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19th edition, 1996
BY
Author of "Ashby and His Compeers,"
"Who Was the Traitor?" etc.
Copyright, 1901
by
JAMES BATTLE AVIRETT.
THIS VOLUME IS GRATEFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
TO THE MEMORY OF THE OLD PLANTER AND HIS WIFE -
THE ONLY REAL SLAVES ON THE OLD PLANTATION
OF MANY OVERGROWN CHILDREN, SERVANTS
ON THE ESTATE, FROM 1817 TO 1865 -
THE FATHER AND MOTHER OF
THE AUTHOR.
ACTION and reaction - ebb and flow - seem to be the rule of life in its varied manifestations. Winter and Summer - Seedtime and Harvest, with their death into life - are in striking illustration of this rule. To the benumbing influences of that form of imperialism which swept over Europe, holding down as in a vise all effort at asserted individuality in citizenship, the student of history and its philosophies will recollect, came slow but sure reaction. Coming in form of the French Revolution, it was far, very far, from being an unmixed blessing. It liberated the individual from everybody and everything but himself. This it was powerless to do, because in its chaos it refused to recognize the condition precedent of all healthful life. It turned a deaf ear to the great truth, in its blind worship of Reason, that Order is Heaven's first Law. A power so strong as this social cyclone, working in the orbit of human weakness, could not be confined to France. It overleaped the channel and, though strongly resisted by the conservative forces of Anglo-Saxon England, it has left its influence upon that virile polity which had successfully withstood the mutations of centuries. Intrenching itself in Exeter Hall, London, it threw its
forces across the Atlantic and fortified them in Fanueil Hall,
Boston. And thus it came about that it was the benumbing
shadows of the French Revolution, in its contempt for law,
order and precedent, which left such giants in the state as Mr.
Webster, and Bishop Hopkins of Vermont in the Church
without a counteracting following. Thus it was that the John
Brown Raid, called into being by that bold, bad, strong book,
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," proved to be the avant-coureur of the
Civil War.
This fearful struggle between the two sections, North and South, closed in one of its forms many long years ago. Pending this long, dark period of suffering, involving a proud people in some forms of sorrow, keener far than that known to either Poland or Hungary, in the manumission and enfranchisement of a race inferior both from heredity and servility, the South, possessing her soul in patience, has waited. Yes! wretchedly misunderstood, we have waited for the pendulum of public opinion to swing around to our side of the arc. God only knows in what bitterness of heart we have waited. We have waited in full loyalty to the Government, both State and Federal, and though in waiting we may not have grown strong, yet we have waited long enough, under the inspiring example and memory of the Christian Lee at Lexington, Virginia, to be full of hope that the tide is now setting in from the high seas of error, and that the day of our vindication in the world's judgment is nigh at hand.
Men, very thoughtful men, lacking in no element of manly loyalty to the powers that be, are free to assert that in the reaction which has set in, erroneous views as to the causes which led up to the war, as well as the facts in its conduct, are giving place to the truth. The Supreme Court of the country, in its appellate jurisdiction of last
resort, is affirming and reaffirming the constitutional doctrine of Statehood in its distinct autonomy. Public opinion from the lakes to the gulf, is voicing American utterance as to the superiority of the Caucasian race. From ocean to ocean there is a growing recognition that the tide has turned, in the steadily increasing thrift of the South. And thus it would seem to be that all things come to him who waits.
The writer of this book, the chaplain on the staff of that matchless Cavalier, Gen. Turner Ashby, Chief of Cavalry under Stonewall Jackson, has patiently waited for nearly forty years to tell his own story. While envy, hatred and malice ruled the hour, he well knew that it would be worse than "Love's Labor Lost," to do anything but wait - bide his time. He has waited until he hears falling from the lips of the distinguished Senator Hoar of Massachusetts largely the same arguments in his opposition to the imperialism at Manila as were employed by Southern senators in the United States Senate in the spring of 1861. He has waited until Colonel Henderson of the British Army, in his "Life of Stonewall Jackson," has placed Lee's lieutenant in the forefront of the world's great captains; and in doing so he has shown in a very striking manner that the appeal, which the silence of the South has slowly brought about, is largely vindicatory of her men and measures. He has waited, until the social conditions at the South before the war are necessarily assuming the misty forms of traditions, and will presently, unless rescued, become to the oncoming generations of the South as mythical as much of the Roman and Grecian stories. He has waited until to wait longer would be treasonable to duty. Having waited long, he now writes in loyalty to past generations of the South - such men
and women as those from whom sprang such pure patriots as Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson, and that incomparable army of Northern Virginia and their comrades in gray all over the Southland.
In vindicating his people from the ignorant aspersions of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and kindred exhalations from a distempered brain, he indulges in no criminations or recriminations. To the ex parte statement of this gifted member of a very gifted family, he simply says what the good old Common Law has said in all its wise judgments, "Audi alteram partem" - the wisdom of which legal maxim is further promulged by that higher injunction, "Judge nothing before the time."
The author, a University man and bred to the law, has given nearly forty years of his life under the auspices of the Episcopal Church. We would, therefore, expect a thoughtful book from him. Born and reared to full manhood on one of the largest plantations on tidewater, North Carolina, one will see that with him is the great advantage of writing as an eyewitness, and not from hearsay or second hand. Urged to write this book by such men of the South as the late United States Senator Vance of North Carolina, and encouraged therein by the Bishop of Central New York and others of his Northern friends, we think he has justified their appreciation of his capacity for this work.
The reader will observe that he takes hold of none of the many weak threads in the sensational and overwrought story, "Uncle Tom's Cabin," which he might well have done by showing that the worst character in the book is a New Englander, while the best is largely the product of those social forces which Mrs. Stowe is undermining. He simply tells you how the servants on his father's estate
were treated, and unfolds, under that treatment, the gradual uplift of a pagan race to that point of high character which, in the judgment (?) of those in power, fitted them for all the high duties of that citizenship so gracefully adorning such men as Chauncey Depew and Mark Hanna.
In laying the scene of his recitals on his father's plantation he is fortunate in knowing whereof he speaks, and he does not intimate that the treatment of the servants there was in anywise more humane than elsewhere in the South. In his painstaking portrayal of the social conditions on this plantation, of which he could write both creditably and intelligently, he says: "Ex uno disce omnia."
Of all the arguments in his contention with Mrs. Stowe and all her kidney, our author uses this one most tellingly. He says if the system of labor on Southern estates was so cruel and barbarous, if the negroes were slaves abject and not servants trusted and well cared for, why was it that when the Southern homes were stripped of their defenders, then in the Confederate armies, the negroes did not reënact the bloody scenes of San Domingo - why did they not rise, with blazing torch in hand, and kill and burn? By so doing, in eight and forty hours they could have broken up the organized Confederate armies in front of Richmond and Atlanta, whose soldiers would have rushed back home to protect their wives and children. And yet, not one single torch of incendiarism was kindled. If any change came, the negroes of the old plantation, conscious of their power, were more loyal and tenderly dutiful than at any time in their history.
No! no! The truth is, as shown on these pages, the institution had knit the hearts of the two races together too tenderly, in the happy life on the old plantation, to
suggest to either race any such bloody event. The negro of the South to-day knows, that when in trouble his best friend is his old master or his children; and if left alone by those who understand neither race at the South, he would reflect this knowledge in all the relations of life and the race problem of the South would be solved - not in the penalties of odious lynch law, but in the displacement of the fiendish crimes which lead up to it.
HUNTER MCGUIRE, M.D.,
Late Surgeon-in-Chief to General Stonewall Jackson.
RICHMOND, VA.
"Let
fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright
dreams of the past which she cannot destroy,
Which
come in the night time of sorrow and care
And
bring back the features which love used to wear.
Long,
long be my heart with such memories filled,
Like
the vase in which roses have once been distilled -
You
may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But
the scent of the roses will hang round it still."
TO THE carefully discriminating mind nothing can be clearer than the following proposition: At Gettysburg, at Chickamauga and elsewhere, every memorial stone, cemented with gratitude for patriotic devotion to country, which has been erected either by Government or individuals, is in strong attestation of the social forces and political conditions which made the armies of the United States such terrible realities.
At the South in Richmond, Virginia, in Winchester, in Raleigh, North Carolina, in fact all over the broad area embraced by the Confederacy, every effort made to perpetuate the memories of the wearers of the gray - every grassy hillock in God's acre or elsewhere marking the last bivouac of the men who followed Lee, Jackson and others - proclaims in trumpet tones the strength of the silent, subtle forces which underlay the grand struggle for Southern independence, expressed in separate and distinct autonomy.
It is both fitting and just that these stones should have been so raised on both sides. The carping criticism which would deny to either the precious privilege of honoring its dead is foreign to the patriotic devotion which called
into existence those martial hosts which shook the continent in 1861 and '65. It is eminently natural and proper that both sections, which were lately arrayed in such bitter hostility, should accord to and join with each other in those high and holy observances which perpetuate the fame of those men, now rapidly becoming the property of a common country. The time is nigh at hand when all over this broad land the proud distinction of American citizen, so nobly worn by Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Forrest, Hampton, et id omne genus, will cause a thrill of high admiration, as well among the dwellers along our northern lakes as in the breasts of those who live amid the savannahs of the South. And this is so rightly, because naturally. It is well nigh axiomatic that a people which does not cherish with loving heart the memory of ancestral virtues will enrich its posterity with scant legacy.
If then it be true that the memory of our dead is a duty, God imposed and heaven blessed, is it not both wise and profitable to analyze these social forces, which entered so largely into the formation of the character of those noble men, as well in the Army of the Potomac, led by Grant at the close of the struggle, as those who confronted them in battle's stern array for four long years, led by Lee? To the casual, careless observer there was a general sameness in high valor and devotion to duty, as seen in Hancock and Jackson and their followers. To the painstaking, patient student of history and its philosophies differentiations appear, as deep and broad as those which the careful study of Wellington and Napoleon brings to light. If it is true that the child is the father of the man - that we are all of us marvelously molded by the nursery influences at the mother's knee - that men out in the struggle with the world, in after years, are largely the product of hearthstone forces in childhood, then must we seek for some cause at home, in the structure of society, some one or more institutional forces, characterizing the environment and accounting for the difference between the people of the North and South.
It will not satisfy the alert mind to say that these differences in products, customs, habits, propelling powers in
every-day life - those subtle differences in the mainspring of action - are traceable to differences in the climate. There is much in this. In the economy of nature the sun, with heat and light differing in varying degrees of latitude and longitude, stamps these differences on the orange groves of Florida, full of bloom and beauty, as well as upon the bleak, cold fisheries on the coast of Maine. In the natural world climate is self asserting and supreme. In the higher forms of life, when one passes into the realms of those strong forces swayed by the supernatural, where mind and spirit, acting either separately or conjointly, leave their enduring impress, do we not meet with products which deny and defy the strong influences of climate? It is true that climate has much, but not all to do in making us what we are. Soil and climate influence arm determine avocations or pursuits in life in no small degree. The many and marked points of difference between an agricultural and manufacturing or commercial community determine largely the habits of life, modes of thought and in some sense, the standards of action characterizing the two people of the North and South.
At one time, in old England and elsewhere in Europe, under the unifying forces of one and the same environment, we were solidly one and the same people. When the exodus from Europe began social differences had already asserted themselves and to such a degree that in many respects the earlier settlers of New England differed largely from those who settled Maryland, Virginia and the Carolinas. It is very difficult to satisfactorily account for these differences. Climate could have had but little to do with those differences which so strikingly obtained between those men who trod the decks of the Mayflower and those who followed Sir Walter Raleigh, that matchless Cavalier, of whom our own Lowell, in his inscription for the Raleigh memorial window in St. Margaret's Church, England, has so beautifully said:
"The
new world's sons, from England's breast we drew
Such milk, as bids remember whence we came;
Proud of her past where from our future grew,
This window we inscribe with Raleigh's fame."
The Gallic civilization, repressing and depressing, until at last Spain, in the loss of her American colonies, has nigh disappeared from among the nations of the earth, tells its own story of the influence of government upon the governed. If it be true, that the character of the government asserts itself in the character of its subjects - if, in other words, bad laws make a bad people - we think it equally susceptible of demonstration that whether the word of God occurs in the constitutional charter of its life and liberty or not a people's religion always expresses itself in the character of their government.
So strikingly true is this that the gifted John S. Pendleton of Virginia was once heard to say that he never left his home in Piedmont, Virginia, and went as United States Minister to Brazil that, after a residence of six months in Rio Janiero, he was not forced to realize that he was a worse man than when he left his home in the United States. So much for the influence of environment and the subtle effects of government and religion on the temper and disposition of a man. When crystallized, these constitute his character. It will appear from this line of thought that when in the early settlement of this country, in the two sets of colonies of New England and Virginia, marked differences were at once recognized - the Puritan and the Cavalier on social lines were far apart. In the former of these two orders of civilization, the Puritan, there were many and marked excellences. The world has rarely, if ever seen among any people a higher standard of general thrift, the outcome largely of their industry and frugality. The marked influence they have exerted on the policy of this country, because of the large wealth they have amassed, is a striking comment on their methods and measures from a material standpoint. Their untiring energy; their calm self-contained equipoise; their ability at all times and under all circumstances to give themselves the full benefit of their resourcefulness; in the main, the absence of both breadth of acres and fertility of their landed estates; the marked intellectuality of many of their public men, anterior to and during the revolution; the deep set influence of the leading
dogma of their religious faith as held by the masterful Jonathan Edward - these and other causes, under the influence of climate, made the New England civilization a wonderful lever in the up-building of the young republic.
And yet there were some aspects in which this civilization was very weak. It is in a large measure that weakness which is always found in those conditions caused by a dense population, with its numerous large towns and cities, the outcome of manufacturing and commercial enterprises wrought out by energy into a marked success. There is more truth than this materialistic age is willing to allow in the trite old saying, "That man made the town and God made the country." The various forms of social distemper, with which the human race in all ages have been accursed, have had their origin in those congested conditions of life found in thickly settled communities. The old writer was not far away from the truth when he said that cities were ulcers and the smaller towns were boils on the body politic. Men in closely aggregated relations will do and dare (mostly evil things) what they would scarcely think of in segregated homes. The happiest, proudest days of the republic came to us in those healthier conditions of smaller cities, with a scattered population, when the pure air and healthful sunshine of the country life were strong in the coinage, if not in the Spartan simplicity, of those influences; when the criminal dockets of our courts were far shorter and we had no penitentiaries.
The Cavalier civilization, with its centers in the South, was, in many particulars, different from the Puritan. A close study of history will discover the fact that it brought across the ocean less of that restlessness and more of that restfulness, which naturally inhere in those conditions of respect for authority and precedents than was found among our Northern brethren. The continuity of these conditions accounts for the absence, in all her fair borders, of those "isms" which, like wasteful and destructive parasites, sap the very life out of a people's faith, both in God and in each other.
One may be on the point of enquiring what was it that
constituted the people of the old South so especially a peculiar people, and, if not strikingly zealous of good works, yet enabled them to exert a strong influence in their day and generation? The ready answer is close at hand. The Southern people, prior to 1865, were a plantation people and were patriarchal, in a sense and to a degree unknown in any part of this country before- or since. What enabled them to lead this order of life? Largely of one blood, living on large estates in the employment of their African servants, there was among them, in the absence of manufacturing and large commercial centers, that freedom from restless change, which can alone be hoped for in any community in the perfect absence of those sharp antagonisms between Capital and Labor. At the South these two mighty giants, whose wrestlings have aforetime vexed governments and overturned empires, were at peace. And this was so because, to put it epigrammatically, our Capital was our Labor and our Labor was our Capital. Hence it was, in the old South, we were enabled to present that enviable condition of fixedness and stability which came of families living for generations with their servants on the same ancestral estates. With us our household gods were not often removed and, in consequence, there attached to our lares and penates that peculiar sanctity and reverence, which gave rise to that blessed form of friendliness, which will be long, long remembered, as the old-fashioned, openhearted Southern hospitality.
The object of this volume, now in hand, is to describe one of these old plantations - its occupants, white and colored - the exact relations between the two races; the conditions under which they served each other; the character of the houses in which they both dwelt; what manner of food they ate; their daily duties and amusements; their religion; in fine, to draw from memory a picture as an eye witness, as a participant in and a creature of those social forces which made the old South a power in the land. Gladly would I draw such a truthful, detailed and minute picture, as will teach the young people of this and oncoming generations, both in the North and South, what
manner of men and women lived south of the Susquehanna river prior to the late war between the States.
This, to the writer, in his old age, will be a labor of love. Here and there he may seem to dwell on some feature of his recital with great minuteness. If so, it is because in no portion of the world has there ever been, or will there ever be again, such happy social conditions as formerly existed in the old South on the old plantation.
Were it not that the present writer has peculiar advantages in treating his subject - himself in every fibre of his organism, mental, moral and physical, the creation, the outcome of the plantation life - he might draw back and remain silent in the presence of the deep prejudice and painful ignorance still in existence against the institutional life of his people. However, he must write. He must tell his own story and put forth a friendly, if it be a weak hand, to rescue from oblivion the story of the old plantation life. It is now to many people very nebulous, and will soon become so very misty as to be mythical. He is prompted to write in vindication of his own people, in the knowledge of the fact that on a large plantation, with hundreds of servants, his father and mother were the only two slaves upon it. Years ago the writer's old friend, the distinguished late Senator Z. B. Vance, that wonderful tribune of the people, urged him to do what he is now attempting - saying that only the product of plantation life could tell the story authentically, as an eye witness, and not writing from hearsay or second hand.
Recently the writer has received letters from President Alderman, and ex-President Battle of the University of North Carolina, as well as from such distinguished citizens of the South as Dr. Hunter McGuire of Virginia; Messrs. Graham Daves, James A. Bryan, Oscar W. Blacknall, Generals William H. Cheek, and Julian S. Carr; Rev. Doctors Hufham and Yates of North Carolina - all urging him to carry his book on to completion. Obliged, after a ministry of nearly forty years, to take some rest, in consequence of failing health, the writer hopes he has elected wisely to rest by changing his labor. He wishes
most heartily that he were younger and could bring to the discharge of these high duties the verve and élan, the vigor of more meridian powers; but, if much younger, he would have missed the boon of a plantation education under the purer and happier days of the Republic, when citizenship at the South was happily exempt from those saddening forms of change and decay which, in these latter days, have come from bad politics and worse statesmanship growing out of a cheapened and debauched ballot. It saddens one to attempt to realize how depressed our own Washington, Hamilton, Jay, Jefferson and Madison would become could they come back to the once familiar scenes, which they glorified by their high type of patriotic devotion, and witness for themselves the painful decadence of citizenship, as well at the North by reason of foreignism as at the South because of the Ethiopian ballot.
And yet we must not despair of the Republic. In no country, in the world's history, have the vital forces been quite so strong as in these United States. There is a virgin freshness, combined with a masculine strength, in this young land of ours which will not tolerate the baneful forms of pessimism, and which, if not inspiring, at least suggests that he is the true friend of the country whose form of optimism urges one to work on, to hope on, for the best. We are far too young as a people to have so far crystallized in habits and views (which if wrong) as to be beyond the reach of remedy. We older Southern people are proud of and thankful for the blessed days of the old South. We will endeavor to teach our offspring to cherish the memories and emulate the virtues of the ante-bellum civilization. Full well we know that no portion of human history has been more ignorantly misunderstood or painfully misjudged than the slaveholding era of the South. It has been more bitter than defeat itself to realize with sickening certainty the fact that until recently we have been denied the privilege of setting the world right in the matter of the causes which led up to, as well as the conduct of the struggle, whose epitaph the major part of Christendom would write in the words: "Lost Cause." Second, sober thought, governmental experiment
in heretofore untried suffrage problems - the cold hard facts of nearly four decades in our history are bringing on marked changes in the opinion of very many thoughtful people. Some of the very best thinkers, men enlightened by the culture of the philosophies of history are already declaring that it was only in the matter of physical force and results that General Lee surrendered to General Grant. That in the matter of Caucasian supremacy and statehood to us of the South it was not a lost cause, because:
"If
lost, 'twas false
If
true, it was not lost."
The Supreme Court of the United States, by recent decisions, is maintaining the doctrine of the States with separate autonomy. Public opinion, North and South, is so dealing with the vexed race problem as to emphasize the supremacy of the white man. The signs of the times are hopeful, when, though sad the necessity, Senator Hoar of Massachusetts, in antagonizing imperialism at Manila and elsewhere, is using largely the same arguments which Mr. Jefferson Davis employed in justifying the action of the South in 1860 and '61, in the Senate of the United States, just prior to the secession of the Southern States.
WHEN one crosses out of the little State of Delaware into the historic commonwealth of Maryland, looking to the south and west, there stretches away before him a magnificent domain. Temperate in climate, diversified in soil, richly embellished with hill and dale, in many respects it is unequaled by any in the world. It is traversed by the Alleghany and Blue Ridge mountains, with foothills which gradually lose themselves in the sea coast counties, and is watered by such beautiful rivers as will come to mind when you think of the Potomac, the James, the Roanoke, the Savannah, the Alabama, the Rio Grande and the lordly Mississippi. These rivers drain large valleys and water sheds, whose soil in many portions rivals the fertility of the Nile. This section is blessed indeed by a loving Providence in those innumerable medicinal springs, whose waters are given for the healing of earth's diseased children. Surely when one has familiarized himself with the picturesque valley of the Shenandoah, in dear old Virginia; or has allowed his eye to sweep over the blue-grass region of Kentucky; or has drunk in the beauties of that famous cloudland country in the vicinity of Asheville, in western North Carolina - where the laughing waters of the beautiful French Broad (mirroring the forms of the grandest mountains east of the incomparable Rockies), go on their way rejoicing to tell it out to the sunlit Gulf of Mexico - that here, in the old Southland, is the Eldorado of the world. Surely when one has done this he feels like exclaiming, as does the Neapolitan when he looks upon
Naples, "Behold this fair land and then die, for there is nothing more beautiful to be seen on earth."
It does not lie in the province of these short annals to indulge in any elaborate description of this famous section of our country, which has proven such an important factor in the rapid development of our young republic. And yet, common justice demands that something should be said of its wonderful products, notably so of its splendid product of noble men and fair women, which has put the world in love with the very finest type of Anglo-Saxon civilization. Think of her forests, under the shade of whose oaks the Druids might worship, and under whose widespreading beech trees Virgil's fair Amaryllis might have been wooed and won. Think of her grand old hickories, graceful ashes, and above all those lordly pines, in whose branches the wind is ever sighing out the lullaby of old ocean; her magnificent magnolias, from whose flower-swayed branches, our incomparable mocking-bird, night and day, is pouring out his roundelay of love, in notes sweeter far than these of the Oriental nightingale.
Time fails one in telling fully of the wealth, both of the useful and the beautiful, which a beneficent Creator has given us in these widespread forests of the South. Would you speak of flowers? Nowhere on God's green earth does the rich, blushing rose (that century-sceptered queen of lovely Flora) reach higher perfection than in the flower gardens of Raleigh, North Carolina, or in those of Pensacola, Florida. All of our Southern flowers, which represent those exact adjustments of heat and light involved in the higher ranges of color and perfume, find here their fullest requirements. Would you speak of fruits? Think of the luscious Georgia peach, the vermeille on whose cheek equals that of the lovely damsels who pluck and eat them; the melons, the apples, the pears, the nectarines, the figs, the apricots and the luscious grapes, equal to Eschol's clusters, and her oranges as well - in fine, of all her fruits; and while your mouth waters say that nature in dear old Southland has done her best. Would you like nuts with your coffee after dinner? We have walnuts of both varieties, the pecan, the hickory nut,
and the more delicate scaly or shell bark, the famous peanut, and even the delicate, dainty, little grass nut of the well appointed Southern garden.
Would you know how it comes about that the cuisine of Baltimore and New Orleans is the wonder and delight of the world? Associate in your mind the fact that "all flesh is grass" with a fine sirloin of blue-grass beef in the South and the noble saddles of Southdown mutton (fatted on this same grass and flavored by browsing the sheep on the budding twigs in our mountain lots), and you will cease to wonder why both New Yorkers and Philadelphians go to the White Sulphur and Capon Springs of Virginia, not only to rest, but to laugh and grow fat as well.
Would you tell me that the perfection of fish is found in the markets of Southern Europe, or to be had at Delmonico's in New York, or in Boston? This is not so. Grant that the wealthy people of the large Northern cities demand that the "pick" of the Chesapeake or Albemarle "catch" shall be carried to them. The power of wealth is very great, but it cannot control nature. The fine shad and other varieties are carried, but in the carriage they lose their finest flavor, and thus the millionaire feeds, in some sense, upon stale fish. When you have eaten the planked shad in full view of the lovely Chesapeake Bay, or have been so fortunate as to enjoy the pompino, that perfection of the Gulf waters, at the old Saint Charles in New Orleans, you will understand how kindly in her dispensations dear old dame nature has been, and still is, to her sunburnt, unconventional Southern children, far away from Gotham and "the hub of civilization," so called. Before passing away from the Southern products, let us not forget her canvasback duck nor her diamondback terrapin. We will not discount that miracle of delicate flavor and toothsomeness, the oysters of our Southern waters, the perfection of which is claimed in the "Broad Creekers" and the "New River catch" of the North Carolina market. At the South, notably so in those blessed days before the flood of 1861 and 1865, our very finest product was the old-fashioned ham of the
Southern plantation. More time would be required than can be given it in the description of those conditions which lead up to this time-honored, ancestral essential to a good dinnner in its full excellence. In the old South no dinner was in any sense complete without that lordly dish, which always confronted the mistress of the plantation at the head of the table, after the soup and fish had been discussed. Later on we will take a slice out of that old ham. Just now we must go on.
The old South was essentially a people of plantations, as distinguished from farms. Of cities there were but few, and these not strikingly large. Baltimore, New Orleans, St. Louis and Charleston were among the largest; and while there were other smaller cities and towns - in wealth, in political power, in social influence, the most attractive feature of our life - the strength and the charm were in the country. This was so because the South was strikingly an agricultural people. From the greater fixedness and certainty of their possessions, in broad acreage and numerous servants, few of her people had been stung by the gadfly of millionarism, more poisonous than the asp which sucked the blood from Cleopatra's purple veins. They were content to enjoy the profits from producing their various staples of cotton, rice, sugar, tobacco, naval stores and lumber; they were content to live and let live, in doing but very little to build up their commerce or manufactories, but allowing others to transform their products for the markets of the world and thus grow rich.
Pending this long period of unwritten agreement between the North and the South, the former producing largely and the latter manufacturing the products of the United States, all Europe stood in wonder at the rapid development in both sections. The perfect comity between the two demonstrated to the world, in far more forceful form than dear old Æsop embodied it in his striking fable of the bundle of sticks, that "in union is strength." Saddening indeed is the fact that during a period of national dementia sullen sectionalism sapped the Union of strength to such a degree as to almost make the once fair
young republic the laughing-stock of the world. Fortunately reaction supervened in the return of that brother hood, which indeed is the procuring cause of our present colossal proportions.
Having already glanced at the extent of territory embraced in the old South, with her varied agricultural products, her untold riches in climate and soil, her vast resources in forest wealth and inexhaustible mines of coal and iron, together with those rich contributions both of comfort and wealth which her waters gave as they teemed with life, there is something still which must be said of the richest of all her gifts to national wealth - her population - the men and women who dwelt upon their ancestral estates.
The time is past for any defense of African slavery - an institution which some say cannot be defended. But it must be allowed that its practical working at the old South among our ancestors was such, in the language of Mr. Henry Grady, "as to challenge and hold our loving respect." In no time in the history of our race has there ever been seen a peasantry so happy, and in every respect so well to do, as the negro slaves of America. We are to indulge in no criminations or recriminations as to who introduced them into this country. We are not now to inquire who they were who held so tenaciously to the carrying trade of these poor pagans and (in many cases) cannibals from the coast of Africa, through the ports, first of the colonies and then of the United States, into the landed estates of this country, North and South. We are not now to tell it out to the world, that family secret of ours, as to what was the basis of some of the largest fortunes still in existence among us. We shall be silent as to what portion of this country was represented in Congress by those favoring the extension or the abolition of the slave trade. We do not propose to allow our family soiled linen to be washed in the front yard of the world's unfriendly criticism. This would argue the absence of good taste and gentle breeding and might provoke an unpleasant state of affairs. But, guarded as we may be in keeping our family secrets, it is both curious and profitable, if
sometimes humiliating, to note how murder will out. Lynx-eyed history is both persistent and insistent in gathering up and gazetting facts. Among the ancients Cupid was represented as blind, while Justice always wore a bandage over her fair eyes. In this electric age history courageously and successfully insists upon having her telescope for long ranged views of the truth, while she will not be denied her microscope for more minute investigations.
We are quite willing to leave the position which our forefathers at the South occupied on this social question to the solemn, God-fearing utterances of history. We would simply say that the civilized world stood amazed at the social conditions at the South during the eventful years of 1861 and '65. These slaves (so called) - these servants - during that time with loving fidelity guarded the homes of their masters, absent in many cases with those armies that barred their way to freedom. This condition of affairs has been so happily (because forcibly, truthfully) presented by a distinguished son of Georgia, Mr. Grady, that extracts are here made from his brilliant, brave-hearted paper.
"If 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' had portrayed the rule of slavery at the South rather than the rarest exception, not all the armies that went to the field could have stayed the flood of rapine and arson and pillage that would have started with the first gun of the Civil War. Instead of that, witness the miracle of the slave, in loyalty to his master, closing the fetters upon his own limbs - maintaining and defending the families of those who fought against his freedom - and at night, on the far-off battlefield, searching among the carnage for his young master, that he might lift the dying head to his breast and bend to catch the last word to the old folks at home; so wrestling in the meantime in agony and love that he would lay down his life in his master's stead. History has no parallel to the faith kept by the negro in the South during the war. Often five hundred negroes to a single white man, and yet through these dusky throngs the women and children walked in safety, and the unprotected home rested in peace. Unmarshaled, the black
battalion moved patiently to the fields in the morning to feed the armies their idleness would have starved, and at night gathered anxiously at the great house to hear the news from master, though conscious that his victory made their chains enduring. Everywhere humble and kindly. Everywhere the bodyguard of the helpless. Everywhere the rough companion of the little ones. The silent sentry in his lowly cabin. The shrewd counsellor. And when the dead came home, a mourner at the open grave. A thousand torches would have disbanded every Southern army, but not one was lighted. When the master, going to the war in which slavery was involved, said to his slave, 'I leave my home and loved ones in your charge,' the tenderness between the man and master stood disclosed. Its patriarchal features were revealed."
The Southern people are daily thanking this golden-mouthed son of Georgia for this and many other matchless utterances in Boston and New York, as well as for his daily teaching at home, in which he taught each section by no false position, but by simply presenting the truth in naked majesty, to love each other back into lasting peace. Would God had spared him a few more years in his bright and beautiful life, to have beheld with his own eyes the fine fruitage of his well-nigh divine teachings, inspired by the matchless example and vicarious suffering of Lee at Lexington, Virginia, whom his father loved and followed in the Southern army confronting Grant.
Mr. Grady is right. It is simply impossible for any Northern man, with his hired servants, to comprehend the facts of the patriarchal relation between master and servant, with its friendliness and sympathy of the old plantation life.
If one spoke the truth of the régime, in painting the picture of the servants on these estates, trusted because open hearted, sympathetic and full of innocent gossip and comradeship, he was once accounted either as a dreamer or as one who drew on his fancy for his facts. But, thank God, this day is passing away. As well under the shadow of Exeter Hall, London, as that of Fanueil Hall, Boston,
on both sides of the Atlantic, the representatives of the Anglo-Saxon civilization are reaching out for the truth in a way and to a degree that happily characterizes the closing years of the nineteenth century.
We wish to speak of those social forces which were so actively at work in the South before the war. There must have been some immense force in them to work out such remarkable results, although beleaguered within their own area by the suspicion and the hostility of the outside world. What are the facts? Numerically inferior to the North for the first sixty-four years of the republic, the South furnished the President for fifty-two years. When Great Britain undertook to drive us from the high seas, before our beard had grown, the South, in the United States Senate, forced the war of 1812, with only five Northern senators aiding her. Who commanded our armies at the battle of New Orleans? General Andrew Jackson, a Carolinian. Who were in the lead, when Louisiana, with more than one million square miles of territory, was acquired? Do we not owe the acquisition of Florida to the same source? Who opposed the war with Mexico, by which the vast empire of Texas and New Mexico, together with California, were added to our country? Northern statesmen. Who built the first important railway in this country? Public spirited and wealthy men in Carolina. Where was the first college for girls built but in dear old Georgia, which sent the first steamship across the ocean from the beautiful little city of Savannah? In the world of beautiful nature around us who has gone as deep in her secrets among the birds of the air as our own Audubon? Who has given the commerce of the world such rich instruction in the laws of the winds and the tides and currents of old ocean, mapping and charting them, as Virginia's gifted son, Matthew Fontaine Maury? High up on the roll of the world's great surgeons whose names stand higher than those of Sims and McDonald? To whom in the dark valley of the world's great suffering are we so much indebted as to Crawford Long of Georgia? Whence come John Marshall and Roger Taney, to contest with Judge Story of New England the highest honors and
the proudest fame on the Supreme Court Bench of the United States, but from their Southern homes? Who emulated, if they did not surpass, Daniel Webster in the United States Senate, with magnetic thrill and irresistible, inexorable logic? Mr. Clay of Kentucky, and Mr. Calhoun and Mr. Hayme of South Carolina.
"Read their history in the nation's eyes,"
swaying senates and prolonging the life of the republic! These were a part (and only a part) of the rich contributions which the old South gave to the young nation in trust for the world. And while she was active in doing so much for the whole country she was amassing a wealth which, per capita, was greater than that of any other portion of the Union, save, perhaps, that of little Rhode Island. In 1861, if the erring sisters had been allowed to go in peace, was not the disturbing question of the hour: Whence is to come national revenue? Had not this very consideration much to do with the policy of coercion?
"Thus," said Mr. Lincoln, "if we allow the Southern States to depart from the Union, where shall we get the money with which to carry on the Government?"
Those of us who have survived our fondest hopes in many directions are warranted in fearing that the goose which laid the golden egg has been killed. Certainly this matter of finance is one of the vexed problems now confronting us; certainly it does appear that the world or at least our part of it, is not growing wiser as it grows older, in many departments of most useful information. But to resume. Let it be said that the presentation of the above facts, embodying the rich contributions to national greatness in most vital, essential particulars which were made by the old South, is very gladly presented. In justifying our ancestral pride it emboldens us in acquainting our children with their rich inheritance, and thus serves to keep erect among us high standards of duly to self and country. It disproves and forever disposes of the loose assertion that the Southern civilization, shadowed by and the product of the institution of slavery, was incapable of high achievements and largely inferior to that
of our Northern brethren. It further shows that these Caucasians dwelling on the plantations of the old South, in their guardianship over the millions of negroes on their estates must, in the main, have treated their servants very kindly. How else can you account for the absence of crime during the war and the presence of such fine forms of mutual kindness among the older persons of both races, as we know exists to this day? It can be emphatically declared, and is often exemplified, that we at the South, the old plantation people and their descendants, do love the race that held the plow which made the corn that fed the cows which gave the milk that we drank in childhood. It is painful to know how difficult it is to induce those foreign to our condition fully to realize this as a fact, but we, and the negroes themselves, know that it is so; and we, for the present, must be contented. More light is coming in. Booker Washington in Alabama, and others like him, will go on vindicating the truth of what has been so admirably said on this point by such thoughtful, discriminating men of the South as the late ex-Senator Vance of North Carolina and Mr. Henry Grady of Georgia.
Before leaving this subject it must be allowed one to say in regard to the state of society in the South before the war, that the social conditions in the same community have largely changed. It is said of Mr. Webster that in introducing that charming typical Southerner, the Honerable George E. Badger, United States Senator of North Carolina, to one of his Boston friends, he employed these words:
"Dear Sir - Permit
me to introduce to you the Honorable
George E. Badger of North Carolina, your equal and my
superior.
Yours truly, DANIEL WEBSTER.
estate, in the hospitality that neither condescended nor
cringed, in frankness and heartiness and wholesome
comradeship, in the reverence paid to womanhood and the
inviolable respect in which woman was held, the civilization of
the old slave régime in the South has not been
surpassed and
perhaps will not be equaled among men.
Whence came these fine conditions? We of the old South
cannot be blamed (for we are not wrong) in saying that, as
there was no hurry among us in those days, no need of haste,
men took time to be truly conservative and fastened the taproot
of their every-day life deep down into the soil which was
pressed by the foot-prints of George Washington, Jefferson,
Madison, Monroe, Henry, and such others as gave dignity and
honor to American citizenship. These worthies were all slave
holders, as were Scott and Taylor, and a whole host of others
whose devotion to the institutional life of this country gives
lustre to many pages of American history.
But it must be borne in mind that the limited space of this
volume demands that we hurry on and drop this vein of
thought for the present. Yes, drop this vein of thought; not,
however, in the sense illustrated by this anecdote. The
proprietor of the leading hotel in Savannah, Georgia, ordered
old Pompey to bring up on his shoulder from the wharf to the
hotel a large sea turtle. Pompey was obeying the order, as with
bent shoulders he made his way up the street, the turtle kicking
out with his four feet in as many directions. A ventriloquist on
the opposite side of the street took in the situation and
undertook to have some fun at the old darky's expense. In the
most sepulchral tone he could possibly command he threw his
voice over the street and, as from the poor turtle, asked, "When
is you gwine to drap me?" Instantly, as the turtle went down
with a tremendous crash upon the hard pavement, jarring him as
though he had been struck by the tail of a whale, the old darky
called out, "I'se gwine to drap you right now," and away he
went at the most rapid rate, with coat tails flying out as danger
signals, in superstitious fright and flight. In the childlike
simplicity of the old plantation negro how much there is both
amusing and attractive.
IN THE South the crops were so various that in no season,
however disastrous to some, was there ever a marked failure in
all. Each one of these staples had its own peculiar belt or
habitat, requiring different modes of culture and special
adaptation of soil and climate for its highest perfection. Thus, in
the fine wheat lands of Maryland, Virginia and Kentucky, one
never saw a field of cotton or sugar cane. Yet all of these crops
were the products of the same labor, and while there were
peculiar features in the plantation life of the Gulf States'
planters, yet there was such a general sameness that in minute
description of an estate in North Carolina one furnishes a
satisfactory account of them all. In the older States of the South,
notably so in Virginia and the Carolinas, there was a more
pronounced form of the patriarchal features of the system than
was found in the younger States, where the commercial features
of the institution more largely obtained. It was not an unusual
condition of affairs in the older States that the servants
employed came down with broad acreage from father to son for
generations. These older States were more influential in giving
character to the younger communities of the old South. It was
notably so in 1837 and afterwards, because the tide of
emigration set out from the Potomac and James Rivers' Valley
about that time. We shall select a plantation in North Carolina,
the description of which will best illustrate the most healthful
forms of the relation of master and servant.
Wherever the uplift of education has been felt there
is some one spot where the well-nigh magical influence
of home has asserted its power. Some one spot there is to
us all where the sky is a little bluer, where the grass is a
little greener, where the light of the stars is a little softer,
where the song of the birds is sweeter and the south-west
breezes of the early spring are much softer; while the
perfume of the flowers is far sweeter - in fine, where
heaven is a little nigher. That spot of earth is one's own
home. It is the presence of the mother there that
consecrates it. It may not be especially attractive to
others, but it is all the world to you.
The plantation selected for description here is the
author's old home and the home of his forefathers for
generations. Many in North Carolina, in breadth of
acreage and varied attractiveness, may have been of
greater marketable value and far more desirable. The
author knows this best and thinks it a fair type of the old
plantations of the South, and, therefore, for various
reasons, it has been selected as the scene of the recitals,
descriptions, events and conditions of life embodied in the
life on Southern estates before the years of 1861 and '65.
It is situated in the old county of Onslow, named for Sir
Arthur Onslow, Speaker of the British House of
Commons. The plantation was known as "The Rich
Lands" and was situated immediately on the old stage-road
which led from New Berne to Wilmington, two old
colonial towns, about one hundred miles apart, in the tide
water section of the blessed old State of North Carolina.
This estate lay on the west side of a very remarkable
stream known as New River, which had its source and
outlet in the same county. From its mouth in the Atlantic
Ocean up to a short distance from the village of
Jacksonville, the county seat, the beautiful body of water,
known as "the river," was, in truth, in breadth, in depth
and other particulars very like an arm of the sea.
Rarely, if ever, has the eye of man elsewhere drunk in the
beauties of nature as so strikingly presented by this lovely
estuary or bay. Something like it is to be seen along the
St. Mary's River in lower Maryland. Some of the views
of the Hudson remind you of it. All in all, however, the
writer has never
seen anything quite so beautiful. It was some twenty
miles in length and several miles in breadth, with an
expanse of water strikingly lovely.
One must take into consideration the fact that this
beautiful body of salt water constituted the abundant
storehouse of nature, from which were taken some of the
most valued features of table comfort and luxury. Its
waters teemed with the various varieties of fine fish found
in this latitude, among which were the mullet, the sea trout,
the sheepshead, the flounder, the croaker or pig ash, with
others not a few. These fine fish were there in great
abundance. In their season were to be had many varieties
of water fowl, ducks, wild geese and swans. The ducks
were very numerous and of the varieties found in that
famous storehouse, the Chesapeake Bay. Never in this
country has the writer tasted a more delicious breakfast
dish than the blue winged teal of these waters, while the
blackheads, mallards, and the variety which we call the
canvasback were found in large numbers. Rich and
abundant as were all these contributions to the planter's
comfort, none surpassed the shellfish found so abundantly
where this beautiful inland salt lake joined the sea. The
oysters were larger and fatter than the celebrated "Blue
Points" of the New York market, and in delicacy of flavor
quite equaled the "Morris Cove" specimen of the
Philadelphia Club House. The writer married a Virginia girl
and has often feasted on the fine oysters of the Norfolk
and Suffolk markets (and they are certainly very fine), but,
apart from prejudice or predilection, he is free to say that
the "New River" oyster of the old plantation days in all the
finer forms of delicacy and flavor were the equals of any
bivalves he has ever enjoyed. At Delmonico's in New
York or at the old Hygeia at Old Point Comfort nothing of
the oyster family surpassed them. The very largest and
fattest oysters in the country are to be had in the Mobile
and New Orleans' markets. Those graced the beautiful
tables of the old St. Charles and St. Louis of the latter city
in the good old ante-bellum days; but, while they were as
large as the hand of the creole beauties at the table and
as white with fat as
the snowy arms of these beautiful women, they lacked
the peculiar, dainty, salty flavor of the "New River" oyster.
They were much larger, much fatter, these bonseceurs
of the Gulf waters, but were far too fresh, lacking
in saltiness, and this for a very obvious cause. The
large inland seas, the Alabama and Mississippi Rivers,
poured such quantities of fresh water into the gulf as to
lower the standard of saltiness of this oyster's habitat;
but though in return they brought down such myriads
upon myriads of animalcule as to make these oysters of
the Gulf as longs as an ordinary knife of the tea table, as
broad as a man's four fingers and looking like great strips
of white pork, yet they were not comparable in flavor to
the New River oyster of the North Carolina markets.
In addition to these toothsome oysters of this remarkable
river, there was an inexhaustible supply of crabs, both
stone and soft shell, while clams, scallops, and shrimps
were to be had for the taking. In addition to the above
named comforts, which, in the good old golden days before
the war had become to the planters and their families
actual indispensable necessaries, both the bathing and
sailing were most excellent. The writer goes back in fond
recollection to many sunny hours of the charming sailing
or yachting parties over these beautiful waters, as fair and
lovely as those in the Bay of Naples. In these we were
often joined by the charming people of Col. Edward Montford's
family or those from Paradise Point, in both of
which such sweet hospitality obtained.
The soil along the shores of the lovely inland lake, while
lacking in the greater fertility of the plantations higher
up the river, was kindly in many of the wise bestowments
of nature, and the planters lived in great comfort
and luxury. The strong, beating tidal pulse of old
ocean had not the power to force its sway higher up in New
River than just below Jacksonville, the county seat. Here
the tide ended. Higher up the river, narrowing rapidly,
you came to some of the finest agricultural country in this
State. In the center of this lovely section, on the west
bank of the river, in the form of a horseshoe in the bend
of this beautiful stream, lay the far-famed "Rich Lands"
estate. As it lay there with its broad, fertile acreage
embellished here and there with the largest hickory trees
the writer has ever seen, it stretched away on either side
of the stage road running from Wilmington, fifty-eight
miles away, to New Berne, just forty-two miles distant.
This road, running from north-west to south-east in almost
an air line for something over two miles, cuts this
estate in two parts of almost equal extent. The writer
loves to shut his eyes, close his ears, go back in fond
memory, and think of it as the most beautiful plantation
his eye ever feasted upon. Some of the estates in the
Mohawk Valley are very lovely, and lovely homes on
fine farms are to be seen in the far-famed Shenandoah
valley of Virginia.
The American may be justly proud of his country, capable
of furnishing such landed estates as are to be seen
in the blue-grass country of Kentucky and the more
fertile sections of Alabama, in the canebrake country between
the Alabama and Tombigbee Rivers. These are all very fine,
as is that far-famed section of Bayou Teche in
Louisiana. But this plantation of which we are speaking -
in all the elements of fertility, lay of the land, readiness of renovation,
variety of products, proximity to market,
freedom from wasting diseases, the ease with which a
fine table could be maintained winter and summer, the
excellence of its roads, its inexhaustible forests of fine
wood, hard and soft - in the judgment of those entitled
by both education and travel to an opinion in such matters
was, in the early fifties, under the management of the
proprietor, the father of the present writer, one of the
finest estates in the South. The reader will concur,
when we go into details. It embraced more than
twenty-five hundred acres of arable land, while to the
west and south, adjoining, there extended a magnificent
domain of more than twenty thousand acres of heavily
timbered land, comprising the turpentine orchards of this
estate. The plantation proper was almost as level as a
parlor floor, save where one beautiful stream, Chapel
Run, cuts its way through the fields as it went on its
way with sparkling waters to the river. The geological
formation was that of limestone, not the hard, granite-like, blue
limestone of the Shenandoah valley; this was the softer gray
limestone, easily disintegrating, and from its rich percentage in
the carbonate of lime, when applied, readily restoring fertility to
the soil, reduced by heavy cropping. The beautiful stream
spoken of, Chapel Run, fed by innumerable springs, some of
them in view and others hid away in its banks and bed, was a
bold, strong creek, spanned by several rustic bridges,
ornamented by vines, which were a very great convenience in
going to and from the plantation work, and notably so in
harvesting the crops. Its head waters were strong, unfailing
springs, a little west of the plantation, out on the eastern fringe
of the turpentine orchard. The writer, in boyhood, on Saturdays
and other holidays was never so happy as when fishing in its
glassy pools, as limpid as Lake Killarney in old Ireland. They
abounded in small though very delicious fish of the perch
family, commonly called pan or the breakfast fish of the planter's
table.
Do you see that fine old beech tree standing on the bank of
this stream, just before it disappears and goes into its
subterranean channel, which some convulsion of nature has
made for it? What a splendid old tree it is! How stately its trunk,
how umbrageous its branches, how smooth its white bark?
What rough, hieroglyphic sign are those, well-nigh grown over
now, but once cut deep into the soft bark of this lovely tree, as
the young fisher man stopped his sport and with pocket knife
engrave the following letters, "E. P. F.;" while higher up, the
work of an older brother, could be read the unmistakable initial
letters of one of dear old Carolina's beautiful daughters, "A. R.
C. D." Thus we see that Cupid was busy then with the sons of
the old planter. Those who wore the names outlined by those
initials have passed away, but to him who alone survives, the
younger brother, the present writer of these pages, their sweet
memory will outlast the famous old beech tree and will go on with him into
eternity, forever blessed. Do you see that large persimmon tree
standing out there in the open field some hundred yards or
more from the banks of the creek?
Yes; why do you ask the question? Because it has connected
with it some high fun of possum hunting, with dear old Ben and
his dogs, "Rattler" and "Spunk." Maybe it would be well to
stop my plantation reminiscences for a little while and give you
a sure enough possum story? What do you say? I do not
know how the reader will like it. In these times of the bicycle and
the fame of Newport and Narragansett Pier, times have so
changed. Nevertheless, here goes for the possum story. Those
who prefer to do so can skip it and indulge in reading one of
Zola s elevating (?) stories.
On one of the Carolina plantations before the war lived an old
darky named Hannibal, commonly known as "Uncle Han," whose
proud fame as a possum hunter or a trapper was well known on
the plantations on both sides of the river. He was very lucky with
"varmints," as the negroes said. On this particular occasion he
had gone to his trap and found that it had been robbed, but he set
it and carefully baited it and went to another trap higher up the
creek. Here he was delighted to find he had caught a fine large
animal, well fatted on persimmons, which the early frosts had
mellowed and sweetened. In less time than is required to tell of it
he had, with one blow of his axe, cut down a young ash and with
the possum's tail held fast in the split of the stick, thrown over his
shoulder, he was making his way home, to reach which he was
obliged to pass by a little country store where whiskey was sold.
Uncle Han's joy over the prospect of the oncoming feast was so
great that he could not pass that store without stopping both to
wet his whistle and to fill his "tickler." Thus supplied, homeward he
went and, though it was late, he soon had the possum on a spit
before a roaring fire. Now and then the old man would wet his
whistle from the contents of that bottle. Soon, between the heat of
the fire, the soothing influence of the whiskey and the day's work,
he was deep down in an old split-bottomed chair, fast asleep.
Aunt Rachel, his wife, had gone to bed some time before. Still the
old man slept on. A little blue-black negro in the neighborhood,
named Henry, worried the very life out of Uncle
Han by robbing his traps, and other deviltries. He had
gone to the old man's trap that very night and saw from
the hair still sticking to it that Uncle Han had been lucky.
He followed on. He came to the old man s cabin and,
through a crack in the wall, he took in the situation There
was the fat possum roasting away before the fire; there
sat, or rather half way reclined, Uncle Han in his chair,
pretty far gone from the effects of his frequent drinks,
fast asleep. Henry's mouth was just watering for some of
that possum, but still he waited. All was quiet as the
grave, save an occasional snore from the old man. After
a time, when the odor of the roasted possum told the
young darky that all things were ready, he softly opened
the door, tiptoed to the fireplace, took down the possum,
and at the table ate and ate and ate until fully satisfied;
then, to add insult to injury, he took a little of the possum's
fat and with his finger gently smeared it on the old man's
lip, who was far gone with whiskey and sleep. Then the
little blue-black imp of mischief went out of the house as
quietly as he could and, taking a good sized chunk of
wood, he swung it high into the air, giving it such a turn
that it came down with a tremendous "k'fram" on the old
man's roof. It was a fearful noise in the dead of the night.
The old man, fearfully. startled from his sleep, sprang up
from his chair, about half asleep and more than half
drunk, and called out, "Hello! Hello! Rachel, old woman,
whar's my possum?" and then, his tongue touching the
possum fat on his lip and sucking it for its very savoriness,
he began again, "It tas' like possum; it mus' be possum; it
surely am possum. I'll tell yuh w'at's de truf 'bout dis, old
woman, I mus' hav' eat dat possum in my sleep; but I tell
yuh w'at's de fac', if I did, and I mus' hav' dun it, it lies
li'ter on my stumac' and gives me less satisfacshun den
any possum eve' I eat befo' in all my bo'n days." To
which the old woman, Aunt Rachel, wisely replied. "Stop
talkin' 'bout yo' possum, yuh ole fool yuh. Put out de li'te
an' com' to bed; it's mos' day and yuh is
drunk, dat's what yuh is."
ON EITHER side of the stage road from
Wilmington to New Berne, as it passed through the
plantation, were well kept fences of the old-fashioned
zigzag or Virginia style. In alternate corners of the fence
were planted fruit trees, not of the short lived, modern,
grafted or budded varieties, but trees grown from seed in
case of the peach and cherry, and from the scion where
the apple tree was desired. The result was that the trees
planted in the early part of the century in some cases
were bearing fruit in the early forties. Here and there, as
good taste or convenience might suggest, the stately black
walnut and hickory and an occasional mulberry tree had
been allowed to stand. Here and there, when in full
foliage, the dark leaved persimmon trees were dotted
about the twelve or thirteen fields into which this large
plantation was divided. The theory of the proprietor was
that as the stock congregated under these persimmon
trees to eat the fruit their shade did not lessen the
productiveness of the fields where they stood. Certainly,
with their deep, dark green foliage and symmetrical
outlines, they gave much beauty to the landscape.
Grandfather and father in their holding of these ancestral
acres, evinced much wisdom in guarding their lovely trees
and protecting the forests from vandal waste. It would
have been far better for the landed estates of the South if
the timber, especially the hardwood, had been more
carefully guarded and economized.
It was the custom of the proprietor to cultivated the
fields on either side of the road on alternate years. At
convenient distances from each other, large barns and
cribs for the safe storage of the crops had been built,
surrounded ordinarily by broad shelters and enclosed
sheds for the comfortable stabling of the cows and sheep
at night and for the feeding of the horses and mules at
noon in the busy months of the year. Some of these barns
were old and so constructed as to allow a four or six mule
team to drive in with grain or forage and, after the load
had been deposited, to pass out through the opposite double
door. Connected with these barn yards there we
closely fenced stock yards for the better management of
the cows, sheep, hogs and colts of the plantation. These
were well furnished with pumps or wells, affording an ample
supply of water for the stock, which, however, the
servants were not allowed to drink, as they were strongly
impregnated with limestone of such quality as to render
the water unhealthy for man, but which the animals could
drink with impunity. The water which the servants drank
was brought out in large casks mounted on wheels and
was served to them in gourds or calabashes from wooden
cans made by the plantation coopers from cedar, cypress
or juniper wood, with which the estate abounded. By
subterranean sinks or natural wells in this limestone
formation the fields were admirably drained and the
ditches were comparatively inexpensive. As you
approached the river, where the land was undulating,
there were numerous marl beds which had been worked
for many years, and which in their rich deposits yielded
the much desired lime for agricultural purposes. Some of
them afforded in abundance a marine deposit as high as
seventy-three per cent in carbonate of lime, with traces
of magnesia and phosphoric acid. If you examine this
specimen carefully you will find parts of the skeletons of
sea animals, fish, crabs, turtles, etc. These bones account
for the rich phosphates contained in the marl.
"What crop of dark, rich green is that which you see
along the western slope of those hills, and far out into the
bottom of that two hundred acre field?"
"That is the far-famed black-eyed pea of the South,
the substitute for clover, which the long, hot summers of
the South preclude from the crops of this plantation."
"What noise is that we hear over in that direction?"
"That's the song of the boys on their light carts hauling
the marl to be scattered broadcast over the crop of peas,
which you see is just going into bloom, the height of its
exuberance, when it will be turned under good and deep,
with a sweep chain connected with the plow to force the
peas down, so as to be reached by the plowshare. This is
the preparation for the wheat crop. Yes, the proprietor,
while not numbering wheat among the staples of his
plantation, always produces enough for home
consumption and his seed for the next year."
"What other crop is that growing down there just
along the river bank?"
"That's our rice crop. You observe the acreage is not
large and yet there is plenty and to spare for all the
plantation requirements."
"What small birds are those rising up from the rice
fields in such large numbers as to almost darken the view?"
"They are the famous rice birds of the South just now
holding their high carnival, attacking the rice crop just as
the grain is going into its milky state."
"What means that discharge of firearms, with reports
so loud and long sustained as to suggest a body of
infantry?"
"That's old Uncle Amos and his band of helpers
shooting these birds to protect the crop from these dainty
little enemies. Have you ever eaten a rice bird?"
"Not that I know of. I have eaten the sora or the
reed bird, killed in the Valley of the Patuxent in Maryland,
and it is certainly very delicious. So far as I know,
it may be the famous ortolan."
This conversation took place between the older son
of the planter and his college mate from Princeton, a
charming young gentleman from Maryland, who had
come home with the young Carolinian to enjoy a
week or two
of hunting and fishing and other forms of fine fun and frolic
on the old plantation.
"Wait until breakfast to-morrow," said my brother John, "and
when you have eaten our rice bird, fat as butter, bones and all,
you will never brag again of your sora, of your ortolan, of your
famous reed bird, for I tell you, Tom Bowie, that this bird of the
Carolinas, fatted on rice in the milky state, is the most delicate,
toothsome food I ever tasted."
"Let us now turn our faces homeward, for we have fully two
miles to ride and the afternoon is far spent."
As these two young gentlemen, mounted on horseback,
turned the heads of their horses away from the river they came
up with an old negro, "Uncle Daniel," riding in a cart drawn by
a mule, well laden with corn in the ear. The old man is on his
way to one of the feeding stations to give some twenty-five or
thirty bullocks their evening meal. These are being fatted for
the early winter markets, and had you time, reader, to inspect
them closely you would find fine specimens of the Durham
breed of cattle, of the large size and of admirable fattening
properties, of which the proprietor was very proud.
"What is that more than half grown servant doing over
there to the left of us?"
"We will ask him. Fred, what are you doing?"
"I'm penning the sheep, sah."
Yes, every night the flocks of sheep, of which there were
several, numbering in all some three or four hundred, were
carefully penned, for the double purpose of making manure in
their well-littered folds, protecting the grown animals from the
ravages of the dogs, and from the fox's known fondness for the
lambs of the flocks. As one comes from the plantation proper
and crosses the creek, on ascending the hill on the south side
one enters one of the most beautiful avenues of cedars in this
section of the State. It stretches away to the gate leading into
the large grounds surrounding the mansion and embracing its
curtilage, in length some half-mile and breadth some forty feet,
as level almost as a dining room table.
Who are those four men - servants - we meet at the
brow of the hill? Two of them are between fifty and sixty years
of age, one is a shade older and the fourth is about thirty-five
years old. The old man mounted on a blood bay mare, with black mane, tale
and legs is Uncle Philip, the next in authority to the proprietor on the whole
plantation. The youngest of the four is Cicero, the coachman.
Observe him, if you please, as with all the air of a trained
jockey he jauntily sits in the saddle. Did you ever see a more
beautiful animal than that? You will not wonder when told that
his dam was a Sir Archy mare, Vashti, the celebrated Tar River filly,
and well known on the American turf. She "let down," or
strained a tendon running against the famous old horse
"Boston" on Long Island course. His sire was Trustee, the
father of Fashion. The other two servants are Uncle Suwarro,
named for a famous Russian general, and the trusted foreman
of the plowmen of the plantation, while the small blue-black
negro is Uncle Jim, the foreman of the hoe force of the
plantation. Why are they so much excited? The large bell on
the estate has struck the hour of noon, and as it is Saturday
everybody is called off from work till Monday. This has been
the custom of the plantation for a long, long time. No work after
twelve o'clock on Saturday, unless it be during the harvest
season.
You observe those marl carters have all come in and there is
an air of excitement on the faces of all the servants you see.
What is up? There's a horse race on foot. Uncle Philip and
Cicero are to try the speed of their respective horses and these
two old foremen have come up the avenue to give them a fair
start, while Robert, the blacksmith, holds the purse of ten
dollars, which is the wager on this occasion. Harry and Ben are
the judges. Presently you hear, in trumpet tones the word
"Go," and off they speed along the whole length of the avenue,
through the open gateway of the enclosure as rapidly as the
horses can put their feet to the ground, both running under
whip and spur. Cheer after cheer rends the air as Cicero's
friends claim the victory, for the judges rule against old Uncle
Philip, who yields as
gracefully as he can, but who "cusses" a little and then
gives in, puts up his horse, opens his little store and
proceeds to gather in the six-pences and shillings, with
which to make the purse for another race with that "skillet
headed nigger," Cicero, as in anger and contempt, the
aristocratic old man calls his adversary of the plantation
turf.
WE HAVE had a glimpse of the sports and
pastimes of the servants in the ante-bellum days on this
old estate. We have seen that there were joyous breaks
in the days of labor, which made their plantation, not
only an abode of much comfort but a scene of marked
beauty in its well cultivated fields and other features of
telling thrift. Before we go very far into the details of the
lives of these dusky sons and daughters of toil, we shall
devote an entire chapter to the amusements, in which the
old planter encouraged them to indulge. We shall see with
our own eyes that if the prosperity of the South was the
natural result of systematized labor, one feature of the
system was the recognition of the fact that the highest
forms of usefulness and efficiency in life are only reached in the
judicious unbending of the bow of labor. The question is
often asked, "Is it not well nigh as important that people in
all the relations of life should be properly amused, as that
they should be fed?" The institution of the various public
games among the ancients answered this question to the
satisfaction of the pagan mind, while the elaborate and
painstaking opening up of the beautiful parks in our
modern cities, with widespreading groves and lovely
views of miniature lakes with laughing cascades, all at
great cost to the public, voices the wisdom of the
nineteenth century civilization on this subject. Surely the
old planter was wise in amusing as well as feeding and
sheltering his servants.
Before going any deeper into this narrative, while yet
we are on horseback, let us ride up this broad
avenue of lovely elms and see what lies beyond. You
observe it leaves the great public road just before you
reach the large gate through which Uncle Philip and
Cicero disappeared a moment ago at the close of the
horse race. This avenue, some four hundred yards in
length, is about forty feet in width and, leading due east,
it gradually approaches the old mansion on the crest of
an eminence. This gives the dwelling and its curtilage
almost perfect drainage, so important in a flat or level
country. As we ride along this avenue, on the left and
right are two of the orchards of this estate, while still
further on the right is a large number of buildings of
various sizes and adapted to various uses. This large
assemblage of houses is known as the "quarter," or the
village, in which the homes of these many servants stand.
But you see we are at the end of the avenue and just in
front of us is the gate of the front yard of the writer's old
home. Before entering it let us give up our horses to Cain
and George who will take them to the stables for us. We
can walk in now. Before doing so let us stop a moment or
so and admire those fine trees, native to the soil,
equidistant and at the same angle from the corners of the
front piazza. Do you see those two noble old beech trees
with trunks almost as large as a flour barrel and as
symmetrical as if the then popular landscape gardener,
Downing, had grown them to suit his beautiful taste? What
monarchs they are and how comfortable the seats at their
base, constructed of undressed hickory shoots. What
splendid tree is the just at the front gate of the side yard
sloping away to the little stream at the foot of the hill just
north of where we stand? That is a pecan tree.
Let us stand there a moment or two and take in the
outline of the planter's dwelling. You see it is a very
large house. Yes, inclusive of the piazzas it is just sixty
feet square, three stories high, built of the best North
Carolina pine and weatherboarded with fine yellow
poplar. It stands on brick pillars about five feet above
ground with no suggestion of cellarage, so as to
avoid every semblance
of dampness. Why did not the old planter, with
his abundant means, build it of brick? He is far too wise
for that. In a damp climate brick is not the material for the
construction of healthy homes. The planter's ancestry
found that out to their deep sorrow long years ago, when
in the settlement of New Berne, at the junction of the
Neuse and Trent rivers, brick were employed for building
purposes and many of the old Huguenot families suffered
terribly, burying their dead from diseases incident to life in
brick houses, in a damp, warm, malarial climate. So you
see the house is of wood, but of such wood as the modern
house builder never finds in these days. It is the very best
of the original forests, carefully selected and seasoned in
such manner as to preclude wind shakes, seams or
cracks. The truth is these old planters except in a fox hunt
or deer chase, were not of the order of men to hurry about
anything, and least of all in the selection of material in the
construction of their fine old homes.
We must hurry up and describe this old mansion, for
there are many things of interest to be told about it, and
supper will be ready before you know it. Come, let us
enter the old home. This piazza extending all around the
house, first and second stories, is about twelve feet in
breadth; and you observe the windows, of large size, open
down to the floor. Well, the front door is wide open.
"Why do you lift your hat as you enter?"
"I do so in reverence of what I know is within."
"Yes, full right you are."
This old roof tree shelters the spot sacred to the very
finest forms of old-fashioned Southern hospitality, the
decadence of which we have witnessed to a saddening
degree since 1865. but which still lingers here and there in
the South; not, however, of the order which challenged
the admiration of all who felt the touch of our lares and
penates in the good old plantation days. The hallway
running the whole depth of the house, is very broad, and
the two sets of stairways are correspondingly broad and
of easy pitch or grade, to compensate in some degree for
the modern elevator. You observe as you pass along the
hall you are met by another hall just as broad, cutting the
one by which we enter at right angles. Another feature of
these broad halls is that quite as much money is judiciously
expended in furnishing them as in any other part of the old
home, while hammock-hooks suggest an indefinable
comfort of a hot day, and book shelves tell you that the old
planter's life consisted not in "bread alone," but that books
entered largely into the life on one of these noble old
estates. Here and there, beside the hat or cloak stands of
fine old mahogany, you observe the polished horns of the
patriarchs of flock and herd fastened securely under the
old pictures gracing the walls. As you just now entered the
large folding front door to your right hand, through that
heavy door of oak finish, you enter the large parlor, with
its piano, violin and guitar cases, and such bestowment of
fine taste and ample means, in rich old furniture, with oil
paintings and costly carpets and rugs as you would expect
to find in the planter's home. The south-east corner room
was the bedchamber of my father and mother, while
across the hall was the nursery, and opposite the parlor
was the family living or sitting room. In the two stories
above were the rooms peculiarly devoted to the comfort
of the daughters of the planter and the guests of the
family. The attic rooms were devoted to the storage of
bedclothing, cedar chests for woolens, trunks and such
other features of a well appointed family. As you pass out
of the large hall, running north and south across the broad
piazza, you enter into another piazza in front of the large
dining room opening back to one of the largest kitchens
you would be likely to meet, with every convenience of
closets for china and storerooms numerous and spacious.
Stop a moment. Look at that capacious kitchen
fireplace, broad enough to take in logs of wood six feet
long and with old-fashioned crane for swinging the large
pots on and off, as the old cook might like, with its smooth
hearth running the whole width of the chimney and back
three or four feet into the room. Why is this hearth so
broad? For two reasons. First, it guards against
the danger of fire; secondly, on its broad area, in small
ovens and tin kitchens, are carried to perfection some
of the finest forms of good cooking of savory dishes for
which this era of plantation life is so justly celebrated.
What hooks are those driven into the bricks just below the
broad shelf or mantelpiece? They are employed when a
wild turkey or a roast of venison are there cooked, basted
meantime with vinegar and lard or butter, being constantly
turned around so as to present no one side too long to the
roaring fire as to burn the meat, while the metal dish
underneath catches all the juices as they are distilled by
the great heat from the roaring fire. What large block of
wood is that standing between the windows on one side of
the kitchen, about three feet in diameter and four feet
high? That is where the old cook beats her famous biscuit,
which are the most delightful of all breads. Defying and
despising both baking powder and soda, the old-fashioned
Southern beaten biscuit is the very nonpareil of breakfast
or supper bread, equally good hot or cold, in its flaky
lightness. The French cooks of neither New York nor
Paris have ever been able to equal it. In very truth it
surpasses the famous Vienna rolls of the Washington City
club houses. In their highest perfection they have sadly
disappeared, with the old turbaned cooks of the old
plantation régime, who mastered all their secrets. Later on
we shall sample old Aunt Patty's beaten biscuit but we must
hurry out of the kitchen, for we have much to see before we go
down to the quarter.
Standing on the kitchen piazza and looking east to
your left and in front, there is an area in form of a
quadrangle about one hundred feet on each side. In the
center of this area is a well of water, supplied with a pump,
well sheltered and with vines of honeysuckle trained to the
sides. What houses are those with broad shelters facing
south and west on this area? These are the smoke houses,
three in number, in which the hams of five hundred hogs are
cured annually. Those other houses are what are called the
flour house, the coffee house and the large storehouses for
groceries, etc. In the rear of the
smoke houses are smaller houses for the storage of potatoes
and oysters in the shell. These delicious bivalves are kept
in a dark room and are so well fed with meal stirred
into salt water as to be scarcely able to stay in their
shells. Unfortunately, however, they will lose their
flavor after a few days, showing clearly that we cannot
compete with nature. Just in the rear of these houses, on
the brow of the hill, so as to be kept perfectly dry, are
the various and spacious houses for poultry of all kinds,
as well as the stately peacock, the strutting old turkey
gobbler, the guinea fowl, the several varieties of ducks
(the muscovy, the puddle and the English) and the ordinary
barnyard fowl or chicken. They are all here in the yard of two acres or
more, well fenced in, secure from the egg-sucking cur
of the negro quarter, as well as from mink or weasel at
night.
Coming out of the poultry yard, let us go through the
east gate of the area on which stands the large pump
above described. To your left, through the gateway, let us
enter and see if you ever saw a more beautifully appointed
vegetable garden? In extent about an acre, it embraces in
its various products all that you may wish to find, from the
delicate tropical egg plant to the more commonplace
cabbage. Here they all are. You need not wonder at the
delicious vegetables found in such great abundance on
the planter's table. Coming out of the garden what buildings
are those off to the left? The first you see are the
weaving rooms, in which are manufactured all the
fabrics with which the servants of the plantation are
clothed, including the woolen goods for winter and those
of cotton for the summer. Those other houses you see
down yonder six in number, are where the house servants
are quartered.
There live dear old Aunt Pheribe and her husband,
Uncle Daniel. In the next house live Cicero, the coach
man, and his wife Eliza. In the next dwell Handle, the
dining room servant, and the laundress, Jane, with her
family of girls, who are maids to the young ladies. Off to
the south of the mansion, and separated from it by a
large flower garden, is an enclosure of two acres or
more devoted to almost every variety of small fruit.
Here were grown some of the very finest melons that
ever graced a Southern breakfast table and the corn for
the table that made such fine fritters.
A description of this old home would not be complete
were you not told of the use to which that large enclosure
west of the chicken yard is put. Why is the fence so high?
Why are those pieces of timber driven so far down in the
ground, the ends of which you see projecting? Come, go
with me to the gate for a moment and we will see. Here
they come - Staver, Nimrod, Fashion, Venus, Starlight,
Little Jolly and all the twenty or more of splendid fox
hounds - eager and anxious to dash by you and hurry
away to the woods for the chase. Is not that a splendid
Irish setter there? Did you ever see a more beautiful
animal in your life than that coal black pointer,
black as night except one white toe? Beautiful names
they have - Inez for the pointer, Don for the setter. The
tall fence and the spiling driven into the ground now
explain themselves. This is the dog kennel, with all its
appointments for comfort and health for one of the best
packs of hounds found in North Carolina. Why does the
old planter keep those fine bucks in the kennel with the
dogs? It is to familiarize the dogs with sheep and thus
prevent many a worry on the hunt. As we expect to follow
these dogs in a fox chase we will now leave them and
inquire for what purpose those comfortable looking
cottages up there on the hill are put? They were built
by the old planter when his sons became large enough to
go out to parties at night, so that they would not disturb
their mother when they came home late, often accompanied
by their young friends. We might spend an hour or so
very pleasantly in the old flower garden, looking at the
rich products of the fine tastes of the mistress in this
department; but who is this coming up the walk with
rather stately step and, as he approaches, greets the two
young gentleman as they come out of their offices? This
is an A.M. of the University of Edinburgh, Scotland, and
who afterwards stood conspicuous among the Presbyterian
divines of the State, as well for his broad learning as his
deep spirituality. Would you know his name? This is the Rev.
James Melsey Sprunt, as fine a type of a man, intellectually and
morally, as ever blessed two young Southerners in the capacity
of tutor. Before this volume is finished we hope to see him
again, as he sits around the hearthstone of the old home of a
winter's night and with kindling eye and the sweetest of voices
reads aloud Shakespeare, the Waverley novels, Dickens,
Bulwer, and others authors of world wide fame.
THUS you have had a
bird's-eye view of the planter's home, so
far as that portion in which he lived is concerned. Let us go
down to the quarter and both inspect and describe the
buildings in which the servants lived, and then we shall the
more intelligently observe what fine specimens of health are
presented by both the men and women of this estate. But you
appear to be fatigued and maybe we had better defer this until
Monday, for tomorrow will be Sunday, and the old planter
insists upon everybody going to church? We will go in
presently and enjoy the evening breeze on the south piazza as
it comes from the sea, for, though in an air line we are some
twenty miles from the ocean, regularly at this season of the year
we get the cool, moist breeze, with its salty taste, as God sends
it to us, by His great laws which govern the winds and the
tides. The horses are ordered for 10:30 to-morrow morning (you
said you preferred the saddle to the carriage, did you not?) and
now for a little chat on the piazza and our supper, and then
some music or, if you prefer it, we will ride over and see if those
girls came up from Wilmington to the neighboring plantation.
Just then a gentleman some fifty-five years of age made his
appearance. You cannot mistake him. The age and the
conditions which produced him have passed away, and yet he
lives in the memory of all who have ever seen him. This
particular representative of that noble type of Southern life, the
old-fashioned country gentleman, was somewhat
above the average height and size, about five feet eleven
inches tall and weighing some hundred and sixty-five. He was
not strikingly handsome, but with the class of face suggested
by that of the old German Field Marshal Von Moltke. With an
ease of manner betokening gentle breeding, his marked
characteristic was that peculiar type of manliness which came to
a long line of progenitors living much in the open air. It was
singularly attractive. His voice was that peculiar to the genuine
sons of the South, soft, yet strong and singularly flexible, with
marked emphasis given to the softer vowel sounds. His hair,
originally jet black, was now tinged with gray, and from the
large, soft blue eyes there was an expression of such
tenderness as you always associate with a devoted husband
and kind father. There was a compression of the lip, indicative
of much will power, while the other features betokened the
presence of so much that was notable and lovable, it would ever
warrant one in thinking of this old planter as of such fine stamp,
that while
"His
enemy could do no right, his friend could do no wrong."
Near by him sat his
other half, the blessed woman whom he
had led from the neighboring county to grace his home and
bless his life with that more than talismanic power which God
has given to women in the bestowment of that far-reaching
unselfishness which is constantly suggesting the Virgin's Son,
and which is at once the source and secret of her strength and
influence. Married in the early part of the century, so close and
happy had been their married life that the blessed work of
mutual assimilation had gone on to such a degree, that in many
respects they were strikingly alike. To this marriage came the
gift of nine children, four of whom had died in infancy or early
childhood, leaving now two sons, the present writer and an
older brother, and three daughters. The oldest daughter had
married a Wilmington gentleman, gave birth to a lovely little girl
and then fell asleep, when we placed her in the "God's Acre" of
her fathers. Soon thereafter the second sister married Dr. W. W.
D. of Wilmington, and leaving two sons, went into the Great
Beyond to join her loved ones in the Paradise of God. But this
is not a volume of genealogy. The above family events have
been given in order that in proper connection may be stated a
peculiarity of the old planter. One of the conditions of the marriage
of these daughters was that the husband was not to take
the wife away from the old home. The dear old father said, with
telling pathos that the family was too small, the acreage on the
estate was far too great, and that the old mansion was far too large
to allow of any colonizing. So we all dwelt there together, with
cares, duties and responsibilities so divided out as to suggest the
presence of no drone in the large hive.
But it is the supper bell we hear and after this meal you
remember, it was suggested that we should ride over to the
neighboring plantation and see the girls of the old planter. We
shall not describe this charming meal, because in another
chapter we are to tell at length of the cookery, both in the great
house and in the cabin. All went the next day and heard a most
excellent sermon, in the commodious church, so arranged as to
allow the presence of a large number of the servants. You would
have been delighted to have seen how smart and tidy these
servants were, as they appeared in their part of the church
building, dressed up in their Sunday go-to-meeting clothes,
reverently kneeling to worship that God, unknown to the poor
pagans in Africa from which their fathers came. Sunday
afternoon was passed in various ways Some of the servants
interchanged visits on the home plantation, or, furnished with
written permits, went to see their friends on the neighboring
estates. Some went out to the lake to bathe, riding the horses
they worked during the week, in order to give both themselves
and the horses a good bath in this beautiful sheet of limpid
water Ten o'clock at night found all of this large family
comfortably established at home, ready for the refreshment of a
night's healthy sleep, except those men servants who had
married on the adjoining plantations, where they had gone on
Saturday afternoon. These came in time for the assembly call,
rung about sunrise on Monday morning.
We will get the most satisfactory view of the quarter by
beginning at the east end of the principal street and, as
we go along, carefully observing right and left. This street
the negroes called Broadway, and broad it was sure
enough, as in width about seventy feet it ran almost due
east and west for a long distance. The houses, separated
about fifty feet from each other, were built up some
distance from the driveway, with footpaths running along in
front of them. Some of these were of cypress logs closely
joined together and made perfectly tight with mortar, with
hog or cow hair worked in it to make it stick in the
crevices. They varied in size, as did the frame houses
which were scattered here and there; the larger ones were
given to the larger families for greater comfort and
healthfulness. In size the average house was about thirty
feet in length by twenty-two in breadth, and was divided
into two rooms downstairs - one the cooking and living
room, the other the family sleeping room - while the
upstairs was similarly divided. Nearly all of these were
furnished with good brick chimneys and ample fireplaces.
In warm weather the cooking was done out of doors under
an improvised bush shelter. Frequently both the front and
the back of the houses were protected by shelters wider
far, and, for their purposes, a great deal more comfortable
than the modern veranda. In the rear of the house was the
family back yard, with its henhouse and its plot of ground
for a garden, with which each home was supplied. The
provident families were never without vegetables, and
notably so did the long stalked member of the cabbage
family known as the "collard" abound, which, when well
frosted, was both esculent and savory to their appetites,
well whetted by a life in the open air and its perfect
freedom from care and responsibility - those twin
murderers of happiness in human life.
Come, go in one of the cabins, as many will insist on
calling the homes of the servants on the old plantation.
You will see they differ among themselves. Some are as
neat and tidy as the wife and mother who meets you at
the door and with graceful courtesy and kindly greeting
invites you in; respectfully, yet warmly, inquiring about
the white folks at the "great house - Ole Marster and
Mistiss and Marse John and Marse Jeems and Miss
Car'line." If you go in the sleeping room you will find that
the prevailing bed is made of the long gray Spanish moss,
with which the swamps to the east of the plantation
abound. This moss they boil and pick with their fingers,
stuffing their bedticks with it, so as to make a soft and
springy bed. They draw their quota of blankets every
winter from the plantation stores and, what with their
quilts and comforters, which they make themselves, and
the abundance of excellent firewood, there is no suffering
from cold, such as comes to mind when you think of the
white tenement sufferers in New York and other large
cities. It is not stated that there are equal comfort and
cleanliness in all these forty homes and more. Some of
these servants are constitutionally neat and thrifty; others
again will discover, in many ways, the fact that their
mothers and fathers taught them by example to neglect
order, system and the laws of cleanliness.
In the matter of health and consequent usefulness the
planter, through his foreman, insisted upon a rigid police
of each house every week, with such penalties as in his
judgment conduced to a high standard of cleanliness and
health, as well in the house as about the clothing. In the
center of these buildings and just in the middle of the
broad street, at the point of junction with a cross street,
was the town well, with abundant supply of potable
water. The streets were well shaded by long rows of fine
elms and maples, while in the back yard is grown in many
cases, the mulberry tree, whose abundant supply of fruit
is so useful to Aunt Polly in feeding her chickens and
ducks; nor is it despised by her children.
There are two or three features about the quarter of
which mention must be made. In the garden of each one of
these homes is a pig pen, in which two fine hogs are raised
each year by the most thrifty of the servants. Where do
they get the grain with which to raise and fatten these pigs?
The head of nearly every family has his patch of
ground, in which he grows corn, peas and cotton, or any crop
he prefers. When does he work his crop? On Saturday
afternoon or by moonlight, if he likes to do so instead of going
coon hunting. So you see, that Sambo, drawing his rations, has
meat to sell, and "Ole Marster" always allows him to take his
"crap" to town in the large wagons, which invariably go to New
Berne just before Christmas to do the plantation trading.
Besides this, the old planter always stands ready to purchase
anything marketable - eggs, chickens, ducks and wild fruit
(whortleberries and currants) with which the woods abound in
their season. You must not think for one moment that all the
servants on the old plantation have all these things to sell.
They do not. Only the thrifty ones; and the rule was, almost
without exception, that those who were most faithful in the
performance of plantation duties were industrious and frugal in
their own little matters.
Let us speak of the laws of sanitation, which were rigidly
enforced. Twice each year these homes, inside and outside,
were carefully whitewashed. Once each week the yards were
carefully inspected and all rubbish and garbage, under penalty,
were placed on that compost heap you see there near the
garden fence, heavily covered with marl, rich in lime, to
decompose or sweeten any putrescent matter and thus keep the
premises seemly and healthy. Again, do you see those oblong
iron depositories, mounted on posts, enclosed in boxes, filled
with earth along the sides and underneath? What are they and
to what purpose are they given? Those large, iron troughs, six
feet and more in length, four feet wide and some ten inches in
height, are the old salt vats employed in the making of salt, by
evaporation of sea water in the the war of 1812, when the British
embargo closed our ports to the West India salt. The old planter
has purchased a number of them and mounted them as you see
They are filled with the resinous residuum from his turpentine
distilleries, commonly known as dross, every afternoon during
the sickly or malarial season: and when set to blazing, as they
are every evening about twilight, three
purposes are served. First, they flood the village or quarter
with strong light; secondly, they infuse the fumes of cooking
turpentine in the air and thus purify it; thirdly, they destroy
myriads upon myriads of mosquitoes and thus sweeten the
sleep of these dusky toilers. You observe they are placed all
along the streets and four of them are seen, two in front and
two in the rear of the mansion. It was indeed a beautiful sight,
that of these burning masses all ablaze at once, lighting up the
truth of the old planter's love for his children and his servants
in thus protecting their health.
You observe that especially comfortable looking house, just
across the street from where we are standing, and the other
next to it? Those are the homes of two of the foremen on the
plantation; Uncle Jim with his wife, Aunt Patty, live in one, and
Uncle Suwarro and Aunt Rachel occupy the other, with their
respective families. What is that suspended high up in the air,
just there between those two houses? That is the old
plantation bell which, in the hands of Uncle Jim, regulates the
movements of the servants, calling them to and from labor and
telling out the hours for the various duties. Whose cabin or
home is that just behind that large tree - "Pride of China," I
think you call the variety? That is Granddaddy Cain's home and
where his wife, my dear old "Mammy Phillis," lives. The old
man you see there in the shade of the tree, hackling corn
shucks for mattresses, is the patriarch of the whole plantation.
He is quite old, but as he gets up and walks towards the door
of his house and takes a drink of water out of a gourd, do you
observe what a splendid specimen of a man he is - how tall?
How magnificently developed in his heyday he must have
been! When younger he was the plantation miller for many
years, and for honesty and fidelity there was no servant on all
the river estates whose reputation was more enviable. His word
was as good as his bond, and no man of all the thousands who
during the long years of his service brought grain to my
grandfather's mill ever suspected him of dishonesty on either
side. In his old age he is now one of the several stock
feeders on the estate,
and you can see him presently as he goes down to the
barnyard to get out his mule and cart and starts out to
salt the cattle and feed the mares and colts. He is a
devoted member of the Methodist Church, as many of the
servants are. He holds his family prayers night and
morning, rejoicing with many others in the hope of eternal
life through the Blessed Nazarene. When the present
writer was a boy he heard a good joke on the old man,
illustrating his racial fondness for possum. This is the
plantation version as given by my factotum, Cain, his
grandson.
"You sees, suh, dat granddaddy was a-holdin' his family
prayers one nite, arter he done swung up a mity big fat
possum fo' de fiah. It was Sa'ddy nite, suh, an' de possum
was a-roastin' for the Sunday dinner. De ole man he
prayed and he prayed, suh, spang 'til I tho't he neber was
gwine to quit; and he prayed on and he prayed on. All of
a sudden he stopped rite short and he snuff'd de air and
called out, 'Philis, ole woman, sure's yuh is bawn dat
possum is a-burnin' up. Why doan' yuh turn dat possum,
ole woman, and dat mi'ty quick.' An' he went on a-prayin'
and arter a while, suh, he busted out 'amen!' Surely,
Marse Jeems, I wuz mi'ty glad to hear him say amen, for
I was mi'ty tired, suh, but I was afeard to go to sleep, fur
if I had I know'd granddaddy would have wore me out to
a frazzle. He was dat 'ticular, suh, of his prayer. Suah as
you is born, Marse Jeems, he duz lov' possum all de
same."
We shall hope to see
Granddaddy Cain again before
this volume closes - this Fidus Achates of the old plantation.
LET us take this cross
street, running out of
Broadway into what the servants call Chestnut street.
What strikingly large building is that which fronts us as
we go on in our rambling walk of observation? That is
what is called, in the parlance of the plantation, the gin
house or the cotton gin. You observe it is very large and
three stories in height. To what use is it to be put? You
see it is surrounded on all sides by a deep shedding; in
this first shed room are kept the large family carriage,
sulky, buggies and light wagons, some from the
celebrated factory of Cook in New Haven, Connecticut,
and several others from Dunlap in Philadelphia. The old
planter prided himself on the cost and elegance of his
vehicles, and that beautiful family carriage, finished in
silk, did not cost him less than a thousand dollars, with
fine, silver-plated harness to correspond. With the large,
steel-gray horses purchased in Baltimore it makes up an
outfit so exactly suited to her taste that the mistress
would not take twenty-five hundred dollars for it. There
is a well-appointed harness room, some of the very best
of Concord, New Hampshire, work. Ah, these old
planters and their families had the very best the markets
of the world could afford. The large shed room on the
east is known as the pork house, where the meat rations
of the estate are kept, at the great doorway of which
they are served or dealt out by weight on alternate
Saturday afternoons. On the north side of the main
building, in a commodious well lighted shed room. is
where the carpenters, four in
number, ply their most useful industries. On the west side
you have two rooms, one in which Virgil, the painter, keeps
his paints and oils; the other is where the various stores of
hardware, nails, bolts, screws, etc., are kept. What octagon-shaped
house is that out in the yard? That is the cotton
screw or compress, where the cotton and wool are baled for
market. That stairway out there to your left leads up to
where the cotton is kept before it is ginned, and that small
room there is where old Santy mends the harness, and half
soles the shoes of the servants. You observe in it the only
stove on the estate? Why is this? This stove is used to
keep the old cobbler's wax ends so warmed as to be pliable
in the coldest of weather. You see, in the various and
multiform appointments of his large estate, the old planter
does not forget anything. Well, we must go on. What
buildings are those down there in that little ravine, with the
large gum trees growing near by and those beautiful willows
fed by the moisture of the small streams, which constitutes
the drainage of the quarter? These are the quarters of
perhaps the most useful and at the same time the most
interesting servant on the estate; that is Robert, the
blacksmith, and that Hercules of a man near by is
Washington, who wields the ponderous sledge hammer as
though it were a toy. Look at the splendid muscle in those
brawny arms, as he and his chief are keeping time with their
hammers on the blazing iron on the anvil. Indeed it is an
anvil chorus, and how the sparks do fly all over the smithy,
but they are well protected by their ample leather aprons.
What is Robert doing now? He is putting a set of steel plates
on that beautiful saddle horse out there in the yard. Does he
work in steel too? Yes, he served his apprenticeship when a
youth under one of the best artisans in the city of Richmond,
Virginia. So you see there is skilled labor on this estate as
well as in Lowell, Massachusetts. That large room on the
left is where Cæsar, the wheelwright, makes and repairs the
carts and wagons. As we ascend the hill from this ravine, on
that broad level are many houses. To what uses are they
put? Some of them are barns and cribs for the storage
of grain and forage; others again are large wagon sheds
and others still for the comfortable stabling of one
hundred and fifty horses and mules that are required on
this estate. Those out there are for the comfort of the
milch cows and the five yoke of oxen. Over there in a
more modern building are kept the fancy or pleasure
horses of the family, while lower down, in a separate lot
or inclosure with high fence all around, are the stables for
the two fine stallions, "John Richlands" and Crackaway,"
the latter a valuable present from one of the old planter's
dearest friends, William B. Meares, Esquire, of
Wilmington; the former the colt of Vashti, the celebrated
Sir Archy mare sired by imported Trustee, the father of
the world-renowned Fashion, the empress of the
American turf. Do you hear that fearful noise down there -
a sort of combine of foghorn and trombone? My
sakes! what an unearthly racket that is! It's the bray of
old "Dosy," the jack, sire of many of the best mules on
the plantation. Do you suppose the notes of Balaam's
animal were either as deep or long drawn out? Never.
The seer would have been deaf as well as blind in the
angelic interview. But the disciples of the higher criticism
must answer your questions satisfactorily on this point.
Whose quarters are those in the center of the quadrangle
on which faces so many of these buildings? Those are
rooms known as the storehouse, in one of which dear old
Ben sleeps, and in which are kept the saddles and bridles,
the riding outfit of the family. How complete this saddlery
is! Where does it come from? Mostly from the fine
shops of Nashville, Tennessee, and one or two there are
of the English Shafter pattern, bearing the London
trademark. In this other larger room are kept the shoes,
blankets and hats not yet distributed to the servants, while
back in there you will find hoes of various patterns, from
the narrow bladed rice hoe to the broader cotton hoe,
rakes, shovels, axes, pickaxes, spades, pitchforks, wagon
whips, collars large and small for horses and mules. What
small room is that with long table and drawers, well
supplied with hooks inserted in the wall. That is Ben's
inner sanctuary or where the keys of the
whole plantation, on both sides of the creek, are securely
kept under his faithful eye. It would try our patience to
stop long enough to count them all, but this faithful, honest
darky knows and keeps them all in his safe custody while he
is always ready to saddle you a horse if you wish to ride
out on horseback, or on that long bench cut a hamestring
for Suwarro's use among the plowmen. We shall see Ben
again before our work is done, for you must know him
better. He is the embodiment of honesty with some of the
queer African freaks, in its racial fondness for dress of
bright coloring and fancy materials. In other words, Ben
is the dude of the plantation, the Beau Brummel of his
race, and so you will pronounce when you see him
dressed up in his best bib and tucker for the plantation
Christmas dinner, the description of which is yet before
us. Dear old Ben! Blessed old Ben! He is gone long ago
where the good darkies go! How the writer wishes he
had a good likeness of him with which to embellish these
pages, for a nobler spirit never breathed the breath of life.
Across the river of life in the Great Beyond, Ben, I wave
my hand to you; yes, I kiss my hand to you and hope soon
to have long, long, talks with you of the good old plantation
days, when we will thank God that my people taught your
people to know and love the Christ, the King.
There are some other things before us and we must
hurry on. Let us go back to the old mansion, and in the
description which we would leave of it let us insert two
or three features of the outhouses, and just one on the
interior of the house. Let us go upstairs and on the back
piazza, which you observe is without roof, and see what
Edith and Kate, the maid servants of the writer's sisters,
are doing. They are helping Handy, the dining room
servant, to bring up large trays of fruit - peaches, pears
and apples - to be dried up there, where nothing will
disturb them in the hot rays of the sun. What fruit is that
of deep blood color? That is the wild plum of the
plantation and those trays over there are full of
whortleberries and wild currants. All of this wild or
uncultivated fruit has been purchased from the
young servants
of the estate, gathered by them in the adjoining
woodland stretching far away to the south. The
storeroom was thus well supplied with delicious dried fruit,
and in the winter pies, tarts and dumplings came in as a
part of the dessert. As we go downstairs in the hall near
the old planter's bedroom door what large enclosure of
black walnut is that so like a handsomely finished
wardrobe? That is the gun case or closet. Let us look in.
Do you see that large double-barreled gun in the center
there? That is the gun from a London manufactory (not
Joe Manton's, but of very fine workmanship) and, you
observe, heavily mounted with silver, with two sets of
barrels to the same stock, a larger set for the larger game
of bear and deer, while the smaller is used for wild turkey
partridges, squirrels and other smaller game. This is the
planter's special property, while in the half-dozen other
guns you will find such as will please almost any one,
likely to use them. Besides the shot guns, there are two or
three rides of different calibre, and one other gun of large
bore and great weight manufactured at the United States
arsenal, in Fayetteville, North Carolina, and especially
adapted to plantation purposes.
On the line of the fence dividing the poultry yard from
the dog kennel, on the slope of the hill, do you observe
that brick house partly embedded in the hillside? That is
the most complete dairy or springhouse in this section of
the State. Take down that calabash or gourd and dip
down into that deep basin of crystal water which wells up
in the center. No limestone there. Pure freestone or soft
water and deliciously cool and very potable.
Those troughs all around the sides of the dark; cool
room are for the pans of milk. Let us count them. One,
two, three and so on to twenty-four pans of milk. How
yellow and rich it looks while the cream is coming to the
top. Here come the milkmaids now. Do you observe, as
they come through the side gate en route to the dairy,
with what ease and apparently with what security they
balance those large milkpails filled with milk, on their
heads and without touching them with their hands?
What is the secret of their ability to do this? Perfect
health and strength, with long training from childhood up,
running through generations, it may be from the jungles
of Africa.
"How many cows are you now milking, Aunt
Abby?"
" 'Bout twenty-five, suh."
"What do your cows eat now?"
"Dey's on the secon' crap of rice now, suh."
Thus with twenty-five cows to milk and those fed on the second
growth of the rice field, after the crop has been harvested,
you will quite understand both the quantity and quality of the
milk and butter which graced the old planter's table.
The object of the proprietor of this estate was to produce,
as nearly as possible, everything consumed, as well on the
plantation proper, as in the turpentine orchards. Thus the
large number of casks of spirits of turpentine,
as well as the thousands of barrels of resin, which were
sold each year in the New York market, produced the
monied income of the estate. The ordinary yield of corn
was about thirty-five hundred barrels, with a large quantity
of forage in fodder belonging to this crop, and they were
nearly all consumed on the estate. Aside from the large
number of beeves butchered on the estate, there were
annually a large number sent to the market, while five
hundred hogs every winter went to the shambles, providing
the meat rations of the whole plantation. These
furnished a supply of hams for the planter's table, in
number so great that they went over from year to year, so that on
a highday or a holiday it was not an unusual thing to have
a ham on the table seven years old. The writer is entitled
to an opinion on the subject of hams, and he here
ventures to say that not even the Smithfield ham of Virginia
nor that of Westphalia in Europe surpasses those
which found their deep russet color in the green hickory
and corncob smoke of the old plantation smokehouse. The
flocks of sheep, both those on the plantation proper and
those under the care of the white tenants in the turpentine
orchards, yielded a fine supply of lambs in the spring
of the year to go with the green peas of the early garden,
with plenty of mutton throughout the year; while in the
wool, both for home use and the markets, there was no
little profit. Just here let it be observed that among those
ill informed upon subjects upon which they do no little
talking, and but little well informed thinking, the idea is
common that there was little or no care taken in the
selection of the breeds of farm animals on the Southern
estates. It is true that the "razor-backed" hog was seen
running at large and sometimes as wild as the country
in which they were found. At the same time, on this
estate and many others there were several improved
breeds of swine, the Essex, the Poland China, the Jersey
Reds, the Little Guinea, the Chester Whites, and that
perfection of a farm animal of its kind, the Berkshire. The
proprietor gave particular attention to the breeding of the
Merino and Southdown sheep, while among his herds of
cattle could be found as fine specimens of Durham and
Devon breeds as one might care to see. This you must
remember was before the introduction of the Alderney,
Jersey or Guernsey from those small islands of England.
Among other products of this estate were large crops
of the black-eyed pea, that Southern substitute for clover
and with this advantage to the pea, in that it was both grain
and forage; some eighty or a hundred bags of cotton,
with rice, tobacco and sorghum for home use. One can
quite understand that when all the crops of this estate had
been carefully harvested and the hog-killing or butchering
season was over, with the era of "hog and hominy" fairly
ushered in, there was a reign of such an abundance
of good things as demanded with full warrant the
observance of Christmas, that blessed queen of all the plantation
highdays and holidays, to which justice in nowise
could be done until at least a full week had been allowed
for this high tide of enjoyment, in both great house and
cabin, to expend its force, finding its ebb on January
second, when all entered on the duties of the new year.
You may be upon the point of asking what were the rations
of food and clothing which went regularly to the
servants on this estate, and of what did the rations consist?
You shall have the answer. These people worked
faithfully and they should have been warmly clad and
abundantly fed. And so they were. The rations were
issued by weight on alternate Saturday afternoons. To
each servant there was issued for these fourteen days a
half bushel of cornmeal and seven pounds of the very
best mess pork, with his potatoes, rice and sorghum,
together with his twist or roll of tobacco. The bread ration
was often not drawn, but the money equivalent paid at
market rates, which ordinarily were fifty cents for meal
and forty cents per bushel of potatoes. The clothing was
all spun, woven and made on the plantation. The work by
which this was done was the outcome of the most perfect
system in any department of the plantation industries. The
hum of the spinning wheel, the noise of the loom, with the
stirring whiz of the weaver's shuttle (all accompanied,
many times, by the melody of plantation songs) "Way
Down on de Swannee River," "Carry Me Back to Ole
Berginny," "Masse's in de Cole, Cole Groun' " and many
others which will grow into eternity with blessed memory
as the writer crosses over and meets his dear sable
friends, could be heard from January to December.
The clothing of so many servants required a great deal
of systematized labor. The dyeing process was simple. The
barks from the forest trees, the red oak, the poplar and
dogwood, furnished the coloring, which was carefully set
or fixed by old Aunt Daphne, by the judicious use of
copperas and alum. This gave a serviceable brownish gray
which rarely faded either in the woolen or cotton goods.
Those bright red bars, about the width of your little finger,
in the dresses of the young women and girls you see
there fitting them so snugly, are the outcome of cochineal,
known as "de turkey red" (and red it was) which gives
delight to African eyes - just as scarlet as that seen in
the uniform of the British soldier of revolutionary days in
'76 and thereabouts. To each servant were allowed three
full suits of clothes annually, with plenty of wool and
cotton allowed the wives and mothers for as many pairs
of socks and stockings as they required. Three pairs of
shoes, one pair of blankets,
one wool and one straw hat went annually with each
ration. To those who were much exposed to bad
weather such as the drivers of the mule teams and ox-carts,
warm overcoats, often weather-proof, were issued.
The men employed in ditching, and Uncle Amos, who did
nothing but hunt and " 'stroy varmints" from year's end to
year's end (making the best wages of any servant on the
estate, because he killed so many eagles, coons and an
occasional bear, with untold numbers of squirrels, black
and red fox and the gray or cat squirrel), were given
heavy brogan boots. The hides and skins from the sheep
and cattle slaughtered during the year were exchanged
for shoes and the leather needed for harness purposes by
Brown & De Rossett, the commission merchants in New
York, to whom was also consigned the wool for which in
exchange we received hats and blankets.
Thus cared for, we greatly doubt whether any European
peasantry or the lower element, the farm laborers of
England's population, or any factory element of either
Old or New England fared as well as did the servants
employed on this Southern plantation, under the practical,
judicious and humane system which has been outlined on
these pages. In maintaining this proposition I indulge in no
misleading theories or distempered speculation. I discard
the vaporing of all sickly, maudlin sentimentality when I
say that no laboring population was ever better housed,
better fed, better clothed or more humanely employed, as
a rule (in which self-interest asserted itself, and where
does it not assert itself?) than were the servants on this
old estate of my father's. Would you ask what there is to
justify this assertion? The answer is close at hand. Facts
substantiated by figures. Statistics. You say that statistics
are misleading. Yes. One can lie by figures, as seen in
watered stocks in Wall street and elsewhere, but figures
of themselves will not lie.
The rapidity with which the servants on the Southern
plantation increased in number, say from 1810 to 1860
just a half century, for the sake of round numbers, is
proof conclusive that the general laws of health must
have been in the main largely obeyed, and the conditions of
numerical increase in families must have been complied
with, else the several hundreds of thousands of dusky
forms of African laborers, at the close of the first decade
of this century would not have grown into the millions
which we all know were found south of the Susquehanna
in 1865. From a general statement let us pass to a
specific, well emphasized demonstration of the truth in this
matter. On this plantation dwelt two married couples -
Henry with his wife, Daphne, and George with his wife,
Emelene. They must have been married in the late
twenties. To the former couple were born thirteen
children, boys and girls, twelve of whom they reared to
full adult age. To the latter were born eleven children, of
whom ten reached manhood and womanhood. In other
words the increase of twenty-two servants from the
parentage of four persons. This is an increase of more
than four hundred per cent., and tells us its own story of
kind treatment. Nor have we any ground for saying that
these were exceptional cases, when we remember that to-day
in the South there are whole Congressional districts in
which the negroes far outnumber the whites. Nor yet can
anyone (save he who has been misled by Mrs. Stowe's ex parte,
and therefore unfair, statement in "Uncle Tom's
Cabin") say that the recital of facts, figures and conditions
on these pages is not a fair picture of the old plantation
life. Doubtless in Virginia on the James River estates, in
South Carolina on the Wade Hampton plantations, and
elsewhere in the South, there were many instances of
even more humane treatment of the servants than is given
here.
But we will go into no elaborate argumentation. The
day for that is over. What we want are facts, and we are
meeting Mrs. Stowe's statement, not by argument, but by
cool, dispassionate facts. What do you say to the portrayal
of an element of African character in the form of an
anecdote? Nothing pleases me more.
Well, it was a week of Christmas. Of several large
gobblers, already fat, which had been put up in the large
fattening coop to be flavored by the peanuts so abundant,
one was missed. It created quite a stir. Handy, who
fed the poultry, was excited, half mad and half
frightened, in view of the consequences. Report was
made to Uncle Jim, Suwarro and Ben, and close search
was had. At last, so close was the search for the fine
gobbler which was to grace "ole Marster's" Christmas
dinner table that he was found hid away in old Cupid's ash
barrel. Report was made and arrest ensued, with
incriminating facts. The old darky sent for his Marse
John. His young master appearing, the following
conversation ensued:
"Come, now, Uncle Cupid, tell the truth about it;
the whole truth, mind you, old man, and nothing but the
truth. Are you sorry or not that you stole that turkey?"
The old darky's racial fondness for turkey going into the
background, under the shadow of his fear of penalty and
in his great confidence in his young master, he called out:
"Marse John, you ax fo' de truf, doan' yo'?"
"Yes, Uncle Cupid, the whole truth."
"Well, now, suh, yo' see I can't say so mi'ty much 'bout
bein' so 'ticular sorry I tuk dat turkey; but 'fore Gord, suh,
young marster, I'se mi'ty sorry I was co'ch."
"That will do, Ben, let him go, he has told the truth.
Don't steal any more turkeys, old man. Go home, now,
and I will always stand by you when you tell the truth, for
you certainly have told the truth this time - not so very
sorry you took the master's turkey, but mighty sorry you
were caught."
With loving laughter in his old eyes, Cupid went on to
his home rejoicing, while Ben and the other servants
laughed most heartily at the old man's straightforward
honesty of speech, if not of act.
AS WE are about to
enter on the description of the
forest wealth of this estate - the turpentine orchards
of the plantation, on which was expended by far the
larger part of the labor and from which the revenue was
mainly derived - it will be well if we pause just long
enough here to make the full acquaintance of Uncle
Philip, the manager of this department. In many respects,
he was the most remarkable person of his class the writer
has ever known. He was now about sixty years of age, of
small stature, a genuine blue-black, as active as a boy of
seventeen, and as quick in his motions as the beautiful
horse Selim, which he rode. This animal was the joy and
pride of the old man's heart, and ranked next in the old
African's affection to his old master, for whom he bore a
love which was the outcome of a close relation running
through their lives. Philip had come down with the
plantation from the planter's father. In childhood and
boyhood, and in fact thus far in life, they had really been
boon companions, together learning to swim, to ride, to
handle firearms, and thus learning to know and to trust
each other in a way and to a degree that few persons, if
any, thinking of the institution of which their close relation
was the product, can at this late day quite understand.
To both Fred Douglas and Booker Washington, in point
of advantage given them by education, this noble old
servant must necessarily have yielded; but he was very
little, if any, inferior to any man, white or colored, the
Writer has ever known, in all that is understood by keen
active mother wit and strong common (or rather
uncommon) sense. Outside of his small family there was
no one of a very large acquaintance whom the old planter
loved more tenderly or trusted more implicitly.
Thoroughly illiterate, really not knowing a letter in the
book, he was fully equal to all the details of his large and
important trust. His memory, naturally strong and
tenacious, by constant use and honest trust in it, served
him instead of memoranda, and his verbal report of the
week's work which went on the plantation books
regularly every Saturday afternoon, was both full and
accurate. Without him the proprietor would have been
sadly at sea, in his full knowledge of all connected with
his department.
What was very remarkable in his case was that, in his
full fidelity to his master, he did not compromise the
respect and good will of his fellow servants. Among his
own race he was the most universally popular servant on
the whole estate, and had there been set up here a little
Dominion of Dahomey, Uncle Philip would have been
chosen king by universal acclaim. One can quite
understand how such a servant should have been very
much petted, but no indulgence seemed to spoil him. Do
you see yonder house standing at the close of what the
servants call Broadway, in that cluster of elm and maple
trees? That is Uncle Philip's house. Let us enter it. In the
first room you find shelves and hooks and racks around
the walls. What do they mean? This is the old man's little
storeroom. He was so absorbed in his devotion to his
master's interests, so fully cut off thereby from the many
little ways of making money for himself accorded the
other servants, that he was allowed the privilege of his
little store, where he kept a slender stock of staple goods -
coffee, tea, sugar, cheese, cakes, peanuts, calico and
home brewed beer (ginger and persimmon), with which
he drove his little trades with his fellow servants; in lieu
of money, often taking coon, rabbit, and squirrel skins as
a circulating medium.
One would have been surprised to know how much
money in the course of a year the old man took in. The
writer when a boy would often exceed the allowance of pocket
money from his mother. On the Southern plantation the
rule was that the sons drew their pocket change from
their mother until they were sent off to school, when the
father became the son's banker. Often and ever, when
out of money, the writer would borrow from Uncle Philip
who always insisted on a note given with a formal seal, at
ninety or one hundred and twenty days after date.
Remember, the old man did not know the boyish
handwriting from Egyptian hieroglyphics. It was a matter
of trust, pure and simple. Invariably, a few days before
the note fell due the old man would approach the maker
of the note, with the most respectful suggestion:
"Marse Jeems, you dun forget dat little paper of
yourn, isn't you?"
Unless the writer wished his father to know of this
transaction he had to stir around, get up the money and
settle with his devoted old creditor, who insisted on
payment of principal and interest, but who would
immediately renew the loan if desired. It has always been
a matter of mystery to me how he could figure up his
interest so accurately, and yet I never knew him to make
a mistake. This incident is here given that one may see
the generous confidence and loving relation of the old
plantation life betweeen master and servant. If
the writer
meets with Mrs. Stowe in the next world he intends to
acquaint her with much that did not appear in her ignorant
compend of anger, hatred and malice - that avant-coureur
of the John Brown raid which was the skirmish line of
1861 and '65 - that period of national dementia which, in
its bitter and bloody antagonism to the law and order both
of Holy Scripture and the Constitution, argued that
prolongation of the godless French revolution. We shall
now go on to the lake and acquaint the reader with the
turpentine orchard and the distilleries of the spirits of
turpentine and resin connected with this estate. Catherine
Lake was the largest of a chain of seven or eight small
lakes which we find in the midst of the twenty-two
thousand acres of splendid pine trees embracing the
turpentine orchards of this estate. This lake was about a
half mile in length and from a quarter
to three-eighths of a mile in breadth, in many
places quite deep and in some places covered over with
the pads of water lilies, in season very beautiful with their
large white flowers. There was neither visible outlet nor
inlet. It must have derived its bountiful and uniform supply
of crystal water from hidden springs. It contained a large
supply of small fish of the perch family, with a great many
small turtles, or as the negroes called them "tarrapins." In
the winter season large droves of wild duck came from
the rice fields and elsewhere to roost here. Come, get
into this sail boat, and from yonder little island we will get
a full view of the old planter's possessions on the south
bank of this lake, and we will have a long, long talk about
this branch of the plantation industries. Those large
columns of black smoke you see issuing from those tall
chimneys are from the two large distilleries you observe
there, while that windmill drives the force pump which
furnishes the large quantities of water required in the
distillation of some hundreds of barrels of crude turpentine
consumed daily. The process of distillation of spirits of
turpentine for the world's markets is so like that of the
distillation of whiskey and brandy that we do not regard it
necessary to go into details. In that large cluster of houses
near by you will find the cooper shops and the large sheds
for storing the barrel timber. Do you hear that merry
ringing out of voices, in tuneful time to the coopers' adzes
and drivers, as they force the hoops home on these
barrels, used in the shipment of the white resin to New
York and Boston? From each cooper were required forty-two
barrels each week, and so easy was the task and so
skilled were the best of them that they could readily
enough make over and above their task from eight to ten
barrels per week extra. Thus Dave and Sam and the
other coopers had from eighty cents to a dollar in change
to spend at Uncle Philip's store or to do what they pleased
with on Saturday afternoon. Near by is the glue house,
where the casks used in the shipment of the spirits of
turpentine were made good and tight; and there is the
large and airy stabling for the numerous mules used in the
heavy transportation of the crude turpentine
to the distilleries, as well as in hauling the manufactured
article to the landing on the river some six miles away.
That comfortable looking home out there to the left is
the summer house of the old planter, far away (some
three miles) from the malaria that may be lurking around
and the mosquitoes buzzing about the old mansion of the
plantation proper, which we have already visited but only
partly described.
An elaborate description of the coastal forest region of
the South will not be here attempted. Suffice it to say that
in the large area of the western part of the State of North
Carolina, together with the Piedmont and coastal regions,
are embraced more than three-fourths of the acreage of
the whole State. The revenue in timber, lumber and
turpentine products has been variously estimated at from
thirty-five to forty millions each year. Into these twenty
thousand and more acres connected with this estate
which we are describing let us at once enter with Uncle
Philip, and we will listen while the writer is describing the
mode by which these millions on millions of boxes are
inserted into these large yellow pines, out of which the
crude turpentine is taken to go into these distilleries for
the world's market. The planter's New York market is
largely regulated by the relation of supply and demand in
the Liverpool and other European markets.
When you are about to take up a body of pine forests
and reduce it to the culture of turpentine, what is
the first thing you do?
"Listen, Uncle Philip, and see if I inform the reader
correctly."
"Yes, suh, dat I will, Marse Jeems."
Well, the first thing you do is to burn over the wood,
so as to throw them open by destroying all the
undergrowth possible. Then the box cutters come, some
twenty-five or thirty in number. In the late fall and all
through the winter, when the sap is flowing more
sluggishly, and when the cutting into the tree seems to
injure them least, they are very busy. These splendid
axemen come with their long, narrow-bladed, highly
tempered axes, which are made by the blacksmith, Robert,
on the plantation. They make seven or eight deep
incisions in the shape of a crescent or new moon, about
five inches above the ground, obliquely down into the tree.
Then they hollow out behind these incisions towards the
heart of the tree, and presently you will see how skillfully
these axemen with their ringing strokes will complete one
of these smoothly finished pockets or boxes as they are
called. Then they corner them, as they call it; that is, they
will smoothly notch these pockets at the corners, so as to
cause the flow of the sap from the edges towards the
center. How many of these will they insert into each tree?
Some four or five. This depends on the size of the tree.
You must be careful not to overbox the tree - in failing
to leave a space as broad or broader than a man's hand of
untouched bark between the boxes - so that the sap will
have plenty of room for free and rapid flow. What is the
estimated capacity of the box? About a quart or a little
over is the regulation size. How many of these in a day's
task for each man A good axeman will readily cut one
hundred and twenty-five daily, will have finished his seven
hundred and fifty by the middle of the afternoon on
Friday, and have the remaining part of the week for
himself. Thus your thirty hands will have finished in one
week twenty-two thousand, five hundred? Yes. How
many of these constitute a week's task for a good hand?
Twelve thousand, five hundred are accounted a fair work
for an average man to chip, or open the pores of each
box, once each week. What do you mean by chipping?
Each man is furnished with a tool called a roundshave,
which is of finely tempered steel, in the shape of a small
knife, round and bent like your forefingers curved from
the second joint, about an inch and a half in width, with a
shank about seven inches in length to fit in a wooden
handle. With this sharp instrument he scores horizontally
just above the box or pocket and thus keeps the pores
open and the sap running freely into the box. If the winter
is an open or warm one the insertion of the box will have
set the pine to bleeding so freely as to fill the box by the
tenth of April. If so, another set of hands come with
their dippers and buckets,
dip out the boxes and fill their buckets, which they empty
into barrels dropped at convenient places here and there
by negro boys with their mule carts. These the carters
bunch or gather together, so as to expedite the work of
the wagons in hauling them to the distilleries, after they
have been headed up by a cooper. Thus the work of
chipping goes on without interruption each week, from
about the fifteenth of April until the fifteenth of
September - about five months - while the dippers go
from one task or allotment of boxes to another, and so on
regularly through the working season of five months.
Each one of these dippers will dip out and fill four barrels
daily, or twenty-four in a week. He will get through with
his task on Friday; and on Saturday, by pushing on with
his work, he will make from forty to sixty cents for
himself. You will observe that by this plan of operation
each crop will be reached by the dippers some four times
each season, giving the planter from his orchard as many
partial harvests each year, which to one understanding the
judicious use of his money is a marked advantage over
the cotton, sugar, tobacco or rice crops. When the nights
begin to turn cool and the sap ceases to flow you will find
that on the face of the box (the space between the
chipping or the opening of the pores and the pocket or
box) there will be a deposit of turpentine not unlike the
whitest wax. This is the turpentine which has been
hardened by the air. Into a box on four short legs at the
base of the tree this deposit is scraped off and mixed with
the contents of the pocket, and finds its way to the
distilleries.
This closes the active operations of the year, which
generally come about the first of November, when these
laborers can be taken in to work on the plantation,
opening ditches, clearing new ground or put to cutting
other boxes in the virgin pines, if the planter wishes to
extend his crop of boxes each year. The average chipper
from his crop in five months will produce about five
hundred barrels of about thirty-two gallons each, so that
the sixty servants will in that time make about thirty
thousand barrels, leaving some six months of the year to
be employed, either in the extension of the turpentine orchard
or in farm work, as the planter may elect. By joining
these two industries, the orchards and the plantation,
making the latter the full feeder of the former, you will
readily understand how it is that the plantation can be
kept, with its fine fencing, trim hedgerows, well worked
roads, largely like a garden. How long will the average
pine tree continue to yield its sap as above described? A
crop of boxes will continue profitable for ten or twelve
years. Is the tree worthless after that time? No. It yields
fine wood, excellent lumber, but not the best - as
largely drained of its essential oil in the turpentine
extracted it cannot be as valuable for timber purposes as
the untapped tree - yet in the markets of this country
and Europe still valuable; notably so when not exposed to
the weather but used for inside work, as in framing,
flooring and ceiling. Then, too, many of these pines, after
they have been cultivated for years, are cut out and from
them are extracted the tar and pitch of the markets of the
world. Do you regard these turpentine orchards, worked
as indicated above, as profitable? One would think so if
one would look at the account of the planter with his
commission merchants in New York. You will see that
his income is about sixty thousand dollars per annum,
without reference to the yearly increased value of stock,
lands and servants, which are by no means inconsiderable
items or features of this steadily increasing wealth of the
planter. Are the servants of the turpentine orchards
generally healthy? There are no laborers in the world
more so. The balsamic properties, which the pine tree is
constantly distilling in the air, seem to counteract any
poison from malaria. What water do they drink? Here
and there are small but clear streams of running water all
over these large tracts of pine-covered lands, and if the
servant is out of condition you will see him take the joint
of the ordinary reed, which he carries in his pocket for
that purpose, kneel down at the base of a pine tree and
slake his thirst from the rain water which has been
caught in the box or pocket, impregnated as it is with the
turpentine. This reaches and regulates his liver and
keeps him healthy.
As compared with the other staples of the South, what do
you regard as the most serious drawback or disadvantage of
the planter's turpentine interests? The laborers, and notably so
the chippers, are employed in large, wooded tracts of country,
out of range of anything like close oversight and must be
stimulated to their best work, as well by premiums for best
crops as by so regulating their work that a portion of each week
is their own to do as they please with. It is very different on the
cotton, sugar, tobacco and rice plantations. The great
disadvantage in the crop, however, is that the distilleries, the
spirits of turpentine, the resin, and in fine the whole plant and
its yields are so combustible that no insurance company,
domestic or foreign, will insure the property. The only
protection against fire that can be had is to police the premises
as thoroughly as possible. How is this done? By placing here
and there all over the orchards double log cabins for the
families of some twenty or more white men. These people
occupy these cabins free of rent, with as much land as they
choose to cultivate, which rarely extends beyond a garden and
truck patch, the men fishing and hunting by day and night,
while the women hoe the little crops and raise poultry, the
children gathering whortleberries and wild currants. These men
are required to do three things; first, they are to guard the
orchards from fire, and if a small fire occur, as it often does in
the summer time by lightning striking and igniting a resinous
pine tree, they and their families must extinguish it. If it gets
beyond their control they are to blow horns, summon the
neighboring tenants and, sending all around for help, fight the
fire fiend until it is put out; secondly, they must once a week
salt and care for the herd of cattle and drove of sheep
belonging to the proprietor, carefully penning the sheep at
night so as to protect them from the dogs, wildcats and bears,
which are found in those large tracts of unbroken forests.
Thirdly, they must look out for the planter's honey bees, and
when the cold weather sets in they must take the honey and
carry it into the mansion for the use of the planter's family. They
are obliged, under contract, to turn out
when summoned to work the roads of the estate. These
tenants find a ready market for all the game, poultry and berries
they will carry into the plantation. Sometimes they spend a
whole lifetime in this dwarfed but important relation to the
proprietor. They form a distinct element in the organism of this
large landed estate. They never mingle with the more thrifty
white people, while the negroes on the estate look down upon
them, calling them, most disdainfully, "poor white trash."
Under the old régime this was the people who were unhappily
affected by the plantation system, because they lived in the
presence of and close contact with servile labor and lived and
died with an emphatic protest against the decree which forced
them to work. From this class all through the coastal region,
during the late Confederacy, sprang what was called the
"buffalo," who cast in their lot with the federal troops as soon
as any lodgment was made. They have not yet died out from
among us, but still live, utterly contemned by the better class
of whites and distrusted by negroes.
"Well, Uncle Philip, how does this account agree with your
view of it?"
"It's mi'ty nigh rite, Marse Jeems; youse made it mi'ty plain
to dis old darky."
"Well, what does that heavy smoke mean over there, old
man?"
"Why, suh, Harry, the distiller, is lettin' off his heavy charge
of rosun and dat is de smoke yo' see, suh. Marse Jeems, it's
about twelve o'clock, suh, and I must be gwining."
So to the mainland we go, and when about half way, where
the water is quite deep, and we see the tall bodies of the large
pines standing all around the rim of the lake, not unlike the
palisades on the Hudson River, Uncle Philip takes a long tin
bugle and giving a full blast upon it wakes up the echoes far
and near, which come back to us in wave sounds very deep
and at times very sweet. Reaching the shore, the writer goes
around to a secluded cove and, in the crystal waters of the
lake, enjoys a delightful bath, with a good, long swim, after an
old-fashioned dive from the spring board with which this
deep pool is furnished. After the bath he is joined by the old
planter at lunch, where some of the lake fish are discussed,
together with a cup of Maria s best coffee and the eggs, fried to
a turn on both sides, followed by a plate of wild currants and
cream. Just such a lunch for all the world as would make a
Southern man's mouth water, even if he were at Harvey's in
Washington or at Delmonico's in New York.
AT LUNCH it is agreed
upon that we go some four of five
miles south of the lake, for the double purpose of inspecting a
road which is being opened in that part of the orchard and of
salting the sheep and cattle. When he is mounted you will be
struck with some features of the planter's outfit. You observe
what a fine rider he is, as like a centaur he sits that beautiful
horse of his, gliding along in that perfection of gaits, the fox
trot of the Southern saddle horse, so easy, so undulating as
scarcely to move the dear old gentleman in his firm seat. What
is that tied so securely to the back of his saddle? That is a
wallet of stout, homespun cloth, in one section of which, were
you to inspect it, you would find a number of ready-made
wooden wedges of different sizes, with which to wedge up the
gates of the plantation if one of them should be found not to
swing easily on its hinges, while in another department you
would find strips of leather in the shape of both throat-latches
for the bridle and hamestrings as well, with a number of
"nubbins" or small ears of corn for any pig or heifer which he
may meet with in his ride. What is that buckled, in its leather
case, so securely to the bow of his saddle? That is his keen-edged
hatchet, which, with splendid silver-mounted, double-barrelled
shotgun, constitutes his outfit. Do you observe how
large and deep are the skirts of his beautiful Nashville saddle?
Why are they so large? To protect his limbs from the sweat of
his horse. Do you observe that beautiful broadbrimmed
Guayaquil straw hat he is wearing and how
nicely gloved he is, while you must be struck with the highly
polished steel spurs he is wearing? How sharp the rowels are.
Those spurs are polished every morning by his body servant,
"Buck," as regularly as are his boots. Thus mounted the writer
thinks that not even General Joe Johnston or Wade Hampton or
Ashby himself were finer riders. As he calls out to Buck to
follow on with his sack, partially filled with salt, tied behind him
on his mule, we ride along together, talking of crops, the
weather and politics with that absence of reserve and that
peculiarly tender abandon characterizing the relation of the old
Southern planter and his children, for there was no aloofness of
bearing here. Though the years have run into decades since
that bright portion of his life, and the blood runs rather
sluggishly in his old veins, yet, with blessed retrospect, the
pulses of life quicken and he finds himself calling out to
himself,
"Would
I were a boy again."
What large spaces are
those on the right and left of the road
leading away to the south-west? They are two of the small
prairies or meadows, of seventy-five or a hundred acres each,
with which these turpentine orchards abound, in many cases
without a single tree of any size upon them. Their conformation
is that of a large, shallow saucer, thickly set with a variety of
wild grasses and embellished by myriads of lovely wild flowers,
among which are the scarlet Indian pink and the dwarfed
honeysuckle, while the air is redolent with the perfume of the
wild vanilla, giving out its odor, as its leaves are bruised by the
feet of the cattle and the sheep grazing out there as you see.
How fine is the effect of these beautiful meadows, hedged
around by those tall, stately, forest sentinels, those magnificent
yellow pines of dear old Southland, by all odds the most useful
of all the trees in the American forests! On all these meadows,
many in number, on this estate, you might readily graze two or
three thousand cattle; thus it is, with the fine winter pasturage
of the salt marshes, there is not a month in the year in which the
old planter could not have from his own shambles fine beef and mutton.
These wild grasses here are often very tall and luxuriant,
coming up in height to your feet in the stirrup, as one rides
along to yonder ridge where the salt is given the cattle in long
wooden troughs, around which in droves they have already
gathered in eager expectancy, for they have already sniffed the
salt in Buck's big bag behind him on the mule, as salt is indeed
the savor of life.
We had already reached the center of the larger meadow on
the left when the conversation ceased, as is often the case
when one is in sweet communion with nature, as here in one of
her loveliest moods - the meadowlands crowned with their
rich product of natural grasses, the honey bee busy in
gathering her nectared sweets from the myriads of wild flowers
blooming in such rich profusion all around, the only sound
heard the lowing of the kine and the plaintive bleating of the
sheep - in Indian file we were making our way towards the
salting ground, with the old planter in the lead and Buck
bringing up the rear, when, as sudden as a bolt from heaven
and as quick as thought, there rang out on the air, "Bang!
bang!ö What does it mean? We had come upon two fine deer.
Approaching them to the leeward they could not smell us, the
footfall of our horses' feet being muffled by the lush grass they
could not hear us, while their cover was so deep they could not
see us, and we had come bluff up on two old bucks, when, with
his fine aim and long ranged gun, the planter had covered them
both before they could get out of range. Startled as they
sprang up, they had fled in opposite directions but all to no
purpose, for before they had reached the cover of the pine
forests down they both went, when my father turned and
called out in strong tones,
"Got them both, son, by George!"
And so he had, for in less time than is required to tell of it
the sharp blade of the pocket knife had passed over the jugular
of both, and Buck's face was radiant with delight as he called
out:
"Shure as yo' is bo'n, Marse Jeems, ole marster is de bes'
shot in Norf Ca'liny."
The cattle were soon salted and the smaller of the two
bucks was secured behind the saddle of the planter
without any difficulty. When it came to tying the other
buck on the negro's mule we had no easy task, for,
whether or not it comes from close association with each
other, both negroes and mules are afraid of the dead.
Finally we succeeded after much coaxing and, the last
resort in such cases, blindfolding the mule. All the way
home Buck was kept in a state of fear lest the mule
should "roach" his back, which is the asinine mode of
putting his muscles in such fearful battery as would have
landed with fearful force Buck, saddle, deer and all
promiscuously on the breast of mother earth. Thus laden
with fine venison our gait was indeed a slow one.
However, we soon struck the main road about a mile
from the homestead, where we overtook a long line of
wagons heavily laden with lumber from the planter's saw
mill at the lake. These wagons en route from the landing,
where they had carried their heavy freightage of spirits of
turpentine and resin, had stopped at the distilleries and
were on their way home with lumber for the uses of the
plantation. Early next morning Buck, on mule back, was
dispatched with a large old-fashioned basket (woven on
the plantation of the pliant splits of white oak) in which
choice roasts and steaks of venison were carried to the
planters' wives of the neighboring estates, with a kind
note from him whose fine marksmanship we have witnessed.
These interchanges of such courtesies were quite
common among the plantations before the war. Dwelling
among their own people, remote from the towns, the old
planter and his family were largely dependent for society
upon their neighbors; and in those blessed arcadian days,
before prurient materialism had laid such baneful hold
upon our population, social life at the South had taken on
such fine forms as to make it the admiration of all who
came in contact with it. It was then that citizenship at the
South rose to its high water mark, possessing those who
wore it with such social charms and buttressed on such
high integrity, long before the dark days of "credit
mobilier," as to make it very influential
all over the land. But these days have passed away.
"Times change and we change with them," said the
old pagan. The era of cui bono philosophy, with its
cognate of "Honesty is the best policy," is upon us
now, wrapping around our lares and penates its
certificates of stocks in such transforming and deforming
manner and results, as well-nigh to hide them out of view.
It was during these better days of the republic that from
the South were furnished to the nation such statesmen as
King of Alabama, Badger of North Carolina, Reeves of
Virginia, Reverdy Johnson of Maryland, Crittenden and
Breckenridge of Kentucky, and a host of others so noted
for high courage and deep insight into the genius of
republican institution - allied with such fine forms of
statesmanship and such incorruptible integrity - as to
constitute them and others like them the very guardians
of the country.
We have spoken of the hospitality of the South. Let us
close this chapter by an incident, which will serve the
purpose of its illustration, bringing out some of the
customs of the planter's family, while shedding some light
upon the characteristics of the servants who dwelt at that
time so happily in their freedom from care and
responsibility, with their old master, under the vine and fig
tree of his ample and loving provision. Under a charter
from one of the Charleses there came from old England
before the Revolution of the American colonies a large
band of Scotch people, who settled in the upper Cape
Fear section of North Carolina. Their descendants are
still there and embrace among their unnumbered "Macs"
some of the very best citizens of the old State. Of
course, in coming from Scotland they brought with them
that national fondness for letters and those peculiar
religious dogmas which constituted them old-fashioned
Presbyterians, pure and simple. Holding their religious
faith with the tenacity of Moslems they, by well directed
missionary work, sought to introduce it into other parts of
the State. Informed at home by the young and well
educated Scotchmen, who had gone down as teachers in
the families of the planters in the tidewater country, both
of the wealth there abounding and of the absence of any
and all allegiance to the Westminister catechism, with their
characteristic zeal they sent their missionaries down there to
lengthen the cords and strengthen the stakes of Zion in this
neglected part of the State. In the old county of Onslow, in
which the scene of this incident is laid, there was not a single
organized congregation of Presbyterians. Of course a
missionary was sent here, a noble representative of his high
and holy faith he was, combining great pastoral activity with
such powers as a preacher and allied with such purity and
simplicity of life, as enabled him in his marked popularity and
extended usefulness to preach the word of God to crowded
congregations. He was very popular, and nowhere more so
than at the home of the writer's father, where he was always a
most welcome guest. On one of his many visits to the old home,
after family worship one night, he was shown to his chamber by
Handy, the dining room servant, who, with a pair of slippers
under his arm and the old-fashioned candlestick with
spermaceti candle in it in the other hand, lighted the holy man
of God up to the prophet's chamber. After entering the room
Handy waited some little time for the divine to draw off his
boots, that he might take them downstairs and polish them for
the next day's use. There stood the negro waiting for the boots.
The clergyman, utterly ignoring the presence of the boy, in that
absent mindedness often found in those whose sweetest
pleasure is in close communion with dead men in their books,
proceeded to pour out a little water in a goblet; then, standing
before the mirror, with great dexterity, he unshipped an eye and
placed it in the goblet. This unfamiliar, uncanny scene shook
the nerves of the negro very severely; yet, thoroughly trained
to obedience, he held his ground. But when, standing before
the looking-glass, the Scotch parson proceeded to take out a set
of false teeth, Handy could stand the performance no longer.
Dashing down the slippers, and waiting no longer for the
boots nor for anything else, he rushed down the stairway and
never stopped until he landed in the kitchen, where, out of
breath from the rapid gait whereby he emphasized his fearful
fright, he called out to the old cook as best he
could with his short breathing, "A'nt Patty, dat, dat, dat dar
preecherman upstairs farely takin' hisself all to pieces." Said
the old cook, "You'd bettah go bac' and git him boots, yuh fool
nigger." "No, ma'm, I wouldn't go up dem sta'rs to-nite fur his
boots full ob money." Nor did he go until the daylight of the
next morning gave him the full assurance that there were no
ghosts or hobgoblins, in the form of a preacherman, to do him
harm.
Ah, these blessed old plantation servants, with all their fine
forms of beautiful devotion to duty, how very superstitious
they were; and yet not at all more so than the corresponding
class in the older civilizations of Europe. After all is not human
happiness hindered rather than promoted by that excess of one-sided
education which in unfettering the intellect so enchains
the heart and its sweet affections as to eliminate from the
problem of human life those factors of reverence and docility
which, in the blind worship of cold Egoism, is wrecking the
faith of the world?
SO MUCH is there to be
said of the old plantation life to
those who discover any interest in the manners, customs
and other formative influences ante-bellum Southland,
that we may have tarried too long in the description of the
turpentine orchards. Yet this can scarcely be so to
those who are both proud of and interested in their
ancestors. French novels may come in by the score
(bringing in such brain products as those of Zola, and
others of his stamp), and by their prurient realism may
impair the purity of our lighter literature. Clubs may be
organized for the discussion of such authors as Mrs.
Humphrey Ward and others of her stamp, but the healthy
Anglo-Saxon mind is so strongly attached to the masters
of the British classics that we may rest secure in the
possession of the writings of Thackeray, Scott, Bulwer (in
his better days and purer works) and the incomparable
Dickens, in their fine influence over our children. In
America it will be a long, long time before our own
Fenimore Cooper (delighting, in his "Leather Stocking
Tales," to tell us of the Indian summer, that honeymoon of
the year, in which one loves to recall the names of those
who made nature a great white throne where men might
kneel or dream or worship) will have failed to influence
the youth of our land. And this is so, not because he was
a delineator of nature, so much as because he keeps us in
loving touch with the past and its blessed traditions and
influences, so potent in the coinage of a splendid type of
genuine manhood. We believe that, in keeping our children well
informed of their ancestral virtues we shall furnish them
with the most healthy corrective of much, in the last
quarter of the nineteenth century's electric social
condition, which to the mind furnished and strengthened by
the philosophy of history must present itself as most
enervating and harmful in many ways. Therefore it is that
this book is written; that the effort is made to preserve
pure and inviolate the annals of the Southern people, at
such a time as they were fortunately possessed of a
record of their own; when in their own pure homogeneity
they challenged the admiration of all who knew them in
their sunlit God-kept homes. We have, in part, described
the old plantation and its many servants, telling how they
lived - their homes, their rations of good, healthy food
and the warm clothing they wore - we have seen in all
this much to confirm the opinion that no peasantry in the
world were ever more comfortably provided for than they
were when they had humane masters. Humane the great
majority of the old plantation masters were,
notwithstanding the sickly creation of Mrs. Stowe's
distempered fancies. These people on these estates were
the property of the planter, with full warranty of Holy
Scripture for their possession, if the unanswered letters of
the late Bishop Hopkins of Vermont to the late Bishop
Potter of Pennsylvania prove anything. The Supreme
Court of the United States so adjudged, until the
Constitution was overridden in the triumph of sectionalism,
with its irrepressible conflict of "higher law" with the basic
principles of the Federal Constitution. Beside all this (and
no man has ever answered the argument of the Bishop of
Vermont, that remarkable prelate, who never lived a day
among or drew a dollar from the Southern people) these
planters were amenable to the laws of self-interest and
common sense, which alike forbade the abuse and
ultimate destruction of their own property. Neither Jay
Gould nor Mr. Bonner thus treated their fast trotters. On
the contrary they nourished them with the tenderness
given their own children.
Something must now be said of the hours of plantation
work. Uncle Ben brought a long blast on his horn
from the window of his own room after the day had
broken. This was the signal for the three men servants to
come down from their quarters and feed all the animals,
horses, mules and oxen, to be employed that day on
plantation work. After which these same men went to the
well near the gin house and filled the several large casks
mounted on wheels with healthful water, so that when the
assembly bell rang at Uncle Jim's cabin about sunrise the
plowmen might take this potable water across the creek for
the wants of the day. Meantime all had breakfasted. At
sunrise the assembly bell rang out long and loud; then the
servants, under the direction of the foremen, who had
received their orders the night before from the planter in his
office at the mansion, filed out in order and went their way
to the day's work; the forty plowmen following their leader,
Uncle Suwarro, and the larger number of hoemen and
women, boys and girls, were led by their foreman, Uncle
Jim. "Gee! Whoa! Back!" What does that mean? Uncle
Harry and the other ox cart drivers are yoking up their
oxen, and presently you could see the five or six ox teams
filing out of the big gate as up the cedar avenue they went.
Faithful old Harry had his orders for the day's work, in
hauling rails for a line of new fence, or to repair an old line,
or in large loads of marl or other plantation work. By this
time Uncle Jack, with five other drivers of the six mule
teams, was cracking his long wagon whip as with one line
over his fine leader he drove out of the gate en route to the
lake and the work in the orchards. Cicero and Henry were
busy now in feeding, grooming and watering the various
pleasure horses, knowing which were to be in use this
morning, while Aunt Abby and Emeline were to be seen
making their way up the hill with buckets of foaming milk to
the dairy. The bellows in the blacksmith shop began to puff
and blow as Robert and Washington ranged themselves for
the day's work, and the hammers and the saws in the
carpenter shop told that George, Virgil and Jim were at
work. Thus was it that by the time the breakfast bell at the
great house had rung this hive of industry was buzzing,
each and all at their own work. No unnecessary
noise, no confusion, but all in the quiet order with which
each had gone to his own work, showing what the
discipline of a superior mind over servants could and did
accomplish.
After breakfast, if you would like to do so, we will ride
out and see what these servants are all about. How shall
we go? Shall we ride or drive? The large plantation is so
laid out with fine wagon roads that we can go in the light
carriage through all the fields. Well, then, we'll drive. So
after breakfast off we went, with Cicero driving a pair
of light horses to a wagon purchased in Wilmington,
Delaware, and known as the "jumpseat surrey" - that is,
a vehicle so finished that you could unfold the seats and
carry four persons, while from its light structure it was
intended ordinarily for two people. Those are two fine
horses, and admirably matched they seem to be, but of
small size. Tell me something about them. These horses
are a cross between the wild ponies, found in large
numbers on the long, narrow islands flanking the coast of
North Carolina, and that large fine stallion, "Crack-away,"
you see the groom leading back to his stable after having
given him water. This cross makes a very serviceable
animal for light use, taking their high mettle from the
thoroughbred sire and the tough endurance from the wild
dam. You see they do not lack speed (let them go,
Cicero), and off we go at a rapid rate up the broad,
smooth road until we reach the barnyard on the opposite
side of the creek, about three-fourths of a mile away,
when we get out of the carriage, and attention is drawn
to the various appointments for the distinctive breeding of
the several kinds of hogs. We never saw finer specimens
of the Berkshire, with his small, pointed ears, broad
shoulders, short, thick-set head, small, tapering legs, and
prevalent white and black spots about the size of the
palm of your hand. This fine hog, thoroughly bred and
carefully fatted, accounts for the superiority of the
planter's fine old hams. Over there in those breeding
pens you observe the old planter has his Essex, Chester
whites and Jersey Reds, but none so fine as the
Berkshire; while, more for the sake of variety than for
intrinsic value, he keeps a
few of the little Guineas, which to the hog family is
largely what the bantam is to the ordinary breed of fowls,
trim and trig, but never large. You will quite understand
the size and fine quality of those fine oxen you saw this
morning if you will go with me over to those stock lots
and look at that fine Durham bull. Did you ever see a
nobler specimen? He was shipped from the valley of the
Connecticut River when a calf and is now fully grown,
about seven years of age. In that other lot near by is
another fine animal of the Devon or Shorthorn breed. He
was presented to the old planter when a calf by his very
dear friend, the Honorable William S. Ashe, M.C., and
sent from one of the largest stock farms in Maryland.
Thus you see how particular and fortunate in the selection
of his stock the proprietor of this estate has been. But the
morning is wearing away and we have only time just now
to take a look at those brood mares and the colts by their
sides in that large pasture lot on the opposite side of the
road. Do you observe how flat their legs are, what small,
pointed ears they have, how sharp in their withers, how
short and close their coupling, what large, full nostrils, and
how red the lining is, and, with all these points of a
thoroughbred, what long and graceful necks they have,
with their thin manes, small pastern joints and very small
fetlocks? Again, you see that sorrel is the prevailing
color, and that while evidently they are all of them high
spirited, yet how docile they are and how they love to be
petted, as they eat these lumps of sugar from the writer's
hand. These seven colts are the foals of the celebrated
Trustee, the sire of Fashion, the empress of the American
turf. They are the pride of the planter's heart, among all
his possessions of blooded animals, and justly so, for they
look already,
"As
though the speed of thought were in their limbs."
In this large pasture
field, extending on both sides of the
creek, with great boulders of detached limestone rock,
you observe how rough and broken the land is? Why is
this? Not accidentally, but designedly; because the
proprietor was taught by a very successful stock raiser in
Kentucky always to select rough, hilly ground for his
mares and colts, in order that the latter, in growing up,
may have the finer development of muscle. This is so,
doubtless, on the same principle, that the Scotch
highlander is far better developed physically in his rough
mountain home than is the Hollander in his flat country
along the Zuyder Zee. Well, here we are at the carriage
again. Let us drive on. What are all those people doing
over there among those vines? They are giving the large
crop of sweet potatoes their last working, before they are
laid by. You observe they are hilling them up, after they
have cut off many of the vines to the length of eight or
ten feet. The vines thus cut off they will place in those
open furrows on the top of those long ridges you see over
there, and by putting a hoeful of earth eighteen or twenty
inches apart these vines will take root and make the crop
of seed potatoes for another year - "slips" as they are
called, not growing much larger, if any, than a man's
thumb, but plenty large. What varieties of the potato are
planted here? Generally the yam for the table and the
Spanish for stock purposes, as the former abound in
saccharine matter, while the latter is far more prolific in
its yield. Why is the potato planted in long, narrow strips,
not wider than seventy-five or an hundred yards? In
order the more readily to fence them off in small lots
when feeding them to the fattening hogs in the early fall
of the year. You observe what system, what method,
with their rationale, obtain on this plantation in its various
crops. You see we have at length reached Uncle
Suwarro, with his large force of plowmen. Here they
come through the beautiful green corn, just now coming
into what they call the bush, before it begins to shoot
and tassel; that is, before it begins to show the outline
of the ear beginning to form or to blossom out with its
pollen, with which to fructify the ear of corn. Let us see
what they are doing? You observe here in the upland, in
rows more than a half mile long, in some of the fields the
corn crop is planted with its stalks in hills four and a half feet
apart each way. The old foreman, in his shirt sleeves and
broad brimmed straw hat, woven by his wife or daughter
out of the oat straw of the plantation, is abreast of
nineteen others, throwing the earth with their plows well
up to the corn, leaving a mellow bed into which the
vigorous plant shoots its lateral roots, as well for
nourishment as to enable the stalks to withstand the
autumnal gales, which are sure to come about the equinox
and which would otherwise lay the crop flat on the ground,
thus causing much of the corn to be lost. Following these
plowmen, what are those twenty half grown boys and girls
doing? They are planting the black-eyed pea crop, which
you will see later on, is a very important one. Do you
observe that large gourd, looking like a small basket, which
each one of these young negroes is carrying on his left
side, supported by a leather strap across the right
shoulder? In these are carried the seed peas, and as they
pass a hill of corn you observe that with a quick and a
regular motion of the right hand holding a charger (made
out of a bit of gourd neck with a short handle) they drop
from twelve to fourteen of these peas in the furrow just
opened and directly opposite the hill of corn. The twenty
plowmen following after, split out the middles of these
rows, covering the peas and still hilling up the corn. Now
when this field of corn is cross plowed and treated in
exactly the same way, the result will be that the hill of
corn, generally of two stalks will be the center of a
quadrangle, with a hill of peas at each one of the four
angles. You will quite understand the proprietor of this
estate, when, in speaking of the value of his pea crop, he
says, that it more than pays all of its own expense and that
of making the large corn crops. To what use is the crop of
peas put? First, when the crop is ripe they are gathered in
large hamper baskets and carefully stored away, and in
the winter and early spring they are fed in large quantities
to the sheep and milch cows, for they are both grain and
forage. Many of the finest are carefully put away for the
seed of the ensuing year. In the richest portions of the
plantation many are cut down with scythes and dried and
stacked for the oxen and mules. Thus when all this has
been done and the corn has been gathered out of
these fields, the large number
of hogs, upon which the planter is dependent for
the meat rations of his people, are turned in to glean these
fields of the shattered or ungathered corn by day and
are turned in on the sweet potatoes by night. In addition
to this, this practical old planter plants in each field of
corn some five or six acres of peanuts, or ground peas
for his hogs. These nuts are full of oil and they serve to
put the oncoming animals of the planter's shambles in the
finest possible condition for the table. You can quite
understand the value of the pea crop, more valuable by
far than either the crimson or white clover, with just this
one disadvantage, that it is an annual and must be
regularly renewed, while the clover is a perennial plant.
Well, we have reached the point at the nick of time. It is
just twelve o'clock and in a minute or so, as soon as he
reaches the end of his row, you will hear the long-drawn
mellow notes of the dinner horn, as Uncle Suwarro blows
it long and loud, calling his band of sixty laborers, with
their animals, from labor to refreshment. My sakes!
What unearthly racket is that we hear? It is indeed a
hybrid of sound between a trombone and a fog horn!
Whence does it come? It's the braying of forty mules, as
they signal their joy on hearing the well known call to
dinner. No more work for them now. Not another row will
they plow until they have been taken out of harness, taken
to the nearest feeding station and given water and feed.
Meantime let us see what these negroes, these "slaves" of
the old plantation, are to have from the baskets for their
midday meal. The nooning hour in the summer time
ordinarily lasts from twelve o'clock to two P.M., so that
both servants and animals may have ample time for food
and refreshment. The animals have all been fed and here
and there, under the grateful shade of the splendid old
black walnut and hickory trees, small fires have been
kindled. Soon the air is laden with the appetizing odors of
the large strips or slices of fat mess pork, which to the
average negro is far more welcome than either beefsteak
or mutton chops. This cooking process of theirs furnishes
in their frying pan a plentiful supply of savory gravy,
which they thin down with water Into this they
put their corn meal, which they stir until fully cooked and
allowed to brown. Sometimes they will chop up the young
onions, leaves, bulb and all, into this "cush," as they call it.
In place of the onions they sometimes introduce the
watercress from the bank of the creek. This, with their
meat and bread and such vegetables as their gardens
afford, gives them an abundant and nourishing meal.
After this they sometimes indulge their fondness for
sweets from the black bottle of molasses or sorghum, an
abundance of which is produced on the plantation. Then to
both men and women come the indispensable pipe and
tobacco, or to the men the quid or "chaw" of this
wonderful weed, all home grown in full abundance. After
this they will either rest under the trees or join in pitching,
quoits, which they call "quakes," or in playing "five corns."
This latter game with them takes the place of the old
Roman game of dice. They take five grains of corn, large
and plump, hollow out the heart or kernel, and, with their
hands for a dice box, seek to throw all five of the grains of
corn in such dexterous way as to bring down on the
ground with all the hearts uppermost; the party first
scoring twenty-five points wins the game, as they throw
alternately. Sometimes they will play the game of
"mumble peg," or they will engage in a game of ball, in the
throwing or batting of which they discover as much
dexterity in some cases as can be found on the modern
baseball ground. Sometimes the older women can be seen
busy with their plain simple sewing or knitting; while the
men are engaged in putting a bottom in a chair, employing
either corn shucks, the stems of the wild flag or splits of
white oak. Many of them are busy in making baskets,
some of large size, used in gathering the cotton crop and
for various other plantation purposes, and others smaller
and of more delicate texture, for key baskets or for
gathering up the eggs from the poultry yard. In all of these
little industries they may not show the skill of the Indians
in their work sold to tourists at Niagara Falls, but they
certainly do display no little dexterity. The most industrious
among them send their wares to New Berne or
Wilmington, by the servants who drive the market
wagons, and thus in the course of the year they
gather in quite a nice little sum of money. It must not be
forgotten, in estimating the slender income of these simple-hearted,
unconventional servants of the old plantation, that
they pay no rent, settle no doctor's bills, have naught to do
with either grocer or butcher, and are free from the
rapacity of the modern undertaker. In many respects the
advantages of the servants on this plantation over those
white slaves employed in the factories of both Old and
New England was very marked, and in no respect more
emphatically so than in the perfect exemption of the old
plantation servant from the carking care and killing
responsibility of the white laborers, telling so fearfully in
their heavy bills of mortality and the very slow ratio of
increase. So say statistics. At two o'clock the old foreman
calls everybody from refreshment to labor and off they go
to their afternoon work, until such time as will allow them
to get to the quarter before the night sets in, allowing
plenty of margin for the careful currying and grooming of
their horses and mules. With the old planter it was a faithfully
observed plantation maxim that the free and regular use of
the currycomb and brush on all his animals, winter and summer,
was more than equal to a fourth meal in keeping them up to a high
standard of usefulness.
THE regular plowmen did
not feed their animals either at
night or in the morning. This was done by a detail of three
servants, made each week by Uncle Ben, and under his
watchful eye the stock were all well cared for. The work on the
plantation varied with the season, both as to its character and
activity. While the crops of tobacco, rice, sorghum, cotton,
wheat, oats, rye and corn were to be planted, cultivated or
harvested, in every department of the plantation work there
was marked activity. When the harvests were over there was a
decided relaxation of energy, and yet the more sheltered and
less exacting industries of the winter went on regularly and
systematically. As has already been stated, there was no work
for the master done on the plantation (except in harvest
seasons) after twelve o'clock (noon) on Saturdays. My father
was fully convinced that in this judicious mode of encouraging
his servants in this half holiday each week, in all departments
of the large and complicated industries of the plantation, he
accomplished far more in five and a half days of labor than he
could have done by the steady grind, grind of six unbroken
days of toil. With him it was not only "that a merciful man is
merciful to his beast," but that a wise and thrifty master was kind
to and considerate of his servants. To put it on the low plane
of economics, leaving humanity and philanthropy out of view,
it paid well to feed well, to house comfortably and to work
judiciously the race which Anglo-Saxon civilization was
gradually lifting up from the
paganism in which English, New England and Spanish ship
owners found it on the coast of Africa. The writer is about to
close this chapter upon the various employments of the
servants on the plantation and would gladly introduce an
incident of his own life connected with that of dear old Uncle
Jim, the foreman, as we have seen, of the force of hoemen on
the estate.
Long, long years ago, in
the late forties, when the writer was
a mere slip of a boy, he obtained permission from his mother, as
he often did, to go fishing with Uncle Jim, taking with him his
boy, Cain, as was his habit. In this portion of the South there
was an unwritten law by which the boy child born on the
plantation nearest the birthday of the young master was his,
and as the two came along together through childhood,
boyhood, and all along through manhood, they were closely
associated, having taken their first lessons together in riding,
swimming, fishing, boat sailing, and in the various employments
of outdoor life. Thus they were inseparable, while there was a
blending of influences each upon the other, coming from that
irresistible law of assimilation from close association; the
Caucasian, from the very law of nature because the stronger of
the two civilizations, exercising the stronger and more formative
influence and shaping and moulding the weaker. It was said on
the plantation that Cain walked and talked like "Marse Jeems."
Of this much there was no doubt, on Sundays and other
holidays the young African dressed like the young master, for
had they not the same tailor? Yes, except that Cain's use of the
clothing was second-hand, and yet they fitted him so nicely
when he was fully dressed up he would sing out most
enjoyably, with his fine, rich voice:
"When
I go out to lemonade
And surely at such
times, in his even-tenored, uneventful
life, Cain, was the happier of the two; for while he had not
"a million a minute and expenses paid," he had.
all of his expenses paid, and cared nothing because
he knew nothing of the misery of millionairism. Vanderbilt
may have had a more showy and expensive body
servant, but never one more faithful, more affectionate
and in simple role of duty, more efficient than this young
African. Well, the time has come for this Saturday after
noon fishing excursion and off we go, with Uncle Jim
carrying his own fishing rod and Cain taking his own and
that of the young master, who comes along with his light
double-barreled shotgun, so as to be ready for any
squirrel, mink or otter which may be found. Cain gives a
keen whistle for "Nat," the water spaniel, and soon we
are down at the river bank, with plenty of angle or fish
worms in small gourds around the two servants' necks,
well stoppered with bits of corncob in lieu of corks. Uncle
Jim said that the moon was right and that the wind was
blowing from the right quarter for good luck. The old
fellow cautions us to be very quiet, "as the fish doan' want
no progicin' 'bout dem when dey is a-takin' dar meals."
So we were as quiet as mice and the hooks were well
baited with angle worms, the old man spitting on his bait
for luck before he noiselessly dropped his hook in the
water at the roots of a large cypress tree, among some
chunks of wood held there by the eddy in the bend of the
river. Well, we had not fished long before a peculiar grunt
of satisfaction was heard and the whirring noise of a
fishing line in the water, with the cork out of sight, told its
tale of fine game fish at hand. It was a scene for a
painter, that of Uncle Jim as, with every feature of his
fine old ebon face keenly alert, he saw his tackle, rod and
line, all standing the strain given them by a three-pound
beauty of a fresh water trout. No amateur on Lake
George, in New York State, nor even that ex-President of
the United States, Cleveland, so far famed or rather
notorious, for antagonizing the simplicity and honesty of
the band of Galilean fishermen, ever landed his game with
more ease, grace or joy than did this simple-hearted, born
sportsman.
"Marse Jeems, wa'n't dat splendid? Be mi'ty still.
His mate is dun gone in dar, and I'se bound to
ketch him.
Cain, yuh fool nigger, yuh, why doan' yuh keep less
noise?"
Quiet was restored and the fishing resumed. After a
few moments the writer's cork was carried with great
rapidity out of sight and he was drawing away on his rod
with no little energy, while his line was cutting the water
with a swishing sound, when the old fisherman called out:
"Gib 'im line, Marse Jeems, gib 'im line; doan' pull 'im
so hard, suh. You'll broke your line, shuah as yuh is bo'n."
The writer obeyed the instructions of the old fisherman,
who, to his great relief, gently took the rod out of his hand
and presently landed a very large eel. Whereupon he
called out:
"Run here, Cain; run here, Cain; run here quick; fetch
a stick and hit 'im ha'd as eber yuh can; not on de haid,
dat ain't any way to kill 'im. Hit 'im on de tail, hit 'im on
de tail, you fool nigger yuh, as ha'd as yuh kin."
After repeated blows on the eel's tail, which I shall
always think was his head, Cain replied:
"He dun ded now, Uncle Jim," whereupon the old man
took out his pocketknife and soon cut out the hook which
the eel had voraciously swallowed with the bait.
Very soon thereafter the faithful old darky pulled up
his line and moved off to other fishing grounds, saying
half aloud and to himself:
" 'Tain't no use a-fishin' heah no mo', Marse Jeems.
Luck is all gone. Let's move down de ribber, for when
yuh ketch one ob dese damn eels, Marse Jeems, he
bustes up yer luck."
We went on down the river to other fishing grounds,
and as we were moving along old Jim's conscience
began to upbraid him for swearing in my presence, when
in serio-comic tone of voice he inquired if I thought
"cussin' dat eel was de same as sw'arin'."
By the time we reached the next place where we
were to try our luck the old man's mind was fully at rest
on the point he had raised and we betook ourselves to our
sport with such success that long before the sun
had set we had a very fine string of fish, the old man
catching by far the greater quantity, while Cain and I
helped to swell the number of small fry. About this time
we heard the ringing report of a rifle and soon Uncle
Amos, the old sportsman, came in sight with quite a large
number of squirrels and a brace or two of summer ducks,
his contribution to the planter's table. It was not long after
this, as we were making our way back home and had
reached the gate of the back yard, when Uncle Jim asked
me to get my mother's permission to let me come around
next morning and see just how nice the fish were when
Aunt Patty cooked them in her way. My mother
consented, so, as I had done often before, next morning
about eight o'clock I made my way to the old man's cabin,
and such a breakfast as I did eat. His good old wife had
gotten down her best "chancy," white with blue rimming,
while the cloth on the table was as white as snow, and
the floor spotlessly neat with its heavy sprinkling of white
sand.
"Breakfas' is ready, Marse Jeems; set up, suh, and jus'
he'p yo'se'f."
And this I did most certainly - to fish that were
cooked to a turn, gashed and well sprinkled with corn
meal and fried in the gravy of the mess pork, while the
eggs were brown on both sides and such corn bread as
you never see in these days, with excellent coffee, as
clear as amber, settled with the shells of the eggs. When
ample justice had been done this excellent meal I arose to
go, for I knew that neither of these faithful souls would
touch a morsel as long as I was in the house. Just as I
was about to say "Good morning" to them the old man
said:
"Marse Jeems, is yo' in mi'ty big hurry dis mornin'?"
I told him no.
"Jus' wait a minit, pleas', suh."
Whereupon the old man went into the bedroom and,
unlocking his wooden "whist," which served the purpose of a
trunk, he took out something which he brought into the
front room. I saw it was a small gourd and nearly filled
with salt. He turned to me and, in a very solemn voice
said:
"Marse Jeems, dis ole nigger is gittin' pow'rfu'
ole an' I jes' want to ax one little faber ob yuh."
"Very well, Uncle Jim, what is it? I'll do it if I can," I
said.
This seemed to give him no little relief. With
strengthened voice he said:
"In dis heah gode, Marse Jeems, is dis heah piece of
m' year, dat yo' doan' see up heah," pointing to the
missing part of his right ear. "You see, suh, some time
back I got in a fite wid dat nigger, Frank Henderson, and
he dun bit off dis heah year yuh see in dis heah gode ob
salt. Now, suh, Marse Jeems, if yuh is de longest liber,
and I jes' nose you gwine to be, I jes' want you, please, to
promis' me dat yo' will see dis heah year put in de coffin
'long wid me when I am ded. 'Kase, suh, 'fore Gawd, I
do'sn't want to be walkin' de goldin streets ob Heben wid
one of my years dun' bit off."
Here the old man broke down and could go no further,
terribly distressed at the idea of being disfigured with one
ear gone (or the better part of it) forever in Heaven. As I
withdrew I promised him I would do as he requested.
Alas, alas, the golden ties which bound us together so
closely and so tenderly were rudely broken by the stern
arbitrament of war. I greatly fear the dear old man was
put away in his coffin without the comfort of carrying
with him both of his ears to the general resurrection.
Thus you see how carefully educated the old man had
been by his old mistress in the doctrine of a bodily
resurrection.
SOME years had elapsed
since the incidents of the last
chapter. Over and often had the present writer enjoyed
the companionship of Uncle Jim and Uncle Amos in their
forays after fish and squirrels, taking his lessons in the
various forms of woodcraft from these faithful ones, so
willing, so capable of imparting them. He had also been
carefully taught by Cicero, the coachman, how to hold the
reins in driving, in such manner as, by the simple turn of
the wrist of the left hand, the spirited team of ponies could
be safely and (as the writer began to flatter himself)
gracefully driven, while the right hand was free to hold the
whip, with its bow of pink ribbon tied about half way on
the staff. To the two sons of the planter the faithful
teacher and companion, the cultured, scholarly young
Scotchman, the A.M. of the University of Edinburgh,
Scotland, whose acquaintance we have already made, had
given such faithful instruction at home as, with their rapid
growth, made it necessary that they should be sent away
to school. Pending the years of faithful scholastic
guardianship we had come to love our master of the
schoolroom, who devoted himself to us in many ways. In
many respects he was among the most winsome, lovable
persons whom the writer has ever met. With a face of
fine intelligence, a voice naturally sweet, his vowel sounds
in conversation or reading were singularly effective, and
at times surcharged with such telling pathos as, for
example, in reading aloud the
products of Sir Walter Scott, during a winter's
evening around the blazing hearthstone of our happy
home, would wet our young eyes with tears in loving
sympathy with the annals of dear old Scotia. The name of
this intellectual, pure minded, warm hearted young
Scotchman was the same as that by him borne in the after
years of his high distinction and marked pre-eminence
among the divines of the South - Rev. James Melsey
Sprunt, D.D. He has been gathered unto his fathers, but
before he went away from among us, by the purity of his
life, his ripe and full scholarship - but above all and in all,
by his loyalty to God - he had so fully impressed his
personality upon his pupils, such as the present Clerk of
the North Carolina Supreme Court, Col. Thomas S.
Kenan, and the Rev. J. D. Hufham, D.D., pastor,
pastorum, in the Baptist church, and many others, as has
enabled them to honor God in serving their fellow men
right royally. We shall never hear his rich, rolling Scotch
voice again, in this life, as with rhythmic melody he read
to the congregation "Guide Me, Oh, Thou Great Jehovah,"
but we hope to hear it again, with all his old pupils
gathered around, in that blessed "house not made with
hands, eternal in the Heavens." This tribute to the
memory of one so worthy has been paid, not only
because it is eminently due him, but to show also how
careful the old planters of the South were in the
selection of the teachers of their children. The elder
brother of the writer went from his home to Princeton
College in company with quite a number of young men
from the neighboring town of New Berne. This town
was so named in the latter part of the seventeenth century
by its founder, Christopher Baron de Graffenreid, in
memory of his former home, Berne, in Switzerland. The
writer went to the famous preparatory school in Orange
County, North Carolina, kept by Mr. William I. Bingham,
and since kept up by his descendants, on a high plane of
great usefulness in developing the scholarship of the
South. We were both at home now, accompanied by
several of our classmates, who were spending the
vacation with us. The old home was full of young
company, as our sisters had
brought home with them some of their fair young
schoolmates from St. Mary's School for Young Ladies,
Raleigh, North Carolina. This remarkable institution was
then, as now, perhaps the most popular school in the South.
As well to welcome as to gladden our guests from a
distance some of our special friends, boys and girls, had
come out from Wilmington and New Berne, as they often
did when the country was particularly inviting in its leafy
and flowery pride; or in winter time, when the wild turkeys
were ripe and the oysters were fat. One can quite
understand to what height of real pleasure and loving
forms of genuine enjoyment this carnival of old-fashioned
fun and frolic should have risen in the old home in those
blessed old days, before the flood of 1861 and 1865, under
those conditions. It is true we had no bicycling parties
then. What need, pray, had we for them, when the young
people of that day had still their ancestral fondness for
horseback riding - when the young ladies had not broken
down and destroyed their gracefulness of carriage, but
walked along corridor and through broad hall in all the
mazes of the quadrille, Lancers and Scotch and Virginia
reel with their peculiar grace of body, constituting them
indeed the embodied poetry of motion? It would be very
hard to say what sort of parties were not enjoyed by this
half score and more of young people then gathered at the
old home. Look out from the front piazza to the left at the
horse block. What young couple is that about to mount
those two beautiful horses for the ride out to the sulphur
springs three miles away? Wait until the family carriage
and the lighter ones have been packed full of young people
for the same delightful destination.
"Come, Buck, hurry up and get off as soon as you
can, with your big hamper basket of lunch; and fill
your wagon full of those largest watermelons and
cantaloupes down there in the spring house."
"Yes, suh, Marse John; dat I will."
Well, all things are ready and off we go, as merry a
party as ever kept time to music or read their destinies
in each other's soft eyes, making the air vocal with the
strains of fine melody, as the words of "Annie Laurie"
went forth from the young people all along the line of
mounted couples and from those in the carriages, which
had joined the party at the main entrance - all en route
to the sulphur springs. These six or eight carriages full of
bright, sunny faces untouched by cares or tears, as yet,
with that peculiar, chaste toilet of the Southern girl, with
their broad sunbonnets shading a type of beauty (in many
cases) so marked as to have touched the heart of sternest
anchorite. Six or eight couples on horseback were
keeping the regulation distance from each other, so that
no one should suffer from dust or shadow of molestation
in any form; while in the rear came the two or more
wagons laden with dinner enough for a company of
infantry, as well as melons, peaches, pears and baskets of
Scuppernong grapes. Even now at the close of the
nineteenth century, with all its multiplied cares and
vexations of electric life, what an inspiration there is in
youth. But to have been young in the dear old Southland
in the fifties - no one but he who can speak of such joys
as a blessed participant ought to be allowed to speak of
them except in the reverent language of "Our fathers
have declared it unto us what noble works thou didst in
their days and in the old time before them." A quick drive
of three miles brings us to the spring, though we stop a
few minutes to see if Eli and Sam with their fiddles
(colored people did not play the violin in those days, they
played the fiddle), Virgil with his flute, Frank with his
banjo, Caswell with his triangle and Peter with his
castanets had gone on. We were not detained long at the
lake, for we found "dat Marse John and G'o'ge had rid on
ahed." Reaching the rendezvous, at the foot of quite a
declivity for this flat country, we find in this spring one of
the very strongest fountains of medicinal water in this
state. It breaks out from the side of a hill, in a volume of
crystal water, about ten feet deep and as many in width,
forming a deep basin, in which might float with perfect
ease two or three pilot boats such as they employ in going
to sea across the bar at Beaufort Harbor. Ah, dear old
spring, what
blessed memory, what Heaven recorded association,
what fine forms of sweet hospitality cling to thy name! On
the east bank of the purling little stream, which flows
away from this bay of water, is a space cleared of all
undergrowth, around the semi-circular rim of which are
lined the fifteen or twenty carriages and a number of
Concord wagons. In the center of this space there has
been erected a platform about twenty-five feet square,
while at one end is a stand with seats for the
"musicianers," as Buck insists on calling them. Here and
there, scattered about on the ground, with a thin layer of
pine straw underneath, are buffalo robes, skins of wild
animals, rugs and afghans, with such an array of cushions
taken from the carriages as to suggest an Oriental siesta.
The maid servants, who have come out in the lunch
wagons. are very busy, rolling lemons on the hard seats of
the wagons stripped of their cushions. Out on the edge of
the woods where the horses have been hitched to young
trees, but at a safe distance, have been kindled two or
three fires, on which are placed the boilers brought in
thoughtful reference to that delightful beverage, coffee,
which the Southern cook brews in its highest perfection.
Up the ravine some quarter of a mile away, the large party
of young people have gone on one of those suggestive,
rambling, philandering expeditions, to look for the old
empty basin, from which one night, this fine spring near is
said to have disappeared and broken out where in all of its
limpid purity it is still flowing on. There is a legend about
this old spring - that it belonged to a close fisted old man,
who allowed himself to be annoyed by the many visitors
who came for miles around to enjoy the water. The old
curmudgeon boarded it up tight and fast with a close fence
ten feet in height. One night the old man went to sleep the
possessor of this spring, thus secured to him without
annoyance. Next morning he awoke, but his spring had
gone from him and his meanness forever. While the young
people were gone on their ramble various dispositions for
the pleasure of the party had been made by "Marse John"
and the carriage drivers. Grapevines, as long as
necessary and larger
than your thumb, had been cut away from the large
trees and with them were constructed primitive swings;
cushions had been arranged with packs of playing cards
on the central one, suggestive of whist, old maid, seven
up, cribbage and the like; while backgammon boards
were brought out from the wagon. Here they come -
here they come.
"Eli, let us have a
little music right away!"
"Yes, suh, dat we
will, wid all ple'sur', suh."
Soon the air was vocal
with the suggestive notes of
the old-fashioned dance music of:
"Hush,
Miss Betsey, doan' you cry,
And then the chorus, in
which the fine voices of the
negro musicians would ring out in perfect time with the
instruments:
"Sheep
shell corn by the rattle of his horn,
As the inspiring notes
of the sable orchestra reached
the ears of the party, now returning from their ramble
(in such suggestive subdivisions of two and two) they
certainly did quicken their pace, for this band of happy
youths knew what it all meant. They knew all the signs of
the dance and all about it, in those days, when it was not
unusual to see three generations of the same family in the
same set; when the healthful mind and conscience
recognized the fact that the majority of people commit
forty times more sin with their tongues than they do with
their toes; when the blessed differentiation was made
between "piosity" (as Bishop Williams of Connecticut
happily expresses it) and piety - between goodishness
and godliness. Can you think of a young partridge
learning to run in the grass wet with the morning dew?
Can you think of a young duck being taught to swim?
Then you are in the frame of mind to be taught how and
where the young people of the South learned to dance,
and ride on horseback. Under the laws of heredity,
these accomplishments came to them in the
nursery. The present writer remembers learning to
read and to write, but he does not remember learning
to ride his pony or to dance. But what are we doing? This
is not the time to indulge in an essay. Listen to old Eli's
voice, as he sways his body in unison with his deep
interest in what now engages him, calling out in a
strong voice:
"Pardners for de
fus' cowtillion."
How rapidly the set fills
up! How strange it is that the
same couples that came down the ravine together just
now appear together on the platform! Ah, as Eli draws
the long notes on his instrument and calls out, "honers to
yo' pardners," what graceful curtsies, what stately (but
not stiff) bows are those, flinging contempt on the cold,
icy, mechanical forms of the modern german, as "For'ard
fours" starts the couple on the round of the old-fashioned
cotillion of the better days of the republic. Watch the
features of that sweet-hearted young Carolinian, who is
not in this set, but is biding his time and waiting his turn, as
by the glow in his eyes he is calling out in his poetic soul:
"On
with the dance, let joy be unconfined,
Set after set is danced
and no indication of fatigue. You
might just as well endeavor to fatigue an Arabian courser
as one of these young gentlemen in the dance. You might
as well try to break down with fatigue a fair antelope of
the plains as one of these beautiful girls. Ah, children of a
happy day, with whom no coming events casts its dark
shadow before, go on, go on with your blessed round of
innocent joy - the cloud no bigger than a man's hand, and
yet flecked with blood, has not yet cast its shadow across
your bright pathway! And as they dance on, with couples
resting, not because they are fatigued but to give others
their places, what are Buck and his Marse John doing,
pray? They are beginning to take the melons out of
the cool pool of the
spring water, in which, in large sacks, they have been
held down by long poles fastening them to the bottom.
This seems to be the signal for dinner. Yes, but what
rumbling of wheels is that we hear?
"B'ess ma lif' an'
so'l an' body, honey," one of the
servants calls out, "if it ain't old Marster and ole Mistiss
dun driv' out to spen' de da' in honor ob Marse John's
burfda'."
That was the state of the
case. Presently the maids
sweep off the platform, which is soon covered by snow
white table linen, and then how rapidly all the
appointments for an excellent dinner are made - with
knives and forks and snowy napkins and, in fact,
everything necessary - none will doubt, save those
ignorant of the fine service and good taste of the old
plantation dining room servants, who were out to-day in
numbers to have the pleasure of making "Marse John
berry happy on his burfda'." No attempt to describe that
dinner will be made. Suffice it to say that cold meats -
ham, lamb, beef, chicken and venison, with tomatoes and
such vegetables as could be served cold, and all that
anyone could desire - were there in such abundance as
left no one present, servants and all, even to dear old
faithful Buck, with any suggestion of an aching void, but
in such plenty as to suggest, yes, exemplify:
"One
continued feast of nectared sweets,
After the melons had
been cut, true Southern
fashion, lengthwise into halves, with a spoon, they were
greatly enjoyed, as each person industriously betook
himself to this delicious Southern fruit. After the decks
were cleared dancing was resumed. Nothing would do
with the young people on such a red letter day as that of
the birthday of their eldest son but that father and mother
should join in the first set after dinner. One could readily
see how these two dear old people had not been
neglected in the matter of polite education in the early
part of their lives. Right merrily did these two dear old
folks enter into the pleasures of the young people, "in their
hands all around," "swing corners," "forward four," and
"promenade all," in such a manner as to reflect credit on
their old French dancing master in the first decade of the
century. Besides this they have been in the habit of
brightening the home life by joining with their children in
all the innocent pastimes of the nursery. At the South
dancing was among them. Martin Luther in the sixteenth
century, taught the people of Germany to elevate the
morals of their children by making their homes happy.
The short criminal dockets of that favored land clearly
indicate how singularly successful that remarkable man
was. So say Marlitt, in his novel of "Gold Elsie," and
others. As to everything on this earth there must be an
end, so after an hour or more of delightful enjoyment
everything was packed up, horses were hitched and
saddled, and this party of light-hearted folk made their
way homeward singing out in loud, clear and sweet voices
the Canadian boat song "Row, brothers, row." Just as the
hunter's full moon, coming up through the tall trunks of the
fine old pines east of the old home, was beginning to flood
the whole landscape with that touch of unearthly beauty
peculiar to our Southern latitude, on our left, as we were
driving up the front entrance, from the arbor of a
Scuppernong grapevine were heard the sweet notes of
the mocking-bird pouring out his roundelay of love to his
mate, rejoicing over their young brood. Very soon we
heard the deep voice of old "Don," the faithful
Newfoundland. Just then a young gentleman from
Wilmington, in full sympathy with this charming scene,
evidenced his appreciation in clear, rich musical voice:
"
'Tis sweet to hear the honest watchdog's bark,
Just then the young
couple we saw riding away on
horseback this morning came up. They were singularly
silent, notably so the young gentleman, who, after
assisting the young lady to dismount, made his way in
silence to my brother John's room. Left alone, he caught
up a pen and in the intensity of his deep feeling showed
clearly how busy the blind little god, Cupid, had been
that day, as he wrote:
"Who
breathes must suffer, who thinks must mourn;
He went out for some
purpose, and soon
thereafter our brilliant young neighbor, Tom Wilson,
entered the room. He saw the paper with the above lines
lying on the writing table, the ink still wet, left there in the
writer's unconscious abstraction, and wrote currente
calamo.
"Not
so; all good men rugged paths have trod
Thus ended an
old-fashioned field day with its band of
most interesting Southern youth. The question will come
up, "Where are they all now?" and echo, for answer,
gives back in sepulchral tones, "Where! Oh, where?"
WITH his house full of
young company, the old planter
and his wife the next day planned an excursion to the
seaside, commonly known, in the parlance of the coastal
South, as a "pony-penning;" in full preparation for which
he dispatched a trusted servant with a letter to Mr.
Robert McClane, the old Scotch host at Swansboro, the
little seaport in the south-east corner of the good old
county of Onslow, some thirty miles away, asking him to
have sail boats in readiness to take the party through
Bogue Sound to Beaufort, suggesting that it would add to
the pleasure of his guests if he himself would go along,
and would he be pleased to see that every detail was in
perfect order? The day intervening was spent by the
young people in the manner customary on the large
estates - in fishing, hunting, riding and driving, while
some time was expended by the young ladies in helping
the mistress, their hostess, with work on a silk quilt
already in the frame. In the evening the young people of
both sexes who had been invited to join the excursion
dropped into tea without ceremony, and the time passed
away most delightfully until the hour for retiring came,
with games of whist, dancing and music, and by some in
those suspicious rambles about the flower garden that
suggest the lines of the English poet, when he said in a
note to his lovely sweetheart:
"Too
late I stayed, forgive the crime,
Next morning, after a
good old-fashioned breakfast,
amply supplied with transportation for themselves,
servants and luggage, through the unvarying kindness of
the neighboring planters, the large party were off to the
seaside, the accomplished wife of a young planter gladly
going along as chaperone. The road led over a very level
country, with little or no sand in the roadbed. Thus in six
hours from the time of leaving, that is about the middle of
the afternoon, the party were kindly received by old
Bobby McClane at his sweet hostelry, where dinner was
soon served, and long before sunset we were embarked
for the run by moonlight down the Sound to the seaside.
The wind was fair and strong enough to carry us
rapidly, with the tide all right, over this beautiful sheet of
water, flowing in ample breadth for fine sailing, like a land
locked lake, with the narrow Bogue banks between us
and the ocean. What mirth provoking anecdotes, what
rich voices in fine old song, of the "Irish Emigrant's
Lament," "Make Me No Gaudy Chaplet," "Way Down on
the Suwanee River," and others, with guitar, violin and
flute. What mirth provoking and at the same time
engaging badinage, as our fine boats were cleaving their
way through the phosphorescent, moonlit waters, the
present writer will not attempt to tell, but they are all
deeply engraved on memory's tablets, there to endure as
long as she is faithful to her sweet trust. One, however,
may be quite sure,
"When
young eyes look love to eyes that speak again,
that one has reached
that sweet era in life, when
silence is golden. It is long after midnight, after a
glorious run, without an accident of any kind, that the
gruff voice of old Cæsar Manson, captain of one of the
fine boats, the Etta Duncan, rang out, as we stood away
from where Morehead City now stands, across the lovely
Beaufort harbor.
"Haul aft the mainsheet and let her come about."
"What light is that on our right bow?"
"That is the light of the Fort Macon lighthouse and
the one here away on the weather bow is at the Atlantic
Hotel."
"Let her come around."
And in a short time the voice of our kindly host, Mr. Pender,
was heard at his wharf, welcoming old Bobby McClane who
had come along with the party. In a few minutes we were all
stowed away in comfortable quarters, all ready for us, for had
not the old Scotchman sent ahead and given mine host of the
Atlantic ample notice of our coming? I wish, reader, you could
have seen that supper, which the Edgecombe hospitality had
so abundantly provided or, better still, if only we could partake
of it now. Fish, oysters, clams, scallops and crabs, all of the rich
products of salt water, with that remarkable and best sauce of
all, salt water appetite, which "waits upon good digestion." Will
you believe it, at eight o'clock the next morning breakfast was
not only ready but we were ready for breakfast, young ladies
and all? By ten o'clock all the dispositions for the trip to the
Banks had been made, but the weather showing up rather
rough, it was deemed most prudent that the ladies should
remain at the hotel. Off we went in quite a large centerboard
craft, in nautical classification known as a "lighter," the
significance of which term this deponent sayeth not for to some
of the Piedmontese and mountaineers on board (we had not
gone far when it became exceedingly rough) in fact to many of
our largely increased party, the depression of spirits attendant
on sea-sickness was anything else than a lighting up of joy.
The writer remembers well that on this "pony penning"
expedition were two persons who later in life became
distinguished - Honorable Thomas L. Clingman, afterwards
United States Senator of North Carolina, and Mr. Edmond
Ruffin of Virginia, the latter of whom it is said fired the first gun
at Fort Sumter. It is generally doubted whether either of these
gentlemen ever became quite as sick of secession and its
sequela as they became that day, in a most moving way, of the
loblolly motion of boat and sea and air - of earth and heaven.
What a fiend is this sea-sickness! Well, here we are in just the
position to get a good view of the
large crowds assembled to witness the penning of these ponies.
The island is a long, narrow one, of the many which flank the
coast here, and which from Hatteras, north and south, render
navigation so dangerous. Many think these ponies are the
increase of horses which escaped from settlers in colonial days.
The diminished size, constituting them ponies, is the outcome of
interbreeding and the short rations of coarse marsh grass
without grain. The fisherman and others who own these islands
pen the ponies twice each year, at which time the colts are
branded and a sale takes place. Among the many driven into
these pens (led along through the gap of a decoy, in the shape
of an animal already domesticated) one can find almost any color
desired. Some of them are well shaped, requiring only the good
feed and careful grooming they will get as companions of the
young people on estates inland, and, in some cases, in the
Piedmont and mountain counties. The average price is forty
dollars; indeed it is said that this is the fixed price, as corn and
fodder cost nothing here and the owners refuse to accept a
smaller amount. The penning is over with all of its chaffering and
bargaining, with all the kicking and biting and vicious squealing
of these unbridled animals; the purchasers have supplied
themselves and we are quite ready to go. Although the weather
was rough, very rough, nothing of special note occurred on the
homeward voyage. Our friends at the hotel in Beaufort had
quite enjoyed the day with its trip to old Fort Macon, and the
fine fishing on the wharf, while some of the party had enjoyed
that luxury even greater than the far famed Turkish bath - a
splash in the wild, wild waves of old ocean as they come
tumbling in on the fine beach of this charming seaside resort.
Next morning, bright and early, our boats were brought into
requisition and we made fine progress on our homeward trip.
Reaching Swansboro after a delightful run, the carriages were
soon made ready and we were en route for the old plantation,
which we reached in good time, after a delightful jaunt which
lived in the memory of all who made up this party of joyous,
sunny-hearted youths of a generation passed away. We knew we
violated no law of hospitality as we drove up the broad avenue of
the old homestead singing, at the top of our; voices, "Home Again
From a Foreign Shore," for were not the lights still burning in the
old home and in the dear hearts of the old father and mother? Alas,
alas, these blessed lights have gone out forever, and the darkness
following is so great as to blind with tears the eyes, rapidly misting
over, of the author as he pens these lines. Hail and farewell,
blessed ones of the past! Hail and farewell!
WE ALL regard it as
part of the good fortune which in
those days seemed to wait upon youth that flaming hand bills
and immense posters of a circus and menagerie were abroad in
the land at that time, and that the old Robinson and Eldred
people of the sawdust and trapeze would soon delight our
community. Everybody far and near was discussing the
oncoming circus, with its telling opiate to conscience, that fine
study of natural history commonly known in church circles as a
menagerie, with no suggestion of enjoyment in the circus(?).
Through Uncle Philip and the foremen on the plantation, orders
had been given for a full holiday in every department of the
industries of the estate. Even Uncle Amos, the plantation
Nimrod, had been told that ole Marster had bought a ticket for
his whole family, black and white, and that the roll would be
called by Marse John in front of Ben's house at ten o'clock, on
the ringing of the assembly bell. Ben had been ordered to have
transportation in readiness, consisting of all the wagons and
carts from the lake, together with everything of like order on
the plantation. It was scarcely necessary to give an order that
everybody should appear in their best clothes, for the racial
pride of our servants, not to say anything of their family or
plantation pride, would be very sure to suggest this. At this
late day one can scarcely appreciate the strength of family
pride among the servants on one of the best managed
plantations of that day. So strong was it that, in case of a
marriage of one of their number to a servant belonging
to a family not the social equal of their master, you would be
sure to hear some harsh criticisms from the blue-black
aristocrats, reprobating such conduct in terms so strong as to
make its occurrence infrequent. Aunt Dinah with an emphatic
toss of her turbaned head, and a tinge of bitter scorn in her
voice would say:
"Dat nigger, Sam, gwine to fling hisself 'way anyhow;
marryin' dat common nigger gal, Mary Jane. Her white folkses
ain't no quality nohow fur nothin'."
In political campaigns, especially for the local or county
officers, where these people, as elsewhere, had neither voice
nor vote - when party strife ran high, and high it did run, in
those days of joint discussion - one would have been
amusingly surprised to have witnessed their deep interest in
politics, often wagering as high as a half dozen coon skins on
the result of the election. No one ought to be surprised when
told that most of these servants on those manorial estates were
old-fashioned Whigs; for was not the institution of slavery a
strong breakwater, protecting in its conservatism the South and
the country against any forms of anarchical radicalism?
Be this as it may, circus day came around and everybody was
ready for this high carnival of fun and frolic. The writer heartily
wishes that you and he, kind reader, could go back and witness
the gathering of the "fam'ly," at the time appointed, when the
loud notes of the assembly bell rang out all along Broadway and
Chestnut streets, while the servants began to gather in the large
area just to the right of Ben's house. The writer witnessed it but
cannot describe it. And yet (as the wagons, ox carts and horse
carts are falling into line and Uncle Philip, mounted on Selim, is
discharging the important duties of marshal, in ordering the
women and children to mount the vehicles, whose bottoms have
been heavily covered with soft wheat straw) you must take time
to look at Ben a few minutes. Did you ever see anyone quite so
happy as he is to-day with his best clothes on? Look at that tall
fur hat (it was before the common use of the silk hat), and notice
his proud movements, as with pride in his mien and step, he
takes a big bandanna handkerchief out of the
depths of his long-skirted, claw-hammer coat pocket. His coat is
of blue broadcloth, with metal buttons almost as large as a half
dollar, and just as bright as chalk and friction can make them,
while his black pants and canary-colored waistcoat, with bright
colored stockings encased in patent leather shoes, make up his
outfit entire, except that flaming red cravat. Ah, never was there
a happier "nigger" on earth than faithful Ben, whom his Marse
John had just dressed up in a suit of his own clothes; nor will
his joy and gladness be surpassed when the millennium comes.
Here come the carriages full of fresh-hearted young people from
the great house, with ole Marster and ole Missus, and the
young people on horseback, with Handy driving the baggage
wagon full of maid servants, and the old gardener. Marse John,
riding on that beautiful sorrel, with that fair and graceful young
lady, superbly mounted, led the way, followed by as happy a
set of devoted servants as ever gladdened the hearts or
enriched the purse of a typical young planter. On they go, some
four or five miles away, to the little hamlet of Upper Rich Lands,
across the river on the road towards the old town of New
Berne.
Without accident to anyone of the large party, safe arrival is
made on the circus ground. My sakes! what a crowd. It would
appear as though the whole of the upper part of Onslow and
the lower part of Jones counties were here to-day. Such crowds
of people, white and negroes, the air ringing out with the loud
guffaws of laughter, rich and deep; such instances of marked
attention from the ebon beaux to the dusky belles; such a flow
of big "bookionery" words as were then and there employed,
with certain other forms of speech, not so loud nor so
articulate, yet fully understood; for who has ever yet mistaken
Cupid's dialect? Ah, Ben was in his glory that day, and so was
Uncle Philip; while if you could have seen my man Cain,
"gallivanting" with Julia and Edith, the house maids, you would
have regarded him as in a frame of mind truly enviable; for there
are certain forms of earthly happiness just as contagious as
whooping cough or measles. Well, the doors are open and the
plantation people are filing
past Marse John, who is standing by the door-keeper,
keeping his tally to see that all entitled (and no more)
under the family ticket are allowed to go in. My sakes!
what a revelation to these hundreds of dusky toilers did
this entrance make. Talk no more to me of Aladdin's
lamp! These children of Africa had entered another
world. Happy! That is not the word. Simply enchanted.
If you could have seen Buck's eyes when the band of
music (trombone and all) broke forth you would have
said, as their white eyes rolled around in ecstasy,
"Happier is he by far to-day than if he were eating
'possum' and 'taters.' " They roamed around the large
pavilion, looking at the various animals - elephants, camels,
bears, hyenas, tigers, leopards, rhinoceros and others, and
you would have observed that all the ox cart drivers were
together. There they were - Harry, Isaac, Handy, Tom
and Sam - obeying the unwritten guild-law of human
life. On they went leisurely until they reached the place
where stood the giraffe. There they stood as if chained to
the spot by the paralyzing power of dumb admiration.
There they stood and looked and looked, until at last old
Handy, rolling his big "chew" of tobacco in his cavernous
mouth and shooting a sharp elbow in among Harry's
short ribs, called out, with a loud laugh:
"Look heah, nigger, how do yuh t'ink dat ting (pointing
to the giraffe) ebber git up when he dun git down. His
hind legs am so much shorter den his fore legs?"
This was a poser. They could not compass the answer.
At which they laughed and laughed, moving on at the
same time with the crowd until they came to the corner
where the monkeys were chained on the top of the cages
of the larger animals. Here again they stopped. They
gazed in silence at these connecting links (as some
affirm) between the two orders of animal life. At last,
when the laughable grimaces of one of the monkeys
broke the spell of their dumb amazement, old Handy the
wit of the party, spoke up:
"Yuh see dem monkeys up dere? Dey is mi'ty
cuirisum critters enyhow; dat big monkey up dere, way
bac' in yonder, dat fellow, Isaac, is yo' d'uble fust cussin,
and he's
mi'ty like yo' enyhow. He's got lots ob sence, 's much
sence 's a nigger - an' - an' - he kin talk, too. Duz yo'
know why he don't talk? 'Case he jes' fairly 'nos' ef he
talks de white fokeses set him to work rite away - dat's
why he doan' talk."
Well, after this colloquy between these two old darkies,
and half an hour or so had been allowed for the inspection
of all the animals, the time came for the ring master and
the clown to perform their part - the trained dogs and
the acting elephant, the bareback riders, the various
astounding feats of acrobats, with the man who wound
himself up in his somersaults, and all that is so familiar to
those who remember with pleasure this hour and more of
abandon to the enjoyment of the circus, it was announced
by the ring master that the celebrated lion tamer would
now appear in his world-renowned act of driving the
magnificent Libyan lion, Nero, in his chariot. There
immediately followed a breathless silence, and none were
more attentive or silent than the hundreds of servants,
who were drinking in everything with eyes, ears and open
mouths. Presently the lion tamer entered Nero's cage
with his whip in his hand, ready to harness up this
monarch of the forest, when, to the dismay of all who
heard it, there was a suppressed angry growl from the
lion. The keeper, nothing daunted, advanced toward the
animal, careful to keep his back to the door by which he
had entered the cage, with his keen, magnetic eye
fastened upon the sullen king of the jungle. No one knows
what caused it, whether it was the presence of so many
servants, suggestive to the lion of his home and freedom
in Africa or not, but in a moment there was a deep roar
from Nero and a half spring toward the keeper, and the
rattling as of a link or two of an iron chain fastened to the
end of a club, with which the keeper struck the lion with
great force between the eyes, followed by a fearful growl
from the infuriated animal. Just then some one called out:
"He is killing his keeper, he is breaking out; he is
breaking out!"
In all your life you never saw such a scene. In less
time than is required to tell of it there was the most fearful
confusion confounded. Crash, crash, crash went the
seats; rip, rip went the canvas; as the panic-stricken
crowd, not standing on the order of their going, tore their
way through the large tent out into the open air.
Anywhere, any way to escape; as some one crazed with
fear called out in tones unmistakable:
"De lion is loose! De lion is loose! Lord hab mercy!
Lord hab mercy!"
My sakes, what a scene. Fortunately the white people
were not so much crazed by fear. The negroes were
wild, and it is said that in their rapid, crazy flight some
never called a halt until they had crossed the river, in their
fearful, crazy hurry to get home. Among those who led
this wild flight was poor Buck, who never afterwards
could bear to talk of the circus. He had enough, and
much preferred the coon hunt as his mode of enjoyment.
It turned out that while this incident broke up the
performance, the lion had been so stunned by the blow as
to enable the keeper to escape. Not many months,
however, after this noted event in the simple annals of the
plantation the newspapers announced that Nero had killed
his foolhardy keeper out in Indiana. We all reached home
in safety, and as we sat down to dinner many were the
jokes told and incidents related. The truth demands that,
all-in-all, the second edition of the circus, while discussing
a good dinner, was far more enjoyable than the one in the
morning, with its dangerous fiasco and ludicrous
stampede of the African race from the circus for home
and safety. The old planter gave his servants, however, a
delightful day, notwithstanding this amusing episode.
WE HAVE seen that the
proprietor of this estate sought
successfully, to secure rather a willing than enforced obedience
to the rules and regulations of the plantation. This he
did by a wise system of rewards for high usefulness in
special cases, and by a kind and well-nigh paternal oversight
over all his servants. Recognizing the fact that these people
were his property, the régime was one of unbroken kindness,
with the fact clearly certified that disobedience invariably
brought its own penalty. Kind, yet firm, his servants were
fully conscious of the fact that certainty rather than severity
of penalty was the active deterrent to disobedience. On a
large plantation like this the system or order was the outcome
of established laws, which were well known to his people
from cradledom in the great majority of cases. In the earlier
part of his life, following the example of many planters
around him, he had employed white overseers; but as he
went on in life's lessons of experience and wisdom he found
that with this white element around him there devolved upon
him the double labor of managing the overseers as well as
the servants. From the lower class of whites, not the lowest,
the overseers of the South were recruited. Out of sympathy
with the negroes, they were simply and solely white drivers,
in contract with the planter, the practical working of which
relation was, that for the first year it was the planter's estate,
the second year it was a joint stock establishment - in the
estimation of the overseer - who acted the third year as
though the planter, plantation and
all belonged to him. Coming from that element in which morale
was largely lacking, it was ascertained that they could not be
relied upon for the most healthful forms of discipline and good,
wholesome government on the plantation. Therefore it was that
for many years on this estate the system of colored managers or
foremen had displaced the less reliable order of overseers. This
was found in many respects to be far preferable, and notably so
in that it maintained the closest privity of relation between the
planter and his servants. In one sense they were all servants
together; and to the most sensible of the servants it soon
became apparent that, in those close bonds of confidence and
interest, the old master and the old mistress were indeed the
veriest slaves on the estate, in those severe exactions of time,
patience and watchful energy, with affection supplied by them to
those whom they could not but recognize as so many overgrown
children. Hence it was that Uncle Philip was commissioned as
next in authority to the planter, while Uncle Jim, Uncle Suwarro,
Ben and Cicero, each had their department, with their full share
of discipline and responsibility, all centering in the owner of the
estate. In all the relations of life no system to which man puts his
pitchy fingers has been found perfect, while experience has
taught that the management of the plantation, with its better
crops, fewer instances of punishment and more harmonious
working of the negro, the foreman régime was a marked
improvement over the white overseer. In those days the curse of
the plantation life was in the constant temptation of the
servants, coming from the hurtful influence of small stores, kept
by the lower class of whites. These people were ready, by night,
to carry on a system of demoralizing barter, taking at their own
price articles stolen by the servants, to wit, corn, poultry, pigs;
in short, anything the negro might carry in his bag, in any sense
marketable; in exchange for which mean whiskey or other articles
at high prices to compensate for the great risk they took, were
sold to the servants. Those dens, while exceedingly harmful,
were ordinarily short lived in the hands of any one of these
midnight enemies to the planter, who kept in his pay a spy on the
movements of the lawless negro traders. Few such cases went
to the courts.
For mutual protection all the planters were closely banded
together. As soon as well grounded suspicion fell upon one of
these establishments the keeper was waited upon by several of
the planters. A fair price was offered in cash for his few acres
and storeroom, and such emphatic notice to get out was given
as suggested a coat of tar with a full ruffling of feathers. Within
the designated forty-eight hours the man had decamped, bag
and baggage, for he had a very healthy regard for Judge Lynch
and the consequences of a trial in that form. Sometimes a year or
more would elapse before another one of these deadfalls with its
harmful nuisances sprang up, only to be abated in the same
manner above indicated. Short lived as any one of them was, yet
they were very annoying to the planter, while they were a
prolific source of trouble to the servants. It may be well to say in
this connection that while corporal punishment was resorted to
in the maintenance of discipline, it was infrequent and never so
severe as the same mode of punishment in the navy of the
United States or any other well ordered Government at that time.
The more frequent mode of punishment was the curtailment of
special privileges on Saturday afternoon and close, solitary
confinement in the "lockup," as the servants called the small jail
in the third story of the gin house. When any one of the
servants insisted on incorrigible disobedience and none of the
ordinary modes of punishment seemed to do any good, after
every other expedient had been exhausted, he was sent away to
that Botany Bay in the lower Mississippi valley, to work on the
cotton plantations of that section of the South, where the
commercial features of the earlier days of the institution had
been in some sense revived, and where, in consequence, the
patriarchal features, as seen in Virginia, Maryland and the
Carolinas, had gone somewhat into abeyance.
So much for the discipline, penalties, punishment and
restraints, which obtained on this estate. Something must be
said in regard to the care of the health of the
servants. If one could have seen the large number of
children under ten years of age on this estate, satisfactory
answer would have been given to many questions which
naturally enough arise in this connection. The almost daily
visits paid by my mother to the bedside of the mothers of
these children for a month (never less) after their birth,
the facts of the food for them being carried from the
planter's table thrice daily by Eliza, special maid to ole
Mistiss, the regular visits of the plantation physician, a
regular graduate in this case of either the University of
Dublin, Ireland, in the person of the elder Dr. Duffy, or of
the University of Pennsylvania, in the case of Dr.
Christopher Whitehead, can account for the larger number
of children coming on rapidly, to go to the plantation or
turpentine industries when sufficiently old, than you would
certainly find among any peasantry in the world.
These facts, which are carefully brought out, will
explain the rapid increase of the African race in the
South prior to 1865; while the absence of these conditions
since then, together with the baneful effects on the
negroes of the South, coming from their close herding together
in the towns and villages, have told on the comparative ratio
of increase and healthfulness of the two periods. Leaving
all questions of humanity and philanthropy out of view,
the great majority of the Southern planters took good care
of their servants, sick or well, precisely for the same
reason that the farmers in the Genessee Valley in New York
took special pains and went to adequate expense in the
preparation of their fine wheat lands - because it paid to
do so.
One may be interested to know something of the various
amusements on the plantation. These sunny-hearted
children of the equator, mercurial in their temperament,
of ordinarily excellent health and, in their relation to the
old planter, largely exempt from the "What shall I eat?
What shall I wear?" carking cares of every-day life, were
happy in their relations to the old master. To some,
the problem of amusement or occupation out of labor
hours may be thus stated: Eli given his fiddle, Sam with
his banjo, and a room well sanded, twenty feet square
with Julia, Kate and fifteen or twenty others of the plantation
girls, dressed up to kill - what time or cause had
the beaux of the estate to inquire into the prices of
anything to eat or to wear? Again, around at dear old
Granddaddy Cain's house in the evening, with old Harper,
the Baptist preacher, or Daniel, the Methodist exhorter, in
fine voice or tune, with everything to urge them to the full
enjoyment of a decided counterblast to the "double
shuffle," "pigeon wing," or "reel," going on under the
inspiration of Eli's fiddle, what ,it may be asked, did they
lack to their fullest enjoyment but the enlargement of all those
spiritual privileges at the "sociashun" or the camp
meeting, to which they were looking forward so joyously
after harvest.
It was somewhat amusing to see in how many
particulars the manners and customs of the planter's
family were copied by their servants, so faithfully do we
all show the power of environment. Did my mother have a
silk quilt in the frame and invite some of her neighbors to
assist her in finishing the same, in a short time a similar
gathering at Aunt Daphne's or Aunt Peggy s might be
seen during the long winter evenings, with the possum
supper and a dance - with such peals of joyous laughter
one might hear from this band of happy, well fed, well
housed people. Then again, aside from the coon and
possum hunts, there were many games, into the mysteries
of which, down at the quarter, the plantation servants
were inducted by the house servants of both sexes. They
pitched quoits, ran foot races and played ball. With them a
famous game was "bull pen," and still another was "rolly-
bolly," in the playing of which many a young darky would
receive a good rousing lick with the ball if he happened not
to make good his distancce from the set of holes
in the
ground. All were allowed to go fishing and some of the
most careful trusted ones went squirrel hunting while as a
boy many and many a time did I take lessons from Caswell, as
he taught me how to twist "bre'er rabbit" out of a hollow
log or tree. One of their favorite amusements was that of breaking
a yoke of young steers or oxen. High fun it was when,
with their tails tied together, these young bullocks would
run away and clear themselves of the cart, young darkies
and all, until at last, wearied out by a band of these young
Africans, "Rock" and "Jake" would "jest 'habe demsel's
jes' lik' t'other oxens." My sakes, what fun they would
have in breaking in a colt, be the same mule or horse! All
these young Arabs would want was "Marster's 'mission,"
with a good stiff bit and plenty of plow line. Fall after
fall might come, but they would persevere until they would
break down the young animal's spirit, and then how happy
they would be. Very frequently they would guard against
the mules' racial disposition to buck by using a Bedouin
bit and a wooden martingale. Thus outfitted they were
not long "in brokin' dis heah mule." And yet with all
these modes of spending their time, many of them would
occupy themselves in the cultivation of their own crops
and gardens; or else they might be seen with a large bundle
of white oak splits or a basket of corn shucks making
baskets, foot mats or horse collars.
My observation of the negro leads me to think that he
was, under the old régime, a far more industrious member
of the family than he has been represented by many to have
been. As we read in the Bible, "like priest like people,"
so an industrious planter was ordinarily blest with energetic
and thrifty servants. It has been said so often that by
many it is believed - if the average negro on the plantation
bore no malice, he was essentially lacking in gratitude. The
writer is the product of the social forces of the old plantation
days and can well claim an opinion on the subject in question.
The negroes that I knew and closely observed for largely over
a quarter of a century, being in daily association with them,
differed largely from that generation of their race that has come
on since the war. The former, under the close association that
was slowly yet surely elevating his race, was fully alive to the
strong forces of gratitude, and showed too that he was
wrought upon (and who is not, I would like to inquire?) by
passion, by hate and by malice as well. The later products of
the race, except in a few instances,
have been steadily depreciating in all the finer elements of
gratitude, truth, honesty and industry. This is so necessarily.
They have been from force of circumstances, chiefly political,
directly antagonized to those from close association with whom
there had been an imparting of much that was gradually lifting
them up from paganism. Largely over a million of them had
become members of the different Christian bodies in the South
prior to 1861, and worshipped regularly with their owners
around the same altars when God's holy day came around. On
the estate here treated of they were mostly members of the
Baptist and Methodist Churches. Nearly all of the older settled
servants here belonged to one or the other of these two bodies
while not a few of the younger ones were rejoicing in the
comfort of that faith, touching the simplicity of which a
wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err therein. The local
colored preacher attended funerals on the plantation, burying
their dead in the simple little "God's Acre," set apart and
religiously observed for that purpose. It was indeed a very rare
occurrence for the name of one of the old plantation servants to
appear on the criminal docket of our courts. Alas, alas, in these
days it is the younger generation, the product of the enforced
forms of liberty before they were ready for it, which claims the
attention of the State's prosecuting officers and, after
conviction, who swell the ranks of our overrun penitentiaries.
The old-fashioned colored man to this day is not of the class
whose lawless and brutish conduct brings on him the swift and
unrelenting fate of fiends.
But this is neither the place or time for either argument or
disputation. These have remorselessly passed. Yet upon many
of the most thoughtful men of the country it has already
dawned as a frightful truth that if the sweeping manumission of
the race was a mistake, their wholesale indiscriminate
enfranchisement was a crime. So says the late United States
Senator, Ingalls. We shall leave both crime and criminals of
both sections of a common country to the avenging nemesis of
history and hurry on with our recital of facts and incidents.
For some weeks prior to
a plantation wedding there
was always more or less of a buzz of comment,
sometimes kind and just as often unkind. The turbaned
African Mrs. Grundy would pass both the parties to the
marriage in sharp review and settle whether Ben was "de
nigger for dat gal, Fanny, to marry." Even there, as in the
far more conventional circles, there was a self-constituted
high court of propriety, from whose opinion there was no
appeal. Well, it is all fixed. Ben is to marry Fanny. "Ole
Marster and ole Mistuss hab dun bin axed fur dere
'mission." Old Uncle Harper, the colored minister, has
been notified. Supper (and such a supper) has all been
arranged "in de white fokeses' kitchen." The groom, full of
joy, has been in the hands of Marse John, and his wedding
suit of clothes has been pronounced all right; while the
young ladies of the family have given Fanny anything and
everything necessary (from their full and well appointed
wardrobe) to make out a becoming outfit for this dusky
bride. Have you never noticed how deep, how general,
the interest is in all brides? Pitiable indeed is the nature
that is not wrought upon by the sweetest sympathies and
deepest interest in a woman, be she black or be she white,
who has reached that pivotal point in her life, so full of
mystery as to infuse an air of almost solemn reverence
about all brides. The ceremony was performed in the
large dining room of the family after the usual supper
hour. There stood the old negro preacher, dear old Uncle
Harper, with his book in his hand, properly
dressed up in a suit of black broadcloath, given him
long years ago by old master, with his high white collar,
strongly wrapped around by a broad white necktie, which
was reaching for the base of his ears. Did you ever see
such spectacles in your life, with such large glasses,
broadly rimmed around by an alloy of metals commonly
know as brass - very heavy and scoured very bright. All
the white family were there with packages in their hands,
presents for the bride. The broad veranda was full of
servants, while some could not obtain standing room
there and were standing out in the yard. The families of
the bride and groom were invited into and ranged around
the dining room, leaving ample space for the bride and
groom. Presently from the keys of the piano sounded the
joyous notes of the wedding march, as the tapering
fingers of Miss Rebecca, fresh from St. Mary's School,
gently yet artistically touched the same. There was a
deep hush of deeper expectancy, when in walked Ben,
with Fanny modestly leaning on his arm. Not even
Chauncey Depew, with his mirror-studied airs and
graces, could have been more imposing than his much
beloved brother Ben on this occasion; while the daughter
of Jay Gould could not have borne herself with more
becoming grace or modesty than did our African bride.
Standing before Uncle Harper in mute expectancy, the
old man lifted up his rich, mellow voice and asked:
"Who gibs dis 'oman to dis man?" when the bride's
father said:
"I doz."
Ben bowed very profoundly to him and said:
"I t'ank yuh, Uncle Peter, I curtenly doz."
Then the old preacher said:
"Ben, will yuh be mi'ty kin' an' good to Fanny?"
"I curtenly will suh."
"Fanny, will yuh lub Ben an' 'bey him an' sarve him
all de days ob yuh life?"
"I will," modestly yet firmly said the bride.
"Let's pray," said Uncle Harper - and such a prayer. It
was a trifle too long, maybe, for the tinsel trappings of a
like occasion among the gold-knighted dudes and sapphire-gartered
immaculates of the "Four Hundred" of New York;
but, as the simple-hearted tide of sweet
petition went forth from that humble man of God, black
as he was, methinks the angels hard by the throne of
mercy and love caught up the words of that prayer,
welling up in simple faith from the heart of that dusky old
preacher, and in after life brought back full answer to the
same in blessed benediction. As the full and hearty
"amen" was uttered, the deep response of "amen! amen!
amen!" was heard from more than a hundred servants
whose ancestry in the jungles of Africa knew naught of
God or of matrimony.
"Stand up! stand up!" said the old preacher, and taking
their hands in his, he joined their right hands together,
saying:
"Dem what de Lord hab j'ined together is married. I
'nounces dat Ben and Fanny is man and wife, amen.
Salute yer bride, bro'ther Benjamin."
The report which followed may not have been so loud
as that of a cork from a bottle of old Heidsic champagne,
but it was loud enough to show that Ben had obeyed and
it bore witness to the fact that Ben had saluted his bride.
Such a salvo as it was. Then came the supper in the
kitchen for the bridal party, while ample refreshment was
passed around among the servants on the piazzas and in
the yard. But not one morsel of cake or drop of
homemade Scuppernong wine did the old preacher or
bride or groom partake of until "de ole marster and all de
white folkses" had been generously served. Then came
the feast, attended by such flow of fun and frolic,
followed by the dance at the quarter, when Eli's fiddle and
Frank's banjo were enthroned in all their high power over
these old-fashioned servants, on that old-fashioned
plantation, in those old-fashioned days, before the flood of
constitutional amendments - when Uncle Harper and the
bride and the groom were just as happy as the day was
long.
THE checkered incidents
of the old plantation life, as
stored away in the cells of memory, clearly indicate the
wisdom of the composers of our well-nigh divine liturgy,
when, in one of the collects of the old Book of Common
Prayer, human life is referred to under the striking
expression of "the changes and chances of this mortal
life." Darkness follows light, as does sorrow come so
close after joy, that man,
"That
pensioner on the bounties of an hour,
Soon after the marriage
which we have just
attended came the funeral of little George, a fine lad
about twelve years of age, the son of the old ox cart
driver, Harry, we last saw at the circus. His death came
so suddenly as to cast a pall more than ordinarily deep
upon everybody on the plantation, from the old planter
down to the present writer, the playmate of the dead boy.
Even dear old Buck was sadder far than anyone had ever
known him before. The suddenness with which death
came to this bright-faced young servant had much to do
with the deep sorrow which went over the whole
plantation. As in the elemental forms of society it is not
infrequently the case that the very strongest hold is had
upon the truth, so is it that upon the untutored Indian, the
illiterate African, the unexplained and inexplicable
mystery of death comes with greatest force. With them it
is indeed a fearful reality, with no effort made to explain
it away. The
death came about in this way, making an impression on
my young mind, then a mere boy, which a half century of
the stern activities of life has not done away with. This
boy often went fishing with me - carried my bait, gourd,
and "toted" the string of fish for me. It was in the autumn
when the corn was ready for the early harvest. His father
was driving an ox cart heavily laden with corn, and
George was sitting on the load, piled up high and kept in
place by broad boards on each side. Thus you will see he
was mounted high up above the ground. It was about half
an hour before sunset when his father, in driving through
one of the plantation gates en route home, whipped up his
oxen and came through the gate rather hurriedly, passing
over a piece of scantling between the two gate posts,
occasioning a very severe jar to the load. The boy was
thrown from the top of the load of corn with great
violence to the ground, and in falling lost his life. He was
thrown with his head under him, and it seems the lateral
motion of the cart gave a twist or doubling up of his body,
which brought the whole weight of his body down on his
neck and broke it. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,
this young African had gone on across the bourn from
whence neither Aristotle nor Lord Bacon have returned
to bring back any intelligence of the Vast Beyond -
illimitable, ever mysterious. Decades have run into each
other and a half century has passed since with young,
tearful eyes and sympathetic heart, myself a boy, at the
supper table that night I listened to my father giving the
family a recital of the facts as obtained by him from the
poor, heart-broken father. There was more than the
moistening of eyes that night as my father told us how
Uncle Harry brought the body of his dead child for a mile
or more, across the creek, in his own arms, down the
avenue to the playground and home of his boy, laying it in
the lap of his mother, resting it on her warm, motherly
heart. We were told how he was put into a hot bath and
all the restoratives known to his profession were used by
the plantation physician; but all, all in vain, for his neck
was broken, and George was dead.
It was the first time in my young life that I stood so
squarely confronted by this icy messenger which men call
death, and I have never forgotten the deep impression it
made upon me. My mother had not yet returned from
Uncle Harry's house, where her motherly instinct had
carried her, in sympathy for her stricken servant. As she
gave us her version of the terrible grief of the mother and
the other children we all broke down, while Handy, the
dining room servant, hurried out, wailing as he went. Late
into the night the voices of those who were keeping
watch over the dead could be heard singing their
mournful songs, and it was very late before sleep came to
any of us, so deeply moved were we by this sad
occurrence.
Next morning, Virgil and Jim, the carpenters, were
ordered to make a coffin, while Uncle Suwarro gave orders
for opening the grave in the little "God's Acre," appropriated
to the burial of the servants. In those days, of less hurry
than these days, it was regarded as unseemly to bury the
dead until the third day - one full day intervening between
the death and the burial. On the third day all the dispositions
for the burial had been made; the servants from the
orchards and the lake, with all the plantation people and
some kinspeople from the neighboring plantations, were all
there. A very large assemblage it was, so still, so
awestricken and, withal, so reverent and so full of
sympathy. Ah, how true it is, that one touch of genuine
sorrow makes us all akin. The pall-bearers were from the
boys on the estate, about George's age, and maybe a little
older. I well remember I felt as though I would have liked to
be one of them - for death is such a leveler of all class and
caste distinctions that the grave is a veritable republic. Had
not my own mother incited me to deep sympathy with
these dusky dwellers in the dark valley and shadow
of death? Had I not seen this blessed woman attended
by her maid, Eliza, steal quietly out of the sitting room and,
as she bade her servant take up her silver waiter, on which
was a cross of beautiful white flowers, make her way to the
quarter? Ah, a very Evangel she appears to me now -
what a very angel of God does this mother appear to
her own boy, gray-haired though he
may be, as she seems to bear in her gentle hands the
two milk-white doves, as it were, of Charity and
Religion - going on her way to touch the hearts of these
dusky, sorrowing ones, servants though they be, with the
more than magic wand of woman's sympathy.
Well, Uncle Harper is
there, ready to warn all of the
suddenness of death and to comfort, in his simple way,
those hearts which were bleeding. He did so from the
words, "And Jesus wept." Were not the occasion one of
such touching sadness and the presence of death so awe
inspiring, one might be tempted to reproduce some
features of this sermon in the dialect of the old preacher.
But the proprieties of the occasion sternly interdict
anything of the kind. Suffice it to say that while the old
man's utterances were fully in keeping with the solemnity
of the occasion, and more than once his old eyes were the
outlets for the welling over of his loving old heart, he at no
time ranted or was betrayed into any of the more
objectionable forms of emotionalism. In his simple, artless
way, he showed that he had a strong, vigorous hold on the
keystone of the arch overspanning eternity, the blessed
doctrine of justification by faith in the lowly Nazarene.
Then came the singing of that wonderful, soul-anthem,
"Jesus Saviour of my soul" - and such voices, such
melody! The scene will never be forgotten, through the
deep impression made upon my boyish mind at the grave,
as the body was being lowered, by all joining the old
preacher in singing that favorite plantation funeral hymn:
"Hark,
from the tomb a mournful sound,
SINCE the days when
there fell from the lips of the old
Hebrew prophet the inquiry of God's people, "Is not this
the wheat harvest to-day?" there has ever been, with an
agricultural people, a peculiar interest in those glorious
days of autumn, commonly known as harvest. Poets have
sung of the joys which properly belong to it, so blessedly
answering the hopes of those who have known the
inspiration of the early and the latter rain; while, in sweet
communion with nature, they have felt the chemic forces
of the sunshine and the dew. The whole plantation was
ever glad at this ingathering season. All were very busy
in the preparation for winter, storing away most
industriously for this less active portion of the year. On
yesterday active preparations were going on for the
pleasure of the guests of the family, who had now but a
few days more before a general breaking up of this band
of youth - some to go back to Princeton, some to return
to St. Mary's school, and others either to Chapel Hill, the
State University or to their homes in Wilmington or New
Berne.
The vacation was about to close. Such a vacation of
fun and frolic had it been. Uncle Amos had been ordered
to make the necessary preparations for a rather exciting
hunt for wild hogs in the White Oak Pocoson, which lay
to the north-east of the plantation, about five miles away
and across the river. This heavily timbered swamp, of
many thousands of acres, drained by the white Oak
River, was the habitat of much large game, while it was the
rendezvous of many hogs which had strayed away from
the plantations and, growing wild, had largely multiplied.
So the hunt for wild hogs was on and there was a bustling
activity, in the preparation of guns, ammunition, and a
plentiful supply of provisions for both man and beast.
Well, here they go, Uncle Amos in his large mule cart,
with a large hamper basket of food for the hunters and
grain for the animals, while "Old Bet," as he called the old
large-bore plantation gun, was carefully stowed away and
his four dogs followed behind. These dogs were half
hounds and half bull terriers, showing on more than one
occasion their peculiar fitness for this order of sport. The
old planter, with his two sons and four other young
gentlemen (guests) were well mounted, and as they rode
off, each with gun and some with bowie knives, followed
by Buck on his mule, they suggested passages in the
border life of the "Scotch Raiders,' on their forays for
English cattle along the border, in the days long ago. As
they passed through the barn yard six mule wagons, horse
carts and ox carts were busily employed in hauling up the
corn still in the shuck, and already a large pile of the
golden grain had been brought in from the fields
preparatory for an old-fashioned corn shucking, which we
hope to attend. Nothing of special importance transpired
en route to the hunting grounds, on reaching which the
horses were carefully picketed and left in charge of Buck.
Uncle Amos called his four dogs to him, patted them
lovingly, and in the superstition of his race spit on the head
of each one and made a cross mark on the ground, all for
luck, then ordered them in for the hunt, himself following
as rapidly as the dense undergrowth would allow. On
came the party of young hunters, with the old planter in
the lead.
What splendid old forest trees are these! What stately
cypress and sweet gums! How dense the undergrowth of
sour wood and holly, interlaced in some places by the
luxuriant growth of the yellow jessamine, while the
bamboos and the cat briars ran here and there and well-nigh
everywhere, in their rich luxuriance from the alluvial
virgin soil. They make but slow progress, as every now and then
some of these city hunters are thrown to the
ground, with the foot caught in these vines. Still
they persevere. On they go. What sound is that?
"Dat is ole Jube's voice," says the old black Nimrod,
as he cries out, "Harky, harky, Bob! Harky, Saffo! Go
to 'im, Pluck."
Presently it was clear that some game was nigh, for by
this time all four of the dogs were hurrying on the trail,
causing the woods to ring out with their deep-mouthed,
musical voices. The hunters pressed on, the old darky
gliding along at their head in his mastery of woodcraft,
and his old face lit up with all the joy of the chase. Still
the cry from the dogs comes back deeper and deeper.
Again the old darky calls out:
"Look for 'em, boys! Find 'em, boys!" The pursuit
continues. After about a quarter of an hour's pursuit,
when the depths of this pocoson had been reached, Old
Amos called out in strong, full voice:
"Ole Marster, dat's no hog! Dat's a b'ar."
The well-trained ear of the old hunter had caught the
angry snarl of Saffo's voice and unerringly he
interpreted it. At this announcement everybody's
expression changed. Faces flushed and eyes kindled in
high excitement. Uncle Amos was in his glory, for, much
as he loved the coon hunt and the pleasure of sneaking
along through the grass to kill the bald eagle, watching
with keen eye from his eyrie in the top of a tall, dead
cypress, his chance of swooping on a lamb or a pig, "de
b'ar hunt" was his highest earthly enjoyment. Still the cry
of the dogs goes on! The notes become harsher and
harsher, deeper and deeper, and the old hunter knew his
faithful dogs were pressing their quarry closer and closer.
On went the pack, on came the hunters! Splendidly did
these young gentlemen bear themselves. Were they not
on their mettle? The angry cry of the dogs comes back in
such short, snatchy notes as to tell Uncle Amos what to
do.
" 'Zamine de guns," he called out.
Thereupon there was a quick examination of the guns,
lest the caps may have fallen off the tubes, for it was
before the day of breechloaders.
"Is yuh re'dy?" he
cried out, and with a thrilling ring of
his voice he cheered on his dogs. Then he rushed on but
presently stopped, as he heard the yelping cry of one of
his dogs. With no effort to conceal his anger, he cried out:
"Dam' dat b'ar, I'll git eben wid 'im yit."
Pressing on, he soon came in sight of Saffo prostrate at
the foot of a large white oak, which, partially uprooted,
had been bent over by some fierce gale of the equinox at
such an angle as enabled the bear to find safety from the
dogs some thirty-five or forty feet up the reclining trunk.
My sakes! What a pandemonium of fury and noise, as
the dogs bayed deep and heavy at the foot of the tree,
with their mouths foaming with white saliva and their
eyes bloodshot from hot anger. By this time the hunters
were all up. Hear the old darky, as in short, quick
sentences he indicates the mode of attack.
"Dese dorgs mus'n't git
kilt! Ole Marster, you shute in
behin' de fore shoulder! I'll put a lode in his back! Marse
John, you an' de odder ge'mins fire into him as he falls!
'Tain't no use shuting him in de hed - hed harder den a
nigger's." As agreed upon, the party of the younger
hunters had ranged around the tree at convenient
distances for effective fire. The bear, well up the tree, the
trunk of which he was hugging with a strong, instinctive
grasp of his wild nature - looking around with his big
eyes, and mouth wide open, full of dangerous teeth, as the
dogs would bay at him in loud and fierce notes, was
growling savagely. Presently Uncle Amos and his master,
at the signal given, fire as agreed upon. The loads
evidently took effect but failed to kill him. As he was
falling the old darky fired again and with deadly aim, for
as the four dogs seized him he was unable to make any
fight. The old man called out,
"Dat las' lode, Marster, dun de wurk, suh. He's dun
ded."
Thus the old hunter saved his dogs, for in bruin's
deadly clutch some of them would have been killed. In a
thrice his keen-edged knife was passed across the throat
of the bear and a large stream of blood flowed freely,
which the dogs lapped in their hate of their lifeless enemy.
What was to be done in getting the animal to the cart?
He was far too heavy for them to drag his body out to
the point where the horses had been left. The plan was
soon agreed upon. Marse John and Uncle Amos were
to return for the mule and cart lines, while the other
hunters would take a course with the dogs around to the
left, hoping still to find some of the wild hogs. After a
time the party returned with the mule and soon the hind
legs of the bear were closely tied together and slowly,
yet successfully, the mule dragged the bear out of the
pocoson. While waiting for the other members of the
party to come up to the rendezvous, several sharp, ringing
reports of the guns well around to the left, with the barking
of the dogs, assured Uncle Amos, "dat sum game
is up." Mounting the mule, he made his way in the
direction of the firing. He had not gone very far before
he met his old master, who told him that the dogs had
run into a herd of wild hogs and, bringing them to
bay, the young hunters had fired into the game, killing
one and wounding two others. The old hunter's blood
was up. He rode on as quickly as he could and pursuing
the wounded hogs with the dogs, by well directed shots
dispatched both of them before the dogs were allowed to
close in the deadly fight. The kind-hearted old Nimrod
succeeded thus in protecting his dogs which he valued
very highly. The large boar and two sows were dragged
to the cart in the same manner that the bear had been
brought out. Soon the cart was well loaded with game
and when the sun was about an hour high, the party of
hunters rode on ahead, leaving Uncle Amos and Buck
to bring up the rear. About nightfall the two servants
drove up to the backyard gate, when everybody came out
of the mansion to take a look at the bear, while Robert
and Washington had been called upon to dress the animal,
assisted by two or three other servants.
MEANTIME everything was
in readiness for an
old-fashioned plantation dinner, to be followed by an
oyster roast in the kitchen about ten o'clock that night,
with dancing coming between the two. As was often the
case in those days of unrestrained hospitality, some of the
young people from the neighboring estates drove over,
and together they enjoyed the oyster roast as those royal
entertainments were only seen in the old South. It was
yet in the early days of October, and the oysters were not
at their best, but had not the month of September, with
the letter "r" in it, already passed; and were not oysters
good in any month of the year that employed the mystic
letter "r" in its spelling? That was the rule immemorial,
dating far back in bivalvular history. We have already
been in the old kitchen, Aunty Patty's sanctum sanctorum,
where many offerings were made through this dusky
priestess that would satisfy even Epicurus himself. Well,
Handy and Buck had piled the logs good and high, and the
strong blaze had begun to take serious hold on the wood,
when a large iron grate, with railing around some four
inches high, was placed on the top of the burning logs.
Presently in came two servants with as many oysters as
they could well carry piled up in a large basket. While
waiting for the grate to become thoroughly hot, Handy
and Eliza had set the table in the dining room with special
reference to an oyster supper. To each plate (with it
oyster knife and fork) was placed a crash oyster napkin, in which to
hold the hot bivalve. There were no chairs placed at the
table, but in the place of the chair sat a large bucket for
the shells - for no one ever sits down on an occasion
like this to enjoy the oyster at its best. Presently, when
everything under the eye of Handy, a most excellent
dining room servant, had been put in apple pie order Buck
rang the bell, and on Eli stopping the music in the hall in
walked, two and two, as merry-hearted a party of young
people as town and country could produce. As they
move into the dining room what occasions those merry
peals of laughter but the enjoyment of some joke of a bad
scare or hard fall connected with the hunt for wild hogs
that turned out to be a genuine bear hunt? It was quite
clear that some of these young gentlemen were making
history this morning in their falls, as many an older and
distinguished man in politics has done since then - for
example, Grover Cleveland. My sakes, what is that
Handy and Buck are bringing in in that large wooden tray
(well-nigh four feet in length) piled up high and wreathed
all around with smoke, as from the cave of Tartarus! Ah,
those are the genuine New River oysters roasted à la
plantation. The tray is set in the center of the table,
equidistant from every point of attack. Hear the ringing
musical voice of my elder brother as he calls out:
"Have at them in good style! Let us all set to, as if we
were not ashamed of what we are about. Miss Nannie,
let me open you some oysters?"
"No, I thank you, I can manage them myself with this
thick crash napkin, and besides I do not care to let you
see how many I eat."
On the opposite side of the table hear this bit of
table talk:
"What is that, Mr. Davis, I hear you say about,
'Women, like moths, are often caught by glare,' when
you are caught by a red-hot oyster?"
Here the laugh rang out all along the table while joke
after joke went the rounds, as everybody was enjoying
the oysters and the bread and butter, with those tempting
homemade cucumber pickles. Ah, that hot coffee,
strong as aqua fortis and toned down with genuine cream! It
was a beverage fit for the Oriental houris. But certain it is we do
not intend to discuss the supper any further, and right sure are
we that it is foreign to our purpose to report how often the tray
was replenished or how many bucketsful of shells were borne
out; for is not this the table of the writer's father, and true
politeness forbids anything more being said on this subject, on
the plain principle of the following incident:
When the Honorable Joseph H. Bradley (who afterwards
became the Nestor of the Washington City Bar and greatly
distinguished himself as counsel for the late unfortunate State's
prisoner, Mrs. Surratt,) was a young man and a candidate in
Montgomery County, Maryland, for the State Senate, in his
canvass one day he was invited to dine at the home of one of
his friends, who invited him to the sideboard, and there,
opening the decanters of brandy and whiskey, deliberately
turned his back on his honored guest and walked to the door,
leaving him, unmolested by his presence, to help himself. Mr.
Bradley used to say that this was the most polite act he had
ever witnessed; and, while he had dined with Mr. Clay and Mr.
Webster, he had never seen genuine politeness in finer form.
THERE was a time in the
history of the Roman people,
when it was truthfully said in that vast empire that all roads led
to Rome. There was a time in the old Southern plantation life
that all the roads on the estate led to the corn house. It was,
indeed - either in its fullness or emptiness - that the faithful
nursing mother of the muscle and brawn was shown to be
really and truly the corn house, which was so regularly drawn
upon in the general thrift of all forms of domesticated animal
life on this large estate. This is illustrated by a common saying
among the servants, when the writer was a boy, "Nigger make
de co'n; hog eat de co'n and nigger eat de hog." Thus, the
corn-crop was indeed an indispensable feature, for without it
there was no "hog and hominy," no well-kept horses or mules,
no crowds of fat, slick, blue-black, little darkies, swinging on
the gates, happy as the day was long, singing in their sweet,
cheery voices, in melody surpassing the children in the olive
groves of Italy, "I Wish I Was an Angel." The importance of
this cereal on the estate cannot well be overstated. Hence,
every year, some six or seven large fields were given to the
production of large crops of this important grain, far more
valuable than cotton, sugar, rice, tobacco, or all the other farm
products of this plantatation. One can now quite
understand
that large pile of corn, yet in the shuck, so disposed in front of
the large corn house and cribs, in semicircular form, as to
suggest a fortification - a breastwork against the attacks of hunger
in all the oncoming months until the golden harvest came
again. How busy all the transportation of the estate must
have been to have brought together so many hundreds of
barrels of corn from the several fields adjacent! Yet here
it is. Some two hundred and fifty feet or more in length
must it be, as in form it sweeps around semi-circularly,
from one entrance and another to the barn yard, while in
height it was some four and a half feet and in width some
fourteen or sixteen feet. How smoothly this immense
mass of food has been raked over by cunning hands, and
thus made readily susceptible, by measurement, of very
exact divisions into two equal parts. Why divide it?
Because, in response to a request of the servants, "ole
Marster gwine to gib a corn shucking ter-nite, and Buck
and Cain dun bin sent round on de mules to gib de
impertashuns to all de nabers." As Ben thus answers the
question, you must observe that his manner indicates no
little excitement. This is so because the three great high
feasts on the plantation are "Crismus hog killin', and corn
shuckin' " - the first an immovable one, while the last two
are movable feasts in the African almanac. Pending any
one of these notable events in plantation life, everybody is
more or less excited and thoroughly occupied. What are
Uncle Philip and Uncle Jim doing now? With a tape-line
they are making an honest, fair division of that immense
corn pile, as nearly equal in bulk and barrels as these
well-trained eyes and hands can make it. They have now
agreed upon the dividing line, and look how carefully they
fasten it down with a long pole laid across the corn pile,
held firmly in its place by strong stakes driven firmly into
the ground. Old Master is called for and he says the
division is just and fair, and that settles it. The estimate is
that there are about seven hundred and fifty barrels of
corn in that immense pile, which lies there like a big
boulder of food which a wave of God's loving providence
had swept across the pathway of these sunny-hearted
sons of toil. Busy, very busy, are several of the servants
in preparing the supper, which always follows.
Beef, mutton and pork are in that happy process of plantation
cookery known as barbecue, and are in great
abundance. Such quantities of bread, wheat and corn,
with bushels of sweet potatoes and great baskets of pies
and cakes as to require a full staff of these natural born
cooks. The carpenters are erecting the simple but
substantial tables, and Aunt Daphne is unrolling yard after
yard of homemade white cloth to serve as table covers.
Well, all the necessary preparations are going on under
the eye of the "ole Mistuss," whose judgment with these
people is oracular; for this is the fortieth harvest which
she has celebrated in her married life. She has learned
from the old planter that some two hundred and fifty
servants, not counting the women and children, must be
fed, and this without stint. As the day grows older and the
preparations continue, you observe that the servants are
beginning to arrive from the orchards and the lake. Some
are busy making their "shucking pegs" of seasoned
hickory, while the more fortunate have hunted up the iron
or steel ones which they used last year, and maybe for ten
years. The shucking peg is a sharpened spike about five
inches in length, fastened at the center to the forefinger
by a bit of buckskin on the right hand. With this they
dexterously rip open the shuck from the ear of corn held
in the left hand, thus saving their finger nails and
facilitating the shucking process to a remarkable degree.
The dexterity and rapidity with which they strip off the
shuck, to one who never witnessed it, are simply
incredible. About sunset the assembly bell rings and the
servants assemble in front of Ben's house in the barn
yard. Here they come, swinging along with that easy
motion of body so expressly indicative of good health. No
rheumatism here this evening; no stiffness of joints, no
aches, no pains. Even old Handy walks along like a boy,
while Buck and George are larking around, determined to
have all the fun that is possible. Here they come! Here
they come! And the cry is still they come!
"My sakes! whay'd all dese nigers com' f'om enyway!
Dey fa'rly darkins de yerth! dey shu'ly duz!" said Uncle
Amos as he came up, taking off his hat. "Ole Marster,
der'e plenty ob 'visions fo' de hole country to eat."
What are those men doing there? They are drawing
up two or three of the wagons in position so that from
them, as from a stage, "all de white fokeses can jes' hab
dere fun at de co'n shuckin'," says old Peter, who is
attending to this feature of the preparations.
While this is going on, you see some forty or fifty
women, boys and girls, some with baskets and others with
rakes, getting ready to rake back the shucks from the feet
of the men and carry them to those tall rail pens where
they will be carefully packed away for the winter feed of
the cattle. After half an hour or more has passed, waiting
for the latest arrivals of reënforcements, whose deep, rich
voices you can hear now coming in several directions
from the plantations around, every note of which is full of
that peculiar joy so well known to the African ear, and
which can come from none other than the old plantation
darky's throat, - well, here they all are at last and, before
anything else is done, they must all pass in review before
the old master, because there are some servants on the
adjoining estates that he will not allow to attend pleasure
makings of any character on his plantation. They are the
disreputable darkies of that portion of the county and
regarded as unfit associates for his servants. He takes his
position on the steps of Ben's house, and with hats off the
procession files by. Presently Uncle Philip announces that
Isaac and Arnold are the two chosen captains; whereupon
there is a great yell of approbation. These two young men
then begin the division of the hands, after a most novel
plan to you, dear reader, who have never attended a corn
shucking. By this time a dozen or more half grown boys
come forward, their pine torches flaming with bright light,
and the scene becomes weird and very animated. Here
stand the two captains, and splendid specimens of youthful
vigor they are. Here comes Uncle Jim, and as he walks up
he takes a knife out of his pocket, saying to the captains:
"Dis is fur de furst ch'ice ob de shuckers," and with
that he throws the knife in the air calling out, "Cross
or pile?" to which Isaac must make an answer. If he
says "cross," and the knife on the ground shows a metal
bar on the uppermost side of the handle, Isaac wins on
that throw, and vice versa. Then Uncle Jim addresses
Arnold on the same conditions he applied to Isaac. The
captain who wins the best two out of three or who first
guesses twice right has the first choice of hands, and you
may be sure they guard their rights almost religiously.
Then the choice goes on, each captain choosing his
followers until they have gone through the whole number
of two hundred and fifty hands or more, each man, as his
name is called, ranging himself behind his captain. Then
the captains resort to the arbitrament of the cross and pile,
as before seen, in the choice of the two halves of the corn
pile. The victorious captain, with two or three of his most
trusted followers, will then carefully walk over the whole
pile of corn, closely inspecting it, so as to hit upon that half
which, in his judgment, has the less number of barrels to
be shucked, thus making way for victory. After he has
decided, he keeps his counsel until they have had a word
or two from the old master, in the way of caution against
bad temper or any tricks which may serve to irritate or
make their adversaries angry. Then, with as much
solemnity as any old Greek would employ in consulting the
Delphic oracle, the two captains come out to the dividing
line of the corn pile, shaking hands in perfect silence,
everybody around them as silent as the grave, make a
cross on the ground, and spit on it for luck. Then, as if shot
from as many Parthian bows, the two captains call their
respective followers to them and the corn shucking is on in
all its glory. Such noise, such confusion, such bantering,
such boasting, until the two captains settled themselves
down at the base of the dividing line, marked by the long
cypress pole, along which they must shuck through the pile
in such a way as not to cause the pole to fall over on
either side. The scene which now ensues simply beggars
description. Dear old Sir Walter Scott, who has delighted
the Anglo-Saxon reader of Waverley in his matchless
description of the Tournament of Ashby de la Zouche,
would fail in its portrayal. The gifted author of Ben Hur succeeding
in his chariot race would not attempt it. The author has seen
hundreds of men wild with excitement at big fires in large cities -
as a young lawyer, when politics ran high in the joint discussion
of the old Southern campaigns, he has witnessed how far
excitement would sweep men away in wild fury - but these were
white men and less emotional than these three hundred Africans
ranged around this pile of corn. While the corn shucking is
going on and these men are warming up fully to their work, let us
look into those wagons over there. The young people from a
number of the adjoining estates have come over to enjoy the fun
of the corn shucking and the pleasure of the company in the
dance, etc., at the great house. It is quite a large company of
both sexes you see there mounting up into those wagons, and
you may be sure they are having a blessed good time, if laughter
and jokes betoken an abandon to fun and frolic. Hear them as
they begin to wager, here a pair of kid gloves, there a handsome
driving whip or a silver dog whistle, or this and that and the
other, on the corn shucking. My sakes! what a chorus of
magnificent voices is that we hear as the air is rent with the
songs of these corn shuckers. Hear them for a moment as they
sing away, the ears of corn flying towards the corn house as
thick as snowflakes in a storm, while the shucks are raked away
in the opposite direction. Each company seems to have its own
leader of songs while all the others will join in the chorus. In all
your life did you ever hear such fine voices - some as clear and
strong as Kent bugles and others as soft as a German flute. Mark
you, the women and the boys and girls are all joining in the
chorus. Hear them as the leader, in a clear, strong voice, calls
out:
"Massa
is in de grate house countin' out his money,
And then a hundred voices would ring out half a dozen times
or more, repeating the chorus until the leader would again call
out:
"Ole
Dan Tucker he got drunk,
And then the full
chorus half a dozen times over. The truth
is, the scene in all its varied features simply beggars
description, and while this is in no wise descriptive of it, it may
serve to give the reader some idea of what a full round of
melody we would have, when, as was often the case, fully three
hundred voices would swell out in the chorus. Meantime the
work went on, and the deeper they went into the great pile of
corn the higher would rise their excitement, and the deeper and
richer their voices in simple-hearted songs. Some of these were
descriptive, others simply recitative, in the conduct of which
some of the leaders were quite gifted - making up the song as
they went along. Frequently it was that plantation incidents,
events in the community or the personal peculiarity of some
servant would be brought out by the leader in giving a cue to
the chorus which was to follow. No pile of corn, no body of
men, could stand up long under such telling work. And yet it
went on for two hours or more until the fastest shuckers had
gone through the pile and were now about-facing, when the
excitement as they neared the close of the race deepened every
moment. Stop your talking in the wagon for a moment or two!
Listen to those short, quick, nervous cries as they call out, in
quivering energy, "Oh, shuck dat co'n and trow't in de ba'n."
They show clearly that the race about to close. Presently as the
victorious side wind, up the race, you would have thought that
a cyclone had broken loose, from the way that a cloud of
shucks were thrown up in the air, in token of their victory. Two
or three of the strongest of the company then caught up the
victorious captain on their shoulders and bore him away in
triumph to the old planter to be crowned as the victor,
amidst such shouts and cries of joy as you, dear reader
have never heard unless at an old-fashioned plantation
corn shucking. Corn shucking, not corn husking. White
people husk corn, negroes shuck it - wonderful
difference between the two processes is there - quite as
much as between the white man playing on his violin and
the negro playing on his fiddle. What a proud negro
captain Isaac is, as his "ole marster" crowns him with a
new hat, shakes his hand, drops a five-dollar gold piece in
it and tells him to take the other captain by the hand and
invite him and everybody else to go up to supper. This he
does, and such a crowd and such a supper - plenty and
to spare for every man, woman and child there, with
Uncle Philip as master of ceremonies, directing Handy,
Cain, George and Buck to "wate on dem comp'ny niggers
fus', after dey dun gib de two captains plenty ob supper
an lots ob good coffee."
In the earlier part of his life the old planter's custom had
been to give them plenty of whiskey, but far too many
fights and far too much blood were the outcome of the
whiskey. He substituted, in the latter days of his life, the
best of coffee for whiskey. After everybody had fully
enjoyed their well deserved meal, and, in fact, every
feature of the corn shucking, there followed some fine
singing of the good old plantation songs, among which
were "Old Dog Tray," "Marster's in de Cold, Cold
Groun'," "Carry me Bac' to Ole Berginny," and a half a
dozen or more of those old-fashioned songs, when all
would go to their homes, not for "de nite," because it's
"mos' de broke ob day."
THERE has ever been to
the mind of man more or
less of mystery about the night. To the illiterate of all
races this has always been expressly so. The mind of the
plantation darky before the war, was no exception to this
rule. They illustrated the great truth, operative among all
classes and conditions of men, that education holds the
only torch whose bright rays serve to dispel the darkness
incident to our journey through life.
These people, dwarfed by the ignorance of ancestral
environment, were the subjects of many superstitions.
They believed fully in all the distorted creations of the
supernatural. They held firmly to the sway of witches and
recognized the full and often fell power of "conjurers" of
their own race. At night they were overmastered very
often by their abject terror of ghosts and goblins. The
hooting of an owl in the dead hour of the night, or the
crowing of a cock near the doorway of their little homes
in the daytime, the crackling of the burning brands on
their hearthstone, the passage of a squirrel or rabbit along
their pathway, the failure to go out of the house by the
same door you entered, and many other incidents of their
lives, were omens of good or evil, as they had been
taught by their ancestry in Africa to interpret them. Up to
the date of the events of these pages this race, benumbed
by ignorance and fettered by superstition, had not been
sufficiently long subjected to the uplifting of association
with superior civilization to be fully freed from the sway
of these hurtful forces. Fitted
or not as they may have been for any other form of
manumission, their subsequent history clearly attests the
fact that they have not been sufficiently freed from
themselves to be clothed, in safety, with the finer forms
of American citizenship.
But it is foreign to the object of these pages to present
a disputation on the vexed and vexatious race problem in
the South. Fortunate, most fortunate, will that man be,
who may clear away the difficulties of the situation and
speak peace to the American people on this subject. To
his memory a grateful people would rear a monument,
even more colossal than that already built to symbolize
their love and gratitude to that great slave holder, George
Washington. Dropping this subject with the comforting
assurance that there is a divinity which shapes the ends
alike of individuals and nations, let us, dear reader, go and
see these plantation people engaged in some of their other
pastimes and amusements. While in some sense there
was a round of labor from January to December, there
were many breaks in it - many seasons and various
occasions of what was to these servants fine fun and high
frolic. We have seen how much they enjoyed the corn
shucking and how fully they could abandon themselves to
the circus or horse race; yet we greatly doubt if
anything could or did take the place with the old-fashioned
darky of the veritable coon hunt. With them, indeed, the
possum hunt was a delectation, associated as it ever
was with the high feast of "taters an' possum graby;" but
after all it was a low form of mere pot hunting. When,
however, the darky went out coon hunting his finest forms
of energy and cunning were necessarily called out in
coping with that "varmint," which so often baffled his
woodcraft. The difference between possum and coon
hunting was this - the negro hunted the former for food,
while he gloried in a coon hunt for the sport, the
excitement in which the fight between his favorite dogs
and the coon was exciting and enjoyable, far more so than
that of an Englishman contending on a race course, for
the Derby Cup. The relations of the dog and the coon
ever involved a mystery, which the
darky has never been able satisfactorily to solve. As a
boy on the old plantation, the writer has often had it thus
propounded by his own body servant, Cain:
"Marse Jeems, how doz yuh splain dis: Ole Boss kin
whip a possum, a possum kin whip a coon, an' den de
coon kin turn rite 'roun' an' whip de dorg. How yuh
splain dat? 'Fore Gawd, dat is mi'ty quar' anyhow."
Well, all things are ready now for "de coon hunt." Buck
and Cain have provided themselves with plenty of fine
light wood for the torches, and Uncle Amos, you see, has
his two fine old dogs, Boss and Sappho, following him, as
the old man turns away from the grindstone, with the
clear light of the torches glinting from the bright blade of
his sharp axe, which he carefully hands to his son, young
Amos, telling him to be "monstus tickler wid dat axe
anyhow," while the old darky takes up his gun and,
whistling to his dogs, moves on to Marse John's office.
Here is a party of young gentlemen ready for the hunt,
and who are waiting for George and Henry to come on
with the axes. So off they started about nine o'clock at
night. Everything was favorable - the moon was in its
last quarter, the wind was light, and it was just cloudy
enough, the old hunter said, "fo' de scent ob varmints to
lie rite." The hunting ground was some two miles away
along the river swamp, which was heavily set with large
cypresses, gums and white oak timber, with the usual
undergrowth of hornbeam and dogwood. The habit of the
raccoon is to make his special home in these thick
swamps, always near a water course, finding a hollow
tree, in which he rears his family in safety; while both
male and female will sally out into the neighboring
plantation in their destructive forays upon the corn crop
while it is yet in its milky or roasting ear condition. They
select their den near a stream of water, for the double
purpose of being convenient to the fish and mussels
found there, of which they are very fond, and for finding
a safe retreat in the water when closely pressed by an
enemy. The raccoon is not strictly amphibious, but his
lungs are so constructed that he can live a long time
under water, and thus drown a dog or a wildcat if
the two become engaged in deadly clinch. In the laws of
instinct how nature seems to take care of all her children, if
some of them would only trust her as implicitly as the coon
does the water when hotly pressed.
The hunters had been for some half hour or more making
their way through this deep forest. The dogs were thrown out
on the hunt, right and left, with nothing to break the deep
silence save the occasional hoot from an owl out on his foray
for food, or the "cheer-up" of the ground squirrel as he
scampered away, frightened by the light of the torches, and the
suppressed cry of the different forms of larger insect life. Now
and them some one of the young hunters, more accustomed to
city sidewalks and gas lights than to a night tramp in the forest,
would fall over a log or catch his foot in a bamboo briar; when,
necessarily obeying the law of gravitation, down he would
come - and sometimes spoke a form of English he did not learn
in the Sunday-school. The dogs were well trained and the old
hunter trusted them implicitly, so on they went, the autumn
night wind sighing in the boughs overhead and the silent stars
watching in their courses. Presently the deep bark of old
Sappho was heard well over on the left. In a moment Uncle
Amos cheered on his dogs, calling out:
"Hark to her, Boz; call 'em up, ole gal," and then he said,
"Dat's a coon as sure's yuh's bo'n, Marse John; doan' yuh hear
de ole gal's voice?"
He pushed on rapidly in the direction of the dogs. By this
time both dogs, with fine, rich voices, were waking up the
echoes of the lonely woods and showed clearly they were
moving the game. The coon, unlike the fox, rarely makes a long
lead, but trusts more to the friendly, overhanging trees and the
deep water, as a last resort, when hotly pressed. The short,
jerky notes of the dogs' voices showed clearly that the trail was
a hot one, and Uncle Amos, from his ripe experience, knew full
well that they would soon run the game to cover. Presently a
very different call from the dogs informed us that the coon had
taken to a tree and then the old man broke out with great
energy, "Speak to 'im, boys! Gib us de news!
Look to 'im, ole gal." Then he pushed on, followed by the whole
party. Soon we reached the banks of the river, where on a
tongue of land formed by a lagoon just above us there grew a
very large willow oak, at the base of which both dogs were
barking in such a furious way as to tell its own story, even if
they had not climbed up on the trunk of the tree as far as they
could. Uncle Amos spoke up with no little excitement in his
voice and manner:
"He's dun up heah, Marse John, suah as yuh is bawn;
dese dogs don't lie, suah. Some niggers lies, but dese dogs
nebber; he's up heah an' he got to cum down."
George and Henry were ordered to cut down the large oak,
taking care, under the old man's order, to cut the tree so it
should fall away from the river. My sakes! how the chips fly, as
these two axemen, excited by the prospect of fine sport, throw
themselves into the work. While this was going on the old
hunter had crossed the lagoon, and with a torch flaming in his
hand in the most rapid manner was shining the eyes of the
coon. Soon he called out:
"Marse John, yuh make dem niggers, Buck an' Cain, sta't up a
fiah down dere clos' to de ribber. Dis gwine to tak' all de lite we
kin git."
A few moments later the old man called out in full assurance
that the coon was there, well up towards the top of the tree.
Meantime, he had built up a large fire on his side of the lagoon,
and presently for yards around everything was flooded with
light, when he recrossed and as he walked away from the tree,
measured with his eye the distance he thought the tree would
reach on the ground. Then he took Sappho on the other side of
the lagoon and asked his young master to please take the other
dog far enough away to be out of reach of the falling tree. Just
then the great oak, creaking and groaning, as if loath to fall,
began at the top to sway and swing. Cried the old man:
"Cut dat lef' han' co'ner quick, boys, and fling her way f'om
de ribber, an' look out all han's, fo' de coon is a-cummin."
Just then the tree came down with a great crash; yet
before it struck the ground out from the limbs sprang
the coon in the direction of the lagoon, but old Boss was a
little too quick for him. They closed, they clinched, and
such a fight as neither you or I can describe ensued,
while each moment, with great activity, the coon seemed
to be getting nearer the water. Just then old Sappho came
to old Boss's help. The old darky cried out:
"Keep 'im out'n de watah, boys! keep 'im out'n de
watah, boys! he'll drown dem dogs ef he git em in de
watah."
After a furious fight for some minutes, just on the brink
of the lagoon, the old dog succeeded in getting the coon
by the throat and the struggle was soon over.
"He dun got de steel trap grip on 'im now," called out
George, and as excitement ran very high among the
whole party Uncle Amos allowed the dogs to do him up
thoroughly. The coon sold his life dearly, however, for the
blood was flowing from the ears and noses of both dogs,
as their enemy had set all four of his claws deep down
and torn the flesh clear out. While the fight was going on
the negroes were calling in loud tones of deep excitement,
"Go fer him, Boz! Hold him, Sappho! Eat him up, ole gal!"
After a time, when the fight was over and the victory
complete, the old hunter called both of his dogs up to him
and examined them closely. When he saw the blood still
flowing from the base of old Sappho's ear he took a quid
of tobacco out of his mouth and held it there for some
little time, thus trying to stay the flow of blood. While he
was thus engaged, seeing how deep the cut was from the
coon's sharp claws, the old man s temper got the
advantage of him and he cussed a blue streak, for the old
fellow loved his dogs as he loved his children well nigh,
and maybe you can't blame him so much, as there was no
law in old Amos's church against "a nigger's cussin' when
dat dam' coon dun tore dat dorg's year mos' off."
"Is any ob yuh gemmem got yo' watch? What time is
it, Marster?"
The watches had all been left on the dressing tables at
home. The old negro said, however, "he couldn't see de
seben stars nor de pinters, but he fa'rly 'no'd it was dun
past midnite and we bettur be gittin' to'rds home." So the
old man whistled to his dogs - too badly done up for any
more coons that night - and the party made their way
home, George in the lead, with the coon swung over his
shoulder. As they neared the quarter the old darky
continued his astronomical observations, as they were
now out of the thick forest and he could see the sky.
When he found "de seben stars an' de pinter," he said, "it
was gwine hard on to'rds one o'clock perzacly." And the
old man was not very far away from the true time.
Doubtless, kind reader, in this account of the plantation
coon hunt, you have been pained, as the writer has been,
at the old man s apparent profanity. But, in very truth,
when reduced to its last analysis there was no profanity
about it. He never employed the name of the Deity. In its
use the average plantation servant was as religiously
reverent as the strictest Hebrew ever was. Even had he
been guilty of the charge, in common charity may we not
regard old Amos's weakness as Lawrance Sterne did that
of Uncle Toby when he swore; of whose oath Sterne
says so beautifully, "The accusing angel, as he flew up to
heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in;
and the recording angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a
tear on the oath and blotted it out forever." Let us hope
so, and see what that bright light in Granddaddy Cain's
house means at this unusual hour. Marse John said to
Uncle Amos:
"I am afraid the old man must be sick; we will go by
and see what s the matter."
As they drew near the old man's house they heard a
voice; and presently, close by now, they recognized it as
the voice of one engaged in prayer. Reverently they paused
at the door and listened as this devout patriarch of
the plantation, the head of all the Methodist servants on
the estate, was pouring his heart out in prayer at the
foot of the throne of grace. He was praying with great
earnestness, with none other awake in his house
than his faithful wife, Aunt Phyllis. Waxing warmer
and rising higher in his tide of devotions, the old man invoked
the Divine blessing on "Ole Marster, old Mistiss, Marse John,
Marse Jeems, Mis' Car'line an' all de white fokeses at the grate
house, an' all de niggers on de plantation; an' mak' dem rascals
quit stealin' chickens and turkeys ob nites." Finally, waxing
very warm, he asked, "de Heb'nly Father, pleas', suh, to hab
murcy on po' ole Cain, fo' he wus tired, mi'ty tired ob m'iling and
t'iling here below. Pleas', suh, to sen' de angel Gabrul down an'
take 'im home to glory."
Marse John, in a fit of innate badness, could not stand this
any longer, and, thinking to put the old darky's spiritual
condition and sincerity to the sharpest possible test, rapped
loudly on the door.
Rap! rap! rap!
"Who dere?" the old man anxiously inquired, still on his
knees.
"The angel of the Lord, come after Cain," in the most
sepulchral tone possible, said Marse John.
"Cain; come arter Cain? (Phyllis, put out dat lite, ole 'oman,
mi'ty quick.) He ain't been heah, suh, fo' free weeks; he dun
gone (throwing himself with great violence well under the bed)
he done gone, Marse Angel; ole Marster sent de rascal down
to Wilmington wid a lode ob bacon an' he dun run away, an' he
in de Holly Shelter Pocoson, Marse Angel, rite now. - (Lie mi'ty
low, Phyllis, an' doan' say not'in' nohow)," almost in a whisper.
The old man was frightened almost out of his wits. As the
mischievous party turned away from the old man's house and
were now well out of ear shot, old Amos spoke up:
"Marse John, dese heah Mefodis niggers falls from grace
monstus quick, dosn't dey? Dase got none ob de old-fashun'
Baptist 'ligen or de parsavarince ob de saints ob de Lord."
At his own quarters Marse John found that the other
members of the party were already discussing an ample supply
of cold ham and beaten biscuit, well buttered, and such other
good things as made up a most comfortable supper for all the
party, including the servants, who in
their turn ate heartily, all showing clearly that an old-fashioned
plantation coon hunt served the double purpose of plenty of
fun and whetting the appetite. My sakes! how Buck and all the
other servants did eat, while the dogs, Boss and Sappho,
enjoyed the scraps. Ah, those blessed old plantation days -
we ne'er shall see their like again.
WELL, well, the visit
of these charming young people at the
old plantation was now over. Comparative quiet now obtained
where for the past few weeks that form of sweet pleasure alone
known to youth had held joyous sway. They all realized, in the
rapid flight of time how truly Robert Burns had said:
"Pleasures
are like poppies spread;
Well off to Princeton,
to Chapel Hill, to St. Mary's, Raleigh,
these young people go; not leaving as they came, however, for
that sly little god, Cupid, had been industriously engaged, and
from his bow enwrapped with flowers had sent many a dart with
quivering accuracy to the heart. Well, thus has it ever been and
thus will it ever be to the end of the chapter of time. Amen. So
be it.
The institutions of learning at the South have undergone
many changes. Many of them in the late forties and early fifties
were far, very far, from lacking very many things to recommend
them. When one takes into consideration the fact that
institutions of learning in Georgia, South Carolina, and other
parts of the South, were of so
high a grade that such of her distinguished sons as
Alexander Stephens and Benjamin Hill of Georgia, Wade
Hampton of South Carolina, the Breckenridges, of Kentucky,
and many others whom it were tedious to mention, were
outfitted for the distinguished usefulness they achieved, what
conclusion do we reach? None other than this - that the wealth
of the South (and at that time the nation's wealth was at the
South) demanded the best of everything in the markets of the
world.
In the world of fashion, Paris, through New Orleans, was
tributary to the South. It is said that some of the wealthy people
of Louisiana were careful to send regularly their most particular
and expensive laundry work to Paris. If it be true that this was
the rule in regard to the outfitting of the body, we are quite sure
that North Carolina, in common with Virginia and the other
Southern States, held within their border institutions of learning -
male and female - preparatory schools, colleges and
universities, which proved the nursing mothers of both men and
women largely influential at home and abroad. We know that this
was so in North Carolina for years before the war and, thanks to
God, the old State, after a long, dark intertegnum, is coming to
her own again, and we believe this is so in the South generally.
The writer is free to admit that the practical working of our
system of labor at the South served to keep the extremes of our
population far apart. It was a long, long way socially from the
front piazza of the planter to the cabin door of either the
overseer or the "poor white trash" element.
Practically, before the war we had no yeomanry; and in this
condition lay our greatest weakness - compensated, however,
by so many advantages under the old régime as more than
condoned that weak thread in our social organism. In this cluster
of preparatory schools for the university, as well as in the number
and high character of her smaller colleges - but more expressly
in the university, we have the secret of the State's wealth in
great men; while for the perpetuation of that noble race mothers
were educated, and well educated - not out of any of the gentle
and influential femininities of the sex - as well by the
Baptist at Murfreesboro, the Methodist at Greensboro, the
Presbyterian at Hillsboro and Charlotte, the Moravians at
Salem, as by the Episcopalian at St. Mary's, Raleigh.
These institutions, in those blessed good old days, were
both the pride of and the bulwark of the State, and served
to produce that fine type of character which made
citizenship in this State abound in all the finer forms of
conservatism. In the markets of the world the State credit
was equal to the best in this country; while her merchants
were able to buy what they pleased in New York, and on
such terms as they might elect. The healthful
interblending of the Scotch-Irish blood of the Piedmont
and western counties with that of the Cavalier and
Huguenot of the more eastern and coastal section, had
prepared a race of men whose high courage and devotion
in the army of Northern Virginia later on has never been
surpassed in the annals of our race. The religious life of
the people, happily fostered at her schools, had very much
to do with this result.
The writer can speak in none other than a general way
of any of these schools except Mr. Bingham's school for
boys, then taught in Orange County, some twelve miles
from Hillsboro; of St. Mary's school, Raleigh; and of the
university at Chapel Hill. They were all three
exceptionally fine institutions, and naturally enough so, as
they enjoyed many marked advantages.
The South at this time was at the very zenith of her
prosperity, coming from her great wealth. In those days it
was not an unusual condition of affairs that at the same
time and from the same family the daughter should be at
St. Mary's, the elder brother at Chapel Hill, and the
younger boy at Mr. Bingham's school. Thus, in some
sense, these three institutions seemed to have gone
together, drawing their patronage from the same families
between the Potomac and the Rio Grande.
At no institution in this country (not even excepting the
famous boy school in Concord, New Hampshire; and we
doubt whether we ought to except Rugby England, in
Tom Brown's days) in the last fifteen years before the
war, was there annually assembled a finer body of youth
than that over which William I. Bingham, the second,
presided. It has been a half century since I looked in his
fine old face, but I warm up and grow younger when I
think of him. What splendid boys this noble old teacher
numbered among his pupils. When I shut my eyes and
call their names, flushed with young life and its joyous
anticipations, I can almost hear the ringing laughter of
the brilliant Davy Hall of Warrenton, of that born
Chesterfield, William Hunt Hall of Wilmington; of that
singularly handsome boy, James B. Hughes of New
Berne; and of Henry Cobb of Alabama. Yes, I can see
the manly forms of the Merritts; that born linguist of
Chatham county, Sam Jackson; and am prepared for all
the mischief of Parsley of Wilmington and many others
just as attractive, most of whom went with me from this
school to Chapel Hill, while many of them have passed
over the river just a little way ahead of me, where I trust
we may all meet dear "Old Bill," as we then called Mr.
Bingham, that nonpareil, that prince of American
teachers.
And what shall be said of dear old Chapel Hill, with
Governor Swain as president; the Messrs. Phillips and
Professor Fetter, Dr. Shipp, the scholarly Hubbard, the
amiable Wheat, the faithful Brown, the loving young
Battle, a tutor full of rich promise, so faithfully kept in
lifelong usefulness to his alma mater and to his State; that
miracle of men, in his vast learning, Dr. Mitchell; with
that embodiment of high character and consecrated
talent, Judge Battle? Old Chapel Hill boy of the early
fifties! Shut your eyes and hear the old college bell, while
you think tenderly of Walker Meares, Jimmie Wright,
John Holmes, Henry Bryan, Baldy Capehart, Alfred
Waddell, Rufus Paterson, Tom Settle, Zeb Vance, Jimmie
Wilson, Gideon Pillow, Hunter Nicholson, that sweet-hearted
boy, as handsome as an Apollo, Ivy Foreman
Lewis, John Swann Moore, and "Button" Battle; with that
youth that never had a fair fight with the devil in his life,
but who was born good, Dick Battle; Dick Henderson,
Fred Hill, Horace Lacy and Dick Yarboro. Then tell me
if you and I did not have royal companions in those
days?
Do you wonder that "Ole Bunk" in his tender,
watchful guardianship over that band of splendid boys,
showed the whole South that he bore the university a far
reaching love which only death itself could reach? His
charge, embracing during his long term of office many of
the noblest young men of the South, was indeed a grand
one; and right nobly did he and the whole faculty perform
their loving duties. Their fidelity to high trust was such
that in elevating the standard of citizenship in the
commonwealth and elsewhere in the South they lessened
the duties of those who have succeeded them. Messrs.
Battle, Winston and Alderman, as presidents of the
university, have all gratefully felt that these educators
stimulated them to such alacrity and marked ability as
have spread abroad the high fame of this great institution.
Esto perpetua! Esto perpetua longissime.
Turning now to another institution, let us attend a
commencement of St. Mary's in that golden era of her
high prosperity under the elder Smedes, who, faithful unto
death, through a long life of such high function as one of
the great teachers of the land, has made his name a
household word in many houses of the South, even as far
away as the Rio Grande. This is Commencement week at
St. Mary's, and those carriages filled with youths are just
down from the Commencement at Chapel Hill. These
young gentlemen, en route home from the university, have
stopped over - some to witness the graduation of their
sisters and sweethearts, others to have a good time
generally. June is here in all her leafy pride and the city of
Raleigh is out in full force, with her beautiful daughters
and chivalric sons. Wilmington, New Berne, Edenton,
Washington, Fayetteville, Charlotte - in fact nearly all of
the larger towns and most of the counties of the State are
here represented, as well in the young ladies of the school
as in the many guests. It is indeed a "red letter day" in the
history of St. Mary's. In that large parlor, perhaps the
largest, and certainly among the most beautiful in the
whole South, what an assemblage of beautiful maidens
and handsome young men? What soft, sweet voices
these Southern girls have, and what marked proprieties of dress
you must observe among them;
also how modest their bearing, and the absence of anything like
boisterous or bantering demeanor. Not a single touch or taint of
a hoyden among them all. Of home refinement and
delicacy of the old plantation life, what living and loving
epistles are these Southern girls! How proud is their old
bishop (Atkinson) of them all - his dear children, most of
whom he has confirmed - you may see, as his loving eye
lights up with admiration of those three lovely, tidewater
girls who glide along over the stage to their places at the
piano, harp and guitar! What poetry of motion in the
carriage and walk of the ante-bellum Southern girls in
those blessed days when the young men did not part their
hair in the middle, and when no bicycles had ruined the
grace of woman's attractive movement. How broad and
full the course of study in this school, the admirable
essays, read so modestly and effectively by the young
ladies, set forth, as the noble face of Dr. Smedes lights up
with pleasure at some singularly fine sentence in her
salutatory falling from the lips of that fair graduate from
Georgia; or as further on in the exercises the valedictorian
moves many of a large audience to tears when with
faltering voice she says farewell to dear old St. Mary's
forever. Had the present writer a million of dollars a
minute for one short half hour (now that in the breaking up
of the old plantation life the Southern wealth has gone),
five millions should go to the endowment of Chapel Hill,
five millions should go to the building of St. Mary's, and
five millions should be spent in establishing a large
preparatory school, on the same plan as that of the
Bingham school in the fifties, giving to every one of the
Southern States scholarships in each of these splendid
institutions. And yet it may be, that these schools, in
common with Davidson College, Wake Forest, and all the
other schools of our Southland contending with poverty,
may in the end demonstrate the fact that the most
influential of all endowments is fine Christian character,
allied to that broad and deep scholarship which the
Southern educators are now bringing
to our institutions of learning from the Susquehanna to
the western verge of Texas.
When one pauses long enough in these days of hurry
and worry to give the subject the thought to which it is
entitled, by virtue of its importance in the past to the
South's record, no class of her devoted children is more
entitled to a grateful recognition than such as have
already been mentioned among the educators of the land.
To them, among many others, the names of Deems,
Homer, Wilson, Graves, John Bingham, Sprunt and Robinson
should be added, as those whose lives are
perpetuating themselves in the great usefulness of their
pupils, their children, and their successors in high office.
High office it is. Aristotle and Socrates were great
teachers, and yet it was left to the great Nazarene
himself to illustrate the fact that he who taught most
industriously, with the highest standards always before his
eyes, preached most effectively.
The writer could scarcely have said less than he has
said in giving anything like an adequate knowledge of
the schools to which the Southern boys and girls were
sent from their plantation homes, in the good old days
before the floods of 1861 and '65. These schools, in the
high character of the great teachers of the South,
account for the remarkable influence of her people for so
many years, actually shaping the policy of the
Government for more than three-quarters of a century in
affairs of the republic. Their power was only broken
under the benumbing influence of the French Revolution,
so prolonged as to reach from Paris to Fanueil Hall,
Boston, ushering in that form of popular contempt for
authority which has swept away the Constitution, having
employed "Uncle Tom's Cabin" as its avant
coureur.
It will not be forgotten that these pictures of Southern
plantation life were to be seen in all the Southern States
prior to the war, as well in Maryland as in Texas. The
writer portrays those in North Carolina, not because they
were exceptional, but because he can speak of these
more understandingly. The early fifties at the South was
an era of high standards. Her prosperity was never greater.
The wisdom of her statesmen had been vindicated, in the
popular judgment, by the annexation of Texas and the
acquisition of California. All over the South, at that time,
the public men were of such high character and were
possessed of ability so very marked as to show that
Calhoun, Clay, Benton, King, Gaston and Reeves
had left their impress on that age.
In North Carolina our young men were animated by the
example of a singularly strong band of distinguished men.
In the Senate of the United States were Messrs. Badger,
Mangum and Haywood, succeeded by such men as
Bragg, Clingman, and others scarcely less distinguished.
In the House of Representatives were McCoy, Donnell,
Ashe, Outlaw, Bryan, Craige and Ruffin, all of whom
showed clearly that Mr. Macon's influence over the State
had never died out. On the Bench of the Supreme Court
were the elder Ruffin, Pearson and Battle; while on the
Circuit Court Bench were such pure jurists as Caldwell,
Bailey, Person, Shepherd, Settle, Manley, Dick, Saunders
and Ellis, all of whom served to maintain the high standard
of judicial purity and ability erected by Henderson,
Murphey, Daniels and others. Such men as Gales,
Holden, Hale, Fulton and others, maintaining the high rank
of journalism in the State, with a singularly able and pure
body of clergymen presiding over the different churches
of the commonwealth, were the influential forces actively
at work, in coöperation with the marked purity of home
life from Cherokee to Currituck, in investing the State
with that power which she showed all through her history,
and notably so from 1861 to 1865. No wonder that when
their old mother's honor was assailed such men as her
peerless Vance and her intrepid band of distinguished
sons should have rushed to the rescue, followed by one
hundred and twenty-five thousand patriots, espousing her
fortune for weal or woe from Bethel to Appomattox. This
faintly outlined condition of the South in the decade just
before the war between the States was the fine fruitage
of her social forces in active play from the old plantation
life. She was at the acme of her glory then, and certainly
in many respects
Christendom has never equaled it. In our subsequent
history we can hope for no parallel - in its high-typed
golden-hearted manliness; in its gentle, refined and
cultured womanhood; in its freedom from the prurient
forces of that materialism which measures men, not by
what they are so much as by their pecuniary successes
altogether. From its fine products we must, indeed, characterize
it as a bright era in the history of our civilization.
It was about to die. Like the dying dolphin, which puts
forth its most beautiful coloring as it gasps out its life on
the whitened sands of the seaside, so the old South was
never so fair nor so dear to her children as during the last
decade of her existence, from 1855 on to the close.
We have glanced at the schools and colleges of the
South, and have seen how admirably they served the high
purposes for which they had been called into life, by the
wealth and culture of the old plantation régime. It must not
be forgotten that while the North centered all of her
finest energies along the lines of commerce and
manufactures, the South, up to the great upheaval,
continued an agricultural people (with her great wealth
and consequently her strength) on her large landed estates.
TO THE Southern people
many and varied were the
sources of relaxation and amusement. We have indicated
some of the home modes of innocent enjoyment on these
pages. Few people ever made more of or derived more
pure pleasure from the celebration of marriage than did
our fathers and mothers, in their old-fashioned, home kept
weddings. To the bridal couples of that era there were no
limited express railroad trains, taking them with lightning
speed out of touch with the loved ones at home. This was
the bright reign of home weddings among home people,
with the joyousness of home customs and the sunlight of
home glorified upon everything. After charming
hospitalities at the home of the bride (where the guests,
sometimes from a hundred miles or more away, were
entertained) the bridegroom's family called all the guests to
his home. Then the bridesmaids and groomsmen claimed
their privilege of entertaining. Thus was it that one
marriage often called for a half dozen or more beautiful
parties. Thus was it, also, that one wedding led up to other
weddings. One can quite understand the social conditions,
where these old-fashioned English customs had obtained
from the early settlement of the country. What strong
reason had these people for loving their homes, the
lares
and penates
of which had felt no touch or taint of
commercialism, and who were strangers to the rude
shocks given the divine institution of marriage by the
modern appliances of divorce whose fearful driving wheels
are centered in the clubhouse. In those better days of
the republic, freed largely from cosmopolitan evil, the
present writer remembers well the widespread interest
and regret over the first notable suit for divorce among
the very best people of Virginia and Maryland - how it
was discussed and how sharply reprobated. Alas, alas
what changes have come with Worth gowns from Paris
and the customs loaned us (in questionable kindness) from
Gotham, time is sadly revealing. In those days it was not
unusual for parties of young people, properly chaperoned,
to spend some weeks of the winter season of gayety in
New Orleans, at the old St. Charles and St. Louis hotels.
The time ordinarily selected was just before the Lenten
season set in, when the charming population of that
delightful city, French and Creoles, were at the heyday of
enjoyment in the carnival season. The return home was
made generally by the Mississippi River whose floating
palaces were singularly attractive. In the summer time the
wealth of the South enabled many of its best people, old
and young, to repair to Saratoga Springs and elsewhere
North. The seaside resort at Cape May was then very
popular; nor was old Point Comfort less so, as there had
been no development of any kind, good or bad, at
Narragansett Pier or Newport. Modern millionairism at
that time had not rendered possible such a social evolution
as the "Four Hundred" of New York, that sickly product
of the distempered conditions of the post-bellum
congestion of wealth and morals - of masculine women
and effeminate men.
In our portion of the old South there were two
occasions of marked interest to plantation people. These
were our agricultural fairs and the sessions of our State
Legislature. In the summer months there had been an
interchange of charming acquaintance among the several
sections of the State. Some of the Tidewater people went
in their own carriages, in quest of health and pleasure as
far as the charming resorts along the French Broad River,
and elsewhere across the mountains in western North
Carolina. Others again found all they desired near home
at Nag's Head or at Beaufort Harbor. There was no
Morehead City in those days. A larger number still
either occupied their summer homes, in the healthy
sections of Moore and Chatham, or went to the charming,
resorts in the famous old County of Warren, known in the
parlance of that day, as Jones' Springs and Old Shocco
Springs. The writer, as a university man, and as a young
lawyer, had enjoyed social life at Saratoga and the
Greenbrier White Sulphur - had tested the soft crabs and
other good things at the height of the season at Old Point
Comfort and Cape May - and he is free to say that all
this, of its kind, was very fine and enjoyable. At the same
time, let these young Southern readers know the fact that
nowhere in the world, in the judgment of the writer, did the
old plantation element feel itself quite as much at home as
at Jones' and Old Shocco Springs. And this is so for these
reasons - here the plantation element, from the
Albemarle and Pamplico sections of the State, with large
wealth and high culture, from weight of numbers tend
social position, had the controlling influence. These resorts
had been frequented by the same families, in many cases,
for more than one generation. And then, in those days, the
County of Warren, with its great wealth and fine society,
was the special habitat of the old-time Southerner. In its
palmiest days it is said to have had, on the whole, the finest
estates, the best bred horses, the purest breeds of "Alston-Greys"
and "Cotton Reds" (game chickens), the largest
gardens for both flowers and vegetables, with the most
luxuriant mint beds in the whole State. Regarding its higher
products, some have affirmed that the men of old
Warren were singularly manly and its women exceedingly
beautiful. Let it be observed, however, that in these
particulars no county or section throughout the whole
South had any monopoly. This much the writer runs no risk
in saying. Memory, true to her trust, carries him back to
one of the most noted of all the seasons at Old Shocco,
when the large and fashionable company was at its height.
The various sections of the State were represented there,
as well by its fine young men as by its beautiful women.
It was the evening of the "great ball." Richmond and
Petersburg, Virginia, and the larger towns of the State
were out in full force. Old Frank Johnson's (negro) string
band furnished the music, and who ever heard better
dance music than this? It is said that, as the night wore
away, this remarkably gifted darky has often been known
to lose consciousness and go to sleep, yet go on calling
the figures and never make a mistake. The floor was full
of couples in the large, double quadrilles, and
"Bright
the lamps shone on fair women and brave men."
It so happened that in
the same set were two sisters
from the neighboring town of Warrenton, and the lovely
Miss --- from Wilmington, Miss --- from Bertie County, perhaps
the most beautiful woman North Carolina ever produced,
and Miss --- from Wilkesboro. These five were the most
strikingly beautiful Southern girls the writer has ever seen
anywhere. And yet, what am I talking about? What is the
difference between the most beautiful rose in the flower
garden of Pensacola, Florida, or that same lovely flower
found in Richmond, Virginia? One star may differ from
another star in beauty, but the characteristic loveliness of
the ante-bellum plantation girls was so marked that you
could scarcely note the difference between its fine forms,
as seen all over North Carolina. You may say the same
of the whole South. Two of the above young ladies were
types of that form of beauty in the delineation of which
dear old Sir Walter Scott seems to have reveled in his
description of Brenda in the "Pirate," while the other three
represented that order of loveliness of which her fair
sister, Minna, has ever been the type. But what is the use
of stating that which everybody knows? The beauty of
Southern girls has passed long ago into a proverb. Our
Northern friends love to come down to Baltimore and
witness for themselves the beauty of Southern girls on
Charles street, and hear their sweet voices in the mellow,
soft accents of the Southern plantation, with no blight or
blur of nasal catarrh upon it. The young people of that
time delighted in attending the agricultural fairs in Raleigh
in those beautiful days of October, where the deep
interest and healthful emulation in the plantation products brought
many of the most successful planters together. The
sweet hospitality of Raleigh, then scarcely a city, together
with the Yarboro Hotel, Guyon's and the City Hotel under
that perfection of a host, Captain Lawrence, added
largely to the pleasures of the occasion. In those days the
fair was not regarded as over until the young people had
enjoyed the "Marshall's Ball" at the Yarboro Hotel, a
very charming function, under the inspiration of old Frank
Johnson's music.
In those days Raleigh was, indeed, a most charming
city. How could it be otherwise when such distinguished
sons of the old State could then be often seen on the
streets as ex-Governor Charles Manly, ex-Governor
William A. Graham, ex-Governor Thomas Bragg, Judges
Badger, Battle, Ruffin, Saunders and Manly, while the
Haywoods, the Bryans, the Johnstons, the Mordecais, the
Grimes, the Hines, the Cottons, the Camerons, the
Masons, the Devereux and many others kept their
ancestral position in society, rather by what they were
than as they were rated by the tax collector? Ah, me!
"Tempora mutantur et nos mutumur in illis," said the
old pagan. Without employing any vain regrets or
indulging any invidious comparisons, it may be pardoned
an old man if he says that when such men as the Moores,
the Ashes, the Daveses, the Waddells, the Hills, the
Grahams, the Collinses, the Davises and many others
were active in the State, Citizenship, as worn by them
and their brilliant orators, Hawkes, Miller, Joseph Hill and
Michael Hoke, was accounted her greatest wealth and
proudest distinction, rather than the money of individuals
or corporations. It was during this golden era, when these
social forces had fully crystallized into their very finest
forms, that the Legislature was in session. The truly
representative men of the State were members of that
body, with that peerless gentleman and distinguished
lawyer, the Honorable Richard Speight Donnell, as
speaker. Raleigh was, perhaps, never so enjoyable as at
that time. With her own citizens at their best, in the
exercise of that sweet hospitality for which they have
been ever so strikingly distinguished, one can say this
with perfect impunity. You
may be quite sure that such young gentlemen as James Allan
Wright of Wilmington, William Saunders, Joseph A. Englehard,
and many others like them, were in the full tide of enjoyment of
that city, full of charming strangers from various sections of the
State. Party after party was given by the Manleys, the
Haywoods, the Badgers the Bryans, and others equally
distinguished for social position. With its beautiful belles and
its striking beaux, the city had never been known quite so gay.
There was one young lady about to make her entrée into
society and to signalize this important event in her beautiful
young life her father and mother gave a very large party.
Perhaps it was the most noted event of a very notable winter.
The attendance was strikingly large, embracing some of the
creme de la creme of the State, for these proud parents, on both
sides of the house, represented two of the most distinguished
families in the whole commonwealth. When the whole house
was fully ablaze with light and the old-fashioned wax candles, in
untold numbers, were shedding their soft kindly rays (the
modern gas or electric light was unknown then) over the large
company, surely could Sir Walter Raleigh have walked in with
Queen Bess on his arm the "virgin queen" would have
recognized no trace of degeneracy in the beautiful women and
handsome men. She would have joyously exclaimed to all about
her, "These are the rich products of the Anglo-Saxon
civilization, which has girdled the world with life and light and
beauty. They are all my children." And well might she have
done so, for passingly beautiful was the rare scene. The whole
night passed as joyously as that of a belle on her wedding eve.
The distinguished débutante was radiantly beautiful, moving
about among her delighted guests and receiving the homage of
all whom she blessed with her smiles as does the light of a May
day gladden a bank of roses. Such courtly gentlemen as Judge
Badger, the Lord Falkland of the South, and others, gladly paid
her homage, and one may be quite sure that we all felt proud of
the beautiful Miss ---. Among the many guests there was one
who had grown gray amid similar scenes, but had never married.
An enforced celibate, he had not borne his lot as
gracefully as he might have done, but unfortunately had
become somewhat embittered as Cupid from time to time turned
his back upon him. When the evening was at its height of
enjoyment this gentleman commented, rather in a loud tone of
voice, upon the society of Raleigh, remarking in easy earshot
of a group of the most charming young people present:
"Miss Charlotte, do
you not think the society of Raleigh this
winter is strikingly characterized by the extreme juvenility of
the beaux?"
This he said not to but
at young Wright, who was as
handsome as an Apollo, with his face as smooth as a girl's. The
young Wilmingtonian turned on him, his fine face flushed with
suppressed anger, his lip wreathed in disdain, and said in a
clear, ringing voice:
"General E---, one
of the most painful commentaries on
man's relation to life is that he is but once a man and twice a
child."
Ah, well, these old days
have passed away. All that is left of
them is for the most part sadly reminiscent. Fortunately, most
of the actors in those charming scenes have passed off the
stage. Few, only a very few of us are left to chafe under the
unhappy changes which a hybrid civilization has brought on.
Eating no dirt, spitting no fire, we still hold our colors firmly in
our hand, and are yet enabled to cry out:
"Let
fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
WE HAVE already seen on
these pages some of the
amusements of the old Southerners. We have witnessed
how readily their warm, sunny temperaments expressed
themselves, as well in their outdoor sports and wiles as in
those around their hospitable hearthstones. Not more
surely do climate and soil assert themselves in forest, field
and flower, than in the habits, tastes and employments of
those subjected to their sway. The differentiations
between the dwellers along our Northern lakes and those
of our beautiful Southland are largely the outcome of the
difference in climate. After all is said and done, they are
far less racial than climatic. Among the many and marked
differences between civilized nations, it is a blessed fact
that there is one event in their history which, year by
year, is asserting a growing influence over all sorts and
conditions of men. It need scarcely be said that this is the
birth of the Nazarene, the Son of God.
At the South Christmas has ever been known as a
season of blessed rejoicing. Among the people of the
North, until the past two or three decades, their
Thanksgiving, with puritan imprimatur, was a higher feast
than that of the Nativity. This grew out of their
differences in religious faith and training. Now, however,
among all Christian people, there seems to be a fixed
determination to make Christmas the one great, precious
holiday, not only of the nation, but of the world as well.
At the South, in great house and cabin, for generations
it has been the season above all others full of mirth and
good cheer. Resting from labor, the planter and his
servants have ever enjoyed it. From the settlement of
Roanoke Island, the Bethlehem story has made its
influence felt wherever the Cavaliers have gone. Nor
have the Huguenots made it less of a "red letter day" than
the blessed doctrine of the Incarnation fully entitled it to.
On the old plantation the planters were taught at this
season of love to open their hearts and purses to every
cry of sorrow and every detail of distress. His Christian
mother, coming from old England or the southern part of
France, had taught him to remember that Judean midnight
sky, across which a star flashed that had never yet been
seen on shore or sea. As a child, the old planter had asked
his faithful mother to tell him all about that lovely manger,
wherein, that December night, the Virgin mother held in
her arms that babe, above whose head was an aureole
and in whose eyes was the revelation of the brotherhood
of man.
On the plantation in the old South no sooner was the
harvest well over than slow yet methodical preparation for
Christmas was entered upon. The fruits of the earth
gathered in, the large stores of animal food well looked
after, the planter bent his energy to the fattening of his
bullocks and hogs. The butchering season, or the hog
killing time, was a joyous event to the servants on the
estate. On this plantation it was no child's play to provide
the meat rations for so many servants, and there were no
vegetarians among them. The truth is, among men the rule
seems to be that the lower the form of civilization the
more meat comsumed. Be this as it may, about the
twentieth of November the hogs and bullocks were as fat
as they could roll, and "de hog killin' " began. The salt
employed in curing the meat in those days was the large
grain Turk's Island article which was well pounded or
ground by being beaten in long wooden troughs with
heavy wooden pestles. This to the young servants was a
great frolic, and one could always tell when the neighbors
were butchering by the noise of the salt pestles which
could be heard for miles on a clear, cold morning. In order
that there should be no loss or waste,
and that plenty of time should be allowed for consuming the
"chines and the chitterlings," the hogs were not all butchered at
once, but with an interval of ten days or two weeks between
each killing. In this way the sausage, so deliciously seasoned
with pot herbs, the juicy tenderloins, the tempting spareribs, the
delicious sweetbreads, and perhaps the most delicate of all, the
brains of the animals - in fine, everything coming to the old
planter's table at this season of the year - made up a breakfast
good enough for a king. The young servants were careful to
save every bladder from the several hundred hogs, which they
blew up with their own hot breath, introduced through a joint of
reed inserted in the neck, and which after being securely tied
with bits of cotton string, were hung up over the fireplaces in
their cabins. They thus supplied themselves abundantly with
Christmas guns, exploding them in place of the modern
firecracker, during this high festival.
One can quite understand how rapidly passed the hours
during these active preparations for the holidays. The wagons
and carts for days beforehand were fully employed in hauling
an ample supply of well seasoned firewood from the new-ground
clearings of last winter to the wood pile at the mansion
and to every cabin on the plantation. Indeed it was suggestive
of cheerful warmth and comfort to see the many cords of oak,
hickory, ash and blackjack brought in at this time. The mill
wagon, or carry-log, was used to bring in from the turpentine
orchards large logs of seasoned pine or light wood, to be sawed
up and split for the cheerful fires, so essential to a well kept
Christmas. The market wagons were now brought into use. Well
laden with barrels of lard, turkeys, ducks, geese and other
poultry, eggs, butter, roasting pigs (with shuck foot mats,
baskets, horse collars and other products of the servants'
private industry), they were driven to the market towns of
Wilmington and New Berne some eight or ten days before
Christmas. These were disposed of by Uncle Suwarro, and the
purchases of nuts, candies, fruits and other things, for great
house and cabin, were made by this judicious old servant.
At this time the old planter always remembered to send
a big turkey and a fine roasting pig to each of several friends in
town, who never forgot to send back boxes of oranges lemons,
grapes, figs, runlets and baskets of fine old wine, with some
liquids not so light as wine. The merchants never forgot so
good a customer as the old planter, especially at Christmastide.
Among other purchases never forgotten was a full supply of
bananna handkerchiefs and Barlow knives, as
presents for the
servants, while a plentiful supply of strings for Eli's fiddle and
the banjo players was always purchased. At this gala season
there was from the well appointed stores of the plantation, a full
issue of clothing, including hats and shoes, so that every
servant on the estate would be especially well dressed, "fo'
Crismus." My sakes! How busy was old Uncle Shadrac in
barbecuing five or six whole hogs and halves of young
bullocks, taking care to baste them well with a long handled
mop that had been dipped into a pan of vinegar, salt and home
grown red pepper, so that there should be no lack of highly
flavored seasoning. Uncle Amos was very busy in his daily
hunts for game - wild turkeys, ducks, squirrels, partridges and
pheasants - while the old planter himself saw to it that there
should be a saddle or two of fine venison for this occasion. The
truth is, nothing seems to have been forgotten by the planter or
his good wife. The captains of the vessels trading between our
landing and the market towns were ordered to bring up a full
supply of selected oysters in the shell, not forgetting salt water
fish and fowl, Handy was careful to feed the young gobblers
very heavily on broken rice and peanuts, while the several
cooks were as busy as they could well be in preparing a
bountiful supply of bread (corn and wheat), with cakes, pies
and all sorts of good things for the servants' Christmas dinner.
Virgil and George had erected long tables in the back yard,
while Buck and Cain had gathered quantities of evergreen from
the woods, including basketsful of fresh fragrant wintergreen
and the delicate mistletoe, with which to dress the pictures and
paintings in the great house.
Ah, me! How it delights one to go back in memory and bring
back the joyous scenes enacted during the blessed
hours of absorbing labor of Christmas preparation. The day
before the "high feast" was one of special activity. Everybody
was busy. Aunt Daphne and Jane were covering the long
tables with white homespun cloth, while the writer's sisters,
with needles and thread, were sewing on the borders sprays of
cedar, boxwood and wintergreen, so as to make the tables as
pretty as possible. The pride of the planter and his family was
stirred to make the occasion just as pleasant as possible, alike
in the great house and the cabin. The young ladies issued
invitations for a cotillion party during the week, while the
young gentlemen invited some of the neighbors to join them in
the indispensable fox hunt. It often happened that the house
was full of company from the neighboring towns, friends of the
old planter's children, boys and girls, who had come out to
enjoy an old-fashioned plantation country Christmas.
Well, the preparations are all complete. Supper is over and
the house is ablaze with light from the many candles as well as
from the cheerful fire. The pictures have all been dressed with
evergreen; while large bunches of mistletoe with waxen berries
are suspended from the centerpieces of the large halls and
parlor. Merry laughter from merry hearts, snatches of songs,
the buzz of animated conversation and notes from the piano
were all heard, when suddenly a salvo as of artillery startles the
merrymakers. What is it? Some twenty-five or thirty of the
young servants have come up to give "Ole Marster and
Mistiss" a Christmas eve serenade, which they preface with
those Christmas guns which startled us a while ago. This loud
report is the simultaneous explosion of those hog bladders that
were hung up at the butchering season. The young servants
put them down on the hard beaten paths around the great
house and jump on them with both feet. This is the secret of
those loud reports which broke in on the fun and frolic.
And then when quiet is restored comes the serenade. It is in
the form of Christmas carols, which have been taught them by
the planter's daughters, and rendered by a quartette of
servants, accompanied by flute and violin.
The present writer has heard fine singing in St. Thomas'
church on Fifth avenue, New York, as well as in the cathedral in
New Orleans. Never at any time has he heard more melody
evoked than that on these serenades by the fine voices of the
servants. To this very hour I can shut my eyes and still hear
them, nor have they been displaced by either the roar of artillery
at Manassas or the rattle of musketry at Gettysburg. Well, the
concert or serenade is over, and Eliza, Handy and Buck have
gone out on the veranda with trays of all sorts of refreshments
for these thoughtful members of the planter's family, who
presently fully refreshed, retire to their own quarters, singing as
they go with all the joy in their hearts of the old-time plantation
Christmas - perhaps a little bit heightened by a glass or two of
good old homemade Scuppernong wine or eggnog.
During the evening orders had been given by the old planter,
through Ben, Uncle Jim, Suwarro and Handy, that all the
poultry, and every animal on the plantation - including Inez,
the pointer, and old Dozy, the jack - should have a bountiful
Christmas feed early in the morning. Not that they were not well
fed ordinarily. They were. But is was a matter of beautiful
sentiment with my father and mother that on the morning of the
birthday of the King every form of animal life on the estate
should be placed in full sympathy with the Christmas "high
feast." The great house was elaborately dressed with
evergreen - pictures, halls, stairways and all - when, every
disposition for the next morning having been made, the family
retired, each to his own department, but not to sleep for an hour
or more. All were busy in the opening and arrangement of the
different presents for each other and the household servants. It
was the sweetest and tenderest hour of the whole year to the
family. At this time unselfishness, that virtue which binds man
so closely to God, took on its very finest form. Doubtless the
angels of God, all aglow with festive joy, were reporting to the
recording angel much, very much, of the power of love which is
still of heavenly record, though the actors for the most part
have long since passed away. While these ministrations
of family friendliness were going on, often after
midnight, the silence was ever and anon broken by some
young darky firing off one of his Christmas guns, for the
joy of this warm-hearted, emotional race was wholly
unrestrained at this blessed season. What a difference in
its observance here by these Christianized Africans and
their kinspeople on the banks of the Congo and Loango in
the far away "dark continent."
My sakes! What a fusilade that is. Bang! Bang!
Bang! "Hurrah for Christmas!" No more sleep. The day
is breaking and Christmas has come. Listen to those
merry voices down at the quarter! It would seem that
everybody is awake, from Granddaddy Cain, the old
patriarch of the plantation, down to the youngest little
ebon-faced darky. All up and very fully awake, one
would say, if the ringing laughter and joyous greetings
pass for anything. Nor is this Christmas joy confined to
the servants at the quarter. The old mansion is full of the
opening up of various forms of festivity. Hear the ringing
shouts of "Merry Christmas, father!" "Merry Christmas,
mother!" "Christmas gift, ole Marster; Christmas gift, Ole
Mistiss," coming from Handy, Buck, Eliza and all the
other house servants. The custom of the family was, as
each one came out into the breakfast room to bring with
them their presents for the other members of the
household, placing them on a side table, beautifully
dressed with flowers and evergreen, prepared for that
purpose. After family prayers these packages, properly
bestowed, were all opened. In many cases, what display
of perfect knowledge of each other's exact wants! How
beautiful some of them are, while no one is forgotten -
not even Buck, George or Cain - for, at this season
especially, the old planter's home is a republic of love.
Why is it that of all the family the ole Mistiss, the dear,
blessed mother, the devoted wife, receives more presents
than any other? The answer is easy. Her many presents
are the tokens of that tribute exacted by her boundless
love for us all. Ah, the far reaching tenderness of
motherhood!
What nice little package is that you see the old planter
opening there? He opens one wrapper, and yet another,
and another, and another, until at last he comes to a box,
as of fine jewelry. While he is opening his treasure
observe that beautiful young lady from New Berne, as
she watches him very closely. At last he opens the box
and takes out the most cunning contrivance. What is it? It
is of the finest hash-colored silk. The dear old gentleman
holds it up between his thumb and forefinger so that
everybody can see it, still no one seems to know what it
is. At last one of the young gentlemen (who seems to be
the master of more than one of the fair donors' secrets)
calls out:
"Why, don't you all see it's a nose protector -
something to protect the nose from the cold when out
fox hunting of a bitter, frosty morning? Pray, sir, put it
on please."
"Put it on; put it on," was heard all around the table.
Sure enough the dear old gentleman put it on his rather
large, Napoleonic nose, and how nicely it fitted and how
everybody enjoyed the joke, as he wore it with the
delicately wrought holes for nostrils and the cunning little
pink and white tassel suspended from the tip end of the
nose. What a roar of laughter and how the dear old
planter enjoyed the fun, as he turned and thanked Miss
Nannie D-- for just what he wanted, telling her he would be
sure to wear it; and wear it he did on more than one bleak
winter morning when fox hunting. Well, the presents are
all opened - and such an array. A dog whistle of silver, a
beautiful riding whip, kid gloves, a prayer book, stationery,
a beautiful silk dress, something from each one for all, not
forgetting presents for the servants of the household.
Handy rings the breakfast bell and we all sit down,
amid peals of laughter, to such a breakfast as the present
writer will not attempt to describe; simply saying that his
mouth waters, even at this late day, when he thinks of the
broiled oysters, venison steak and beaten biscuit, with hot
rice waffles and such coffee. Breakfast over, the
assembly bell rings. By the side of a table on the back
veranda the old planter and his dear wife take their
places, while
all the servants file past them, each receiving some present - a
bandanna handkerchief, a Barlow knife, a doll baby or a
package of tobacco; and to each of the foremen an envelope
with a crisp bank note in it, every one calling out in passing by,
"Merry Cris'mus! Merry Cris'mus!" and right merry it was. After
church in the morning, to which all went who were so disposed,
the wish of the old master bringing about a large attendance,
the family enjoyed a luncheon at one o'clock. At two o'clock
the assembly bell rang and the servants assembled in the back
yard for dinner. Before they began their dinner the prizes in
money were given for the first, second and third best crops in
the turpentine orchards that year.
It would have done you good, dear reader, to have seen Ben,
Uncle Philip, Cicero and Robert serving as special waiters while
dispensing this excellent dinner of barbecued meats with plenty
of potatoes, rice, corn and wheat bread, followed by pies and
cakes, with coffee in abundance. Ah, you ought to have seen
the festive joy of these overgrown children, as nicely dressed,
amid peals of laughter and the frequent explosion of their
Christmas guns by the younger ones they fully satisfied their
appetites. I will not humble myself by undertaking, and then
failing, to describe some features of this plantation Christmas
dinner. I certainly do wish, kind reader, you could have
witnessed the company manners of the ebon beaux and dusky
belles, as they sought to make headway in each other's good
graces. Dow you would have enjoyed witnessing the saucy
tossing of her head, bedecked with red ribbon, as Kate, the
young mistress's maid, replied to Ben's inquiry, wishing her a
merry Christmas. He said:
"Mis' Kate, how duz yer corporashun seem to sergashiate
on dis yer 'cashun?"
To which suggestive question Kate made reply:
"I am, suh, no wusser den I was, but I feels much mo'
comfortabler sense dinnah; yuh must hab s'posed dat whole
barbecue wuz prepared for yuh. I jes' wish all ole Marster's
niggers wuz as 'dustrious in de co'nfield as yuh is at dis table."
Wonderfully given to big words at all times, it was on
just such occasions as this that Ben would abandon himself to
what he called "long tailed bookionary 'spresions." Whatever
may have been the immediate effect upon each other of such
passages at arms as the above, it was true that more than one
wedding on the plantation followed close after the Christmas
holidays. After these bows and congés and the full enjoyment
of the dinner, each one made his respects to the old master.
Then, in family groups, they retired to their own homes. As
they passed along the well-worn pathway, every few minutes
off would go one of those Christmas guns, whereupon in
strong, hilarious voice one of the many revelers would call out,
"Hurrah for Christmas; Christmas comes but once a year; if I
gits drunk you needn't keer." At night they would have their
dance and gladly entertain their friends from the neighboring
estates, and so this blessed holiday was observed among these
people.
Nearly all of these older servants have gone where "de good
darkies go," and it is feared that the generation which has come
on since these golden hours are strangers to many forms of
innocent enjoyment which obtained in those days. The
beautiful Christmas dinner which engaged the family around
the hospitable board of the old home was a very masterpiece of
housewifery in all its departments. It is rather strange, and
somewhat humiliating, that those things which give us the most
pleasure in some cases, baffle our powers of description.
Among them is an old-fashioned plantation dinner and, I may
add, the description of a beautiful bride; for (let it be said
respectfully in her presence) the two, as far as I am concerned,
baffle all powers of description. Many improvements have
come in the last quarter of the nineteenth century - among
which are electric lights, telephones and automobile carriages
(not bicycles or multiplied divorces) - but the culinary art, as
did eloquence and rare statesmanship, reached its perfection in
the days of Calhoun, Clay and Webster. There are other
features of this festive week which claim attention, and they
furnish the writer with a welcome excuse for hurrying over that
dinner, the perfection of which would be marred by any attempt on my
part at description. We hurry over the description, but
there was no hurry in the discussion of the meal itself.
After dinner with its black coffee and cigars, came whist,
music and a few quadrilles, winding up with the Virginia
reel. Thus ended a typical Southern Christmas Day, but
the holiday and its festivities extended to the New Year.
OF THE accomplishments
of the boys raised on the
Southern plantation, there is one the acquisition of which
he has no clearly defined recollection of. In his nursery
days he has a vague remembrance of a pony, of which he
acquired a thorough mastery before he put on pants. He
knows when and where he learned to swim and to shoot
a gun, but from his very cradledom he was made familiar
with his horse. Hence it was that, until the resources of
the South were broken in the late Confederate struggle
for Independence, the cavalry which followed the
standards of Hampton, Stuart, Ashby and Forrest have
rarely if ever been equaled in the annals of war. When
the Southern boy added to his knowledge of horses that
of familar acquaintance with dogs, which comes only
from early and close association, one is quite prepared to
find his characteristic manliness. Of the two, the dog and
horse, it is still a mooted question which in point of high
instinct stands next to man. Loving both of them, the
writer will not undertake to settle this question. He will
make no invidious discrimination between his friends.
Where the two are closely thrown together, as they are in
the fox chase, man has ever found ample field for his
love of both. This close association of the three most
noble forms of animal life - man, horse and dog -
accounts largely for that peculiar fascination which the
fox chase has ever had for the youth of the South. Far
more fascinating is it than a stag or deer hunt. Incomparably
superior is it to the bear hunt. Stale and flat are both duck
and partridge hunting in comparison with it. This is so
because in none of these is there to be found that close
comradeship which is inseparable from the rider, his
horse and his dog, and which belongs only to the old
fashioned fox chase. Baseball, golf, yachting, lawn tennis,
and all of these more conventional, artificial modes of
enjoyment, in point of excitement - that tension of nerve
coming out of a sense of danger, that high form of thrilling
pleasure of the full cry of hounds in close and hot
pursuit, that full sympathy between the hunter, his horse
and his dog, are not to be compared with this old-fashioned
plantation sport.
We are now to speak of one of these. It was at
dawn of day, the morning after Christmas, when the
silvery notes of our neighbor's (Mr. Frank Thompson)
horn were heard floating over field and forest, telling in
their friendly way that the invitation to the hunt had been
received and accepted. In an orchestra the liquid notes of
the cornet are singularly sweet. To those swayed by
music, the violin, the flute, the piano and the guitar are
very attractive; but the writer has heard nothing so
moving, so inspiring, as the mellow sound of the hunter's
horn, that harbinger of field sport unequaled. The call is
answered. Presently in comes Mr. Thompson,
accompanied by two or three neighbors, while the barking
of his pack challenges the old planter's dogs, who answer
back from their closely kept kennel, telling significantly
that they are ready for a trial of speed - for a day of
splendid sport. Hot coffee, with cold meats, bread and
butter, make up the hunter's quickly dispatched breakfast,
for the day is fine. The horses are held at the front gate
by Cicero, George, Buck and Cain, the dogs are whining
impatiently to be let out of the kennel and the cigars and
pocket flasks have been attended to by Handy, when the
command is given for the start. Quickly they mount their
impatient horses, the gate is opened, out rushes as fine a
pack of fox hounds as ever followed game, and the party
of ten or twelve hunters ride away as merrily as if they
were going to a feast.
Time fails us in describing each hunter and his fine
mount. We will, however, take the time to pay our
respects to that princely Southern gentleman - our
neighbor and friend - Mr. Frank Thompson, whose sons
are still actively engaged in keeping up the old line in the
dear old county of Onslow. The father had a marked
advantage over his boys, in that while, perhaps, he knew
less of books than they did, his outdoor education had
been more closely attended to and he had developed into
one of the most ardent sportsmen in Eastern Carolina On
this occasion he looked every inch the typical Southern
fox hunter. Then about thirty-five years of age, in weight
somewhere about one hundred and forty pounds, straight
as a Parthian arrow, in height about five feet ten inches
with deep auburn hair brushed back behind his ears under
a jaunty hunting cap, mounted on a thoroughbred bay
mare (in politics a Henry Clay Whig), he was for all the
world the man you would have selected for a hard rider, a
close friend, and a hard worker in a political campaign -
the wrong man to make angry unless somebody was to be
badly hurt. Yes, yes, what a splendid party of true
Southerners this was, riding along briskly to the Christmas
fox hunt, in those blessed days before the flood. They
have all gone over into the borderland and joined the great
majority save one. Sad is the thought that their places
have not been - cannot be - filled, for the social forces
which produced them died out with the old South.
Well, the hunting ground has been reached. It lay west
of the lake, well out in the turpentine orchard, and above
the headwaters of Chapel Run. The dogs, eager for the
chase, are circling well out to the right and left, searching
anxiously for the trail. The hunters are chatting away
merrily about crops, politics and the weather, as they ride
along full of energy and that peculiar élan known only to
the genuine fox hunter. Presently the deep notes of old
Staver's voice are heard calling for help to carry the trail,
which that industrious old dog has found. The old planter
cries out, "Hark to him! Hark, Nimrod! Hark, Fashion!"
On they ride. The scent is strong, so strong that Mr.
Thompson calls out, "By George, it's a bitch fox! Hark,
Juno! Hark, boys! Hark, away!"
Rapidly we ride on, for the dogs have caught the trail and
have gone. Now the whole pack is calling out in fine
chorus. Every hunter has gathered up the reins and
straightened up in his saddle, not unlike a squadron of
cavalry about to enter a deadly charge. The horses show
from the quick way in which they are bounding along,
that they are in full sympathy with the increasing
excitement of the riders.
The old planter leading his boys, all splendidly mounted,
rides like a young man. Ah, what a splendid figure was
his that day! The writer has ridden after Ashby, has seen
Stuart when mad amid the high carnival of war, but he
has never seen any man on horseback more thoroughly
the master of his mount than was this old planter when
fired by the wild excitement of the chase. The cry of the
pack increases in volume, as the trail grows hotter and
hotter, while on they go, pressing after old Reynard, who
has not yet risen from her cover in the dense thicket
which we are now approaching. We have reached it. It
was one of those jungles or thickets full of bamboo and
catbriers, with dense undergrowth. No horseman can
enter it. The dogs go in. Not very far do they go when the
sharp, harsh, angry cry of Fashion is heard. All
understand it, dogs and hunters alike. The fox is up and
has broken away from cover. Did you ever hear such a
cry in your life? Hear the deep notes of Rover, joining
with the sharper notes of Nimrod and the sharp, raspy
staccato of Fashion, while twenty others join in the
chorus. The fox, hot pressed, must come out of that dense
cover. They are making it too hot for her. Out she comes
and, trusting to her speed, stretches away for dear life
across the pine ridge clear of undergrowth - about two
hundred yards in the lead of the pack. As she clears the
thicket, Neighbor Thompson gets a view of her. Hear
him, as with his manly voice he calls out, "Hark! Hark!
Hark away, boys! Hark, old Juno!" Out they come - the
whole pack - and on they go, running still by scent, Juno
and Fashion abreast, with all the others following close
after!
And now comes the sport. Horses, riders, dogs, all full
of it. They ride like mad, the old planter and Mr.
Thompson leading, followed closely by the others at a
breakneck gait, and all yelling as if the furies had broken
loose. The fox had too much start and reached another
bayou just in advance of the pack, but she had no time to
throw away. Into this dense thicket she plunges and
rapidly makes her way through it, then leaves it for a
hundred yards or more, circles around, and on her back
track enters it on the other side, in her crafty cunning
hoping thus to elude the dogs, which were moving more
slowly through the sharp-set catbriers, the thorns of which
are cutting their noses and ears so that the blood flows
freely. Some time elapsed before the dogs succeeded in
forcing her from cover. After a time old Staver gives out
one of those sharp, angry barks which the hunter
understands to mean quick work. She has broken cover
again, and this time the dogs are close on her; not yet
quite in sight, for no fox, red or gray, could ever stand
long before Fashion running by sight. So fleet is the good
old dog (the most beautiful thoroughbred English fox
hound the writer ever saw) that she always reminded one
more of the splendid movement of a greyhound in her
magnificent sweep of splendid speed than an ordinary dog
of the hound breed. On they go! The dogs are running
rapidly now, indicated by the short, angry, half suppressed
cry as if they had not time to bark. What rapid riding!
What shouting! How much the horses seem to enjoy it as,
pulling away on the bit, they rush on. Hard run, the fox
just makes the cover again. She has no time to talk to
Breer Rabbit in her hurry. On come the fastest of the
dogs and into the cover they plunge. Here they show their
high instinct by circling around singly; and thus, presently,
they force the fox out for the last time. Once more she
makes a bold, strong lead across the open woods.
The old planter and Mr. Thompson are sitting on their
horses at the edge of the swamp just as the game breaks
from cover, and at the top of their voices they call out,
"Here, here! Hark, Fashion! Hark, Juno!" On come the
faithful dogs, and as they stretch away across the
ridge the two leaders get a glimpse of the fox, and with an
angry, sharp scream of a bark they dash on. Reynard's
days, her minutes, are now numbered. The hunters ride
on. They see that her danger signals are flying, for her tail
is down and her tongue is out of her mouth. They press
on. Just then, as they are letting their horses out at full
speed, they see the fox chase in all its wild excitement, in
all its finest form, dogs, fox and horses all running in full
view. Then they hear the two dogs, as they utter a half
growl and a half bark, and in a moment more the chase is
over, for the leading dog overruns the fox, which, in
doubling back, is caught by the next dog and in a trice
thrown to the ground and fastened by the throat. Mr.
Thompson, our guest, in a moment dismounts and with a
quick movement of his pocket knife severs the tail from
the body. Then with a blast or two upon his beautifully
polished hunting horn he calls for the lagging dogs and
hunters, inserts the brush in the band of his cap, and, as
the victor of the hunt, proceeds to tie the dead animal to
his saddle bow. But the hunters are not all up. Waiting
some time, several of the party go back to see what has
befallen the absentee, one of the young gentlemen from
the city. Returning on the line of the last lead from the
swamp, they find him some half a mile or more away. He
is half reclining at the base of a pine tree, pretty badly
hurt. His horse had fallen by putting one of his forefeet in
a stump hole while running, when both horse and rider
had gone down with no little violence, hurting neither of
them seriously and luckily breaking no bones, though
giving the rider a severe shaking up. The horse was soon
caught, with some help the young hunter mounted, and the
whole party started for home. As they jog along, the
hunters all agree in regarding this as a very fine chase.
Certainly the bold, strong leads which the fox had
made from one cover to another, embracing in one a lead
more than a mile, had put both dogs and horses on their
mettle. Undoubtedly it was a most exciting scene in the
second fine dash, when the game broke away with a
strong lead - after her cunning trick in doubling and
running fallen logs in the tangled, thick cover with all
the dogs in
a huddle as they came out and took up the hot
running trail. It was a scene worthy of Rosa Bonheur,
when close after the pack, the hunters let their horses out
to a fine speed, cheering on the dogs with exciting voices.
Yes, the battle field has its excitements wholly
indescribable, with its roar of artillery, its blaze and rattle
of musketry and its bursting and ricocheting shells. Yes,
that is so; yet the fox chase of the olden times had a
wonderful fascination over those who were trained to its
finest forms in the old plantation days - when the high-strung
Southerner stood so related to his sunny life as to
know what was meant by the saying, "Time was made for slaves."
The whole party dined with the old planter that day,
when there was some fine conversation, as Mr.
Thompson exploited his dog, Juno, and the old planter
came back at him by telling how Fashion had led the
whole pack. Ah, those blessed old days! We ne'er shall
see their like again; but their memory is very precious to
some of us, who have outlived most of our friends, and
along whose pathways the dark shadows of the
Appomattox have fallen.
The party breaks up, after making an engagement to
try their hand at a deer hunt when the dogs and horses
shall have rested up. The next day one could have told
from the quick way in which the servants were moving
about that some important event was on hand. What was
it? It was the large party that was to come off that
evening. Handy and Buck were busy in waxing the floors
of the broad halls where the young people were to enjoy
the dancing. The young ladies and young gentlemen were
busy in freshening up the decorations - some replacing
with fresh evergreen anything that might have withered,
others bringing in from the greenhouse beautiful flowers
and potted plants. Our young friend who had been
unhorsed in the fox chase was out again, still lame but
able to assist the young ladies in trimming the candelabra
with ivy leaves and other evergreens, and in doing such
other things as were necessary. At the junction of the
two broad halls a platform had been placed for Eli and the
other musicians, so that with the same music four
quadrilles could go on at once in the four sections of the broad
halls. Time fails for a full description of the elaborate
preparations. It is not necessary. We can trust the dear old
planter's wife and daughters to have everything just right.
Parties were no new things to them. The day wore on. The
afternoon was far spent. Towards nightfall the guests began to
arrive from a distance. From Clinton, Kenansville, Kinston,
Trenton, as well as from New Berne and Wilmington, the guests
came. How graciously were they received! What kind inquiries
were made of the old fathers and mothers at home. What a
marked absence of anything like the chilling, mechanical
stiffness of the more modern, artificial manners of certain other
sections! What an absence of stiffness in bearing and manner,
both upon the part of the guests and those whom they were
gladdening by their visit. How easily everything seems to go
on. How readily Eliza and Kate (dressed up in their "best bib
and tucker," with becoming turbans wound around their heads,
and their snowy white aprons) showed the young ladies
upstairs. How bright were the faces of Buck and Handy as they
escorted the young gentlemen to Marse John's quarters!
Where in the round world are all these charming young people
to sleep to-night? Never you mind about that. Wait and see.
Our early supper was soon over, allowing plenty of time for
elaborate toilets before the full opening of the festivities. Now
the servants are busy in lighting a hundred or more wax or
spermaceti candles (the old planter allows no lamps in his
house), when presently the whole house is radiant with light.
The guests from the neighboring plantations are beginning to
arrive. The parlors are already well filling up with beautiful
young ladies, exquisitely dressed, with no suggestion of
décolleté or any thing like immodesty in their elaborate and rich
toilets. Diamonds and pearls, which had been in the families
from Revolutionary days, throw back glinting rays of light from
the beautiful persons of these lovely young girls. What fair
scene for a painter it was! I cannot describe it, but I well
remember it. How full of kind courtesy and gentle dignity in
their bearing were the young men,
who in after years rode with Hampton and Ashby or who
followed where Pettigrew led at historic Gettysburg!
Presently the sweet notes of the violin are heard. The buzz of
brisk, breezy conversation and the rippling laughter of joyous
young maidens gives place to the dance. It is no wonder. The
young people of the old South, true to their blood and training,
were always ready for this innocent amusement. How
handsomely dressed are these young gentlemen as they file out,
each one with a lovely girl on his arm, for they have heard the
call to the dance? Yes, they have all heard the long-drawn notes
on Eli's violin, and his fine strong voice as he calls, "Pardners fo'
de fus' cotillyin." From the large number of young people
present, to furnish the four sets of eight pairs each was not a
difficult task. In a short time, apparently, all were ready. Just
then someone called out, "Not yet, we are waiting for our host
and hostess to open the dance." After some slight delay out
came the old planter, with his wife leaning on his arm, and took
their places among the young people in the dance. It was a
joyous sight in those happy old times to see the two
generations moving together in time with the music as they
threaded their way through the mazes of the dance. With no
disposition to berate the present generation because they have
it not, but rather to speak of the exact conditions of society in
those days, let us note well the graceful carriage of the young
ladies now on the floor of this old plantation home. How do their
easy, graceful motions, with scarcely an effort marking the time,
seem so exactly to accord with the rich garmentry so nicely
fitted to their beautiful, well-rounded figures. These lovely
Southern girls seem to have mastered the pleasing secret of the
poetry of motion. Observe for one moment that black-eyed, rich
brunette, as with her partner she sweeps along so gracefully the
whole length of the quadrille and with her fine face lit up with
the excitement of the occasion she flings back a laughing banter
to conventionality and says, in her fine motion, "I learned what I
know of the finest forms of grace of person from my horseback
rides, and not on a bicycle; I love the dance, because in it there
is no harm, for my mother spoke truly
when she said we commit forty times more sin with our
tongues than we do with our toes." Yes, it is true, that as these
girl were taught to row a boat and ride a horse they well-nigh
mastered the secrets of feminine grace in their carriage and their
fine bearing in the dance. Just how far technique in music has
destroyed melody, how far the bicycle has robbed the young
ladies of this age of graceful form and motion, I know not, but
you may judge how graceful these young ladies were if you will
only look on at this dance, full of the festivity of Christmastime
in the early fifties of the last century. One cannot leave these
older people, engaged with their whist and conversation over
there, and stand here for ten minutes watching these young
people "chasing the glowing hours with flying feet," without
saying most heartily that Keats was right when, in his
Endymion, he said, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
On goes the dance - quadrille after quadrille - until long
after midnight, with here and there a waltz introduced, and
occasionally a schottische or a mazourka, and here and there
time allowed for the lancers. The announcement of supper
brought in some young people, who were far more seriously
engaged in those slow, deliberate promenades on the long
piazza which told so unmistakably that Cupid was not dead, but
that the mischievous little god was very much alive and very
busy this evening. Supper over, the dancing is resumed, until at
last, amid the wee small hours of the morning, the order rings out
from Eli's well known voice "Git yo' pardners fo' de ole Berginny
reel." What a stir! What commotion! Presently it would seem as
if everybody was in that dance, the reel reaching the whole
length of the hall. Let us count them. There are over thirty
couples in this reel. Ah, the glorious old Virginia reel; what
memories it evokes, what shadows it proclaims! There are many
forms of fine amusement among the young people in the South.
The young men love the fox chase and the young ladies delight
in their horseback rides, as well or perhaps even better than
they do Sir Walter Scott's works or Macaulay's fine essays. The
Virginia reel, however, stirs them as nothing else can. It is the
last of the dance for this time, and such a dance! It has always
been a mooted point whether the reel was made for the
Southerner or the young people of the South made for the reel.
There is that in the rapidity of its action - a fine field for the
natural grace of this warm-hearted, pleasure-loving people - the
inspiration of the music in the old pieces of "Grey Eagle" or
"Fire on the Mountain" combining to account for the popularity
of this dance, which neither wars nor revolutions can destroy.
Of its kind - and it is a glorious kind - there is nothing of all the
European dances nor of those colder, more mechanical, icy
figures of the conventional "four hundred" in chilly Gotham
which can match it. Some of those fine, manly forms we see tonight
were seen later in the serried ranks following Stuart, Hoke,
Gordon and Pettigrew as they followed Stonewall Jackson, who
in turn was led by the matchless Lee, but, fine as they were, here
to-night they appear to even greater advantage than when they
periled their lives and, in so periling them, felt of the edge of
battle. Yes, when the Cavalier and Huguenot blood met, as it did
here to-night, they showed beyond peradventure that
"knighthood was still in flower" in those dear old days of the
South.
The hospitality of the neighboring estates was so marked
and his own capacity to entertain his friends was so great that
by crowding his male guests, and with free use of pallets, the
planter's company was comfortably entertained.
The Christmas festivities were very far from being confined
to the white people, as the servants had their full share of it in
their own way. This was clearly shown by the notes of music,
snatches of songs and the peculiar noise, all their own, of
"double shuffle," "the break down," "chi'kin in de bred tray"
and the graceful "pigeon wing," followed by their genuine
"cake walk." Thus did these two races dwell together - the
weaker (in daily contact with the older, stronger civilization)
steadily emerging from the shadows of paganism. In view of
what is now transpiring among this same race in Illinois and
Georgia, to the mind of the writer it would have been far wiser
not to have made the attempt to hurry Almighty God in His
slower, wiser purposes with this race. They were not fitted for the
ballot when it was thrust upon them. They were being gradually
and healthfully prepared for it, under the slower processes of the
relation which they sustained to the white people under the
Constitution prior to the emancipation proclamation. For it is true,
absolutely true, that colonization societies were actively at work
ail over the fair Southland, gradually and healthfully setting on
their feet those who a few generations ago were amid the jungles
of far off Africa.
IN CLOSING up a volume
like this, one finds so many features of
great value have been omitted from the picture that, after all,
nothing better than a mere sketch has been presented. The
writer puts down his pen, saddened by the thought that only a
mere outline of the true conditions has been given. On the
other hand, if he has portrayed the old South faithfully others
will take up the work, So that the grandchildren of the men who
were with General Lee at Cold Harbor in 1864, or with General
Grant in Appomattox (in other volumes from other pens) will
have a more detailed account of those halcyon days in which
the South developed such strength as she showed in 1861 and
'65.
The reader will perceive that the writer, in justifying his own
people - in vindicating his own mother and father, has entered
into no argument with Mrs. Stowe. He has simply answered her
book, not by dialectics but by statistics - not by getting into a
bad humor but by stern facts. Did time and space allow, gladly
would the writer go on, enlarging upon those social features of
Southern life in the ante-bellum civilization which so strikingly
characterized the old South in Georgia, Kentucky, Maryland
and Texas - in fine, all over this lovely portion of the country.
He would gladly lead you into the boyhood homes of the
Hamptons in South Carolina, the Hills
in Georgia, the Breckenridges and Crittendens in Kentucky,
the Yanceys and Currys in Alabama, where you would at once
recognize the identity, except in shaded details, of those forces
in all her fair borders which made the old South what she was,
the idol of her own people and, from many points of view, the
admiration of the world.
He sincerely hopes that none of his readers will regard this
volume as either partial or provincial, because he lays the scene
of his recitals in one chamber of the old Southern plantation
home (and that the North Carolina room) while he knows, and
you know that from the Susquehanna to the Rio Grande the
same roof-tree, with umbrageous branches, covered the same
people, the product of the same institutional forces, speaking in
varied dialect the same language, listening to the same song
birds, strengthened by the same traditions, gladdened by the
same folk-lore, while in childhood we drank in the same lullabies
from mothers trained to high duty, and were inspired by fathers
incited to the prowess and manliness of their ancestral
standards with such hallowed and hallowing community of
suffering as, please God, has enabled the whole South to suffer
and grow strong.
Having in the pages of this volume, looked upon one
picture; pardon the writer if, with a sad heart, he now asks you
to look upon another portraiture - that of the present
condition of a manumitted and enfranchised race - the same
race, only under very changed conditions. We submit, in all
candor, that neither in uplift of character nor any qualification
for happiness or usefulness has the negro, as a race, been
improved by the change. The writer may be pardoned if he
introduces some current testimony from the Philadelphia
Record, as startling as it is suggestive:
"In an address recently delivered by Professor Wilcox of
Cornell University, before the American Science Social
Association at Saratoga, he showed crime is very largely on the
increase among the negro population of the country. But the
most startling fact shown was that the negroes in the Northern
States are worse by far than the negroes in
the Southern States. While there are twenty-nine black men
imprisoned in the South, out of every ten thousand, in the
North the proportion is sixty-nine out of every ten thousand.
This disparity can hardly be explained as a matter of latitude. In
the North there are larger opportunities of education, but
possibly a lesser opportunity of profitable employment and a
more uncompromising prejudice of race. Talk as we may of the
difficulties the nation has been called upon to contend with in
dealing with the mixed races in the East and West Indies, the
problem is not more complex than our immediate home problem;
and our hundred years of experience has not furnished a
solution."
Twenty-nine black men imprisoned in the South to sixty-nine
black men in the North, out of every ten thousand of negro
population of the two sections, is truly startling. "In the North
there are larger opportunities of education," says the Record,
notwithstanding which there are more than double the number
of criminals compared with the South. This particular feature
merits very careful consideration and investigation. Do the
"larger opportunities of education" tend to development of the
criminal instinct to a greater degree in the negro than in the
white race?
But the further statement, which may be taken rather as the
explanation of this difference, is entitled to the attention of the
colored people themselves. It is a fact that the Southern whites
are the only real friends the negroes have, ever have had, or
ever will have, but which these same misguided people have
stubbornly refused to believe. The Record admits,
notwithstanding the "larger opportunities of education," even
to the extent of mixed schools in most of the Northern States
which may have contributed largely to the demoralization of the
negro - "there is possibly a lesser opportunity of profitable
employment and a more uncompromising prejudice of race."
This is both an honest and, we believe, a truthful statement.
And this condition, mark you, kind reader, exists where there
are only hundreds of negroes to thousands in the South. All of
which suggests the inquiry, Has not the South been entitled
to, and is it not deserving to-day of more of sympathy
than of the censure it has received at the hands of the Northern
people for her efforts to solve the problem of self preservation,
while at the same time she treats the negro humanely? Glad,
indeed, are we to state that from frequent expressions of late,
similar to that quoted above from the Record, all true patriots
are warranted in thinking that the Northern people and press
are awakening to the awful ordeal through which the South has
passed and through which it is still endeavoring to pass, and in
consequence are more disposed to do justice to all concerned.
Let us hope a more enlightened and a juster sentiment is developing in
all sections of the country, amid the closing hours of the
nineteenth century.
Had we time, dear reader, before you and I say "Hail and
Farewell!" gladly would we go back to the old home and enjoy
ourselves once more at the dear old planter's hospitable dinner
table. Well, let us go, anyhow, for we shall not enjoy such royal
company again for a long time, if ever. Handy is ringing the
dinner bell, and with the old planter in walk a few of his close
friends. As they sit down at the table let us look at them
somewhat closely and observe the fine products of the old
plantation social forces. Whose is that benevolent face on the
right hand of the planter? That is the Honorable William Horn
Battle, now of the Circuit Court Bench of the State and later on
of the Supreme Court Bench, at a time when the people
honored themselves in the selection of such gentlemen as the
elder Thomas Puffin and Richard M. Pearson as judges, not for
a term of years, but for life or good behavior. Judge Battle is
spending the interval between Jones and Onslow courts with
my father. In point of high character and the fine forms of great
usefulness, the State has had no son more highly respected or
beloved; nor has she produced one whose children can, with
greater cause, rise up and call his memory blessed. The
gentleman on the opposite side of the table is the Honorable
William Shepperd Ashe, M.C., the closest personal friend my
father ever had. For years he represented his district in
Congress, having fully intrenched himself in the confidence
and high esteem of the State in the Legislature. Later in life and
notably so during the war, he devoted himself with marked
ability and high success to the railroad transportation of the
South, in which he greatly distinguished himself in that he
rendered invaluable services to the people in this most
important department. Of distinguished Colonial and
Revolutionary ancestry, which he honored by a long line of
useful service, his very strongest feature of character was his
supreme loyalty to his friends, who, in his tender judgment,
could do no wrong; even if the correlation of this be true of
him, that his enemy could do no right. In many ways his son,
Captain Samuel A. Ashe, of Raleigh, North Carolina, reminds
his friends very strikingly of his noble father. The other
gentleman, is the Honorable Thomas Ruffin, a member of the
North Carolina Bar, but more strikingly distinguished as a
member of Congress and still later on as a colonel of cavalry in
the army of Northern Virginia; where, at the head of his
regiment, he laid down his life in defense of the principles of
government for which he had battled so nobly on the floors of
Congress. All over the fair South, dear reader, might you have
looked upon just such pictures of high character and marked
ability. But the writer has drawn this one, in order that the
character of the products of the old plantation life might stand
out in bold relief before you.
There are many portions of the old South which I would
gladly visit with you, but the time is close at hand when you
and I must part. I would gladly go with you to Edgecombe and
Orange counties; to those two dear old Colonial towns,
Wilmington and New Berne; to the Piedmont section of the
State, at Morganton and elsewhere, there; to the Valley of the
French Broad in Buncombe and other picturesque counties; in
fine, all over the State; assured that you would readily account
for the population from the country they inhabit, in part, but
mainly from the religious home life they led, with the uplift
given them, each man "dwelling under his own vine and figtree;"
with the fine social forces of the old plantation life, under
which they were taught "to eat no dirt, spit no fire, ride
a horse and speak the truth." In whatever direction you might
look or go, dear reader, whether amid the savannahs of the Gulf
states or the broad rolling prairies of Texas, amid the blue-grass
country of Kentucky or along the now classic streams of
Maryland and Virginia - all over the Southland this picture
would have been reproduced, with only some slight differences
in light and shade.
Like the last of the Mohicans, the old planter and his race
are dead.
"The
breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
Dead and yet to memory
dear. Yes! Yes! They will live as
long as Memory is true to her trust and Virtue stands crowned
by a grateful posterity. This book "The Old Plantation," may be
read by few or many. It matters not. But the heart in the old life -
the social charm in the old life - the loving confidence between
the two races in the old life - the high integrity in politics
and devotion to the Constitution of the old life - the beautiful
form of womanhood with the striking type of manhood in the
old life - all growing out of their religious homes, faithfully
guarded, under the conservative forces of the old life - these -
these shall never fade away. Old planter! hail and farewell! but
not forever, for we shall meet again on the bright plains of the
Great Beyond, where no "civil equalities" exist, but where
justice, holding the scales, is administered by a God of Love.
Hail and farewell! Zoe mou sas agapoe!
"By my life I love you."
THE
END.
IT MAY be true, aye, it
is true, that Southern nationality is a
dream of the past. A gulf, beyond which we could not pass,
yawned between us and the realization of our hopes; and
though bright flowers bloomed upon its brink and wafted us
sweet perfume, we could not cross to gather them. The
Southern Cross no longer gleams out amid the wild light of
battle; the sword of the vanquished is sheathed, and the land is
gloomy with the harmless sepulchers of our martyred dead. But
when years and years shall have passed away - when the last
of the present generation sleeps with their fathers and new
forms throng the old familiar places - when faction shall have
hushed and justice holds the scales, then as bright as day and
as free from blemish and stain will stand forth in bright relief
upon the scroll of historic fame the record of the old plantation
South, dearer to the hearts of her children now in the hour of
sorrow that when on the march to victory she won the
admiration of the world. Pilgrims from other lands shall tread
with reverent step above the spot where molders the dust of
our loved and lost; while those who are to follow us will cherish
as household gods the names of those who, carving their way
through the fiery path of war, have written their names where
they can never die. The old plantation home life is dead, and the
principles for which so many laid down their lives may not be
recognized until their names have grown feeble on the tongue
of friendship and been dropped in dead silence from the ear of
the world. But it is struggling back from
the hollow bosom that once bled for it, and will ascend the
heights of government at the hands of a reunited and
strengthened people, with no sectional triumph upon it. And
when the faithful historian shall descend into the vaults of the
dead past in quest of traditions of liberty, and in honest search
for the facts of history, he will then discover to whom the world
is indebted for the perpetuation of the republic. He will find that
in the old home life of the South, where such men as Macon
and Gaston of North Carolina taught posterity to revere the
Constitution and to love liberty, the very finest forms of loyalty
and patriotism were installed.
FINIS.
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Page 20
Page 21CHAPTER III.
Page 22
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Page 27
Page 28
Page 29CHAPTER IV.
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Page 32
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Page 34
Page 35CHAPTER V.
Page 36
Page 37
Page 38
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Page 40
Page 41
Page 42
Page 43CHAPTER VI.
Page 44
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Page 47
Page 48
Page 49
Page 50
Page 51CHAPTER VII.
Page 52
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Page 58
Page 59
Page 60
Page 61
Page 62CHAPTER VIII.
Page 63
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Page 69
Page 70
Page 71
Page 72
Page 73CHAPTER IX.
Page 74
Page 75
Page 76
Page 77
Page 78
Page 79
Page 80CHAPTER X.
Page 81
Page 82
Page 83
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Page 87
Page 88
Page 89
Page 90CHAPTER XI.
Page 91
I
dress so fine and gay
I'm
' 'bleeged' to take my dog along
To
keep the gals away."
Page 92
Page 93
Page 94
Page 95
Page 96CHAPTER XII.
Page 97
Page 98
Page 99
Page 100
Page 101
Your
sweetheart will come by and by;
When
he comes he'll come in blue,
To
let you know his lub am true."
Send
to the mill by the whip-poor-will."
Page 102
No
sleep till morn, when youth and beauty meet
To
chase the glowing hours with flying feet."
Page 103
Where
no crude surfeit reigns."
Page 104
Bay
deep-mouthed welcome, as we draw nigh home;
'Tis
sweet to know there is an eye that marks our coming,
And
grows brighter when we come.
But
sweeter than this, than these, than all,
Is
first and passionate love;
It
stands alone, like Adam's recollection of his fall."
Page 105
He
alone is blessed who ne'er was born."
And
suffering renders man more worthy God."
Page 106CHAPTER XIII.
Unheeded
passed the hours,
For
noiseless falls the foot of time
When
it only treads on flowers."
Page 107
And
all goes merry as a marriage bell,"
Page 108
Page 109
Page 110
Page 111CHAPTER XIV.
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Page 113
Page 114
Page 115
Page 116
Page 117CHAPTER XV.
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Page 119
Page 120
Page 121
Page 122
Page 123
Page 124CHAPTER XVI.
Page 125
Page 126
Page 127CHAPTER XVII.
Vibrates
like a pendulum betwixt a smile and a tear."
Page 128
Page 129
Page 130
Mine
ears attend a cry;
Ye
living men come view the ground
Where
you must shortly lie."
Page 131CHAPTER XVIII.
Page 132
Page 133
Page 134
Page 135
Page 136CHAPTER XIX.
Page 137
Page 138
Page 139CHAPTER XX.
Page 140
Page 141
Page 142
Page 143
Page 144
Chorus
Oh, shuck dat co'n an' trow't in de ba'n,
Mistis
in de parler eatin' bred an' honey,
Chorus:
Oh, shuck dat co'n an' trow't in de ba'n,
Sheep
shell co'n by de rattle of his ho'n,
Chorus:
Oh, shuck dat co'n an' trow't in de ba'n,
Send
to de mill by de whipperwill.
Chorus:
Oh, shuck dat co'n an' trow't in de barn."
Page 145
Chorus:
Fell
in de fiah an' kick'd up a chunk,
A
red-hot coal got in his shoe,
An'
oh, lawd me, how de ashes flu."
Page 146
Page 147CHAPTER XXI.
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Page 154
Page 155
Page 156CHAPTER XXII.
We
seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or,
like the snowflake on the river,
A
moment white, then gone forever;
Or,
like the fitful borealis race,
That
flits ere you can point the place;
Or
like the rainbow, evanishing amid the storm.
No
man can tether time or tide,
The
time has come and Tam maun ride."
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Page 165CHAPTER XXIII.
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Bright
dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy."
Page 172CHAPTER XXIV.
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Page 183CHAPTER XXV.
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Page 195CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCLUSION.
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The
swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The
cook's shrill clarion or the echoing horn,
No
more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For
them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
No
busy housewife ply her evening care,
No
children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or
climb his knee the envied kiss to share."
Page 201EPILOGUE.
Page 202