you choose,’ I replied. He sat down to supper, we remaining near, but not joining. Louisa waited on him, but did not sit. After some remarks he said, ‘Will you tell me, ladies, why we engaged in the war?’ After a pause Lou said, ‘to subjugate us and free our slaves.’
‘You never were more mistaken,’ said he. ‘We do not want to subjugate you, nor do we want to touch a negro or your institution. The U. S. only wants her own territory, and she will have it.’ ‘Ah,’ said he, looking up to a youth about seventeen, who entered the door, ‘Here is one of my boys, Mr. Simpson. I hope you will give him some supper. He is a perfect gentleman.’
The ‘perfect gentleman’ had just thrown off a broadcloth cloak which we afterwards heard he had stolen from the Rev. Dr. Boyce, at the same time taking his watch. He wore a new velvet waistcoat which he had taken from a locked trunk of Mr. Burckmeyer’s, that was under Dr. B’s care. Immediately, on being seated, the ‘perfect gentleman ‘ said, ‘Well, Lieut., how many Rebs have you bagged to-day?’ ‘None,’ was the answer, ‘but I captured a splendid number of guns, and a stand of colors at the foundry.’ . . .
Starting up, the Lieut. said they were ‘under orders to be off in an hour. But Gen. Brown,’ he added, ‘will be here with five thousand men at twelve o’clock to-night.’ So they departed, taking our friend Shertz with them.
We none of us undressed for several nights, but Gen. Brown did not appear.
Two young ladies here, pretty girls, had no matron to protect them, so one of them, only fifteen years old, but quite an adept in masquerade, dressed herself like an old woman. Fifteen privates went to their house and demanded supper. She waved her hand with great dignity and said to a servant ‘Give these men their supper in the kitchen.’ They obeyed her orders. When they enquired for fire-arms she told a servant to bring the poker and shovel, and ordered about her elder sister with a severe manner of authority.
The Lamb family had eight hundred dollars in gold and all their jewelry, diamonds included, taken from a wagon on the road where they were sending them for security.
The Raiders pointed a pistol at Mrs. Forsyth’s little son, eight years old, and called him a little Rebel. The child, who has a nervous temperament, fell insensible, and has never recovered from the shock.
I did not mention that almost every lady in Greenville had on two suits of clothes to save them. I put Mr. Jervey’s new silk over an alpaca. Fortunately the weather was cool.
So ends the history of the Greenville Raid, which occurred, as I wrote before, during an Armistice.
YOUR LOVING MOTHER

Thirty thousand dollars in gold was taken from the Bank— ‘private property.’

GREENVTLLE, S. C., Sept. 17
MY DEAR ELIZA : —
Fearing that my letter of 15th may not have reached you, I write again to express my sympathy with your happiness, and approval of your choice. May the anxiety of the past settle into gentle domestic calm. My wedding day was 14th.
Frank has returned from another of his terrible journeys for goods. Willie has an assistant behind the counter in Huger Smith, Eliza Mason Smith’s third son, who is to receive a dollar per day. I saw his brother Robert volunteer to bring heavy boxes into the store with the drayman. He hauls wood for the use of his family.
Mrs. Williman has not a servant left, and Mrs. Pyot, one of the wealthiest women in Charleston, with an infant, does her own cooking. These are specimens.
The negroes appear to think that even if they receive wages, besides their old privileges, they are not free as long as they are with their old masters, and you see them leaving their comfortable homes and living in miserable shanties, often seeking a day’s work for food.
On the other hand, there was a Saturday picnic yesterday, where they gathered, in their Sunday clothes, and they have a school with a colored teacher.
Since the announcement of their freedom in our yard, we have not heard Albert’s old Methodist hymns at his work, and Handy, who said he would ‘like to be sworn at,’ because it made him more ‘perticular,’ has been surly and disrespectful, although his wife has just given birth to a little freeman. The policy among them will be to get to the Coast, and Frank’s idea is that it is best, as it seems to be theirs, ultimately to part.
I mentioned rice fields. . . . Does it seem possible to you that in this State we should not have had any rice on our table for five months? It will probably be imported for some time to come, from the old world.
YOUR OWN MOTHER

CHARLESTON, S. C., Dec. 12, ‘65
MY DEAR ELIZA : —
I closed my last Greenville letter just a month ago. On the morning of the 14th, Frank, Lou, and all the children rose at four o’clock and sat down to the last breakfast to be prepared for us by the family servants. And a nice breakfast it was, and bountifully did Lou supply our meals for the journey. Kissing the whites and shaking hands with the blacks, we departed at six.
One of the saddest spectacles on our way was the gangs of negroes, with weird, tired, hungry faces, going coastwise to take ‘possession of the lands.’ Many of them, most of them, leaving comfortable homes and kind masters. But what of that?
It occupied us seven hours to reach Columbia. How gladly I would have escaped what may now be called Sherman’s Desolation. Scarcely a farm house, not an elegant and hospitable plantation residence on the way, all ruin, ruin; and in Columbia the last rays of twilight were on the ruins. We were glad to leave early in the morning and start on the car for home, Home!
In 1858 I journeyed with a coffin, where was laid my love and earthly hope, and came home. In 1865 I journeyed with the dead South, and came home.
I found by G. Howard’s kindness a furnished bedroom and parlor and Laura Geddings had superintended Caroline’s room, by her request, which looks fresh and bridal. It was interesting to see the remnants of the past. Your father’s Bust unharmed during four years of destruction, looking so calm, that it filled me with a sense of sacred repose. The Apollo and Diana, in their classical beauty, gave me welcome.
One great event took place. James unearthed the box he had buried in 1861, which contained the beautiful tea set Frank gave me, the glass finger bowls and various toilette keepsakes from friends. Mr. Dodge’s pretty inlaid vase was ruined, also window transparencies and everything of woodwork, but strange to say, amid mould and destruction, at the bottom of the box, the framework fallen to pieces, and seemingly exposed to every possible injury, Annie Loring’s face looked up with its young loveliness, unharmed.
My books, private papers, and pictures are all stolen. The pillagers must have had some object beside robbery in their selection. Everything valuable as an autograph is gone.
You remember the eight little white books your father inscribed for me and seemed so fond of; they are gone.
James came a fortnight ahead of us, laid the carpets and prepared the bedding, and we had every reason, when placing our heads on our pillows, to thank God for a home.
Soon after my arrival Mr. Stebbens called and sympathized with me in my plans for restoring the Cemetery. I was fortunate in securing a gardener, who was engaged to clear the four years débris and overgrowth for eighty dollars. I have pledged fifty of Louisa Loring’s, and Mr. Stebbens promises thirty. Other persons will doubtless help on the good work. I could not help thinking yesterday, as I saw the flowers look up and smile when the superincumbent weight and decay and ruin were removed, that they set us a good example politically. But then, flowers have no memory.
And now a new era in my life has begun. My prayer for usefulness has thus far been granted. Perhaps my heaviest trial may come when that ceases.

One of my favorite poems has it,—

In life or in death, dear child,
YOUR OWN MOTHER