Our Florida Plantation (From The Atlantic Archives)

Harriet Beecher was born in 1811 in Litchfield, Connecticut, into the celebrated Beecher family: her father, Lyman, was a famous Congregationalist minister; her brother, Henry Ward, was a leader of the abolitionist movement; and her sister Catharine founded the academy in Hartford where Harriet was given the kind of education usually reserved for men, including languages, science, ethics, logic, and math. She lived until l896, long enough to publish her most famous book, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, which helped shape public opinion on slavery, and finally see it abolished. She married Calvin Ellis Stowe, a professor in a seminary in Cincinnati, and they were active in the Underground Railroad there, before Calvin moved the family to Brunswick, Maine, where he joined the faculty at Bowdoin College. Stowe had seven children and became one of the most celebrated women writers in the country, producing novels, articles, and essays, many published in the pages of The Atlantic Monthly.

Harriet Beecher was born in 1811 in Litchfield, Connecticut, into the celebrated Beecher family: her father, Lyman, was a famous Congregationalist minister; her brother, Henry Ward, was a leader of the abolitionist movement; and her sister Catharine founded the academy in Hartford where Harriet was given the kind of education usually reserved for men, including languages, science, ethics, logic, and math. She lived until l896, long enough to publish her most famous book, Uncle Tom’s CabinUncle Tom’s Cabin, which helped shape public opinion on slavery, and finally see it abolished. She married Calvin Ellis Stowe, a professor in a seminary in Cincinnati, and they were active in the Underground Railroad there, before Calvin moved the family to Brunswick, Maine, where he joined the faculty at Bowdoin College. Stowe had seven children and became one of the most celebrated women writers in the country, producing novels, articles, and essays, many published in the pages of The Atlantic MonthlyThe Atlantic Monthly.

After the Civil War, in the l860s, ’70s, and ’80s, the Stowe family lived in Hartford but wintered in a comfortable home in Florida, on the St. John’s River. Practicing what she preached, Stowe created a racially integrated school in the area, an early example of equal education.

After the Civil War, in the l860s, ’70s, and ’80s, the Stowe family lived in Hartford but wintered in a comfortable home in Florida, on the St. John’s River. Practicing what she preached, Stowe created a racially integrated school in the area, an early example of equal education.

“Our Florida Plantation”—pulled from the archives for Kindle—appeared in the May l879 issue of The Atlantic Monthly. Drawing on her familiarity with the area, Stowe begins, “It was a hazy, dreamy, sultry February day …” The story takes place not long after what she calls “the closing of our war” and features several captains of the Union army, who “had conceived the bright idea of hiring a plantation and making their fortunes in raising cotton.”

“Our Florida Plantation”—pulled from the archives for Kindle—appeared in the May l879 issue of The Atlantic MonthlyThe Atlantic Monthly. Drawing on her familiarity with the area, Stowe begins, “It was a hazy, dreamy, sultry February day …” The story takes place not long after what she calls “the closing of our war” and features several captains of the Union army, who “had conceived the bright idea of hiring a plantation and making their fortunes in raising cotton.”

Stowe’s prose is remarkably clear and precise. She takes her time with the story, pointing out the pleasures of Florida (“For we had come straight down from the land of whirling storms and deep snowdrifts”), exploring the lives of the newly freed slaves, talking about when “our ship of gold would come sailing joyfully in,” and poking gentle fun at a local character.  She meanders to what she calls the “finale of our story,” which arrives like “an army which came by night, without banner or band of music” in the last few action-packed paragraphs.

Stowe’s prose is remarkably clear and precise. She takes her time with the story, pointing out the pleasures of Florida (“For we had come straight down from the land of whirling storms and deep snowdrifts”), exploring the lives of the newly freed slaves, talking about when “our ship of gold would come sailing joyfully in,” and poking gentle fun at a local character.  She meanders to what she calls the “finale of our story,” which arrives like “an army which came by night, without banner or band of music” in the last few action-packed paragraphs.

Stowe’s “Our Florida Plantation” appears here exactly as it did in The Atlantic Monthly in 1879, including every excess comma.

Stowe’s “Our Florida Plantation” appears here exactly as it did in The Atlantic MonthlyThe Atlantic Monthly in 1879, including every excess comma.