it. William and his tidy, lady-like little spouse Hetty--a pair of wedded
lovers, if ever I saw one--set our table in their one room, half-way
between an un glazed window and a large wood-fire, such as is often
welcome. Thanks to the adjutant, we are provided with the social
magnificence of napkins; while (lest pride take too high a flight) our
table-cloth consists of two "New York Tribunes" and a "Leslie's
Pictorial." Every steamer brings us a clean table-cloth. Here are we
forever supplied with pork and oysters and sweet potatoes and rice and
hominy and corn-bread and milk; also mysterious griddle-cakes of corn
and pumpkin; also preserves made of pumpkin-chips, and other fanciful
productions of Ethiop art. Mr. E. promised the
plantation-superintendents who should come down here "all the luxuries
of home," and we certainly have much apparent, if little real variety.
Once William produced with some palpitation something fricasseed, which
he boldly termed chicken; it was very small, and seemed in some
undeveloped condition of ante-natal toughness. After the meal he frankly
avowed it for a squirrel.


December 5, 1862.

Give these people their tongues, their feet, and their leisure, and
they are happy. At every twilight the air is full of singing, talking,
and clapping of hands in unison. One of their favorite songs is full
of plaintive cadences; it is not, I think, a Methodist tune, and I
wonder where they obtained a chant of such beauty.

"I can't stay behind, my Lord, I can't stay behind!
O, my father is gone, my father is gone,
My father is gone into heaven, my Lord!