March 20, 1864
All Father’s work at the new flume thrown away, for on Sunday last the foundation of it was washed up & started on a rapid voyage over the Low grounds in the direction of Conneconara, doubtless to pay its respects to him! It all has to be done over again. Walked with Mr E there this morning & through the breach in the dam to the river’s brink. The earth is washed out deeply & the different strata formed by successive freshets are very perceptible. I did not realize the rapid increase of the deposite until we noticed the young growth which had been cut down & ere the stumps had begun to show marks of decay, they were buried at least three ft in the earth & trees of a larger size in vigorous growth upon them.
As is universally in all newly opened spots on the river bank, we found quantities of Indian pottery but of an unusual manufacture. All that I have hitherto seen being simply baked clay & of a small size, but these had sand & gravel as large as a pea worked up in them & the peices seemed to indicate that they had composed a vessel of considerable diameter. Perhaps the utensil formed part of the “abbattrie de cuisine” of some Cheif or they may have composed some Sacred vessel & may have been as precious in the eyes of their possessor as the “Shards of the Luck of Edenhall.” One thing is certain, from the vast quantity of these peices of pottery & the area over which they are thickly distributed, this country must in former days have supported a dense Indian population. Would that one could speak & relate to us its history & tell us how many years have rolled by since it last saw the light! The only perfect pot I have ever seen is in my possession at Hascosea & was dug out by the negroes whilst excavating earth for the dams at Polenta. It was found sitting on some charcoal & half burned sticks at some depth in the earth, just as the Indian Squaw who last used it may have left it! It may be older than Columbus!
Have been amusing myself this last week compiling what I term “a book of Contemporaries” begining at the Creation & coming regularly down, collecting in groups the distinguished men & acts of past time. I have nearly finished the form, the skeleton so to speak, and indicated the more remarkable and well known points. The rest the flesh is to be the product of my future reading; when I meet an important factor or character, date him & preserve him for future reference. It differs some what from a Chronological table in its form & constitutes a book of leaves. Have been re-reading Neibuhr, having finished Plutarch, & relish my pabulum so much that I propose to review Gillie & even Gibbon, so much for getting interested in a thing.
I met an anecdote in Tatler recently which amused & struck me as so apropos to something which happened to me recently (i.e., an Authoress reading her own verses to me & putting my politeness & sincerity to a severe test by asking my candid opinion) that I must record it here. Philoxemus, it is said, being invited to dine with Dionysius (tyrant of Syracuse) and to hear him recite some poetical composition, was the only one of the guests who took the liberty of censuring it. He was condemned to the mines, but being soon after set at liberty and invited to hear another recitation, he held his peace when it came to his turn to give his opinion. “What,” said Dionysius, “have you nothing to say on this occasion?” “Carry me back to the mines,” said Philoxenus. Dionysius, we are told, was not displeased with the answer. I shall often think of that dry terse answer, “Carry me back to the Mines.”
We have had some sharp cold weather. The peaches are I hope, however, only thinned out by it as they are not in full bloom. On the 17th, St Patrick’s, we had ice of some thickness, & I bid adieu, alas, to the full glory of my hyacinth bed, as some of my handsomest flowers were frozen transparent & fell hopelessly down & now lie black & blasted amongst their hardier brethern. But for public news — matters of general interest journal; bear in mind that that is your sheet anchor, your hold on life, for even now I have some times fears lest I be compelled to sacrifice you to the manes of the Time spent (shall I say lost) in your compilation.
Rummors which no longer excite or interest us of a recognition by France. The time is gone by when we would have prized it & I feel very much as Dr Johnson did towards Ld Chesterfield. What is more to the purpose we have sunk two of the best vessels in the Yankee Navy, one the Housatonic off Charleston by a torpedo exploded under her bows by our submarine boat the Hunley. She sank in eight minutes with her twelve guns & 300 men many of whom were drowned, but sad to relate the brave crew of the Hunley are supposed also to have perished as nothing has been heard of either men or craft since! Sad indeed! I have not heard their names as the fact is kept a secret to increase the panic felt on board the other Yankee blockaders. The second boat, or rather vessel, for she was a first class Man of War, the Peterhoff, ventured too near our Batteries at Fort Holmes at the mouth of Cape Fear, when bang, a double headed shot struck her full in the quarter! & before she could turn, a second went through her smoke stack, a third disabled her, & she lay at our mercy. Father Neptune soon embraced the tyranical vessel & put an end to her stopping ships on the high seas.
Sherman has retreated to Vicksburg whilst our cavalry followed close on his heels, dashed into Yazoo city, burnt a lot of Yankee cotton (stolen) awaiting shipment, commissary & qr Master stores, killed a number of the enemy, & were out with a loss of seventy on our side killed & wounded. Grant is in Washington enjoying a ovation & the title of Lieut Gen & Com in Chief, assisting too at a Council of War which the Yankee papers tell us determine on a new “On to Richmond,” this time with three columns each of 100,000 men in buckram? Hey Mr Bluster? They mourn the failure of Kilpatrick’s incendiary raid upon which Dahlgreen had the hardihood to “ask God’s blessing” & promised his crew of cutthroats that if successful they would write their names on the hearts of their countrymen & winds up with a flourish about the braves who swept through Richmond & their “holy cause.” Has God given them over to a strong delusion that they should beleive a lie or is this all bosh & balderdash — a hypocritical flying in the face of the Almighty? The Exchange of prisoners has been resumed for which thank God! The Enemy receded from their demands that Butler should be the agent of exchange & quietly dropped back to Maj Mulford with whom Mr Ould, our Commissioner, formerly treated. Two boat loads of our unfortunate men have arrived & the details they give of the horrors of a Northern Prison House, particularly those whom the Christian Burnside sent to the Ohio Penitentiary, freeze ones blood with horror one moment & the next makes it boil in our veins with indignation.
Mr Wilkinson, the Agent of the Hospital, has been here for supplies. His trip was almost unsuccessful, for besides some Potatoes which Mr E had bought for him, some Lard which we could ill spare from the plantation but felt forced to sell him, & some Peas which Mr E gave him squeezed from the seed peas & the few household things I could contribute (very few indeed) & some eggs, 27 doz, which we bought from the negroes, he went back as he came. No one else had anything to spare, so swept is our country by Gov Agents & Commissaries. Mrs Webb wrote me that the “Major was again with them with a very badly burned foot.” Mr Wilkinson tells that is very severely burned & that it will be three or four months before he is fit for duty, does not know how the accident occurred & James has not written himself.
Sunday evening — have just come in from a long walk with Mr E; went to look at his secret drains finished & in progress. One which will be covered tomorrow runs through a ridge, ‘the Holly Ridge,’ & is such a marvel of a skilfully cut ditch that I must record its dimension — 8 ft 9 in in depth & only two ft wide at top & narrower at bottom & this for some twenty or more yds when it gradually falls off to a less Brobdignab depth! It is what is called a debouchere, to draw the water from one level to another paralel to it but lower & thus save its running back a half mile or more around the head of the Ridge. Patrick is an excellent farmer, scientific & practical, & uses his knoledge to the best purpose. I enjoy my walks & rides with him. They are at once pleasant & improving. I thank Thee O God that Thou has cast my lines in so pleasant places, that Thou makest me to taste the blessing which I read in yesterday’s Lesson — promised the Israelites “Ye shall rejoice in all that ye put your hand unto, ye and your households” Deut. 12th-7th.
Source: Edmondston, Catherine Ann Devereux, 1823-1875, Journal of a Secesh Lady: The Diary of Catherine Ann Devereux Edmondston 1860-1866. Crabtree, Beth G and Patton, James W., (Raleigh, NC: North Carolina Division of Archives and History, 1979).http://nc-historical-publications.stores.yahoo.net/478.html
Leave a comment