All the Days of My Life: An Autobiography Part 32

I was giving the Sally Lunns their second kneading, and I let the dough fall to the floor. The tears sprang to my eyes, but I tried to bear the loss as well as I could. Indeed I had been half afraid of this very thing, for three nights previously I had dreamed of seeing my furniture on a wagon. I sat down. Robert put his arm round me, and whispered a few hopeful words, and I answered, "It is all right, dear.

We have had a fine rest here. We shall never forget it. Do you know where we can rent anything as comfortable?"

"Not yet. Allen tells me, General Haney's place, just beyond the Capitol will be for rent very soon, but there is nothing at present but the Cartmel place, and if that will not do, we must store our things, and go to the hotel."

"Then the Cartmel place must do. How can we go into two or three rooms with five little children? Gracious Robert! It was not at all pleasant with two. Where is the Cartmel place?"

"Just above Mrs. Green's."

"Not that little house with a Spanish dagger in the strip of ground before it?"

"Yes."

"O Robert! It stands in a hole, down on the flat, too. I never could bear living in a valley. I look unto the hills always. From the hills cometh my strength, soul and body strength. And there is no stable to it, and what about the ponies?"

"We must sell them, of course. There is a large corn field with the house. It grew a famous crop this year."

"But what is the use of growing corn, when we cannot have horses?"

"No. Well, dear, I thought you had better know at once. Mr. Durham advised me to come home and to help you pack. If we must go, the sooner the better."

"You are right, we will begin this hour."

So we did, but there were delays about one thing or another that we had not antic.i.p.ated, and the twenty-ninth of December found us just ready to move, in the very teeth of one of the most dreadful northers I had ever experienced. But Robert had had negroes in the Cartmel place for a week, cleaning and keeping the big fires night and day. So with Alice and Alexander wrapped in blankets, we moved down there, the people who had bought the log house, having invaded it with six children, a dozen negroes, and all kinds of baggage, three days before their legal tenure began.

Well, like all other troubles, the flitting came to an end, and things were not as uncomfortable as I had expected. The ponies had to go, but there was a shed close to the kitchen for a cow, and Robert said he would try to get one as soon as he could. That put all right. To have a cow and lots of milk and cream and b.u.t.ter! We could turn her into the field and there was the shed to milk her in. I could hardly wait for the creature.

Next day a man called Abner Blair called to see Robert about his taxes, and I was repacking a trunk with trifles, I did not wish to use in so small a house. He watched me, and lifted some of the books and tartan things. His fingers clung to them, and I could see that he was in a great mental tumult.

"Are you Scotch, Mr. Blair?" I asked.

"Scotch!" he cried. "I'm nothing else. Highland Scotch, from Aberdeen way! Scotch for a thousand years! Scotch from the creation itself! My wife is Scotch, and my children are Scotch, and there's nothing in Blair house that isn't Scotch."

"Then," I said, "if you are from Aberdeen way, you will know what this is;" and I held up the Scotch pebble bracelet I had bought on that last walk I took up Buchanan Street, Glasgow.

He looked for a moment at the ornament, then he touched it, and asked, "What will you take for it, I have a little la.s.sie that would go crazy to wear it. She will be twenty-one on Sunday next. Sell me the pretty thing. My certie! I used to go gathering the stones--I did that--I wanted them to pay my way through St. Andrews. What will you take for it?"

"I will give it to you for your daughter's birthday," I answered.

"I'll give it to her with all kinds of good wishes."

"I take you at your word," he said in a perfect enthusiasm of pleasure. "And I'll tell you what! I'll give you the best milch cow on Abner Blair's ranch, and I'll bring her in to you on Sat.u.r.day."

"Come back in half an hour," I said, "and I will clean the silver settings and make them bright." He came back and went off with the bawble proud and happy, and on Thursday brought me a milk cow which justified all his promises. But as I rubbed bright the silver setting, and very often since, I have wondered what power had prompted me in 1853, to buy a bracelet which I did not want, which I was rather ashamed of buying, in order that it might get me and my children plenty of milk and b.u.t.ter in 1863, when such things were scarce and dear, and under ordinary circ.u.mstances beyond procuring.

My life in the Cartmel place was only a variation and accentuation of what it had been in the Cook place. I did more and more work for the government, and at the end of the year I confessed, that it had been money in the purse, and not so well for me in other ways. The children's lessons had been much neglected, and the half-hour I had given daily to private prayer, ever since I was twelve years old, had been put aside for ruling tax papers, or something else that seemed more important. But this putting aside was neither happiness nor true prosperity. It implied a trust in myself, rather than in G.o.d; and I do believe at this day, as I did really then, that if I had gone on doing my own duties, G.o.d would have sent the necessary money in some easier and better way.

I notice in my diary, that soon after the New Year, Robert was often on guard most of the night. There was at this time a great terror of negro insurrections, and often I put the children to bed fully dressed, in case there was a necessity to flee for life. We had all our plans made for this emergency, the first and most surely safe one being, a quick retreat to the grave yard, for no negro would venture within its ghostly precinct. The nights Robert was on guard, I always had company, very often a Miss Sophia Richardson, the daughter of the editor of the _Austin Gazette_. She was a beautiful woman, well read, witty and yet good-natured, and a singer of great power and sweetness.

She married after I left Austin the editor of the _New Orleans Picayune_, and if this remembrance ever reaches her eyes, I want her to think of me, as she knew me when we used to be happy together in the old log house on the hill. It stood next to her own home. Here are two notes on this life:

_Feb. 18th._ Sewing and hearing lessons, then ruling for Mr. Durham.

But I am weary and sleepy. Alexander is teething, and he does not let me sleep an hour at a time. Sophy Richardson all day with me.

_Feb. 19th._ Had a bad night with Alexander, got up early and made hot rolls for breakfast. Made sweet bread afterwards, also a chicken pie for dinner. Heard lessons, sewing and knitting. Sophy Richardson came in. Glad to see her. Betty Elgin called to borrow a book. Robert home early, going on guard. There is a guard of well-armed citizens set every night now. Robert told me it was necessary, for a devilish negro plot had been discovered.

Plots and rumors of plots kept every one unhappy, and as we entered the last year of the war, the air was full of miserable reports. It was a brave heart that kept any hope now for the Confederate cause.

The weary ruling of paper, and making envelopes ceased. The Governor, the Comptroller and George Durham all knew well, there would be no need of them. On the eve of my thirty-fifth birthday I wrote:

_Mar. 28th, 1865._ None but the good G.o.d knows the history of the coming year, but it is in His loving hands. I have had many cares and sorrows, many pains and deprivations this past year, but not one too many, because all is for the best. Every one is gloomy, for every one is antic.i.p.ating invasion. We have no money, and very little clothing in the house--neither have I anything ready, either for myself or the child I am expecting; but G.o.d is sufficient, and He will be sure to provide.

_May 14th._ Robert went early up town. Heard of Lee and Johnson's surrender. Jeff Davis said to be flying to the Trans-Mississippi. Many say the Confederate cause is lost.

_May 25th._ The dream is over. No Southern independence now. Robert thinks it will be Southern slavery. I have been ironing hard all day, and sewing, but I heard no lessons. I was too troubled and anxious, for Confederate soldiers, without officers or order, are coming in every hour, and there is nothing but plunder and sack going on--and the citizens are as bad as the soldiers.

_May 26th._ I had a very bad night, and feel headachey and sleepy. Had to iron; the negro won't work; indeed Robert says both men and women have deserted their homes, and are hanging about the streets, watching the white men plundering, but too much afraid of the white man, to take a hand in the work. I heard no lessons, but did a little sewing, and all the housework that the negroes ought to do. In the evening Robert went to a public meeting about protecting the town.

_May 27th._ Very anxious and unsettled. The town and all the adjacent country is in a dreadful condition. From a man going north, Robert bought seven bushels of meal, thirty-six pounds of salt, and fifty pounds of sugar. Thankful to G.o.d for it, for in these days we know not what may happen from hour to hour. Tried to sew in the afternoon, but impossible; there is too much looting and quarreling going on. It seems as if every one had a claim against the Confederacy, and were paying themselves.

_June 2nd._ Everything in confusion. Everyone suspicious and watchful, and there is no law. Governor Lubbock and the state officers have fled to Mexico.

_June 11th._ The Rio Grande soldiers reached Austin today. I could not help crying as they pa.s.sed my door, and Robert lifted his hat to honor them. These men were victors, though their cause was lost. Through every deprivation and suffering, through hunger and thirst, through heat and cold, weary, ragged, weather-beaten and battle-scarred, they had carried aloft their flag with the single star. And they carried it proudly that day through the streets of Austin. No one dared to forbid it. Robert told me he saw many men weep as it pa.s.sed them, and turn away, but it floated fitly enough above the heads of those who had given up everything for the ideals it typified. They went straight to the Capitol, and demanded payment either in gold or government property for their long service. And as no one had a right to pay them, they paid themselves. The scene was indescribable, and Robert slipped away and came home.

_June 14th._ Today the soldiers are looting the government stables.

They are dividing the mules and horses and saddlery among themselves.

The noise and tumult is indescribable. I was sewing, and ironing, and cooking all day, and sewing again until midnight, for I must work hard now, in order to have all comfortable for the children and Robert, while I am sick. We keep quietly in doors, and are as happy as we can be under the circ.u.mstances; but the poor country! My heart aches for Texas, subjugated and all lost, even honor.

_June 15th._ Hot windy weather, but feel pressed to work, for I have still much to do. But how thankful I ought to be for the health and strength given me. G.o.d be near me for Christ's sake. My negro servant comes home to eat, then she runs into the city again. I have all her work to do, but she is waiting for her _freedom_. I cannot blame her.

_June 23rd._ The Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation arrived. Robert said he was glad of it, because the negroes knew they were free, and were impatient for its public acknowledgment.

_June 24th._ The sheriff read the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation. He read it with no more ceremony than if he was giving notice of a forced sale of land, or a new city ordinance about negro pa.s.ses, or any other every day occurrence. He was surrounded by white men, who listened without interest or remark, and the negroes were shocked and dismayed.

They had been sure that the news of their freedom would come with the calling of trumpets, the firing of cannon, and the triumphant entry of a victorious army. Robert said they were sick and silent with disappointment, and vanished from the streets. I went into the kitchen to tell Harriet. She was leaning against the open door, looking intently eastward. Freedom was to come from the east, and she was always listening and watching for its approach. Her child, a girl about a year old, was sitting on the floor playing with some empty spools. I had always thought her indifferent to it. "Harriet," I said, and she turned her eyes upon me but did not speak, "you are free, Harriet! From this hour as free as I am. You can stay here, or go; you can work or sleep; you are your own mistress, now, and forever." She stepped forward as I spoke, and was looking at me intently, "Say dem words again, Miss Milly!" she cried, "say dem again." I repeated what I had told her, making the fact still more emphatic; and as I did so, her sullen black face brightened, she darted to her child, and throwing it shoulder high, shrieked hysterically, "_Tamar, you'se free! You'se free, Tamar!_" She did not at that supreme moment think of herself. Freedom was for her child; she looked in its face, at its hands, at its feet. It was a new baby to her--a free baby. Actually the mother love in her face had humanized its dull, brutish expression. I said again, "You are also free, Harriet. You are your own mistress now. Will you hire yourself to me?" I asked.

"When dem Yankees coming, Miss Milly?"

"n.o.body knows."

"How I free then?"

"They sent word."

"Mighty poor way to set folks free."

"Will you hire yourself to me, Harriet? I will give you six dollars a month."

"Six dollars too little, Miss Milly."

"It is what I paid your master."

"Thank de Lord, I'se got no master now. I 'long to myself now. I want eight dollars now. When a n.i.g.g.e.r free, they worth more."