Celebrating in 1830-60s America - Music & Dance by William Sidney Mount 1807-1868

William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) Catching the Tune 1866-7

William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) Dance of the Haymakers 1845


The Irish tradition of "dancing a jig" in the Middle Atlantic was noted by a newspaper reporter in the middle of the century.  In 1848, a reporter for the New York Tribune visited a hotel in Philadelphia's Southwark district where working-class men & women came to drink & dance. When the "old negro fiddler" strikes up a tune in a dancing-room upstairs, the reporter records,

"The dance proceeds for a few minutes in tolerable order; but soon the excitement grows, the dancers begin … accelerating their movements, accompanied with shouts of laughter, yells of encouragement and applause, … Affairs are now at their height. The black fiddler increases the momentum of his elbow and calls out the figure in convulsive efforts to be heard [while] the dancers, now wild with excitement, leap frantically about … and at length conclude the dance in the wildest disorder and confusion. As soon as the parties recover, the fiddler makes his appearance among them and receives from each gentleman a tip as his proportion of the ceremony of 'facing the music,' and the floor is cleared for a new set; and so goes on the night."


William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) Right and Left 1850


William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) Dancing on the Barn Floor 1831


William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) The Banjo Player 1856


William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) Rustic Dance After a Sleigh Ride 1830


William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) The Bone Player 1856


William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) The Breakdown Bar Room Scene 1835

William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) Just in Time


William Sidney Mount (American painter, 1807-1868) The Power of Music 1847

William Sidney Mount (American genre painter, 1807-1868)  The Banjo Player 1856

Lydia Ann Meals account of the Battle of Gettysburg

Pickett’s Charge, Battle of Gettysburg 1863 by Charles Prosper Sainton.

Lydia Ann Meals was 20 years old in July of 1863.  This account was written late in her life, and is relatively short.   In her memories she recalls having to evacuate her home, and recounts the occupying Confederates sacking her house and ruining her possessions, which gets her mad enough to go toe to toe with a soldier.

Reminiscences of the Battle of Gettysburg, July 1, 1863

Lest we forget kindness shown us

After seeing the Army of the Potomac as they marched across what is now called "Confederate Avenue" and having seen a large number of Union Cavalry cutting across the fields, in order to join the main Army on the Chambersburg Pike, as well as hundreds of the Union Infantry on the same way, we decided to leave our home and go to a relative living quite near us. 

Several of our men who had stopped to fill their canteens with water asked if they might leave their knapsacks with us, which they did. I should imagine at about three o'clock the place at which we were stopped was surrounded by Rebels who were trying to rob two or three bee hives, how I did wish them all to be stung, (nice of me was it not?) but on a second our attention was taken up by the sight of a fire in the direction of our home. 

When mother [Nancy Meals] said "Lydia, I believe that is our place, and we will have to see. I said "among the Rebels," not knowing that we were surrounded by them. Some one back of me said, "where do you live miss?" I told him. "No, it is not your home, it is further away (as I found out afterward it was a house that was fired by the Confederates to oust some union Sharpshooters), but I will go with you if you are afraid." 

So we started. It took us about fifteen minutes, when we found our home in the hands of the enemy, who left the house when they saw us. Mother went up stairs with a pair of tongs. I picked up the remains of my best hat and parasol. I was very angry, one of the young rebels standing by eating an onion as we would eat an apple, said "have you any friends in the Army?" "Yes" I said "a brother in the Artillery no doubt fighting against you: The rebel was in A.P. Hill's Corps, just below in camp. Said the soldier, "how I would like to capture him. Said I, "it would take braver blood than you have to capture a brother of mine." 

Then mother came to the door with a lot of clothes in her tongs, which the rebels had left in exchange for clean clothing of my brothers who were in the Union Army and we had forgotten in our flight from home. "Hush" she said, "they might kill you," After a while a soldier who was in the yard, came to the door. We did not go to the door but looked through the window. In a moment there was not a Rebel to be seen. General Lee on horseback with two or three guards.

From In the Swan's Shadow

Gettysburg Storekeeper Mary McAllister's account of the Battle

Mary McAllister was a citizen of Gettysburg who later in life gave her account of her experiences during the Battle of Gettysburg.  Mary was a store owner in town, and in 1863 was unmarried at 41 years of age.  She and her sister get caught up in the chaos of the battle in town, trying to care for the wounded and dying in the town.  Excerpted here is her recollections of the second day's battle.

July 2
A surgeon came over the next morning and he said, “We regret terribly about our Chaplain.  He was one of the best men.”  They had carried him into the yard and buried him.  His name was Rev. Horatio S. Howell (90th Pa. Inf.).  Well, we went through that first night as best we could.  

Next day, the second day of the battle, we went to work-for the rebels, too.  Martha cooked and did what she could and I undertook to bake bread.  I went on the street and the wounded begged so hard for bread and butter that I started to go to Scott’s, down the street, to try to find milk or butter.  Next, then, the wounded officers upstairs were making me go for some liquor some place and I went to Dr. Horner. He said, “Go to Alex Buehler’s drug store.”  So I went.  Alex said he would give me fifty cents worth in their canteen and he filled it.  Then there came a shell into their house and knocked a hole in the side of the front door, through the wall.  “Well!” he said, “you will be killed if you stay.”  As I went out, he said, “Don’t let them see it!”  

I think Col. Thompson (LtCol James McLean Thomson, 107th Pa.) was upstairs and two others.  One, a Capt. Gish (Capt. Jacob V. Gish, Co. B, 107 Pa.), was shot through the leg.  But they took the whiskey and divided it and you can tell it brought song.  So I never went for any more.  

The wounded ones downstairs were the ones I was most interested in.  All this time one poor man suffered awful.  He was struck with a bullet and it came around.  You could see it in his back.  I went into Mrs. Belle King’s where there was a good many surgeons and I begged them to come over and look at this man.  I said, “You can take the bullet out for you can see it.”  But they would not come and I threatened to report them and one of them sassed me a little.  Then I got Dr. Robert Horner (civilian physician of Gettysburg).  We had no light.  The gas was out and we had no lamps.  So Martha thought of twisting paper and dipping it in lard.  I held the lighted paper while the doctor took the bullet out. It was all ragged and the doctor gave it to the man and said, “There, take that and put it in your knapsack for a keep-sake.”  The man said, “I feel better already!”  I put wet cloths on the wound.  

In my store I then traded in meats and bacon from the country people.  In a corner of the basement I threw some pieces of bacon on the floor and piled some old sacks over them.  The rebels had full sway through here, but the rebels were actually good to us.  They went to Boyer’s store at the corner and got cod fish and wanted us to cook them and Martha did.  Then other rebels came and went down to the basement.  This was after they had taken the wounded men out of the basement to the church.  They did that at night.  Well, I had barrels of molasses in the basement – a whole lot of it. The rebels drew out that molasses in crocks and carried it out.  (Note:  Miss Mary told me the “crocks” were new chambers which they had taken from the shelves of her store, but she thought I ought to write “crocks”).  At last I went down with a bucket and I said, “You must give me some of that molasses.”  Well, they said they needed it worse, but they took my bucket and drew it full, though they objected.  Mrs. King would sass them like everything, and she said, “Well, I see you are not very particular about what kind of molasses jars you use.”  “If you were as hungry as we are,” they said, “you would not care.”  I had just got in another barrel of molasses the week before and it was still at the warehouse.  They stole all my tea but I had some hid and I had some coffee.  About all I lived on was strong tea and crackers.  

Five surgeons stayed with us.  They told Martha she would have to cook for them.  So every now and then I would get this side meat from the basement and we baked cake with some shortening, baked it on a griddle on top of the stove.  As fast as I got it baked, they ate it up.  On the evening of the second day’s battle a rebel came and said he was going to guard us.  Then he got another one (Confederate soldier) and he got very sassy.  I ordered him out but he said he was not going to go, and he was ugly (in his speech).  He would taunt the wounded Union men.  I went out on the street and halted an officer.  He jumped off his horse.  I said, “There are two of your men upstairs and I want you to take them out.”  “Hi!” he says, “you got some Yanks up here, treating them fine, too.”  He did not deign to talk to those rebels, but asked what they wanted.  “Well,” one said, “she ordered us out and she got a little lippy.”  The rebel officer said, “I wish every one of them were out, but at the same time you get out.”  “Now,” he says to me, “you get me something to eat.  I have not had anything for a few days.”  So I took him back and there were these surgeons sitting around the table and all we had was bacon and bread and molasses.  He only ate a little bread and meat, then he called for a clean plate and took a piece of pie with a great flourish.  When he was done, he never said a word, but went out.  They (the surgeons) would have liked to know who he was, but did not ask him.

From In the Swan's Shadow

Sarah Barrett King's account of July 3, 1863 at Gettysburg

Battle of Gettysburg 

Sarah Barrett King lived on the east end of Gettysburg at the time of the battle.  On the first day's fighting she and her family are forced to abandon their home and seek shelter with their neighbors, as their house becomes occupied by Confederates.  She writes of her stay with her neighbors and some of the odd experiences she had while away from the house.  

Friday, July 3, 1863. 

Friday we were surprised to see Rebs planting a battery in front of the house but some distance away.  I called Mrs. Rhinehart's attention to it and she went out.  A Union shell dropped in their midst and the battery was removed.  They told Mrs. Rhinehart that they thought the house was unoccupied and that we had better leave.  Minnie balls were falling around and against the house and they said the Union men would think sharpshooters were in it and direct their guns to the house. 

We were all in the cellar, Mrs. Bender and her children and a young girl, Mrs. Warner, a sister of Mr. John Bender, my mother myself and five children with Mrs. Rhinehart and her family.  She herself was baking.  She came in the door leading to the cellar and called to us women, saying "there were Rebs here and they said we had better leave or we would be killed."  "What are you going to do about it?"  I said,  "what are you going to do?"  She replied, "I am going to stay.  I told them I would be killed if I left and I might as well be killed in the house."  I said, "I will stay."

We stayed in the cellar while the skirmish fight was taking place.  Whenever there was a lull we went up to look around.  The lot west of her house had many riderless horses, wounded and in agony.

The Rebs brought a wounded Michigan soldier by the name of Smith and laid him down on the porch, saying   he was a wounded Yank.  Mother was a good person at such work and without assistance we had him in comfortable shape very soon, gave him some bread out of our basket which he enjoyed and was grateful for.    Mr. Smith was taken to Miller's where there was other wounded.  Afterwards he went to Aunt Polly Culp, living across the street from us and he was cared for by her until he returned to his home in Michigan. 

In the morning of the cavalry fight a very fine-looking cavalryman dressed in light homespun butternut uniform stopped and asked which direction the soldiers had taken.  We told him.  In a few hours his body was brought to [our] house the blood flowing and he was laid on the porch.    He was an officer by the name of Sweet from Virginia.  We were told afterwards that he was carried away quickly but we never knew where. 

Thursday just before dinner a Louisiana Tiger rode to the front of the lawn tying his horse to a fine apple tree.  We saw him coming dressed in brown corduroy suit and fully equipped, looking finely.  I had to laugh myself at his style.  Mrs. Rhinehart received him as if he were an old neighbor.  He ordered his horse fed and a good dinner, saying "He had been to every house since leaving Gettysburg and couldn't get anything to eat and General Lee had said they should ask for food and if they would not give it he should demand it and that was what he was going to do.  He wanted a good dinner.  She asked him, "What do you call a good dinner?"  He replied, "chicken."  "Oh my," she said, "chicken.  Why you have chased all the chickens off."  "Go out and shoot it if you can find one" and then "Is there nothing else you think good." "Yes," he said "some nice ham".  "Well I have that", she said.  The soldier said "I will lie down and sleep until it is ready".  "All right," said Mrs. Rhinehart, opening the door leading to a bed room.  "I will go upstairs." he said.  It was not many minutes before she called him.  He was ready to come down.  Mrs. Rhinehart said, "he didn't want to sleep, he was hunting, I expect he has found the boy's clothes, but he didn't want to sleep." 

Mrs. R. was cooking summer turnips for our dinner.  They were not done in time for the Tiger.  She asked me to sit down with the guest.  He struggled some time with the ham and finally gave up the undertaking, substituting coffee.  The bread, he told her, was not fit to eat, and he added, "Madam, I can go to any cabin in Virginia, poor or desolate as it is, from Winchester to Richmond, with not a fence standing, and get a better than this."  She replied, "Oh, you have all that you came for," and he left.  We thought he wanted to find money.  He either did not find the clothing or didn't want it.  Nothing was missed but a thorough search had been made.  At this time Mrs. Rhinehart had coops of chickens ready for the market man. He didn't come so she hid them.  She had none for Rebs. 

Before the Tiger left as we had no news we asked him how the battle was going.  He said, "Union men badly whipped, dead and wounded everywhere.  Every house a hospital.  I expressed a wish to be home and he offered to take some of my children on his horse but I thanked him.  I would not leave behind the others.  The Rhinehart girls never knew fear after that visit.  Later others came for some milk and they seemed to enjoy the visit.

Mrs. Rhinehart located the great cannon duel before Pickett's charge.  We thought it was thunder.  "No," she said.  "That is cannon near Round Top." 

The night after the skirmish fight or cavalry fight she succeeded in heating her oven and had her bread in baking.  We had all gathered in her dining room to talk over the terrible day, didn't think of eating.  I was sitting in the window that opened on the lawn.  I think it was 9 o'clock or near that time.  A soldier on horseback brushed by the window coming around the north side of the house.  Others followed until it seemed a regiment gathered there. 

Mrs. Rhinehart, with her little short pipe in her mouth, went forward.  They said, "Mother, can't you give us something to eat?"  "Well," she said, "I just put my bread in the oven.  You fellows kept fighting all day I couldn't get my bread baked."  They went to the oven and pulled loaf after loaf out, tearing them open.  The dough was not baked inside and fell to the floor.  They said, "can't you bake it?" She replied, "there is the stove, put it on and bake it."  They wanted butter and she said, "Why, you drove off my cows.  How could I have butter?  I have apple butter."  She gave them that.  They were fond of it and some of them wanted to take the apple jack to camp.    While they were feasting two men in gray uniforms with black stripes came to me and said; "Madam, we will sit on your stoop tonight and guard your house.  Of course we can't take care of the barn and garden," and added, "That is unless General Lee does not attempt to take Culp's Hill tonight."  We felt perfectly safe then. 

Not five minutes after there was a whisper in the room and one after the other stepped out quietly and quickly.  going away in a southerly direction.  One more mystery was added to the day. 

From In the Swan's Shadow

Letter from 17 year old Jennie McCleary, a witness to the Battle of Gettysburg

Letter published in Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, July 02, 1938.  Reportedly Jennie was 17 years old at the time of the battle.  She is writing to her sister Julia, who lives back home in Kittanning (Armstrong County) with the rest of Jennie's family.

July, 22, 1863

My Dear Julia: 
Agnes wrote day before yesterday and I suppose has told you nearly everything concerning the battle. Perhaps I can tell you some things she may have forgotten or did not hear of. But indeed I scarcely know how to begin, so many things have happened and in so short a time that I have gotten things confused. It seems like more of a dream than reality. I wonder sometimes how we passed through it all with as little fear as we felt and so small an amount of damage done to our home, which was indeed nothing to speak of, only the tearing down of our fences. That was done by the rebels on the second day of the battle. They made a road all the way through town so that, as they said, it would be a way of retreat if the enemy conquered. 

But I had better begin with the first day of the battle and tell you all I can of it. On Tuesday, which was the day before the battle, we were all down at Huber's corner looking at some of our men who were passing through town on their way the mountain to attack the rebels there. There were 5,000 of Beauforts Cavalry with 20,000 infantry following. They, however, did not get there that day. The cavalry were ordered back to town before they got to the Mountain, as it was supposed the rebel force there was to great for them to attack. They encamped there that night. 

The next day we heard the rebels were just out of town. we did not know how many there were, nor how many of our own men were here either. About 9 o'clock every person was ordered to leave the street as it was supposed there would be a fight out at the ridge. We never expected a battle, thought it would only be an artillery duel or something of that kind. kate and I went on the roof of the house watching it. We could not see the rebels and only part of our men. We saw shells fly in the air and then burst. We did not stay on the roof long; found the contest was going to be of a more serious nature than we at first supposed. 

We had been downstairs but a few minutes later when we saw an officer dash up the street and order ambulances to carry the wounded from the fields. Next came a soldier wounded in the arm and then an officer on horseback. He wore no hat, his head was tied up blood streaming down his neck. I then went over to Weaver's to help them roll bandages. We had not rolled many before we saw the street filled with wounded men. Men wounded in arms, limbs, head and breast. Oh, it was sickening to see them and hear their groans. Weaver's house was soon filled. I never thought I could do anything about a wounded man but I find I have a little more nerve than I thought I had. I could look at the wounds, bathe them, bind them up without feeling least bit shock of nervous. The tears came only once and that was when the first soldier came in the house. He had walked from the field and was almost exhausted. He threw himself in the chair and said, "Oh girls, I have as good a home as you. If I were only there!" He fainted directly afterward. That was the only time I cried. 

At first we thought our men would be victorious, as they had brought quite a number of rebel prisoners into town, but it was not long after we found out different. General Reynolds who had the plan of attack, was killed shortly after the battle commenced. He attacked them rather recklessly, too, I think. his command was but a small one and they were worn out with hard marching and then he was not aware that the rebel force was so large. After he was killed, General Doubleday took command but things went wrong with our soldier all day. It was about 12 o'clock when we were told to go to the cellar, the rebels were entering the town. If ever I wished myself at home I did then. There I was, the only one of our family shut down in a damp, dark hole with crying children and a poor young soldier who had received three wounds and had not yet been attended to and though he seemed to try his best could not keep from groaning. I cannot tell what my feelings were then. To be in that place, to know the rebels were in town, to hear shells bursting and expecting every minute they would fall on the house, was indeed horrible. If I had been with the rest I would not know were or what was happening to them. We were down in the cellar about two hours. 

While there a good many of our soldiers were killed in our street. I saw two dead ones lying in McCurdy's alley when I crossed the street to go home. Four of our men were carrying a wounded soldier down the street when a ball came along and took the legs off the two front men. There were some rebels killed too. kate and i were down at the end of our street the Sunday after the battle, when we saw the dead rebels that had been lying there since Wednesday. 

When I went home I found two wounded men at our house. Col Leonard shot in the arm and Dr parker slightly in the head. They are both from Massachusetts. Dr parker was wounded whilst coming down the college church steps. One of the rebel sharpshooters fired on him from Boyer's corner, the same ball that struck him killed the chaplin that regiment. All that day our house was full of soldiers, all wanting something to eat. That day we gave then everything we had and what do you think we had to eat the rest of the week? Nothing but bread and molasses and coffee without milk. I must say we felt rather poverty stricken. If we had been by ourselves it would have been nothing but to seat from 12 to 15 men to a table like that , with bread and molasses breakfast, molasses and bread for dinner and the same for supper was anything but agreeable, but they were very well satisfied to get even that. 

The next day of the battle, which was Thursday, we heard nothing but a continual roar of cannons and musketry. The firing began about 4 in the morning and lasted until dark. Our forces were on the cemetery hill and Round Top. We did not mind the shells so much, we were getting used to them. The greatest danger was from the sharpshooters. Early that morning some of the men we had overnight , I think that the chaplin, a couple of surgeons and the colonel were standing on the porch when a ball came and struck just above their heads. Indeed i had to laugh to see them jump, although it was not a laughing matter, for if it had been a little lower it would have struck one of them.They did not appear to mind it at all, laughed at themselves for jumping. A good many shells were thrown into town that day and came from our own men. The rebels had possession of the town and as there were a great many collected in the diamond they fired on them. We were not in much danger that day, all we had to do was keep in the house and run to the cellar when the shells became thickest. We retired about 11 o'clock. 

All were in bed but myself when there was a rap at the door. Papa got up and went to the door. There were two rebels there. They said that General Trimble and three of his aids wanted supper and lodging. Well, all we could do was get what we had for supper and made a place for them to sleep, although our house was full already. After we had fixed everything his aides came to say the General had concluded to stay where he was. They however took supper and went away. After they were gone Kate and I were standing in the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. kate went and there were two of our soldiers wanting bread. They had not gone when someone knocked at the other door. I opened it and three rebels asked for bread and permission to sleep in the kitchen. I gave then bread but of course did not let them stay all night. 

That night the rebels tried to break in the house but Captain Palmer, the one who is still here, called to them and told them it was a hospital and they went away. I must tell you about General Trimble. He was wounded in Friday's battle, had his leg amputated and was at the college hospital and very anxious to be brought to tow.. mcCurdy had him brought to their house. He had been there nearly two weeks when yesterday he was ordered taken to the hospital . He was very angry about it.When the surgeon went into his room he said: "General I have orders to take you to Seminary Hospital" Well the General refused to go and said it was certain death to go there. "Well, but General, my orders are to take you there" "Well", said the General, "give ne a week to stay yet" "General , I am ordered to take you now." "Well give me four days" "General you have been in the army long enough to kow orders must be obeyed". "Well give me until tomorrow then" "General the ambulance is at the door and you must go now" "Well is General Paul to be moved?" " General Paul is very comfortable where he is." The General was terribly angry and said it would not always be this way and they would retaliate. 

The third day of the battle was comparatively quiet, until about three in the afternoon and the cannonading began and such cannonading no one ever heard. Nothing can be compared to it. No one who has heard it can form any idea of how terrible it is. All felt that the day must decide who should conquer. The firing was kept up until sometime after dark, it never for a moment ceased. During the night we knew we were victorious, we saw the rebel train moving off. In the morning not a rebel was to be seen. How happy everyone felt. None but smiling faces were to be seen then. It was indeed a joyous fourth for us. " I wish you could be here now, "tis not the same quiet old place it was when you were here. The streets are always full of strangers, soldiers , ambulances and government wagons. 
Frank was here a week before last from Thursday until Monday. Richard is here now, is the leader of a band that belongs to one of the regiments here. We got Mr Earnest's note late evening. papa had gone to bed, was not all that well. I opened the letter, just expected what was in it. I knew he was drafted, that his congregation thought too much of him to let him go. Will he be here now? Oh I have so much to tell you but my sheet is full and I am so tired writing. I know you will excuse bad writing, have been writing so long my hand trembles. You ought to see Uncle Samuels house. It is just riddled with shot.

Give my love to every person. kiss dear little alice and paul for me. Write soon, Your sister, Jennie. - 

From In the Swan's Shadow

Woman's Work - November, 1859 Diary of Sarah Young Bovard, 31-year-old mother of 8 in Scott County, Indiana

About the writer: Sarah Waldsmith Young was born on February 21, 1828 in Hamilton County, Ohio. She was the daughter of Abner Young, born 1799 in Maine, and Jane Waldsmith, born 1806 in Hamilton County, Ohio. Her husband James W. Bovard had been born in Steubenville, Ohio in 1828. They married February 29, 1844 in the small crossroads town of Alpha in Scott County, Indiana, which was nestled in southern Indiana.

By the time she began her diary in 1859 at age 31, she had eight children: Oliver William, February 9, 1845
Marion McKinley, January 11, 1847
Maria Jane, February 4, 1849
Freeman Daily, January 9, 1851
Melville Young; December 6, 1852
Abner Sinclair, October 13, 1854
George Finley, August 8, 1856
James Carvossa, July 20, 1858.

One of her children had died before she began writing her diary. Oliver William Bovard died Nov. 11, 1857 at 12 years, 8 months and 6 days old. By 1866, Sarah would have four more children, two would go on to become college presidents.

Diary of November, 1859

NOVEMBER 3, 1859: I commence early to boil syrup, boil all day. Catherine and children comes-stays all day--warm and pleasant. Go in the afternoon to grind cane. Mother comes in the evening.

Note:
Sarah was boiling cane juice to make cane syrup. Syrup-making is a cold-weather task. The cane is cut close to the first heavy frost. Cold weather increases the sweetness of the juice, a delay would cause it to sour or ferment. As soon as the cane is cut, the grinding and pressing begins to extract the cane juice. Sarah talked of going to grind cane in the afternoon. Apparently there was someone nearby who had a mill or animal-driven crushing device. Cane syrup, molasses, and brown sugar all start with the juice squeezed from sugar cane stalks. The cane juice itself is only faintly sweet, and the original color is an unappetizing murky gray. To make cane syrup, the raw cane juice is boiled to evaporate the liquids and stabilize the sugars; the result is sweeter than molasses, with a rich caramel flavor. Sarah would boil her cane juice for hours in a kettle regularly skimming it to remove impurites. As it boils and thickens, dirt, leaves, bits of stalk, wax, and bark roll to the suface. Sarah might use a coarse collander attached to a long wooden pole as a skimmer. After each skim, she would probably lift the syrup and let it spill back into the kettle to hasten the evaporation. The boiling juice slowly thickens to syrup over the course of several hours. It's nearly finished when a spoonful of it runs down a sloping pan at a slow speed. The syrup is now a rich golden color. Probably Sarah would filter her syrup one last time, blazing hot, through a bed sheet into another kettle. After it cooled a bit, she finally would pour it into waiting mason jars or crocks.

NOVEMBER 4, 1859: Pleasant morning. I boil syrup cane juice till noon, then wash and warp my jeans at night. James helps me. Pap and mother went to Paris to day. Mother bought a fine shawl---$6.30. Clear day but very windy and smoky. Dry time--we wish it would rain.

Note:
Paris, Indiana is about 15 miles northeast of Jennings Township.

NOVEMBER 6, 1859: Very smoky. Sleep late. My throat is sore--bad cold. Brother Moses and family goes home to day. James goes with me to Gilead to meeting. Mr. Potts preaches--his text was "Enoch walking with God 300 years and then was not for God took him." Come home late. All well, we left little Jimmy home with the rest of the children. I write at night. The children reads their books and make noise enough.

Note:
After visiting for 11 days, Sarah's brother, his pregnant wife, and his 4 children faced a long carriage ride back home. On December 26, Moses' wife Martha would give birth to their 5th child, George Buchanan Young.

NOVEMBER 9, 1859: Pleasant and warm. We beam our 40 yards of jeans--takes us one hour to beam it--put it through the gears and reed. Mother comes with some filling. James still works at fixing our house-the doors and windows. We begin to want rain very bad--the corn is turning yellow for want of rain.

Note:
Here are some weaving terms Sarah uses:
Warp are the threads running the length of the loom across which threads are woven.
Weft or filling are the threads which are woven crosswise to the warp to form the web.
A reed is a comb with both sides closed which fits into the beater. It spaces the warp threads evenly and beats the weft into place.
Beaming is winding the warp, which is spaced out to its weaving width, onto the warp beam.

NOVEMBER 14, 1859: Up early this morning--commence washing with frozen water. The children goes to school. I wash hard. Get done against 2 o'clock. Norwood Tobias is here for dinner. Mother goes by to Catherines. James goes to mill with corn to Mayfields then hauls wood. I weave at my jeans. We are all well.

Notes:
Norwood Tobias was the 21 year old son of neighbors William H. Tobias from Ohio and Sarah Sally Kashow from New Jersey who had married in Jennings County, Indiana, in 1835.

Catherine was Sarah's sister. Issa Mayfield, 46, was a nearby widower who lived on a farm with his 4 children aged 12 to 6.

NOVEMBER 18, 1859: Rained all day--commenced before daylight. James commenced his sled--went to paps for an auger--took their salt home. I wove all day. James quilted some. We are glad to see it rain. Jimmy went barefooted. He is a good boy--I do not get to nurse him much. I do not get to read my Bible enough--too much work to do.

Note:
Surprised to see her husband quilting. Her baby James Carvossa had been born on July 20, 1858. Baby James would die after Sarah stopped her diary, on July 20, 1864.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1859: Cloudy, make a kettle of pumpkin butter--very good. I weave some. Mother comes out awhile. I fill quilts. Maria Jane irons, James finishes his sled. Marion went to the [post] office. Freeman and Melville and Aby and George all disobedient children. I hope they will get better.

Notes:
Pumpkin butter is thicker than apple butter and usually eaten as a spread on breads. The taste depends on what spices you have on hand; the recipe is very easy. The mixture is so thick, that it is splattery when cooking and must be stirred constantly. Bring it to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for about 30 minutes.3 1/2 cups of pumpkin, pureed 3/4 cup apple juice 1 - 2 teaspoons ground ginger 1/2 teaspoon ground cloves 1 cup sugar 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

Not sure how Sarah stored her pumpkin butter. With so much family living nearby and her own family of ten, perhaps it disappeared quickly. If she did store it, I hope she used a boiling water bath to can it, because in the 19th century, the govenment did not tell you what to worry about. Today the USDA recommends not canning pureed pumpkin, because the density and pH vary too much-- which can lead to botulism. The 21st century advice seems to be to freeze or refrigerate pumpkin butters. No freezers in Sarah's day.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1859 ; Blessed Sabbath morning. We are all well as common. Up late this morning. James and I went to Gilead to meeting. Brother Potts preached. His text was, "Ye are my friends as long as you do whatsoever I command you."--5 chapter and 14th verse of St. John.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1859: Up early this morning. James goes to husk corn for Mrs. Miller, then hauls corn in the afternoon. I weave hard afternoon and mind the children, cook dinner, sweep, wash in the forenoon, sew at night thinking how much work I have to do and how to get it done.

Note:
Mary Miller was an 80 year old widow who was born in Virginia and lived with a 35 year old William Miller and a young housekeeper in Jennings Township, Scott County, Indiana.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1859 This is Thanksgiving Day. I feel thankful that all is as well with us as what it is. Pap and mother have gone to Deborah's to day. Cool, and cloudy. James hauls rails for his fence--then is very sick at night. I weave all day--almost out of heart. So much to do here. Here comes Mary Ann Tobias with Ruth's jeans. My thoughts don't get much rest.

Notes:
Mary Ann Tobias, 23, was Mary Ann Whitsett who married John J. Tobias, 26, in Scott County, Indiana in 1854. They lived nearby in Alpha and had one child at this time, Edward who was nearly 2.

Ruth was probably Ruth Ann Kashow, 34, who married William Jefferson Young, 30, Sarah's brother. They lived in Jennings Township, Scott County, with their 4 children: Maurice Pierce, 7; Eleanora, 5; Viola Jane, 3; and William Arthur, 1.

No Thanksgiving celebration on this day.

TUESDAY NOVEMBER 29, 1859: Up early and off to town. Beautiful day, warm sun--some streaked white clouds-cool air-white frost. The children goes to stay with Catherine (her sister.) Isaac goes to town. We get to town before sun down. James stays at the tavern and I stay at Mrs. Byrds. I seen and heard many things, but with very little satisfaction amid poor encouragement. This is a very wicked world, but I do not see much of it. I did not sleep much. The boats made such a noise and I was uneasy about home and children.

Notes:
James and Sarah traveled to Madison, Indiana, on the Ohio River. They dropped 7 of their 8 childern off to spend the night with her sister, Catherine Sampson, who had 2 of her own.

Isaac Sampson, Catherine's husband, traveled with them.

James and Isaac spent the night at a tavern/inn. Sarah and her nursing baby boarded at a local home.

Madison was about 25 miles from home. Madison is located on the north bank of the Ohio River 46 miles upstream from Louisville Ky, and 88 miles downstream from Cincinnati Ohio. It prospered in the 1st half of the 19th century, when river travel conveyed goods and people into the midwest. It began to decline in the 1850s as railroads began to criss cross the land.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1859: Leave town (Madison) at half past 9--sick and tired. Not enough money to buy what I need. James (husband) buys 5c worth of cake and l0c worth of cheese. We get home just dusk-the roads very good. We stopped at Julia Roseberry's a few minutes. A beautiful warn day--begins to look like rain in the evening. The children all well--done well. Marion (son, 12) and Maria Jane (daughter, 10) goes to a spelling to night. I slept very sound last night was very tired. Little Jimmy (son, 1) was such a good babe at town--never cried to trouble me any. I bought Maria Jane a shawl for $l.25. Caroline McLain come home with Maria Jane from spelling.

Notes:
Julia Roseberry was Sarah's aunt. Sarah's mother Jane Waldsmith's sister Julia Ann Waldsmith (b 1819) married Samuel Roseberry (b 1817) in 1841. They lived about 14 miles away in Jefferson County, Indiana.

You might enjoy reading Sarah Bovard's Diary from its beginning in January of 1859. Free websites containing all diary entries include: http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~inscott/BovardDiary.html.

An Old Irishman tells about Christmas in America in the 1850s-60s

Edward o'Neill born 1858 in Brookfield, Massachusetts
Remembers Christmas past in 1938
American Life Histories: Manuscripts from the Federal Writers' Project, 1936-1940
Interview by Louise G. Bassett for the Living Lore section.

Edward o'Neil was born in Brookfield, Massachusetts, the son of Daniel o'Neil, an Irish immigrant and Sarah Pritchard, daughter of a foreign missionary. Daniel o'Neil a railroad worker and farmer was a hard bitten man with little education and a decided contempt for any on who had. Mrs. o'Neil was gentle and sweet, but completely terrified by her domineering husband. For years they lived in a small house in an isolated part of Brookfield. Edward o'Neil has always lived in Brookfield. When very young he refused to go to school and no one in the family made him. He has never done much work - odd jobs now and again, but has depended on his hardworking sisters to keep him. He scorns any part in the community affairs except to criticize - something he does well and often. Edward o'Neil, Brookfield, Massachusetts. His only "special skills" are negative - a large and colorful vocabulary of cuss words and a flaming temper which he does not attempt to control.

An Old Irishman tells about Christmas

Edward o'Neil, who lives on the "old North Brookfield road, is one of Brookfield's oldest but most vigorous inhabitants.

I met him the other day just as he was finishing a five mile walk, his hands full of bitter-sweet, lovelier than I have ever seen around here. "Oh, where did you get it," I exclaimed. "I won't tell you," he snapped at me," if I did - you'd tell some one else - then they'd tell someone and purtty soon every fool in town would be goin' there to get some an' there wouldn't be none left. I like it myself an' I'm goin' to keep it fer myself long's I kin. I'll give you a piece though, long's you want some so bad." He selected a long branch with care.

"I'm saving this for Christmas" he added.

"What was the first Christmas you actually remember?" I asked.  In his faded eyes I saw a far off dreamy look.

"The first Christmas I remember was when I was four years old. The reason I remember it was because my mother gave me a big lump of brown sugar with a few drops of peppermint on it. I nibbled at that sugar a little bit at a time all day long and I can taste that peppermint to this day. You see, we were sort of pioneer people and we didn't have much - nor not much to get anything with. Every winter in my early days was hard times.

"The only other present my mother had to give that Christmas was a quarter of a dried orange peel and she give it to my sister to put in her bureau drawer to make her clothes smell sweet. My father didn't know much about Christmas. He'd been brought up by the Indians. His parents had been killed by redskins and he lived with the Indians until he was nearly twenty. My mother's parents were missionaries and of course she knew all about Christmas.

"I don't remember much about the Christmas's that came after that one when I got the lump of sugar with the peppermint on it, until I was twelve years old when my father gave me six boughten fish hooks. We made most of our fish hooks by forein' 'em ourselves before the fire. About that time my father got to flat boatin' down the river. Some time he'd be gone three or four months and when he came back he'd bring back things like store clothes and boots, and once he brought me a tie and then my mother'd hide 'em away and keep 'em and give 'em to us for Christmas. And from September 'till Christmas us kids'd have lots of fun huntin' around over the house and wonderin' what we was goin' to get.

"When I was fifteen my mother gave me a rifle of my own for Christmas. My father'd got it in Boston and this, with the exception of the one when I got the peppermint sugar, was my best Christmas.

"I was a grown man almost twenty-one before I ever saw a Christmas tree. A German family moved near us and they had a tree every year. They dipped the little candles themselves, colored 'em red with poke berry ink and fastened 'em on the trees some-how with wild turkey ribs. I never'd seen anything so purty in my life as those Christmas trees. We had to work awful hard in them days but we had our fun same as we do now. Well, if I don't run acrost you again, I wish you Merry Christmas."

And away he went, being stopped at every half block by someone who wanted to know, "Where did you get that lovely bitter sweet?"

But he only snapped "I won't tell you."

Former slave Catherine Ferguson 1774-1854 devotes her life to neglected children in NYC

When former slave Catherine Ferguson, a New York City woman devoted to Christian education & the care of orphans, died in 1854, her death prompted this obituary written by Lewis Tappan, an eminent evangelical antislavery activist.  He tells of a child born a slave, whose mother was sold away by their New York master.   When she is finally freed, she devotes her long life to serving the Lord and to caring for neglected children. Tappan also claimed, that she was the first person to have founded a Sunday school in New York City.

Catherine Ferguson from Benson J. Lossing, Our Countrymen, Or Brief Memoirs of Eminent Americans (Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grambo & Co., 1855), 405.

New York Daily Tribune, July 20, 1854, p. 6
"Died, on Tuesday, 11th instant, at her house, 74 Thompson street, Widow Catharine Ferguson, after a brief illness, aged about 80 years.

"The departure of this remarkable woman should be commemorated by an obituary notice worthy of such a mother in Israel, and such an active, life-long, Christian philanthropist. It is hoped that a memoir will be presented to the public. Thousands in this community have heard of or known Katy Ferguson, the aged colored woman, who, in more vigorous life was the celebrated cake-maker for weddings and other social parties. But many who have eaten her unrivalled cake, and been edified by her sensible chat or pious discourse, may be ignorant of the eminent virtues and extraordinary good deeds which crowned her life. It is due, therefore, to the cause of Christ, of philanthropy, and the people of color especially, that her distinguished services should be recorded. The facts contained in this notice were taken down from Mrs. Ferguson’s own lips, March 25, 1850.

"Katy was born a slave. Her mother gave birth to her on her passage from Virginia to this city. Katy Williams—for that was her name—was “owned” by R. B., who lived on Water street, and was an elder in one of the New-York City Presbyterian Churches. “R. B.,” said Katy, “sold my mother away, but I remember that before we were torn asunder, she knelt down, laid her hand on my head, and gave me to God.”

"Katy never saw her mother again. Her mistress told her that if she was as good as her mother, she would do well. Katy felt keenly the loss of her mother. The recollection of her own anguish when separated from her, made her, she said, feel compassion for children. When ten years old, she told her master, R. B., that if he would give her her liberty, she would serve the Lord for ever. But he did not do it.

"Katy was never taught to read. “My mistress,” she said, “would not let me learn; and once she said to me, ‘You know more now than my daughters.’” One of her mistress’ sons asked Katy to teach him geography, etc. She exclaimed, “I can’t!” He replied, “Yes, you can; if I don’t read right in the Bible, or if I don’t say my catechism right, you tell quick enough.”

"At fourteen years of age she was converted to God. When under conviction of sin she determined to go and see the Rev. John M. Mason, whose church she then attended. She was afraid to go, was unwilling it should be known in the family that she went, and tremblingly apprehensive that she could not get access to Dr. Mason, or that he would not pay attention to her. She, however, summoned resolution enough to go. “While I stood at the door ringing the bell,” said she, “I can not describe my feelings; and when the door opened, and Dr. Mason himself stood before me, I trembled from head to foot. If he had spoken harshly to me, or had repulsed me, I should almost died of grief, and perhaps have lost my soul.” But the good man did not speak harshly to her, nor repulse her. Stern and apparently haughty as he was on some occasions, yet he possessed kind and tender feelings, as the writer well remembers. He united two qualities that are never found united, except in truly great men, high intellectual power and strong emotional feelings. Without waiting for the little trembling colored girl to say any thing, Dr. Mason said, “Have you come here to talk to me about your soul?” This greatly encouraged her. She went in and disclosed to the venerable man the secrets of her heart.

"When Katy was sixteen or seventeen years old, a lady in the city purchased her freedom for $200, giving her six years to reimburse her; but she afterwards agreed to allow her one half of the sum for eleven months’ work, and the late excellent Divie Bethune raised the other hundred dollars.

"At eighteen she was married. She had two children, but lost them both. “They are dead,” said Katy, “and I have no relations now, and most of my old friends are gone.”

"During her life, she had taken forty-eight children—twenty of them white children—some from the alms-house and others from their parents, and brought them up, or kept them till she could find places for them. She expended much money on their behalf and followed them with affectionate interest with her prayers. To my inquiry, “Have you laid up any property?” she quickly replied, “How could I, when I gave away all I earned?”

"When she lived at 51 Warren street, (the house has since been taken down,) she regularly collected the children in the neighborhood, who were accustomed to run in the street on the Lord’s day, into her house, and got suitable persons to come and hear them say their catechism, etc.

"The sainted Isabella Graham used to invite Katy’s scholars to her house, to say their catechism, and receive religious instruction. This was about the time Dr. Mason’s Church in Murray street was built. The doctor heard of her school, and one Sunday visited it. “What are you about here, Katy,” said he; “keeping school on the Sabbath? We must not leave you to do all this.” So he spoke to his elders, had the lecture-room opened, and the children transferred to it. This was the origin of the Sunday-school in the Murray street church, and it is believed that Katy Ferguson’s was the first Sunday-school in the city.

"For more than forty years, up to the last of life, she has had a prayer-meeting at her house every Friday evening, and for some five years past another every Sabbath afternoon, into which she gathered the poor neglected children of the neighborhood, and those adults who did not attend church anywhere. She always secured the aid of some good man to conduct these meetings. The results of these efforts were most happy. Tract distributors, city missionaries and others remarked that where Katy lived, the whole aspect of the neighborhood was changed. So much for the exertions of a poor colored woman, who could not read! “The liberal heart deviseth liberal things.”

"The secret of Katy’s usefulness was her fervent, uniform, and consistent piety. No one could be with her, even for a little while, without feeling its influence. The love of God was shed abroad in her heart, and it found expression in acts of benevolence to his children.

"The cause of missions was very dear to her. Three years and a half ago a company of missionaries were about to embark for West-Africa, under the direction of the American Missionary Association. One of the missionaries was invited to attend the little meetings held at Katy’s house, and did so once or twice before leaving the country. Katy’s sympathies were at once strongly enlisted in behalf of this young missionary and all his associates. A few months since, the writer met her in the street, and she eagerly inquired about the Mendi Mission. “For these three years,” said she, “I have never missed a day but I have prayed for those dear missionaries.”

"Katy mourned over the condition of the poor people in the city, who were suffering on account of their vices as well as their poverty. She said: “The ruination of both white and colored people, in this city, is gambling. I told one of them, that I would never do it; that I had rather live on bread and water.”

"On Tuesday morning, having been for several days somewhat indisposed, she went out to see a physician. She soon returned to her house and lay down, but grew rapidly worse. In a few hours, it became apparent that her disease was cholera, and she was sensible that the hour of dissolution was at hand. Notwithstanding the suddenness of the summons, she was ready. Her mind was calm and clear. “Oh!” said she to a friend who stood near, “what a good thing it is to have a hope in Jesus!” Her last words were: “All is well.” Yes, sainted spirit, “all is well.”

Cookbook from Mary Randolph 1762-1828

The Virginia Housewife: or, Methodical Cook
By Mary Randolph 1762-1828
Baltimore: Plaskitt, Fite, 1838 (1838)

Lilly Martin Spencer (American artist, 1822–1902) The Young Wife First Stew

This is considered by some to be the first truly American cookbook and by all to be the first regional American cookbook. This work is still in print and still forms the basis of traditional Virginia cooking. It has been praised by many culinary authorities both for its delineation of authentic Virginia foods and its careful attention to detail.

Upon its first appearance in 1824 it was an immediate success and it was republished at least nineteen times before the outbreak of the Civil War. In addition, copies appeared in the late nineteenth century and modern Southern authors aften reference it.

By the last publication dates of this book, methods of cooking were changing greatly. The invention of canning technology meant that all sorts of produce - such as carrots, soup, vegetable stew - could be preserved without being salted or pickled. Progress in glass technology led to the improvement of microscopes; this in turn brought about the discovery of bacteria, leading to advances in medicine and food preservation, and to a greater awareness of food hygiene.

The activities inside the Victorian kitchen were also transformed. Designers pateneted new state-of-the-art ovens that enabled cooks to control temperatures using a complex system of flues and metal plates. Now the middle class cook could prepare the complicated meals and delicate dishes that were previously reserved for the wealthy owners of grand kitchens. Cast iron and tin-plated equipment replaced brass and copper. Kitchens became cluttered with mass-produced implements such as pastry cutters, jelly moulds, pie moulds and biscuit tins. The Victorians also introduced a whole array of nifty gadgets: graters, potato peelers, mincers, and bean slicers.

Anyone who doubts that early Americans savored salads and vegetables need only look at what Mrs. Randolph offers. There are recipes for artichokes, asparagus, broccoli, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, celery, cucumbers, eggplant, French beans, Jerusalem artichokes, lima beans, mushrooms, onions, parsnips, peas, peppers, potatoes, potato pumpkin, red beet roots, salsify, savoy cabbage, sea kale, sorrel, spinach, sprouts and young greens, squash, sweet potatoes, turnips, turnip tops, winter squash, onions, and tomatoes.

Indeed, Mrs. Randolph has seventeen recipes using tomatoes in the various editions of her cookbook. This provides further evidence to correct the misinformation that Americans did not use tomatoes prior to the mid-nineteenth century.

From the Historic American Cookbook Project: Feeding America
.

Ex-Slave's Christmas Memories

Nicey Pugh was born a slave to Master Jim Bettis in Alabama:

"At Christmas time, Massa would have a bunch of niggers to kill a hog an' barbecue him, an' de womens would make' lasses cake, an' ole massa Jim had some kinda seed dat he made beer outen, an' we-alls drank beer 'roun' Christmas."

Photos & quotes of former slaves used in these blog posts come from the Slave Narratives. This collection contains over 20,000 pages of typewritten interviews with more than 3,500 former slaves, collected over a ten-year period. In 1929, both Fisk University in Tennessee & Southern University in Louisiana began to document the life stories of former American slaves. Kentucky State College continued the work in 1934. In the midst of the Depression between 1936 & 1939, these narratives continued to be collected as part of the Federal Writers' Project of the WPA, the Works Progress Administration. They were assembled & microfilmed in 1941, as the 17-volume Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves. The collection includes photos of the interviewees taken in the 1930s as well as their full interviews. Those whose voices are included in the collection ranged in age from 1 to 50 at the time of emancipation in 1865; more than 2/3 were over 80 when they were interviewed.

The problem that I have with these interviews is the language as reported by the interviewers. "The result," as the historian Lawrence W. Levine wrote, "is a mélange of accuracy & fantasy, of sensitivity & stereotype, of empathy & racism...Yet whatever else they may be, the representations of speech in the narratives are a pervasive & forceful reminder that these documents are not only a record of a time that was already history when they were created: they are themselves irreducibly historical, the products of a particular time & particular places."

A Civil War Christmas letter home

A Civil War Christmas letter

Winslow Homer. Christmas in a Civil War Camp  The illustration is captioned, "Christmas Boxes in Camp - Christmas 1861."  It is the front cover of the January 4, 1862 edition of Harper's Weekly. The illustration features a group of Civil War soldiers enjoying a box of goodies. The box contains all the things needed by tired soldiers.  Several soldiers appear to be enjoying bread & pastry items.  Also pictured are books, wine, & fruit.  Perhaps even more important than the food, the box appears to be full of new socks & footwear.

By Jen Wolfe – December 22, 2011
University of Iowa Libraries December 22, 2011

In contrast to today’s holiday letters summarizing the year’s major events, Lieut. Andrew F. Davis’ Christmas note to daughters Orrilla, age 8, and Nan, age 5, catalogs the day-to-day minutiae of life in a Civil War camp. Mixed in with holiday greetings (“I hope Santa Claus in his rambles last night did not miss the stockings of my two little girls”) are observations on camp fare (“country people sell [meals] cheap enough if they were only cooked good but they are poor people who bring them and they have to cook them by the fire in skillets as they have no cook stoves”), scenery (“there is several hundred tents in camp and all with lights in them which makes them look like big lanterns scattered all over the country”), and reactions to news from home (“Tell your ma I am glad she has got her hogs killed but I am afraid she will work so hard that she will be sick again”).

Andrew F. Davis letter to daughters, Dec. 25, 1861
Camp Wycliff Ky.
Miss Orrilla Davis and Nan Davis
My dear little daughters,
This is Christmas night and no doubt while I am setting in my tent in a war camp, you are enjoying yourselves at the Christmas Supper which I understand you are having at the Court House. No doubt you are enjoying yourselves over your Christmas presents and I hope Santa Claus in his rambles last night did not miss the Stockings of my two little girls but put something nice in them to make them happy. I got a Christmas present this evening which was nothing more than a letter from my dear little girl, and I now hasten to answer it. I was very sorry to hear that our sweet little babe was so sick but I hope it is getting well before this time and no doubt but what I will next hear that you and Nan will both have the measels and if you do you must be patient and you will soon get well again. I was surprised that you could write so good a letter & I read it to some of the boys and they said it contained more news than one half of the letters that they got from Liberty.

We did not have to drill today consequently I do not feel as tired as I do some nights. I will tell you what we had to eat today as you no doubt would like to know. Well we had roast chicken, oysters, peach pie, dried beef, molasses, brisket, butter, crackers, milk, sweet potatoes, rice, eggs &c. So you see we did not starve. It was not cooked as nice as your mother could cook it but it was very good. We bought most of it from country people and they sell them cheap enough if they were only cooked good but they are poor people who bring them and they have to cook them by the fire in skillets as they have no cook stoves. Stuffed chickens ready cooked are worth 20 & 25 cts, pies 10 cts, cabbage 5 cts apples 6 for 5 cts. milk 10 cts pr qt. roast turkies 75 and 80 cts. Sweet potatoes 75 cts per bushel, and many other things about the same. Jo Miller is in my tent while I am writing and almost cried when he read your letter. George [Rinehart?] come back from the Hospital today and is nearly well again. All of the Liberty boys are well now and none of them are at Louisville now.

I send with this letter 2 papers which I want you to take to Mr Thomas for him to publish in the Herald. I want to know if you are going to go to School this winter I gave $2.50 for the picture I sent home to your mother and the one I sent to your Grandpa, Tell mother if she can get the two big pictures framed for $5.00 to get it done but not to give any more than that. It is the prettyest sight I ever saw to go out of out tents after night before the lights are put out as our camp is on hilly ground and there is several hundred tents in camp and all with lights in them which makes them look like big lanterns scattered all over the country. Tell your ma I am glad she has got her hogs killed but I am afraid she will work so hard that she will be sick again. I got weighed today and weighed 167 lbs without my coat on so you see I am well and getting fat. Tell Nan I mean this letter for you and her both and I want her to get in some sly corner and write me one some of these days. Tell ma and uncle Newton that I have not got a newspaper from them since I have been Kentucky. Wm Appleton got last weeks Herald tonight and I got to read it. The darkie I had to cook for me went home today and one of the soldiers is cooking for me now. Ab. Bennett was to see me this evening and is going home in the morning. I am glad to hear that Wally Smith has been promoted to Sergeant as it proves that he has been a good soldier. Mans Crist is Sergeant in our company now.

The drums are now beating for us to put out the lights so I must stop for this time but will write to some of you again this week. You must write to me often as that is the way to learn, and you don’t know how glad it makes me to get a letter from my dear little girls. No more this time from your affectionate father,
 A.F. Davis

Ex-Slave's Christmas Memories

Emma Taylor was born a slave of the Greer family, in Mississippi. She and her mother later were sold to a Texan: