CWI Director Dr. Peter Carmichael, John Heckman (aka the Tattooed Historian) and CWI Fellow Cameron Sauers ’21 will be leading a discussion on Facebook Live this Thursday, April 9th at 7pm. The stream will be available on both the CWI’s Facebook, as well as The Tattooed Historian’s Facebook page. The trio will discuss the diary of Louisiana planter Kate Stone and the symbolic power of clothing in the Civil War South. We have attached an excerpt from Stone’s diary below so that viewers can join in on the discussion. We invite you to be a part of the discussion by sharing your comments and questions during the stream. If you can’t be with us live, send the Civil War Institute your questions on social media! (The livestream will be available for playback on our social media if you are unable to join us live or want to rewatch it).
The following is an excerpt from the diary of Kate Stone, the 20 year old daughter of one Louisiana’s richest planter families. For those who wish to print the document, the excerpt is available as a PDF here
April 25 1863 “We walked in [to a neighbor’s house] and found Mrs. Hardison and the children all much excited and very angry, with flaming cheeks and flashing eyes. The Negroes had been very impertinent. The first armed Negroes they had ever seen. Just as were seated someone called out the Yankees were coming again. It was too late to run. All we could do was to shut ourselves up together in one room, hoping they would not come in. George Richards was on the gallery. In a minute we heard the gate open and shut, rough hoarse voices, a volley of oaths, and then a cry, “Shoot him, curse him! Shoot him! Get out of the way so I can get him.” Looking out of the window, we saw three fiendish-looking, black Negroes standing around George Richards, two with their guns leveled and almost touching his breast. He was deathly pale but did not move. We thought he would be killed instantly, and I shut my eyes that I might not see it. But after a few words from George, which we could not hear, and another volley of curses, they lowered their guns and rushed into the house “to look for guns” they said, but only to rob and terrorize us. The Negroes were completely armed and there was no white man with them. We heard them ranging all through the house, cursing and laughing, and breaking things open.
Directly one came bursting into our room, a big black wretch, with the most insolent swagger, talking all the time in a most insulting manner. He went through all the drawers and wardrobe taking anything he fancied, all the time with a cocked pistol in his hand. Cursing and making the most awful threats against Mr. Hardison if they ever caught him, he lounged up to the bed where the baby was sleeping. Raising the bar, he started to take the child, saying he waved the pistol “I ought to kill him. He may grow up to be a jarilla. Kill Him.” Mrs Hardison sprang to his side, snatched the baby up, and shrieked, “Don’t kill my baby. Don’t kill him.” The Negro turned away with a laugh and came over where I was sitting with Little Sister crouched close to me holding my hand. He came right up to us standing on the hem of my dress while he looked me slowly over, gesticulating and snapping his pistol. He stood there about a minute, I suppose. It seemed to me an age. I felt like I should die should he touch me. I did not look up or move, and Little Sister was as still as if petrified. [emphasis added] In an instant more he turned away with a most diabolic laugh, gathered up his plunder, and went out. I was never so frightened in my life. Mrs. Hardison said we were both as white as marble, and she was sure I would faint. What a wave of thankfulness swept over us when he went out and slammed the door. In the meanwhile, the other Negroes were rummaging the house, ransacking it from top to bottom….
Stone, Kate. Brokenburn : The Journal of Kate Stone : 1861-1865. Edited by John Q. Anderson. (Baton Rouge : Lousiania State Press, 1995), 195- 196.
Is there a link to the Facebook page?