18.I subsequently, however, saw several badly-neglected cotton fields. The very intelligent correspondent of the BostonAdvertiser(Mr. Sidney Andrews,) writing from Beaufort, in July, likewise found ill-tilled plantations. He says:“Some of the cotton and corn fields, through which we passed, were in a decidedly bad state of cultivation, others better, but hardly any quite satisfactory, until we reached the plantation to which our journey was directed. Then the appearance of the crops suddenly changed; the fields were free from weeds, the cotton plants healthy, and the corn fields promising a heavy yield. Everything bespoke thrift and industry. We passed through a most beautiful grove of live-oaks, with its graceful festoons of gray moss—under the shadow of the trees a roomy log cabin, in which a colored preacher was addressing an audience of devout negroes, for it was Sunday—until, at last, we found the ‘mansion,’ surrounded with live-oaks and magnolia trees. The estate had, before the war, belonged to one of the wealthiest planters of that region, who had gone to parts unknown as soon as the blue jackets threatened their descent upon Beaufort. It struck me as singular that a man of such wealth, as he was reputed to possess, should have lived in a house so small and unpretending, as in the North would be considered as belonging to a forty-acre farm; but such was the case.”
18.I subsequently, however, saw several badly-neglected cotton fields. The very intelligent correspondent of the BostonAdvertiser(Mr. Sidney Andrews,) writing from Beaufort, in July, likewise found ill-tilled plantations. He says:
“Some of the cotton and corn fields, through which we passed, were in a decidedly bad state of cultivation, others better, but hardly any quite satisfactory, until we reached the plantation to which our journey was directed. Then the appearance of the crops suddenly changed; the fields were free from weeds, the cotton plants healthy, and the corn fields promising a heavy yield. Everything bespoke thrift and industry. We passed through a most beautiful grove of live-oaks, with its graceful festoons of gray moss—under the shadow of the trees a roomy log cabin, in which a colored preacher was addressing an audience of devout negroes, for it was Sunday—until, at last, we found the ‘mansion,’ surrounded with live-oaks and magnolia trees. The estate had, before the war, belonged to one of the wealthiest planters of that region, who had gone to parts unknown as soon as the blue jackets threatened their descent upon Beaufort. It struck me as singular that a man of such wealth, as he was reputed to possess, should have lived in a house so small and unpretending, as in the North would be considered as belonging to a forty-acre farm; but such was the case.”
19.The correspondent of the BostonAdvertisergives the following Sea Island incident, which occurred in July:“While we were conversing with the lessee, we observed a negro woman, with two children, leaning against the railing of the Verandah. Her countenance wore so sad a look that we asked for the cause. The story was mournful enough. She had been sick. Another woman had come into her house to attend to her work. Her husband, Tony, had taken a fancy to the other woman. After awhile, he had gone away and ‘married her.’ She had insisted upon his remaining with her. He had done so, for some time, and then gone off again to live with the other wife. Where was her husband? ‘He was in the meeting-house, yonder, praying.’ Of course, they had been slaves, had but recently left the ‘old plantation,’ where such things were little more than matters of course. The vices of the negro are the vices of the slave. When ‘Tony’ will know what it is to be a freeman, he will know, also, that it will not do to have two wives, and to go praying, while one of his wives, with her and his children, are standing by the side of the meeting-house, weeping over his inconstancy.”
19.The correspondent of the BostonAdvertisergives the following Sea Island incident, which occurred in July:
“While we were conversing with the lessee, we observed a negro woman, with two children, leaning against the railing of the Verandah. Her countenance wore so sad a look that we asked for the cause. The story was mournful enough. She had been sick. Another woman had come into her house to attend to her work. Her husband, Tony, had taken a fancy to the other woman. After awhile, he had gone away and ‘married her.’ She had insisted upon his remaining with her. He had done so, for some time, and then gone off again to live with the other wife. Where was her husband? ‘He was in the meeting-house, yonder, praying.’ Of course, they had been slaves, had but recently left the ‘old plantation,’ where such things were little more than matters of course. The vices of the negro are the vices of the slave. When ‘Tony’ will know what it is to be a freeman, he will know, also, that it will not do to have two wives, and to go praying, while one of his wives, with her and his children, are standing by the side of the meeting-house, weeping over his inconstancy.”