This letter was written by an as yet unidentified young man named “Frank” — probably Frank Fuller. The letter was written from a plantation house on the Broad River not far from Beaufort where it appears he was visiting while looking for employment in the area just after the Civil War.
“Frank” wrote the letter to his cousins, twin brothers, named Francis (“Frank”) Benjamin Fuller (1838-1915) and John Emery Fuller (1838-1915) of Deerfield, Franklin county, Massachusetts. The Fuller twins were the youngest children of Aaron Fuller (1786-1859) and his second wife, Fanny Negus. They had two older brothers, George Fuller (1822-1884) and Augustus Fuller (1812-1873) who were artists early in their careers but later turned to cranberry cultivation.
Frank Fuller was a musician in Gilmore’s Band and served initially attached to the 24th Massachusetts but later served in the band of the 2d Brigade, 1st Division, 2nd Army Corps. John’s military service mirrored his brother’s.
TRANSCRIPTION
Addressed to Frank & John Fuller, Deerfield, Franklin County, Massachusetts
Postmarked Beaufort, South Carolina
Beaufort, South Carolina
October 15, 1865
Dear Cousins,
I’ve had it in my mind to write to you for days but time flies so swiftly I have neglected to fulfill my promise to write to you till now. If time speeds quickly then you may justly conclude that happily passes my time.
That voyage at sea was just the completest event of my year of travels. Our good ship (a propeller) rolled & reared gloriously, though many of the passengers could not see it — John among the rest — but all the way, oh didn’t I pity all unhappy folks ashore then. But 3 days of rapid sailing brought us all too quickly to Savannah. We paid 35.00 for our passage. Had one day in Savannah before we set out for Beaufort 60 miles distant, fare 3.25.
The day spent in Savannah was Sunday when all business was dispensed with. Consequently I could not make inquiries to satisfy me or you in regard to the prospect of a market for your cranberries. Since I have been here I have done so & am told that there are so few whites in town you could sell only a very few as negroes — who make up about 2/3rds of the population of Beaufort which has about 3500 — will not buy anything so sour as their stomaches crave nothing but sweets. They will pay .20 for a single sugar cane 4 or 5 feet long to chomp upon raw but, “Lor Massa — him sour thing — no good.” There are no cranberries in this market yet so few could be disposed of t’would hardly be worthwhile sending them here.
Business is so dull I have not found anything to do yet. Still if the many hooks I’ve bated do not prove like the unfortunate experience of the man who tried to sit in three chairs at once & finally sat on the ground for all his pains, I may find something remunerative. You see the life of this place — the soldiers — are fast being removed and you must understand farther the secessionists are coming back bound, as they say, to run out all Yankees so business men can scarcely reckon ahead & that’s why they are holding on just now. The darkies pick up a deal of money somehow & trade is mainly with them. The cotton fever rages alarmingly. All who can are picking it up by hook or crook in the seed & the noise of the gins is the loudest symptom of life going.
I find John’s home situated in a more beautiful spot than I had once conceived of. His is a two story house with an avenue of magnolias leading down in front to Broad river where are often passing boats of all descriptions while back & all around is a charming grove of live oaks, all dreamy with pendant moss here & there interspersed with fig trees, clumps of orange & oleander bushes in luxuriant profusion. Many a savage though handsome hedge of Spanish bayonet is seen & the birds sing so I often mistake the season for spring. Indeed, it is a charming place & a fine climate to spend winter in if the fleas do bite. We have good saddle horses to ride. Hardly a day passes but we take that ever exhilarating exercise going 10 or 15 miles. John’s plantations comprise about 2,000 acres & much delight I take riding over them & studying the new & strange plants & scenery. And the black feature of the country is not devoid of interest — too great a transition of circumstance has befell their lot, I fear. For a time, their condition will be worse than former slavery. Tis just as an old driver told me today, they think that what is right is wrong & vice versa.
John Lake & I live alone in the house as yet & the way we smoke & put our feet upon the mantle piece is a caution to good old schoolmasters but the teachers are coming [ ]. Very soon we shall have to yield ease & comfort to civilization.
I want to hear how you get along, how you all are, & how much the cranberries sold for. Seeing some in the market place in New York, I asked how much they charged for one barrel & was told $12.50. The only chance I’ve heard of of making a fortune was that of a penniless rebel who lately came in town & says he has a large tract of woods & wants someone to set up a sawmill upon it so he can share in the profits with 15 or 2,000 dollars capital. It might pay well. N. B. [nota bene] — I don’t see fit to embark in the enterprise.
Have you serenaded lately? I look back to those evenings with a deal of pleasure. Really, we have met this year under circumstances well calculated to inspire enthusiastic greetings & to induce solid comfort, haven’t we. How are those matrimonial coupons — especially sweet little Carrie. John, isn’t it a pity our seed has not fallen in good soil where it might spring up & bear an hundred fold? “Yarssir!” You must write & tell me of your prospects. So will I do when I have any. Has Prof. Brain been back yet?
What is the latest news from Hatty? Is it Hatty Clary’s ¹ intention to “kum out here?” I understood it was. We would like well to see her & you both. If one had $250 to spare, he might make $5 a day selling bread — a chance for John. For all my fretting in not finding suitable business, I grow fat, weigh nearly 150 now.
The weather is delicious. So are the sweet potatoes — our daily bread. Great promoters of 3 things; viz — adipose, wind & urine. Pishaw! A good sportsman would delight in the game here, so unused to guns are the wild fowl that like Colonel so & so’s crows, if the sharp crack of a rifle takes one off, a hundred come to its funeral. I’m writing with a quill from a huge bird I shot from chamber window with a pistol while yet in “flirt chaps” one morning early. Fine fish right out of the Salt Broad river we have to eat & oysters soon too from some place. But tis not all of life to live, eat, or write letters, so hoping you will favor me soon with your pen. Wishing to be remembered to all of the Fuller tribe. May it ever increase. I bid you adieu. Ever your affectionate coz, — Frank
¹ Harriet (“Hatty”) Clark Clary was the 21 year-old daughter of Apollos Clary (1798-1877) and Alma Amsden who lived near the Fuller’s in Deerfield, Massachusetts. In the days after the Civil War, Hatty joined the wave of young, unmarried school teachers who came South to teach in a free school for Black children. Hatty taught in Richmond. She married in 1869 to John Calef Watkins of Lowell, a former private in the 6th Massachusetts Infantry. [See From these few letters]
Spared & Shared 13 