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Transcriber's note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

      The author's name on the cover and in the copyright notice
      seems to be a pseudonym. According to the catalog of the
      Library of Congress, the author was Letitia M. Burwell.





PLANTATION REMINISCENCES

by

PAGE THACKER.

1878.




Copyrighted in 1878 by Page Thacker.




DEDICATION.


Dedicated to my nieces, who will find in English and American
publications such epithets applied to their ancestors as: "Cruel
slave-owners;" "inhuman;" "Southern task masters;" "hard-hearted;"
"dealers in human souls," &c. From these they will naturally recoil
with horror. My own life would have been embittered had I believed
myself descended from such; and that those who come after us may know
the truth I wish to leave a record of plantation life as it was. The
truth may thus be preserved among a few, and the praise they deserve
awarded noble men and virtuous women who have passed away.




PREFACE.


For several years I have felt a desire to write these reminiscences,
but did not conclude to do so until receiving, a few months ago,
a letter from Mr. Martin F. Tupper--the English poet--in which he
wrote: "Let me encourage you in the idea of writing 'Plantation
Reminiscences.' It will be a good work; and it is time the world was
learning the truth. I myself have learned it and shall not be slow in
telling it to others."




PLANTATION REMINISCENCES.




CHAPTER I.


That my birth place should have been a Virginia plantation; my lot in
life cast on a Virginia plantation; my ancestors, for nine generations,
owners of Virginia plantations, remain facts mysterious and inexplicable
but to Him who determined the bounds of our habitations, and said: "Be
still, and know that I am God."

Confined exclusively to a Virginia plantation, during my earliest
childhood, I believed the world one vast plantation bounded by <DW64>
quarters. Rows of white cabins with gardens attached; <DW64> men in the
fields; <DW64> women sewing, knitting, spinning, weaving, house-keeping
in the cabins, with <DW64> children dancing, romping, singing, jumping,
playing around the doors, formed the only pictures familiar to my
childhood.

The master's residence--as the <DW64>s called it, the "great
house"--occupied a central position, and was handsome and attractive;
the overseer's being a plainer house, about a mile from this.

Each cabin had as much pine furniture as the occupants desired; pine
and oak being abundant, and carpenters always at work for the comfort
of the plantation.

Bread, meat, milk, vegetables, fruit and fuel were as plentiful as
water in the springs near the cabin doors.

Among the <DW64>s--one hundred--on our plantation, many had been taught
different trades; and there were blacksmiths, carpenters, brick masons,
millers, shoemakers, weavers, spinners, all working for themselves.
No article of their handicraft ever being sold from the place, their
industry resulted in nothing beyond feeding and clothing themselves.

My sister and myself, when very small children, were often carried to
visit these cabins, on which occasions no young princesses could have
received from admiring subjects more adulation. Presents were laid at
our feet--not glittering gems--but eggs, chesnuts, popcorn, walnuts,
melons, apples, sweet potatoes, all their "cupboards" afforded, with a
generosity unbounded. This made us as happy as queens; and filled our
hearts with kindness and gratitude to our dusky admirers.

Around the cabin doors the young <DW64>s would quarrel as to who should
be his or her mistress; some claiming me, and others my sister.

All were merry-hearted, and among them I never saw a discontented face.
Their amusements were dancing to the music of the banjo, quilting
parties, opossum hunting, and, sometimes, weddings and parties.

Many could read, and in almost every cabin was a Bible. In one was
a Prayer-book, kept by one of the men--a preacher--from which he
read the marriage ceremony at the weddings. This man opened a night
school--charging twenty-five cents a week--hoping to inspire some
literary thirst among the rising generation, who, however, preferred
their nightly frolics to the school, so it had few patrons.

Our house servants were numerous, polite and well trained. My mother
selected those most obliging in disposition and quick at learning, who
were brought to the house at ten or twelve years of age, and instructed
in the branches of household employment.

These small servants were always dressed in the cleanest, whitest
long-sleeved aprons, with white or red turbans on their heads. No
establishment being considered complete without a multiplicity of
these; they might be seen constantly darting about on errands from the
house to the kitchen and the cabins; up stairs and down stairs, being
indeed omnipresent and indispensable.

It was the custom for a lady visitor to be accompanied to her room at
night by one of these black, smiling "indispensables," who insisted so
good naturedly on performing all offices, combing her hair, pulling off
her slippers, &c., that one had not the heart to refuse, although it
would have been sometimes more agreeable to have been left alone.

The <DW64>s were generally pleased at the appearance of visitors,
from whom they were accustomed to receive some present on arriving or
departing, the neglect of which was considered a breach of politeness.

The old <DW64>s were quite patriarchal; loved to talk about "old
times," and exacted great respect from the young <DW64>s, and also from
the younger members of the white family. We called the old men "Uncle,"
and the old women "Aunt," cognomens of respect.

The atmosphere of our own home was consideration and kindness. The mere
recital of a tale of suffering would make my sister and myself weep
with sorrow. And I believe the maltreatment of one of our servants--we
had never heard the word "slave"--would have distressed us beyond
endurance. We early learned that happiness consisted in dispensing
it, and found no pleasure greater than saving our old dolls, toys,
beads, bits of cake, or candy for the cabin children, whose delight at
receiving them richly repaid us. If any of the older servants became
displeased with us, we were miserable until we had restored the old
smile by presenting some choice bit of sweet meat, cake or candy.

I remember once, when my grand-mother scolded nurse Kitty, saying:
"Kitty, the butler tells me you disturb the breakfast cream every
morning, dipping out milk to wash your face," I burst in tears, and
thought it hard when there were so many cows poor Kitty could not
wash her face in milk. Kitty had been told that her dark skin would
be improved by a milk bath, which she had not hesitated to dip every
morning from the breakfast buckets.

At such establishments one easily acquired a habit of being waited
upon--there being so many servants with so little to do. It was natural
to ask for a drink of water, when the water was right by you, and have
things brought which you might easily have gotten yourself. But these
domestics were so pleased at such errands one felt no hesitation in
requiring them. A young lady would ask black Nancy or Dolly to fan her,
whereupon Nancy or Dolly would laugh good naturedly, produce a large
palm leaf and fall to fanning her young mistress vigorously, after
which she would be rewarded with a bow of ribbon, candy or sweet cakes.

The <DW64>s made pocket money by selling their own vegetables, poultry,
eggs, &c.--made at the master's expense, of course. I often saw my
mother take out her purse and pay them liberally for fowls, eggs,
melons, sweet potatoes, brooms, shuck mats and split baskets. The men
made small crops of tobacco or potatoes for themselves on any piece of
ground they chose to select.

My mother and grand-mother were almost always talking over the wants
of the <DW64>s,--what medicine should be sent--who they should
visit--who needed new shoes, clothes or blankets,--the principle
object of their lives seeming to be providing these comforts. The
carriage was often ordered for them to ride around to the cabins to
distribute light-bread, tea and other necessaries among the sick. And
besides employing the best doctor, my grand-mother always saw that they
received the best nursing and attention.

In this little plantation world of ours was one being--and only
one--who inspired awe in every heart, being a special terror to small
children. This was the Queen of the Kitchen--Aunt Christian--who
reigned supreme. She wore the whitest cotton cap, with the broadest of
ruffles; was very black and very portly, and her sceptre was a good
sized stick, kept to chastise small dogs and children who invaded her
territory. Her character, however, having been long established she had
not often occasion to use this weapon, as these enemies kept out of her
way.

Her pride was great, for, said she: "Haven't I been, long before this
here little master whar is was born, bakin' the best light-bread and
waffles and biscuit; and in my old master's time managed my own affars!"

She was generally left to manage "her own affars," and being a pattern
of neatness and industry her fame went abroad from Botetourt, even unto
the remotest ends of Mecklenburg county.

That this marvellous cooking was all the work of her own hands I am,
in later years, inclined to doubt, as she kept several assistants, a
boy to chop wood, beat biscuit, scour tables, lift off pots and ovens;
one woman to make the pastry and another to compound cakes and jellies.
But her fame was great; her pride lofty, and I would not now pluck one
laurel from her wreath.

This honest woman was appreciated by my mother, but we had no affinity
for her, in consequence of certain traditions on the plantation about
her severity to children. Having no children of her own, a favorite
orphan house-girl, whenever my mother went from home, was left to her
care. This girl--now an elderly woman, and still our faithful and loved
servant,--says she remembers to this day her joy at my mother's return
home, and her release from Aunt Christian. "I will never forget," to
use her own words, "how I watched the road every day, hoping that
mistress would come back, and when I saw the carriage I would run a
mile, shouting and clapping my hands."

Smiling faces always welcomed us home as the carriage passed through
the plantation, and on reaching the house we were received by the
<DW64>s about the yard with liveliest demonstrations of pleasure.




CHAPTER II.


It was a long time before it dawned upon my mind there were places
and people different from these. The plantations we visited seemed
exactly like ours. The same hospitality everywhere, the same kindliness
existing between the white family and the blacks.

Confined exclusively to plantation scenes, the most trifling incidents
impressed themselves indelibly upon me.

One day while my mother was in the yard attending to the planting of
some shrubbery, we saw approaching an old, feeble <DW64> man, leaning
upon his stick. His clothes were nearly worn out, and he, haggard and
thin.

"Good day, Mistess," said he.

"Who are you?" asked my mother.

"My name is John," he replied, "and I belonged to your husband's uncle.
He died a long time ago. Before he died he set me free and gave me
a good piece of land near Petersburg, and some money and stock. But
all--my money and land--all gone, and I was starving. So I come one
hundred miles to beg you and master please let me live and die on your
plantation. I don't want to be free no longer. Please don't let me be
free."

I wondered what was meant by being "free," and supposed from his
appearance it must be some very dreadful and unfortunate condition of
humanity. My mother heard him very kindly, and directed him to the
kitchen where "Aunt Christian" would give him a plenty to eat.

Although there were already a number of old <DW64>s to be supported,
who no longer considered themselves young enough to work, this old man
was added to the number, and a cabin built for him. To the day of his
death he expressed gratitude to my mother for taking care of him, and
often entertained us with accounts of _his_ "old master's times," which
he said were the "grandest of all."

By way of apology for certain knotty excrescences on his feet, he
used to say: "You see these here knots. Well, they come from my being
a monstrous proud young <DW65>, and squeezin' my feet in de tightest
boots to drive my master's carriage 'bout Petersburg. I nuver was
so happy as when I was drivin' my coach-an'-four, and crackin' de
postillion over de head wid my whip."

These pleasant reminiscences were generally concluded with: "Ah! young
Misses, _you'll_ nuver see sich times. No more postillions! No more
coach-an'-four! And <DW65>s drives _now_ widout they white gloves. Ah!
no, young Misses, _you'll_ nuver see nothin'! _Nuver_, in _your_ time."

With these melancholy predictions would he shake his head, and sigh
that the days of glory had departed.

Each generation of blacks vied with the other in extolling the virtues
of their particular mistress and master and "_their times_;" but
notwithstanding this mournful contrast between the past and present,
their reminiscences had a certain charm. Often by their cabin firesides
would we listen to the tales of the olden days about our forefathers,
of whom they could tell much, having belonged to our family since the
landing of the African fathers on the English slave ships, from which
their ancestors had been bought by ours. Among these traditions none
pleased us so much as that an unkind mistress or master had never been
known among our ancestors, which we have always considered a cause for
greater pride than the armorial bearings left on their tombstones.

We often listened with pleasure to the recollections of an old blind
man--the former faithful attendant of our grand-father--whose mind
was filled with vivid pictures of the past. He repeated verbatim
conversations and speeches heard sixty years before--from Mr. Madison,
Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Clay, and other statesmen, his master's special
friends.

"Yes," he used to say, "I staid with your grandpa ten years in
Congress, and all the time he was Secretary for President Jefferson. He
nuver give me a cross word, and I nuver saw your grandma the least out
of temper neither, but once, and that was at a dinner party 'we' give
in Washington, when the French Minister said something disrespectful
about the United States."

Often did he tell us: "The greatest pleasure I expect in heaven, is
seeing my old master." And sometimes, "I dream about my master and
mistress when I am sleep, and talk with them and see them so plain it
makes me so happy that I laugh out right loud."

This man was true and honest--a good Christian. Important trusts had
been confided to him. He frequently carried the carriage and horses to
Washington and Baltimore--a journey of two weeks--and sometimes sent to
carry a large sum of money to a distant county.

His wife, who had accompanied him in her youth to Washington, also
entertained us with gossip about the people of that day, and could
tell exactly the size and color of Mrs. Madison's slippers, how she
was dressed on certain occasions, "what beautiful manners she had,"
how Mr. Jefferson received master and mistress when "we" drove up to
Monticello, what room they occupied, &c.

Although my grand-father's death occurred thirty years before, the
<DW64>s still remembered it with sorrow; and one of them, speaking of
it, said to me, "Ah, little mistess, 'twas a sorrowful day when de news
come from Washington dat our good, kind master was dead. A mighty wail
went up from dis plantation, for we know'd we had loss our bes friend."

The only <DW64> on the place who did not evince an interest in the white
family was a man ninety years old, who, forty years before, announced
his intention of not working any longer--although still strong and
athletic--because, he said, "the estate had done come down so he hadn't
no heart to work no longer." He remembered, he said, "when thar was
three and four hundred black folks, but sence de British debt had to be
paid over by his old master, and de Macklenbug estate had to be sold,
he hadn't had no heart to do nothin' sence." And "he hadn't seen no
_real_ fine white folks--what _he_ called real fine white folks--sence
he come from Macklenbug." All his interest in life having expired with
an anterior generation; we were in his eyes but a poor set, and he
refused to have anything to do with us. Not being compelled to work,
he passed his life principally in the woods, wore a rabbit-skin cap
and a leather apron. Having lost interest in, and connection with the
white family, he gradually relapsed into a state of barbarism, refusing
towards the end of his life to sleep in his bed, preferring a hard
bench in his cabin, upon which he died.

Another very old man remembered something of his father, who had come
from Africa; and when we asked him to tell us what he remembered of his
father's narrations, would say:

"My father told us that his mother lived in a hole in the ground,
and when the English people come to Africa she sold him for a string
of beads. He said ''twas mighty hard for him, when he fus come to
dis country, to wear clothes.' Sometimes he would git so mad wid us
chillun, my mammy would have to run and hide us to keep him from
killin' us. Den sometimes at night he would say: 'He gwine sing he
country,' den he would dance and jump and howl and skeer us to death."

They spoke always of their forefathers as the "outlandish people."

On some plantations it was a custom to buy the wife when a <DW64>
preferred to marry on another estate. And in this way we became
possessed of a famous termagant, who had married our grand-father's
gardener, quarrelled him to death in one year and survived to quarrel
forty years longer with the other <DW64>s. She had no children--not
even a cat or dog could live with her. She had been offered her
freedom, but refused to accept it. Several times had been given away;
once to her son--a free man--and to others with whom she fancied
she might live, but, like the bad penny, was always returned to
us. She always returned in a cart, seated on top of her chest and
surrounded by her goods and chattels, dressed in a high hat, long black
plume--standing straight up--gay cloth spencer and short petticoat,
the costume of a hundred years ago. Although her return was a sore
affliction to the plantation, my sister and myself found much amusement
in witnessing it. The cold welcome she received seemed not to affect
her spirits, but re-establishing herself in her cabin she quickly
resumed the turbulent course of her career.

Finally one morning the news came that this woman, old Clara, was dead.
Two women went to sweep her cabin and perform the last sad offices.
They waited all day for the body to get cold. While sitting over the
fire in the evening, one of them happening to glance at a small mirror
inserted in the wall near the bed, exclaimed: "Old Clara's laughing!"
They went nearer and there was a horrible grin on the face of the
corpse! Old Clara sprang out of bed exclaiming, "Git me some meat and
bread. I'm most perish'd!"

"Old woman, what you mean by foolin' us so?" asked the nurses.

"I jes want see what you all gwine do wid my _things_ when I _was_
dead!" replied the old woman, whose "things" consisted of all sorts of
old and curious spencers, hats, plumes, necklaces, caps and dresses,
collected during her various wanderings and worn by a long past
generation.

Among these old cabin legends we sometimes collected bits of romance,
and were often told how, by the coquetry of a certain Richmond belle,
we had lost a handsome fortune, which impressed me even then with the
fatal consequences of coquetry.

This belle engaged herself to our great uncle--a handsome and
accomplished gentleman--who, to improve his health, went to Europe; but
before embarking made his will, leaving her his estate and <DW64>s.
He died abroad, and the lady accepted his property, although she was
known to have been engaged to twelve others at the same time! The story
in Richmond ran that these twelve gentlemen--my grand-father among
them--had a wine party, and towards the close of the evening some of
them becoming communicative, began taking each other out to tell a
secret when it was discovered they all had the same secret--each was
engaged to Miss Betsy M----. This lady's name is still seen on fly
leaves of old books in our library--books used during her reign by
students at William and Mary College--showing that the young gentlemen,
even at that venerable Institution, allowed their classic thoughts
sometimes to wander.




CHAPTER III.


As soon as my sister and myself had learned to read and cipher, we were
inspired with a desire to teach the <DW64>s who were about the house
and kitchen; and my father promised to reward my sister with a handsome
guitar if she would teach two boys--designed for mechanics--arithmetic.

Our regular system was every night to place chairs around the dining
table, ring a bell and open school; she presiding at one end and I at
the other of the table, each propped on books to give us the necessary
height and dignity for teachers.

Our school proved successful. The boys learned arithmetic and the
guitar was awarded. All who tried learned to read, and from that day we
have never ceased to teach all who desired to learn.

Thus my early life was passed amid scenes cheerful and agreeable, nor
did any one seem to have any care except my mother. Her cares and
responsibilities were great, with one hundred people continually upon
her mind, who were constantly appealing to her in every strait, real or
imaginary. But it had pleased God to place her here, and nobly did she
perform the duties of her station. She often told us of her distress
on realizing for the first time the responsibilities devolving upon
the mistress of a large plantation, and the nights of sorrow and tears
these thoughts had given her.

On her arrival at the plantation after her marriage, the <DW64>s
received her with lively demonstrations of joy, clapping their hands
and shouting: "Thank God, we got a mistess!" Some of them throwing
themselves on the ground at her feet in their enthusiasm.

The plantation had been without a master or mistress twelve years; my
father--the sole heir--having been off at school and College. During
this time the silver had been left in the house, and the servants had
kept and used it, but _nothing had been stolen_.

The books, too, had been undisturbed in the library, except a few
volumes of the poets which had been carried to adorn some of the cabin
shelves.

It was known by the <DW64>s that their old master's will set them free
and gave them a large body of land in the event of my father's death;
and some of his College friends suggested he might be killed while
passing his vacations on his estate. But this only amused him, for he
knew too well in what affection he was held by his <DW64>s, and how
each vied with the other in showing him attention--spreading a dinner
often for him at their cabins when he returned from hunting or fishing.

I think I have written enough to show the mutual affection existing
between the white and black races--and the abundant provision generally
made for the wants of those whom God had mysteriously placed under our
care.

The existence of extreme want and poverty had never entered my mind,
until one day my mother showing us some pictures, entitled "London
Labor and London Poor," we asked her if she believed there were such
poor people in the world, and she replied: "Yes, children, there are
many in this world who have nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat."

Still we could not realize what she said, for we had never seen a
beggar. But from that time it began to dawn upon us that all the world
was not a plantation, with more than enough on it for people to eat.
And when we were old enough to read and compare our surroundings with
what we learned about other countries, we found that our laboring
population was more bountifully supplied than that of any other land.
We read about "myriads of poor, starving creatures, with pinched faces
and tattered garments," in far off cities and countries. We read of
hundreds who, from destitution and wretchedness, committed suicide. We
read these things, but could not fully sympathise with such want and
suffering; for it is necessary to witness these in order to feel the
fullest sympathy, and we had never seen anything of the kind on our own
or our neighbor's plantations.

Their religious instruction, I found, had not been more neglected
than among the lower classes in England, Ireland, France, Russia and
elsewhere. Every church--there was one of some denomination near every
plantation--had special seats reserved for the <DW64>s. The minister
always addressed a portion of his sermon particularly to them, and held
service for them exclusively on Sabbath afternoon. Besides, they had
their own ministers among themselves, and had night prayer meetings in
their cabins whenever they chose.

Many prayers ascended from earnest hearts for their conversion, and
I knew no home at which some effort was not made for their religious
instruction.

One of our friends--a Presbyterian minister and earnest
Christian--devoted the greater part of his time to preaching and
teaching them. And many pious ministers, throughout the State,
bestowed upon them time and labor.

I once attended a gay party where the young lady of the house--the
center of attraction--hearing that one of the <DW64>s was suddenly very
ill, excused herself from the company, carried her Prayer-book to the
cabin, and passed the night by the bedside of the sick man, reading
and repeating verses to him. I have also had young lady friends who
declined attending a wedding or party when a favorite servant was ill.

On one occasion an English gentleman--Surgeon in the Royal
Artillery--visiting at our house, accompanied us to a wedding and
hearing that two young ladies had not attended on account of the
illness of a <DW64> servant, said to me: "This would not have been in
England, and will scarcely be believed when I tell it on my return."

The same gentleman expressed astonishment at one of our neighbor's
sitting up all night to nurse one of his <DW64>s who was ill. He was
amused at the manner of our servants' identifying themselves with the
master and his possessions, always speaking of "our horses," "our
cows," "our crop," "our mill," "our blacksmith's shop," "our carriage,"
"our black folks," &c. He told us he observed also a difference between
our menials and those of his own country, in that, while here they
were individualized, there they were known by the names of "Boots,"
"'Ostler," "Driver," "Footman," "Cook," "Waiter," "Scullion," &c.

On our plantations the most insignificant stable boy felt himself of
some importance.

When I heard Mr. Dickens read scenes from Nicholas Nickleby, the tone
of voice in which he personated Smike sent a chill through me, for I
had never before heard the human voice express such hopeless despair.
Can there be in England, thought I, human beings afraid of the sound of
their own voices?

There was a class of men in our State who made a business of buying
<DW64>s to sell again farther south. These we never met, and held in
horror. But even they, when we reflect, could not have treated them
with inhumanity; for what man would pay a thousand dollars for a
piece of property, and fail to take the best possible care of it? The
"traders" usually bought their <DW64>s when an estate became involved,
for the owners could not be induced to part with their <DW64>s until
the last extremity--when everything else had been seized by their
creditors. Houses, lands, everything went first, before giving up the
<DW64>s; the owner preferring to impoverish himself in the effort to
keep and provide for these--which was unwise, financially, and would
not have been thought of by a mercenary people.

But it was hard to part with one's "own people," and see them
scattered. Still our debts had to be paid; often security debts after
the death of the owner, when all had to be sold. And who of us but can
remember the tears of anguish caused by this, and scenes of sorrow to
which we can never revert without the keenest grief? Yet, like all
events in this chequered human life, even these sometimes turned out
best for the <DW64>s, when by this means they exchanged unpleasant for
more agreeable homes. Still it appeared to me a great evil, and often
did I pray that God would make us a way of escape from it. But His ways
are past finding out, and why He had been pleased to order it thus we
shall never know.

Instances of harsh or cruel treatment were rare. I never heard of
more than two or three individuals who were "hard" or unkind to their
<DW64>s, and these were ostracised from respectable society, their very
names bringing reproach and blight upon their descendants.

We knew of but one instance of cruelty on our plantation, and that was
when "Uncle Joe," the blacksmith, burnt his nephew's face with a hot
iron. The man carries the scar to this day, and in speaking of it,
always says: "Soon as my master found out how Uncle Joe treated me he
wouldn't let me work no more in his shop."




CHAPTER IV.


The extent of these estates precluding the possibility of near
neighbors, their isolation would have been intolerable but for the
custom of visiting which prevailed among us. Many houses were filled
with visitors the greater part of the year, usually remaining two or
three weeks. Visiting tours were made in our private carriages--each
family making at least one such tour a year. Nor was it necessary to
announce these visits by message or letter, each house being considered
always ready, and "entertaining company" the occupation of the people.
Sometimes two or three carriages might be descried in the evening
coming up to the door through the Lombardy poplar avenue--the usual
approach to many old houses--whereupon ensued a lively flutter among
small servants, who speedily got them into their clean aprons, and
ran to open gates, and remove parcels from carriages, and becoming
generally excited. Lady visitors were always accompanied by 
maids, although sure of finding a superfluity of these at each
establishment. The mistress of the house always received her guests in
the front porch, with a sincere and cordial greeting.

These visiting friends at my own home made an impression upon me that
no time can efface. I almost see them now--those dear, gentle faces--my
mother's early friends; and those delightful old ladies in close
bordered tarletan caps, who used to come to see my grandmother. These
last would sit round the fire knitting and talking over their early
memories; how they remembered the red coats of the British; how they
had seen the Richmond theater burn down, with some of their family
burned in it. How they used to wear such beautiful turbans of _crepe
lise_ to the Cartersville balls, and how they used to dance the minuet.
At mention of this, my grandmother would lay off her spectacles, put
aside her knitting, rise with dignity--she was very tall--and show us
the step of the minuet, gliding slowly and majestically around the
room. Then she would say: "Ah, children, you will never see anything
so graceful as the minuet. Such jumping around as _you_ see would not
have been considered 'genteel' in _my_ day!"

My mother's friends belonged to a later generation, and were types
of women, whom to have known I shall ever consider a blessing and
privilege. They combined intelligence with exquisite refinement and
agreeability; and their annual visits gave my mother the greatest
happiness, which we soon learned to share and appreciate.

As I consider these ladies models for our sex through all time, I
enumerate some of their attractions:

Entire absence of pretense made them always agreeable. Having no
"parlor" or "company" manners to assume, they preserved at all times a
gentle, natural, easy demeanor and conversation. They had not dipped
into the sciences, attempted by some of our sex at the present day; but
the study of Latin and French, with general reading in their mother
tongue rendered them intelligent companions for cultivated men. They
also possessed the rare gift of reading well aloud, and wrote letters
unsurpassed in penmanship, ease and agreeability of style.

Italian and German professors being rare in that day, their musical
acquirements did not extend beyond the simplest piano accompaniments
to old English and Scotch airs, which they sang in a sweet, natural
voice, and which so enchanted the beaux of their time that they--the
beaux--never afterwards became reconciled to any higher order of music.

These model women also managed their household affairs admirably; and
were uniformly kind, but never familiar with their servants. They kept
ever before them the Bible as their constant guide and rule in life,
and were surely, as nearly as possible, holy in thought, word and deed.
I have looked in vain for _exactly such_ women in other lands, but have
failed to find them.

Then there were old gentlemen visitors--beaux of my grandmother's
day--still wearing cues, wide ruffled bosoms, short pants and knee
buckles. These pronounced the _a_ very broad; sat a long time over
their wine at dinner, and carried in their pockets gold or silver
snuff-boxes presented by some distinguished individual at some remote
period.

Our visiting acquaintance extended from Botetourt county to Richmond,
and among them were jolly old Virginia gentlemen and precise
old Virginia gentlemen; eccentric old Virginia gentlemen and
prosy old Virginia gentlemen; courtly old Virginia gentlemen and
plain-mannered old Virginia gentlemen; charming old Virginia gentlemen
and uninteresting old Virginia gentlemen. Many of them had graduated
years and years ago at William and Mary College.

Then we had another set, of a later day--those who graduated in the
first graduating class at the University of Virginia, when that
institution was first established. These happened--all that we knew--to
have belonged to the same class, and often amused us--without intending
it--by reverting to that fact in these words:

"_That_ was a remarkable class! Every man in that class made his mark
in law, letters or politics! Let me see: There was Toombs. There was
Charles Mosby. There was Alexander Stuart. There was Burwell. There
was R. M. T. Hunter;" and so on, calling each by name except himself,
knowing that the others never failed to do that!

Edgar Poe and Alexander Stephens, of Georgia, were also at the
University with these gentlemen.

Although presenting an infinite variety of mind, manner and temperament,
all the gentlemen who visited us, young and old, possessed in
common certain characteristics; one of which was a deference to
ladies, which made us feel that we had been put in the world especially
to be waited upon by them. Their standard for woman was high. They
seemed to regard her as some rare and costly statue set in a niche to
be admired and _never taken_ down.

Another peculiarity they had in common, was a habit--which seemed
irresistible--of tracing people back to the remotest generation, and
appearing inconsolable if ever they failed to find out the pedigree of
any given individual for at least four generations. This, however, was
an innocent pastime, from which they seemed to derive much pleasure and
satisfaction, and which should not be regarded, even in this advanced
age, a serious fault.

Among our various visitors, was a kinsman--of whom I often heard,
but do not recollect--a bachelor of eighty years, always accompanied
by his <DW64> servant as old as himself. Both had the same name,
Louis,--pronounced like the French--and this aged pair had been so
long together they could not exist apart. Black Louis rarely left his
master's side; assisting in the conversation if his master became
perplexed or forgetful. When his master talked in the parlor, black
Louis always planted his chair in the middle of the door-sill, every
now and then correcting or reminding with: "Now, master, dat warnt Col.
Taylor's horse dat won dat race dat day. You and me was thar." Or,
"Now, master you done forgot all 'bout dat. Dat was in de year 1779,
and _dis_ is de way it happened," &c., much to the amusement of the
company assembled. All this was said, I am told, most respectfully,
although the old <DW64> in a manner _possessed_ his master, having
entire charge and command of him.

The <DW64>s often felt great pride in "_their_ white people," as they
called their owners, and loved to brag about what "_their_ white
people" did and what "_their_ white people" had.

On one occasion it became necessary for my sister and myself to ride
a short distance in a public conveyance. A small <DW52> boy, who
helped in our dining-room, had to get in the same stage. Two old
gentlemen--strangers to us--sitting opposite, supposing we had fallen
asleep, when we closed our eyes to keep out the dust, commenced talking
about us. Said one to the other: "Now those children will spoil their
Sunday bonnets." Whereupon our <DW52> boy spoke up quickly: "Umph!
_you_ think _them's_ my mistesses' Sunday bonnets? Umph! you _jes
ought_ to see what they got up thar on top the stage in thar band
box!" At this we both laughed, for the boy had never seen our "Sunday
bonnets," nor did he know that we possessed any.




CHAPTER V.


English books never fail to make honorable mention of a "roast of
beef," "a leg of mutton," "a dish of potatoes," "a dish of tea," &c.,
while with us the abundance of such things gave them, we thought, not
enough importance to be particularized. Still my reminiscences extend
to these.

Every Virginia housewife knew how to compound all the various dishes
in Mrs. Randolph's Cookery book, and our tables were filled with every
species of meat and vegetable to be found on a plantation; with every
kind of cakes, jellies and blanc-mange to be concocted out of eggs,
butter and cream, besides an endless catalogue of preserves, sweet
meats, pickles and condiments. So that in the matter of good living,
both in abundance and the manner of serving, a Virginia plantation
could not be excelled.

The first speciality being good loaf bread, there was always a hot loaf
for breakfast, hot corn bread for dinner and a hot loaf for supper.
Every house was famed for its loaf bread, and, said a gentleman once to
me: "Although at each place it is superb, yet each loaf differs from
another loaf, preserving distinct characteristics which would enable me
to distinguish, instantly, should there be a convention of loaves, the
Oaklands loaf from the Greenfield loaf, and the Avenel loaf from the
Rustic Lodge loaf."

And apropos of this gentleman, whom, it is needless to add, was
a celebrated connoisseur in this matter of loaf bread, it was a
noticeable fact with our cook, that whenever he came to our house the
bread in trying to do its best always did its worst!

Speaking of bread, another gentleman expressed his belief that at the
last great day, it will be found that more housewives will be punished
on account of light bread than anything else; for he knew some who were
never out of temper except when the light bread failed!

Time would fail me to dwell, as I should, upon the incomparable
rice waffles, and beat biscuit, and muffins, and laplands, and
Marguerites, and flannel cakes, and French rolls, and velvet rolls, and
ladies-fingers constantly brought by relays of small servants, during
breakfast, hot and hotter from the kitchen. Then the tea waiters handed
at night, with the beef tongue, the sliced ham, the grated cheese,
the cold turkey, the dried venison, the loaf bread buttered hot, the
batter-cakes, crackers, the quince marmalade, the wafers all pass in
review before me.

The first time I ever heard of a manner of living different from this,
was when it became important for my mother to make a visit to a great
aunt in Baltimore, and she went for the first time out of her native
State--neither herself nor her mother had ever been out of Virginia. My
mother was accompanied by her maid, Kitty, on this expedition, and when
they returned both had many astounding things to relate. My grandmother
threw up her hands in amazement on hearing that some of the first
ladies in the city, who visited old aunt, confined the conversation of
a morning call to the subject of the faults of their hired servants.
"Is it possible?" exclaimed the old lady. "I never considered it well
bred to mention servants or their faults in company."

Indeed, in our part of the world, a mistress became offended if
the faults of her servants were alluded to, just as persons become
displeased when the faults of their children are discussed.

Maid Kitty's account of this visit, I will give as well as I can
remember in her own words, as she described it to her fellow-servants:
"You never see sich a way for people to live! Folks goes to bed in
Baltimore 'thout a single mouthful in thar house to eat. And they can't
get nothin' neither 'thout they gits up soon in the mornin' and goes
to the market after it themselves. Rain, hail or shine, they got to
go. 'Twouldn't suit _our_ white folks to live that way! And I wouldn't
live thar not for nothin' in this world. In that fine three story house
thar ain't but bare two servants, an' they has to do all the work.
'Twouldn't suit _me_, an' I wouldn't live thar not for nothin' in this
whole creation. I would git _that_ lonesome I couldn't stan' it. Bare
two servants! and they calls themselves rich, too! And they cooks in
the cellar. I know mistess couldn't stand that--smellin' everything out
the kitchen all over the house. Umph! _them_ folks don't know nothin'
_tall_ 'bout good livin', with thar cold bread and thar rusks!"

Maid Kitty spoke truly when she said she had never seen two women
do all the housework. For, at home, often three women would clean
up one chamber. One made the bed, while another swept the floor and
a third dusted and put the chairs straight. Labor was divided and
subdivided; and I remember one woman whose sole employment seemed to
be throwing open the blinds in the morning and rubbing the posts of my
grandmother's high bedstead. This rubbing business was carried quite
to excess. Every inch of mahogany was waxed and rubbed to the highest
state of polish, as were also the floors, the brass fenders, irons and
candlesticks.

When I reflect upon the degree of comfort arrived at in our homes, I
think we should have felt grateful to our ancestors; for as Quincy has
written: "In whatever mode of existence man finds himself, be it savage
or civilized, he perceives that he is indebted for the greater part of
his possessions to events over which he had no control; to individuals
whose names, perhaps, never reached his ear; to sacrifices which he
never shared. How few of all these blessings do we owe to our own power
or prudence! How few on which we can not discern the impress of a long
past generation!" So we were indebted for our agreeable surroundings to
the heroism and sacrifices of past generations, and not to venerate and
eulogize them betrays the want of a truly noble soul. For what courage;
what patience; what perseverence; what long suffering; what Christian
forbearance, must it have cost our great grandmothers to civilize,
Christianize and elevate the naked, savage Africans to the condition
of good cooks and respectable maids! They--our great grandmothers--did
not enjoy the blessed privilege even of turning their servants off when
ineffient or disagreeable, but had to keep them through life. The only
thing was to bear and forbear, and

      ----"be to their virtues very kind,
    To their faults," a great deal "blind."

If in Heaven there be one seat higher than another, it must be reserved
for those true Southern matrons, who performed conscientiously their
part assigned them by God--civilizing and instructing this race.

To the children of Israel God said: "I will give thee the heathen for
an inheritance." So He had given _us_ "the heathen for an inheritance,"
and however bitterly some of us deplored it--as we did--we should have
remembered that nothing happens by chance; but that God disposes all
events for some purpose of his own. We were instruments in His hand,
and if we or our forefathers were chosen by Him to elevate a race in
the scale of comfort and intelligence we should not deplore it, but
pray that what we have done for them may be a lasting benefit and that
God's blessing may follow them in another condition of life.

However we may differ in the opinion, there is no greater compliment to
Southern slave owners than the idea prevailing in many places that the
<DW64> is already sufficiently elevated to hold the highest positions in
the gift of our Government.

I once met in traveling an English gentleman, who asked me: "How can
you bear those miserable black <DW64>s about your houses and about your
persons? To me they are horribly repulsive, and I would not endure one
about me."

"Neither would they have been my choice," I replied. "But God sent them
to us. I was born to this inheritance and could not avert it. What
would _you_ English have done," I asked, "if God had sent them to you?"

"Thrown them into the bottom of the sea!" he replied.

Fortunately for the poor <DW64> this sentiment had not prevailed among
us. I believe God endowed our people with qualities peculiarly adapted
to taking charge of this race and that no other nation could have kept
them. Our people did not demand as much work as in other countries is
required of servants; and I think had more affection for them than is
elsewhere felt for menials.

In this connection, I remember an incident during the war which
deserves to be recorded as showing the affection entertained for <DW64>
dependents:

When our soldiers were nearly starved, and only allowed daily a
small handfull of parched corn, the Colonel of a Virginia regiment,
by accident got some coffee, a small portion of which was daily
distributed to each man. In the regiment was a cousin of mine--a young
man endowed with the noblest attributes God can give--who, although
famishing and needing it, denied himself his portion every day that
he might bring it to his black mammy. He made a small bag in which he
deposited and carefully saved it.

When he arrived at home on furlough, his mother wept to see his
tattered clothes, his shoeless feet and starved appearance.

Soon producing the little bag of coffee, with a cheerful smile he said:
"See what I've saved to bring black mammy!"

"Oh! my son," said his mother, "you have needed it yourself. Why did
you not use it?"

"Well," he replied, "it has been so long since you all had any coffee,
and I made out very well on water, when I thought how black mammy
missed her coffee, and how glad she would be to get it."




CHAPTER VI.


The antiquity of the furniture in our homes can scarcely be
described--every article appearing to have been purchased during the
reign of George III., since which period no new fixtures or household
utensils seemed to have been bought.

The books in our libraries had been brought from England almost two
hundred years before. In our own library there were Hogarth's pictures,
in old worm-eaten frames; and among the literary curiosities, one
of the earliest editions of Shakespeare--1685--containing under the
author's picture the lines by Ben Johnson:

    "This Figure which thou here seest put
    It was for gentle Shakespeare cut--
    Wherein the Graver had a strife,
    With Nature to outdo the Life.
    O, could he but have drawn his Wit
    As well in Brass, as he has hit
    His Face; the Paint would then surpass
    All that was ever writ in Brass.
    But since he can not, Reader, look
    Not on his Picture, but his Book."

This was a reprint of the first edition of Shakespeare's works
collected by John Heminge and Henry Condell, two of his friends in the
company of comedians.

The perusal of the Arabian Nights, when a small child, possessed
me with the idea that their dazzling pictures were to be realized
when we emerged from plantation life into the outside world, and the
disappointment at not finding Richmond paved with gems and gold like
those cities in Eastern story, is remembered to the present time.

Brought up amid antiquities, the Virginia girl disturbed herself not
about modern fashions, appearing happy in her mother's old silks
and satins made over; her grandmother's laces and brooch of untold
dimensions, with a weeping willow and tombstone on it--a constant
reminder of the past--which had descended from some remote ancestor.

She slept in a high bedstead--the bed of her ancestors; washed her
face on an old fashioned, spindle-legged washstand; mounted a high
chair to arrange her hair before the old fashioned mirror on the high
bureau; climbed to the top of a high mantle-piece to take down the old
fashioned high candlesticks; climbed a pair of steps to get into the
high-swung, old fashioned carriage; perched her feet upon the top of a
high brass fender if she wanted to get them warm; and, in short, had to
perform so many gymnastics that she felt convinced her ancestors must
have been a race of giants, or they could not have required such tall
and inaccessible furniture.

An occasional visit to Richmond or Petersburg, sometimes animated
her with a desire for some style of dress less antique than her own;
although she had as much admiration and attention as if she had just
received her wardrobe from Paris.

Her social outlook might have been considered limited and
circumscribed--her parents being unwilling that her acquaintance should
extend beyond the descendants of their own old friends.

She had never any occasion to make what the world calls a "debut;"
the constant flow of company at her father's house having rendered
her assistance necessary in entertaining guests, as soon as she could
converse and be companionable. So that her manners were early formed,
and she remembered not the time when it was anything but very easy and
agreeable, to be in the society of ladies and gentlemen.

       *       *       *       *       *

In due time we were provided--my sister and myself--with the best
instructors--a lady all the way from Bordeaux to teach French, and a
German Professor for German and music. The latter opened to us a new
world of music. He was a fine linguist, thorough musician and perfect
gentleman. He lived with us five years, and remained our sincere and
truly valued friend through life.

After some years we were thought to have arrived at "sufficient age of
discretion" for a trip to New York city.

Fancy our feelings on arriving in that world of modern people and
modern things! Fancy two young girls suddenly transported from the time
of George III. to the largest hotel on Broadway in 1855!

All was as strange to us then as we are now to the Chinese. Never had
we seen white servants before; and on being attended by them at first
felt a sort of embarrassment, but soon found they were accustomed to
less consideration and more hard work than were our <DW64> servants at
home.

Everything and everybody seemed in a mad whirl--the "march of material
progress," they told us. It seemed to us more the "perpetual motion
of progress." Everybody said that if "old fogy" Virginia did not make
haste to join this "march," she would be left a "wreck behind."

We found ourselves in the "advanced age;" the land of water-pipes and
dumb-waiters; the land of enterprise and money, and at the same time an
economy amounting to parsimony.

The manners of the people were strange to us, and different from ours.
The ladies seemed to have gone ahead of the men in the "march of
progress"--their manner being more pronounced. They did not hesitate to
"push about" through crowds and public places.

Still, we were young; and dazzled with the gloss and glitter, we
wondered why old Virginia couldn't join this "march of progress," and
have dumb-waiters, and elevators, and water-pipes, and gas fixtures,
and baby jumpers, and washing machines.

We asked a gentleman who was with us, why old Virginia had not all
these, and he replied: "Because, while the people here have been busy
working for themselves, old fogy Virginia has been working for <DW64>s.
All the money Virginia makes is spent in feeding and clothing <DW64>s.
And," he continued, "these people in the North were shrewd enough years
ago to sell all their's to the South."

All was strange to us; even the table-cloths on the tea and breakfast
tables instead of napkins under the plates as we had at home, and which
always looked so pretty on the mahogany.

But the novelty having worn off after awhile, we found out there was
a good deal of "imitation," after all, mixed up in everything. Things
did not seem to have been "fixed up" to last as long as our old things
at home, and we began to wonder if the "advanced age" really made the
people any better, or more agreeable, or more hospitable, or more
generous, or more brave, or more self-reliant, or more charitable, or
more true, or more pious, than in "old fogy Virginia?"

There was one thing most curious to us in New York. No one seemed to
do anything by himself or herself. No one had an individuality; all
existed in "clubs" or "societies." They had also many "isms" of which
we had never heard; some of the people sitting up all night, and going
around all day talking about "manifestations," and "spirits," and
"affinities," which they told us was "spiritualism."

All this impressed us slow, old fashioned Virginians, as a strangely
up-side-down, wrong-side-out condition of things.

Much of the conversation we heard was confined to asking questions of
strangers, and discussing the best means of making money.

We were surprised too to hear of "plantation customs" said to exist
among us which were entirely new to us; and one of the Magazines
published in the city informed us that "dipping" was one of the
"characteristics" of Southern women. What could the word "dipping"
mean? we wondered, for we had never heard it before. Upon inquiry we
found that it meant "rubbing the teeth with snuff on a small stick"--a
truly disgusting habit which could not have prevailed in Virginia,
or we would have had some tradition of it at least--our acquaintance
extending over the State, and our ancestors having settled there two
hundred years ago.

A young gentleman from Virginia--bright and overflowing with fun, also
visiting New York--coming into the parlor one day threw himself on a
sofa in a violent fit of laughter.

"What is the matter?" we asked.

"I am laughing," he replied, "at the absurd questions these people
can ask. What do you think? A man asked me just now if we didn't keep
blood-hounds in Virginia to chase <DW64>s! I told him, O, yes, every
plantation keeps several dozen! And we often have a tender boiled <DW64>
infant for breakfast!"

"Oh, how could you have told such a story?" we said.

"Well," said he, "you know we never saw a blood-hound in Virginia, and
I do not expect there is one in the State; but these people delight
in believing everything horrible about us, and I thought I might as
well gratify them with something marvelous. So the next book published
up here will have, I've no doubt, a chapter headed: 'Blood-hounds in
Virginia and boiled <DW64>s for breakfast!'"

While we were purchasing some trifles to bring home to some of our
servants, a lady, who had entertained us most kindly at her house on
Fifth Avenue, expressing surprise, said: "_We_ never think of bringing
home presents to our 'helps.'"

This was the first time we had ever heard, instead of "servant," the
word "help," which seemed then--and still seems--misapplied. The
dictionaries define "help" to mean aid; assistance; remedy, while
"servant" means one who attends another, and acts at his command. When
a man pays another to "help" him, it implies he is to do part of the
work himself, and is dishonest if he leaves the whole to be performed
by his "help."

The word servant is an honest Bible word, and distinctly defines a
position. Noah did not say: "Cursed be Cain, a 'help' of 'helps' shall
he be to his brethren." Nor did Abraham call his eldest "servant,"
although ruling over all he had, his "help." Neither does the
Commandment say thy "man-help" or thy "maid-help."

The word "servant" seems, after the lapse of centuries, still applied
with the same meaning by St. Paul, who does not say, "Master, give
unto your 'helps' that which is equal;" or, "Let as many 'helps' as are
under the yoke count their own masters worthy of all honor."

The words "master and servant" thus lose their true significance.

Among other discoveries during this visit we found how much more talent
it requires to entertain company in the country than the city. In the
latter the guests and family form no "social circle round the blazing
hearth" at night, but disperse far and wide, to be entertained at the
concert, the opera, the theater or club; while in the country one
depends entirely upon native intellect and conversational talent.

And oh! the memory of our own fireside circles! The exquisite women;
the men of giant intellect, eloquence and wit at sundry times assembled
there! Could our andirons but utter speech what could they not tell
of mirth and song, eloquence and wit, whose flow made many an evening
bright.

Well, as all delights must have an end, the time came for us to leave
these "scenes enchanting." Bidding adieu forever to the land of "modern
appliances" and stale bread, we returned to the land flowing with "old
ham and corn cakes," and were soon surrounded by friends who came to
hear the marvels we had to relate.

How monotonous, how dull, prosy, inconvenient everything seemed after
our plunge into modern life!

We told old Virginia about all the enterprise we had seen; and how she
was left far behind everybody and everything, urging her to join at
once the "march of material progress."

But the mother of States persisted in sitting contentedly over her old
fashioned wood fire with brass andirons, and while thus musing these
words fell slowly and distinctly from her lips:

"They call me 'old fogy,' and tell me I must get out of my old ruts and
come into the 'advanced age.' But I don't care about their 'advanced
age;' their water-pipes and elevators. Give me the right sort of men
and women! God loving; God serving men and women. Men brave, courteous,
true. Women sensible, gentle and retiring.

"Have not my 'plantation homes' furnished warriors, statesmen and
orators, acknowledged great by the world? I make it a rule to 'keep on
hand' men equal to emergencies. Had I not Washington, Patrick Henry,
Light-horse Harry Lee, and others, ready for the first Revolution; and
if there comes another--which God forbid!--have I not plenty more just
like them?"

Here she laughed with delight, as she called over their names: "Robert
Lee, Jackson, Joe Johnstone, Stuart, Early, Floyd, Preston, the
Breckinridges, Scott, and others like them, brave and true as steel.
Ha! ha! I know of what stuff to make men! And if my old 'ruts and
grooves' produce men like these, should they be abandoned? Can any
'advanced age' produce better?

"Then there are my soldiers of the cross. Do I not yearly send out a
faithful band to be a 'shining light,' and spread the gospel North,
South, East, West, even into foreign lands? Is not the only Christian
paper in Athens, Greece, the result of the love and labor of one of
my[1] soldiers?

"And can I not send out men of science, as well as warriors, statesmen
and orators? There is Maury on the seas showing the world what a man
of science can do. If my 'old fogy' system has produced men like these
must it be abandoned?"

Here the old mother of States settled herself back in her chair, a
smile of satisfaction resting on her face, and she ceased to think of
_change_.

Telling our mother of all the wonders and pleasures of New York, she
said:

"You were so delighted, I expect you would like to sell out everything
here and move there!"

"It would be delightful!" we exclaimed.

"But you would miss many pleasures you have in our present home."

"We would have no time to miss anything," said my sister, "in that
whirl of excitement!"

"But," she continued. "I believe one might as well try to move the
Rocky Mountains to Fifth Avenue, as an old Virginian! They have such a
horror of selling out and moving."

"It is not so easy to sell out and move," replied our mother, "when you
remember all the <DW64>s we have to take care of and support."

"Yes, the <DW64>s," we said, "are the weight continually pulling us
down! Will the time _ever_ come for us to be free of them?"

"They were placed here," replied our mother, "by God, for us to
take care of, and it does not seem that we can change it. When we
emancipate them, it does not better their condition. Those left free
and with good farms given them by their masters, soon sink into
poverty and wretchedness, and become a nuisance to the community.
We see how miserable are Mr. Randolph's[2] <DW64>s, who with their
freedom received from their master a large body of the best land in
Prince Edward county. My own grandfather also emancipated a large
number, having first had them taught lucrative trades that they might
support themselves, and giving them money and land. But they were not
prosperous or happy. We have also tried sending them to Liberia. You
know my old friend, Mrs. L----, emancipated all her's and sent them
to Liberia, but she told me the other day she was convinced it had
been no kindness to them, for she continually receives letters begging
assistance, and yearly supplies them with clothes and money."

So it seemed our way was "hedged about" and surrounded by walls of
circumstances too thick and solid to be pulled down, and we said no
more.

But some weeks after this conversation, we had a visit from a
friend--"Mozis Addums"--who having lived in New York and hearing us
express a wish to live there, said:

"What! exchange a home in old Virginia for one on Fifth Avenue? You
don't know what you are talking about! They are not even called 'homes'
there, but '_house_;' where they turn into bed at midnight; eat
stale-bread breakfasts; have brilliant parties--where several thousand
people meet who don't care anything about each other. They have no soul
life; but shut themselves up in themselves, live for themselves, and
never have any social enjoyment like ours."

"But," we said, "could not our friends come to see us there as well as
anywhere else?"

"No indeed!" he answered. "Your hearts would soon be as cold and dead
as your marble door-fronts. You wouldn't want to see anybody, and
nobody would want to see you."

"You are complimentary, certainly!"

"I know all about it; and," he continued, "I know you could not find on
Fifth Avenue such women as your mother and grandmother, who never think
of themselves, but are constantly planning and providing for others,
making their homes comfortable and pleasant, and attending to the wants
and welfare of so many <DW64>s. And that is what the women all over the
South are doing and what the New York women cannot comprehend. How can
anybody know, except ourselves, the personal sacrifices of our women?"

"Well," said my sister, "you need not be so severe and eloquent because
we thought we would like to live in New York! If we should sell all we
possess, we could never afford to live there. Besides, you know our
mother would as soon think of selling her children as her servants--who
indeed are beginning to possess _her_, instead of her possessing them."

"But," he replied, "I can't help talking, for I hear our people abused,
and called indolent and self-indulgent, when I know they have valor and
endurance enough. And I believe so much 'material progress' leaves no
leisure for the highest development of heart and mind. Where the whole
energy of a people is applied to making money, the souls of men become
dwarfed."

"We do not feel," we said, "like abusing Northern people, in whose
thrift and enterprise we found much to admire; and especially the
self-reliance of their women, enabling them to take care of themselves
and travel from Maine to the Gulf without an escort, while we find it
impossible to travel a day's journey without a special protector."

"That is just what I don't like," said he, "to see a woman in a crowd
of strangers needing no 'special protector.'"

"This dependence upon your sex," we replied, "keeps you so vain."

"We would lose our gallantry altogether," said he, "if we found you
could get along without us."




CHAPTER VII.


After some months--ceasing to think and speak of New York--our lives
glided back into the old channel, where the placid stream of life had
many isles of simple pleasures.

We were, in those days, not "whirled with glowing wheel over the
iron track in a crowded car," with dirty, shrieking children and
repulsive-looking people--on their way to the small pox hospital, for
all we knew. We were not jammed against rough, dreadful-looking people,
eating dreadful smelling things, out of dreadful-looking baskets and
satchels, and throwing the remains of dreadful pies and sausages over
the cushioned seats.

Oh, no! our journeys were performed in venerable carriages, and our
lunch was enjoyed by some cool, shady spring where we stopped in some
shady forest at midday.

Our own venerable carriage, my sister styled, "The old ship of Zion,"
saying, "It had carried many thousands, and was likely to carry many
more." And our driver we called the "Ancient Mariner." He presided on
his seat--a high perch--in a very high hat and with great dignity.
Having been driving the same carriage for nearly forty years--no driver
being thought safe who had not been on the carriage box at least twenty
years--considered himself an oracle, and in consequence of his years
and experience kept us in much awe--my sister and myself never daring
to ask him to quicken or <DW44> his pace or change the direction of the
road, however much we desired it. We will ever remember this thraldom,
and how we often wished one of the younger <DW64>s could be allowed to
take his place, but my grandmother said "it would wound his feelings,
and besides be very unsafe" for us.

At every steep hill or bad place in the road it was an established
custom to stop the carriage, unfold the high steps and "let us
out"--like pictures of the animals coming down out of the ark! This
custom had always prevailed in my mother's family, and there was a
tradition that my great grandfather's horses being habituated to stop
for this purpose, refused to pull up certain hills--even when the
carriage was empty--until the driver had dismounted and slammed the
door, after which they moved off without further hesitation.

This custom of walking at intervals made an agreeable variety, and gave
us an opportunity to enjoy fully the beautiful and picturesque scenery
through which we were passing.

These were the days of leisure and pleasure for travelers; and when
we remember the charming summer jaunts annually made in this way, we
almost regret the "steam horse," which takes us now to the same places
in a few hours.

We had two dear friends--Mary and Alice--who with their old carriages
and drivers--the fac similes of our own--frequently accompanied us in
these expeditions; and no generals ever exercised more entire command
over their armies than did these three black coachmen over us. I smile
now to think of their ever being called our "slaves."

Yet, although they had this "domineering" spirit, they felt at the same
time, a certain pride in us, too.

On one occasion, when we were traveling together, our friend Alice
concluded to dismount from her carriage and ride a few miles with a
gentleman of the party in a buggy. She had not gone far before the
alarm was given that the buggy horse was running away, whereupon
our black generalissimos instantly stopped the three carriages and
anxiously watched the result. Old Uncle Edmund--Alice's coachman--stood
up in his seat highly excited, and when his young mistress, with
admirable presence of mind, seized the reins and stopped the horse,
turning him into a by-road, shouted at the top of his voice: "Thar,
now! I always knowed Miss Alice was a young 'oman of the most amiable
courage!" and over this feat continued to chuckle the rest of the day.

The end of these pleasant journeys always brought us to some old
plantation home, where we met a warm welcome not only from the white
family, but the servants who constituted part of the establishment.

One of the most charming to which we made a yearly visit was Oaklands,
a lovely spot embowered in vines and shade trees.

The attractions of this home and family brought so many visitors every
summer, it was necessary to erect cottages about the grounds, although
the house itself was quite large. And as the yard was usually filled
with persons strolling about, or reading, or playing chess under
the trees, it had every appearance--on first approach--of a small
watering place. The mistress of this establishment was a woman of rare
attraction--possessing all the gentleness of her sex with attributes of
greatness enough for a hero. Tall and handsome, she looked a queen as
she stood on the portico receiving her guests, and by the first words
of greeting, from her warm, true heart, charmed even strangers. Nor in
any department of life did she betray qualities other than these.

Without the least "variableness or shadow of turning," her excellencies
were a perfect continuity, and her deeds of charity a blessing to all
in need within her reach. No undertaking seemed too great for her,
and no details--affecting the comfort of her home, family, friends or
servants--too small for her supervision.

The church--a few miles distant, the object of her care and
love--received at her hands constant and valuable aid, and its minister
generally formed one of her family circle.

No wonder then that the home of such a woman should have been a
favorite resort with all who had the privilege of knowing her. And no
wonder that all who enjoyed her charming hospitality were spell-bound,
nor wished to leave the spot.

In addition to the qualities I have attempted to describe, this lady
inherited from her father--General B.--an executive talent which
enabled her to order and arrange perfectly her domestic affairs, so
that from the delicious viands upon her table to the highly polished
oak of the floors, all gave evidence of her superior management, and
the admirable training of her servants.

Nor were the hospitalities of this establishment dispensed to the gay
and great alone; but shared alike by the homeless, the friendless, and
many a weary heart found sympathy and shelter there.

Well! Oaklands was famous for many things: its fine light bread; its
cinnamon cakes; its beat biscuit; its fricasseed chicken; its butter
and cream; its wine sauces; its plum puddings; its fine horses; its
beautiful meadows; its sloping green hills, and last, but not least,
its refined and agreeable society collected from every part of our own
State, and often from others.

For an epicure no better place could have been desired. And this
reminds me of a retired army officer--an epicure of the first water--we
often met there, whose sole occupation was visiting his friends, and
only subjects of conversation the best viands and the best manner of
cooking them! When asked whether he remembered certain agreeable people
at a certain place, he would reply: "Yes, I dined there ten years ago,
and the turkey was very badly cooked--not quite done enough!" The
turkey evidently having made a more lasting impression than the people.

This gentleman lost an eye at the battle of Chapultepec, having been
among the first of our gallant men who scaled the walls. But a young
girl of his acquaintance always said she knew it was not bravery so
much as "curiosity" which led him to "go peeping over the walls, first
man!" This was a heartless speech, but everybody repeated it and
laughed, for the Colonel _was_ a man of considerable "curiosity!"

Like all old homes, Oaklands had its bright as well as its sorrowful
days--its weddings and its funerals. Many yet remember the gay wedding
of one there whose charms brought suitors by the score, and won hearts
by the dozen. The brilliant career of this young lady, her conquests
and wonderful fascinations, behold, are they not all written upon the
hearts and memories of divers rejected suitors who still survive?

And apropos of weddings. An old fashioned Virginia wedding was an
event to be remembered. The preparations usually commenced several
weeks before, with saving eggs, butter, chickens, &c., after which
ensued the liveliest egg-beating; butter-creaming; raisin-stoning;
sugar-pounding; cake-icing; salad-chopping; cocoanut-grating; lemon
squeezing; egg-frothing; wafer-making; pastry-baking; jelly-straining;
paper-cutting; silver-cleaning; floor-rubbing; dress making;
hair-curling; lace-washing; ruffle-crimping; tarletan-smoothing;
guests-arriving; servants-running; trunk-moving; girls laughing!

Imagine all this going on simultaneously several successive days and
nights, and you have an idea of "preparations" for an old fashioned
Virginia wedding.

The guests generally arrived in private carriages a day or two before,
and stayed often a week after the affair, being accompanied by quite an
army of <DW64> servants, who enjoyed the festivities as much as their
masters and mistresses.

A great many years ago, after such a wedding as I describe, a dark
shadow fell upon Oaklands.

The eldest daughter--young and beautiful, soon to marry a gentleman of
high-toned character, charming manners and large estate--one night,
while the preparations were in progress for her nuptials, saw in a
vision vivid pictures of what would befall her if she married. The
vision showed her: a gay wedding--herself the bride--the marriage
jaunt to her husband's home in a distant county; the incidents of the
journey; her arrival at her new home; her sickness and death; the
funeral procession back to Oaklands; the open grave; the bearers of her
bier--those who a few weeks before had danced at her wedding;--herself
a corpse in her bridal dress; her newly turfed grave with a bird
singing in the tree above.

This vision produced such an impression she awakened her sister, and
told it.

Three successive nights the vision appeared, which so affected her
spirits she determined not to marry. But after some months, persuaded
by her family to think no more of the dream which continually haunted
her, the marriage took place.

All was a realization of the vision; the wedding; the journey to her
new home; every incident, however small, had been presented before her
in the dream.

As the bridal party approached the house of an old lady near
Abingdon--who had made preparations for their entertainment,--servants
were hurrying to and fro in great excitement, and one was galloping off
for a doctor, as the old lady had been suddenly seized with a violent
illness. Even this was another picture in the ill-omened vision of the
bride, who found every day something occurring to remind her of it,
until in six months her own death made the last sad scene of her dream.
And the funeral procession back to Oaklands; the persons officiating;
the grave, all proved a realization of her vision.

After this her husband--a man of true Christian character--sought in
foreign lands to disperse the gloom overshadowing his life. But whether
on the summit of Mount Blanc or the lava-crusted Vesuvius; among the
classic hills of Rome or the palaces of France; in the art galleries of
Italy or the regions of the Holy Land, he carried ever in his heart,
the image of his fair bride and the quiet grave at Oaklands.

This gentleman still survives, and not long ago we heard him relate, in
charming voice and style, the incidents of these travels.




CHAPTER VIII.


Another charming residence, not far from Oaklands, which attracted
visitors from various quarters, was Buena Vista, where we passed many
happy hours of childhood.

This residence--large and handsome--was situated on an eminence,
overlooking pastures and sunny <DW72>s, with forests, and mountain views
in the distance.

The interior of the house accorded with the outside, every article
being elegant and substantial.

The owner--a gentleman of polished manners, kind and generous
disposition, a sincere Christian and zealous churchman--was honored and
beloved by all who knew him.

His daughters--a band of lovely young girls--presided over his house,
dispensing its hospitality with grace and dignity. Their mother's death
occurring when they were very young had given them household cares,
which would have been considerable, but for the assistance of Uncle
Billy, the butler--an all-important character presiding with imposing
dignity over domestic affairs.

His jet black face was relieved by a head of grey hair with a small
round bald centre piece; and the expression of his face was calm and
serene, as he presided over the pantry, the table and the tea-waiters.

His mission on earth seemed to be keeping the brightest silver urns,
sugar-dishes, cream-jugs and spoons; flavoring the best ice creams;
buttering the hottest rolls, muffins and waffles; chopping the best
salads; folding the whitest napkins; handing the best tea and cakes in
the parlor in the evenings, and cooling the best wine for the decanters
at dinner. Indeed he was so essentially a part of the establishment,
that in recalling those old days at Buena Vista, the form of "Uncle
Billy" comes silently back from the past and takes its old place about
the parlors, the halls and the dining-room, making the picture complete.

And thus upon the canvas of every old home picture come to their
accustomed places, the forms of dusky friends, who once shared our
homes, our firesides, our affections--and who will share them, as in
the past, never more.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of all the Plantation Homes we loved and visited, the brightest,
sweetest memories cluster around Grove Hill; a grand old place in the
midst of scenery lovely and picturesque, to reach which, we made a
journey across the Blue Ridge--those giant mountains from whose winding
road and lofty heights we had glimpses of exquisite scenery in the
valleys below.

Thus winding slowly around these mountain heights and peeping down from
our old carriage windows we beheld nature in its wildest luxuriance.
The deep solitude; the glowing sunlight over rock, forest and glen; the
green valleys deep down beneath, diversified by alternate light and
shadow--all together photographed on our hearts pictures never to fade.

Not all the towers, minarets, obelisks, palaces, gem-studded domes of
"art and man's device" can reach the soul like one of these sun-tinted
pictures in their convex frames of rock and vines!

Arrived at Grove Hill, how enthusiastic the welcome from each member
of the family assembled in the front porch to meet us! How joyous
the laugh! How deliciously cool the wide halls, the spacious parlor,
the dark polished walnut floors! How bright the flowers! How gay the
spirits of all assembled there!

One was sure of meeting here agreeable society from Virginia,
Baltimore, Florida, South Carolina and Kentucky, with whom the house
was filled from May 'till November.

How delightfully passed the days, the weeks! What merry excursions;
fishing parties; riding parties, to the Indian Spring, the Cave, the
Natural Bridge! What pleasant music, and tableaux, and dancing in the
evenings!

For the tableaux, we had only to open an old chest in the garret and
help ourselves to rich embroidered, white and scarlet dresses, with
other costumery worn by the grandmother of the family nearly a hundred
years before, when her husband was in public life and she one of the
queens of society.

What sprightly "conversazioni" in our rooms at night--young girls
_will_ become confidential and eloquent with each other at night,
however reserved and quiet during the day!

Late in the night these "conversazioni" continued, with puns
and laughter, until checked by a certain young gentleman--now a
minister--who was wont to bring out his flute in the flower garden
under our windows, and give himself up for an hour or more to the most
sentimental and touching strains, thus breaking in upon sprightly
remarks and repartees, some of which are remembered to this day,
especially one which ran thus:

"Girls!" said one. "Would it not be charming if we could all take a
trip together to Niagara?"

"Well, why could we not?" was the response.

"Oh!" replied another, "the idea of us poor Virginia girls taking a
trip!"

"Indeed," said one of the Grove Hill girls, "it would be impossible.
For here are we on this immense estate, 4,000 acres, two large,
handsome residences--and three hundred <DW64>s--_considered_ wealthy,
and yet to save our lives could not raise money enough for a trip to
New York!"

"Nor get a silk velvet cloak!" said her sister, laughing.

"Yes," replied the other. "Girls! I have been longing and longing for a
silk velvet cloak, but never could get the money to buy one. But last
Sunday, at the village church, what should I see but one of the Joneses
sweeping in with a long velvet cloak almost touching the floor! And
you could set her father's house in our back hall! But then she is so
fortunate as to own no <DW64>s."

"What a happy girl she must be!" cried a chorus of voices. "No <DW64>s
to support! _We_ could go to New York and Niagara, and have velvet
cloaks too, if we only had no <DW64>s to support! But all _our_ money
goes to provide for them as soon as the crops are sold!"

"Yes," said one of the Grove Hill girls; "here is our large house
without an article of modern furniture. The parlor curtains are one
hundred years old. The old fashioned mirrors and recess tables one
hundred years old, and we long in vain for money to buy something new."

"Well!" said one of the sprightliest girls, "we can get up some of our
old diamond rings or breastpins which some of us have inherited, and
travel on appearances! We have no modern clothes, but the old rings
will make us '_look_ rich!' And a party of _poor, rich Virginians_
will attract the commiseration and consideration of the world when
it is known that for generations we have not been able to leave our
plantations!"

After these conversations we would fall asleep and sleep profoundly,
until aroused next morning by an army of servants polishing the hall
floors, waxing and rubbing them with a long-handle brush, weighted by
an oven lid. This made the floor like a "sea of glass," and dangerous
to walk upon immediately after the polishing process, being especially
disastrous to small children, who were continually slipping and falling
before breakfast.

The lady presiding over this establishment possessed a cultivated
mind, bright conversational powers and gentle temper, with a force of
character which enabled her to direct judiciously the affairs of her
household, as well as the training and education of her children.

She employed always an accomplished gentleman teacher, who added to the
agreeability of her home circle.

She helped the boys with their Latin and the girls with their
compositions. In her quiet way she governed, controlled, suggested
everything; so that her presence was required everywhere at once.

While in the parlor entertaining her guests with bright, agreeable
conversation, she was sure to be wanted by the cooks--there were
six!--to "taste or flavor" something in the kitchen; or by the gardener
to direct the planting of certain seeds or roots, and so with every
department. Even the minister--there was always one living in her
house--would call her out to consult over his text and sermon for the
next Sunday, saying he could rely upon her judgment and discrimination.

Never thinking of herself, her heart overflowing with sympathy and
interest for others, she entered into the pleasures of the young as
well as the sorrows of the old.

If the boys came in from a fox or deer chase, their pleasure was
incomplete until it had been described to her and enjoyed with her
again.

The flower vases were never entirely beautiful until her hand had
helped to arrange the flowers.

The girls' laces were never perfect until she had gathered and crimped
them.

Her sons were never so happy as when holding her hand and caressing
her. And the summer twilight found her always in the vine-covered
porch seated by her husband--a dear, kind old gentleman--her hand
resting in his, while he quietly and happily smoked his pipe, after
the day's riding over his plantation, interviewing overseers, millers,
blacksmiths and settling up accounts.

One more reminiscence and the Grove Hill picture will be done. No
Virginia home being complete without some prominent <DW64> character,
the picture lacking this would be untrue to nature, and without the
"finishing touch." And not to have "stepped in" to pay our respects
to old "Aunt Betsy" during a visit to Grove Hill, would have been
considered--as it should be to omit it here--a great breach of
civility; for the old woman always received us at her door with a
cordial welcome and a hearty shake of the hand.

"Lor' bless de childen!" she would say. "How they does grow! Done
grown up young ladies! Set down, honey. I mighty glad to see you. And
why didn't your ma (Miss Fanny) come? I would love to see Miss Fanny.
She always was so good and so pretty. Seems to me it ain't been no
time sence she and Miss Emma"--her own mistress--"used to play dolls
together, an' I used to bake sweet cakes for 'em, and cut 'em out wid
de pepper-box top, for thar doll parties; an' they loved each other
like sisters."

"Well, Aunt Betsy," we would ask, "how is your rheumatism now?"

"Lor', honey, I nuver specs to git over that. But some days I can
hobble out and feed de chickens; and I can set at my window and make de
black childen feed 'em, an' I love to think I'm some account to Miss
Emma. And Miss Emma's childen can't do without old 'Mammy Betsy,' for
I takes care of all thar pet chickens. Me and my old man (Phil) gittin
mighty ole now; but Miss Emma and all her childen so good to us we has
pleasure in livin' yet."

At last the shadows began to fall dark and chill upon this once bright
and happy home.

Old Aunt Betsy lived to see the four boys--her mistress' brave and
noble sons--buckle their armor on and go forth to battle for the home
they loved so well; the youngest, still so young that he loved his pet
chickens, which were left to "Mammy Betsy's" special care; and when the
sad news, at length, came that this favorite young master was killed,
amid all the agony of grief, no heart felt more sincerely, than her's,
the great sorrow.

Another, and still another of these noble youths fell, after deeds
of valor unparalleled in the world's history--their graves the
battlefield, a place of burial fit for men so brave. Only one--the
youngest--was brought home to find a resting place beside the graves of
his ancestors.

The old man--their father, his mind shattered by grief--continued day
after day, for several years, to sit in the vine-covered porch, gazing
wistfully out, imagining sometimes he saw in the distance the manly
forms of his noble sons, returning home, mounted on their favorite
horses, in the gray uniforms and bright armor worn the day they went
off.

Then, he too followed, where the "din of war, the clash of arms" is
heard no more.

To recall these scenes so blinds my eyes with tears that I can not
write of them. Some griefs leave the heart dumb. They have no
language; and are given no language, because no other heart could
understand, nor could they if shared, be alleviated.




CHAPTER IX.


It will have been observed from these reminiscences that the mistress
of a Virginia plantation was more conspicuous--although not more
important--than the master. In the house she was the mainspring, and to
her came all the hundred, or three hundred <DW64>s with their various
wants, and constant applications for medicine and every conceivable
requirement.

Attending to these, with directing her household affairs and
entertaining company, occupied busily every moment of her life. While
all these devolved upon her, it sometimes seemed to me that the master
had nothing to do, but ride around his estate--on the most delightful
horse--receive reports from overseers, see that his pack of hounds were
fed and order "repairs about the mill"--the mill seemed always needing
repairs!

This view of the subject, however, being entirely from a feminine
standpoint, may have been wholly erroneous; for doubtless his mind
was burdened with financial matters too weighty to be grasped and
comprehended by our sex.

Nevertheless, the mistress held complete sway in her own domain; and
that this fact was recognized will be shown by the following incident:

A gentleman--an intelligent and successful lawyer--one day discovering
a <DW64> boy in some mischief about his house, and determining forthwith
to chastise him, took him in the yard for that purpose. Breaking a
small switch, and in the act of "coming down with it" upon the boy, he
asked: "Do you know, sir, who is master on my place?"

"Yes, sir!" quickly replied the boy. "Miss Charlotte, sir!"

Throwing aside the switch, the gentleman ran in the house, laughed a
half hour, and thus ended his only experiment at interfering in his
wife's domain.

His wife, "Miss Charlotte," as the <DW64>s called her, was gentle and
indulgent to a fault, which made the incident more amusing.

It may appear singular, yet it is true, that our women, although having
sufficient self-possession at home, and accustomed there to command on
a large scale, became painfully timid if ever they found themselves
in a promiscuous or public assemblage--shrinking from everything like
publicity.

Still, these women, to whom a whole plantation looked up for guidance
and instruction, could not fail to feel a certain consciousness of
superiority, which, although never displayed or asserted in manner,
became a part of themselves. They were distinguishable everywhere--for
what reason, exactly, I have never been able to find out--for their
manners were too quiet to attract attention. Yet a Captain on a
Mississippi steamboat said to me: "I always know a Virginia lady as
soon as she steps on my boat."

"How do you know?" I asked, supposing he would say: "By their plain
style of dress and antiquated breastpins."

Said he: "I've been running a boat from Cincinnati to New Orleans for
twenty-five years, and often have three hundred passengers from various
parts of the world. But if there is a Virginia lady among them, I find
it out in half an hour. They take things quietly, and don't complain.
Do you see that English lady over there? Well, she has been complaining
all the way up the Mississippi river. Nobody can please her. The
cabin-maid and steward are worn out with trying to please her. She says
it is because the mosquitoes bit her so badly coming through Louisiana.
But we are almost at Cincinnati now; haven't seen a mosquito for a
week, and she is still complaining!"

"Then," he continued, "the Virginia ladies look as if they could not
push about for themselves, and for this reason I always feel like
giving them more attention than the other passengers."

"We are inexperienced travelers," I replied.

And these remarks of the Captain convinced me--I had thought it
before--that Virginia women should never undertake to travel, but
content themselves with staying at home. However, such restriction
would have been unfair, unless they had felt like the Parisian who,
when asked why the Parisians never traveled, replied: "Because all the
world comes to Paris!"

Indeed, a Virginian had an opportunity of seeing much choice society
at home; for our watering places attracted the best people from other
States, who often visited us at our houses.

On the Mississippi boat to which I have alluded, it was remarked
that the <DW64> servants paid the Southerners more constant and
deferential attention than the passengers from the non-slaveholding
States--although some of the latter were very agreeable and intelligent,
and conversed with the <DW64>s on terms of easy familiarity--showing,
what I had often observed, that the <DW64> respects and admires those
who make a "social distinction" more than those who make none.




CHAPTER X.


We were surprised to find in an "Ode to the South," by Mr. M. F.
Tupper, published recently, the following stanza:

    "Yes it is slander to say you oppress'd them
    Does a man squander the prize of his pelf.
    Was it not often that he who possessed them
    Rather was owned by his servants himself?"

This was true, but that it was known in the outside world we thought
impossible, when all the newspaper and book accounts represented us
as "miserable sinners" for whom there was no hope here or hereafter,
and called upon all nations, Christian and civilized, to "revile,
persecute and exterminate us." Such representations, however, differed
so widely from the facts around us, that when we heard them they failed
to produce a very serious impression, occasioning often only a smile,
with the exclamation: "How little those people know about us!"

We had not the vanity to think that the European nations cared or
thought about us, and if the Americans believed these accounts, they
defamed the memory of one held up by them as a model of Christian
virtue,--George Washington--a Virginia slave-owner, whose kindness to
his "people," as he called his slaves, entitled him to as much honor as
did his deeds of prowess.

But to return to the two last lines of the stanza:

    "Was it not often that he who possessed them
    Rather was owned by his servants himself?"

I am reminded of some who were actually held in such bondage;
especially an old gentleman who, together with his whole plantation,
was literally "possessed by his slaves."

This gentleman was a widower, and no lady presided over his house.

His figure was of medium height, and very corpulent. His features were
regular and handsome. His eyes were soft brown, almost black. His hair
was slightly gray. The expression of his countenance was so full of
goodness and sympathy, that a stranger meeting him in the road might
have been convinced at a glance of his kindness and generosity.

He was never very particular about his dress, yet never appeared shabby.

Although a graduate in law at the University, an ample fortune made
it unnecessary for him to practice this profession. Still his taste
for literature made him a constant reader, and his conversation was
instructive and agreeable.

His house was old and rambling, and--I was going to say his servants
kept the keys, when I remembered there were _no keys_ about the
establishment. Even the front door had no lock upon it. Everybody
retired at night in perfect confidence, however, that everything was
secure enough, and it seemed not important to lock the doors.

The <DW64> servants who managed the house were very efficient; excelling
especially in the culinary department, and serving up dinners which
were simply "marvels."

The superabundance on the place enabled them not only to furnish their
master's table with the choicest meats, vegetables, cakes, pastries,
&c., but also to supply themselves bountifully, and to spread in their
own cabins sumptuous feasts, wedding and party suppers rich enough for
a queen.

To this their master did not object, for he told them "if they would
supply his table always with an abundance of the best bread, meats,
cream and butter, he cared not what became of the rest."

Upon this principle the plantation was conducted. The well-filled
barns; the stores of bacon, lard, flour, &c., literally belonged to the
<DW64>s, they allowing their master a certain share!

Doubtless they entertained the sentiment of a <DW64> boy, who on being
reproved by his master for having stolen and eaten a turkey, replied:
"Well, massa, you see you got less turkey, but you got dat much more
<DW65>!"

While we were once visiting at this plantation, the master of the house
described to us a dairy just completed on a new plan, which for some
weeks had been such a hobby with him, he had actually purchased a lock
for it, saying he would keep the key himself--which he never did--and
have the fresh mutton always put there.

"Come," said he, as he finished describing it, "let us go down and look
at it."

"Bring me the key," he said to a small African, who soon brought it,
and we proceeded to the dairy.

Turning the key in the door, the old gentleman said: "Now see what an
elegant piece of mutton I have here!"

But on entering and looking around no mutton was to be seen, and
instead thereof buckets of custard, cream and blanc-mange. The old
gentleman greatly disconcerted, called to one of the servants,
"Florinda! Where is my mutton I had put here this morning?"

Florinda replied: "Nancy took it out, sir, and put it in de ole spring
house. She say dat was cool enough place for mutton. And she gwine have
a big party to-night, and want her jelly and custards to keep cool!"

At this the old gentleman was rapidly becoming provoked, when we
laughed so much at Nancy's "cool" proceeding, that his usual good
nature was restored.

On another occasion we were one evening sitting with this gentleman in
his front porch, when a poor woman from the neighboring village came in
the yard, and stopping before the door, said to him:

"Mr. R. I came to tell you that my cow you gave me has died."

"What did you say, my good woman?" asked Mr. R., who was quite deaf.

The woman repeated in a louder voice, "The cow you gave me has died.
And she died because I didn't have anything to feed her with."

Turning to us, his countenance full of compassion, he said: "I ought to
have thought about that, and should have sent the food for her cow."
Then speaking to the woman: "Well, my good woman, I will give you
another cow to-morrow, and send you plenty of provision for her." And
the following day he fulfilled his promise.

Another incident occurs to me, showing the generous heart of this truly
good man. One day on the Virginia and Tennessee train observing a
gentleman and lady in much trouble, he ventured to enquire of them the
cause, and was informed they--the gentleman and his wife--had lost all
their money and their railroad tickets at the last station.

He asked the gentleman where he was from, and on "what side he was
during the war."

"I am from Georgia," replied the gentleman, "and was, of course, with
the South."

"Well," said Mr. R., pulling from his capacious pocket a capacious
purse, which he handed the gentleman, "help yourself, sir, and take as
much as will be necessary to carry you home."

The astonished stranger thanked him sincerely, and handed his card,
saying: "I will return the money as soon as I reach home."

Returned to his own home, and relating the incidents of his trip, Mr.
R. mentioned this, when one of his nephews laughed and said: "Well,
Uncle R., we Virginia people are so easily imposed upon! You don't
think that man will ever return your money _do_ you?"

"My dear," replied his Uncle, looking at him reproachfully and sinking
his voice, "I was fully repaid by the change which came over the man's
countenance."

It is due to the Georgian to add that on reaching home, he returned the
money with a letter of thanks.

       *       *       *       *       *

In sight of the hospitable home of Mr. R. was another equally
attractive owned by his brother-in-law, Mr. B. These had the same
name--Greenfield--the property having descended to two sisters,
the wives of these gentlemen. They might have been called twin
establishments, as one was almost a fac simile of the other. At both
was found the same hospitality; the same polished floors; the same
style of loaf-bread and velvet rolls. The only difference between the
two being that Mr. B. kept his doors locked at night; observed more
system, and kept his buggies and carriages in better repair.

These gentlemen were also perfectly congenial. Both had graduated
in law; read the same books; were members of the same church; knew
the same people; liked and disliked the same people; held the same
political opinions; enjoyed the same old Scotch songs; repeated the
same old English poetry; smoked the same kind of tobacco, in the same
kind of pipes; abhorred alike intoxicating drinks, and deplored the
increase of bar-rooms and drunkenness in our land.

For forty years they passed together a part of every day or evening,
smoking and talking over the same events and people. It was a picture
to see them at night over a blazing wood fire, their faces bright with
good nature; and a treat to hear all their reminiscences of people
and events long passed. With what circumstantiality could they recall
old law cases; describe old duels, old political animosities and
excitements! What merry laughs they sometimes had!

Everything on one of these plantations seemed to belong equally to the
other. If the ice gave out at one place, the servants went to the other
for it as a "matter of course;" or if the buggies or carriages were out
of order at Mr. R.'s--which was often the case--the driver would go
over for Mr. B.'s without even mentioning the circumstance, and so with
everything. The families lived thus harmoniously with never the least
interruption for forty years.

Now and then the old gentlemen enjoyed a practical joke on each other,
and on one occasion Mr R. succeeded so effectually in quizzing Mr B.
that whenever he thought of it afterwards he fell into a dangerous fit
of laughter.

It happened that a man who had married a distant connection of the
Greenfield family concluded to take his wife, children and servants to
pass the summer there, dividing the time between the two houses. The
manners, character and political proclivities of this visitor became
so disagreeable to the old gentleman, they determined he should not
repeat his visit, although they liked his wife. One day Mr. B. received
a letter signed by this objectionable individual--it had really been
written by Mr. R.--informing Mr. B. that, "as one of the children
was sick, and the physician advised country air he would be there the
following Thursday with his whole family to stay some months."

"The impudent fellow!" exclaimed Mr. B. as soon as he read the letter.
"He knows how R. and myself detest him! Still I am sorry for his wife.
But I will not be dragooned and outgeneraled by that contemptible
fellow. No! I will leave home to-day!"

Going to the back door he called in a loud voice for his coachman, and
ordered his carriage. "I am going" said he, "to Grove Hill for a week
and from there to Lexington with my whole family, and don't know when I
shall be at home again."

"It is very inconvenient," said he to his wife, "but I must leave home."

Hurrying up the carriage, and the family they were soon off on their
unexpected trip.

They stayed at Grove Hill, seven miles off, a week, during which time
Mr. B. every morning mounted his horse and rode timidly around the
outskirts of his own plantation, peeping over the hills at his house,
but afraid to venture nearer, feeling assured it was occupied by the
objectionable party. He would not even make enquiries of his <DW64>s
whom he met, as to the state and condition of things in his house.

Concluding to pursue his journey to Lexington and half way there, he
met a young nephew of Mr. R.'s, who happened to know all about the
quiz, and immediately suspecting the reason of Mr. B.'s exile from home
enquired where he was going, how long he had been from home, &c. Soon
guessing the truth and thinking the "joke had been carried far enough,"
he told the old gentleman he need not travel any further for it was all
a quiz of his uncle's, and there was no one at his house. Thereupon,
Mr. B. greatly relieved, turned back and went his way home rejoicing,
but "determined to pay R." he said, "for such a practical joke, which
had exiled him from home and given him such trouble." This caused many
a good laugh whenever it was told, throughout the neighborhood.

The two estates of which I am writing, were well named--Greenfield, for
the fields and meadows were of the freshest green, and with majestic
hills around and the fine cattle and horses grazing upon them, formed a
noble landscape.

This land had descended in the same family since the Indian camp fires
ceased to burn there, and the same forests were still untouched, where
once stood the Indian's wigwams.

In this connection, I am reminded of a tradition in the Greenfield
family, which showed the heroism of a Virginia boy:

The first white proprietor of this place, the great grandfather of the
present owners, had also a large estate in Montgomery county, called
Smithfield, where his family lived, and where was a fort for the
protection of the whites, when attacked by the Indians.

Once, while the owner was at his Greenfield place, the Indians
surrounded Smithfield, when the white women and children took refuge in
the fort, and the men prepared for battle. They wanted the proprietor
of Smithfield to help fight and take command, for he was a brave man,
but could not spare a man to carry him the news. So they concluded
to send one of his young sons, a lad thirteen years old, who did not
hesitate but mounting a fleet horse set off after dark and rode all
night through dense forests filled with hostile Indians, reaching
Greenfield, a distance of forty miles next morning. He soon returned
with his father, and the Indians were repulsed. And I always thought
that boy was courageous enough for his name to live in history.[3]

The Indians afterwards told that the whole day before the fight several
of their chiefs had been concealed near the Smithfield house, under a
large hay stack, upon which the white children had been sliding and
playing all day, little suspecting the gleaming tomahawks and savage
men beneath.

From the Greenfield estate in Botetourt and the one adjacent went the
ancestors of the Prestons and Breckinridges, who made these names
distinguished in South Carolina and Kentucky. And on this place are the
graves of the first Breckinridges who emigrated to this country.

All who visited at the homesteads just described retained ever after a
recollection of the superbly cooked meats, bread, &c., seen upon the
tables at both houses--there being at each place five or six <DW64>
cooks, who had been taught by their mistresses the highest style of the
art.

During the summer season several of these cooks were hired at the
different watering places, where they acquired great fame and made for
themselves a considerable sum of money by selling recipes.

A lady of the Greenfield family, who married and went to Georgia, told
me she had often tried to make velvet rolls like those she had been
accustomed to see at her own home, but never succeeded. Her mother and
aunt who had taught these cooks, having died many years before, she had
to apply to the <DW64>s for information on such subjects, and they, she
said, would never show her the right way to make them. Finally, while
visiting at a house in Georgia, this lady was surprised to see the very
velvet rolls, like those at her home.

"Where did you get the recipe?" she soon asked the lady of the house,
who replied, "I bought it from old Aunt Rose, a <DW52> cook, at the
Virginia Springs, and paid her five dollars."

"One of our own cooks and my mother's recipe," exclaimed the other,
"and I had to come all the way to Georgia to get it, for Aunt Rose
never would show me exactly how to make them!"




CHAPTER XI.


Not far from Greenfield was a place called "Rustic Lodge."

This house surrounded by a forest of grand old oaks, was not large or
handsome. But its inmates were ladies and gentlemen of the old English
style.

The grandmother, about ninety years of age, had been in her youth
one of the belles at the Williamsburg Court in old colonial days. A
daughter of Sir Dudley Digges, and descended from English nobility, she
had been accustomed to the best society. Her manners and conversation
were dignified and attractive.

Among reminiscences of colonial times, she remembered Lord Botetourt,
of whom she related interesting incidents.

The son of this old lady, about sixty years of age, and the proprietor
of the estate, was a true picture of the "old English gentleman." His
manners, conversation, thread-cambric shirt frills, cuffs and long
queue tied with a black ribbon, made the picture complete. His two
daughters, young ladies of exquisite refinement, had been brought up by
their aunt and grandmother to observe strictly all the proprieties of
life.

This establishment was proverbial for its order and method, the most
systematic rules being in force everywhere. The meals were served
punctually at the same instant every day. Old "Aunt Nelly" dressed and
undressed her old mistress always at the same hour. A gentle "tapping
at the chamber door"--not by the "raven," but the cook--called the
mistress to an interview at the same moment every morning with that
functionary, which resulted in the choicest dinners, breakfasts and
suppers; this interview lasting half an hour and never repeated during
the day.

Exactly at the same hour every morning the old gentleman's horse was
saddled, and he entered the neighboring village so promptly as to
enable some of the inhabitants to set their clocks by him.

This family had possessed great wealth in Eastern Virginia during the
colonial government under which many of its members held high offices.

But impoverished by high living, entertaining company and a heavy
British debt, they had been reduced in their possessions to about fifty
<DW64>s, with only money enough to purchase this plantation upon which
they had retired from the gay and charming society of Williamsburg.
They carried with them, however, some remains of their former grandeur:
old silver, old jewelry, old books, old and well-trained servants, and
an old English coach, which was the curiosity of all other vehicular
curiosities. How the family ever climbed into it, or got out of it, and
how the driver ever reached the dizzy height upon which he sat, was the
mystery of my childhood.

But although egg-shaped and suspended in mid-air, this coach had
doubtless, in its day, been one of considerable renown, drawn by four
horses, with footman, postillion and driver in English livery.

How sad must have been its reflections on finding itself shorn of
these respectable surroundings, and after the revolution drawn by two
Republican horses, with footman and driver dressed in Republican jeans!

Strange that it could have lived on and on thus Republicanized!

A great uncle of this family, unlike the coach never would become
Republicanized, and his obstinate loyalty to the English crown, with
his devotion to everything English gained for him the title "English
Louis," by which name he is spoken of in the family to this day. An old
lady told me not long ago that she remembered when a child the arrival
of "English Louis" at "Rustic" one night, and his conversation as they
sat around the fire, how he deplored a Republican form of government,
and the misfortunes which would result from it saying:

"All may go smoothly for about seventy years, when civil war will set
in. First, it will be about these <DW64> slaves we have around us, and
after that it will be something else." And how true "English Louis'"
prediction has proven.[4]

Doubtless this gentleman was avoided and proscribed on account of his
English proclivities. For at that day the spirit of Republicanism
and hatred to England ran high; so that an old gentleman--one of our
relatives whom I well remember--actually took from his parlor walls his
coat of arms which had been brought by his grandfather from England,
and carrying it out in his yard built a fire and collecting his
children around it, to see it burn, said: "Thus let everything English
perish!"

Should I say what I think of this proceeding, I would not be considered
perhaps a true Republican patriot.

       *       *       *       *       *

I cannot forget to mention in the catalogue of pleasant homes,
Smithfield in Montgomery county, the county which flows with healing
waters.

Smithfield, like Greenfield, is owned by the descendants of the first
white family who settled there after the Indians, and its verdant
pastures, noble forests, mountain streams and springs, with the superb
cattle on its hills form a prospect, wondrously beautiful.

This splendid estate descended to three brothers, who equally divided
it; the eldest keeping the homestead, and the others building
attractive homes on their separate plantations.

The old homestead was quite antique in appearance. Inside the high
mantlepieces reaching nearly to the ceiling, which was also high, and
the high wainscotting together with the old furniture made a picture of
the olden time.

When I first visited this place, the old grandmother, then eighty years
of age, was living. She, like the old lady at "Rustic," had been a
belle in Eastern Virginia in her youth. When she married the owner of
Smithfield sixty years before, she made the "bridal jaunt" from Norfolk
to this place on horseback, two hundred miles. Still exceedingly
intelligent and interesting, she entertained us with various incidents
of her early life, and wished to hear all the old songs which she had
then heard and sung herself.

"When I was married" said she, "and came first to Smithfield my
husband's sisters met me in the porch, and were shocked at my pale and
delicate appearance. One of them whispering to her brother, asked, 'Why
did you bring that ghost up here?' And now," continued the old lady, "I
have outlived all who were in the house that day, and all my own and my
husband's family."

This was an evidence certainly of the health restoring properties of
the water and climate in this region.

The houses of these three brothers were filled with company winter and
summer, making within themselves a delightful society. The visitors at
one house were equally visitors at the others, and the succession of
dinner and evening parties from one to the other, made it difficult for
a visitor to decide at whose particular house he was staying.

One of these brothers had married a lovely lady from South Carolina,
whose perfection of character and disposition endeared her to every
one who knew her. Everybody felt like loving her the moment they saw
her, and the more they knew her the more they loved her. Her warm heart
was ever full of other people's troubles or joys, never thinking of
herself. In her house many an invalid was cheered by her tender care;
and many a drooping heart revived by her bright Christian spirit.
She never omitted an opportunity of pointing the way to heaven; and
although surrounded by all the allurements which gay society and wealth
could bring, she did not depart an instant from the quiet path which
leads to heaven. In the midst of bright and happy surroundings, her
thoughts and hopes were constantly centered upon the life above; and
her conversation--which was the reflex of her heart--reverted ever to
this theme, which she made attractive to old and young.




CHAPTER XII.


In the region of country just described and in the counties beyond
abound the finest mineral springs, one or more being found on every
plantation. At one place were seven different springs, and the servants
had a habit of asking the guests and family whether they would
have--before breakfast--a glass of White Sulphur, Yellow Sulphur, Black
Sulphur, Alleghany, Alum, or Limestone water!

The old Greenbriar White Sulphur was a favorite place of resort for
Eastern Virginians and South Carolinians at a very early date, when
it was accessible only by private conveyances, and all who passed
the summer there went in private carriages. In this way, certain old
Virginia and South Carolina families met every season, and these
old people told us that society there was never as good, after the
railroads and stages brought "all sorts of people, from all sorts of
places." This, of course, we knew nothing about from experience, and
it sounded rather egotistical in the old people to say so, but that is
what they said.

Indeed these "old folks" talked so much about what "used to be in their
day" at the old White Sulphur, I found it hard to convince myself I had
not been bodily present, seeing with my own eyes certain knee-buckled
old gentlemen, with long queues, and certain Virginia and South
Carolina belles attired in short-waisted, simple white cambrics, who
passed the summers there. These white cambrics, we were told, had been
carried in minute trunks behind the carriages; and were considered,
with a few jewels and a long black or white lace veil thrown over the
head and shoulders, a complete outfit for the reigning belles! Another
curiosity was, that these white cambric dresses--our grandmothers told
us--required very little "doing up;" one such having been worn by Mrs.
General Washington--so her granddaughter told me--a whole week without
requiring washing! It must have been an age of remarkable women, and
remarkable cambrics! How little they dreamed then of an era when
Saratoga trunks would be indispensable to ladies of much smaller means
than Virginia and South Carolina belles!

To reach these counties flowing with mineral waters the families from
Eastern Virginia and from South Carolina passed through a beautiful
region known as Piedmont, Va., and those who had "kinsfolk or
acquaintance" here usually stopped to make them a visit. Consequently
the Piedmont Virginians were generally too busy entertaining summer
guests to visit the springs themselves. But indeed why should they?
For no more salubrious climate could be found than their own; and
no scenery more grand and beautiful. But it was necessary for the
tide-water Virginians to leave their homes every summer on account of
chills and fevers.

In the lovely Piedmont region over which the "Peaks of Otter" rear
their giant heads, and chains of blue mountains extend as far as eye
can reach, were scattered many pleasant and picturesque homes. And in
this section my grandfather bought a plantation, when the ancestral
estates had been sold, in the Eastern part of the State, to repay the
British debt, which estates, homesteads and tombstones with their
quaint inscriptions are described in Bishop Meade's "Old Churches and
Families of Virginia."

While the tide water Virginians were already practicing all the arts
and wiles known to the highest English civilization; were sending their
sons to be educated in England; receiving brocaded silks and powdered
wigs from England; and dancing the minuet at the Williamsburg balls
with the families of the noblemen sent over to govern the Colony,
Piedmont, Virginia, was still a dense forest, the abode of Indians and
wild animals.

It was not strange, then, that the Piedmont Virginians never arrived
at the opulent manner of living adopted by those on James and York
rivers, who, tradition tells us, went to such excess in high living, as
to have "hams boiled in champagne," and of whom other traditions have
been handed down amusing and interesting. Although the latter were in
advance of the Piedmont Virginians in wealth and social advantages,
they were not superior to them in honor, virtue, or kindness and
hospitality.

It has been remarked that, "when natural scenery is picturesque there
is in the human character something to correspond; impressions made on
the retina are really made on the soul, and the mind becomes what it
contemplates."

The same author continues: "A man is not only _like_ what he sees,
but he _is_ what he sees. The noble old Highlander has mountains in
his soul, whose towering peaks point heavenward; and lakes in his
bosom, whose glassy surface reflects the skies; and foaming cataracts
in his heart to beautify the mountain side and irrigate the vale; and
evergreen firs and mountain pines that show life and verdure even under
winter skies!"

"On the other hand," he writes, "the wandering nomad has a desert in
his heart; its dead level reflects heat and hate; a sullen, barren
plain--no goodness, no beauty, no dancing wave of joy, no gushing
rivulet of love, no verdant hope. And it is an interesting fact that
those who live in countries where natural scenery inspires the soul,
and where the necessities of life bind to a permanent home, are always
patriotic and high minded; and those who dwell in the desert are always
pusillanimous and groveling!"

If what this author writes be true, and the character of the Piedmont
Virginians accords with the scenery around them, how their hearts must
be filled with gentleness and charity inspired by the landscape which
stretches far and fades in softness against the sky! How must their
minds be filled with noble aspirations suggested by the "everlasting
mountains!" How their souls must be filled with thoughts of heaven,
as they look upon the glorious sunsets bathing the mountains in
"rose- light;" with the towering peaks ever pointing heavenward
and seeming to say: "Behold the glory of a world beyond!"[5]

Beneath the shadow of the "Peaks" were many happy homes and true
hearts, and among these memory recalls none more vividly than
"Otterburn" and its inmates.

"Otterburn" was the residence of a gentleman and his wife, who, having
no children, devoted themselves to making their home attractive to
visitors, in which they succeeded so well that they were rarely without
company; for all who went once to see them went again and again.

This gentleman's mind, character, accomplishments, manner and
appearance marked him "rare"--"one in a century." Above his fellow
men in greatness of soul, he could comprehend nothing "mean." His
stature was tall and erect; his features bold; his countenance open and
impressive; his mind vigorous and cultivated; his bearing dignified,
but not haughty; his manners simple and attractive; his conversation
so agreeable and enlivening that the dullest company became animated
as soon as he came into the room. Truth and high-toned character were
so unmistakably stamped upon him, that knowing him a day convinced one
he could be trusted forever. Brought up in Scotland--the home of his
ancestors--in him were blended the best points of Scotch and Virginia
character; strict integrity and accuracy, with whole-souled generosity
and hospitality.

How many days and nights we passed at his house, and in childhood and
youth, how many hours were entertained by his bright and instructive
conversation! Especially delightful was it to hear his stories about
Scotland, which brought before us vividly pictures of its lakes and
mountains and castles. How often did we listen to his account of the
wedding tour to Scotland, when he carried his Virginia bride to the old
home at Greenock! And how often we laughed about the Scotch children,
his nieces and nephews, who on first seeing his wife, clapped their
hands and shouted, "Oh! mother, are you not glad uncle did not marry a
black woman?" Hearing he was to marry a Virginian, they expected to see
a savage Indian or <DW64>! And some of the family who went to Liverpool
to meet them, and were looking through spy glasses when the vessel
landed, said they "were sure the Virginia lady had not come, because
they saw no one among the passengers dressed in a red shawl and gaudy
bonnet like an Indian!"

From this we thought the Europeans must be very ignorant of our country
and its inhabitants--and have learned since that their children are
kept purposely ignorant of facts in regard to America and its people.

Among many other recollections of this dear old friend of "Otterburn,"
I shall never forget a dream he told us one night, which so impressed
us that before his death we asked him to write it out, which he did,
and as the copy is before me in his own handwriting, will insert it
here:

"About the time I became of age, I returned to Virginia for the
purpose of looking after and settling my father's estate. Three years
thereafter I received a letter from my only sister, informing me that
she was going to be married, and pressing me in the most urgent manner
to return to Scotland to be present at her marriage, and to attend to
the drawing of the marriage contract. The letter gave me a good deal of
trouble, as it did not suit me to leave Virginia at that time. I went
to bed one night thinking much on this subject, but soon fell asleep
and dreamed that I landed in Greenoch in the night time, and pushed for
home, thinking I would take my aunt and sister by surprise.

"When I arrived at the door, I found all still and quiet, and the
out door locked--I thought, however, that I had in my pocket my
check key, with which I quietly opened the door and groped my way
into the sitting-room, but finding no one there I concluded they had
gone to bed. I then went up stairs to their bed-room, and found that
unoccupied. I then concluded they had taken possession of my bed-room
in my absence, but not finding them there became very uneasy about
them. Then it struck me they might be in the guest's chamber, a room
down stairs kept exclusively for company. Upon going there I found the
door partially open; I saw my aunt removing the burning coals from the
top of the grate preparatory to going to bed. My sister was sitting up
in bed, and as I entered the room, she fixed her eyes upon me, but did
not seem to recognize me. I approached towards her, and in the effort
to make myself known, awoke, and found it all a dream. At breakfast
next morning, I felt wearied and sick, and could not eat; and told the
family of my (dream) journey the overnight.

"I immediately commenced preparing, and in a very short time returned
to Scotland. I saw my sister married, and she and her husband set off
on their 'marriage jaunt.' About a month thereafter they returned, and
at dinner I commenced telling them of my dream, but observing they had
quit eating and were staring at me, I laughed, and asked what was the
matter; whereupon my brother-in-law very seriously asked me to go on.
When I finished they asked me if I remembered the exact time of my
dream. I told them it distressed and impressed me so strongly, that I
noted it down at the time. I pulled out my pocket-book and shewed them
the date, '14th day of May,' written in pencil. They all rose from the
table and took me into the bed-room and shewed me written with pencil
on the white mantle piece '14th of May.'

"I asked them what that meant, and was informed that on that very
night--and _the only night_ they ever occupied that room during my
absence--my aunt was taking the coals off of the fire, when my sister
screamed out, 'brother has come!'

"My aunt scolded her, and said she was dreaming; but she said she
had not been to sleep, was sitting up in bed, and _saw me_ enter the
room, and run out when she screamed. So confident was she that she had
seen me, and that I had gone off and hidden, that the whole house was
thoroughly searched for me, and as soon as day dawned a messenger was
sent to enquire if any vessel had arrived from America, or if I had
been seen by any of my friends."

No one can forget, who visited Otterburn, the smiling faces of the
<DW64> servants about the house, who received the guests with as
true cordiality as did their mistress, expressing their pleasure by
widespread mouths showing white teeth--very white by contrast with
their jet black skin--and when the guests went away always insisted on
their remaining longer.

One of these <DW64> women was not only an efficient servant, but a
valued friend to her mistress.

In the absence of her master and mistress she kept the keys, often
entertaining their friends, who in passing from distant plantations
were accustomed to stop, and who received from her a cordial welcome,
finding on the table as many delicacies as if the mistress had been at
home.

No more sincere attachment could have existed than between this
mistress and servant. At last, when the latter was seized with a
contagious fever which ended her life, she could not have had a more
faithful friend and nurse than was her mistress.

The same fever attacked all the <DW64>s on this plantation, and
none can describe the anxiety, care and distress of their owners,
who watched by their beds day and night, administering medicine and
relieving the sick and dying.




CHAPTER XIII.


Among other early recollections is a visit with my mother to the
plantation of a favorite cousin, not far from Richmond, and one
of the handsomest seats on James river. This residence--Howard's
Neck--was a favorite resort for people from Richmond and the adjacent
counties; and, like many others on the river, always full of guests--a
round of visiting and dinner parties being kept up from one house
to another,--so that the ladies presiding over these establishments
had no time to attend to domestic duties, which were left to their
housekeepers, while they were employed entertaining visitors.

The <DW64>s on the these estates appeared lively and happy; that is,
if singing and laughing indicates happiness; for they went to their
work in the fields singing, and returned in the evening singing, after
which they often spent the whole night visiting from one plantation to
another, or dancing until day to the music of the banjo or "fiddle."
These dances were wild and boisterous, their evolutions being like
those of the savage dances, described by travelers in Africa. Although
the most perfect timists, their music with its wild, melancholy
cadence, half savage, half civilized, can not be imitated or described.
Many a midnight were we wakened by their wild choruses, sung as they
returned from a frolic or "corn shucking," sounding at first like some
hideous, savage yell, but dying away on the air, echoing a cadence
melancholy and indescribable, with a peculiar pathos, and yet without
melody or sweetness.

"Corn shuckings" were occasions of great hilarity and good eating.
The <DW64>s from various plantations assembled at night around a huge
pile of corn. Selecting one among them, the most original, amusing and
having the loudest voice, they called him "Captain." The "Captain"
seated himself on top of the pile--a large lightwood torch burning in
front of him--and while he shucked improvised words and music to a
wild "recitative," the chorus of which was "caught up" by the army of
"shuckers" around. The glare of the torches on the black faces, with
the wild music and impromptu words, made a scene curious even to us who
were so accustomed to it.

After the corn was shucked they assembled around a table laden with
roast pigs, mutton, beef, hams, cakes, pies, coffee, and other
substantials--many participating in the supper who had not in the work.
The laughing and merriment continued until one or two o'clock in the
morning.

       *       *       *       *       *

On these James river plantations were entertained often distinguished
foreigners, who visiting Richmond desired to see something of Virginia
country life. Mr. Thackeray was once entertained at one of them. But
Dickens never visited them. Could he have passed a month, at any one
of the homes I have described, he would have written something more
flattering, I am sure, of Americans and American life than is found
in "Martin Chuzzlewit" and "Notes on America." However, with these we
should not quarrel, as some of the sketches--especially the one on
"tobacco chewers," we can recognize.

Every nation has a right to its prejudices--certainly the English
towards the American--America appearing to the English eye a huge
mushroom affair, the growth of a night and unsubstantial. But it is
surely wrong to censure a whole nation--as some have done the Southern
people--for the faults of a few. For although every nation has a right
to its prejudices, none has a right, without thorough examination and
acquaintance with the subject, to seize a few exaggerated accounts, of
another nation by its enemies, and publish them as facts. The world in
this way receives very erroneous impressions.

For instance, we have no right to suppose the Germans a cruel race
because of the following paragraph clipped from a recent newspaper:

"The cruelty of German officers is a matter of notoriety, but an
officer in an artillery regiment has lately gone beyond precedent in
ingenuity of cruelty. Some of his men being insubordinate, he punished
them by means of a 'spurring process,' which consisted in jabbing spurs
persistently and brutally into their legs. By this process his men were
so severely injured they had to go to the hospital."

Neither have we a right to pronounce all Pennsylvanians cruel to their
"helps," as they call them, because a Pennsylvania lady told me "the
only way she could manage her 'help'"--a white girl fourteen years
old--"was by holding her head under the pump and pumping water upon it
until she lost her breath;" a process I could not have conceived, and
which filled me with horror.

But sorrow and oppression, we suppose, may be found in some form in
every clime; and in every phase of existence some hearts are "weary and
heavy laden." Even Dickens, whose mind naturally sought, and fed upon,
the comic, saw wrong and oppression in the "humane institutions" of his
own land!

And Macaulay gives a painful picture of Madam D'Arblay's life as
waiting maid to Queen Charlotte--from which we are not to infer,
however, that all Queens are cruel to their waiting maids.

Madam D'Arblay--whose maiden name was Frances Burney--was the first
female novelist in England, who deserved and received the applause
of her countrymen. The most eminent men of London paid homage to her
genius. Johnson, Burke, Windham, Gibbon, Reynolds, Sheridan, were
her friends and ardent eulogists. In the midst of her literary fame,
surrounded by congenial friends, herself a star in this select and
brilliant coterie, she was offered the place of waiting maid in the
palace. She accepted the position, and bade farewell to all congenial
friends and pursuits. "And now began," says Macaulay, "a slavery of
five years--of five years taken from the best part of her life, and
wasted in menial drudgery. The history of an ordinary day was this:
Miss Burney had to rise and dress herself early, that she might be
ready to answer the royal bell, which rang at half after seven. Till
about eight she attended in the Queen's dressing-room, and had the
honor of lacing her august mistress' stays, and of putting on the
hoop, gown and neckhandkerchief. The morning was chiefly spent in
rummaging drawers and laying fine clothes in their proper places. Then
the Queen was to be powdered and dressed for the day. Twice a week her
Majesty's hair had to be curled and craped; and this operation added a
full hour to the business of the toilet. It was generally three before
Miss Burney was at liberty. At five she had to attend her colleague,
Madame Schwellenberg, a hateful old toadeater, as illiterate as a
chamber-maid, proud, rude, peevish, unable to bear solitude, unable to
conduct herself with common decency in society. With this delightful
associate Frances Burney had to dine and pass the evening. The pair
generally remained together from five to eleven, and often had no other
company the whole time. Between eleven and twelve the bell rang again.
Miss Burney had to pass a half hour undressing the Queen, and was then
at liberty to retire.

"Now and then, indeed, events occurred which disturbed the wretched
monotony of Frances Burney's life. The court moved from Kew to Windsor,
and from Windsor back to Kew.

"A more important occurrence was the King's visit to Oxford. Then Miss
Burney had the honor of entering Oxford in the last of a long string
of carriages, which formed the royal procession, of walking after the
Queen all day through refectories and chapels, and of standing half
dead with fatigue and hunger, while her august mistress was seated at
an excellent cold collation. At Magdalen College, Frances was left for
a moment in a parlor, where she sank down on a chair. A good natured
equerry saw that she was exhausted, and shared with her some apricots
and bread, which he had wisely put in his pockets. At that moment the
door opened, the Queen entered, the wearied attendants sprang up, the
bread and fruit were hastily concealed.

"After this the King became very ill, and during more than two years
after his recovery Frances dragged on a miserable existence at the
palace. Madame Schwellenberg became more and more insolent and
intolerable, and now the health of poor Frances began to give way; and
all who saw her pale face, her emaciated figure and her feeble walk,
predicted that her sufferings would soon be over.

"The Queen seems to have been utterly regardless of the _comfort_, the
_health_, the _life_ of her attendants. Weak, feverish, hardly able to
stand, Frances had still to rise before seven, in order to dress the
sweet Queen, and sit up 'till midnight, in order to undress the sweet
Queen. The indisposition of the handmaid could not, and _did not escape
the notice of_ her royal mistress. But the _established doctrine of the
court was, that all sickness_ was to be _considered as a pretence until
it proved fatal_. The only way in which the invalid could clear herself
from the suspicion of malingering, as it is called in the army, was
to go on lacing and unlacing, _'till she felt down dead at the royal
feet_."

Finally Miss Burney's father pays her a visit in this palace prison
when "she told him that she was miserable, that she was worn with
attendance and want of sleep, that she had no comfort in life, nothing
to love, nothing to hope, that her family and friends were to her
as though they were not, and were remembered by her as men remember
the dead. From daybreak to midnight the same killing labor, the same
recreation, more hateful than labor itself, followed each other without
variety, without any interval of liberty or repose."

Her father's veneration for royalty amounting to idolatry, he could not
bear to remove her from the court--"and, between the dear father and
the sweet Queen, there seemed to be little doubt that some day or other
Frances _would drop down a corpse_. Six months had elapsed since the
interview between the parent and the daughter. The resignation was not
sent in. The sufferer grew worse and worse. She took bark, but it soon
failed to produce a beneficial effect. She was stimulated with wine;
she was soothed with opium, but in vain. Her breath began to fail. The
whisper that she was in a decline spread through the court. The pains
in her side became so severe that she was forced to crawl from the card
table of the old fury, Madame Schwellenberg, to whom she was tethered,
three or four times in an evening, for the purpose of taking hartshorn.
Had she been a <DW64> slave, a humane planter would have excused her
from work. But her Majesty showed no mercy. Thrice a day the accursed
bell still rang; the Queen was still to be dressed for the morning at
seven, and to be dressed for the day at noon, and to be undressed at
midnight."

At last Miss Burney's father was moved to compassion and allowed her
to write a letter of resignation. "Still I could not," writes Miss
Burney in her diary, "summon courage to present my memorial from seeing
the Queen's entire freedom from such an expectation. For though I was
frequently so ill in her presence that I could hardly stand, I saw she
concluded me, while life remained, inevitably hers."

"At last, with a trembling hand, the paper was delivered. Then came the
storm. Madame Schwellenberg raved like a maniac. The resignation was
not accepted. The father's fears were aroused, and he declared, in a
letter meant to be shown to the Queen, that his daughter must retire.
The Schwellenberg raged like a wild cat. A scene almost horrible ensued.

"The Queen then promised that, after the next birthday, Miss Burney
should be set at liberty. But the promise was ill kept; and her Majesty
showed displeasure at being reminded of it."

At length, however, the prison door was opened, and Frances was free
once more. Her health was restored by traveling, and she returned to
London in health and spirits. Macaulay tells us that she went to visit
the palace, "her _old dungeon, and found her successor already far
on the way to the grave, and kept to strict duty, from morning till
midnight, with a sprained ankle and a nervous fever_."

An ignorant and unlettered woman would doubtless not have found this
life in the palace tedious, and our sympathy would not have been
aroused for her; for as long as the earth lasts there must be human
beings fitted for every station, and it is supposed, till the end of
all things, there must be cooks, housemaids and dining-room servants,
which will make it never possible for the whole human family to stand
entirely upon the same platform socially and intellectually. And Miss
Burney's wretchedness, which calls forth our sympathy, was not because
she had to perform the duties of waiting-maid, but because to a gifted
and educated woman these duties were uncongenial; and congeniality
means _happiness_; uncongeniality _unhappiness_.




CHAPTER XIV.


From the sorrows of Miss Burney in the palace--a striking contrast
with the menials described in our own country homes--I will return to
another charming place on James river--Powhatan Seat--a mile below
Richmond, which had descended in the Mayo family two hundred years.

Here, it was said, the Indian chief Powhatan had lived, and here was
shown the veritable stone supposed to have been the one upon which
Captain Smith's head was laid, when the Indian princess Pocahontas
rescued him.

This historic stone, near the parlor window, was only an ugly, dark,
broad, flat stone, but imagination pictured ever around it the Indian
group; Smith's head upon it; the infuriated chief with uplifted club in
the act of dealing the death blow; the grief and shriek of Pocahontas,
as she threw herself upon Smith imploring her father to spare him--a
piercing cry to have penetrated the heart of the savage king!

Looking out from the parlor window and imagining this savage scene, how
strange a contrast with the picture which met the eye within! Around
the fireside assembled the loveliest family group, where kindness and
affection beamed in every eye, and father, mother, brothers and sisters
were linked together by tenderest devotion and sympathy.

If natural scenery reflects itself upon the heart no wonder a "holy
calm" rested upon this family, for far down the river the prospect was
peace and tranquility; and many an evening in the summer house on the
river bank, we drank in the beauty of soft blue skies, green isles and
white sails floating in the distance.

Many in Richmond remember the delightful weddings and parties at
Powhatan Seat, where assembled the elite from Richmond, with an
innumerable throng of cousins, aunts and uncles from Orange and
Culpeper counties.

On these occasions the house was illuminated by wax-lights issuing from
bouquets of magnolia leaves placed around the walls near the ceiling,
and looking prettier than any glass chandelier.

We, from a distance, generally stayed a week after the wedding,
becoming, as it were, a part of the family circle; and the bride did
not rush off on a tour as is the fashion now-a-days, but remained
quietly enjoying family, home and friends.

Another feature I have omitted in describing our weddings and
parties--invariably a part of the picture--was the sea of black faces
surrounding the doors and windows to look on the dancing, hear the
music and afterwards get a good share of the supper.

Tourists often went to walk around the beautiful grounds at Powhatan--so
neatly kept with sea shells around the flowers, and pleasant seats
under the lindens and magnolias--and to see the historic stone; but
I often thought they knew not what was missed in not knowing--as we
did--the lovely family within.

But, for us, those rare, beautiful days at Powhatan are gone forever;
for since the war the property has passed into stranger hands, and the
family who once owned it will own it no more.

During the late war heavy guns were placed in the family burying
ground on this plantation,--a point commanding the river--and here
was interred the child of a distinguished General[6] in the Northern
army--a Virginian, formerly in the United States army--who had married
a member of the Powhatan family. He was expected to make an attack upon
Richmond, and over his child's grave was placed a gun to fire upon
him. Such are the unnatural incidents of civil war.

About two miles from Powhatan Seat was another beautiful old
place--Mount Erin--the plantation formerly of a family all of whom,
except two sisters had died. The estate becoming involved had to be
sold, which so grieved and distressed these sisters that they passed
hours weeping, if accidentally the name of their old home was mentioned
in their presence.

Once when we were at Powhatan--and these ladies were among the
guests--a member of the Powhatan family ordered the carriage, and took
my sister and myself to Mount Erin, telling us to keep it a secret when
we returned, for "the sisters," said she, "would neither eat nor sleep
if reminded of their old home."

A pleasant drive brought us to Mount Erin, and when we saw the box
hedges, gravel-walks and linden trees we were no longer surprised at
the grief of the sisters whose hearts entwined around their old home.
The house was in charge of an old <DW64> woman--the purchaser not
having moved in--who showed us over the grounds; and every shrub and
flower seemed to speak of days gone by. Even the ivy on the old bricks
looked gloomy as if mourning the light, mirth and song departed from
the house forever; and the walks gave back a deadened echo, as if they
wished not to be disturbed by stranger tread. All seemed in a reverie,
dreaming a long sweet dream of the past--and entering into the grief of
the sisters, who lived afterwards many years in a pleasant home, on a
pleasant street in Richmond, with warm friends to serve them, yet their
tears never ceased to flow at mention of Mount Erin.

       *       *       *       *       *

One more plantation picture, and enough will have been described to
show the character of the homes and people on our plantations.

The last place visited by my sister and myself before the war of 1861,
was "Elkwood," a fine estate in Culpeper county, four miles from the
railroad station.

It was the last of June. The country was a scene of enchantment, as the
carriage rolled us through dark, cool forests, green meadows, fields of
waving grain; out of the forest into acres of broad leaved corn; across
pebbly-bottomed streams, and along the margin of the Rapidan which
flowed at the base of the hill leading up to the house.

The house was square and white, and the blinds green as the grass lawn
and trees in the yard. Inside the house, the polished "dry rubbed"
floors clean and cool, refreshed one on entering like a glass of
ice-lemonade on a midsummer's day. The old fashioned furniture against
the walls looked as if it thought too much of itself to be set about
promiscuously over the floor, like modern fauteuils and divans.

About everything was an air of dignity and repose corresponding with
the manners and appearance of the proprietors, who were called "Uncle
Dick" and "Aunt Jenny"--the _a_ in aunt pronounced very broad.

"Aunt Jenny" and "Uncle Dick" had no children, but took care of
numerous nieces and nephews; kept their house filled to overflowing
with friends, relatives and strangers, and were revered and beloved by
all. They had no pleasure so great as taking care of other people. They
lived for other people, and made everybody comfortable and happy around
them. From the time "Uncle Dick" had prayers in the morning until
family prayers at bed time they were busy bestowing some kindness.

"Uncle Dick's" character and manners were of a type so high that one
felt elevated in his presence; and a desire to reach his standard
animated those who knew him. His precept and example were such that all
who followed them might arrive at the highest perfection of Christian
character.

"Uncle Dick" had requested "Aunt Jenny" when they were married--forty
years before--to have on his table every day, dinner enough for six
more persons than were already in the house, "in case," he said, "he
should meet friends or acquaintances while riding over his plantation
or in the neighborhood, whom he wished to ask home with him to dinner."
This having been always a rule, "Aunt Jenny" never sat at her table
without dinner enough for six more, and her's were no commonplace
dinners; no hasty puddings; no salaratus bread; no soda cakes; no
frozen-starch-ice-cream; no modern shorthand recipes--but genuine old
Virginia cooking. And all who want to know what that was, can find
out all about it in "Aunt Jenny's" book of copied recipes--if it is
extant--or in Mrs. Harrison's, of Brandon. But as neither of these
books may ever be known to the public, their "sum and substance" may be
given in a few words:

"Have no shams. Procure an abundance of the freshest, richest, _real_
cream, milk, eggs, butter, lard, best old Madeira wine, all the way
from Madeira, and never use a particle of soda or salaratus about
anything or under any pressure."

These were the ingredients "Aunt Jenny" used--for "Uncle Dick" had
rare old wine in his cellar which he had brought from Europe, thirty
years before--and every day was a feast day at Elkwood. And the wedding
breakfasts "Aunt Jenny" used to "get up" when one of her nieces married
at her house--as they sometimes did--were beyond description.

While at Elkwood, observing every day, that the carriage went to the
depot empty, and returned empty, we enquired the reason, and were
informed that "Uncle Dick," ever since the cars had been passing near
his plantation, ordered his coachman to have the carriage every day at
the station, "in case some of his friends might be on the train, and
might like to stop and see him!"

Another hospitable rule in "Uncle Dick's" house was, that company
must never be kept "waiting" in his parlor, and so anxious was his
young niece to meet his approbation in this as in every particular,
that she had a habit of dressing herself carefully, arranging her
hair beautifully--it was in the days too when smooth hair was
fashionable--before laying down for the afternoon siesta, "in case,"
she said, "some one might call, and 'Uncle Dick' had a horror of
visitors waiting." This process of reposing in a fresh muslin dress
and fashionably arranged hair, required a particular and uncomfortable
position, which she seemed not to mind, but dozed in the most precise
manner without rumpling her hair or her dress.

Elkwood was a favorite place of resort for Episcopal ministers, whom
"Aunt Jenny" and "Uncle Dick" loved to entertain. And here we met the
Rev. Mr. S----, the learned divine, eloquent preacher and charming
companion. He had just returned from a visit to England, where he had
been entertained in palaces. Telling us the incidents of his visit, "I
was much embarrassed at first," said he, "at the thought of attending
a dinner party given in a palace to me,--a simple Virginian,--but on
being announced at the drawing-room door, and entering the company I
felt at once at ease, for they were all ladies and gentlemen--such as I
had known at home, polite, pleasant and without pretence."

This gentleman's conversational powers were not only bright and
delightful, but also the means of turning many to righteousness; for
religion was one of his chief themes.

A proof of his genius and eloquence was given in the beautiful
poem recited--without ever having been written--at the centennial
anniversary of old Christ church in Alexandria. This was the church in
which General Washington and his family had worshiped, and around it
clustered many memories. Mr. S., with several others, had been invited
to make an address on the occasion, and one night while thinking about
it an exquisite poem passed through his mind, picturing scene after
scene in the old church. General Washington with his head bowed in
silent prayer; infants at the baptismal font; young men and maidens in
bridal array at the altar, and funeral trains passing through the open
gate.

On the night of the celebration when his turn came, finding the hour
too late, and the audience too sleepy for his prose address, he
suddenly determined to "dash off" the poem, every word of which came
back to him, although he had never written it. The audience roused up
electrified, and as the recitation proceeded, their enthusiasm reached
the highest pitch. Never had there been such a sensation in the old
church before. And next morning the house at which he was stopping was
besieged by reporters begging "copies" and offering good prices, but
the poem remains unwritten to this day.

Elkwood--like many other old homes--was burned by the Northern army in
1862, and not a tree or flower remains to mark the spot, for so many
years the abode of hospitality and good cheer.

In connection with Culpeper it is due here to state that this
county excelled all others in ancient and dilapidated buggies and
carriages--seeming a regular infirmary for all the disabled vehicles
of the Old Dominion. Here their age and infirmities received every
care and consideration, being propped up, tied up and bandaged up in
every conceivable manner; and strangest of all, rarely depositing their
occupants in the road, which was prevented by cautious old gentlemen
riding alongside, who watching out, and discovering the weakest points,
stopped and securely tied up fractured parts with bits of twine, rope
or chain, always carried in buggy or carriage boxes for that purpose.
These surgical operations, although not ornamental, strengthened and
sustained these venerable vehicles, and produced a longevity miraculous.

Many more sketches might be given of pleasant country homes--worthy
a better pen than mine--for Brandon, Westover, Shirley, Carter Hall,
Lauderdale, Vaucluse, and others, linger in the memory of hundreds
who once knew and loved them. Especially Vaucluse, which although
far removed from railroads, stage coaches and public conveyances was
overflowing with company throughout the year. For the Vaucluse girls
were so bright, so fascinating, so bewitchingly pretty, they attracted
a concourse of visitors, and were sure to be belles wherever they went.

And many remember the owner of Vaucluse--that pure hearted Christian
and cultivated gentleman, who, late in life, devoted himself to the
Episcopal ministry, and labored faithfully in the Master's cause
preaching in country churches, "without money, and without price."
Surely his reward is in heaven.

       *       *       *       *       *

Besides these well ordered establishments, there were some others
owned by inactive men, who smoked their pipes, read their books, left
everything very much to the management of their <DW64>s and seemed
content to let things tumble down around them.

One of these places we used to call "Topsy-Turvy Castle," and another
"Haphazard."

At such places the <DW64> quarters--instead of neat rows of white
cabins in rear of the house, as on other plantations--occupied a
conspicuous place near the front, and consisted of a solid, long, ugly
brick structure, with swarms of <DW64>s around the windows and doors,
appearing to have nothing in the world to do, and never to have done
anything.

Everything had a "shackling," lazy appearance. The master was
always--it appeared to us--reading a newspaper in the front porch, and
never observing anything that was going on. The house was so full of
idle <DW64>s standing about the halls and stairways, one could scarcely
make one's way up or down stairs. Everything needed repair, from the
bed you slept upon, to the family coach which took you to church.

Few of the chairs had all their rounds and legs; and when completely
disabled were sent to the garret, where they accumulated in great
numbers, and remained until pressing necessity induced the master to
raise his eyes from his paper long enough to order "Dick" to, "take the
four-horse-wagon and carry the chairs to be mended."

A multitude of "kinsfolk and acquaintance" usually congregated
here. And at one place, in order to accommodate so many, there were
four beds in a chamber. These high bedsteads presented a remarkable
appearance--the head of one going into the side of another, the foot of
one into the head of another, and so on, looking as if they had never
been "placed," but their curious juxtaposition had been the result of
some earthquake.

[One of these houses is said to have been greatly improved in
appearance during the war by the passage of a cannon ball through the
upper story, where a window had been needed for many years.]

But the owners of these places were so genuinely good, one could not
complain of them even for such carelessness. For everybody was welcome
to everything. You might stop the plows if you wanted a horse, or take
the carriage and drive for a week's journey, and, in short, impose upon
these good people in every conceivable way.

Yet in spite of this topsy-turvy management--a strange fact connected
with such places--they invariably had good light bread, good mutton,
and the usual abundance on their tables.

We suppose it must have been a recollection of such plantations which
induced the <DW64> to exclaim, on hearing another sing, "Ole Virginny
nubber tire." "Umph! ole _Virginny_ nubber tire, kase she nubber done
nuthin' fur to furtigue herself!"




CHAPTER XV.


Confining these reminiscences strictly to plantation life, no mention
has been made of the families we knew and visited in some of our
cities, whose kindness to their slaves was unmistakable, and who owning
only a small number could better afford to indulge them.

At one of these houses, this indulgence was such that the white family
were very much under the control of their servants.

The owner of this house--an eminent lawyer--was a man of taste and
learning, whose legal ability attracted many admirers, and whose
refinement, culture and generous nature won enthusiastic friends.

Although considered the owner of his house, it was a mistake--if
ownership means the right to govern one's own property--for beyond
his law papers, library and the privilege of paying all the bills,
this gentleman had no "rights" there whatever; his house, kitchen and
premises being under the entire command of "Aunt Fanny," the cook--a
huge mulatto woman whose word was law, and whose voice thundered abuse
if any dared to disobey her.

The master, mistress, family and visitors all stood in awe of
"Aunt Fanny," and yet could not do without her, for she made such
unapproachable light bread, and conducted the affairs of the place with
such distinguished ability.

Her own house was in the yard, and had been built especially for her
convenience. Her furniture was polished mahogany, and she kept most
delicious preserves, pickles and sweet meats of her own manufacture
with which to regale her friends and favorites. As we came under that
head, we were often treated to these when we went in to see her after
her day's work was over, or on Sundays.

Although she "raved and stormed" considerably--which she told us she
"was obliged to do, _honey_, to keep things straight"--she had the
tenderest regard for her master and mistress, and often said: "If it
warnt for _me_, they'd have nuthin' in the world, and things here would
go to destruction."

So Aunt Fanny "kept up this family," as she said, for many years, and
many amusing incidents might be related of her.

On one occasion, her master after a long and excited political
contest was elected to the Legislature. Before all the precincts had
been heard from--believing himself defeated--he retired to rest, and
being naturally feeble, was quite worn out. But at midnight a great
cry arose at his gate, where a multitude assembled, screaming and
hurrahing. At first he was uncertain whether they were friends to
congratulate him on his victory, or the opposite party to hang him--as
they had threatened--for voting an appropriation to the Danville
railroad. It soon appeared they had come to congratulate him, when
great excitement prevailed, loud cheers and cries for a speech. The
doors were opened and the crowed rushed in. The hero soon appeared and
delivered one of his graceful and satisfactory speeches.

Still the crowd remained cheering and "storming" about the house, until
Aunt Fanny, who had made her appearance in full dress, considering
the excitement had been kept up long enough, and that the master's
health was too delicate for any further demonstration, determined to
disperse them. Rising to her full height, waving her hand and speaking
majestically she said: "Gentlemen! Mars Charles is a feeble pusson, and
it is time for him to take his res'. He's been kep' 'wake long enough
now, and it's time for me to close up dese doors!"

With this the crowd dispersed and "Aunt Fanny" remained mistress of the
situation, declaring that, "ef she hadn't come forward and 'spersed dat
crowd, Mars Charles would have been a dead man befo' mornin'!"

"Aunt Fanny" kept herself liberally supplied with pocket money--one
of her chief sources of revenue being soap, which she made in large
quantities and sold at high prices; especially what she called her
"butter soap," which was in great demand, and which was made from all
the butter which she did not consider fresh enough for the delicate
appetites of her mistress and master. She appropriated one of the
largest basement rooms, had it shelved and filled it with soap. In
order to carry on business so extensively huge logs were kept blazing
on the kitchen hearth under the soap pot day and night. During the war,
wood becoming scarce and expensive, "Mars Charles" found it drained his
purse to keep the kitchen fire supplied.

Thinking the matter over one day in his library, and concluding it
would greatly lessen his expenses if Aunt Fanny could be prevailed
upon to discontinue her soap trade, he sent for her, and said, _very
mildly_: "Fanny, I have a proposition to make you."

"What is it, Mars Charles?"

"Well Fanny, as my expenses are very heavy now, if you will give up
your soap boiling for this year, I will agree to pay you fifty dollars."

With arms akimbo, and looking at him with astonishment, but firmness in
her eye, she replied: "Couldn't possibly do it, Mars Charles. Because
_soap_, sir, _soap's_ my _main_-tain-ance!"

With this she strided majestically out of the room. "Mars Charles" said
no more but continued paying fabulous sums for wood, while "Aunt Fanny"
continued boiling her soap.

This woman not only ordered, but kept all the family supplies, her
mistress having no disposition to keep the keys or in any way interfere
with her.

But at last her giant strength gave way, and she sickened and died.
Having no children she left her property to one of her fellow servants.

Several days before her death, we were sitting with her mistress and
master in a room overlooking her house. Her room was crowded with
<DW64>s who had come to perform their religious rites around the
death bed. Joining hands they performed a savage dance, shouting
wildly around her bed. This was horrible to hear and see, especially
as in this family every effort had been made to instruct their <DW64>
dependents in the truths of religion; and one member of the family, who
spent the greater part of her life in prayer, had for years prayed for
"Aunt Fanny," and tried to instruct her in the true faith. But although
an intelligent woman, she seemed to cling to the superstitions of her
race.

After the savage dance and rites were over, and while we sat talking
about it, a gentleman--the friend and minister of the family--came in.
We described to him what we had just witnessed, and he deplored it
bitterly with us, saying he had read and prayed with "Aunt Fanny" and
tried to make her see the truth in Jesus. He then marked some passages
in the Bible, and asked me to go and read them to her. I went, and
said to her: "Aunt Fanny, here are some verses Mr. Mitchell has marked
for me to read to you, and he hopes you will pray to the Savior as he
taught you." Then said I, "we are afraid the noise and dancing have
made you worse."

Speaking feebly, she replied: "Honey, that kind of religion suits us
black folks better than your kind. What suits Mars Charles' mind, don't
suit mine."

And thus died the most intelligent of her race--one who had been
surrounded by pious persons who had been praying for her, and
endeavoring to instruct her. She had also enjoyed through life not only
the comforts, but many of the luxuries of earth--and when she died, her
mistress and master lost a sincere friend.




CHAPTER XVI.


This chapter will show how "Virginia beat-biscuit" procured for a man a
home and friends in Paris.

One morning in the spring of 18-- a singular looking man presented
himself at our house. He was short of stature, and enveloped in furs
although the weather was not cold. Everything about him was gold which
could be gold, and so we called him "the gold-tipped-man." He called
for my mother, and when she went in the parlor said to her:

"Madam I have been stopping several weeks at the hotel in the town of
L----, where I met a boy--Robert--who tells me he belongs to you. As
I want such a servant, and he is anxious to travel, I come, at his
request, to ask if you will let me buy him and take him to Europe. I
will pay any price."

"I could not think of it," she replied. "I have determined never to
sell one of my servants."

"But," continued the man, "he is anxious to go, and has sent me to beg
you."

"It is impossible," said she, "for he is a great favorite with us, and
the only child his mother has."

Finding her determined, the man took his leave, and went back to the
town, twenty-five miles off; but returned next day accompanied by
Robert, who entreated his mother and mistress to let him go.

Said my mother to him: "Would you leave your mother and go with a
stranger to a foreign land?"

"Yes, madam. I love my mother, and you and all your family--you have
always been so good to me--but I want to travel, and this gentleman
says he will give me plenty of money and be very kind to me."

Still she refused. But the boy's mother, finally yielding to his
entreaty, consented, and persuaded her mistress, saying, "if he is
willing to leave me, and so anxious to go I will give him up."

Knowing how distressed we all would be at parting with him, he went off
without coming to say "good bye," and wrote his mother from New York
what day he would sail with his new master for Europe.

At first his mother received from him presents and letters, telling her
he was very much delighted, and "had as much money as he knew what to
do with." But after a few months he ceased to write, and we could hear
nothing from him.

At length, when eighteen months had elapsed, one day we were astonished
to see him return home, dressed in the best Parisian style. We were
rejoiced to see him again, and his own joy at getting back cannot be
described. He ran over the yard and house examining everything, and
said: "Mistress, I have seen many fine places in Europe, but none to me
as pretty as this, and I have seen no lady equal to you. And I have had
no water to drink as good as this--and I have dreamed about every chair
and table in this house, and wondered if I would ever get back here
again."

He then gave us a sketch of his life since the "gold-tipped" man had
become his master. Arrived in Paris, his master and himself took
lodgings at the Hotel de Ville. A teacher was employed to come every
day and instruct Robert in French. His master kept him well supplied
with money, never giving him less than fifty dollars at a time. His
duties were light, and he had ample time to study and amuse himself.

After enjoying such elegant ease for eight or nine months, he waked
one morning and found himself deserted and penniless! His master had
absconded in the night, leaving no vestige of himself except a gold
dressing case and a few toilette articles of gold, which were seized by
the proprietor of the hotel in payment of his bill.

Poor Robert, without money and without a friend in this great city,
knew not where to turn. In vain he wished himself back in his old home.

"If I could only find some Virginian to whom I could appeal," said he
to himself. And suddenly it occurred to him that the American Minister,
Mr. Mason, was a Virginian. When he remembered this his heart was
cheered, and he lost no time in finding Mr. Mason's house.

Presenting himself before the American Minister, he related his story,
which was not at first believed. "For," said Mr. Mason, "there are so
many impostors in Paris, it is impossible to believe you."

Robert protested he had been a slave in Virginia--had been deserted by
his owner in Paris, and begged Mr. Mason to keep him at his house, and
take care of him.

Then Mr. M. asked many questions about people and places in Virginia,
all which were accurately answered. Finally, he said: "I knew well the
Virginia gentleman who was, you say, your master. What was the color of
his hair?" This was also satisfactorily answered, and Robert began to
hope he was believed, when Mr. Mason continued:

"Now there is one thing, which if you can do, will convince me you
came from Virginia. Go in my kitchen and make me some old Virginia
beat-biscuit, and I will believe everything you have said!"

"I think I can do that, sir," said Robert, and going in the kitchen,
rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

This was a desperate moment, for he had never made a biscuit in his
life, although he had often watched the proceeding as "Black Mammy,"
the cook at home, used to beat, roll and manipulate the dough on her
biscuit box.

"If I only could make them look like her's!" thought he, as he beat,
and rolled, and worked and finally stuck the dough all over with a
fork. Then cutting them out, and putting them to bake, he watched them
with nervous anxiety until they resembled those he had often placed on
the table at home.

Astonished and delighted with his success, he carried them to the
American Minister, who exclaimed: "Now I _know_ you came from old
Virginia!"

Robert was immediately installed in Mr. M.'s house, where he remained a
faithful attendant until Mr. Mason's death, when he returned with the
family to America.

Arriving at New York he thought it impossible to get along by himself,
and determined to find his master. For this purpose he employed
a policeman, and together they succeeded in recovering "the lost
master"--this being a singular instance of a "slave in pursuit of his
fugitive master."

The "gold-tipped" man expressed much pleasure at his servant's
fidelity, and handing him a large sum of money desired him to return
to Paris, pay his bill, bring back his gold dressing box and toilette
articles, and, as a reward for his fidelity, take as much money as he
wished and travel over the continent.

Robert obeyed these commands, returned to Paris, paid the bills,
traveled over the chief places in Europe and then came again to New
York. Here he was appalled to learn that his master had been arrested
for forgery, and imprisoned in Philadelphia. It was ascertained that
the forger was an Englishman and connected with an underground forging
establishment in Paris. Finding himself about to be detected in Paris
he fled to New York, and other forgeries having been discovered in
Philadelphia, he had been arrested.

Robert lost no time in reporting himself at the prison, and was grieved
to find his master in such a place.

Determining to do what he could to relieve the man who had been a good
friend to him, he went to a Philadelphia lawyer, and said to him: "Sir,
the man who is in prison, bought me in Virginia, and has been a kind
master to me; I have no money, but if you will do your best to have him
acquitted, I will return to the South, sell myself and send you the
money."

"It is a bargain," replied the lawyer. "Send me the money, and I will
save your master from the penitentiary."

Robert returned to Baltimore, sold himself to a Jew in that city,
and sent the money to the lawyer in Philadelphia. After this he was
bought by a distinguished Southern Senator--afterwards a General in the
Southern army--with whom he remained, and to whom he rendered valuable
services during the war.

       *       *       *       *       *

Other instances were known of <DW64>s who preferred being sold into
slavery rather than take care of themselves. There were some in our
immediate neighborhood, who finding themselves emancipated by their
master's will, begged the owners of neighboring plantations to buy
them, saying they preferred having "white people to take care of them."
On the "Wheatly" plantation--not far from us--there is still living an
old <DW64> who sold himself in this way, and cannot be persuaded _now_
to accept his freedom. After the war, when all the <DW64>s were freed
by the Federal Government, and our people too much impoverished longer
to clothe and feed them, this old man refused to leave the plantation,
but clung to his cabin, although his wife and family moved off and
begged him to accompany them.

"No," said he, "I nuver will leave this plantation, and go off to
starve with free <DW65>s."

Not even when his wife was very sick and dying could he be persuaded to
go off and stay one night with her. He had long been too old to work,
but his former owners indulged him by giving him his cabin, and taking
care of him through all the poverty which has fallen upon our land
since the war.




CHAPTER XVII.


O, bright winged peace! Long did'st thou rest o'er the homes of old
Virginia; while cheerful wood fires blazed on hearthstones in parlor
and cabin, reflecting contented faces with hearts full of "peace and
good will towards men!" No thought entered there of harm to others; no
fear of evil to ourselves. Whatsoever things were honest; whatsoever
things were pure; whatsoever things were gentle; whatsoever things
were of good report, we were accustomed to hear 'round these parlor
firesides; and often would our grandmothers say:

"Children our's is a blessed country! There never will be another war!
The Indians have long ago been driven out, and it has been nearly a
hundred years since the English yoke was broken!"

The history of our country was contained in two pictures: "The last
battle with the Indians" and "The surrender of Lord Cornwallis at
Yorktown."

No enemies within or without our borders, and peace established among
us forever! Such was our belief. And we wondered that men should get
together and talk their dry politics, seeing that General Washington
and Thomas Jefferson--two of our Virginia plantation men--had
established a government to last as long as the earth, and which could
not be improved. Yet they _would_ talk--these politicians--around
our parlor fire, where often our patience was exhausted hearing
discussions, in which we could not take interest, about the "Protective
Tariff;" the "Bankrupt Law;" the "Distribution of Public Lands;" the
"Resolutions of '98;" the "Missouri Compromise," and the "Monroe
Doctrine." These topics seemed to afford them intense pleasure and
satisfaction, for as the "sparks fly upward" the thoughts of men turn
to politics.

Feeling no ill will towards any tribe, people or nation on the globe,
and believing that all felt a friendly regard for us, how could we
believe, when we heard it, that a nation not far off--to whom we had
yearly "carried up" a tithe of all we possessed, and whose coffers
we helped to fill--were subscribing large sums of money to destroy
us? We could not, would not believe it. Yet we were told that this
nation--towards whom we felt no animosity--brought up their children to
believe that they would do God service by reviling and persecuting us.
Nay more--that their ministers of the gospel preached unto them thus:

"Thou shalt carry fire and sword into the land that lieth South of you.
Thou shalt make it a desolate waste. Thou shalt utterly root out and
annihilate the people that they be no more a people. Thou shalt write
books. Thou shalt form societies for the purpose of planning the best
means of attacking secretly and destroying this people. Thou shalt send
emissaries. Thou shalt stir up the nations abroad against them. Thou
shalt prepare weapons of war, and in every way incite their <DW64>s to
rise at night and slay them."

Around our firesides we asked: "Can this be true?"

Alas! alas! it was true; and the first expedition sent against us was
led by a man from the Adirondack Mountains in the North, who in 1859,
with a small band armed with pikes, clubs and guns, attacked one of our
villages at night.[7]

The news of this blanched the cheeks of our maidens, and the children
nestled closer round their mother's knee at evening twilight, for who
could tell what might befall our plantation homes before morning! The
hearts of women and children grew sick and faint. But the hearts of
our men and boys grew brave and strong--and would they have been the
countrymen of Washington had they not thought of war?

About this time we had a visit from two old friends of our family--a
distinguished Southern Senator and the Secretary of War--both
accustomed to swaying multitudes by the power of their eloquence--which
lost none of its force and charm in our little home circle. We listened
with admiration as they discussed the political issues of the day--no
longer a subject uninteresting or unintelligible to us, for every
word was of vital importance. Their theme was, "the best means of
protecting our plantation homes and firesides." Even the smallest
children now comprehended the greatest politicians.

Now came the full flow and tide of Southern eloquence--real,
soul-inspiring eloquence!

Many possessing this gift were in the habit of visiting us at that
time; and all dwelt upon one theme--the secession of Virginia--with
glowing words from hearts full of enthusiasm; all agreeing it was
better for States, as well as individuals, to separate rather than
quarrel or fight.

But there was one--our oldest and best friend--who differed with these
gentlemen; and his eloquence was gentle and effective. Unlike his
friends whose words, earnest and electric, overwhelmed all around, this
gentleman's power was in his composure of manner without vehemence. His
words were well selected without seeming to have been studied; each
sentence was short, but contained a gem, like a solitaire diamond.

For several months this gentleman remained untouched by the fiery
eloquence of his friends--like the Hebrew children in the burning
furnace. Nothing affected him until one day, the President of the
United States demanded by telegraph 50,000 Virginians to join an army
against South Carolina. And then this gentleman felt convinced it was
not the duty of Virginians to join an army against their friends.

About this time we had some very interesting letters from the Hon.
Edward Everett--who had been for several years a friend and agreeable
correspondent--giving us his views on the subject, and very soon after
this all communication between the North and South ceased, except
through the blockade, for four long years.

And then came the long dark days; the days when the sun seemed to shine
no more; when the eyes of wives, mothers and sisters were heavy with
weeping; when men sat up late in the night studying military tactics;
when grief-burdened hearts turned to God in prayer.

The intellectual gladiators who had discoursed eloquently of war around
our fireside, buckled their armor on and went forth to battle.

Band after band of brave-hearted, bright-faced youths from Southern
plantation homes came to bleed and die on Virginia soil; and for four
long years old Virginia was one great camping ground, hospital and
battle field. The roar of cannon and the clash of arms resounded over
the land. The groans of the wounded and dying went up from hillside and
valley. The hearts of women and children were sad and careworn. But
God, to whom they prayed, protected them in our plantation homes--where
no white men or even boys remained--all having gone into the army.
Only the <DW64> slaves stayed with us, and these were encouraged by our
enemies to rise and slay us; but God in His mercy willed otherwise.
Although advised to burn our property and incited by the enemy to
destroy their former owners, these <DW64> slaves remained faithful,
manifesting kindness, and in many instances protecting the white
families and plantations during their masters' absence.

Oh! the long terrible nights helpless women and children passed, in our
plantation homes; the enemy encamped around them; the clash of swords
heard against the doors and windows; the report of guns on the air
which might be sending death to their loved ones.

But why try to describe the horrors of such nights? Who that has not
experienced them can know how we felt? Who can imagine the heart
sickness, when stealing to an upper window at midnight we watched the
fierce flames rising from some neighboring home, expecting our own to
be destroyed by the enemy before daylight in the same way?

Such pictures, dark and fearful, were the only ones familiar to us in
old Virginia those four dreadful years.

At last the end came--the end which seemed to us saddest of all. But
God knoweth best. Though "through fiery trials" He had caused us to
pass, He had not forsaken us. For was not His mercy signally shown in
the failure of the enemy to incite our <DW64> slaves to insurrection
during the war? Through His mercy those who were expected to become
our enemies, remained our friends. And in our own home, surrounded by
the enemy those terrible nights, our only guard was a faithful <DW64>
servant who slept in the house, and went out every hour to see if we
were in immediate danger; while his mother--the kind old nurse--sat all
night in a rocking chair in our room, ready to help us. Had we not then
amidst all our sorrows much to be thankful for?

Among such scenes one of the last pictures photographed on my memory,
was that of a <DW64> boy very ill with typhoid fever in a cabin not
far off, and who became greatly alarmed when a brisk firing commenced
between the contending armies across our house. His first impulse--as
it always had been in trouble--was to fly to his mistress for
protection; and jumping from his bed--his head bandaged with a white
cloth, and looking like one just from the grave--he passed through the
firing as fast as he could, screaming: "O, mistress, take care of me!
Put me in your closet, and hide me from the Yankees!" He fell at the
door exhausted. My mother had him brought in and a bed made for him in
the library. She nursed him carefully, but he died in a day or two from
fright and exhaustion.

Soon after this was the surrender at Appomattox, and <DW64> slavery
ended forever.

All was ruin around us; tobacco factories burned down, sugar and
cotton plantations destroyed. The <DW64>s fled from these desolated
places, crowded together in wretched shanties on the outskirts of
towns and villages, and found themselves, for the first time in their
lives, without enough to eat, and with no class of people particularly
interested about their food, health or comfort. Rations were furnished
them a short time by the United States Government, with promises of
money and land, which were never fulfilled. Impoverished by the war, it
was a relief to us no longer to have the responsibility of supporting
them. This would indeed have been impossible in our starving condition.

Twelve years have passed since they became free, but they have not,
during this time, advanced in intelligence or comfort. Wanting the care
of their owners, they die more frequently; and, it is thought,--by
those who have studied the subject--that abandoned to themselves, they
are returning to the superstitions of their forefathers. A missionary
recently returned from Africa, and witnessing here their religious
rites, says they are the same he saw practiced before the idols in
Africa.

They still have a strange belief in what they call "tricking," and
often the most intelligent, when sick, will say they have been
"tricked," for which they have a regular treatment and "trick doctors"
among themselves. This "tricking" we cannot explain, and only know that
when one <DW64> became angry with another, he would bury in front of his
enemy's cabin door a bottle filled with pieces of snakes, spiders, bits
of tadpole, and other curious substances; and the party expecting to be
"tricked," would hang up an old horse shoe outside of his door to ward
off the "evil spirits."

Since alienated from their former owners they are, as a general thing,
more idle and improvident; and, unfortunately, the tendency of their
political teaching has been to make them antagonistic to the better
class of white people, which renders it difficult for them to be
properly instructed. That such animosity should exist towards those who
could best understand and help them, is to be deplored. For the true
<DW64> character cannot be fully comprehended or described, but by those
who--like ourselves--have always lived with them.

At present their lives are devoted to a religious excitement which
demoralizes them, there seeming to be no connection between their
religion and morals. In one of their Sabbath schools is a teacher, who
although often arrested for stealing, continues to hold a high position
in the church.

Their improvidence has passed into a proverb--many being truly objects
of charity; and whoever would now write a true tale of poverty and
wretchedness, may take for the hero "Old Uncle Tom without a cabin."
For "Uncle Tom" of the olden time in his cabin with a blazing log fire
and plenty of corn bread, and the Uncle Tom of to-day, are pictures of
very different individuals.

And this chapter ends my reminiscences of an era soon to be forgotten,
and which will perish under the heel of modern progress. It is a
faithful memorial. Would that it might rescue from oblivion some of the
characters worthy to be remembered!




CHAPTER XVIII.


The scenes connected with the late war will recall to the mind of
every Southern man and woman the name of Robert E. Lee--a name which
will be loved and revered as long as home or fireside remains in old
Virginia--and which sets the crowning glory on the list of illustrious
men from plantation homes. Admiration and enthusiasm naturally belong
to victory; but the man must be rare indeed, who in defeat, like
General Lee, received the applause of his countrymen.

It was not alone his valor, his handsome appearance, his commanding
presence, his perfect manner, which won the admiration of his
fellow-men. There was something above and beyond all these--his true
Christian character. Trust in God ennobled his every word and action.
Among the grandest of human conquerors was he, for early enlisting as
a soldier of the cross--to fight against the world, the flesh and the
devil--he fought the "good fight" and the victor's crown awaited him in
the "kingdom not made with hands."

Trust in God kept him calm in victory as in defeat. When I remember
General Lee during the war, in his family circle at Richmond--then at
the height of his renown--his manner, voice and conversation were the
same as when, a year after the surrender, he came to make my mother a
visit from his Lexington home.

His circumstances and surroundings were now changed--no longer the
stars and epaulets adorned his manly form; but dressed in a simple suit
of pure white linen, he looked a king, and adversity had wrought no
change in his character, manner, or conversation.

To reach our house he made a journey--on his old war horse,
"Traveler"--forty miles across the mountains, describing which, on the
night of his arrival, he said:

"To-day an incident occurred which gratified me more than anything that
has happened for a long time. As I was riding over the most desolate
mountain region, where not even a cabin could be seen, I was surprised
to find, on a sudden turn in the road, two little girls playing on a
large rock. They were very poorly clad, and after looking a moment at
me, began to run away. 'Children,' said I, 'don't run away. If you
could know _who_ I am, you would know that I am the last man in the
world for anybody to run from now.'

"'But we do know you,' they replied.

"'You never saw me before,' I said, 'for I never passed along here.'

"'But we do know you,' they said, 'And we've got your picture up yonder
in the house, and you are General Lee! And we ain't dressed clean
enough to see you.'

"With this they scampered off to a poor log hut on the mountain side."

It was gratifying to him to find that even in this lonely mountain hut
the children had been taught to know and revere him.

He told us, too, of a man he met the same day in a dense forest who
recognized him, and throwing up his hat in the air, said: "General,
_please_ let me cheer you," and fell to cheering with all his lungs!

       *       *       *       *       *

My last recollections of General Lee, when making a visit of several
weeks at his house, the year before his death--although not coming
properly under the head of "plantation reminiscences"--may not be
inappropriate here.

It has been said that a man is never a "hero to his valet;" but this
could not have been said of General Lee, for those most intimately
connected with him could not fail to see continually in his bearing and
character something above the ordinary level, something of the hero.

At the time of my visit the commencement exercises of the College, of
which he was President, were going on. His duties were necessarily
onerous. Sitting up late at night with the board of visitors, and
attending to every detail with his conscientious particularity, there
was little time for him to rest. Yet every morning of that busy week
he was ready, with his prayer-book under his arm, when the church bell
called its members to sun-rise service.

It is pleasant to recall all he said at the breakfast, dinner and tea
table, where in his hospitality he always insisted upon bringing all
who chanced to be at his house at those hours--on business or on social
call.[8]

This habit kept his table filled with guests, who received from him
elegant courtesy.

Only once did I hear him speak regretfully of the past. It was one
night when sitting by him on the porch in the moonlight, he said to me,
his thoughts turning to his early childhood:

"It was not my mother's wish that I should receive a military
education, and I ought to have taken her advice, for," he said very
sadly, "my education did not fit me for this civil life."

In this no one could agree with him, for it seemed to all that he
adorned and satisfactorily filled every position in life, civil or
military.

There was something in his manner which naturally pleased every one
without his making an effort; at the same time a dignity and reserve
which commanded respect and precluded anything like undue familiarity.
All desirable qualities seemed united in him to render him popular.

It was wonderful to observe--in the evenings when his parlors were
overflowing with people young and old, from every conceivable
place--how by a word, a smile, a shake of the hand he managed to give
_all_ pleasure and satisfaction, each going away charmed with him.

The applause of men excited in him no vanity; for those around soon
learned that the slightest allusion or compliment, in his presence, to
his valor or renown, instead of pleasing, rather offended him. Without
vanity, he was equally without selfishness.

One day, observing several quaint articles of furniture about his
house, and asking Mrs. Lee where they came from, she told me that an
old lady in New York city--of whom neither herself nor the General had
ever before heard--concluded to break up housekeeping. Having no family
and not wishing to sell or remove her furniture to a boarding house,
she determined to give it to "the _greatest living man_," and that man
was General Lee.

She wrote a letter asking his acceptance of the present, requesting
that, if his house was already furnished and he had no room, he would
use the articles about his College.

The boxes arrived. But--such was his reluctance at receiving
gifts--weeks passed and he neither had them opened or brought to his
house from the express office.

Finally, as their house was quite bare of furniture, Mrs. Lee begged
him to allow her to have them opened, and he consented.

First there was among the contents a beautiful carpet large enough
for two rooms, at which she was delighted, as they had none. But the
General, seeing it, quickly said: "That is the very thing for the floor
of the new chapel! It must be put there."

Next were two sofas and a set of chairs. "The very things we want,"
again exclaimed the General, "for the platform of the new chapel!"

Then they unpacked a side-board. "This will do _very well_," said
the General, "to be placed in the basement of the chapel to hold the
College papers!"

And so with everything the old lady sent, only keeping for his own
house the articles which could not be possibly used for the College or
chapel--a quaint work-table, an ornamental clock and some old fashioned
preserve dishes--although his own house was then bare enough, and the
old lady had particularly requested that only those articles which they
did not need should go to the College.

The recollection of this visit, although reviving many pleasant hours,
is very sad, for it was the last time I saw the dear, kind face of Mrs.
Lee; of whom the General once said when one of us, alluding to him,
used the word "hero:" "My dear, _Mrs._ Lee is the hero. For although
deprived of the use of her limbs, by suffering, and unable for ten
years to walk I have never heard her murmur or utter one complaint."

And the General spoke truly, Mrs. Lee was a heroine. With gentleness,
kindness and true feminine delicacy, she had strength of mind and
character a man might have envied. Her mind well stored and cultivated
made her interesting in conversation; and a simple cordiality of manner
made her beloved by all who met her.

During this last visit she loved to tell about her early days at
Arlington--her own and her ancestors' plantation home--and in one of
these conversations gave me such a beautiful sketch of her mother--Mrs.
Custis--that I wish her every word could be remembered that I might
write it here.

Mrs. Custis was a woman of saintly piety, her devotion to good works
having long been a theme with all in that part of Virginia. She had
only one child--Mrs. Lee--and possessed a very large fortune. In early
life she felt that God had given her a special mission, which was to
take care of and teach the three hundred <DW64>s she had inherited.

"Believing this," said Mrs. Lee to me, "my mother devoted the best
years of her life to teaching these <DW64>s, for which purpose she had
a school house built in the yard, and gave her life up to this work;
and I think it an evidence of the ingratitude of their race, that
although I have long been afflicted, only one of those <DW64>s has
written to enquire after me, or offered to nurse me."

These last years of Mrs. Lee's life were passed in much suffering,
being unable to move any part of her body except her hands and head.
Yet her time was devoted to working for her church. Her fingers were
always busy with fancy work, painting or drawing--she was quite an
accomplished artist--which were sold for the purpose of repairing and
beautifying the church in sight of her window, and as much an object
of zeal and affection with her, as the chapel was with the General.

Indeed the whole family entered into the General's enthusiasm about
this chapel--just then completed--especially his daughter Agnes, with
whom I often went there, little thinking it was so soon to be her place
of burial.

In a few short years all three--General Lee, his wife and daughter--were
laid here to rest, and this chapel they had loved so well became their
tomb.




CHAPTER XIX.


All plantation reminiscences resemble a certain patch-work, made when
we were children, of bright pieces joined with black squares. The black
squares were not pretty, but if left out, the character of the quilt
was lost. And so with the black faces, if left out of our home pictures
of the past, the character of the picture is destroyed.

What I have written is a simple record of facts in my experience
without an imaginary scene or character; intended for the descendants
of those who owned slaves in the South, and who may in future wish
to know something of the high-toned character and virtues of their
ancestors.

The pictures are strictly true, and should it be thought by any that
the brightest have alone been selected, I can only say, I knew no
others.

It would not be possible for any country to be entirely exempt from
crime and wickedness; and here, too, these existed; for prisons,
penitentiaries and courts of justice were, as elsewhere, important; but
it is a sincere belief that the majority of Southern people were true
and good. And that they have accomplished more than any other nation
towards civilizing and elevating the <DW64> race, may be shown from the
following paragraph in a late magazine:

"From a very early date the French had their establishment on the
Western coast of Africa. In 1364 their ships visited that portion of
the world. But with all this long intercourse with the white man the
natives have profited little. _Five centuries_ have not civilized them,
so as to be able to build up institutions of their own. Yet the French
have always succeeded better than the English with the <DW64> and Indian
element."

Civilization and education are slow; for, says a modern writer:

"After the death of Roman intellectual activity, the seventh and eighth
centuries were justly called dark. If Christianity was to be one of
the factors in producing the present splendid enlightenment, she had
no time to lose, and she lost no time. She was the only power at that
day that could begin the work of enlightenment. And starting at the
very bottom, she wrought for _nine hundred years_ alone. The materials
she had to work upon, were stubborn and unmalleable. _For one must be
somewhat civilized to have a taste for knowledge at all; and one must
know something to be civilized at all._ She had to carry on the double
work of civilizing and educating. Her progress was necessarily slow at
first. _But after some centuries_ it began to increase in arithmetical
progression until the sixteenth century."

Then our ancestors performed a great work--the work allotted them
by God, civilizing and elevating an inferior race in the scale of
intelligence and comfort. That this race may continue to improve, and
finally be the means of carrying the gospel into their native Africa,
should be the prayer of every earnest Christian.

Never again will the <DW64> race find a people so kind and true to them
as the Southerners have been. For, said a gentleman the other day, who
lives in New York, "In the Northern cities white labor is preferred,
and the <DW64>s are to be found on the outskirts, poor, wretched and
friendless."

There is much in our lives not intended for us to comprehend or
explain; but believing that nothing happens by chance, and that our
forefathers have done their duty in the "place it had pleased God to
call them," let us cherish their memory, and remember that the Lord God
Omnipotent reigneth.

    For He who rules each wondrous star,
      And marks the feeble sparrow's fall
    Controls the destiny of man,
      And guides events however small.

    Man's place of birth; his home; his friends,
      Are planned and fixed by God alone--
    "Life's lot is cast"--e'en death He sends
      For some wise purpose of His own.




FOOTNOTES:


[1] Rev. G. W. Leyburn.

[2] John Randolph, of Roanoke.

[3] John Preston, afterwards Governor of Virginia.

[4] On the route to "Rustic" was a small village called "Liberty,"
approaching which, and hearing the name, "English Louis" swore he would
not pass through any such "---- little Republican town," and turning
his horses travelled many miles out of his way to avoid it.

[5] From this vicinity went nine ministers, who were eminent in their
several churches; two Episcopal Bishops, one Methodist Bishop, three
distinguished Presbyterian and three Baptist divines of talent and fame.

[6] General Scott.

[7] Harpers Ferry.

[8] Here was seen the Mount Vernon silver, which had descended to Mrs.
General Washington's great-grandson, General Custis Lee, and which
was miraculously preserved during the war, having been concealed in
different places--and once was buried near Lexington in a barn, which
was occupied by the enemy several days.




      *      *      *      *      *      *




Transcriber's note:

    Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
    possible, including inconsistent hyphenation.

    The following is a list of changes made to the original.
    The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one.

    Page 12:

    small servants, who speedily gat them into their clean aprons,
    small servants, who speedily got them into their clean aprons,

    Page 16:

    Every inch of mahogony was waxed and rubbed to the highest state
    Every inch of mahogany was waxed and rubbed to the highest state

    Page 20:

    and which always looked so pretty on the mahogony.
    and which always looked so pretty on the mahogany.

    Page 29:

    "Oh!" replied another, the idea of us poor Virginia girls taking
    "Oh!" replied another, "the idea of us poor Virginia girls taking

    Page 30:

    or by the gardener to direct the plauting of certain seeds or roots
    or by the gardener to direct the planting of certain seeds or roots

    Page 34:

    not only to furnish their masters table with the choicest meats,
    not only to furnish their master's table with the choicest meats,

    Page 39:

    four horses, with footman, postilion and driver in English livery.
    four horses, with footman, postillion and driver in English livery.

    Page 42:

    of much smaller means than Virginia and South Corolina belles!
    of much smaller means than Virginia and South Carolina belles!

    Page 43:

    who dwell in the desert are always pusilanimous and groveling!"
    who dwell in the desert are always pusillanimous and groveling!"

    Page 45:

    At last, when the latter was seized with a contageous fever
    At last, when the latter was seized with a contagious fever

    Page 46:

    Mr. Thackaray was once entertained at one of them.
    Mr. Thackeray was once entertained at one of them.

    Page 48:

    At Magdalene College, Frances was left for a moment in a parlor,
    At Magdalen College, Frances was left for a moment in a parlor,

    Page 49:

    A scene almost horrible ensued."
    A scene almost horrible ensued.

    Page 53:

    the house at which he was stopping was beseiged by reporters
    the house at which he was stopping was besieged by reporters

    Page 54:

    by the passage of a canon ball through the upper story,
    by the passage of a cannon ball through the upper story,

    Page 55:

    paying all the bills, this genteman had no "rights" there whatever;
    paying all the bills, this gentleman had no "rights" there whatever;

    Her furniture was polished mahogony, and she kept most delicious
    Her furniture was polished mahogany, and she kept most delicious

    Page 62:

    of Southern eloquence--real, soul-inspiring eloquence?
    of Southern eloquence--real, soul-inspiring eloquence!

    Page 63

    Soon after this was the surrender at Appomatox, and <DW64> slavery
    Soon after this was the surrender at Appomattox, and <DW64> slavery

    Page 65:

    To-day an incident occurred which gratified me more than anything
    "To-day an incident occurred which gratified me more than anything

    Page 67:

    that athough I have long been afflicted, only one of those
    that although I have long been afflicted, only one of those



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