Monday April 14, 1862
The dirt road to Uncle Joseph’s is lined with fields full of our slaves. The shouts of overseer Thompson pierce the peaceful day, and at times he cracks a whip. Some slaves are driving oxen to dig furrows through the soil, while others are planting and carrying enormous sacks of cotton seed. As we pass, I hear singing and chanting.
Papa and Henry gallop ahead. It’s hard for me to keep that pace while sidesaddle. A proper lady must never allow her skirts to straddle a horse and show her legs or ankles, and Papa wants me to be a Southern belle.
After a mile and a half our fields end, and we reach a large group of trees that marks the beginning of Uncle Joseph’s land. We reach his house in short time after that. Almost anything we lack on our land can be found here, a
