From H. W.
July 10. William has been overhauling the old letters and papers in the garret and has come across many very interesting bits of information among them. They are mostly very old. Old plantation books of Mr. Eben Coffin, the first proprietor of the name of this estate, dated 1800, containing lists of the slaves of former generations, in which some of the oldest here now, like Uncle Sam, are mentioned as two years old; estimates for this house and the building in the yard, etc.
Aug. 5. C. has found a spike of papers in the old overseer house, on which he and Mr. Soule are now expending their eyesight. Letters from Mr. Coffin to Cockloft, etc. They have found out how much he was paid for the year—also some references to an exciting time on Frogmore where the overseer seems to have mismanaged—somebody was shot and there was a trial! We shall ask the negroes about it all.
Aug. 6. I entertained myself to-day reading over these same letters. It made me feel very queerly—they were mostly written during the summer of 1860, from Charleston and Newport. It seemed so short a time ago, and every thing and person spoken of about the plantation was so familiar. It seems that the overseer of Frogmore, Benjarola Chaplin, was a bad man, and, suspecting a boy and girl there of poisoning him, had them tried and sentenced to be hung without letting Mr. Coffin know anything about it. We find that the sentence was not executed,—for Peter and Katy are still living,—but don’t know why they were pardoned, though apparently there was no proof of their guilt.
Sept. 22. This morning I had a call from Henry, Mr. Coffin’s old cook, a very intelligent mulatto who wanted me to read some letters to him and then talked a little while about Mrs. Coffin, to whom he seems very much attached, and says he would serve her to the end of his days. He and his wife would like to go North to her, and he was very glad to hear from Captain Boutelle that she was safe there; he says she suffered so the last part of the time she was here, he could not bear to look at her. “The first Mrs. Coffin was a very nice lady, but she succeed her.” He talks very well. He was much pleased that I offered to write to her for him sometime, and said he had not liked to ask any one to do so for fear they should not think it right to have anything to do with the old people—“but she’s a Nort’ lady, you know, Ma’am, a beautiful lady, I would serve her all my life.”
Sept. 27. Have I told you of an interesting talk we had from one Pompey, who said that it was the poor whites in Beaufort who made the negroes “sensible” about the war? That if it had not been for them he should have believed his master and gone away with him, but that they let him into the secret.141 He says that [the poor whites] wished to stay, but were driven off by the rich men, whom they hate, and are now in the ranks fighting the rich men’s battles. He has heard several times from the Main, through his old fellow servants who have run off, and mentioned two or three of the old proprietors here who are now in jail for trying to escape, among them Dr. Clarence Fripp, of whom they all speak with great affection. He never wanted to go, but was carried off by his brothers, one of whom, Eddings, has since died.
Oct. 15. As soon after breakfast as Robert had finished his regular work we mounted two pair of stairs “to clear up the attic.” Do you think you know what that means? You have not the least idea. So far as we can make out, this house was built in 1809, and I think Robert dragged out from under the eaves the original shavings. It was melancholy to see the spoiled and demolished furniture which would be of so much use to us now, bureaus without drawers, sofas with only the frames, and those all broken, pieces of washstands and bedsteads, etc.
It seems that such wonders were afterwards performed in renovating this broken furniture that the parlor became almost a parody of its ancient splendor.
The letters now return to chronological order.