John and Gertie came in from Idaho. They spent a part of their time with us and a part with the Tuckers in Lexington. This was the last time we saw John. He went back to Idaho and died January 15th. He requested that he be buried in our lot in Salem. He died bravely as a Christian. How I thank God for that blessing. Gertrude’s mother went to Idaho and returned with Gertie and was at our house at the funeral. They had a fearful trip, delayed by a snow storm. Gertie went to Lexington to live with her parents. She was and is devoted to John. Her parents are dead now and she had a home in Winchester, Virginia.
For a long time Gertie joined us in our reunions, but she had the care of her mother and then my husband’s death obliged me to close my house. One year while Elsie was at school Bob and Sadie went to Baltimore. They went by boat and enjoyed it. Sadie was especially pleased. She had been out very little. She was a lovely child in person and disposition. Another trip was to Hampton. Bob took all the children. Our friends the Langhornes went. They had a fine trip. This was the Assembly of Ships at Hampton Rhodes, and one visit Phil and I took to W. Virginia together in September 1902. He was the joy of my heart, the darling of the whole family. We stayed a month. John Lee was born. Sallie, Nancy, and Maud are cute little girls and Phil loved to play with them.
John Lee is not* a married man and a soldier in France. He is a lieutenant in the artillery. Just think what changes I have seen, how many of my family gone, and I left with so many memories.
I have never been robust, but with all my inferminies* I must have had great powers of enjurance* and a strong constitution.
John and Phil went to To anole* College, Elsie to Baltimore, Sadie to Mrs. Gay. Mollie spent the winter in Wilmington, North Carolina with Janice Strange and also visited Mary McCrea.
The next year 1893 was an accumulation of horrors. In January my mother fell down the steps and injured herself dreadfully, and was in bed many weeks and never recovered from the fall. So when a telegram came saying Strother was ill with pneumonia I had to get Bob to go to him as it was impossible for me to leave my mother. Strother only lived five days. A very remarkable incident occurred. We had a telegram Saturday night from the doctor saying the crisis had passed and Strother had a chance to recover. Sunday morning we were so relieved. While at breakfast we heard a heavy fall. Sadie and Mary White rushed up to my mother’s room and found her. When they entered the room she said, “Strother is dead”. My mother became unconscious. The doctor came at once and applied restoratives. Then a telegram came saying Strother had died at 9:30 a.m., just the identical moment my mother fell. A remarkable coincidence. She thought he was better, from the news the night before.
This was a great blow, especially to my mother and to me for Strother is like a son to me. I am 21 years older and have had the care of him always from the day my mother went to Lexington. I weaned him and educated him. He lived with me until he went to New York and had visited me every summer. He was as my son. I do not attempt to write of our sorrow.
In June, Joe and family and Mercer and Lizzie and Gertie met at our house. We had a joyous time. Philip was the life of the house. He had recovered from his burns and was such a handsome boy. He was a find* mimic and kept us laughing all the time. He and John usually drove to Salem every afternoon, but John had promised Lewis Langhorne so Phil went with Erskine Burdell to Mason’s Creek to join the other boys swimming. Georgine and I went to pay calls and stopped at the photographer’s gallery to arrange for a sitting on Tuesday. This was Saturday, June 10th. While we were there we were sent for and when we got their Annie Langhorne came to meet us and said for us to drive to Mason’s creek. Mr. Langhorne and professor Cannady drove with me and we got to the bridge I saw my husband stricken with grief. I did not need to be told that our darling was drowned. We drove together with our darling in our laps. Every effort was made to restore him. God alone knows the agony we suffered.
Since then I think my husband’s and John’s death and my mother’s are the result. But God has seen fit to let me live and suffer. I never finished my book. I could not see for a number of years and now I am too old. My brother died in February the 5th 1893. Phil was drowned June 10th 1893 and my mother died August 21st 1893. My husband died December 26th, 1900, my father February 9th, 1903. Lettie G. Logan January 17th, 1918, and Philip C. Logan September 1919.
There is a great deal I can write but I am old and get tired. Things went on as usual. My sister Jeannie had five children., I had four, and George three. On October 27th my son Philip Clayton was born. A friend said he was the prettiest baby he had ever seen. Sadie, I thing*, was just as pretty but all my children were. And although they had all the diseases known to children went safely through all, with no trained nurse and no hospital. Beside the ordinary diseases my father and mother had frequent attacks of jaundice and rheumatism. I nursed them too.
When Philip was a year old I had a desperate illness and was an invalid for five years, lying on a chair which my brother John sent me from New York. My mother and Mollie and Elsie were in Wythville visiting but came home at once. I gave up the choir. My mother took charge of everything and my family came as usual. When Phil was three years old, John was married in October in Lexington to Gertrude, the draught of John Randolph Tucker. Mercer was married a few days before in Wythville to Elizabeth Kent Caldwell. They went to John’s wedding and both met at my home. I was still on the bed or chair. My house had only four bedrooms, but by crowding my little flock I managed to take them in. We had a week of festivity. Edith went to John’s marriage and was with us a few days. Then they all left. I could not have done a thing without my mother.
The next event was horrible. My dear beautiful Philip, in the absence of his nurse who had to fill the cooks place was burned almost to death. He swallowed the flames and our good doctor Wiley had gone to the country. I never saw such bravery as the little fellow showed as I sat with him in my arms for three hours until I was numb from head to foot. I gave him a dose of laudanum and for a while he alpet*. When he awakened he began to sing Jesus Meek and Gentle, and although he could hardly articulate his eyes and throat were so swollen, he would try to sing and would say, “why don’t the Doc come on?” and then sing again. Oh God, how he suffered and how I agonized watching him, but never a murmur escaped his poor swollen lips. I nursed him without help, up night and day, kneeling by his cradle for six weeks, without changing my clothes except for the wash. I sang until I was hoarse.
Friends were king, especially my cousin Robert Logan, Mrs. Blair, Mr Langhorn, Dr. Wiley and Dr. Armstrong, God bless them all. And then in January he had scarlett fever and they were agin* kind. Dear little boy, how patient and lovely you were. It seems impossible that I have lived without him. His face was sadly disfigured but its beauty was restored.
Things went on. Mollie and Elsie went to school to Aunt Mollie Barnet. All the children went to her. She was a dear old lady. When the children all had the measles John was the sickest. Elsie fell and broke her arm and agin* I had a time. She had a compound fracture of the elbow and was very nervous, suffered so terribly with indigestion and the inconveniente* of the way her arm was bandaged.
Phil had to be brought out of doors to me for his food and took cold and was ill with pneumonia and poor John had chilblains on his heel. He suffered greatly. My whole time was taken up with Elsie who would not allow anyone to come in the room. This was 1881, and should have come in before. Phil was burned in 1883 and had scarlet fever in 1884. The family came as usual.
The summer of 1884 George brought his family, Joe, George, and Louise. They rented rooms across the street and took meals with us. Louise was a very attractive child and pretty. George rented Miss Betty Coles’ house. She was a first cousin of my Aunt Martha and a distant cousin of my father. She was much attached to us. She died the summer before.
I wish I could tell all the smart little speeches of my children, but I suffer so with my back after I write. Philip and Mollie said the brightest things. Mollie came from school quite indignant and threw her books on the bed.
“I shall never go to that teacher again!”
I inquired into her grievance. The teacher had heard someone else in her time.
She said, “I just let her know I am as much of a person as anybody.” And she would not go again.
Phil was a mimic and kept us in roars of laughter. He would say his prayers most devoutly and tell God exactly what he must do. He would say, now God, they all say I must be good. It is all your fault. If you will just kill the Devil all the boys will be good.
Whatever he wanted he would kneel down and ask for it. All this he did when three or four years old.
Elsie did some cunning things. One day I noticed little slits in the new carpet. She said, “Oh, I cut those button holes. Aren’t they nice ones?” She was very proud of them. Another day she cut every bud from the Devonshire roses, much to my mother’s horror. Sadie was pretty and a little mother to John and Phil.
One day after the earthquake John and Phil sat on the side porch discussing it. Phil said, “John, what do you think God sent that earthquake for?” John was always a solemn child. He deliberated a while and then said, “I reckon Phil, God saw that people had gotten used to thunderstorms and wind and he thought would try something else to let them know he was still up there..”
Dear John and Phil. That may account for the late terrible war. Laura Lee Grant was with us. It was distinctly felt. Pictures were knocked down from the wall and dishes knocked off the table. It was a horrible disaster. My Uncle Joseph Logan of Atlanta came often to Salem to see us with his first wife, Aunt Ann Eliza and daughter Jeanie Laura. Uncle Joe afterwards married Alice Clark, now living in California. Uncle Joe was a handsome, clever man. We always enjoyed their visits.
Edith, my sister was married at our house. I gave her a beautiful breakfast. Mollie and Ellen Blair, Elsie and Julie Burdell were her attendants. It was a pretty wedding. If I had more time I would write a description. Edith married Mr. Thomas L. Hurt of Molloway county. She had three children Eldridge, Sadie, and Carrie. Dear Edith, so whole souled and generous, and very pretty. John, Joe, George, Strother and also my generous husband all helped and gave her presents. Every summer the family met at our house. John and wife lived in New York, After Strother graduated he went to New York to live, was at first in a bank and afterwards in newspaper work. He was very successful. My brother Joe was married to Georgine Washington Willis of Orange county Virginia. Mercer, John and Strother went to the wedding. Mollie also went. They went to New York on a bridal trip. Mollie had a lovely visit. She was old enough to remember it. That fall she went to Wythville to school to Mrs. Dew. She had a very nice time and was over at Mercer’s and Lizzie’s a great deal. She remembers those days with much pleasure.
The next event of interest was 1888, the “Golden Wedding”. A description of this was written by our good friend Dr. Oscar Wiley which I copy here. We all enjoyed this. Georgine and Lizzie came a few days ahead and we worked hard. I had so many in the house, and my room and the children’ nursery had to be converted into rooms for entertainment which necessitated very constant work.
We had a large and happy gathering, a great many presents. There was one dark cloud, the absence of John and Gertrude. John’s health was seriously affected. He was ordered to Idaho and had been appointed Judge in Idaho, and of course could not come. The children at the Golden Wedding looked so pretty. Phil was 8, John 10, Sadie 12, Elsie 14, Mollie 16. Mollie went to Richmond to Mr. Powell’s school. She and Ellen boarded with Aunt Kenningham Claiborne while there. Mollie had Roseola and used her eyes imprudently. Soon she could not go on. Her eyes have given her trouble ever since.
The same year I got a teacher for the others. All were going to school. She was a very smart, well educated woman and a fine teacher, but very disagreeable and unpleasant member of the family. I was in wretched health. Had I been well, I think things would have been different. She was very hateful to my dear mother and the children but pleasant to me. She stayed the first year well enough, but we did not keep her all the last session.
My mother went to visit Joe at Union and carried Elsie and Sadie. They had a nice visit. There they met the Peels, Englishmen who afterwards came to Salem and lived, buying property, etc. I can’t tell what they did. It would fill a book.
The girls had very nice trips. Sadie, Mollie, and Elsie went to the Chicago Exposition with the Langhornes and Gilmer Patton and enjoyed it. Elsie and Mollie went to Albion New York to visit Pearly Curtis. They spent some time finding it very delightful. They spent some time in a cottage on Lake Ontario. Before this trip Elsie went to Baltimore to school to Mrs. Tutwiler, Mt. Vernon Institute. Here Elsie won all honors. Her health improved very much and she made firm friends. Mrs. Tutwiler invited Mollie to visit Elsie and the next summer Mrs. Tutwiler visited Elsie. A very charming woman. I think she had a lively time, and our friends were so attentive. Sadie went to school to Mrs. Gay, who established a fine school in Salem. John and Phil went to college preparatory school with Professor C.B. Cannady in charge. It was very satisfactory. They afterward went to Roanoke College.
When Mollie began to talk she gave everyboyd* names. She was confused as my father called my mother “Sarah” and the rest of us called her Mama. She puzzled her brain and evolved the name Mama Sarah. Then for her father, she gave the name Daddy Bob, for me Annie Ma, coupling the two names. Then one day she said to my father, “Papa what is your name. He said James, and then with a very satisfied air she said “Papa James.”
That summer my brother John came. She called him Johnny and was very fond of him. He could only stay a month. Later in the season my brother Jimmy came. He puzzled her greatly. She gazed at him and finally she gave a little laugh and said, “This is black Johnny”. And he was always black Johnny. His complexion was very dark.
Mercer stayed at Mr. Airy a good deal with Liv. Hansbrough. Edith, Nellie and Dick with Jeannie. We now had to move again, our rented house sold and we moved to the Miller house. Aunt Martha came often to see us. Here November 27, 1864 Elsie was born. She had a fine, face, and grew to be very pretty. She did much that was interesting. My brother Jimmy On March 1875 came from University of Virginia with pneumonia. He had taught school and was pursuing studies in an academic course there. He came to us every summer so he saved his money. His ultimate desire was to enter the ministry. He was a most gifted man, handsome physically, brilliant in mind, a lovely disposition, and a well-rounded character at 21. He needed no training, So God loved the young man and took him unto himself. He remained with us until he died. My mother and I nursed him. As poor as we were, he suffered for nothing, and how I cherish the hours I spent with him.
He loved my* as much as I did him and trusted me as I did him. I thank God I had the care of him and could do what I did. Dr. Bittle of Roanoke College came often to see him and preached his funeral and wrote his obituary.
I went this summer to see Bob’s mother in Newport, Giles county, carrying the two dear little girls. We enjoyed the trip in a carriage over the mountains and had every kindness from Addison and this wife.
I still taught school in the mornings with Mrs. Michel (General Johnston’s sister) a very clever and agreeable old lady. I had to keep up school, as Edith, Nellie, and Strother were still at school and I still gave music lessons. This kept me busy. I had no time for social duties, but kept up my church duties, singing in the choir and playing the organ. My mother being with me, I could do it. She often said this to me, “Anna, we could not live without each other.”
The march after Jim’s death, mu* husband bought me a home on Broad street. We had moved so often we bought this place. We lived happily there. Mercer went to the seminary at Alexandria, Edith got a position to teach in Maryland. Joe decided to study law. I asked my cousin James Patton of Union, West Virginia to take him as a favor to me, so he was nicely fixed we hoped.
And so Strother was the only permanent one left, though they call came every year. Edith and Mercer were with us for the summerand* the others for a month. Nellie was of course with us. She was a most satisfactory child, had a talent for music and a pretty voice. She was with us until her health gave way. Dear Nellie, we had the best doctor and I took her to New port. She enjoyed her visit and the ride over. Everyone loved her. She was one of the prettiest little girls I ever saw, but was not when grown, but so satisfactory with such a fine character.
Edith was so very pretty. In the fall of this year she grew weaker and we knew she would leave us, though for a beautiful home He’d gone to prepare. We were terribly grieved. My health was very bad. I could not go up stairs, nor she come to me, so she would send me word to sing and I would open my door and sing as long as she wanted me to.
On February 27th, 1876 another dear little girl was born. I was unable to walk for two months. I had my good nurse Emma. Aunt Martha stayed all the time should could. My dear mother had all she could do to take care of Nellie who needed a great deal of care. Dear child she suffered so. In the spring she left us and how we missed her. And when the boys and eith* came we had a sad reunion. They enjoyed the homecoming and the three little girls, all so pretty and good. And they were such a comfort to my bereved* partants* who now lived with us. A more generous man than my husband I have never know*. His house was the house of my brothers and sisters when they needed one every summer. God has, I earnestly pray blessed him forever for it. He had only his profession, no other help. His mother died of pneumonia February 27th, the day Sadie was born. She had a small property, most of it she left her other son. She left some mountain land to Bob which I afterwards sold for $500 and have invested in Salem town bonds.
(*Edith, *bereaved, *parents, *known)
My brother John had now formed partnerships with Mr. Willis and brought him to spend the month. I did not like, I never trusted him. They enjoyed their visit. George came from Atlanta, Mercer from the suminary*, Joe from S. Virginia. He was in the office of Caperton and Patton. Edith was there too for the summer. All these were there the summer after Nellie died. Mother and I had our hands full. Mollie and Elsie were now most interesting and Sadie was the prettiest of all. The public school was now absorbing all others, and as I had paid my debts for the paint and some on the silver, and there were three children my husband advised me to give up the school and give only music lessons, which I did for several years.
My husband had a good practice. My brother George married in 1877 to Miss Lettie Grant of Atlanta, Ga. and came to see us. They stayed several weeks. We liked her very much and became much attached to her. On July 17, 1878 My son John delighted our hearts by being a boy. He was exceedingly ugly. I remember my dear aunt said when she saw him, “Well, boy, you are very ugly but you have lots of sense or I am mistaken.” Which proved true, sand he grew to be a wonderfully handsome man.
My dear aunt died and how we missed her, one of the best women God ever made. She died November, 1878. Dear old doctor Griffin died in the fall of 1879. We lived along as usual, with family reunion the summer. I went over to Union, W. Virginia in the buggy with Joe on his return to visit Jim Patton and his wife. Nellie was there. I enjoyed stopping at Sweet Springs for dinner and at White Sulphur for the night. My health was not good so all agreed I had better go off for a while. I had two nurses, as Sadie could not walk. I had a very pleasant visit and went with Willie Patton and wife to Lexington where he had a professorship at V.M.I. I Met at Jim’s Rita Hughs’ daughter and two of Eliza Gilmer’s sons and George Gilmer who married Rita and whose I saw many years afterward in Lynchburg. I am glad they knew who I was. I was devoted to all the Pattons from my childhood. Cousin Patton was related through the Williams and Claytons.
She was an elegant woman. In* enjoyed my visit with Willie and wife and I was interested in V.M.I. My Uncle John’s name was the first enrolled there and at Washington college my grandfather, Rev. Joseph D. Logan was one of the first, if not the first teachers. It was then called Amherst college. My uncle Joseph Logan was a graduate of Washington college and so was my Uncle Philip Clayton Strother. Then my friends General Lee and General Custis Lee were presidents. General Lee died there and has the Valentinis statue in memorial. After the Lees, Hon. John Randolph Tucker was president, and he was followed by his son, Harry St. George Tucker.
I came home after a nice visit, glad to see my babies and to relieve my dear mother. I found all well.
I enjoyed my cousin’s many West Point stories. He loved to tell of his experiences there to the day of his death. He was placed in charge of camps at Lynchburg to train soldiers and afterwards was at Fort Donalson with General Floyd, and was there when it was captured. He escaped as the prisoners were brough* over the Mississippi River, was a fine swimmer, and though shot at several times escaped and stayed in the bushes for three days without food. He finally found friends, returned to the army and was in command of a regiment. He fought in many battles. In the Battle of Winchester he was promoted for gallantry. He had two horses killed from under him but he was not wounded. He wrote me a full history of his was* record but that, and all my valuable papers, letters, pictures, books, manuscripts were destroyed in the Atlanta fire.
I returned to my work. I had a dear little girl, Nellie Dimmock to board with me. She and my sister Nellie were two dear children together. Nellie had a lovely voice and was quite clever. She was always satisfactory and so dependable.
Our family now began to scatter. John, struggling in a law office in New York City, George in Atlanta, Ga. as clerk in Chamberlain and Johnsons, Jimmie teaching in the family of Mrs. Cook in Greenville, Va. Oh, Jimmie, my beautiful brother, so everything that is lovely, clever, and good. I love th* think of you dear, so attractive and beautiful.
Emmie is still a devoted friend, married and lives in Baltimore. She and her husband visited me and I went twice to see her. She had had what seemed her misfortunes like all have. Emmie’s stepmother and I have been faithful friends from our schooldays. We have corresponded since 1859. That year I visited her at her home, Sherwood, in Gloucester, Va. I had a most delightful visit, enjoying every member of her family and the hospitality of her charming neighbors. From her home Mrs. Selden carried us to visit relatives in Norfolk and to Old Point. This was my very first visit to a watering place*. There I met friends and it was joyous. But in our life the bitter and sweet come together. When I went home in about three weeks the typhoid fever developed and I suffered greatly–ill unto death. There were no trained nurses and my family and friends were worn out. All expected me to die, the communion administered. I was in a state of coma, but conscious, but could not speak. If I could feel it necessary I could tell a great deal more of this illness, but I haven’t time or strength. I was six months recuperating and my friends welcomed me as a return from a far country.
(*a place that serves alcohol)
I must not dwell on days gone by, but come back to my story, our struggles and trials in Salem. Each summer the boys came home, the school went on. I had to borrow money to buy a piano. I borrowed from my friend Colonel George P. Taylor. Rev. Mr. Ingle purchased a Steinway in Washington D.C. This hampered me but I could not go on giving lessons on the old one, and my sister Nellie and Edith had to be instructed. Music was thought a necessary party* of Education. My cousin proposed marriage but I could not desert my family not marry in debt. And we had the misfortune to have my little brother fall from a tree and injured his back. He was in bed for weeks. Of course this added to our expense. The spoons, feather beds, cut glass and china were all sold, so demands on me were to* great to think of matrimony. But I gave him my promise. He was doing fairly well in his profession and gaining favor among older lawyers, Judge Staples, Mr. Johnson and others. That year, 1871, and the next were very hard on my*. I was broken down in health, in debt and had no help. Jeannie was married and I had to pay board for a teacher and a salary, Mercer’s attack of pneumonia, Strother’s fall — both Doctor’s bills to meet.
(part*, too*, me*)
But my determination to help my mother and father never flagged*, though I was often tired and wondered how it would end. There were so many of us, it was a trying ordeal. My cousin persisted and I resisted. The public school had reduced my school. Some of my best paying scholars went to boarding school. My cousin begged that I would let him help. He prescribed his case that I would add to his comfort, that he could pay his board and mine and that this would greatly aid my poor tired mother, and as the family were all in favor I was no longer obdurate and agreed. So we were married on a very cold December morning in 1871, and went to Lotheringgay, the ancestral home of his mother’s people, the Edmundsons. Here we spent a week and then turned to work.
I will mention in passing that I spent $100 on my trousseau, had a few presents from my nothern* friends and my dear mother gave me one dozen cut glass tumblers and a counterpane, and old fashioned Marseilles, inherited from the grand daughter of Governor Spottswoods. Some of my family have thought and said that I had all that was left. I wish to say that I haven’t one article from Dungeness that I did not pay for in cash. The pieces of silver, my husband bought for $300, the price my mother offered it to strangers for. I could not see it go, so we borrowed money and saved it so it is my very own. I do not wish to be misunderstood by those I love so well. I had receipts but like other valuables they were burned in the Atlanta fire.
1872 was a much happier and more restful year. We felt the comfort of a strong arm to lean on, and I saw Bob happy and improved, more serious and thoughtful. Others remarked on it. I remember at a church festival given by Lutheran Church Dr. Biddle, president of Roanoke came to me and said, “Ah, madam. I consider you a greater reformer than Martin Luther.”
“How?” I asked wonderingly.
“Why you have made a tame man out of a wild one.”
“Ah, Dr. the material was there or I could not have brought it out.”
“Yes, yes, that is true. Robert is a fine fellow.”
In the spring Jeannie had a second son, James Logan. He grew to be a favorite of mine and is still. This year I only taught half a day in the morning. We had two sessions, Miss Julia Bittle taking afternoons. In the summer we had our reunion. We still lived over the drugstore, but we crowded in and enjoyed it, at least I did.
On September 9th, 1872 a dear little girl came to us. My mother named her for my dear sister Mary Louisa, which pleased me, though I wanted her named Sarah for my mother. She was a joy to the household.
I taught school in the afternoon and gave music lessons. We had a visit from Cousin Elsie, Bob’s mother, a dear old lady whom we all enjoyed. She sent the Baby Mollie a cow after she left, which was a pleasure to the family. We had been limited in our supply of milk since we left Dungeness. We got on pretty well. Bob was a great help, and was always so bright and cheerful. My father and mother and family were devoted to him.
I played the organ in church and Sunday school. In the summer I paid Jeannie a visit. She had two boys, so the babies kept us busy. In the fall my duties began, the boys went to the vocations, John to N.Y. city, George to Atlanta. Jim and Joe were teaching. Joe got a position as tutor in the family of Mrs. George Willis, Jim taught in the family of Mrs. Cook. Both gave satisfaction.
Mollie walked then at 13 months and talked very clearly. She was a very attractive little thing with lovely eyes and hair. A very winsome child, everyone spoiled her, the family and schoolchildren. When 13 months old she had a nurse, a girl about 16 years old who lived with us eight years and nursed all my children, a faithful, efficient girl.
Oh, that was a trying year. I arranged with Roanoke College that John and Joe go there and Dr. Bittle and Dr. Davis sent me their daughters in exchange. We worked very hard. My dear mother at home, Jeanie and I at school. We taught all day until 4 p.m. and gave music lessons in the afternoon. This year I took boys and my father assisted with them. My mother had three young men for meals, Henry Fairfax, Fairfax Irving and a Mr. Snowden. She had a cook. Servants were reasonable then in price, so she had time to sew and see to things, but our life was very hard.
We did not know from day to day how we could live. My father had $30,000 due him and never could collect one cent but was forced to pay the $10,000 he owed on that untimely purchase. So our home had to be sold at less than half its value. It was heart breaking to them and to me who voluntarily undertook the responsibility. Jeannie was supposed to assume it also, but in 1869 in December the 31st she married Mr. Samuel White, and then I had an assistant to pay, not only her board but her salary. Of course this increased my obligations and everything was so uncertain. I had one boarder, Alice Smith, afterwards Mrs. Joshua Brown. Her board was paid by groceries and the sale of feather beds. We had more than we needed. And my mother had to sell old silver spoons that had belonged to Aunt Polly, the granddaughter of Governor Spotswood. My little brother Mercer always a brave boy, used to carry a spoon or fork every morning to Mr. Page, the jeweler and he would give him ninety cents and my mother used it to the best advantage. Flour was $14 a barrel but eggs, butter, meat, chickens, nor labor was so high.
My school proved a success. I did not visit, but helped in all church affairs. I remember an old folks concert in which I sang old fashioned songs and encored repeatedly. I had no practicing to do and nothing to woory* over as I wore a simple black silk (borrowed) and white kerchief and cap, also borrowed. We made over a hundred dollars for our little chapel which was then in progress of building. I went to the Wedding of Mary Griffin, a beautiful girl, and actually made a white overskirt and wore flowers in my hair. A cousin, Margie Logan, was married a few weeks thereafter and I wore the same dress. Jeannie was invited to be her bridesmaid. Margie made a lovely bride, but the poor child had a sad life.
I met this winter a cousin who was very kind to me, Robert H. Logan, a lawyer, trying to make his way too in the world. I thought him clever and handsome. He was so generous hearted and kind. He attracted me more than any man I had ever seen, not in any point of marriage, for such a possibility never entered my mind. I had too much else to think of. In December 1869 Jeannie was married in our little chapel. It was finished and decorated for Christmas, the first marriage and first decoration. I forget the details of the marriage. We could only give her $200 for the wedding. I had then an assistant, A Miss Lilla Boyden, daughter of Rev. Boydon of Cobham Albermarle County, Va. A Truly christian woman and satisfactory in every way, a delightful member of the family. We were devoted to her and much grieved at her death several years after of typhoid fever.
Another trouble, our house, the one we rented was sold to Dr. Oscar Wiley of Craig county who proved to be a steadfast lifelong friend, as did his wife. It was hard to find a house in Salem to rent and the expense of moving was an item to us poor things. We finally moved over the drug store in connection with a small house that was once owned by Mr. Penick. Here we were uncomfortably crowded and often hungry, our future impenetrable. My school was flourishing. There was great rivalry between schools, kept up by the pupils. A great deal was said of me by the puritans of the school, but I had friends among Presbyterians, although they did not patronize me.
John came and spent the summer. We stayed two years, and our school was quite an accomplished fact. I paid the rent, bought all the wood, paid the servants, doctor’s bills, had washing and sewing done. etc., so I felt glad and hoped to stay in Salem where so many were kind. Jeanie lived four miles in the country and came when she could. In December Jeanie’s oldest son was born. He was named Alexander after Sam White’s father. This was an event and we thought the little fellow fine.
This brings us to 1871. The public Schools were now instituted in Virginia so of course my school, like all others were decreased in numbers. Miss Boyden, I could not afford so I engaged Miss Bittle for half a day and we got along beautifully. She was a clever girl.
This summer my friend Mrs. James Andrews paid me a short visit and I returned with her for the rest of the summer. I enjoyed the time she was entertained once or twice in Salem. I remember a beautiful lunch given by Marion Hansbrough which Mrs. Andrews appreciated. She and her husband bothe* were faithful friends. When school was over I was completely broken down and as Mrs. Andrews gave me the trip. I was glad to go to gain rest and strength for the coming session. We went to Richmond. Mrs. Andrews wished to visit the battlefields around Richmond and Petersburg. When I arrived at the Exchange I heard of the death of a friend, Willie Worthington, who after the war went to New York City to live. I knew him well, he had visited intimately at our home Dungeness. He died of tuberculosis. Although I did not admire him altogether, he was too worldly, yet I liked him and regretted his death. I was feeling so badly I could not go around Mrs. Andrews and stayed in bed while she went alone.
Though feeling so badly, I enjoyed my visit for I loved her whole family, her husband especially was the soul of honor and generosity. Her boy Jimmie was very attractive and her mother was a fine type of woman. Now the whole family are dead, not one left. I know they were offended with me because I refused to marry Mr. Andrews nephew Robert Ripley.
This summer Joe and Mercer went to Tennessee to work with Mr. W.E. Brown John came from New York for a month. He was in the law office of Lord, Day and Lord. where he received a small salary. Our friend Rev. Wendell Prime got him the place. George came also and we enjoyed them. George was always a handsome fellow. John developed into an elegant young man and very clever. I could say more abount* them but have little strength or time. I get very tired. I must not forget the Valley Railroad which gave us all such hope for Salem’s future. The president, Robert Garrett of Baltimore visited us and the engineers we knew and strange to say we were all related, Dick Randolph, chief engineer, Richard Bolling, Ward, Buchanan, were to see us whenever in town. They worded* near Hollins. We enjoyed them and they did us. A great deal was done between Salem and Lexington. It was a woeful disappointment when the project was abandoned.
Mr. Garrett, the president, was very nice to us. They all were. Mr. Garrett gave me a position playfully one evening and said I should have a trip to Baltimore the first trip. That I never had but the position I got for Mercer. It was asked for for* Joe but he had decided to teach so I got it transferred for Mercer. They had come from Tennessee. George went out to fill Williams place who came home with typhoid fever. I had the best doctor in town. Aunt Martha and my mother did the nursing. Jeannie had a home now and Edith Nellie and Strother went with her. Her boy was a delight to them and Sam was always so kind they felt at home, and Jeannie is such bright company. Mercer recovered but could not go back to Tennessee. After he got strong I applied to Mr. Garrett and he gave the promised place. Jimmie got a clerkship at Yellow Sulphur Springs while he was there I went up on a visit to Cousin Elsie, my cousin Bob’s mother. I stayed three weeks. She was very kind and introduced me to very pleasant people. My cousin was there and added to my pleasure. He very kindly took me to Mountain, Va. a trip through the mountainous country. As we drove up the mountain there was a thunder storm. We had to drive on. In that unsettled region there was no place to stop. We drove up and up until we drove through the clouds unto the sun which was shining beyound*. Mountain Lake is a remarkable formation which in the memory of man had formed there and had no visible outlet. My cousin was very agreeable, bright and clever. He was educated at West Point Military Academy and would have graduated in July 1861 but deserted in April. All Virginians deserted where the call was made to arms by President Lincoln.
As I said previously we decided to leave the beloved home, my father, mother, and children to go to Ashland, the boys, Jim and Joe to go to Randolph Macon college, Edith, Mercer and Nellie to go to a private school. Strother was only five years old, George rented the farm, John went to teach with Mr. Dabney, Jeanie and I to go to Salem to teach. We were to meet at Dungeness and decide again what was best to do. So with sad yet glad hearts we started to make our fortunes. I had no money. My cousin loaned me some on my pioneer trip to Salem. My friend Rev. G.W. Prime rented the house in Ashland. If we failed in Salem we were to go to Ashland. I had no southern friend that (had) a penny more than I did, so being obliged to fulfil my engagement I went to Richmond to see my father’s commissioner and found him out of town. What to do then. I must have expressed my feelings, for Mr. Cardaza’s partner said, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
He spoke in such a sympathetic tone that I blurted out the need I was in. I wanted $30 and told him my trouble. He said, “Is that all. I don’t see why I can’t lend you that as well as Mr. Cardoza.”
“Oh will you? I will pay it the first money I get!”
“I have said nothing about pay, my young lady.”
So this good man loaned me the money. In a short time we went to Salem. George took us across the James River to Powhatan court house where Jeanie took what was called the Southside railroad. We had to change cars at Burkville for Lynchburg. We knew nothing of railroad travel, having always traveled on packet boat. When we got to Burkville a gentleman, a professor of Hampton Sidney College assisted us. He said he had a brother living in Salem, Judge Blair. I was always grateful to professor Blair.
When we got to Lynchburg my cousin, Mr. David Payne, introduced us to Colonel P. Taylor who was on the train. He was a courtly old gentleman and very kind. When we stopped at what is now Gedford City he introduced us to Mr. Samuel Griffin whose family lived in Salem. So we were fortunate again. We were soon in Salem, Colonel Taylor getting off at what is now Ronnoke* City. Then, simply, a railroad station with perhaps four houses, is now a city of fifty thousand. It has had a wonderful growth, and is called the “Magic City”.
This is a beautiful secion*, such a glorious agricultural country admidst* the smiling country. Around this station lay the lovely farms, the Taylors, Watts, and McClannahans. These splendid homes are swallowed up in the prosperous city. The N. and W. railroad has made the city with its workshops and hundreds of employees. Salem was considered first, but the Mayor and town council went hunting to avoid meeting the railroad men. They said they did not want the railroad. Now the citizens that succeed these dodards* suffer. But there wasno* city when we came, only a station.
(section*, amidst*, dotards*, was no*. A dotard is an old person, stuck in their ways)
When we arrived it was raining and we had a dismal reception. My cousin had arranged board for us with a widow and we rented the schoolroom and desks of our predecessor. We had thirty pupils, clever and obedient. My experience was very pleasant, and trustees considerate. We came, strangers in their midst, and had no reason to regret it. We taught English, Latin, French and music. I had no trouble in collecting bills or the management of the children. They seemed devoted to us and the patrons were satisfied.
We had little social life, we were so busy. I paid what I owed. When I paid the gentleman who loaned the money he expressed surprise at my promptness, and said I was welcome to have kept it as long as I wished. After a few months our landlady was disagreeable and I decided to find a more comfortable and congenial place, so we moved toanother* lady’s where we remained to the end of the session.
I was much interested in our mission. Only seven Episcopalians. We had service from the minister, Rev. Edward Ingle of St. Johns church, a country church supported by the wealthy land owners. Our services were held in the Masonic Hall over the Tin Shop. Mr. Ingle was anxious that we should have a chapel and the little handful commenced to work. He was most enterprising and solicited funds from the north. We bought a lot and soon the building was under way. The building was constructed with school rooms above which we were to rent at $100 a year. Among my pupils were a good many Presbyterians. It seems a spirit of jealousy possessed them and nothing was said to me. A few days before we left for Dungeness the lady with whom we boarded came to me and said she would be my friend and advised me not to return to Salem, as the Presbyterians had decided to engage Miss Fanny Johnston to establish a school and she said you will lose all your scholars.
“Why,” I said, “they have all told me they will return.”
“That does not matter, they won’t come, and I hate to have you and your sister disappointed and have you move your family.”
I was completely staggered by this. I went to my room and took up my Bible and opened at this passage, “Stay in the land and verily thou shall be fed.”
This decided me. I would stay. The next day I informed the trustees of the school. They were indignant and said they would do all they could for me if I would come back, and would look after my interest while I went home. Of course this silent undercurrent did not at all please me, but leaving everything in the hands of the trustees, I left for home. I had a picnic with the children, some of them had a pack of cards without my knowledge, but I made no protest, not feeling any. The next day a letter was brought to me, saying this gentleman would have to withdraw his children from his promise to attend my school the coming session as his conscience would not allow him to send his children to a school where card playing was allowed. I had already been told that he had promised his children to Mrs. Johnston before the cards were played. This I knew, so my contempt for his* was extreme.
I answered his note, telling him that cards was a subterfuge, that his children were as much bound to me as a gentleman’s word could make them. I left Salem quite indignant, but with many friends to battle for me. On my return, I had 60 pupils, though the year before only 30. My family decided to come, and we rented a house of only four rooms, for which I paid $25 a month, George rented our home. John taught again with Mr. Dabney and studied law with Mr. Tucker. My father, mother, Joe, Joe, Edith, Mercer, Nellie, Strother, Jeanie and myself moved to Salem.
I found my friends the trustees had worded nobly for me against bitter opposition. The Presbyterians had two objections to us. We were Episcopalians and Eastern Virginians, great crimes both, but instead of 30 we had 60 pupils. There were no public schools and as I had the family to provide for I had offered to take pupils for whatever the parents could supply, wood, provisions of all kinds, sewing, washing, doctor’s bills, anything. We Were a family of 8 with my father, mother and aunt Martha. We had only six rooms including basement, so we were so crowded that my aunt we feared would not be comfortable, so my cousin (her nephew) offered her a home. We were greatly distressed to see her go, but dared not oppose it, as we had no future. She came to see us every week and stayed several days, which my cousin did not like.
This summer we had crowds for weeks and passersby, once for three weeks a regiment, all that was left off Colonel Stevensons Kentucky regiment. Our very great friend Major John Reeve was in this command. We had the horses and servants to feed and were glad to do it. Our friends were completely nonplussed. They could not go home. An old cousin, Dr. James from Lancaster, Virginia stopped by to see us and stayed several months. He came to Petersburg in search of his son, who was wounded at the Battle of the Crater and he could hear nothing. He could not find him at Petersburg, so came to us. Poor man, he asked anxiously of every passing soldier they could tell him of his son. After many weeks he had the news that he had died of his wound. There was no communication and nobody had any money, so he stayed on until finally my father let him have the money, $40, with which he bought a horse and left for home. We were sorry to see him go. He was my father’s first cousin, a clever mn*, highly educated, and an old fashioned Virginia gentleman. We met him afterwards in Salem where we both lived and our families were very intimate.
We were especially fond of Cousin Robert, who was devoted to us anda* day never passed without a visit from him. He was ever kind and faithful until his sudden death.
In the fall of that year the boys, George and John went to Mr. Hilary Jones school, Hanover Acadany*. While there John was very ill, my motherhad* to spend several weeks there. There were no trained nurses then, but our dear aunt was with us. The servants were very good, much better than one could have supposed with the bad advise* given them. They remained and worked pretty well for a year.
(Academy*, mother had*, advice*)
In the meantime the provost marshalls, who were very common men, made themselves most detestible. We felt the injustice of this treatment and the indignities put on our President. General Grant acted the gentleman in his terms of surrender to General Lee and soldiers, but I see little humanity in loading President Davis in irons, even from the standpoint that he was a traitor.
Our future was like Egyptian darkness. Our father and mother were helpless, with 11 children, only two educated, and no income. The servants had to be fed. They could not go. The liberal Federal government failed to keep the promise of “forty acres of land and a mule”. So they were a great care to us. As we felt they were becoming a burden, we persuaded them to hire out.
Our house servants were so well trained and so well known, as our house was always full, they found no trouble in getting homes. We were soon with no help, and had to bring in our wood and do our cleaning. All the children helped. Everything was so hard on my parents. My father had no profession, having been a planter. There was no business, everything was disorganized. I shuddered then with apprehension and sympathy and shudder now at the recollection of its horrows*. No one gave the helping hand but our northern friends. One friend heard that our house was burned, and came to find us, doing all he could bringing food and clothes.
Another New York friend sent us a sewing machine, the first I ever saw. It cost $300. Our southern friends resented our acceptance of these gifts, but had they been offered to them their viewpoint might have changed.
I wish I could blot out those horrible days. We were all so miserable. My parents found it hard to adjust themselves to the new regime. Berefit* of every comfort, no money, no schools, friends scattered, labored, labor all gone, our beautiful lands lying idle, and we were on the verge of starvation. My father owed a money lender (a shylock) $10,000 which he had borrowed to buy a piece of land adjoining ours, which my father bought a few years before the Civil War began. He did not dream of was* and never doubted he could pay easily.
The clamor for debts increased. The owner of the mortgage became insolent and advertised our home. I went to Richmond. General Stoneman was in command. I represented the case. He was very gentlemanly and politely listened to my tale of woe, and granted “Injunction”. I went home rejoicing that we had a home for several months. In the meantime my father had $30,000 owing to him, which was useless to try to collect and of which he collected $300.
Here we stayed. My mother wrote to her nephew Colonel G.W. Hansbrough, a lawyer, who refugeed from West Virginia to Salem, Virginia during the war. He kindly came and advised us to sell the beautiful home Dungeness and pay debts and move to a small town where there was education and advantages. We had a tutor then for the boys, a Mr. Norris who instructed well, but could not afford anything. John was an unusually clever boy and said he was going to teach school, so I set to work to find him a position, and succeeded in finding him on* in Virginious Dabney’s Classical school in Middleburg London County, Virginia, which he filled most successfully, and at the same time studied law with Mr. John Randolph Tucker. John was in Middleburg for two years, graduated in law and decided to go to New York , But I am going too fast. George said he would rent the farm. My cousin thought I could get a school in Salem where he lived and invited me to visit him and apply for a school which would be vacant in the fall, a Mrs. Randolph giving it up to go on as a missionary to China. She asked me to succeed her and being also asked by the trustees of the school applied and got it, my sister Jeanie as my assistant. I returned home feeling very grateful to my cousin and his family for their kindness. He had three attractive children, Marion, Livingston, and Lila. The girls, aged 14 and 11 were to be my pupils. One very pleasurable event occurred. My father and George and John rode over to call on General R.E. Lee who was spending the summer with his brother Charles Carter Lee in Powhatan County.
They spent a pleasant day, and a few weeks thereafter General Lee and his son, General Custer Lee returned the call and took lunch. How delighted they were! My mother had the best she could in our poverty which was appreciated and enjoyed by these gentlemen. I sang for them and the tears flowed down the Great General’s cheeks evidenced appreciation most toughingly*. At the close of the songs, he said to me, “Thank you, my child,” as he laid his hand on my shoulder. I have often thanked God for that caress. I count it as one of my treasures. We sat in the beautiful hall and had such as delightful afternoon, of course so sad, all of us completely at sea as to our future, which we endeavored to forget in this never to be forgotten hour. As we sat with all ten of us and my parents eager to catch each word and smile, my little brother Strother played with the General’s gold spurs (a present). Strother was so pleased that finally was emboldened to say “If you don’t mind I wish you would give them to me”. The general leaned forward and patted the little three year old fellow on the head.
“Oh, my son, they have to be won.”
It was nearing evening when they bade us goodbye. My father and the boys escorted them across the river and a part of their ride to Mr. Charles Carter Lee’s. General Lee refused lucrative positions and accepted the presidency of Washington and Lee University at Lexington, Virginia. This institution was called Washington College, and afterwards the double honor of Lee was added.
My grandfather, Reverend Joseph D. Logan taught in the university when it was first a simple school. My grandfather was said to be the cleverest of seven brothers who were in the Presbyterian ministry, sons of Mr. James Logan and Hannah, niece of John Know. I once had the papers of Logan family, natives of Scotland, but they with the Spotswood, Dandridge, Strother and Clayton genealogies were burned in the Atlanta, Georgia fire, May 29th, 1917, a loss I much deplore. Again, I digress. I wonder if all old people do so as much as I do. I return to 1868.
But I have again digressed. George was still in the 4th Virginia cavalry, and John was crazy to go. A friend of Jeanie’s came on a visit and offered to take John as his aid. He was colonel of a regiment, so finally our parents consented. John was a fine horseman and a good shot, so he was allowed to go. Colonel Bolton let him take a servant, George Nicholas, one of our dining room boys. There was great excitement in the family, white and black, when they left.
We lived along, anxious and hungrey*, getting news of the death of our friends at every battle and of great suffering among our soldiers. General Lee sent a request for food and everyone nobly responded. This left the whole section with a limited supply. We had nothing but meat and bread to give, so we lived on until spring. Then the fighting was concentrated around Richmond and Petersburg. We, my mother, Jeanie and I decided to go to Richmond, hearing that the cavalry would be ordered to the south side. We hoped to see our boys. We boarded with a Mrs. Wolfe on Franklin street. In a few days the cavalry passed through the city. It was a sad and solmen* procession of ragged, downcast, starving men who passed us by, horses lank and lean, scarcely able to march. Our hearts bled and tears overflowed as our dear “boys” went by. This was on Friday. We stayed a few days seeing friends. On Sunday my mother went to St. Pauls church, and I went to St James. Willie Worthing went with me. When we came out we noticed great excitement and horror depicted on every face and citizens rushing to and fro with pictures and valuables in their arms.
We hurried to our boarding house, and my mother had much to tell us. Jean was with us having also returned from church. The desolating news was that the enemy had captured Petersburg. This was a dark hour. Everyone left Richmond that could get away, the President and the Cabinet also. Of course there was no hope left for Richmond. There we were, forty miles from Dungeness, and no way to communicate. The canal, our only mode of transportation destroyed by Yankees, no telegraph. We were in despair. We packed our clothes with the assistance our maid Eliza gave us. She had gone to Richmond with us. We have our inherited silver with us so we fastened it under our hoop skirts. I was determined not to be captured by the Yankees and told my friends that I would walk home.
My soldier friends tried to get a conveyance, but it seemed impossible. All horses and mules were taken by the confederate government, taken while the owners were riding them. Once a friend of mine, Mrs. Julian Harrison was being borne to the grave and the hearse was stopped on the way to the cemetary and the horses taken. All was fearful.
Our landlady left us and all the boarders. We were left alone. She left us the little food she had and bade us goodbye with tears. Our friends came in to say goodbye and there we sat all night. About 3 o’clock, two friends, soldiers on furlough, knocked. We all three went to the door. It was Captain Edward Owen of Washington Artillery and Lt. Caskie Cabell. They came to say that they have taken two little dump coal carts from two boys at the point of their pistols. One had a lame horse and the other a blind mule. They asked if we would go.
My mother said if she could get two miles to a friend, Colonel Carrington, that she knew he would send us home. We doubted if the maimed and emaciated animals could get us there, but we started. I insisted on carrying our two trunks, so we unfastened the pieces of silver which we had worn all day, packed it in our trunks and started, Eliza decided she would stay in the city.
We got in the dirty carts, perched on our trunks. The gentlemen walked, urging the animals along. By this time the Yankees had entered the lower end of the city, set fires, and were bombarding. As we drove slowly and in silence, we heard glass in windows shatter around and could hear the tramp of the cavalry and the glaring flames. We hoped and prayed. The day began to break, and when we reached Colonel Carringtons they gave us a hearty welcome, as good a breakfast as they had and they gave us a road wagon, four horses, a driver, and a lunch basket of meat and bread. They started us on our journey to Dungeness, fory* miles, and as we drove along our driver showed great unwillingness to go, so our soldiers again drew their pistols.
As we went along we passed the patients from the hospitals and many others. The sick were so pale and hungry, that we decided to go hungry and gave our lunch to them. It was insufficient, of course.
We had great joy as we neared home. We stopped and fed the horses, we had brought food for them, and some kin* persons gave our party something to eat. We arrived at home about dark. Oh, the perfect delight of all, white and black to see us. My father was going the next day in search of us, having heard from those who arrived before that Richmond had been captured. My Aunt Martha told us she had been cooking (I mean the servants had) for the travelers. When we got there, the yard and house were full. The poor tired things were glad to sleep anywhere. They had no where to go, many remained for weeks. They came every day. We were kept busy.
We could here* the fighting going on, but no news and we were so anxious about the boys and our army. On April 9th General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Grant. This sad news was brought to us by a straggler. We knew it was inevitable. Our soldiers, people and prisoners were starving and exhausted, dropping by the wayside as they marched. Where were our boys? We watched and prayed for them with anxious eyes. The house was full of soldiers wondering where they would go. At last, as we sat on the porch one afternoon, we saw two horsemen coming toward the house. They looked dejected and weary. As they came nearer, we recognized my brother John and his body servant George Nicholas. We hurried to meet John, and he literally fell in our arms, completely unnerved. George, the servant, said, “You see Mistus, I brought Marse John back like I promised you. I got him home by the hardest, Mistus, but I kept my word.”
Colonel Boston was shot in the last battle the day before. John was riding by his side in battle when he was shot and instantly killed, falling on John’s horse. It was a terrible shock. Fortunately George, my brother, was in the same battle and helped to bury him. He was buried in his uniform without a coffin. They marked his grave.
The next 9th of April the surrender was made at Appomattox Court House. John was detailed to convey the sad news of Col. Boston’s death to his family. His sister worte*, “I opened the door and there sat this soldier boy with his hear* on his arms, weeping. I asked him, “My dear boy, what is the matter?” “I have to tell you Colonel Boston is killed’. He was sore distressed. I almost forgot my grief in his.”
After delivering his message John thought he ought to go back to the army. George, his servant, spoke, “No sir, Marse John. You ain’t got nobody to report to. General Lee done surrendered. We’re going home to Mistus.”
So they came. We were all so glad George had so much sense. Then we all asked for my brother George. They said George did not surrender but left the day before after Colonel Boston was buried, for Lynchburg, hoping to join General Johnston. But when they arrived they saw the futility of it and retraced their steps. Dr. Fleming, Dr. Miclie and George came together. There was great rejoicing, though our hearts were very sad.
Well, we lived anxious and sad. We went to Richmond to see friends. I stayed often with our cousins the Bookers who lived on Clay street just opposite of Jefferson Davis, so I saw the Davis’ a good deal in their domestic life. Mrs. Davis and her sister Miss Margaret Howell, I admired them physically. They, especially Mrs. Davis, were very clever and brilliant in society, but her lack of innate refinement was too evident. President Davis was greatly her superior. He was as refined as he looked, always the gentleman. The children were very attractive. I saw them very often–Maggie, Jeff and Joe.
I was there visiting Cousin Carrie when dear little Joe climbed the railing of the upper porch and fell over and was killed. It was a terrible tragedy to the city. Horrible events were not common then as now, people had time to realize the horrors. Winnie Davis was born during the “Confederacy” in the Executive Mansion. The Davises are all dead now. Maggie married and may have children. I don’t know, she lived in Colorado. Jeff died of smallpox, unmarried. Winnie lived with her mother in New York City. She had a liberal pension from the impoverished Southerners, but did not care to cast her lot with them. She and the children are buried in Richmond, at Holywood Cemetary. Here I will state that the Confederate Monument in Soldier Cemetary was designed by a great friend of mine, Captain Charles H. Dimmock who married first Judith Monte of Baultimore* (Ernie’s mother) and second, my especial friend Lizzie Selden, a fateful friend and school mate who still lives and remembers me. We have corresponded for fifty years. But this is a digression. I do* back to my life in Richmond the last year of the war.
My sister Jeanie and I visited our friends, Mary Gibson, who was in the whirl of society, intimate with Davis and cabinet. So we knew them all. We did not attend festivities. Our hearts were too sad, my sisters death and George in hourly danger, our starving people. Not a day but some dear one was killed, battles raging around us. I could not approve of balls and parties and frivolities. We had so little to eat, our soldiers and prisoners on the verge of starvation. The south was blamed because she did not feed her prisoners well. How could she when all ports were blockaded and our own were no better off. No hand was given to help us, we were helpless, all our men had to fight and left the fields, nobody left at home but women, children and old men. If our northern brethren had seen another side to the vexed question. Possibly we were to blame not to compromise as many of our people urged and many in the North would have done. But our people, North and South were ignorant of each other and prejudiced and the politicians did all their evil hearts could do to fan the flame. Someday we will know.
Our people could not realize the cruelty in their hearts. Such men as That* Stevens, Sumner Stewart, I was once at West Point when Johnson, after Lincoln’s death, traveled through west and north with his cabinet. I saw them all as they went to lunch. I was invited to partake, being with a prominent party, but my heart was too sad and my feelings too bitter to break bread with them, so with tears I turned and left. This is a great digression again, but I don’t regret it for I might fail to write it later.
Our industries, our plantation were wonderful. We raised cotton, sugar cane, spun cotton and wool. We still had the sheep the Raiders did not get. We raised all crops and vegetables, but think of our large family and the army and prisoners and so many in the city, and 200 servants to feed and clothe. We put up an old fashioned hand loom. One of the women could weave, so she set to work and wove the cloth for their clothes, for towels, blankets, and sheets, We raised flax and she spun tablecloths and napkins and even beautiful cloth for our dresses. By this time our clothes were wearing out and there was no way to get any more. We had no coffee, no tea, no lights, We made all the soap we used, plaited straw for hats and bonnets, some made shoes. Some of the servants went barefooted and so did the children. We preserved and dried fruits, made starch, in fact did everything. I remember we used to go in the fields and for “Life Everlasting” to make yeast and sassafras roots for tea. We tried many substitutes for coffee, toasted wheat, sweet potatoes, etc. but nothing was fit to drink. But we did not mind all this.
Our servants were well behaved and loyal. Their minds had not been poisoned and they were attached and faithful. My mother did a great work. Our home was an Industrial School. She trained the young negroes in all household departments. We had carpenters, blacksmiths, wheelwrights, shoemakers’ shops. And the farm had horses and cattle, so the negro boys could go into any of these vocations. The young girls were taught to cook, wash and iron, to sew, spin, card and clean up. To work in the dairy, to milk, churn, and were often allowed to work in the flowers. We had a conservatory that was a joy in the winter, filled with exquisite blooming plants, and in springing summer our yard, a large one, was like Eden’s bower. My Aunt Martha Strother lived with us. She helped my mother in every department, was 14 years older than my mother, and like a mother her and to us. We were devoted to her. she was a model of refined beauty, of great intelligence, and the most devoted Christian, always carrying the Golden Rule as her guide. Our home was hers to come and go as she pleased.
She was our sympathizer in all troubles and the one to bind our wounds and bruises. She was our mother’s half sister, her mother was Martha Payne, her grandmother a Dandridge, so was a cousin of my father. They were devoted to each other, both living at Retreat. The home of Mr. and Mrs. Georege Woodson Payne. Aunt Martha was the niece of Mr. Payne. My father, the great great great nephew of Mrs. Payne, and their adopted son.
But I must go on with the war. I digress too often. The summer of 1864 passed. John at home from school, crazy to go in the army. We had visitors all the time, house parties, our city friends and wounded soldiers on furlough never forgot us. George, a bright and brave boy, happy in the army. We sent food whenever we could. Our army concentrated around Richmond. After Christmas I was still teaching. Jean, Joe, Edith Mercer and Strother was still our baby and such dear one. Jean and Joe were beautiful children and so much admired. My mother loved to take them with her, they were different. Jean as dark as an Indian, with splendid eyes and features. Joe was like my beautiful sister, same gentle disposition. I remember his gentle dignity with Jean who was quick tempered and overbearing. Joe never lost his temper and so they got on well together and were very devoted. Joe made some quaint little speeches. He broke Jean’s wheelbarrow, who raged aroung*. Joe finally said, “Jean, I told you three times I was sorry I broke Your wheelbarrow. Now I tell you, I don’t care if I did!”
Another time someone asked him, what is Christmas, Joe?
“A big turkey cooked in a long oven, and a whole lot of pizen things,” meaning pies and things.
There were no cooking stoves, and everything had to be baked or roasted in ovens. The pots swung on the racks. The meat roasted on the spit, a rod also put on the rack. The fireplaces were huge, often the whole end of the kitchen. I wonder what the present day darkey would say to that condition of things.
Every drop of water was brought from a distance, up a steep hill, but there were little boys whose only duty was to do this. They played, and when water was wanted, a bell summoned them. Another set of boys prepared food for the cows. Large iron kettles were used to boil food called a mash. Turnips, beets, and corn mean* was given to the cows when these boys brought them in at night. They enjoyed this nice hot supper.
All these home scenes are like pictures in my mind. I see the faces. And my life then is like a dream. All was pleasant and if there were unhappy hours they faded from my memory. I have much that I could tell of the home life, but I haven’t time, for it makes me tired. My back aches so and I am nearly blind. It is strange that I remember so much and there is so much to tell.
We had no hope and wrote to our friends in New York who set to work to find him in the Northern prisons. For four months we thought he must be dead and our home was very sad. In my absence in Richmond trying to get news, George’s horse was sent home by the Captain. I was not at home but the family told me how the horse seemed to know his rider was gone. He would turn his head toward the saddle and neigh. The servants, always emotional, cried and gave evidence of distress, When the saddle bags were opened and all his belongings so neatly packed, they cried out, “Oh Lord, why did Marse George go to fight them Yankees!”
The horse was a beauty and everybody’s pet. He was kept in the yard and many tears were shed over the missing Soldier. The fourth month my father received a few lines from George saying that he was a prisoner at Fort Lookout and had been ill and unable to write. He had been kept in close confinement for several weeks and was told he and others captured with him would be shot. They endured a great deal, were kept in a closet and could not lie down. With little food and guarded by negroes, they were offered freedom if they would take the oath never to fight for the south, which they refused to do. In the wee bit of a note my brother asked to have ten pounds of tobacco and invested in material for a restaurant on a small scale with the money which he received upon selling the tobacco. Then our northern friends found him and his wants were supplied. He remained there eight months and at last got away by paying the doctor twenty-five dollars in gold. He was greatly lionized on his return. He was well after a long spell and much suffering. He was home only a few weeks and then returned to his command. He escaped without a wound or further imprisonment.
John was crazy to enter the Army now, but was still in school, I think it was in Lynchburg in September 1863. We had soldiers all the time. They all seemed to enjoy our lovely home. It is impossible for me to mention all. So many of our friends were killed, a battle always meant sorrow. Sidney Strother, Ellis Munford, William Mean, John Jountaine and so many others. We had a visit from Philip Hazall who was engaged to my sister Mollie, a very devoted lover of hers and friend of mine. The three, Phil, Sidney and John Reeve were life long friends of ours. All dead and she too, and I am left to mourn their going away.
These were my three dearest friends. I corresponded with them from my fourteenth year all through the War. Sidney was the first to die and the others lived through the war and some years after John went to Henderson, Ky. and died there. Some years after my sister’s death, Philip Hazall married the beautiful Nancy Triplet, famous for her wonderful beauty and the episode of Meadecar and McCarthy duel. She was engaged to Meadecar who was killed. McCarthy was imprisoned for some months but was finally exonerated. This marriage of Philip Hazall’s was not a happy one. She died first and he finally died at Retreat, a sad life he had.
I am afraid my life will seem very disconnected. I write as I remember and often put things in the wrong place.
We had many girls to visit us, and some spent months. Things were narrowing down. Foods and clothes were scarce. We living in the country were enabled to send boxes to soldiers in camps. I remember many we sent. One to 2nd Maryland where our tutor Mr. Burk was enlisted. I had a note of thanks from Colonel Dorsey, also from Washington artillery, a Louisiana regiment. A number of officers were our guests. Captain Ed Owen and brother William Owen who after the war wrote a history and wrote of our home and the hospitality he and his friends enjoyed there. He died several years ago. He went back to North Carolina and married. He was a very attractive man.
I cannot attempt a history and will only give a few personal experiences. We were subject to Raiders at any time. We were never in the line of battle, But these raiders would search houses and take and destroy valuables and were boisterous and rude. My mother would have to meet them. My father took off the horses, negroes and sheep to save them. We had a private ferry, there was no public one, and he would carry his possessions across the canal and sometimes he would be gone a week. Our year’s supply of meat and lard my mother would divide among the negroes. She knew the Yankees never searched their homes, and she would tell them, now you take so many hams and so many kegs of lard. Remember, this is your living as well as mine. It was always returned just as she handed it to them. They were faithful and so respectful we felt we could and did trust them. All the time I was in charge alone in my parents absence they were respectful and considerate of my every wish. We had to hide all silver and jewels and valuable books. My mother used to hide the silver under the growing plants and wherever we could think safe.
So when the alarm that the Yankees were coming came, we would begin hiding. They never found our valuables. Several times they came so unexpectedly that we had to give all these things to a trusted servant. Once my mother hurriedly threw the silver in a common potato sack and gave it to our gardener to hide. “Hide it where you think it safe, Daniel.”
We did not see the silver for three weeks as the Yankees were in the vicinity that long and my father across the river. He would send the servants over at night for more food. Finally, the Raiders left, and of course, left little food behind them.
Another time, the most tragic of all, may mother gave the silver to a man, Alfred Brooks. The enemy were coming in sight. “Take it Alfred and don’t let them get it.” They came as usual, rude and drunken, rushing everywhere ungoverned. One of the officers said, “Where is Alfred Brooks?”
“Here I am, Sir.”
“Where is that silver you have hidden? Come now, no lies.”
Alfred said, “I can’t tell you sir. I promised my mistress to keep it for her. ”
The officer said, “I will see that you tell, and raised his pistol. My mother was so frightened she called out, “Oh Alfred, tell. Don’t let them shoot you!”
But his wife who stood by him said, “Don’t you tell, Alfred, because if he chooses to be a dog, let him shoot.”
The officer dropped his pistol and turned to my mother and said, “I could not shoot such a brave man, madam.”
She gave him a grateful look and said, “Thank God!” This was our last experience with Raiders. Our life went on, so dreary and sad. We knew how our soldiers were starving and without clothes. We saw our chance of victory was waning and our cause was losing. We had word of the death of our tutor Mr. Burk, defending a bridge in Halifax County, Virginia. He was instantly killed. We were distressed at his death. Our friends Stuart and Jackson dead made us sadder and more hopeless. My father, who opposed secession not that he felt that “We did not have the right,” but our utter inability to win and he felt every death a sacrifice. He thought our leaders would have seen the inevitable result as clearly as he did, but he was in full sympathy, doing everything he could until the day of his death when he was 88 and some months.