I was just thinking aloud as I often do. The change was instantaneous, as though I had used a magic word. Elihu exclaimed, "Ole Mausa cousin fun'ral! Miss, yu's got to go, en I's got to tek yu; I kyan't trus' no one else for tek yu wanderin' trou' dem crick; I bleege to tek yu," and Bonaparte echoed like a dignified Greek chorus, "Ole Mausa cousin fun'ral. Yu got to go," repeated several times, as though life, death, eternity, nothing could count under such circumstances.
The red boat was rapidly got out. It was leaking badly, and they made a little platform of boards where I was to sit, to keep my feet dry. As I finally got settled in the boat I asked Bonaparte the time and found it was 3, the hour I should have been at The Oaks. However, being in the boat, having overcome so many obstacles, I determined not to be daunted by the lateness of the hour—also the clouds had gathered heavily and a sprinkle of rain was falling. I borrowed Bonaparte's competent looking silver watch, for no watch that I have ever owned could stand my strenuous life for more than three months, so that I have to do without one.
I asked Elihu when we would be back, as we glided through the first canal. He answered: "Not till long after dark." I remonstrated, "Why it surely is not further than Waverly," but he answered, "'E mos' twice es far." I felt a little dismayed, but we kept on through endless windings past Cherokee Canal, then Long Creek, then the Thoroughfare, and at last into the broad, beautiful Waccamaw. When we reached The Oaks, the competent watch pointed to five.
It was a deserted tropical looking landing, with no living thing in sight, only the ruins of some houses. I got out and followed the road until I saw across a field at some distance several vehicles. I walked toward them and found the procession had just arrived and were carrying the coffin into the graveyard, a private one, with high brick walls and many monuments of past generations. Among these is one to Gov. Joseph Alston (Mrs. S.'s uncle), the husband of the beautiful and ill-fated Theodosia Burr; also their son, Aaron Burr Alston, whose death almost broke the mother's heart.
The sacred spot looked very solemn with its heavy live oak shadows in the darkening afternoon.
Mrs. S. was 86, I believe, and a saint upon earth. Since the death of her twin sister some years ago she had lived alone on her plantation, doing all the good and kindness possible to the people around her, who had formerly belonged to her. For the past two years one of her nieces had been with her always and was with her on the plantation when she passed peacefully away. There were forty or fifty of her people who had followed her to the grave and stood near showing every sign of grief.
The sacred spot with its heavy live oak shadows.
The beautiful service of our Church was read, and we sang "Rock of Ages," in which the negroes joined with great fervor, weeping softly and swaying in rhythm to the music. I had only a few minutes to see the family, as they had a long drive I knew, and I a long row as well as drive. They kindly insisted on my being driven down to the boat, and I started home.