| Title: | William Hill, Abbeville, S. Carolina to David [Hill?], [Ballymena?]. |
|---|---|
| ID | 1436 |
| Collection | Irish Emigration Database |
| File | Hill, William/19(2) |
| Year | 1865 |
| Sender | Hill, William |
| Sender Gender | male |
| Sender Occupation | businessman |
| Sender Religion | Protestant |
| Origin | Abbeville, South Carolina, USA |
| Destination | Ballymena, Co. Antrim, N.Ireland |
| Recipient | Hill, David |
| Recipient Gender | male |
| Relationship | siblings |
| Source | T 2305/38: Presented by South Caroliniana Library, University of South Carolina, Columbia, South Carolina, USA. |
| Archive | The Public Record Office, Northern Ireland. |
| Doc. No. | 9404158 |
| Date | 02/09/1865 |
| Partial Date | |
| Doc. Type | EMG |
| Log | Document added by LT, 20:04:1994. |
| Word Count | 2226 |
| Genre | |
| Note | |
| Transcript | Near Abbeville C.H. 2 September 1865 My dear [Brother?] I would fain write you a long letter but I do not know where to begin. It is long since I heard from you. Great events have happened here since I last wrote you. Times are very different within the last few years. The late war has ruined the South and I may say the whole country. The people here are impoverished, not one in ten but is reduced to insolvency. The negroes are all freed, and confusion reigns predominant. The freedman [freed man?] and women will not work, and no means to compel them; the consequence is that they steal and pilfer, as they must live by some means. You cannot imagine such a state of things as exist here. A war of extermination either of the white or the black race is, in my opinion inevitable, and the conflict will not be long postponed. The whites are so reduced in their circumstances that it is impossible for them to leave the country. Thousands are rendered from affluence to entire poverty, and the situation of the late slaves is deplorable, they will perish by hunger and disease, and melt away as snow before the rising sun. In times past there was a sympathy, a kindness felt for that people, but now nothing but antipathy and alienation. It is a cruel change to them for the worse. Hitherto they had been happy and contented, and no class of laborers [labourers?] in the world had as easy a time of it as them; when sick or aged, they were kindly cared for and [excused?], and not alone on the score of interest, but from a feeling of sympathy and affection and this feeling was mutual; but now is the reverse, and the nature of the negro is so indolent and lazy that he is incapable of any exertion to better his circumstances; he only thinks of the present, never contemplates the future. It would sicken you to see many of them - women and childern [periling?] about the country in a state bordering on starvation. Till yet they can obtain, from the fields and orchards what will support life, and as to clothing they can, in a measure do without, but the winter is at hand and they will perish by cold and want. You can get many to agree to work for you for their support, but you can repose no confidence in their stability so soon as they get their stomach filled they are off. The crop of provisions made the present year will ward off famine for the next winter months but afterwards I dread the prospect, for as I said above, no confidence can be placed in the labor [labour?] of the negro without compulsion, and want will not compel them to work; now there is no alternative. While the white man had the power of the lash, the negro knowing this, it answered the purpose, even without its application. I do not think I switched a slave of mine in the last four years and I do not claim to be more humane and indulgent than others, I owned fifteen, all of whom are gone to shift for themselves, but one woman and her two children, and I was pleased at their leaving; they had become so idle since their being freed that in place of a benefit they were a heavy expense to me for their board and clothing. I have lost by the result of the late war not less than thirty thousands dollars, taking into computation the negroes confederate bonds, money, and depreciation of real estate. Two of my daughters, Mary Jane, and Sallie are widows, the husband of the former (N. Knox) was killed in battle, the husband of the latter died with disease in the army, his name was Andrew McIlwain. My other son-in-law, Charles Cox was shot through the shoulder, but his wound is now well and he is working at his trade, being a carriage maker. Robert Emmet was in the army for four years, a part of the time he was on light duty, as enrolling officer, he having got himself severely hurt in one of his knees. John my youngest, a lad of sixteen was a while in the service towards the close of the war. Robt E. [Robert Emmet?] is teaching school at present, and Mary Jane also the latter teaches in the town of Abbeville, the former in the country. Mary Jane has but one child a daughter, and Robert has a daughter also. Sallie has no child. I have removed from the Town to my plantation, it was necessary to take this step as everything on the farm was exposed, that is to say the crop and stock of all kinds, and even with all my care I can not [cannot?] prevent property being stolen; lately I had a very fine mule stolen, and frequently some of my hogs are taken, a few nights ago I had a quantity of bacon taken from my meat house, and corn from my corn crib. This country has become such a pandemonium that I sometimes think, if I could from the wreck of my property realize any thing [anything?] I would go back, even in my old age, to the dear land wherein I first draw [drew?] my breath, my children are all capable of taking care of themselves and will have to depend on their own exertions for the future. My office has been for sometime [some time?] closed by military authority, the country is under martial law. We have a guard of Yankee soldiers in Abbeville to keep us in subjection, composed of fifty men, the present guard are white men a great many of whom are Irish; their predecessors were negroes whose domineering conduct so exasperated the people that it was thought best by the authorities to remove them in order to prevent a collision with the citizens. The soldiers here now behave themselves with considerable decorum, and on the whole are as acceptable as, in the nature of things we could hope for every other town in the state, and in all the late confederate states are similarly garrisoned, and they the soldiers mingle with the negroes with as much affinity as if of the same blood. We have no postal arrangements now. I sent this letter as far as Charleston by John Harbeson, who has been living here for over two years, he is about to visit that city to see what prospect may be, as he contemplates a return in hopes he may be able to make a support in Charleston. His oldest [daughter?] Ellen, is employed by a gentleman as private teacher in his family. Mary lives at home with him, she was employed the last year as music teacher in the neighboring village of Cokesbury, they are intelligent and well educated ladies. I got a letter the other day from Sam Thomson, Jun [Junior?] he is now in Charleston, just returned from a visit north to see his father, he writes that he found him pretty well, and that his brother Robert had got home from the army after being a prisoner in the state of Alabama for nearly 12 months his other brother (William) died by disease while in the Yankee army. I heard to my surprise the other day that my particular friend Malcolm Erwin has made a stolen visit to [Ballymena?], any body says that he had [never?] except [expect?] to get a wife, and it is seriously hinted by the knowing ones that Maggie McMentry will visit this part of the world between now and winter under an assumed name. All I have to say is that if she becomes Mrs Malcom, she will be mistress of a good fellow and a deserving man who will make her a good and kind husband. Maggie has waited long and patiently - she is now not less than thirty three years of age, but just in her prime. You must not consider this rambling letter as written exclusively to yourself, as I mean it for [?] brothers John and Hugh, and all the rest of you, I would like to write to all of you individually, but I have got so long out of the way of correspondence that writing sets hard on end. I hope however to get letters from all of you, and even some of the young ones might send a note to their old uncle, whom but few of them ever saw. Stir up Wm [William?] McMentry, and even staid and solid Wm [William?] Hay might bend his mind to write a short epistle, remember me to sister Jenny and the family and to Robert McMartry. While writing this your welcome letter dated 2 August came to hand, it gave me great pleasure to hear from you once more, but it was not satisfactory, for it contained so little, however I will wait with patience for your promised "long letter" I am truly glad to hear that Aunt Sallie Beggs is still alive and as yet, able to come over to [Ballymena?] now and again Give her my kind love. I am sorry to be told that your health is declining, as for my part I enjoy as good health as I ever did, although I am stiffened by length of years being as you say turned of sixty. My head is not gray, but I can not [cannot?] say as much for my beard and whiskers, however that is a small matter; and as much for my spirits and feeling, I could enjoy life with as much zest as ever were it not for the anomalous situation of the country. My wife is more broken, physically, than I am, though her general health is not to be complained of. When you write, tell me of all my old friends and acquaintances, and what has become of them. I am aware that but very few exist about [Ballymena?], yet the reminiscence of my old friends is dear to me. And were I to visit the old place once more, I would feel like a veritable stranger on the spot of my birth and early youth You say you would be glad to see me once more before we leave this world. I need not tell you that the feeling would be mutual, but it is not likely that we shall ever enjoy it. Time is fast fleeting and the places that know us now will soon know us no more. Well let us hope for a happy meeting in the world which awaits us. This place (I write in town) is all bustle this morning, in consequence of a "mock Tournament" to be acted today. All the gallants of the place and neighborhood, are "Cap a pie", and mounted for the joust, dressed fantastically, and _____ foolishly; the ladies in extacys [ecstacies?] every one, no doubt, fancying that she will, peradventure, be crowned the Queen of the occasion. Poor fools, they put off the evil and trying time that await them in future, but sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. You mention the death of "Willie Hill." who is he? I write on the 8th September, but I do not know when the document will leave, as Mr Harbeson has not fixed his time for going to Charleston 'tho [although?] he expects to start soon. We have no mail facilities now in consequence of the rebellion as our enemies the Yankees call our effort to free ourselves from the accursed yoke. No people ever had more justifiable cause for asserting and struggling for independence than we had; but we failed after a heroic trial in consequence of weakness and the power of the numbers and resources of our opponents. Had it not been for the resources obtained in men from Ireland and Germany the matter would be different this day. Men from those nations, mercenarys [mercenaries?], came in thousands and tens of thousands, to crush a people struggling for self government regardless of anything but their filthy pay. They knew nothing of the nature of the contest, and seemed to care nothing for the right. I do not know a single Irishman resident in this part of the country, but was strong for the cause of the South. Well, I believe I have said all that I can think of just now, and much that will be of no interest to you, and I must beg your indulgence for this long and somewhat irrevelant [irrelevant?] letter, as I had no fixed plan of writing but just put down so it were, in [?] whatever came uppermost in my mind, and so you must make the most of it. Give my kind love to Jane and say to her that I wish her long and happy years, and let me congratulate your son John on his marriage. I remain your affectionate brother William Hill. P.S. Mr Harbeson starts for Charleston tomorrow the 16th and takes this letter to try and have it [?]ed. My wife charges me to remember her to you all, more especially Mary Murdock, and R McMentry, Tell Mary Murdock that we have not heard from old Mrs [Taggart?] in five years. W. H. [William Hill?] |
