This Week's Picture

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Beaufort NC, 1864. View from Fort Macon

From Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper
North Carolina Collection, UNC Library at Chapel Hill

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This Week's Story

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PLEASE SEND ME A JAR OF
WATERMELON-RIND PICKLE

Beaufort
March 30, 1864

To: Abigail Pierce, Petty Shore, Chowan River:

My beloved sister Abigail:

The good news just keeps piling in, so I guess I'll have to sit here a while and unload some of it on you and mama. Pass the good things on to Job and Priscilla, too, and if you ever see Professor Sharpe up around Harrellsville, tell him about me and about all the writing I'm doing. You could even let him read some of my letters if you want.

First off, Cit has a family again. Milly, Martha, Dausey, Adolph, Albert and M.C. are all healthy, happy and bright as buttons. Martha looks almost grown and is pretty as a picture. Dausey looks like a little toughy. They came in on a two-stacker that docked up at the inlet, and Cit had a wagon all ready when he got word. They are all home now and settled in. I sure am glad they are able to be in a house, and not having to live like some of the refugee people in the tents. Cit is real good at taking care of his own. Up in the tents right now, there seems to be a lot of sickness, and they say a lot of little children are coming down with some bad stuff, measles, whooping cough, scarlet fever and two or three other things. Some of them are dying. I hope the good Lord will protect and smile on Cit's little ones like He's been doing here lately for the rest of us. Things are going so good for me that I can hardly believe my fortune.

And I'm getting better duty now. I've been put on Isaac's detail, helping around the hospital commissary. I don't work directly with him all the time, but he's the top of my squad and we do every day what he details. I like the work, and I like helping the people that have been down and out and are struggling to get better. I guess you could say that a lot of the work that I do around the hospital is something like a clean-up man, but I don't mind at all.

On top of everything else, Isaac's got a girl. I thought for a while that there might be a chance for her to be my girl, but Mr. Sgt. walked right into the middle. She's pretty, and she's probably nearer to my age than she is to Isaac's, but I think that's the way it goes usually. Old men and young women, like Job and Priscilla, and not old women and young men like mama and Adolphus. I was the one that caused him to meet her, anyway, and she still smiles at me big as life every time I see her. But I guess the right thing for me to do is just to keep on looking around. There are some more ladies around here, but it's not so easy to find one who doesn't dip snuff.

She is the daughter of the fisherman I told you about last time, Mr. Joe Salter. Her brother I think I told you about, too, he's about Isaac's age and he quit the CSA a long time ago. Well, Mr. Salter and his boy let me go with them in their boat on a sail over to Fort Macon and then the next day, we took out just to look at the two lighthouses on the cape. That fort, I don't really see how any army could be able to take it away from another army, the way it's built and the big guns it's got. Starved them out, I guess.

One of the lighthouses at the cape is old and out of use, but the other still shines a bright light every night to help the big boats steer away from all the shallows around here. And I mean there are a lot of shallows in every direction. In those big boats, if you don't know your way you can real quick find yourself on the ground and walking in the water. And that's not so good when the wind is up and the waves are rolling high. John Henry says if the Rebs could get to that light, they'd blow it up, because it's the guide for all the supply ships coming in. But he didn't think there was much chance of that happening, because he says the secessionists have been too long gone from here. I'm hoping one day I can get me a ride on a boat that will take me all the way around those lighthouses, way out into the Atlantic Ocean. Mr. Salter can't go out there now in his little boat, it's too rough, but he's hoping that after the war he can get one that will be able to make it.

After we came ashore, mariner Salter and John Henry asked me over to their house to have supper, and like a foolish twit, I asked could I bring Isaac along. They were happy at that, and so that is that, and now Annie Maria is Isaac's girl and not mine. Oh, well. The good Lord has plans for me, I know, so I'm not too worried about it.

I don't know much that could make me much happier than I am. One thing I really want bad, though, is what I told you about before. Did you get my letter where I asked you to send me some watermelon-rind pickle? And did you send me any? I haven't got any letter and I haven't got any watermelon-rind pickle, but I guess I'm expecting too soon, because I haven't even been away from Petty Shore much more than 100 days, have I? Mail can't be expected to travel that fast, can it? Sometimes the old things sort of fade from my mind, and I feel like this beautiful new life has been going on forever in the past and is going to be going on forever in the future.

I was thinking the other day about the herring-runs on mama's river. I don't think I ever had so much pleasure at the water. It's nice here, but they don't have herring-runs down here, Mr. Salter says. No matter, it's no loss because they have every other kind of fish there is in the world, and the eating is a whole lot better than eating herrings, by a long shot.

Lord, I'm so happy. But, right this minute I feel like I'd better ask the Lord why if I'm so happy, why should I all of a sudden feel so bad. I guess I'm shivering so now because I'm so happy now. My teeth are starting to click against each other.

It is so good to know that everything is so good. Cit and his family, and Isaac and his girl. And this dirty war is wearing itself out. Give mama a hug for me, and you catch a kiss I'm throwing you. Sister, I love you.

Your brother, James
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P.S. Please send me a jar of watermelon-rind pickle. If you have already sent one, please send one more.

Love

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This Week's Verse

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Soft as the voice of an angel,
breathing a lesson unheard,
hope with a gentle persuasion
whispers her comforting word.
Wait till the darkness is over,
wait, till the tempest is done,
hope for the sunshine tomorrow
after the shower is gone.

Whispering hope, O, how welcome thy voice,
making my heart, in its sorrow rejoice.

If in the dusk of the twilight,
dim be the region afar,
will not the deepening darkness
brighten the glimmering star?
Thus, when the night is upon us,
why should the heart sink away?
When the dark midnight is over,
watch for the breaking of day.

Whispering hope, O, how welcome thy voice,
making my heart, in its sorrow rejoice.
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(Alice Hawthorne. 1868.)

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This Week's Mailbox

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...... Your (Poor Town News) site was forwarded to me. Please add my name to your subscription list. I find your stories delightful. Thanks. ~ Rita Samols, Ukiah, California.

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