The Diary of Sarah Chandler - Early 1859
By Karma
Sarah and Queenie come to an agreement.


Dear Spectator,

Enclosed is my transcription of the diary entries for early 1859.  There 
is much more in Sarah’s diaries for this time period that have to do 
with the day-to-day events of the plantation.  I have decided to not 
include many of those entries, since they are primarily concerned with 
the mundane details of their life.  Perhaps it is wrong not to include 
these, and perhaps some day I will send you all the pages, but for now, 
I will only send those entries which may appeal to the interests of your 
readers. 

I hope you enjoy them, 

Karma 


February 20, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

Oh, diary, look how long it has been since I last wrote in you!  So much 
has happened in the intervening weeks.  Soon after the New Year I took 
the train to Savannah and spent six weeks with Robert and Lucille.  
Mother and Father agreed that I could miss that much school, since it is 
my last year in any event.  The train trip was exciting - dirty and 
noisy, with a crush of different types of people - and my weeks in 
Savannah went by in a blur.  I spent much of my time assisting Lucille 
about the house, as she was unable (and unwilling, too, I fear) to do 
much of the work herself.  I helped their maid, Mary, and her daughter, 
who is oddly enough also named Mary, with the cleaning and cooking.  I 
kept Lucille company much of the time, although that was a trial (to 
both of us, I believe).  She was civil enough, but occasionally there 
would be an undercurrent of resentment, or even anger, that I did not 
understand.  Lucille is a proud and striking woman.  I think of her as 
being a woman, even though she is only 18, as her manner, and of course, 
her condition make her more womanly than girl-like.  She is a tall 
woman, perhaps matching my height, and she carries herself upright so as 
to make her look even taller.  She is certainly attractive, with 
lightish hair and fine features.  Her eyes are green, and they can blaze 
with anger when she is upset.  She and I were coldly polite to one 
another in most cases.  The best times were in the evening when Robert 
was home.  He is a well-mannered man, and is strikingly handsome.  He 
can be charming and witty, and has a devilish sense of humor, which is 
most often lost on Lucille.  After dinner we would talk, sometimes 
alone, but more often in the company of his friends.  Robert works for a 
trading company and has much responsibility for keeping their books in 
order.  When he realized that my interest in his position was real, and 
not feigned, he took pleasure in teaching me the basics of economy and 
business, and I took pleasure in learning them.  I got the distinct 
impression that his wife has not the interest I do in the business side 
of their world.  When his friends or co-workers came to visit they would 
talk late into the night, often voicing their displeasure at the demands 
of the Northern companies with which they did business.  Of course, not 
all discussion was about their employment.  We discussed literature and 
art, music and theater, and sometimes politics.  It has become apparent 
that Buchanan will not try for a second term as President, and there was 
much speculation as to who his successor would be.  Most of the men were 
for Breckinridge, whom they say will protect the rights of the states.  
Most were dismissive of Douglas and Fremont.  One man mentioned a 
possible Republican candidate from Illinois, a man named Lincoln.  At 
this, Robert laughed and almost spilled his drink.  "Lincoln?  That 
baboon?  I will eat my hat - and yours, too, Sarah - if Lincoln is ever 
elected President!"  I also did receive my fair share of attention, even 
though I am only 13 (but almost 14).  Robert treated me like an equal, 
and his friends treated me with respect and listened to my opinions with 
patience.  Despite my youth, I sometimes felt as if I were being courted 
by several men at once, which made me feel uncomfortable.  I knew that 
they were all appraising me and that they were all in general agreement 
as to my appearance (especially after several brandies), but they were 
always gentlemen.  I was careful never to be alone with any of them or 
to favor one over another.  One of the men always seemed to watch me 
with amusement in his eyes.  His name is William Stephens, and he is an 
old friend of Lucille’s.  I began to think that his open admiration of 
me did little to lessen Lucille’s dislike.  I was forced to come home 
earlier than I had planned, since I had hoped to remain in Savannah 
until my new niece or nephew was born.  My early departure was primarily 
due to an unfortunate incident.  One evening I was assisting Lucille as 
she prepared to retire.  Young Mary entered the room with a pitcher of 
water to place by Lucille’s bedside.  My back was turned, so I did not 
see what caused the accident, but Young Mary apparently bumped into 
Lucille, or Lucille bumped into her.  Young Mary dropped the full 
pitcher, which shattered, spilling water on the floor and on Lucille’s 
gown as well.  I was about to make light of the accident, given the look 
of horror on Mary’s face.  But before I could speak, Lucille flew into a 
terrible rage, berating and scolding Young Mary as a clumsy, useless, 
stupid nigger.  She then raised one hand and went to slap the poor 
shivering girl.  I reacted without thought and grabbed Lucille’s wrist 
to stop her.  Her mouth fell open and she glared fiercely at me.  For 
several seconds we strained one against the other, and Lucille’s eyes 
opened wide at my display of strength.  I, in my turn, was startled by 
the power she exhibited.  After a few seconds she twisted her arm and 
broke my grip on her wrist.  For a moment I thought she would strike out 
at me, but with an obvious effort she regained her composure and smiled 
thinly at me.  "I suppose I should thank you, Sarah.  I might have 
injured my hand has I struck her."  She turned away, and I hurried Young 
Mary out of the room and downstairs.  Much later, as I sat reading in 
the study, Robert approached me.  His hesitating manner and shamefaced 
demeanor told me all I needed to know.  To prevent him undue 
embarrassment I immediately rose and told Robert that I had decided to 
return home.  His look of relief told me that if he were forced to 
choose between his wife and his sister, I would come out second.  So, 
dear diary, here I am back at home.  It is really unfortunate.  Lucille 
is only five years older than I am, and we could and should have been 
like sisters.  Instead, I fear I have made an enemy. 


February 24, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

Today I saw Queenie for the first time since my return.  It actually was 
the first time I have seen her since that horrible day after Christmas.  
I went down to the stable to visit Blaze and Horatio, and I saw Queenie 
leaving as I approached.  I called to her, but she ignored me, though I 
am certain she heard my greeting.  She did not even look my way but 
hurried away towards the Quarters.  I am still sick at heart over my 
thoughtlessness, and have thought hard about what I should do. 


March 1, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

Mother and Father informed me that they have decided that I need not 
return to school.  Mother seemed more sympathetic, but Father was 
adamant about it.  "There is no need for you to attend any longer since 
you will have no need for an education once you marry!  Your place will 
be to entertain and to attend to your husband and family."  They ignored 
my entreaties, both tearful and then angry, and I finally stormed off to 
my room. 


March 3, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

I turned fourteen years old today.  This is no cause for celebration for 
me. 


March 20, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

It was a beautiful sunny day today.  I have been sad and miserable and 
the good weather lifted my spirits.  The last week has been rainy and 
cool and I have been unable to leave the house.  I divide my time 
between Father’s library and my own room.  In the library I exercise my 
mind, while in my room I exercise my body.  I continue my arm-building 
exercises, but have also started to strengthen other parts of my body as 
well.  In the library I found a book with drawings that show the 
different muscles of the body, and I have been using this new knowledge 
to devise new exercises.  For example, the book showed me that the 
shoulder has not one muscle, as I had thought, but three.  I then felt 
my shoulder as I lifted one of my bricks.  I learned that if I lift my 
arm up and forward, one muscle is used; up and straight, another is 
used; and if I raise up and back, the third is used.  I now do exercises 
that will strengthen all these muscles, and I do these every day.  I 
exercise my legs, and have noticed my muscles there growing larger, too.  
My stomach has always been flat, but I now do exercises where I lie on 
my back, then tense my stomach and pull myself to a sitting position.  
My stomach is still as flat, but now it is also hard, with odd, small 
ridges across it.  I think that my mood is improving, either because of 
my exercising or the weather or both. 


March 24, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

I have thought long and hard about what I shall do to become friends 
with Queenie again.  I have an idea and tomorrow I shall approach her 
with it. 


March 25, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

I met Queenie at the well this morning.  She again rebuffed my efforts 
at conversation and hurried back home.  I grew more and more angry at 
her stubbornness as the day progressed, and in the evening I went 
directly to their shack and demanded that she come with me.  I confess, 
dear diary, that I said everything I could to convince her to accompany 
me, and finally threatened to tell Father about her, ending by saying, 
"I will tell Father to sell you, and he will do it if I ask him to!"  
Queenie glared angrily at me, but eventually she reluctantly trailed me 
to the stable.  There I began berating her again, but this time she 
spoke back to me.  "You act as if just because you want it, everything 
can go back to being the same as it was, but it can’t!"  "Why not?" I 
asked rather heatedly, as I was still angry with her.  "Just because you 
can’t read?  I know..."  "You don’t know nothin’!" she yelled back.  
"You think that it’s normal that nigger slave girls can’t read!  You 
think it’s..."  "Don’t tell me what I think!" I interrupted, yelling at 
her just as she was yelling at me.  "I am trying to tell you that I will 
teach you how to read!"  Instead of displaying the gratitude I expected, 
Queenie laughed a bitter laugh.  She began prancing around the stable, 
talking in a prissy voice.  "Oh, Massa’s daughter will teach me how to 
read!  She’ll try to teach the poor, stupid, nigger girl some book 
learnin’.  Then Massa’s daughter will feel better about things, and the 
poor nigger slave girl can still wash the peas and hoe the corn and 
fetch the water, but at least she’ll know how to read!"  By now I was 
walking with her, tears of anger in my eyes, as upset as I have ever 
been.  "Stop talking like that!"  I yelled.  "Stop calling yourself a 
nigger slave girl!  Stop..." Queenie turned and faced me, eyes blazing, 
body tensed and leaning towards me as if she was preparing to attack.  
"Stop, Miss Sarah?!"  she spat, mimicking my tone and making my name 
sound as if it were the vilest oath ever spoken.  "I AM a nigger slave 
girl, and you are the Massa’s daughter!  Now leave me alone and go!"  I 
was angry and hurt and sad and shamed and scared all at once.  I walked 
right up to her and went to push her.  "I will MAKE you learn!  I will 
force you to learn how to read!"  I shouted wildly.  She resisted my 
push and pushed back.  I reached out again, trying perhaps to grab her 
and shake some sense into her, but her hands intercepted mine.  She 
glared at me.  "Make me, Miss Sarah?  You can’t make me or force me to 
do nothin’!"  She tried to push me away, and for several seconds we 
grappled, our hands tangling.  Almost by accident the fingers of one 
hand met and laced together, then the other hand joined in the same 
manner.  I began applying pressure to our linked hands, trying to force 
her back.  She resisted me.  Our left legs were in front, slightly bent, 
and our right legs were extended back, bracing us as we pushed.  "I can 
force you, Queenie!  Agree that you will do as I ask or I will break 
your wrists!"  She grunted as she fought against my efforts.  "We will 
see!"  she retorted.  "Perhaps if you don’t agree to leave me alone I 
will break your wrists!"  The idea came to me in a flash.  As calmly as 
I could, I said, "Let us settle this.  If I best you in this contest, 
you will agree to allow me to teach you.  If you win, I will never 
bother you about it again!  Agreed?"  We were still straining mightily, 
our linked hands up at the level of our shoulders.  Queenie’s long 
fingers were laced in mine as we struggled to overcome the other.  
Queenie’s eyes met mine, and she nodded.  Time slipped away as we 
battled, arm against arm., hand against hand.  I had become even more 
powerful, but so had Queenie, as she was fighting me to a standstill.  I 
locked my eyes on hers and her gaze never wavered.  Our contest 
continued in absolute deadlock for many minutes, neither of us able to 
gain any advantage.  Queenie’s eyes widened as she finally expelled all 
her air in a great gust and I felt her begin to overpower me.  My wrists 
were gradually bent back and I began to sink towards the floor.  
Queenie’s arms were trembling from the intense pressure, and my fingers 
were growing numb.  "God," I prayed.  "Give me the strength!  I am in 
the right!"  Desperately I called on all my power, and as if in response 
to my silent prayer, I stopped her advance.  I braced my leg more firmly 
and put all my formidable strength into my effort.  Ever so slowly I 
straightened, gradually forcing Queenie’s hands back to even.  Her eyes 
were wide and her breath came in great pants as she struggled valiantly, 
her beautiful arms rippling with muscle and glistening with sweat.  My 
arms proved the more powerful as I kept striving.  Then I was standing 
over her as she fell to her knees.  Her pride and will were still 
evident as even then she refused to yield.  I feared that I would 
actually break her wrists as I had so rashly threatened.  Finally, I 
heard her whisper, through her sobs of pain, "You... win..." I 
immediately eased the pressure, and then gasped as cramps seized my 
burning arms.  I fell to my knees, attempting to comfort her and enfold 
her into my embrace. 


April 3, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

I made my way to King and Naomi’s cabin late this afternoon.  I was 
determined to hold Queenie to her agreement to allow me to teach her to 
read.  Naomi greeted me cheerfully and told me Queenie was finishing her 
chores and would be back shortly.  I waited impatiently, watching Naomi 
as she worked.  I realize that I have written little about her or King 
even though they have become invaluable workers for us.  Naomi is very 
quiet, but she has an aura of unassailable calm.  She always seems to be 
in control of any situation, even when she is in the midst of turmoil.  
She has brought her skills to bear on our kitchen, with wonderful 
results.  In some way she has smoothed the cooking and cleaning 
operations of the household, and she has done this without upsetting 
Desdemona, who has ruled the kitchen for as long as I can remember.  I 
can now see in Naomi where Queenie gets her calm demeanor.  Naomi is an 
attractive woman, I suppose, in the way of her people.  She has a 
lighter brown complexion than Queenie, but has the same type of 
features.  She is now, I realized with some surprise, a little shorter 
than Queenie, and I suddenly wondered if she was the source of some of 
Queenie’s physical, as well as mental, strength.  I observed Naomi as 
she worked, observing the ease with which she lifted the heavy frying 
pan.  Her figure was lithe, but the stretched fabric of her shirt 
displayed the swelling of muscle.  I watched her, suddenly mesmerized, 
when I realized Queenie had entered the room.  I smiled at her, ignoring 
her troubled expression.  At my urging, and after a final word to Naomi, 
we went down to the stable.  There I retrieved the papers I had hidden 
earlier and presented them to Queenie.  We began our lessons with the 
very basics of learning - the alphabet.  I explained the sounds of the 
letters as well as I could, but Queenie was sullen and unresponsive.  
Her answers to questions I asked were terse and mumbled.  I finally 
stopped the lesson, allowing Queenie to return to her cabin.  Needless 
to say, our first lesson did not augur well for the future. 


April 9, 1959 

Dear Diary, 

Today Father took two of the slaves and searched through the ravine 
behind the Quarters.  I had informed him of the noise I had heard, and 
others have mentioned that they have heard rustling sounds in the area 
as well.  Father took his shotgun, and they searched for any sign of a 
cougar, but without any luck.  Father came home and informed us that the 
animal had probably moved on, as there was no evidence of it now. 


April 18, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

I went into town with Father today, as Mother has ordered some material 
for new clothes.  Father sent me to Flanders’ store to retrieve it while 
he did the other errands.  William came out to assist me and led me into 
the back room to find the correct bolts of cloth.  As he worked, cutting 
the cloth to Mother’s specifications, I noticed that his hands were 
shaking slightly and he seemed uncomfortable, as he kept hitching up his 
pants and twisting his body.  He gave me several furtive looks, and a 
few times I saw him open his mouth to speak, but then close it again 
without saying anything.  Finally, after cutting off two yards too much 
from one bolt and a yard too little from another, he set down his shears 
and turned to face me.  His face was flushed and he would not meet my 
eye.  "Miss Chandler," he started, and his voice suddenly squeaked.  He 
flushed even deeper and tried again, managing to keep his voice level.  
"Miss Chandler, I know that you want to keep this a secret but I just 
must ask you something!"  I looked hard at him, and his eyes finally met 
mine.  "I know you’re strong and I know you don’t like to talk about it 
and show off and I know I shouldn’t but can I... would you show me your 
arm?"  Once he started the words came in a rush, falling over each other 
in their hurry to leave his mouth.  It was as if he had to get them all 
out before he lost his nerve.  I was, somehow, not surprised at his 
request.  When I didn’t immediately respond, he continued, his hands 
fluttering, sweat beading on his forehead, his gaze skittering around 
the room as if he dared not look at me.  "It will be our secret.  I’ll 
never tell, I just have to, I think about you, if you do, I’ll..." He 
trailed off to a miserable stop.  I suddenly realized that what I had 
was a power I had not expected or recognized.  I watched him as I slowly 
and tantalizingly unbuttoned the cuff of my blouse, then as slowly 
pushed the sleeve up to my elbow.  I moved my hand, making the muscles 
in my lower arm jump and twitch.  He swallowed hard, his eyes drawn to 
my arm as a moth to a flame.  I felt a sense of exultation as I realized 
that he was just as helpless as that moth.  I pushed my sleeve up 
further, exposing my upper arm, and I tensed, making my muscles swell.  
He gasped and extended a trembling finger.  Remembering his manners, he 
looked at me, hoping for permission, his eyes glittering.  At my nod he 
touched my arm, gently rubbing the tensed muscle.  "Oh, my..." he 
murmured, almost as a prayer, then his fist clenched and his face 
contorted and his body convulsed.  "Thank you..." he stammered.  "I must 
go..." He hurried out of the room, knocking a box to the floor without 
turning around.  I watched him go, then thoughtfully pulled down my 
sleeve and buttoned my cuff.  I gathered the material together and went 
to the front room, where I patiently waited several minutes until 
William returned.  He kept his eyes averted as he prepared our bill of 
sale.  I signed it and gave him a dazzling smile.  His return smile was 
both relieved and embarrassed.  As I left I glanced back, and saw with 
some puzzlement that he was wearing a different pair of trousers than he 
had before.  All the way home I wondered and thought about this newfound 
power.  I wonder if other men react in a similar fashion to a woman with 
muscles? 


May 20, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

It has been several weeks since I began my lessons with Queenie.  It has 
not gone well.  I try to meet with her a few times a week, but she often 
says that she is too busy or too tired.  She seems to not learn anything 
beyond the basic alphabet and often forgets the spelling of easy words.  
At times I despair, as it seems she has no desire to learn, and I begin 
to wonder if I can force her to.  She also has refused to play the Hand 
Game with me and shows no interest in any other contests. 


May 24, 1859 

Dear Diary, 

It was a cloudy, windy and cool day today.  Queenie and I went to the 
stable, where we (or, rather, I, since Queenie again had no interest in 
any learning) spread out several of our worksheets.  I was explaining 
yet again how two vowels together make a sound different than each of 
them alone.  For once, Queenie became interested in this, so neither of 
us heard the footsteps approaching.  The door of the stable suddenly 
swung open and King stood there.  "Miss Sarah," he nodded to me.  
"Queenie," he asked, in his deep rumbling voice, "Have you seen..." He 
stopped as his eyes suddenly recognized the scene before him.  Queenie 
scrambled to her feet as King looked around.  I looked guiltily at the 
floor.  "Papa..." she started, her voice suddenly unsteady.  He silenced 
her with a movement of his hand and his eyes came to mine.  His 
expression was grim as he looked from me to the papers to Queenie and 
back to me.  For once in my life I was intimidated by a man who worked 
for us.  I could but stand helplessly, my heart pounding, as he stared 
at me.  "Come!" he said brusquely as he turned to the door.  Queenie and 
I quickly gathered the papers and meekly followed him down the path to 
their cabin.  It is odd, dear diary, for if it were any of our other 
slaves who treated me thus, I would have refused and reported him to 
Father.  King, however, had my respect and liking, and, I must confess, 
I was a little bit scared of him as well.  He is a big man, much taller 
than Father, and very broad of shoulder.  Through years of hard labor, 
his arms are packed with muscle and his big hands hold a double-bladed 
axe or sledge as if it were a mere twig.  He seldom raises his voice, 
but his word is law amongst the other laborers.  His manner is such that 
I, the Master’s daughter, scurried to obey him as rapidly as Queenie 
herself.  On our way up the path we almost had to run to keep up with 
his long strides.  Once inside the cabin, one word - "Wait!" - kept us 
rooted in our places.  Naomi gave us a questioning look, then followed 
King into their sleeping area.  We could hear their voices, the growling 
voice of King followed by the calm and measured tones from Naomi, but we 
could not decipher the words.  A few minutes later Naomi returned, 
followed by King, who stood by the fireplace, arms folded.  Naomi, a 
stern look on her face, looked from one of us to the other.  "What is 
going on?" she asked, gently, but with a steely determination.  Neither 
Queenie nor I spoke.  Naomi sighed.  "It appears that you two are 
sneakin’ in a little book learnin’.  Tell me about it, Queenie."  Again, 
she waited.  Again, neither of us spoke.  Naomi smiled a bit and shook 
her head.  "If I know you two, you’ve both decided that you’re gonna 
keep quiet, no matter what.  I admire loyalty, and I admire the 
friendship you two have developed.  Now, I’m gonna tell you two 
something that may surprise you.  Keep on doin’ just what you have been 
doin’!"  King straightened in surprise, voicing a shocked objection.  
Naomi whirled around and walked right up to him and looked up into his 
face.  It was odd.  She was almost a foot shorter than King, but with 
her stance and her manner, she was by far the biggest person in the 
room.  "You be quiet!" she told him, gently, but in a firm enough manner 
that it was clear she would brook no interference.  She then turned back 
to where Queenie and I stood rooted, stunned into silence.  She 
continued, her voice growing stronger and more impassioned as she went 
along.  "This here is something we have wished for and prayed for and 
wanted for a long time.  This is the best chance for our Queenie to get 
some education before..."  She hesitated, glanced at King, then 
continued.  "Before it is too late!  God knows she ain’t gonna get no 
learning from us!  And who better to teach her than..."  She stopped and 
looked at me, eyes shining.  "Than the best friend Queenie has ever had!  
Yes, Miss Sarah, you have been a wonderful friend to Queenie, and don’t 
you think any of us is ever gonna forget it!"  She spun and looked back 
at Queenie.  "And you, girl!  You learn!  You take every bit of learnin’ 
Miss Sarah can give you and you put that away and remember it!  This is 
a God-given chance for you to better yourself, and God does not give 
chances like this lightly!  Then you use that knowledge for good, ‘cause 
with any gift from God comes a responsibility.  And I ain’t just talkin’ 
about black folks, I mean that you should help anybody that need it!  
You hear me, girl?"  I was awed by the determination in her eyes and 
voice, and I knew Queenie was as well.  She nodded and Naomi went over 
and gave her a fierce hug.  Arm-in-arm they turned to me.  Naomi studied 
me for a long moment as I tried to meet her gaze.  Finally she nodded, 
as if satisfied.  "You run along home now, Miss Sarah," she said kindly.  
"Queenie and I have some more talking to do.  And no more sneaking 
around in the stable or by the well to do this teachin’ either.   You 
come back to this house for the next lesson, you hear?"  "And you," she 
turned fiercely to King, who had started to protest again.  "You hush!"  
I caught Queenie’s eye and we looked at each other.  In her gaze I saw 
no resentment, dismay or reluctance.  Once again her eyes were clear and 
bright, with happiness and acceptance there evident.  In a flash I 
realized that Queenie had previously shown reluctance not out of a lack 
of desire to learn, but out of respect for her parents and their wishes.  
Now, it seemed that with Naomi’s blessing we could move forward to our 
new world.