June 3rd, 1863. —I have been sick, dear Diary. I have not been able even to think at times and I am a fright. The fever made my hair drop out and I am wearing a black silk cap, which makes me look like the picture of the Jesuits.
So much has happened since I wrote here last. I miss Susie and Aunt Nancy and I am so sorry for Aunt Margaret. The whole country misses Uncle Daniel for he was such a fine officer, so splendidly equipped to command men.
My pupils have all gone away. I did not know when they went but the father died and the boys are scattered among their relatives. I hope they can go to school for they were actually learning a little.
Father says I can resume the book-keeping when I am well again. The call for troops made it necessary for Mr. Ansell and Mr. Edmondson, the brother-in-law, to enlist or leave the country. Rather than return to England they took the oath of allegiance to the Confederate Government and have joined the Gamble Artillery; that is, they expect to be in Colonel Gamble’s command. Mrs. Ansell will stay on in the house provided for the mill manager.
Dr. English has written to Father in regard to a wounded soldier he is bringing with him from a hospital in Virginia. The doctor went on to see his nephew, who was wounded in a skirmish near Harper’s Ferry, but when he reached the hospital his nephew had been dead two weeks. He found there a young Virginian, whose injuries were severe and painful; the surgeons in attendance said he was shot through both lungs, the bullet making what they term “a clean wound,” entering on one side cutting its way through and leaving the body in a direct line. They think if he could get to some quiet place, where his wound could receive close medical treatment he might recover. Of course Father wants him to come here.
We always keep Charley when the doctor goes and he is with us now. He is like a little brother to me and Father and Mother are more like parents to him than his own father. The doctor is a scientific man, not an M. D., but a Ph.D., and a long list of other letters, which mean so much to him. He is so wrapped up in his researches that he does not find his own young son very interesting. Charley is happy here, however, and we love the poor motherless boy.
Susan Bradford is 17 years old when this entry was made.