The society of Apalachicola was unusually good. A number of Northern families who had been drawn there as my father had, and families from Virginia and other Southern States, brought together elements of culture and refinement unusual in so small and primitive a town.
Father, being a Northerner by birth and training, was essentially Northern in his sentiments. He did not believe in slavery. While he employed many negroes, he owned only three, and they had come to him imploring him to buy them, as otherwise they would be sold in the open market. They were faithful, valuable servants, and became real members of our family. One of them, “Uncle Young,” as we always called him, was sent as a representative to the State Legislature after the war. But he never forgot the old times, and not long before father died, he received a letter from him which began, “Dear Mast’ Tom.”
I well remember the excitement when war seemed imminent. Though only a very young girl, I was allowed to go to a mass meeting. I felt the thrill of it all, and though too young to enter into the merits of the question, was carried along by the general excitement and influence.
Father was a good deal of a philosopher, and, always looking on the bright side, was convinced that the war could not be long, and peace would soon be restored. As he had large properties in the South as well as his business, he decided not to go North, for he well knew everything would be confiscated if he did.
Our little city felt the shock of the first gun, fired on Fort Sumter, and almost immediately warlike preparations were started.
Being on the coast, the town was supposed to be in danger. Companies were formed and drilled. Batteries of sandbags, armed with cannon, lined that part of the town exposed to invasion from the bay, and there was much coming and going. Ladies met to embroider banners, and the ceremonies of presentation seemed to me most glorious and exciting events. Companies of young soldiers came down from the interior, and to my childish mind it seemed as though our part of the country was to be the seat of war.
This was in the spring of 1861. My oldest sister, Floride, was to be married early in the autumn, and mother wanted to go North to see her father and get my sister’s trousseau. It was a hurried and hazardous trip, and she returned with much difficulty, being almost the last let through the lines. We were indeed glad to have her return safely, bringing the precious outfit. I feel sure no one else could have accomplished it, but she was a woman of indomitable will and courage.
My sister’s marriage took place soon after, and as I was one of the bridesmaids, war and all its consequences were naught to me for a while.
My next recollection was that Apalachicola was to be abandoned as an army post. The blockade had shut up the port. All the soldiers were sent to the interior except a company of scouts, which was stationed about twenty miles away, near some “dismal swamps,” and used to keep an eye on the coast, and report any unusual occurrence.
Of course, business was at a standstill, and many moved up to Columbus, Georgia, and other towns on the river. My brother-in-law decided to go to Columbus, and I was sent, too, in order that I might go to school.