Mrs. N. B.  De Saussure Old Plantation Days Being Recollections of Southern Life Before the Civil War 
 
 
 Transcriber's Note Pg 1 
 Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have 
 been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. 
 
 
 
 AUTHOR'S NOTE Pg 2 
 The following reminiscences are published at the request of many 
 friends who, after reading the manuscript, have urged that the 
 recollections be given more permanent form and a wider circulation. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 1 
 MY DEAR GRANDDAUGHTER DOROTHY: 
   
 Grandmother is growing to be an old lady, and as you are still too 
 young to remember all she has told you of her own and your mother's 
 people, she is going to write down her recollections that you may thus 
 gain a true knowledge of the old plantation days, now forever gone, 
 from one whose life was spent amid those scenes. 
   
 The South as I knew it has disappeared; the New South has risen from 
 its ashes, filled with the energetic spirit of a new age. You can only 
 know the New South, but there is a generation, now passing away, which 
 holds in loving memory the South as it used to be. Those memories are 
 a legacy to the new generation from the old, and it behooves the old 
 to hand them down to the new. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 2 
 "The days that are no more" come crowding around me, insistent that I 
 interpret them as I knew them; there are the happy plantation days, 
 the recollection of which causes my heart to throb again with youthful 
 pleasure, and near them are the days, the dreadful days, of war and 
 fire and famine. I shrink as the memory of these draws near. 
   
 The spirit of those early days is what I chiefly desire to leave with 
 you; the bare facts are history, but just as the days come back to my 
 recollection I will write about them, and necessarily the record will 
 be fitful memories woven together but imperfectly. 
   
 My father, your great-grandfather, was a direct descendant on his 
 mother's side of Landgrave Smith, first Colonial Governor of South 
 Carolina, his mother being Landgrave Smith's granddaughter; his 
 grandfather was Pierre Robert, a Huguenot minister who emigrated to 
 America, after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, and led the 
 Huguenot colony to South Carolina. 
   
 My father was born in 1791 in the old homestead situated forty miles 
 up the river from Savannah. He had twelve children, and I was one of 
 the younger members of his large family. His early life was similar to 
 the life of any present-day boy, with school days and holidays. During 
 the holidays he enjoyed the excellent hunting and fishing which our 
 large plantation afforded and which gave him great skill in those 
 sports; later in life he brought up his own sons to enjoy them with 
 him. He used to tell us, to our great entertainment, many incidents of 
 his childhood days. When a little boy he used to drive through the 
 country with his grandmother in a coach and four. 
   
 After he left South Carolina College he made a trip through the North 
 on horseback, as this was before the time of railroads. It took him a 
 month to reach Pennsylvania and New York State, and as it was in the 
 year of 1812, he happened to ride out of Baltimore as the British rode 
 in. 
   
 We children were always delighted when father told us of his many 
 adventures, and the strange sights he saw during his travels. One 
 episode always greatly shocked us, which was that of his seeing men in 
 the public bakeries in Pennsylvania mixing bread dough with their bare 
 feet. 
   
 After father returned home he married a cousin, Miss Robert. He had 
 one son by this marriage, at whose birth the young mother died. This 
 son returning from a Northern college on the first steamboat ever run 
 between Charleston and New York, was drowned; for the vessel foundered 
 and was lost off the coast of North Carolina. 
   
 Father's second wife was a descendant of the Mays of Virginia, who 
 were descendants of the Earl of Stafford's younger brother. This lady 
 was my own dear mother and your great-grandmother. 
   
 I must now tell you something about _her_ grandmother, for my mother 
 inherited much of her wonderful character from this stalwart 
 Revolutionary character. My great-grandmother's eldest son, at 
 nineteen, was a captain in the Revolutionary War, and she was left 
 alone, a widow on her plantation.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 3 
 When the British made a raid on her 
 home, carrying off everything, she remained undaunted, and, mounting a 
 horse, rode in hot haste to where the army was stationed, and asked to 
 see the general in command. Her persistence gained admittance. She 
 stated her case and the condition in which the British soldiers had 
 left her home, and pleaded her cause with so much eloquence that the 
 general ordered the spoils returned to her. 
   
 Dearest child, in the intrepid spirit of this ancestor you will find 
 the keynote to the brave spirit of the women of the South. 
   
 This old lady, who was your great-great-great-grandmother, lived to be 
 a hundred and six years old; her skin was like parchment and very 
 wrinkled; she died at last from an accident. I have heard my mother 
 say that she was a remarkable character, never idle, and her mind 
 perfectly clear until the day of her death. At her advanced age she 
 knitted socks for my eldest brother, a baby then, thus always finding 
 something useful to employ her mind and her hands. 
   
 Her son, my mother's father, was one of the most generous and 
 benevolent of men, a pioneer of Methodism in that section of the 
 country. He had a room in his house called "the minister's room." The 
 ministers who went from place to place preaching were called circuit 
 riders. These ministers always stayed at his house, hence "the 
 minister's room" was very seldom vacant, and some ministers lived with 
 him always. 
   
 Once there was a great scarcity of corn caused by a drought. 
 Grandfather came to the rescue of the neighborhood. He sent a raft 
 down to Savannah, which was the nearest town, and had brought back, at 
 his expense, two thousand bushels of corn. He then sent out word to 
 the poor of the surrounding country to come to him for what corn they 
 needed, making each applicant give him a note for what he received. 
 When he had thus provided for the immediate wants of the people, he 
 generously tore up the notes; for he had only taken them to prevent 
 fraud. 
   
 You will naturally wish me to tell you something of my mother, your 
 great-grandmother. She was born on March 25, 1801, and was educated at 
 the Moravian School in North Carolina, which is still in existence. I 
 saw a very interesting description of this school in the _Tribune_ of 
 March, 1904. 
   
 Mother was well educated in all branches taught during her girlhood. 
 Even after she was seventy-five years old she could repeat every rule 
 of grammar and she always wrote with ease and correctness. This shows 
 that what was taught in those days was taught with thoroughness, even 
 if the studies were few and simple compared to the intricate and 
 manifold ones of the present day. Mother was a woman of remarkable 
 sweetness of disposition and intelligence, and had great executive 
 ability, which latter quality was indispensable in the mistress of a 
 large household of children and servants. She gave unceasing care and 
 attention to her children, and personally supervised every detail of 
 their education. Besides these duties, the negroes of the plantation, 
 their food and clothing, care of their infants and the sick, all came 
 under her control. 
   
 My father and mother inherited most of their negroes, and there was an 
 attachment existing between master and mistress and their slaves which 
 one who had never borne such a relation could never understand.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 4 
 "Uncle Tom's Cabin" has set the standard in the North, and it seems 
 useless for those who owned and loved the negroes to say there was any 
 other method used in their management than that of strictest 
 severity; but let me tell you that in one of my rare visits South to 
 my own people, the old-time darkies, our former slaves, walked twenty 
 miles to see "Miss Nancy" and her little daughter, and the latter, 
 your dear mother, would often be surprised, when taken impulsively in 
 their big black arms, and hugged and kissed and cried over "for ol' 
 times' sake." 
   
 When I would inquire into their welfare and present condition I heard 
 but one refrain, "I'd never known what it was to suffer till freedom 
 came, and we lost our master." Yes, Dorothy dear, a lot of children 
 unprepared to enjoy the Emancipation Proclamation were suddenly 
 confronted with life's problems. 
   
 I have beside me a letter from a friend, now in South Africa. She says 
 in part: "I am sure you, too, would have thought much on the many 
 problems presented by this black people. It is perfectly appalling 
 when one thinks that they are really human beings! Human beings 
 without any humanity, and not the slightest suggestion that there is 
 any vital spark on which to begin work, for apparently they have no 
 affection for anybody or anything, and it is an insult to a good dog 
 to compare them to animals." 
   
 Such, my dear child, is the African in his native country at the 
 present day, the twentieth century, and such was the imported African 
 before he was Christianized and humanized by the people of the South. 
 In order to show you that I am not prejudiced in favor of the 
 Southerners' treatment of their slaves I will insert a letter from Dr. 
 Edward Lathrop, whose daughter was an old schoolmate of mine at Miss 
 Bonney's in Philadelphia. 
   
   
      JULY 23, 1903. 
   
      MY DEAR MRS. DE SAUSSURE: 
   
 I will proceed to answer your inquiries. You know I am Southern born 
 and raised. I am a Georgian, and although never a slaveholder I was 
 nursed by a negro woman to whom I was most fondly attached, and who, I 
 believe, loved me as she would her own son. I have had the opportunity 
 to mingle freely with slaveholders of different characters and 
 dispositions, and while I regard slavery as such an enormous evil and 
 am heartily glad that it has been abolished in this country, I am 
 bound in candor to say that my observation, during all these years of 
 my residence in Georgia and South Carolina, thoroughly convinced me 
 that in the majority of cases slaves were more kindly treated and 
 brought into more intimate and kindly relations to white families than 
 they are now, though free. This, of course, is not given as an 
 apology for slavery, but it is a simple statement of facts. I might 
 refer, for example, to what I witnessed and _felt_, while a guest, on 
 more than one occasion, in the house of your honored father and 
 mother. Your father seemed to me to be as watchful of the interests, 
 both temporal and spiritual, of his slaves as of his own immediate 
 white family.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 5 
 It was, to my mind, a beautiful illustration of 
 patriarchal slavery, as it existed in the days of Abraham. Of course 
 there were exceptions to this treatment of slaves by their owners, 
 but, as a rule, so far as my observation extended, your father's 
 methods were universally approved, while the cruel slaveholder was 
 indignantly condemned and repudiated. 
   
 You may remember that I was for three years the associate of Rev. Dr. 
 Fuller, then pastor of the Baptist Church in Beaufort, S. C. 
   
 Beaufort District (now county) was probably the largest slaveholding 
 district in the State. 
   
 Most that I have stated above, as to the kindly treatment of slaves 
 was emphatically true of Beaufort. The Baptist Church, in addition to 
 its white membership, embraced about two thousand slaves. These 
 slaves, as church members, enjoyed equal privileges with the whites. 
 Dr. Fuller or myself preached to them every Sunday. The Lord's Supper 
 was administered to them and to the whites impartially and at the same 
 time. And any grievance that they complained of, among themselves, was 
 as patiently listened to and adjusted as was the case with the white 
 members. In a word, all that could be done for them, in their 
 circumstances, was promptly and cheerfully done. I could add much 
 more of the same tenor to what I have written, but I will not weary 
 you with a long discourse. 
   
      Affectionately yours, 
   
      EDWARD LATHROP. 
   
   
 To this let me add this editorial from the New York _Sun_ of February 
 1, 1907, bearing on the question. 
   
   
      "UNCLE REMUS ON THE NEGRO 
   
 "We see no occasion for the astonishment that has been aroused in this 
 part of the country by the eloquent and touching tribute to the 
 negro's virtues by Mr. Joel Chandler Harris, of Georgia. It is by no 
 means the first time he has spoken to the same effect, nor is he the 
 only Southerner of his class who has proclaimed similar opinions. It 
 ought to be perfectly well known to the entire country that the 
 better class of whites dwell in peace and kindness and good will with 
 their colored fellow-creatures, and that practically all of the 
 so-called 'race conflicts' are the product of an ancient hate dating 
 back far beyond the Civil War and involving, now as always hitherto, 
 no one of whom either race is at all proud. 
   
 "This is a flagrant truth which Northern people have had the 
 opportunity of assimilating any time during the past forty years. The 
 emancipation of the slaves, effected in reality after the surrender of 
 Lee, Johnson and Kirby Smith, made no change in the purely personal 
 relations between the freedmen and their former masters. Not even the 
 abominable episode of reconstruction availed to eradicate the 
 affectionate entente of the classes and turn them against each other 
 to the evil ends of animosity and vengeance.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 6 
 The old slaveholders 
 knew that their quondam servants and dependents were innocent of 
 vicious purpose. The latter understood full well that when in need of 
 help and sympathy and pitying ministrations the former offered them 
 their only sure refuge and relief. No actor in this mournful tragedy 
 has forgotten anything. No political or social transmutation has 
 changed anything so far as these two are concerned. The quarrels and 
 the violent and bloody clashes of which so much is made in our 
 newspapers, whether through honest ignorance or malign intent, are far 
 outside of the philosophy of any important element of the Southern 
 population. 
   
 "Joel Chandler Harris tells the simple truth when he says that the 
 negroes of the South are moving onward, accumulating property, making 
 themselves useful citizens and cementing the hallowed ties of respect 
 and confidence between the classes which represent the South's 
 righteousness and civilization. In this section we concern ourselves 
 too much with the insignificant minority. We accept the testimony of 
 the 'educated' few on the negro side--educated to little more than a 
 fruitless smattering of vanity and conceit--and we much too easily 
 imagine that the Southern 'cracker' stands for the ideas and 
 illustrates the methods of the whites. No falser or more misleading 
 hypothesis could be presented. The negro who typifies violence and 
 barbarism is one in ten thousand. The white man who employs the 
 shotgun and the torch is quite as unimportant. We shower our 
 solicitudes on the pestiferous exception and overlook the wholesome 
 rule. 
   
 "Uncle Remus knows what he is talking about--knows it to its deepest 
 depth." 
   
   
 I think if I were to give you an account of one day as spent by my 
 mother, it would best present an idea of the arduous duties of an 
 old-time Southern lady on a plantation. My mother had a magnificent 
 constitution or she could never have accomplished the amount of work 
 required of her. I never knew her to have until her latter years a 
 physician for herself. But for family needs we had colored nurses who, 
 under a physician, were competent and devoted in sickness. 
   
 The day was always begun with family prayers, for my father's 
 religious principles were his staff in life, and he derived much 
 strength from them. His devotion to Christ was unusual, and I never 
 knew him to doubt for an instant that he himself was a child of God. 
 Having a most affectionate disposition, he loved his wife and children 
 intensely, and lived in and for them. Fortunately, the love he gave 
 them was fully returned, and I doubt if there was ever a more devoted 
 and united family. 
   
 At sunset it was a sacred custom of his to go into a room in a wing of 
 the house, removed from all noise, and kneel in prayer. Every child 
 and grandchild would follow him to the quiet room, and as we knelt by 
 his side, he would commend us to God's loving care, and rise from his 
 knees to kiss each one of us, sons and daughters alike. No matter what 
 our occupation or pleasures were, we would hasten home that we might 
 not miss this sunset prayer, for then all differences that had grown 
 up between us in the day would be healed, and we felt ourselves drawn 
 into one united family again. My brothers and sisters, old men and 
 women now, can never speak of that sacred hour without tears. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 7 
 I will here copy a letter received not long ago from a dear friend, 
 Miss Morse, for years one of the faculty of Vassar College, that you 
 may see how our home life affected "strangers within our gates." 
   
   
      MY PRECIOUS FRIEND: 
   
 In asking me to give you my recollections of that cultivated 
 consecrated home where I spent a delightful half year, you have given 
 me a privilege. I love to recall that period, so unique in my 
 experience. 
   
 Your father had arranged for my journey. A son came from Princeton to 
 go with me to the steamer, and at Savannah his factor placed me in 
 your father's boat, going up the river by night, to his plantation 
 home. 
   
 This was my first acquaintance with negroes. At first I was afraid, 
 being the only white person on board, but as I remembered that it was 
 your father's plan, I knew it must be safe, and gave myself up to the 
 enjoyment of the scene. A happier set of beings than the negroes on 
 board it would be hard to find. 
   
 The night was dark, but on deck they gathered in groups about their 
 bright fires, roasting corn and singing their quaint and wonderfully 
 sweet plantation songs. 
   
 At daybreak we reached your father's landing, where you were waiting 
 for me in the carriage, and when we drove up to the beautiful home, 
 there were your parents at the door, ready to give me a truly Southern 
 welcome. 
   
 Breakfast was served, and as your father asked the blessing, he prayed 
 most earnestly that old Maum Mary might be found that day; every day 
 the prayer was repeated, till he felt she could not be living, and 
 then it was changed to a request that they might find her body to give 
 it burial. She was an old negress, who had lost her mind, and, 
 fearing she might stray away and get lost, your father had placed her 
 daughter-in-law, a bright young negress, in the house with her, to 
 care for her and specially to watch, lest in her mental weakness she 
 might stray away; what he feared happened, for the daughter-in-law 
 proved less tender and faithful than the master, and the old woman 
 escaped. 
   
 When all hope of finding her alive was gone, the prayer of the master 
 was that they might find her body and give it burial, but even this 
 was not granted him. 
   
 It was a revelation to me of the tender care that old patriarch gave 
 to his slaves, no wonder that they loved him. 
   
 You used to ask me, almost daily, to go with you to see some feeble 
 old woman, who might be lonely and would be looking for you to come 
 and see her, and I could hardly help shrinking as you would allow 
 yourself to be gathered into her arms, and the petting would be 
 mutual. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 8 
 If a negro was sick, your father would always send him food from his 
 own table, which was received with great pleasure. 
   
 At the time I was there your mother had become too feeble to continue 
 her daily rounds among the sick and feeble, taking medicine, looking 
 after bandages on broken limbs, etc., but an older daughter had taken 
 her place to some extent. 
   
 I enjoyed very much the prayer-meeting evenings of the negroes. The 
 Methodists had one evening and the Baptists another. They always held 
 them in a building especially made for that purpose, and the singing, 
 as it came through our open windows, was very sweet. Your father had 
 to limit the time or they would have continued the services all 
 night. 
   
 On Sunday they attended the same churches as the family, the galleries 
 being reserved for them. I might have added in telling of their prayer 
 meeting, that when we were present they always prayed for "Ole Massa 
 and Missus," and the various members of the family, including the 
 "young Missus from the North." 
   
 The little negro children would leave their play to gather around me 
 as they saw me walking about the grounds. 
   
 As I recall a day in that home, so filled with love and peace, I think 
 of the morning and evening prayers where the dear old patriarch seemed 
 to be talking to a friend whom he trusted and loved. 
   
 Every morning his horse was brought to the door for him to ride over 
 the plantation. His daughter Nannie never failed to be there to help 
 him on with his coat, and at his return to take off his wraps, bring 
 him his dressing-gown, and cover him as he lay down to rest. 
   
 In fact, from morning till night she seemed always to have him in her 
 thoughts, to anticipate every wish, and give him most devoted 
 attention. I am sure it must always be a sweet memory to her that she 
 never overlooked a possible opportunity of adding to his happiness. 
 Few fathers receive such devoted attention from their children. 
   
 Do you remember how I used to enjoy the blaze of the pine knots in the 
 fireplace in your room at night, and how, as they burned out, you 
 would say to Susan, your maid, "Now throw on another knot for Miss 
 Morse?" And do you remember how I used to ride about alone on your 
 pet horse? 
   
 Oh, what a happy winter that was! The whole atmosphere was one of 
 love--love between parents and children, and love that overflowed till 
 it seemed to me that every negro on the place must feel the effects of 
 
 Certainly every sick or aged one received tenderest care. 
 
   
 I remember your mother, in telling me of her heavy duties in caring 
 for so large a family, mentioned an instance in which she had to go 
 every day to dress a broken arm of a negro child, because the mother 
 was too indolent to attend to it. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 9 
 On Sundays your mother and her daughters used to go around to the 
 negroes' houses to read the Bible, and teach the children Bible 
 verses. 
   
 I hope that the reading of these memories will recall to you 
 something of the sweetness of that dear home, consecrated by your 
 parents' prayers. 
   
      Lovingly, 
   
      Your "MORSIE." 
   
   
 This has been a long digression from the one day in my mother's life I 
 promised to depict for you, but those early scenes come into my mind 
 so fast that the letter from my dear friend telling of them seemed 
 most appropriately to come into the story just at that point. But to 
 return--after breakfast it was customary for the head nurse to report 
 any cases of sickness on the plantation to my mother. Mother's 
 medicine chest was brought out and together they consulted about the 
 condition of each patient. If anyone were very ill, a man was sent to 
 call in a physician who lived several miles away. My mother then 
 hastened to the negro quarters, and if the invalids could be removed 
 they were brought to the sick house--a large, long building fitted 
 with cots--where they could be better cared for. 
   
 One of my earliest recollections was to follow mother with my brothers 
 and sisters, each child carrying a plate filled with food from the 
 table for the convalescents, and, although at this day contagious 
 diseases are so carefully avoided, I can remember going fearlessly in 
 and out of the cabins, carrying dainty dishes to many little ones who 
 were suffering with what they then called putrid sore throat. It was 
 really diphtheria, and, strange to say, not one of our family took the 
 disease, though there were forty cases on the plantation. They were 
 taken to the pine land, so that the good air might aid their 
 recovery. 
   
 After attending the sick, mother's next duty was to give out the daily 
 provisions. She made a pretty picture in her quaint gown carrying a 
 basket of keys on her arm. The Bible verse, "She looketh well to the 
 ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness," could 
 well have been written of her. With twenty-five house and garden 
 servants and the many little children to be looked after, this daily 
 provisioning took a great deal of time, and thought. 
   
 The house servants had their own kitchen and cook. The negro children 
 were under the care of a woman in a building apart, in fact, it was 
 like a modern day nursery, where the working mothers could leave their 
 children in safety. The older children about the place helped in the 
 care of the little ones. Mothers with babies were only required to do 
 light work, such as raking leaves, spinning, or sewing, that they 
 might be ready and in condition to nurse their babies. 
   
 I can remember going to this nursery with mother frequently, for she 
 always wanted to know that the children's food was properly prepared. 
 They had vegetable soups with corn meal "dodgers" or dumplings, of 
 which they were very fond. Sometimes corn bread in place of these, and 
 as much hominy and sweet potatoes as they wanted. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 10 
 Father had hundreds of cattle, cows, sheep, and hogs. We milked sixty 
 cows on the plantation, and all the milk which had been set and 
 skimmed was given to the negroes who came to the dairy to carry it to 
 their homes in great tubs, and the little ones trotted along carrying 
 their "piggins," which was the name for their small wooden buckets. 
 The milk which had turned to clabber, "bonny clabber" as the Scotch 
 call it, was considered a most delightful dish in our hot climate. It 
 is so refreshing when cold that you often see me eating it now for 
 tea. 
   
 Mother's vegetable gardens were then visited. These gardens were 
 noted; they were so unusual in their beautiful arrangement that all 
 strangers who came to the neighborhood were brought to see them. The 
 walks were graveled and rolled, and myriads of bright flowers formed 
 borders for the beds. 
   
 The poultry yards required supervision and care and were kept in 
 perfect order. There were many acres, so-called "runs," planted in rye 
 and other grains, for the use of the poultry, where they roved at will 
 with some one to follow and bring them back to the yards at night, to 
 be locked up. I often used to hear mother say "five hundred chickens, 
 one hundred geese, one hundred turkeys, and one hundred ducks, were 
 necessary to be kept on hand for table use." 
   
 Another care of hers was to provide clothing for all the negroes, of 
 whom there were over five hundred. To accomplish this, seamstresses 
 were at work all the year round; three in the house and five or six in 
 the negro quarters. These made the men's and women's clothing. All the 
 cutting was done under mother's supervision; and during the early part 
 of the war, all the spinning and weaving of cloth, and even of 
 blankets, was done on the plantation. At one time I remember seeing 
 two thousand yards of cloth ready to make up into clothes. Fifteen 
 years after the war, on my visit South, I saw the negro women still 
 wearing some of the dresses which were woven at that time. The cloth 
 went by the name of "homespun." I am giving you a rather minute 
 account, because I want you, my darling, to gain as intimate a 
 knowledge as possible of that life which has forever passed away. 
   
 I remember seeing my mother come into the house from her morning 
 rounds, tired, but cheered with the consciousness that no duty had 
 been neglected. 
   
 You will wonder how she found any time to give to her children; but we 
 were busy in school all those hours. We had a schoolhouse on the 
 plantation where we went after breakfast with our governess. In those 
 days, as teachers were not paid well for their services, it was 
 difficult to find refined and cultured people to fill the position. 
 Knowing this, father paid the highest salaries and thus secured the 
 best talent there was to be had for us. One of our teachers afterwards 
 opened a school in Philadelphia, and another held an important 
 position at Vassar College. 
   
 Besides a governess, we also had a music teacher, so we were expected 
 to devote many hours to practicing music, and thus we were employed 
 while mother was busy housekeeping. 
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 11 
 The governesses were always astonished at the wonderful energy and 
 ability shown by my mother in managing her household. I have heard 
 them say that if Northern people could only view a Southern woman's 
 daily life, how impressed they would be. 
   
 As soon as the girls in our family were old enough they were sent 
 North to school to finish their education, and the boys were sent to 
 Northern colleges. 
   
 I went for a time to a boarding school near Columbia, at the early age 
 of twelve, and at fifteen went North with my sister, your great-aunt 
 Catherine Robert. Father objected to my leaving home again, as he 
 wanted me near him, but mother said education was all important, and 
 the personal sacrifice had to be made. In my seventeenth year, I again 
 went North with three brothers and a sister, thus making five of us 
 studying at Princeton and at Philadelphia. 
   
 My parents were left alone, and out of their brood of twelve not one 
 remained in the home nest, as six elder ones had married, and one 
 other was dead. Father said he missed us so terribly that he felt as 
 if he could not live without one of us with him. I returned, 
 therefore, and remained with my parents until I was married. This long 
 residence at home will account for my knowledge of everything 
 concerning the dear father and mother, who were so devoted to their 
 children. 
   
 Right here, speaking of my boarding-school days at Columbia, I must 
 tell you about my pet deer. It is another digression, dear child, but 
 I would like you to know about the pet I thought so much of, and who 
 so dearly loved me. 
   
 Our plantation was, and still is, famed for game of all kinds, 
 particularly deer. For many miles there were hunting grounds, now 
 owned by Northern men, who have learned how full of game that section 
 of South Carolina is. 
   
 As a child I was especially fond of pets, and knowing this, my friends 
 often gave me birds, or animals, to which I was very devoted. One day 
 there came to me in this way a young fawn, which had been caught by 
 negroes. So young was this gentle little creature that I had to feed 
 it from a bottle. I spent most of my time with it out of doors, and it 
 became very much attached to me. My mother was always very particular 
 about the complexion of her children, as most Southern little girls 
 are apt to become much freckled by the hot sun. So we were all obliged 
 to wear sunbonnets, and I can see this little deer now running along 
 beside me, with the sunbonnet I should have been wearing tied on its 
 head. 
   
 As the fawn grew older it still remained so gentle that it would go 
 into the house with me and follow me upstairs and lie down by the bed. 
 As the autumn approached and the evenings grew cold, it would come 
 into the house and lie down before the open fire just as a dog would 
 
 Our dogs never disturbed it by day, but we were afraid to trust 
 
 them at night, so Willie, for that was my pet's name, was always 
 locked up in a little house we had for her. When she was three months 
 old I went to boarding school, and was gone nine months.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 12 
 It nearly 
 broke my heart to leave Willie, but my father, and in fact, everyone 
 promised to take good care of her, and let nothing happen to her. 
 Regularly I heard from her through them until near the time for my 
 return, when the home letter ceased to speak of her. 
   
 I looked forward to my home-coming with great delight, and my first 
 question when I arrived was concerning Willie. It was then I learned 
 that she had gone to the swamps and had frequently been seen with 
 other deer. Occasionally she had revisited her adopted home, so they 
 told me, coming in and out past the dogs, not seeming to be at all 
 afraid of them. My father suggested that I should go with him into the 
 fields where she had been most frequently seen feeding with a number 
 of deer, and see if we could obtain a glimpse of her. 
   
 Mounted on our favorite horses, we started off and rode through the 
 open country. We had gone but a couple of miles when my father 
 pointed in the distance to a group of his negroes, who were working in 
 a field, saying that Willie was likely to be found near them, for he 
 had seen her, at intervals, feeding with other deer in that vicinity. 
 He noticed then that she would leave her companions, and approach the 
 negroes, but would not allow them to touch her. We stopped our horses 
 and looked around over the lovely country. Suddenly my father 
 exclaimed, "Look, Nannie, look!" pointing toward the west. Standing 
 before the setting sun, their graceful forms clearly outlined, were 
 five or six deer. 
   
 We approached cautiously, not wishing to frighten them. At last I 
 dismounted and as I ventured nearer, I saw the deer lift up their 
 startled heads, and heard the faint tinkle of Willie's bell; for I had 
 placed a heavy leather strap with a bell around her neck, to protect 
 her against the hunters, as no one would knowingly kill a pet deer. 
   
 Father cried out to me, "Call her by name, as you used to do." I 
 called, "Willie, Willie." At the sound of my voice the beautiful 
 little creature lifted her head and stood still and listened, while 
 the other deer fled; then evidently impelled by recollection, she 
 bounded toward me. I wish I could picture the scene to you, Dorothy, 
 and do justice to it. If anyone has ever seen a deer in full motion, 
 he could never forget it. She came bounding toward me over the high 
 furrows, her feet scarcely touching the ground. I ran forward to meet 
 her, and threw my arms around her neck. The joy she manifested amazed 
 my father. She rubbed her face all over my face and neck, and tried to 
 show me in every way her delight in being with me again. I remained 
 in the field petting her until nearly dark, when my father urged the 
 necessity of our returning home. I bade her farewell for I had no 
 thought that she would follow me, but after mounting my horse, she 
 trotted along by my side just as a dog would do. At the entrance to 
 our place was a high fence with eleven bars. As my father opened the 
 gate for me to pass through, he quickly shut it against Willie, saying 
 he wanted to see what she would do with such a barrier between us. 
 Nothing daunted she immediately bounded over the fence, which was a 
 remarkable jump for any animal, and followed us up to the house. When 
 I dismounted she followed me into the yard, passing fearlessly among 
 the hunting dogs. 
   
 She remained at home with me as long as my vacation lasted, and became 
 as docile and gentle as she was before, not making any effort to 
 return to her wild life.   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 13 
 After my vacation was over and I returned to 
 school, she went back to the woods and spent the winter there. In the 
 spring on my return, I was frequently told by the hunters that they 
 had seen her with her fawns. She was known throughout the entire 
 section, and being belled all could avoid shooting her. 
   
 One day I was driving to church and saw her on the edge of the deep 
 woods with her two beautiful fawns. I ordered the driver to stop 
 quickly, and jumped out of the carriage, running toward her and 
 calling her by her name. She stood as if she remembered my voice, but 
 her fawns fled in terror and she went bounding after them. That was 
 the last time I ever saw her for she died of black tongue. A hunter 
 found her in the woods, unstrapped her bell and brought it to me, and 
 I kept it for years, until in the war it was lost with everything 
 else. 
   
 But to return to the plantation life. This life has been written of by 
 many authors, and "Southern hospitality" is proverbial, so you will 
 not be surprised at my description of our way of living. English 
 people who visited us said it was like the English country life. We 
 kept "open house"; everybody was welcome, and our many horses were at 
 the disposal of the guest. My father's stables held thirty horses, 
 many of them work animals, of course, but among them were fine saddle 
 horses, always ready for the use of our friends. 
   
 Often our stables were emptied of their occupants to make room for 
 "company horses," that is, those brought by our friends when they came 
 to visit us. 
   
 Near our house there was a two-story building built for the 
 accommodation of gentlemen, strangers. As there were no inns in our 
 country, and plantations were miles apart, some provision had to be 
 made for the entertainment of travelers, who were never turned away. 
 We often had delightful house parties and hunting parties, but our 
 chief enjoyment was riding through the wild and beautiful country. We 
 also went on fishing excursions, and on picnics. We thought nothing of 
 driving ten miles to dine at a neighbor's house. 
   
 Gentlemen visiting, brought their valets and dogs for hunting, and 
 young ladies came with their own maids. It was a delightful 
 open-hearted, open-handed way of living, my child, but it was brought 
 to an abrupt end, as you will hear. 
   
 Fortunately my mother had a fine housekeeper who relieved her of the 
 care of the culinary department. This housekeeper was famed as a 
 cook, and her table is still remembered by everyone who sat around it. 
   
 Perhaps it would be interesting just here to explain how we came to 
 have so competent a person in the house. During my father's early 
 married life preparations were made to build a church in the 
 neighborhood, (Robertville) called after the family. A contractor was 
 engaged from the North to build the church. He brought workmen with 
 him, and among them was a carpenter belonging to a better class of 
 Irish than was usually found in such a trade. He brought his wife and 
 three children with him, and during the summer contracted a violent 
 fever. Father always thought it his duty to visit all the sick in the 
 neighborhood; therefore, he saw him frequently, caring for his needs. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 14 
 When the poor man found that he could not live, he asked my father to 
 provide for his wife and children, which my father consented to do. He 
 kept his promise, and after the husband's death, took the three little 
 ones home with their mother, and made them comfortable in one of the 
 many outbuildings always found on a Southern plantation. In a few 
 weeks the mother gave birth to a little girl and died, leaving the 
 four little orphans in my father's care. Father wished to adopt them 
 all, but my mother, with her usual good judgment, said she was willing 
 to have the care of them, but would not consent to adopting them, as 
 she did not think it well to have children of another nationality 
 brought up as our sisters and brothers. 
   
 Eventually three of these little people were adopted by those who had 
 no children, and one remained with us. This little girl, Margian Kane, 
 was sent to school, but when old enough to go into higher studies 
 refused further schooling, to learn the art of housekeeping from my 
 mother. She died only two years ago, living to be eighty-four years 
 old. Our family took care of her until her death. She was devoted to 
 my father, and always remembered him with gratitude. 
   
 I love to linger over those happy, free-from-care days when our 
 hospitable door, always open, brought so many interesting people among 
 us, but I must push on to graver matters. 
   
 I devoted much of my time to music, especially to the harp which was 
 my favorite instrument. Although I had several masters in music during 
 the years I was at home, I often went to Charleston to take extra 
 lessons. While in Charleston I met your grandfather, Henry William De 
 Saussure, who was a descendant of the Huguenot family of that name, 
 and a grandson of Chancellor Henry William De Saussure. 
   
 We were married at home in 1859. I have been fortunate in procuring a 
 copy of the wedding article which appeared in the Charleston paper, 
 the _Mercury_, 1859, which is still on file in the library there. The 
 copy is as follows: 
   
 "On the 4th inst. at Robertville church, Beaufort District, by the 
 Rev. J. M. Bostick, Dr. H. W. De Saussure, Jr., to Miss Nannie W., 
 daughter of B. R. Bostick, Esq. 
   
   
      For _THE MERCURY_ 
   
      THE WEDDING BREAKFAST 
   
      The Daylight Scene. The Marriage Ceremony. 
      The Surprise. The Parting. 
   
 "The bright stars had not all disappeared on the morning of the 4th 
 inst., when the sexton of the Robertville church commenced opening 
 the same. The early hour, the studied neatness of his dress, and his 
 hurried manner, all indicated that something unusual was about to 
 occur. He had not yet completed his work, when carriages and buggies 
 in quick succession were rapidly driven up to the church from various 
 directions. The sun had just risen in unusual splendor as if more 
 fully to witness the vows that were appointed to be taken at his 
 appearing, and the company scarcely collected, when your fortunate 
 townsman ---- led to the altar Miss ----.   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 15 
 By the altar was seated a 
 young man, who like themselves, had just entered the threshold of 
 life. His countenance, however, would induce the belief that he was 
 accustomed to serious reflection. And one from his appearance 
 pronounced him a minister. He rises, his voice falters not, but 
 betokens a deep and heartfelt emotion, and how could it be otherwise, 
 for he is joining in holy wedlock his sister, the playmate of his 
 childhood hours--the object in later years of his tender solicitude 
 and prayers. And really did it seem that he would have given worlds to 
 insure for that couple the happiness he so devoutly implored of 
 Heaven. 
   
 "But the marriage ceremony is ended, congratulations of friends over; 
 and again start out a number of the happy company with the bride and 
 groom. 
   
 "The village is left but a short distance, when our road gradually 
 descended into a wood too damp for cultivation, but so fertile as to 
 grow huge live oak trees, which formed with their boughs, well-nigh a 
 continuous arch over us, from which, in most beautiful clusters 
 almost, but not quite in one's reach, hung the wild grapes of our 
 forest, and as the young and merry people would unsuccessfully snatch 
 at these beautiful bunches as they rapidly passed, we were reminded of 
 how swiftly they would pass through life, and at how many pleasures 
 they would vainly grasp. The fifth mile is accomplished and we are on 
 the banks of the Savannah. We had hardly time to admire the beautiful 
 stream, when turning to the right, imagine our surprise at seeing a 
 beautifully spread table. Curiosity soon carried us to the spot, and 
 our astonishment was only increased when we saw the preparations that 
 had been made. 
   
 "We soon learned that a lady who had once graced the society of 
 Washington, and afterwards by her intelligence and accomplished 
 manners, had delighted the society of Columbia, had sent on fishermen 
 and cooks, and had spread this repast in honor of the new married 
 couple, which no one would have dreamed could have been got up at 
 such a place. 
   
 "But the breakfast is over; the dew sparkling in the grass at our 
 feet; the happy chirp of the birds as they, too, make their morning 
 meal on the berries and insects around us, together with the mocking 
 birds seated in the tree above our table and seemingly conscious of 
 their powers, have come to pay their sweet tribute to the bride, all 
 constrain us to linger. That sister too, next to the bride in years, 
 she feels it wrong, but yet she cannot be willing to relinquish her 
 sister to her newly made brother. Well does she remember, how on 
 repeated occasions, that soft voice has comforted her, and she cannot 
 trust herself to say adieu. And little Frank has lifted his blue eyes 
 to his mother as if to inquire, 'Will that man take away my aunty?' 
 That look has reached his mother's heart, it is too full to explain; 
 and she stoops to kiss away the tears from his cheeks. That brother, 
 he is much her senior in years, he is no stranger to life's conflicts, 
 see how his heart trembles when he says 'God bless you Nannie.' 
   
 "But the iron horse tarries on his way for none, the railroad is to be 
 reached by such an hour and into the waiting boat step the bride and 
 groom, the young minister and his mother. Scarcely had the boat left 
 the shore when the oft-repeated charge is reiterated by that venerable 
 mother to her children on shore, 'My children, take good care of your 
 father.' 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 16 
 "It has not been with her one short morning of married life. Forty 
 years ago she stood at the altar with her husband, and with him has 
 she shared life's sorrows and joys; and for him with woman's constancy 
 her heart still beats truest. But adieu, young and happy couple. That 
 your boat, as it crosses the waters of life, may guide you as smoothly 
 as it now does across the beautiful waters of the Savannah, is the 
 sincere wish of V.... August 10, 1859." 
   
   
 Such, my dear Dorothy, is the account of my wedding which took place 
 so many years ago, and with it ends the first period of my life. 
   
   
 My husband was a physician and as we were obliged, on account of his 
 profession, to live in a central place, my father built us a lovely 
 home in Robertville, which we occupied about three months before the 
 war began. We moved there on December 21, 1860. Your precious mother 
 was born March 1, 1861. 
   
 It was a turbulent time; the feeling ran high between the North and 
 the South, and we heard rumors of war, but it seemed too far away to 
 invade our peaceful country. 
   
 When your mother was five weeks old we took her to Charleston to show 
 her to your grandfather's parents--an important visit, as she was the 
 first grand-baby in the family and they were eager to see her. 
   
 It was an all-day journey with a drive of twenty miles to the railway. 
 We reached Charleston about eight o'clock in the evening. My 
 father-in-law met us, and after a warm greeting to the little stranger 
 and ourselves, said, "You are just in time to see the fight at Fort 
 Sumter, for it begins to-night." I was terrified and begged to be 
 taken home, but there was no train until morning and, therefore, we 
 had to remain. 
   
 That night I was too frightened to sleep. Toward morning, about four 
 o'clock, the first gun was fired, and it seemed to me as if it were 
 in my room. I sprang up, as I suppose everyone else did in the city. I 
 hurriedly dressed myself and went down to cousin Louis De Saussure's 
 house, which is still standing on the corner of South and East 
 Battery. 
   
 From its numerous piazzas, which commanded a fine view of the harbor, 
 we watched every gun fired from the two forts, Moultrie and Sumter. 
 The house was crowded with excited mothers and wives, who had sons and 
 husbands in the fight, and every hour added to their distress and 
 excitement, as reports, which afterwards proved false, were brought to 
 them of wounded dear ones. It was a day I can never forget. 
   
 That night we returned to Grandfather De Saussure's and when morning 
 came we spent another most anxious day following an anxious night, 
 but when Fort Sumter took fire and the white flag was raised, our 
 spirits rose over the Southern victory, to confidence and hope. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 17 
 We little realized the long years of struggle that were to follow 
 ending in defeat, and ruined homes and country. Later on I was in 
 Charleston several times when it was under shot and shell and heard 
 the explosions of the shells as they shrieked over our houses. Those 
 were sad and exciting times, the awful memories of which are still 
 active with me. 
   
 After a visit of several weeks, we returned to our home in 
 Robertville, and my husband continued his practice, but his 
 restlessness and anxiety to join the army was so great that I ceased 
 to dissuade him. Physicians were needed at home, but he thought the 
 older men should serve there, and the younger go to the front. He 
 joined the Charleston Light Dragoons, and became surgeon of Major 
 Trenholm's brigade. When this brigade was transferred to Virginia, 
 he was, on account of his health, detailed to look after the hospitals 
 on the coast. 
   
 But before we left our home, the fort below our country town, 
 Beaufort, was taken, and the Northern fleet sailed in while the 
 inhabitants were asleep. This fight at Port Royal was the second 
 battle of the war. 
   
 When the tidings of the invasions of their town was brought to them, 
 the people, thinking the town would be shelled, fled in their 
 carriages, many of them not waiting to dress themselves, so great was 
 their fright. This long procession of carriages and wagons passed 
 through our village about dusk, the occupants not knowing what to do 
 or where to go. Every house was thrown open to them and these first 
 refugees remained in the neighborhood during the war. They were taken 
 care of, until in turn we had to flee before Sherman's army. 
   
 When Dr. De Saussure went into service I returned to my father's home 
 and lived there until Sherman drove us out. I made many visits to my 
 husband while he was in camp. I would load a wagon with provisions, 
 and take my trusted butler, who was a good cook and equal to any 
 emergency, and so we would arrive on the scene of action. 
   
 We lived in a cabin of two rooms not more than twelve by fifteen feet, 
 for whenever my husband was stationed at any special hospital he would 
 tell the convalescent patients that if they would put up a little log 
 cabin he would send for me. The officers would have their tents 
 stationed around our little cabin and we had some pleasant times, 
 though many anxious ones, for we never knew when we would be obliged 
 to flee. Thus I experienced the pleasures and terrors of camp life. 
 Your great-aunt Agnes, whom you met at the South as an old lady, was 
 then a young lady visiting us. She was a beautiful girl with a voice 
 like a bird. She was a great favorite with the officers and married 
 Colonel Colcock, who was acting brigadier general of the coast. The 
 time for her wedding was appointed and invitations sent out for a 
 country wedding. The day came, and hour after hour we heard heavy 
 cannonading. We knew a battle was being fought near us, but could 
 learn no particulars. Evening came, and the wedding guests assembled, 
 but no groom arrived. There was great uneasiness among the guests, and 
 I persuaded Agnes to change her gown and come downstairs to see if her 
 presence would not cheer the party.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 18 
 Although filled with anxiety 
 herself, she followed my persuasion and behaved most admirably, but we 
 had the wedding feast served as soon as possible, and the guests 
 quickly departed. Everyone was anxious, and at two o'clock in the 
 morning we heard the galloping of horses beneath the windows and a 
 soldier called to us that he had some dispatches for us. 
   
 It proved as we thought; there had been fighting all day and Colonel 
 Colcock was not wounded, but would come as soon as possible. Two days 
 afterwards he appeared in the morning and brought a minister with him. 
 He and Agnes were married at once, and he took his bride away with 
 him; not to the camp, but to a place where she would be more 
 comfortable, and he could sometimes see her. Their bridal trip was 
 spent within fortifications along the coast. 
   
 Those were days of constant excitement and unrest, as you can well 
 imagine. Husbands and sons were all away, giving their lives in 
 defense of their "hearth fires." The trusted negroes were our only 
 protection and they took every care of us. 
   
 I well remember a scene that occurred about this time of the war. My 
 youngest brother was a prisoner near Old Point Comfort, and finally 
 received his liberty through the kindness of a fellow Southern 
 soldier. They had been in prison six months together suffering all the 
 hardships of prison life during war. Many times starvation stared them 
 in the face, and upon some of the prisoners the death penalty was 
 inflicted when the men playing together would accidentally slip over 
 the so-called "death line." My brother was only about nineteen and the 
 Benjamin of our family. The soldier with him had consumption and could 
 live only a short time. He came to my brother and said he was going 
 to be released because they knew he would soon die. He then offered to 
 change clothes with my brother and take his place and name, thus 
 letting my brother go free while he remained in prison. 
   
 I heard one day cries of joy and great excitement among the negroes; 
 hurrying to the back piazza I saw about fifty darkies, men and women 
 crowded together bearing my brother on their shoulders, "Massa Luther, 
 Massa's youngest boy, God bless him, God bless him," they shouted. 
   
 You can imagine the scene. We hastened down to join in the jubilation, 
 but father and mother could scarcely get near their son, as the 
 servants had taken complete possession of him. 
   
 When they finally made way for the master and mistress, my parents 
 found that my brother's condition was such that he could not come 
 into the house; he was covered with vermin. He was taken to an 
 outhouse where he bathed, and his clothing was burned. Then he told us 
 of his many adventures and his hard time in prison, where he would 
 indeed have starved had it not been for kind friends at the North, who 
 sent him money which enabled him to buy food, and he told us of the 
 great sacrifice the Southern soldier had made for him. My father 
 immediately forwarded a check for a thousand dollars to the poor 
 family whose husband and father never returned to them. 
   
 Another war incident in our family was that connected with a brother's 
 son. At the early age of fifteen, he ran away to go into the Southern 
 army. His mother could not make him return, so she called a young 
 colored man, who was a devoted servant of the family, to her and said 
 to him, "John, go with your young master, and whatever happens to him, 
 bring him back to me, wounded or dead, bring him back to me." 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 19 
 This young man's bravery made him known throughout the regiment. He 
 was finally wounded, and died in North Carolina in a hospital, John 
 never leaving him. After his death, John put him in a pine coffin 
 roughly knocked together and started home with him. In the month of 
 August the devoted servant reached his mistress, having been two weeks 
 on the way. He would tell his story and beg for help to take his young 
 master home, according to his promise to his mistress. 
   
 In spite of many misrepresentations by those who can never comprehend 
 the tender attachment existing in those days between master and slave, 
 I want you to have a clear idea of it, and I want you to know that 
 the Southerner understood, and understands to this day, the negro's 
 character better than the Northerner, and is in the main kinder to, 
 and more forbearing with him. There were countless incidents during 
 the war of love and loyalty shown by the negroes to their former 
 owners, which you will read of in the many stories written now by 
 those who know the truth. 
   
 The year 1864, in the month of December, found me still in the old 
 homestead. 
   
 Sherman had passed on the Georgia side of the river, to Savannah, 
 which was taken. We wondered what would be his next move, but never 
 for an instant thought he would retrace his steps, and go through 
 South Carolina. 
   
 The Southern troops which had guarded Savannah retreated to our 
 neighborhood, and we cared for them for several weeks. There were at 
 least five thousand troops on our plantation of nine thousand acres. 
 Barbecues of whole beeves, hogs, and sheep were ordered for them. The 
 officers were fed in the house, there being sometimes two hundred a 
 day. The soldiers had their meals in camp. 
   
 All planters in South Carolina were restricted by law in planting 
 cotton. Only three acres were allowed to the negro worker, thus 
 causing a large amount of corn and other such grain to be raised, 
 because the Confederate Government wanted this to provide for the 
 Southern army. 
   
 Thousands of bushels of corn could not be housed, but were harvested 
 and left in pens in the fields. Father had ten thousand bushels of 
 corn on our plantation. 
   
 We did not sell cotton during the war. For money we had no use, as 
 everything was grown or manufactured on the plantation. We had a steam 
 mill for sawing lumber, and mills for grinding corn and wheat. Sugar 
 was made in quantities for negroes, but there was no way of refining 
 it. 
   
 Everything was bountiful and we lacked nothing, but coffee and tea. 
 Every known and unknown substitute was used for these drinks, but none 
 were satisfactory; otherwise we never lived with greater abundance. 
   
 Our swamps yielded us all game bountifully, venison, wild turkeys, 
 partridges, and reed birds. It was a rich country and could feed an 
 army. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 20 
 I met and conversed with many of the chief officers, and consulted 
 them about the advisability of sending my father, who was then seventy 
 years of age, away from his home. The officers urged us to do so, as 
 they feared the Northern army would invade our State and township. So 
 very reluctantly father and mother left their loved home, which they 
 were destined never to see again. They went to live with a married 
 daughter, who had a home in an adjoining county. Some of their negroes 
 pleaded to go with them, and about fifty followed with wagons filled 
 with their effects. 
   
 It was a wise provision that father was spared the sight of the 
 destruction of his house and property, and possibly personal violence 
 from the hands of the Northern soldiers, for during the raid, my 
 uncle, an old man who was reputed to be wealthy was asked by the 
 soldiers where he had buried his gold; and twice was he hung by them 
 and cut down when unconscious, because he would not confess its hiding 
 place. My child, he had no gold, his wealth lay in his land and 
 negroes. 
   
 Shortly after father and mother's departure, one morning, early, the 
 remaining negroes came running to the house in a state of wild 
 excitement, and said that Sherman's army was crossing the Savannah 
 River at the next landing below my father's. I was picking oranges 
 when the news came. Green oranges, blossoms, and ripe fruit all hung 
 together on the tree. It was a favorite tree grown to an unusual size 
 by the care given it, as it was always protected in winter. I have 
 only to close my eyes at any time and see plainly the beautiful tree 
 in all its glory of fruit and flower. We had picked from it that day a 
 thousand oranges, the most luscious fruit, but they were left for 
 Sherman's army to devour, for we were thrown into a panic by the news 
 the negroes brought us, and hastily got into our carriages and fled. 
 The negroes followed us in wagons, and we left our lovely home as if 
 we had gone for a drive. 
   
 Our flight has always reminded me of Jacob's going down into Egypt, a 
 caravan of people, for as we fled we first took with us our dear 
 father and mother, then as the panic spread, one married daughter with 
 all her children joined us, and then another, until we finally 
 numbered about forty persons journeying northward. In order that you 
 may understand how our numbers increased so rapidly, I must tell you 
 that father gave each of his children at marriage a plantation with 
 negroes and a house. These homes were in an adjoining county, that of 
 Barnwell, and as we passed through this county different members of 
 the family would join us. 
   
 On the second day of our journey your mother was taken with a sore 
 throat and high fever, and as we had no bed to lay her on we took 
 turns in holding her in our arms. Thus we traveled to the upper part 
 of the State fleeing from the army of invaders at whose hands we 
 expected no mercy of any kind. 
   
 An old school friend of mine, Georgiana Dargan, daughter of the 
 Chancellor of South Carolina, had written me repeatedly during the war 
 to come to her. She had never married and lived in a large Southern 
 colonial mansion situated on a beautiful estate.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 21 
 We, in our need, 
 thought of her and pushed on, hoping she could receive us all. We were 
 not disappointed, the house was thrown open to us and we received a 
 warm welcome. 
   
 It was a strange fate that Sherman followed us in our flight passing 
 through Columbia and within ten miles of us. His scouts came in and 
 stole all our horses, except a few which we had time to hide in the 
 swamps. The soldiers ordered many of the negroes, choosing the best 
 young men, to mount the horses and go with them. All of them returned 
 to us that night; they had broken away from camp, but were on foot. 
 But let me tell you here, Sherman's army burned Columbia. He denied 
 it, but we know he did it for my husband's sister, Mrs. Thomas 
 Clarkson, who lived there, was ill, and the soldiers lifted her out of 
 bed and laid her in the street while the torch was put to her home. 
 Then, too, only three years ago, the burning of Columbia was admitted 
 to me by a Northern general, General Howard. These were his words: 
 "Sherman did not burn Columbia, but I am sorry to say his troops did." 
 They got hold of liquor and so became mercilessly destructive. 
 Sherman may not have given the order, but he was undoubtedly 
 responsible for the plunder and destruction engaged in by those under 
 his command. The people of Columbia were left without shelter or food, 
 "Only women and children to wage war against," as a venerable judge, 
 Judge William De Saussure, an uncle of Dr. De Saussure, told Sherman 
 in pleading for clemency. 
   
 We were about fifty miles above Columbia, and as the army passed us 
 they went on to Cheraw, a town lying on the northern border of South 
 Carolina, forty miles above us. 
   
 There your great-grandfather De Saussure, who was an old man, had fled 
 from his home in Charleston with his five daughters. In a few days 
 news was brought us that Cheraw had been burned, and everybody was 
 starving. 
   
 I was naturally eager to go to the assistance of my husband's people, 
 and I went to one of my sisters-in-law asking her if she would be 
 willing to accompany me to Cheraw, a drive of forty miles. She said 
 she would go with me. Joe, my butler, to whom I was very much 
 attached, agreed to drive us. We borrowed a pair of mules and started 
 in the early morning with corn meal and bacon and flour for my 
 husband's people. We had driven only a few miles when we came to the 
 road passed over by Sherman only four days before. Such sights as we 
 beheld along that road; dead horses, disemboweled cattle, dead dogs, 
 and as it was in spring they were all decomposed because of our hot 
 climate. At every turn of the road we expected to meet outriders from 
 the Northern army. It was a day of great fatigue and fear. Our mules 
 were lazy and would not move out of a walk. Joe mounted one of them, 
 and strove in vain to urge them on faster. 
   
 The day seemed endless to us, but the hours wore on, and the sun was 
 just setting as we crawled up a final hill, when we were startled by 
 seeing a number of men on horseback approaching, who we were sure were 
 soldiers. My heart sank, for I expected our carriage would be 
 confiscated as well as the mules, and we left to spend the night 
 unprotected in the woods. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 22 
 As the horsemen drew nearer, I saw to my joy that there was a mixture 
 of blue and gray uniforms. The men were evidently of our army, for 
 Southerners often wore at this stage of the war any kind of clothing 
 they could get hold of to cover them. One of the officers rode up to 
 us, and to my great surprise and delight, I found he was Major 
 Colcock, whom I well knew, as he was a brother of Colonel Colcock, 
 sister Agnes's husband. 
   
 Our surprise was mutual. He exclaimed, "Why Mrs. De Saussure, what are 
 you doing here?" I replied, "Trying to reach Cheraw to take provisions 
 in to the aid of my husband's father and sisters." 
   
 "To Cheraw," he exclaimed, "a most difficult journey, madam; the roads 
 are in a dreadful condition and the little flat boat that crosses the 
 river is in such demand I doubt if you can get it." 
   
 "I will not turn back, Major Colcock," I replied. "I must go on." So 
 we parted, he going his way and I mine. 
   
 After two hours of weary travel, we reached the river and were 
 fortunate in finding the boat could carry us over the river. We 
 crossed and reached the town of Cheraw at ten o'clock at night. A 
 scene of desolation greeted my eyes the next morning; all the public 
 buildings had been burned, houses alone were standing amid desolate 
 surroundings. The De Saussure family and others had been living on 
 scorched rice and corn, scraped from the ashes. Officers as well as 
 soldiers had gone into houses and taken all food that could be found 
 and burned it in the yards of the various houses; leaving the women 
 and children to starve. My beautiful harp, which after cutting the 
 strings, I had sent to Cheraw for safety in care of Mr. De Saussure, 
 had narrowly escaped being taken by some officers. They asked to have 
 the box opened for them, but Mr. De Saussure told them the harp was 
 out of order, so they passed it by. My harp was safe, but your 
 great-aunt Agnes was not so fortunate with her piano. It was a gift 
 from her father when she left school, and a beautiful Steinway. When 
 she married Colonel Colcock, he said to her: "Ship your piano to 
 Charleston; it will be safer there than in the country." Colonel 
 Colcock was from Charleston and had relatives to whom he wrote asking 
 them to care for the piano, when it arrived. It reached Charleston 
 just about the time the city fell into the hands of the enemy. Colonel 
 Colcock's uncle went down to the station to get it, when he learned 
 that an officer had taken it and shipped it off to the North. 
   
 Twenty years after the war, this notice published in the _News and 
 Courier_ of Charleston was sent me from different parts of the South: 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 23 
 NOTICE 
   
      A RELIC OF THE WAR 
   
      Miss Nannie Bostick's Music Book in the 
      Hands of a Federal Soldier. 
   
 To the editor of the _News and Courier_: Will you insert the following 
 in your paper, as it will be of benefit to one of South Carolina's 
 ladies: 
   
 If Miss Nannie Bostick will communicate with Captain James B. Rife, 
 Middletown, Dauphin County, Pennsylvania, she will learn something to 
 her advantage. 
   
 I have in my possession a music book which was captured or stolen by 
 some one during the war, and I would like to return it to her if she 
 still lives. By so doing you will greatly oblige, 
   
      Yours very truly,     JAS. B. RIFE, 
      Late Capt. U. S. A. 
   
    MIDDLETOWN, DAUPHIN COUNTY, PA., 
      January 26, 1889. 
   
   
 The Miss Nannie Bostick above referred to afterwards married Dr. Henry 
 De Saussure, of this city. After his death she was for a long time 
 employed as an instructor at Vassar College, N. Y., and is now a 
 resident of Brooklyn. The home of Colonel Bostick, the father of Mrs. 
 De Saussure, on Black Swamp, in Beaufort (now Hampton) County, was 
 burned by General Sherman's army in the grand "march to the sea." 
   
 On reading it I was of course, much excited and wrote immediately to 
 the gentleman in Meadsville, telling him I was the person he was 
 looking for. I waited three weeks most anxiously, and then received a 
 letter from his sister saying that for years her brother had been 
 trying to find me, and that he had something to tell me which was 
 communicated to him by a dying soldier. The sister further wrote that 
 her brother had advertised in New York and Southern papers before, 
 and the cause of his doing so again was that a young niece visiting 
 them, in looking over some old books had come across a music book with 
 my name on it. She went with it into his room, and said, "Uncle, who 
 is Miss Nannie W. Bostick?" 
   
 He sprang from his chair exclaiming, "What do you know about her?" 
   
 When he learned that she knew nothing and had merely seen my name on 
 the old music book, he said, "I will try once more to find her," and 
 sent off the notice to the _News and Courier_ of Charleston. 
   
 As fate would have it the next day, on his way to Harrisburg to make 
 arrangements for a Cleveland procession, his horse took fright from a 
 trolley car, and in the accident he was instantly killed. 
   
 The music book was returned to me by his sister, but whatever the 
 secret was that he had carried so many years, it died with him, for no 
 one else knew it. 
   
 After his death his sister asked me to visit her. She said my name was 
 so often on her brother's lips, and she only knew he wanted to 
 communicate something of importance, but what it was he had never told 
 her. He was a prominent man in the army. She sent me his photograph 
 and the notice of his death. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 24 
 You can imagine this incident brought back many memories. What could 
 have been the dying soldier's communication that Captain Rife wished 
 so much to tell me, and which he never intrusted to any other member 
 of his family? And where had this very heavy, old music book, in his 
 possession, been found? My sisters, when I met them, talked the matter 
 over with me, and Agnes said: "I remember putting a lot of books, 
 among them some of yours, with my piano to pack it tightly." When it 
 was shipped North the book was found with the piano, as I have since 
 ascertained. 
   
 We wondered that the music book had ever come back to me, its rightful 
 owner, but since I have lived at the North, even family Bibles, which 
 were taken from the old homes, have been returned to me. Looting was 
 the order of the day during the Civil War, and wanton destruction 
 followed. 
   
 I once went South with old Captain Berry, who for twenty years had 
 charge of a steamer plying between Charleston and New York. Your mamma 
 and myself were the only ladies on board, as the time was in July when 
 the tide of travel was northward. The officers of the steamer were 
 exceedingly kind to us, and told us many interesting stories of their 
 seafaring lives. 
   
 Captain Berry told me of a trip he made from New Orleans to New York, 
 when General Ben Butler was there in command. A division of the army 
 was being transferred and Captain Berry said that besides soldiers the 
 vessel was laden with all kinds of handsome furniture, with pictures, 
 pianos, and trunks filled with women's clothing, from a lady's bonnet 
 to slippers. That division of the army which Captain Berry was 
 bringing North belonged to one of the generals under Butler's command. 
   
 The vessel was laden, the last soldier had stepped aboard, when just 
 before the gangplank was lowered, a jet-black pony was hurried aboard, 
 a perfect beauty. Then a lady was seen rapidly riding along the wharf; 
 she quickly jumped from her horse, and went on board inquiring for 
 the general; when he was pointed out to her she stepped up to him and 
 said: "General ----, you have taken my husband's last gift to his 
 little boy, the pony; I have come to ask you to return him to me." The 
 general turned a deaf ear to her request, and as he did so, she drew 
 her whip across his face with a stinging lash. Had he lifted his 
 finger to her in return, Captain Berry said, the soldiers would have 
 shot him dead. 
   
 During that trip North in the silence of the night, the soldiers went 
 down into the hold of the vessel, opened every box, cut strings on 
 pianos, ruined pictures and other things with ashes and water, then 
 nailed up every box carefully and put it in place again. This was done 
 by the Northern soldiers on board who knew of and resented the wrong 
 done to the people of New Orleans. The poor little pony never reached 
 his destination, for he was found dead the next morning; a mysterious 
 death, but the soldiers knew, and had had a hand in his taking off. 
 Thus they avenged the lady to whom their sympathy had gone out. 
   
 Captain Berry was a Northern man, but his frequent visits to 
 Charleston had thrown him into intimate relations with the Southern 
 people and he admired them greatly. 
   
 We spent six months, from December, 1864, until June, 1865, at 
 Darlington, our place of retreat. It was a hard winter; food was 
 scarce, and little but the coarsest kind could be bought.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 25 
 By spring we had grown hopeless, and well I remember that while 
 walking in the garden some one called out to me, "The war is over, Lee 
 has surrendered." My feelings were tumultuous; joy and sorrow strove 
 with each other. Joy in the hope of having my husband and the 
 brothers and friends who were left, return to me, but oh, such sorrow 
 over our defeat! 
   
 In the course of time, the men of our family returned with the 
 exception of your great-uncle Edward, my brother, who had gone through 
 the war, but was finally killed in the last two weeks of fighting 
 around Petersburg, Va. 
   
 As one after another of the family came back to us, worn out and 
 dispirited, our thoughts turned to the dear old home on the Savannah 
 River, and we longed to go back. Before yielding to our desires, it 
 was considered wise for the men of the family to go first and 
 investigate. They found only ashes and ruin everywhere in our 
 neighborhood, and father's place, except a few negro cabins, was 
 burned to the ground. There were thirty buildings destroyed. 
   
 The steam mill, blacksmith's shop, carpenter's shop, barns, and 
 house--nothing was left standing except chimney and brick walls to 
 mark the place of our once prosperous, happy home. There was but one 
 fence paling to indicate the site of our little village. The church, 
 too, was burned, and now negro cabins are standing where it once 
 graced the landscape. Our beautiful lawns were plowed up and planted 
 in potatoes and corn by the negroes, who were told we would never 
 return. 
   
 Sherman left a track of fire for three hundred miles through the 
 State. When you hear the war song "Marching through Georgia," which 
 stirs the hearts of the Northerner, think of the scenes of desolation 
 and heartbreak the song recalls to the Southerner. 
   
 When I left my own home in Robertville, I took the daguerreotypes of 
 my old schoolmates, Northern girls, of whom I was fond, and opening 
 the clasps I stood them all in a row on the mantel, hoping that should 
 some commander find among them the face of a relative, he would spare 
 the house for the sake of friendship. It was a vain hope, for my 
 lovely house was destroyed with all the others. However, a soldier, 
 brother of one of the girls, did find among the pictures the likeness 
 of his sister and he wrote me after the war about thus seeing amid the 
 roar of battle the likeness of his angel sister, for she was then 
 dead. 
   
 You will often hear of the "reconstruction period," the period when 
 the situation had to be faced by the beaten Southerner, and everything 
 had to be managed on a new and strange basis. That period in my life 
 had now come, for we all resolved to return home and do the best we 
 could with what we had left. 
   
 Father had loaned the Confederate Government fifty horses and mules; 
 twenty-five were returned to him, good, bad, and indifferent. We took 
 the journey home by the aid of these animals, and our carriage was 
 drawn by one large "raw-boned" horse helped by a little pony. We 
 camped out at night, and drove all day.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 26 
 Sometimes we were able to get 
 shelter for our parents. It was very rough traveling; the roads were 
 destroyed, and trees had been cut down blocking the way. We finally 
 reached the only house left standing near our former home, at eleven 
 o'clock at night, after ten days of travel. This house was far off 
 from all plantations, situated in a pine forest. It was used by our 
 family for a summer retreat. It had large airy rooms; one measuring 
 twenty-five feet, and one fifty feet. In this house, bereft of all 
 its furniture, our family gathered. We found our negroes scattered and 
 completely demoralized. 
   
 Starvation seemed imminent. The men of our family went to work to cut 
 timber, to be shipped to Savannah on rafts. In the meantime, before we 
 could expect any monetary return from this industry, what else could 
 we do to better our condition? was the question we asked one another. 
   
 One of my brother's former negroes came to me and said, "I think you 
 could make money by baking pies and bread for the colored Northern 
 troops." 
   
 Those soldiers were quartered on my father's plantation. My dear, war 
 was nothing compared to the horrors of that reconstruction period. For 
 six months we never went to bed without bidding one another good-by, 
 not expecting to be alive the next morning. We sold our jewelry, all 
 that was left, to the soldiers, and they would come to the house, 
 march around it with bayonets drawn, and curse us with the vilest 
 oaths. We would gather the little ones around us, bar the door, and 
 wait, for we knew not what. 
   
 When you are old enough, Dorothy, dear, read "The Leopard's Spots," 
 which gives a better description of what we endured, than I ever can 
 write. 
   
 However, we needed money to buy food with. I, therefore, set to work 
 making bread, and any number of green-apple pies. Tom, a negro, built 
 us a clay oven and we secured a negro's service for the baking; I got 
 up at four o'clock in the morning, and by ten o'clock Tom was off with 
 the pony and wagon, to sell articles for us. We had enough to live on, 
 but no meat except bacon. 
   
 By request of every white person the Government removed the colored 
 troops six months after the war, and sent white troops in their place. 
   
 Poor grandpa would sit all day with bowed head and say over and over, 
 "My poor daughters, my poor daughters." We tried to appear brave and 
 cheerful and would say in reply, "Why we can manage; do not trouble 
 about us." But father's heart was broken and though he appeared well, 
 he instinctively felt that his days were numbered and asked to have 
 our former pastor called. 
   
 When the minister came, we and some neighbors gathered together in a 
 little supply store that was "thrown up" after the war, and there we 
 stood, or sat on the counters, during service. It was a touching 
 scene. Your mother was a little girl of five years, and she feeling 
 the sadness of it all, wept through the whole service. Father 
 gathered her in his arms and tenderly wiped her tears away. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 27 
 As service closed an old church member and father advanced to shake 
 hands with each other saying simultaneously: "We shall drink no more 
 of the fruit of the vine, until we drink in our Father's Kingdom." 
   
 It seemed in the nature of a prediction, for three days afterwards 
 father passed peacefully away, without apparent illness. 
   
 Mother lived until her eighty-seventh year, weary, sad years for her. 
 She lived with her children, but none were able to make her 
 comfortable. Poverty reigned everywhere, and still exists in that once 
 luxurious country. We thanked God that father had not to endure, for 
 long, the sight of our want and distress. Before he died, however, we 
 left the large house in which we first took refuge, and started 
 housekeeping separately in outhouses or cabins in the pinelands, which 
 were formerly used for storerooms, kitchens, laundries, etc. 
   
 We fitted up one of these cabins as comfortably as we could for 
 father's and mother's use, and in another little house situated about 
 three and a half miles from them, I lived a while with your mamma and 
 Dr. De Saussure. In this little house we had to endure great hardships 
 for many years, and led the most desolate lives. 
   
 Your precious mother was our only comfort; she was always happy. She 
 had few books, no school, and as my husband was an invalid, he was 
 often too ill to see her, or to be left alone. She would study her 
 lessons and sit outside the door of his darkened room, and when I 
 could leave him she would recite to me what she had learned. 
   
 Another time we lived in a little cabin, part of which was curtained 
 off for the accommodation of a sister of Dr. De Saussure's and her 
 baby. Our kitchen stove was under an open shed built against the side 
 of the house. Heavy rain would flow over the dirt floor, and remain 
 standing several inches deep. 
   
 At this time your mother's one delight was her pony Brownie. She would 
 drive the cows up from the swamps, and Brownie soon learned to give 
 them a bite on their backs when they stopped to graze. 
   
 "Jeff Davis" was also a great pet; he was a young calf we never 
 allowed to leave the yard for fear the negroes would take him. Poor 
 Jeff was sacrificed for food, but your mother's heart was broken for 
 her pet, and she could not be induced to taste any portion of the 
 meat. 
   
 Before I undertook to make pies and bread for the colored troops, and 
 when we were very hard pressed, as I said before, I went and spent a 
 night with my parents. My adopted sister, the housekeeper of whom I 
 told you, called me out of the house and taking me some distance away 
 so we could not be heard by them, said: "We have but a pint of corn 
 meal in the house, and if I cook that for our supper I have nothing to 
 give father and mother for breakfast." We cried together, and wondered 
 what we could do. One of our negro men from the plantation approached 
 me and said, "Miss Nancy" (they called me by that name, and the 
 grandchildren of our old negroes still use it), "the steamboat has 
 just landed at the dock, and there are lots of boxes for you." Amazed, 
 I exclaimed, "Why, who has sent me anything?" I looked then upon all 
 Northern friends as enemies. I had not heard from any of them in 
 years; the war had separated us. I told the man to take a cart and 
 hasten to the dock. He returned laden.  
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 28 
 Still in amaze I had the boxes 
 opened, wherein we found all sorts of provisions: hams, sugar, tea, 
 coffee, crackers, etc., etc., and better than all a letter from a 
 gentleman, who wrote that he had read in the papers of the great 
 distress of Southern people; he knew nothing of my condition, but 
 judged of it by what he read of the pitiful state of others, and he 
 wished me to draw whatever amount we needed from his agent in Savannah 
 to relieve our necessities. To me the heavens had opened and from them 
 came these gifts. I saw in this relief when we most needed help the 
 kind care of our heavenly Father, who had put into the heart of this 
 generous man to come to our assistance. We drew enough money to 
 enable us to buy food and to begin work on our own place. With the 
 account of my acquaintance with this gentleman my story will close. 
   
 He was an Englishman, who had settled with his family in the Bahamas. 
 When I met him I was in my sixteenth year, and was on my way to school 
 in Philadelphia. Agnes and three brothers were with me, one brother 
 going to Princeton to finish his theological course, one to 
 Lawrenceville to school, and the third to Colgate University. 
   
 On the steamer was this gentleman, taking his son to Philadelphia to 
 school. My eldest brother became acquainted with him, and introduced 
 him to me. It took much longer in those days to make the trip, the 
 journey comprising three and a half to four days. 
   
 Agnes and I saw a great deal of the father, and the son was with my 
 brother most of the time, so that when we reached Philadelphia, we 
 felt well acquainted. Mr. Saunders, for that was the name of our new 
 friend, said to my brother upon landing: "I shall be in Philadelphia a 
 fortnight, or until my son becomes acquainted in the city. If you will 
 allow me, I will be pleased to take your sisters driving with us, and 
 show them the places of interest." Many pleasant drives we had 
 together, and grew better acquainted each day. 
   
 At the end of his visit he came to bid us farewell, and said to me: 
 "Miss Nannie, I have a request to make of you, will you grant it?" I 
 replied, "If I can, I will gladly." He had often spoken of his elder 
 son who was studying at Oxford, England, and he continued: "In two 
 years my son will graduate, I want you to promise me that you will 
 wait until you see him before engaging yourself to anyone." I 
 laughingly promised him to wait the two years. 
   
 When I was seventeen years old I returned home. I had been there 
 perhaps three years, when I went on a brief visit to a friend who 
 lived about twenty miles away from us. My visit ended, I returned 
 home, and as I drove up to the door, my young brother ran out to meet 
 me and said, "Guess who is here to see you," and when I failed in 
 guessing he said, "Mr. Saunders's son." 
   
 I then met the young gentleman, a handsome, fine young man, who 
 brought letters of introduction from leading men in his own home, and 
 one from his father, who wrote that he had not forgotten my promise to 
 him, but that he had been delayed in fulfilling his desire in having 
 us meet by his son's failing to find me. 
   
 He had lost the address of my home, and thinking Charleston the 
 nearest town, his son was sent there to inquire for us. The next 
 winter he sent him to Savannah to find me, and from there the young 
 man was directed to my father's home. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 29 
 Mr. Saunders wrote that it had been his dearest wish to have me for 
 his daughter, and he had talked so much to his son about me that he 
 was quite willing to fall in with his father's wishes in the matter. 
   
 In the meantime I had met your grandfather, and had decided that I 
 would marry him, or no one. My father was bitterly opposed to my 
 marrying at all, as he did not want to part with me, and therefore, I 
 was waiting until he gave his consent. 
   
 We made Mr. Saunders's visit as pleasant as possible, and I told him 
 at once of my affection for your grandfather, as I did not wish to 
 deceive him. 
   
 The young man spent some weeks with us, and upon his return home I 
 received another letter from his father saying he could not give up 
 his cherished hope of having me for a daughter, and as his son had 
 fallen in love with me, he hoped I would reconsider my decision. At 
 the same time his son wrote of his attachment, offering himself to me. 
 But it was useless to urge me, and though I felt grateful to be looked 
 upon with so much affection I declined the offer. 
   
 This was the beginning of a very remarkable friendship which sprang up 
 between the father and myself. 
   
 Upon receipt of the letter expressing myself as steadfast to Dr. De 
 Saussure, he wrote in reply asking that he might consider himself as a 
 father, and to me and your mother, who always called him grandfather, 
 he was like a father. 
   
 During the latter part of the war, I wrote to him asking if he would 
 receive cotton through the blockade and arrange to send us in return 
 many necessary things. We were without shoes, and were wearing clothes 
 made from our gay silk dresses carded up and spun with cotton, thus 
 woven into cloth by our own people. We then had an abundance of food, 
 but other things were not to be bought. In reply he said: "Do not send 
 your cotton, you will run a double risk; I will send you all you need, 
 for I have more than enough for my family and yours." 
   
 Never dreaming we would ever be in a position where we could not repay 
 Mr. Saunders, I wrote to him and sent a list of needed articles, 
 pieces of linen, merino, and silk, and stockings and shoes for us all. 
 He sent us two thousand dollars worth of goods in gold value, thus 
 generously supplying every child and grandchild in our family with 
 clothes. 
   
 Alas for us, the war ended disastrously, and forgetting all he had 
 previously done for me and mine, he now sent money and provisions to 
 aid us, which help arrived in our darkest hour. 
   
 I am glad to tell you that these debts were paid, though it took us 
 years to do it. 
   
 
 
 
 OLD PLANTATION DAYS Pg 30 
 Until Mr. Saunders's death, we corresponded regularly, and fifteen 
 years after the war he came to see me at Vassar College, for after 
 your grandfather's death, I came North with your darling mother who 
 was fifteen years of age, and went first to Philadelphia, placing her 
 in the same school where I had been educated, with the same principals 
 still in charge, the Misses Bonney and Dillaye. I kept house in 
 Philadelphia in a quiet way in two rooms, and had been there two 
 years when I learned that the gentleman whom your grandfather had 
 left in charge of my affairs had speculated and lost every cent I had 
 in the world. 
   
 Immediately I tried to find some work by which I could support your 
 mother and myself, and through one of my former teachers, Miss Morse, 
 who was then assistant to Dr. Raymond of Vassar College, I was offered 
 the position of assistant principal. There I remained for five years. 
 While at Vassar your mother took up a special course at the College 
 and graduated from the Art Department. 
   
 One day my dear old friend Mr. Saunders was announced. The last time 
 we met, I was fifteen and he forty-five years old. This latter meeting 
 took place twenty-five years later. It was a sad meeting for both of 
 
 He had lost most of his property, and was comparatively poor. He 
 
 took me in his arms and said; "My child, if I were able to take care 
 of you and your daughter you would not be here one minute, for I would 
 take you home with me and take care of you both." The last letter I 
 received from him said: "I am nearly home and when I get there I shall 
 watch for your coming." 
   
 
 
 
 ADDENDUM Pg 31 
 BEAUFORT, S. C., January 8, 1906. 
   
      MY DEAR AUNT NANNIE: 
   
 I fear you have by this time lost all hope of hearing from me, but I 
 have not forgotten my promise. I am afraid, however, you will be very 
 much disappointed, as I have so little information to give about 
 family history, and that little is very scrappy. Our branch of the 
 family have been criminally careless about preserving records. 
   
 While I have not what we lawyers would consider strict evidence of the 
 fact, still I am quite satisfied from circumstances and inferences, 
 which I shall not undertake in this letter to detail, that our family 
 and the Northern family of Bostick were one and the same. Our 
 American progenitor landed in Plymouth, Mass., sometime about the 
 middle of the seventeenth century, coming from Chester County, 
 England, and being probably a political refugee. His wife also came 
 with him from England. In England the family history was both ancient 
 and distinguished, the founder landing on English soil with William 
 the Conqueror, in whose service he was of distinguished rank, both 
 military and social. In England he became one of the barons of the 
 realm. The title remained for centuries in the family, and may be 
 still in existence, and has been adorned by many distinguished 
 representatives in the English wars especially. The original stock in 
 Massachusetts seems to have migrated, mine northward and some 
 gradually drifting southward.  
 
 
 
 ADDENDUM Pg 32 
 The intermediate links I cannot supply, 
 but finally these brothers settled, two in Carolina, the youngest 
 being our great-grandfather Richard, and one in Georgia. In Jones's 
 history of Georgia mention is made of Captain Littlebury Bostick, a 
 wealthy rice planter near Savannah. He, I think, was the brother, or 
 son of the brother who settled in Georgia. Richard was the youngest of 
 the three. The other brother, John, bought a large landed estate near 
 Columbia on which he lived and died quite an old man. During his life 
 he maintained the style and reputation of a man of great wealth, but 
 at his death it was found that his affairs were financially involved. 
 He never married, but was known as a cultured man of decidedly 
 literary tastes, and was a leading figure in the social life of his 
 section. His most intimate friend was General Hampton, father of the 
 Confederate general of same name. 
   
 Richard settled in old Blackswamp, where he married three times, the 
 last two wives being sisters, both Roberts. The last, first married 
 Singleton, and at his death our ancestor. By the last marriage there 
 were no children; by the second marriage to Miss Robert, we are 
 descended through your father Benjamin Robert Bostick; by the first 
 marriage the other Blackswamp Bosticks are descended. 
   
 I have not a copy of the Bostick coat of arms, but the motto is 
 "Always ready to serve," bestowed, or adopted, I presume, in 
 recognition of their martial spirit exhibited on many great 
 battlefields. The Robert family, of whom your grandmother was a 
 member, settled in Sumter. The progenitor, Rev. Pierre Robert, led a 
 colony of Huguenot refugees from France. Many other Huguenot families 
 in the State claim descent on maternal lines from him. He seems to 
 have been a man of wealth and ancient lineage. I have a copy of the 
 French coat of arms. 
   
 Your mother, who was a Maner, came of no less distinguished line. They 
 were of Welsh descent, and probably more remotely of Norman French 
 descent, as the progenitor was Lord de Maner. 
   
 Grandma's mother was a May from an old Dutch family. The original May 
 came to Charleston, and founded the first large importing house (tea 
 chiefly) in copartnership with the famous Dutchman, Admiral Gillon. 
   
 I presume you know, of course, that your great-grandfather, William 
 Maner, and his brother Samuel were both captains in the famous Marion 
 Brigade in the Revolution. Your grandfather was a captain at eighteen 
 years of age. 
   
 I may mention also, that grandma's mother, who was a May, was on her 
 maternal side a daughter of an English Colonel Stafford. The English 
 Staffords are also of ancient stock, I believe. 
   
 I am afraid the foregoing very meager account of the family 
 connections will give you very little that you do not know already. 
 While I have stated the main features of the family history, as I know 
 them, the statement is very general. If you desire more of detail with 
 reference to any individual or any part of the family history, I may 
 be able to give you a little more, and will take pleasure in answering 
 any inquiries on this line. I have had to write this very hastily. 
   
      With love from us all, I remain, 
   
                  Affectionately, 
   
 
 MCIVER BOSTICK. 
 
 
 
 Publication Date: January 10th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-mk496e398f1e345