"Your grandmother said, 'She has had no dream. She wished to show us what is in her heart.'
"Ah, children, those were dreadful days, and when in December Port Royal fell, flight, confusion, and distress were the order of the day on the coast. By all this there was many a young life cut short, as truly as though a bullet had stilled it; and it was not only the men who laid down their lives, many a gentle girl was also a victim. Your grandmother sent my two sisters and me to relatives in the interior of the State. She remained in Charleston to look after our affairs, intending to go to a hospital as a nurse, if needed. We had been in the up-country but a few days when your Aunt Lucy, as lovely a young girl as the sun ever shone on, was seized with fever. Her illness was fatal, and she died before her mother could reach her.
"When we left your grandmother she had been obliged to go to our country place on Goose Creek, where she had remained alone—the colored driver and other negroes being the only people on the plantation. Tay had always lived in the city of Charleston, even when we were all on the plantation; and she always had the care of the city house. When the direful news of your Aunt Lucy's illness reached Charleston, Tay hastened up to the plantation to your grandmother, saying:
"'I wants you to let me come an' live here, for anybody c'n do what I does in town; but der is a lot of talk 'bout de whole low country will be took by de Yankees. An' de negroes will have to go inside, up country, an' make bread while deir masters is fightin'. Now, Miss, let me stay up here, an' keep an eye, an' if dere is anythin' I c'n do to keep things straight, I'm here; an' if we has to leave, I will go wid dem, an' keep dem all steady.'
"Your grandmother consented with, 'God bless you, Tay,' and at once left to go to your ill aunt. Tay remained on the plantation the whole winter and spring. Your grandmother could not return; but never had there been as much poultry and eggs produced, lambs saved, or butter made as was done under Tay's management. And the quantity of vegetables raised proved invaluable in those war times. And all was owing to the faithfulness of this devoted creature who remained to encourage the other negroes.
"When the summer of 1862 came your grandmother wrote her that she must leave the plantation, as she was unacclimated to that malarial country; but she begged to stay a little longer, as she knew she was of service, and was quite well. Then came the news that she was sick. She had sent to tell her young master, who was a naval officer on duty in Charleston harbor. He at once went to see her, and rebuked her for having remained so long in that unhealthy climate. He got her to promise to leave the next day. Finding that she had not arrived in the city, he obtained leave of absence and again went after her, but found her evidently near her end.
"'Ah! Massa Paul,' she said, 'I got up three times to go, as I promised you I would, an' de buggy was at de door, an' Martha here to go wid me, but I fainted; an' as it was de three times I know it is de Lord's will, I'll never leave dis bed. I hope He will say. 'Kitty, you done what you could, an' been a faithful servant.' I never did want to be nothin' but a servant. Dere's plenty of dem in de Bible your Ma gave me; and if I c'n just jine dem I'm happy. An' now here's what I want you' Ma to have. It's Sam's little savin's. I always kep' dem by me; an' when I seen these war times, an' such curious-lookin' money buy so little, I'm glad I got it. I kep' it for a pinch; an' fixed it so nobody would suspicion it. But I thank de Lord you come to take it befor' I go.' And with great effort she brought from under her pillow a curious-looking, homespun undergarment, into which was literally quilted coins of gold and silver; a little fortune in Confederate money, besides various old trinkets and watches which Sam had invested in.
"'My earrin's is dere,' she said. 'I never wore dem since Miss Lucy died; dey looks too bright. Now give this to you' Ma with Kitty's duty. I wish she could ha' closed my eyes. I know she would ha' done it. But she an' de young ladies will be sorry, I know, when I'm gone.'
"And then with the flash of her usual animation she turned her eyes on her attendant, Martha, and said: Martha have my three trunks of clo'es; she must give them to Miss'. Dey will keep her house servants decent for a time; an' yo' Ma does hate a sloven, Martha knows. I will walk at her if she takes anythin' out befo' Miss comes. Lord help me!'
"A faithful soul gone home."