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A WOMAN RICE PLANTER
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
[Illustration: The sheaves are beaten with flails.]
A WOMAN RICE PLANTER
PATIENCE PENNINGTON
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
OWEN WISTER
AND
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ALICE R. H. SMITH
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1913
All rights reserved
COPYRIGHTED 1904, 1905, 1906, 1907,
BY THE SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION.
COPYRIGHT, 1913,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1913.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
MY FATHER
TO WHOSE EXAMPLE OF SELF-CONTROL AND CHRISTIAN
FORTITUDE, I OWE THE POWER TO LIVE MY
LIFE INDEPENDENT OF EXTERNALS, I
DEDICATE THESE FRAGMENTARY
RECORDS, ON THIS THE ONE
HUNDRED AND TWELFTH
ANNIVERSARY OF
HIS BIRTH
CHICORA WOOD,
April 21st, 1913.
INTRODUCTION
While the influences and mechanisms of the present world tend to make
all parts of it alike in thought and in costume, the various nooks and
corners of our own country are gradually losing their original highly
accentuated characteristics, and are merging into a general similarity.
Most of what you hear and see any morning in the towns of Massachusetts
you will hear and see in Omaha, Denver, Seattle, or anywhere else,
because the department stores advertise and sell the same kind of
clothes everywhere at the same time, and the same news is everywhere
published in the daily papers.
Our American literature is therefore very lucky to have produced its
Jewetts, Wilkinses, Cables, Craddocks, Pages, and Harrises, who have
well set down for our perpetual interest and instruction the evaporating
charm of their chosen fields.
Here is another book belonging to this valuable indigenous shelf of
ours, a shelf where stand the volumes that tell of people and events
that could have been met with nowhere in the world save upon our own
native soil. Although it is not fiction, but a record of personal
experience, it should prove to many readers as entertaining as our best
fiction.
It is about the South, a particular part of the South, the
rice-plantation coast of South Carolina. In this region, field and
water and forest intermingle to form a strange, haunting scene, full of
character and mystery. To dine with a neighbor here, one needs both the
horse and the boat; travel has to be amphibious. And in this region,
too, the marks that were made by the old days have been by the new days
obliterated less than in most parts of our country. The Massachusetts,
the New York, the Pennsylvania of fifty years ago, have been swept into
albums and libraries; shelves and cabinets are their resting-place.
Would you know how yonder large mills looked in 1860? No mills were
there then, the spot was a pond, with a country road and a farm-house
about half a mile down the road; perhaps somebody has a photograph or
a wood-cut showing it as it used to be. That is what most of us in the
North and East have to do—pull down old books, pull open old drawers—if
we would see the former aspect of our neighborhood.
Not so is it in the country of the rice. The Southerner of to-day can
still trace the fields and woods of old. His house may be roofless, his
garden walks a tangle, but the avenue of live oaks still stands, the
chimney of his mill still rises above a pile of crumbled bricks, at the
doors of the cabins the negroes still sit, clad in a fashion not yet
changed beyond recognition. The fields themselves may have had their
banks cut and dissolved away by unresisted freshets, but still they are
visible, still the unchanged river pours between and around them, and
still the boat loads of people creep and prowl through the cuts.
True it is that no longer are these people well-to-do neighbors going
to visit each other, rowed by an ebony crew in uniform that chants
plantation songs in rhythm to the strokes of its oars—those neighbors
are most of them lying in the graveyard of St. Michael's, Charleston, or
in the lovely enclosures surrounding the little silent country churches
upon which one sometimes emerges during a long ride through the woods.
They who go in the boats to-day are apt to be less prosperous, whatever
their color, and when they are black they may very likely be poachers
who do not sing. But in spite of these differences, the general scene
is the same.
Thus the mark of the old days remains visible; emancipation has by no
means obliterated it; emancipation has merely brought to a close the
old days themselves, without building on top of them anything new; it
is Time that gently and silently and slowly is strewing its leaves upon
that ended era.
But certain Southerners, loving their old land and custom, have
struggled to keep alive the rice-planting, to mend their roofs and
doors, to guard the flame upon their old hearths, and to teach good
conduct and Christian faith to the young negroes unshackled from slavery
indeed, but flung into space without master, or law, or guide. Once
engulfed by the towns, these hapless blacks become a prey to every
primitive and every sophisticated vice.
Struggle is too pale a word for the decades of efforts and obstacles
that these courageous Southerners have known, particularly since rice
has come to be grown so successfully elsewhere; and when the devoted
planter happens to be a woman, the measure of daily indomitableness is
full and runs over.
Such a life of such a woman is described in these pages; with its
humor and it poignancy mingling at every turn, with the performances
of the negroes, the performances of the animals, and the ceaseless and
miscellaneous distractions and dangers of the mistress, all told with
perfect vividness and simplicity. As the narrative proceeds, the reader
gradually perceives that he has met with a Southern picture unsurpassed,
and that it makes a native document of permanent historic value. It
should be the companion volume to that admirable account of Eliza
Pinckney written by Mrs. St. Julien Ravenel; together, these two books
record the South Carolina lady and her plantation, first in the days of
her prosperity and then in the later days. Now and then one meets some
one with a natural gift of style so complete that it flows from the pen
as song from a wild bird; but most rare is it to find this gift and the
experiences it portrays united in the same person.
OWEN WISTER.
ILLUSTRATIONS
The sheaves are beaten with flails Frontispiece
PAGE
"Cherokee"—my father's place 4
Bonaparte 7
Each field has a small flood-gate, called a "trunk" 9
Marcus began work on the breaks 10
"The girls shuffled the rice about with their feet until
it was clayed" 11
Near the bridge two negro women are fishing 14
A request from Wishy's mother, Annette, for something to
stop bleeding 17
Green thought it was folly and fussiness 27
She picked her usual thirty-five pounds alone 31
To-day the hands are "toting" the rice into the flats 34
"You see a stack of rice approaching, and you perceive a pair
of legs, or a skirt, as the case may be, peeping from
beneath" 35
Chloe 40
Front porch—Casa Bianca 42
Elihu was a splendid boatman 51
My little brown maid Patty is a new acquisition and a great
comfort,for she is very bright 53
The roughness and plainness of the pineland house 54
The yearly powwow at Casa Bianca 60
"Four young girls who are splendid workers" 62
She promised not to war any more 65
"Myself, ma'am, bin most stupid" 66
A rice field "flowed" 72
The hoe they considered purely a feminine implement 79
The back steps to the pineland house 84
"A very large black hat" 87
Her husband brought her in an ox cart 93
"Old Maum Mary came to bring me a present of sweet potatoes" 98
"Pa dey een 'e bald" 102
One or two hands in the barn-yard 107
A corner of Casa Bianca 109
"Chaney" 112
Five children asked me to let them "hunt tetta" 120
"It is tied into sheaves, which the negroes do very
skilfully, with a wisp of the rice itself" 122
"The field with its picturesque workers" 124
"The Ferry" 132
His wife was very stirring 136
Day after day I met Judy coming out of her patch 138
"Old Florinda, the plantation nurse" 144
"Miss Patience, le' me len' yer de money" 150
"Jus' shinin' um up wid de knife-brick" 159
Aphrodite spread a quilt and deposited the party upon it 164
"Then he could talk a-plenty" 171
Chloe is devoted to the chicks—feeds them every two hours 174
Prince Frederick's Pee Dee 178
Prince George Winyah 180
"Eh, eh, I yere say yu cry 'bout chicken" 187
The summer kitchen at Cherokee 188
The winter kitchen at Cherokee 189
The string of excited children 190
I got Chloe off to make a visit to her daughter 198
I really do not miss ice, now that my little brown jug is
swung in the well 200
Patty came in 210
"Plat eye!" 216
Goliah cried and sobbed 225
Had Eva to sow by hand a little of the inoculated seed 232
Her little log cottage was as clean as possible 236
The sacred spot with its heavy live oak shadows 242
"I met Dab on the road" 249
Cherokee steps 250
The smoke-house at Cherokee for meat curing 260
Sol's wife, Aphrodite, is a specimen of maternal health
and vigor 262
I saw a raft of very fine poplar logs being made 263
Cypress trees 265
She was a simple, faithful soul—always diligent 270
Winnowing house for preparation of seed rice 272
"Patty en Dab en me all bin a eat" 276
Chloe began: "W'en I bin a small gal" 288
I took Chloe to Casa Bianca to serve luncheon 299
"I read tell de kumfut kum to me" 309
"Up kum Maum Mary wid de big cake een de wheelbarrer" 311
Gibbie and the oxen 313
In the field—sowing 317
How to lay the breakfast table 321
Joy unspeakable 326
The church in Peaceville 331
Chloe was a great success at the North 338
My old summer home at Pawleys Island 349
The roof of the house on Pawleys Island—from the sand-hills 352
"En de 'omans mek answer en say: 'No, ma'am; we neber steal
none'" 356
"Dem all stan' outside de fence" 367
Fanning and pounding rice for household use 375
Pounding rice 376
The rice-fields looked like a great lake 399
Casa Bianca 422
Rice-fields from the highlands 439
"You see I didn't tell no lie" 442
A WOMAN RICE PLANTER
CHAPTER I
CHEROKEE, March 30, 1903.
You have asked me to tell of my rice-planting experience, and I will do
my best, though I hardly know where to begin.
Some years ago the plantation where I had spent my very short married
life, Casa Bianca, was for sale, and against the judgment of the men of
my family I decided to put $10,000, every cent I had, in the purchase
of it, to grow old in, I said, feeling it a refuge from the loneliness
which crushed me. Though opposed to the step, one of my brothers
undertook very kindly to manage it until paid for, then to turn it over
to me. I had paid $5000 cash and spent $5000 in buying mules, supplies,
ploughs, harrows, seed rice, etc., necessary to start and run the place.
This left me with a debt of $5000, for which I gave a mortgage. After
some years the debt was reduced to $3000, when I awoke to the fact
that I had no right to burden and worry my brother any longer with this
troublesome addition to his own large planting,[1] and I told him the
first of January of 18—that I had determined to relieve him and try it
myself. He seemed much shocked and surprised and said it was impossible;
how was it possible for me, with absolutely no knowledge of planting
or experience, to do anything? It would be much wiser to rent. I said
I would gladly do so, but who would rent it? He said he would give me
$300 a year for it, just to assist me in this trouble, and I answered
that that would just pay the taxes and the interest on the debt, and
I would never have any prospect of paying off the mortgage, and, when
I died, instead of leaving something to my nieces and nephews, I would
leave only a debt. No; I had thought of it well; I would sell the five
mules and put that money in bank, and as far as that went I would plant
on wages, and the rest of the land I would rent to the negroes at ten
bushels to the acre. He was perfectly dismayed; said I would have to
advance heavily to them, and nothing but ruin awaited me in such an
undertaking.
However, I assembled the hands and told them that all who could not
support themselves for a year would have to leave the place. With one
accord they declared they could do it; but I explained to them that I
was going to take charge myself, that I was a woman, with no resources
of money behind me, and, having only the land, I intended to rent to
them for ten bushels of rice to the acre. I could advance nothing but
the seed. I could give them a chance to work for themselves and prove
themselves worthy to be free men. I intended to have no overseer; each
man would be entirely responsible for the land he rented. "You know
very well," I said, "that this land will bring my ten bushels rent if
you just throw the seed in and leave it, so that every stroke of work
that you do will go into your own pockets, and I hope you will prove
men enough to work for that purpose."
Then I picked out the lazy, shiftless hands and told them they must
leave, as I knew they would not work for themselves. All the planters
around were eager for hands and worked entirely on wages, and I would
only plant fifty acres on wages, which would not be enough to supply all
with work. My old foreman, Washington, was most uneasy and miserable,
and questioned me constantly as to the wisdom of what I was doing. At
last I said to him: "Washington, you do not know whether I have the
sense to succeed in this thing, Mass' Tom does not know, I don't know;
but we shall know by this time next year, and in the meantime you must
just trust me and do the best you can for me."
It proved a great success! I went through the burning suns all that
summer, twice a week, five miles in a buggy and six in a boat! I, who
had always been timorous, drove myself the five miles entirely alone,
hired a strange negro and his boat and was rowed by him to Casa Bianca
plantation. Then, with dear old Washington behind me, telling of all the
trials and tribulations he had had in getting the work done, I walked
around the 200 acres of rice in all stages of beauty and awfulness of
smell.
But I was more than repaid. I paid off the debt on the place and lifted
the mortgage. I had never hoped for that in one year. My renters also
were jubilant; they made handsomely and bought horses and buggies and
oxen for the coming year's work. When I had paid off everything, I had
not a cent left in the bank to run on, however. Washington was amazed
and very happy at the results, but when I said something to him about
preparing the wages field for the coming crop, he said very solemnly:
"Miss, ef yo' weak, en you wrastle wid a strong man, en de Lo'd gie you
strenf fo' trow um down once, don't you try um 'gain." I laughed, but,
remembering that I would have to borrow money to plant the field this
year, I determined to take the old man's advice and not attempt it. This
was most fortunate, for there was a terrible storm that autumn and I
would have been ruined. My renters were most fortunate in getting their
rice in before the storm, so that they did well again.
[Illustration: "Cherokee"—my father's place.]
From that time I have continued to plant from 20 to 30 acres on wages
and to rent from 100 to 150 acres. Of course I have had my ups and downs
and many anxious moments. Sometimes I have been so unfortunate as to
take as renters those who were unfit to stand alone, and then I have
suffered serious loss; but, on the whole, I have been able to keep my
head above water, and now and then have a little money to invest. In
short, I have done better than most of my neighbors.
Five years ago the head of our family passed away, and the Cherokee
plantation, which my father had inherited from his grandfather, had to
be sold for a division of the estate. None of my family was able to buy
it, and a syndicate seemed the only likely purchaser, and they wanted
to get it for very little. So I determined the best thing I could do was
to buy it in myself and devote the rest of my life to keeping it in the
family, and perhaps at my death some of the younger generation would be
able to take it. This would condemn me to a very isolated existence,
with much hard work and anxiety; but, after all, work is the greatest
blessing, as I have found. I have lived at Cherokee alone ever since,
two miles from any white person! With my horses, my dogs, my books, and
piano, my life has been a very full one. There are always sick people
to be tended and old people to be helped, and I have excellent servants.
My renters here, nearly all own their farms and live on them, coming
to their work every day in their ox-wagons or their buggies; for the
first thing a negro does when he makes a good crop is to buy a pair of
oxen, which he can do for $30, and the next good crop he buys a horse
and buggy.
The purchase of Cherokee does more credit to my heart than head, and
it is very doubtful if I shall ever pay off the mortgage. I have lost
two entire crops by freshet, and the land is now under water for the
third time this winter, and, though I have rented 125 acres, it is very
uncertain if I can get the half of that in. March is the month when all
the rice-field ploughing should be done. The earliest rice is planted
generally at the end of March, then through April, and one week in May.
Last season I only got in fifty acres of rent rice and ten of wages;
for in the same way the freshet was over the rice land all winter, and
when it went off, there was only time to prepare that much. The renters
made very fine crops—30, 40, and 45 bushels to the acre, while the
wages fields only made 17! This is a complete reversal of the ordinary
results, for I have very rarely, in all these years, made less than 30
bushels to the acre on my fields, and I was greatly discouraged and
anxious to understand the reason of this sudden failure in the wages
rice at both plantations.
By the merest chance I found out the cause. Early in December I was
planting oats in a six-acre field. We broadcast winter oats in this
section and then plough it in on fields which have been planted in peas
before. I was anxious to get the field finished before a freeze, and had
six of the best ploughmen in it. Grip had prevented my going out until
they had nearly finished, but Bonaparte had assured me it was being
well done. When I went into the field, it looked strange to me—the rich
brown earth did not lie in billowy ridges as a ploughed field generally
does. Here and there a weed skeleton stood erect. I tried to pull up
one or two of these and found they were firmly rooted in the soil and
had never been turned. I walked over that field with my alpenstock for
hours, and found that systematically the ploughmen had left from eight
to ten inches of hard land between each furrow, covering it skilfully
with fresh earth, so that each hand who had been paid for an acre's
ploughing had in reality ploughed only one-third of an acre. And then
I understood the failure of all the wage rice!
I called Bonaparte, my head man, whom I trust fully. His grandfather
belonged to my grandfather, and his family hold themselves as the
colored aristocracy of this country. He has been a first-class
carpenter, but he is rheumatic and does not work with ease at his trade
now, and prefers taking charge of my planting as head man, or agent,
as they now prefer to call it. He is trustworthy and has charge of the
keys to my barns where rice, corn, oats, and potatoes are kept. I have
trusted him entirely, and it would be a dreadful blow to think that he
was losing his integrity. Though the pressure from the idle, shambling,
trifling element of his race is very great, he has been able to resist
it in the past.
[Illustration: Bonaparte.]
I showed Bonaparte what I had discovered, and he seemed terribly
shocked. Whether this was real or not I cannot say, but it seemed
very real, and as he has never ploughed, perhaps he really did not
understand. When I said:
"And this is why the wage rice turned out so badly! You received
ploughing like this and I paid for it," he seemed convicted and humbled.
He had told me how beautifully the rice got up, but as soon as the hot
suns of July struck it, the leaves just wilted. Of course, the roots
could not penetrate the packed, unbroken clay soil. The best rice-field
soil is a blue clay which the sun bakes like a brick. For a while the
roots lived in the fresh earth on top.
The seed rice I had paid $1.35 a bushel for and planted two and one-half
bushels to each acre; the cost of cultivating and harvesting it is
$15 the acre, so that makes $18.37 which it cost to produce seventeen
bushels of rice, which sold at 80 cents a bushel, $13.60.
What is to be the result of this new departure in the way of dishonesty
I do not know. It has taken me a long time to lose patience. A few years
ago one could get the value of the money paid for work. Just after the
war there was a splendid body of workers on this plantation, and every
one in the neighborhood was eager to get some of the hands from here. My
father gave prizes for the best workers in the different processes, and
they felt a great pride in being the prize ploughman or ditcher or hoe
hand of the year; but now, alas, poor things, they have been so confused
and muddled by the mistaken ideas and standards held out to them that
they have no pride in honest work, no pride in anything but to wear fine
clothes and get ahead of the man who employs them to do a job.
It is very hard for me to say this; I have labored so among them to
try to elevate their ideals, to make them bring up their children to
be honest and diligent, to make them still feel that honest, good work
is something to be proud of. Even last year I would not have said this,
but, alas, I have to say it now.
I have just come in from the corn-field, where two women have been
paid for cutting down the corn-stalks, so that there will be nothing
to interfere with the plough. They have only broken off the tops of the
stalks, leaving about eighteen inches of stout corn-stalks all through
the field. I shall have to send some one else to do the work and pay
once more.
Yesterday I drove eight miles to my lower place, Casa Bianca, where the
foreman asked me to go round the banks with him and see the inroads of
the last full-moon tides, and it was appalling, the forces of nature are
so immense. It makes me quail to think of the necessity of setting my
small human powers in opposition. The rice-field banks are about three
feet above the level of the river at high water, and each field has a
very small flood-gate (called a trunk), which opens and closes to let
the water in and out; but when a gale or freshet comes, all the trunk
doors have to be raised so as not to strain the banks, and the water in
the fields rises to the level of the river outside.
I must stop writing now or I will get too blue. I must go out and
bathe in the generous sunshine and feast my eyes on the glory of yellow
jessamine that crowns every bush and tree and revel in the delicious
perfume as my bicycle glides over the soft, brown pine-needles along
the level paths where the great dark blue eyes of the wild violets look
lovingly up at me.
Yes, yes, God is very good and His world is very beautiful, and we
must trust Him. When these brown children of His were wild, they were,
no doubt, in a physical way perfect, but when they were brought to a
knowledge of good and evil and brought under the law, like our first
parents, the Prince of Darkness stepped in and the struggle within them
of the forces of heaven and hell has been going on there ever since.
[Illustration: Each field has a small flood-gate called a "trunk."]
Can we doubt which will conquer in the end? No! Evil can never have the
final victory, but the struggle will be long, for the Prince of Darkness
uses such subtle emissaries. They come in the guise of angels, as
elevators and instructors, taking from them the simple first principles
of right and wrong which they had grasped, and substituting the glamour
of ambition, the desire to fly, to soar, for the God-given injunction,
"What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with thy God?" Thank God, there is one man of their
own race striving to hold up true standards of the Cross instead of the
golden calf of the politician.
I fear this is a dull letter, but I have tried to make you understand
something of the situation.
PATIENCE PENNINGTON.
CHEROKEE, June 1, 1903.
Since last I wrote I have been the sport of winds and waves. This place
is still under water from a freshet, and on Sunday, April 5, there was
a severe gale, and the water swept over the whole 200 acres of Casa
Bianca, flowing up the rice-fields in an hour. Saturday evening the
hands, after ploughing, left their ploughs in the field to continue
work Monday, and they could not see the handles of the ploughs Sunday
morning. I went down Tuesday, to find bridges carried away and even
the banks still under water, and the head man reported five breaks in
the Black River bank. It was impossible to do anything until the tide
receded, and as there was a strong east wind blowing and a freshet
coming down the Pee Dee, things looked very black.
[Illustration: Marcus began work on the breaks.]
[Illustration: "The girls shuffled the rice about with their feet until
it was clayed."]
I could not help lamenting aloud, and Marcus felt obliged to offer me
some comfort, so he said: "Miss, if we one been a suffer, I'd feel bad,
but eberybody bank bruk, en eberybody fiel' flow." This did not comfort
me at all, but I realized the folly of lamenting. Fortunately I had just
bought 3000 feet of boards, and as soon as the water left the fields
Marcus began work on the breaks, and by driving puncheons, laying ground
logs, and flatting mud and filling in, the bank is up again, keeping out
the river, and the fields are drying off. The season, however, has not
waited on us. April is gone, and not an acre is planted when I expected
to have 100 acres growing by this time. The worst is that I have been
paying out heavily every week to put things back where they were at the
end of March.
There are many curious things about the planting of rice. One can
plant from the 15th of March to the 15th of April, then again from the
1st to the 10th of May, and last for ten days in June. Rice planted
between these seasons falls a prey to birds,—May-birds in the spring
and rice-birds in August and September. It was impossible to plant in
April this year, and now every one is pushing desperately to get what
they can in May.
Yesterday I went down to give out the seed rice to be clayed for
planting to-day. I keep the key to the seed-rice loft, though Marcus
has all the others. I took one hand up into the upper barn while
Marcus stayed below, having two barrels half filled with clay and then
filled with water and well stirred until it is about the consistency
of molasses. In the loft my man measured out thirty-five bushels of
rice, turning the tub into a spout leading to the barn below, where
young men brought the clay water in piggins from the barrel and poured
it over the rice, while young girls, with bare feet and skirts well
tied up, danced and shuffled the rice about with their feet until the
whole mass was thoroughly clayed, singing, joking, and displaying their
graceful activity to the best advantage. It is a pretty sight. When it
is completely covered with clay, the rice is shovelled into a pyramid
and left to soak until the next morning, when it is measured out into
sacks, one and one-fourth bushels to each half acre. Two pairs of the
stoutest oxen on the plantation are harnessed to the rice-drills, and
they lumber along slowly but surely, and by twelve o'clock the field of
fourteen acres is nearly planted.
It is literally casting one's bread on the waters, for as soon as the
seed is in the ground the trunk door is lifted and the water creeps
slowly up and up until it is about three inches deep on the land.
That is why the claying is necessary; it makes the grain adhere to the
earth, otherwise it would float. Sometimes, generally from prolonged
west winds, the river is low, and water enough to cover the rice cannot
be brought in on one tide, and then the blackbirds just settle on the
field, diminishing the yield by half.
I went down into the Marsh field, where five ploughs are running,
preparing for the June planting. It is a 26-acre field, very level and
pretty, and I am delighted with the work; it is beautiful. When I told
one of the hands how pleased I was with the work, he said: "Miss, de
lan' plough so sweet, we haf for do' um good." I went all through with
much pleasure, though I sank into the moist, dark brown soil too deep
for comfort, and found it very fatiguing to jump the quarter drains,
small ditches at a distance of 200 feet apart, and, worse, to walk the
very narrow plank over the 10-foot ditch which runs all around the field
and is very deep.
The evening is beautiful; the sun, just sinking in a hazy, mellow light,
is a fiery dark red, the air is fresh from the sea, only three miles
to the east, the rice-field banks are gay with flowers, white and blue
violets, blackberry blossoms, wistaria, and the lovely blue jessamine,
which is as sweet as an orange blossom. Near the bridge two negro women
are fishing, with great strings of fish beside them. The streams are
full of Virginia perch, bream, and trout; you have only to drop your
line in with a wriggling worm at the end, and keep silent, and you
have fine sport. Then the men set their canes securely in the bank just
before dark and leave then, and almost invariably find a fish ready for
breakfast in the morning. There is a saying that one cannot starve in
this country, and it is true.
[Illustration: Near the bridge two negro women are fishing.]
As I drove down I saw little children with buckets and piggins picking
blackberries; such big, sweet berries, covering acres of old fields
which once were planted in corn. As I walked down the bank I found a
"cooter" (terrapin) which had come out of the river to lay eggs. My
excellent Chloe will make a delicious soup from it, or, still better,
bake it in the shell. All winter we have quantities of English ducks in
the rice-fields and partridges and snipe on the upland, and in the woods
wild turkeys and deer, so that if there is a sportsman in the family,
one can live royally with no expense.
Sheep live and thrive without any outlay. In 1890 I exchanged a
very fine two-year-old grade Devon, for twenty sheep. Since then
I have bought seven more. A gale, with sudden rise of water,
destroyed twenty-two at one time in 1896, and I lost ten by dogs, but
notwithstanding these losses, in the last seven years they have brought
me in $200 by sale of mutton; my house is furnished with rugs and
blankets, and I am dressed in serge made from their wool, and I have
to-day at this place forty-six sheep and thirty-five splendid lambs. If
I only could get the latter to a good market, it would pay handsomely,
for their keep has cost nothing. I have a Page wire fence around my
place.
In the same way cattle live and thrive with no grain, only straw during
the winter, and the negroes do not give theirs even straw; they simply
turn them into the woods, and in the spring look them up; find the cows
with fine young calves and ready to be milked. They shut the calf up in
a pen and turn the mother out, and she ranges the rich, grassy meadows
during the day, but always returns to her calf at night. When she is
milked, half of the milk is left for the calf. In this way the negroes
raise a great many cattle, the head of every family owning a pair of
oxen and one or two cows.
However, we cannot turn our cattle into the woods as we used to do, for
unless we go to the expense of hiring a man to follow them, they will
disappear, and no trace of them can be found. One negro will not testify
in court against another, so that it is scarcely worth while to attempt
to prosecute, for there is no chance of conviction. You hear that such
a man has been seen driving off your animal; one or two people say they
have seen him; you bring it into court, and witness after witness swears
entire ignorance of the matter.
I, for instance, have 500 acres of pine land, and the family estate and
my brothers' together make 3000 acres of the finest pasture land. Where
my father had herds of splendid cattle I have to keep my cows in a very
poor pasture of twenty acres, fenced in, and in consequence have only
five or six cows and one pair of oxen on the same plantation where my
father used to stable sixty pair of oxen during the winter. They worked
the rice land in the spring and roamed the woods and grew fat in summer.
On the road this morning I met Wishy, who made many civil inquiries
about my health. Five years ago one morning I was waked earlier than
usual by a request from Wishy's mother, Annette, for something to stop
bleeding. He had been badly cut by a negro, who struck him on the head
with a lightwood bar. Wishy had laughed at his special flame, who had
gone to church the Sunday before with a long white veil on her hat
and he was enraged. I sent witch-hazel and the simple remedies which I
always keep for such calls. About eleven o'clock another request came,
this time to lend my wagon and horses to carry Wishy to town fourteen
miles away, as his head was still bleeding. I was shocked to hear that
he was still losing blood and told them the drive might be fatal under
the circumstances; I would go out and see what could be done.
Hastily getting together all the remedies I could think of, my niece
and I drove to Annette's house, which was crowded with eager friends
gazing at the unhappy Wishy, who sat in the middle of the room, leaning
forward over a tub, a man on each side supporting him, while the blood
literally spouted from his head,—not a steady flow but in jets. It was
an awful sight. I had a bed made on the floor near the door and had him
lifted to it, well propped up with pillows, so that he was in a sitting
posture. At that time we had no doctor nearer than the town, except a
man who had come from a neighboring state under a cloud of mystery. As
soon as I heard of Wishy's condition I had sent for him, but the boy
returned, saying he was not able to read my note, so there was nothing
but to do what I could or to let Wishy die.
[Illustration: A request from Wishy's mother, Annette, for something to
stop bleeding.]
I got Frank, who was very intelligent, to help me. I dipped absorbent
cotton in brandy and then into powdered alum, and put it into the hole
in the top of Wishy's head; it seemed a gulf! I put in more and more,
having Frank hold his hands closely around the top of the head; but
still the blood flowed. Then I sprinkled the powdered alum over all
thickly until there was only one little round hole just in the middle; I
made a little ball of cotton and alum and pressed it down into the hole
with my finger and it was done. I gave him the milk I had carried, had
the house cleared of people, and left, ordering that when the doctor
came, I should be sent for.
A day passed, and when I sent milk, the message came back that the
doctor had been there, looked at him, and gone away. I began to feel
very unhappy over the heterogeneous contents of Wishy's head, but
if I had not stopped the flow in some way, he would have been dead
certainly—his pulse was just a flutter. I tried not to worry over it.
The third day a runner came to say: "De docta' cum." With all speed I
had Prue put in the buckboard and drove out. I had never seen the doctor
and was surprised to find a fine-looking man in possession of the cabin.
He called for a razor, said he could do nothing until he shaved Wishy's
head. There was confusion among the numerous darkies who crowded round
the house. At last it was agreed that Uncle Jack had the only razor
in the street (as they call the negro quarters) that could cut. While
a woman went for the razor, the doctor told Annette he must have hot
water, and she proceeded to put a tomato can full of water on the fire;
but he peremptorily ordered a large pot carefully washed, filled with
water, and put on the fire. When the razor came, it was too dull to be
of any use until the doctor had sharpened it, and then he shaved all of
the woolly head.
I watched the man's proceedings with a growing feeling of shame. I
had gone there to keep my eye on him, to prevent any roughness or
carelessness to the patient, and he could not have been gentler or more
interested and careful if he had been treating the Prince of Wales
himself. It was a long business; with an endless stream of hot water
from a fountain-syringe he removed from the hollow depths of Wishy's
skull all the wonderful packing with which I had filled it, and I went
away satisfied.
Day after day for three weeks he came and dressed the wound, until
Wishy's head was restored to its normal state. Then he sent a bill for
$20, which Wishy begged me to pay, and he would gradually return the
money to me as he worked. Of course, I paid it, and, sad to say, not one
dollar has ever been returned to me. Wishy married the next winter, and
moved to a neighboring plantation. He has never even sent me a string
of herring, though he has had a net for two years and caught great
quantities which he sold readily at a cent apiece.
During the run of herring in the spring they crowd up the little streams
in the most extraordinary way, just piling on top of each other in their
haste to reach the very source of the stream, apparently. I suppose
one little leader must wave its little tail and cry "excelsior" to the
others. At a small bridge over a shallow creek near here a barrelful has
been taken with a dip-net in an afternoon. But it takes a meditative,
not to say an idle person, to watch for the special day and hour when
the herring are seized by the impulse to ascend that particular stream.
I must stop now, not having said anything I meant to say, having been
led away by the thought of my lost $20 and how very useful it would be
to me now, and I will have to leave other things for another day.
PATIENCE PENNINGTON.
P.S. In future I will not write you a letter, but keep a diary and send
you a few sheets from time to time. P. P.
PEACEVILLE, September 1.
Had a trying day at the plantation, making an effort to get hay properly
stacked, and was detained late. I had told Jonadab to wash the buckboard
and grease the wheels, which he had done very thoroughly, for I could
hear the grease crackling, and Ruth was travelling very fast when the
world seemed to come to an end.
I did not know what had happened, but flew to Ruth's head and quieted
her, though she had dragged the buckboard some distance before I could
stop her. I do not know what became of Dab at first, for I didn't see
him until I had stopped Ruth, when he came up, stuttering fearfully,
and said:—
"The wheel is lef' behind."
The front wheel had rolled off. I told him to go and bring it and put
it on, though I did not see how he was to do it alone and I could not
possibly help, as it was all I could do to hold Ruth. Jonadab, however,
has a way of surprising me by unexpected capacity, just as a variety
from my constant surprise over his awkwardness.
On this occasion he held the wheel in one hand while he lifted the axle
with the other and got the wheel on. Then I sent him to look for the
nut, but I felt it was a forlorn chance, for it was now quite dark. I
was in despair; we were three and a half miles from Peaceville, and if I
walked, I would have to leave all my impedimenta and only take my basket
of keys and other small things, such as my diary.
Most of the planters go home at sunset, and I feared they had all
passed, and I could not see my way to any solution. Just as I had come
to the conclusion that even my resourceful mind could find no way out
of the darkness, two buggies drove up and the gentlemen asked what they
could do for me. I explained the situation, and one of them said:—
"If you will drive with me, Miss Pennington, Mr. B. will take your
things; the boy can ride the horse, and we will leave the buckboard here
until to-morrow."
I accepted the hospitality of his buggy with many thanks. The transfer
of freight was made. Dab took Ruth out, and I rolled the vehicle into
the woods, as I could not bear that my buckboard should be left on the
roadside, a spectacle of a breakdown. Just as it was all accomplished
Dab stammered out:—
"I find de nut."
Great surprise, for this was fully 100 yards in front of the spot where
the wheel had run off, but he said he felt it under his foot and picked
it up and showed it in his hand. Mr. H. said:—
"That boy could never have put the nut on at all after greasing it!"
Dab was vociferous as to his having put it on and screwed it tight. I
was beyond conjecture, and too thankful to question. Very rapidly the
transfer was made back to my vehicle, Mr. H. remarking, "Your buckboard
takes easily more than our two buggies."
I thanked them heartily for their chivalrous aid, and we all drove on
home.
After the agitation had somewhat subsided, I asked Dab, who was sitting
behind, if he had really put the tap on or not. He answered with great
certainty:—
"Yes, ma'am; yes, ma'am; I did put it on; I know I did, en screwed it
tight—"
I did not contradict him, but said, "Think about it; go back in your
mind and remember just what you did, and where you put the nut when you
took off this wheel, which you say you greased last."
After two miles in silence I heard convulsed sounds from the back, and
finally out came "No-o-o, Miss Pashuns; no ma'am, I never put that nut
on; I put it on the front o' the buckboard, an' when I put the wheel on,
I went for a drink of water, and never did put the nut back—no, ma'am,
I never put it back. I left it setting on the front of the buckboard."
When Dab finally gets started after stuttering and spluttering, he
cannot bear to stop talking, but keeps repeating his statement over and
over with delight at the glib way in which the words come out, and I
have to say mildly, "That will do, Dab," and even then I hear him saying
them over to himself.
After stopping his flow of speech I told him it was a great relief to
know exactly what had happened, and I hoped it would be a lesson to him
all his life and make him feel that he was a responsible being; that I
trusted him with important work, and how if it had not been for God's
great goodness, I might be lying on the road with a broken neck and he
with both legs broken. I did all I could to make him feel what a mercy
it had been, and he seemed deeply impressed. Ruth behaved beautifully
during the whole thing, so I gave her a saucer of sugar when we got
home.
Saturday, September 9.
Have been ill ever since the happy incident the other night, but this
afternoon I felt impelled to go into the plantation. I had planned to
send Chloe in with the money for Bonaparte to pay off, but at the last
minute got up and went myself.
As soon as he saw me Green said: "Glad you cum, ma'am. Nana's got de
colic turrible en we dunno w'at to do fur her."
I forgot that I was myself decrepit and flew to the house and got a
bottle of colic cure and a box of axle-grease. I always keep aconite,
but had none, but fortunately had not returned this bottle of horse
medicine which I had borrowed when Ruth was sick. It said a teaspoonful
every half hour, but I knew my time was short and Nana was desperately
ill, so I gave a teaspoonful every ten minutes.
She would just throw her great body down with such force that it seemed
she must break every bone in it, roll over and over, and pick herself
up and flop down again before you could attempt to head her off. While
she was down, I made Green and Dab rub her heavily with axle-grease.
I myself put the medicine in her mouth, holding her head up and her lips
tight together until she had swallowed it. She has such confidence in
me that she did not resist at all, but kept quite still while I did it.
I gave her six doses, and then it was dark, and I suddenly became aware
that I was very tired and could do no more. I told Nana good-by, for I
never expect to see her again.
My poor dear little Irish terrier, who is my shadow and constant
companion, is very ill. For three days he has neither eaten nor drunk.
His throat seems paralyzed, and he looks at me with such superhuman eyes
that it makes me miserable, for I can do nothing for him.
I take a bowl of water to him and he buries his little nose in it, but
cannot swallow or even snuff it up. I can get nothing down his throat,
so that it is impossible to treat him.
Sunday.
Poor little Snap was so ill and made such a constant appeal to me for
help which I could not give, that I felt it was cruel to let him suffer
longer, so I sent to Miss Penelope for a bottle of chloroform. He
followed me from room to room, a feeble skeleton, all eyes, and still
I tried to give him milk, and when he turned his head from that, I gave
him water into which he would feebly dip his little black-tipped mouth.
At last I took him in my arms and put him on a soft cushion in a tall
banana box; then I cut several pieces of very savory roast beef and put
them all around his little muzzle. He could not eat them, but he could
smell them, and I could see by his eye that it was a comfort to him to
have them there.
Then I filled a sponge with chloroform and put it into a cone which I
had made of pasteboard and put it over his head and covered up the whole
thing with a heavy rug. After two hours I sent Dab to look in, and he
came back radiant to say that Snap was quite well.
I went to look, and the dear little doggie roused himself from a
delightful nap to look at me. All expression of suffering and appeal
was gone from his eyes. He looked supremely happy and comfortable, and
after glancing up at me he tucked his head down on the roast beef and
went to sleep again.
I wet the sponge and once more left him. When I took him out the next
morning, I could not believe he was dead, so perfectly happy and natural
did he look. Dab dug his grave in my little garden, and I laid him to
rest, feeling the loneliest mortal on earth when I got through.
September.
When I went in to Cherokee yesterday, I was amazed to find Nana quite
recovered. I had told Bonaparte if she showed any disposition to eat,
to give her rough rice instead of either oats or corn, and it seems to
have been a happy thought, for it has agreed with her, and though weak
still and much skinned and bruised by the way she threw herself about,
she seemed quite well.
This is the eighty-eighth birthday of the sainted friend whom I
visit every day. Every one in the little village sent her some little
offering, so that her room was full of flowers and dainty trifles,
and she enjoyed them so much. Though unable to eat anything and nearly
blind, her interest in everything and everybody is vivid.
This afternoon, as Dab was putting the demijohn of milk in the box
preparatory to leaving Cherokee, and I was standing in front of him
screwing the top on the jar of cream to put in the same box, suddenly he
dropped the demijohn and leaped in the air, uttering the most terrific
Comanche yells I ever heard. I nearly dropped the jar of cream at the
sound; he fled away still yelling.
My mind is fertile in horrors, and I said to myself, "The boy has gone
mad!" I was terror struck.
When he finally stopped, some distance away, I called out, "What is the
matter, Jonadab?" He just pointed to a spot near where I stood and began
to yell again, "Snake run across my foot."
The relief was so great that I looked composedly on the big snake, but
called in a tone of unwonted severity, "You must come and kill it."
I knew the only thing to prevent Dab from going into a fit was to be
severe in my tone, and peremptory.
Most reluctantly and slowly he returned. I cannot imagine why the snake
elected to stay in the ivy to meet its fate; it was sluggish, evidently
having swallowed something large, either a rat or another snake, for
it was very stout. I made Dab find a long strong stick. It required
continued urging and encouragement to get Dab to complete the job, but
as soon as it was done and he felt himself victor over the thing which
had terrified him so, he became puffed up with pride and courage.
September 30.
The storm is over, and all nature is smiling. Oh, the beauty of the
sunshine falling on the dark green pines and the ecstasy of the song
of the mocking-bird, who is perched on a tall pine just east of the
piazza, splitting his little throat, trying to give vent to his joy and
thanksgiving to the Great Father! If one could only bottle up a little
of this sunshine and glory and ecstasy to bring out on some gray morning
when one's blessings seem too far away to be remembered!
I am just writing a line while Dab is having his breakfast and putting
Ruth in the buckboard before we start for Cherokee to see the damage
done by the winds and the deluge of rain which fell for twenty-four
hours. The cotton had opened more fully Saturday than it yet had done,
but a slight drizzle prevented its being picked. I fear the hay which
was stacked will all have to be taken down.
8 P.M.—Spent the day at Cherokee fighting with incompetency and
unwillingness.
The loose, irregular stacks of hay were, of course, wet to the heart,
and I had them taken down entirely, much to Green's dismay. He thought
it purely folly and fussiness, and I had to stand by and see it done,
lending a helping hand now and then, to get it done at all.
He was loud in his abuse of Gibby, his brother, for his incompetency
and determination not to work, saying, "He's too strifflin' to lib,"
but that he himself was capable of everything; not only stacking hay,
but everything else, he did in the most perfect way. I let him talk on,
for his manner was respectful, and I was really interested and amused
to see unveiled his opinion of himself.
It would be very comfortable to see one's self in that perfect light,
instead of being always so fiercely conscious of one's own shortcomings.
I almost envied Green his fool's paradise.
I went to a stack which he assured he had "'zamined, an' it was
puffectly dry, 'cause, I put dat stack up myself." With ease I ran my
hand in up to the elbow and brought out a handful of soaking wet hay.
But that had no effect; he said that was some he had just thrown back,
fearing to have it exposed, as it might rain, looking wisely at the
clear sky.
One has to pray inwardly all the time to keep from a mighty outburst.
He is better than any one else I could get just now.
Spent some time in the cotton-field seeing that the first pickings were
spread on sheets in the sun so as to dry thoroughly. I had put some
peanuts in my pockets for the little girls, Jean and Kitty, and I stayed
talking to them a little while.
They have up to this time "minded child," that is, each has lived with
a married sister and taken care of their babies. They do not look as
though they had enjoyed life, nor have they learned anything, and I am
anxious to brighten them up a little and teach them to take an interest
and pride in their work. Thus far I cannot boast of my success, as
to-day Jean picked six pounds and Kitty four!
October 1.
Another gorgeous autumn day, with just enough white clouds flying here
and there to make shadows. The cowpeas were picked to-day, and they are
bearing finely, and the people know how to pick them; it is not like the
cotton. One woman who never can pick more than twenty pounds of cotton
had seventy pounds of peas, and Eva had ninety pounds. I feel better
satisfied with the day's work than usual.
[Illustration: Green thought it was folly and fussiness.]
I got the hay which had been dried put in the barn, which is much
better than stacking it, when no one knows how, but I could only do that
because the ground is too wet to run the mowing machine; thus I could
use the team to haul in the hay. One of the renters came up and paid
his money quite voluntarily, which is so unusual that it put me in good
spirits for the day.
October 3.
To-day is too beautiful for words. As I went into the sun-swept piazza
this morning I felt, like the mocking-birds, an ecstasy of gratitude
for so much beauty. I did wish so I could take a day off and sit in the
piazza and just bask in the beauty of everything and breathe the crisp
freshness of the first fall weather and sew.
I am making a suit of white flannel woven from the wool of my own
sheep. I have embroidered the revers and cuffs of the jacket and nearly
finished it, and want it to wear these delightfully cool mornings, but
I cannot stay to-day.
I must get through my home duties as quickly as possible and make my
daily visit to the bedside of my saintly friend, who, having begun her
life in wealth and having in middle age been reduced to poverty, has
passed fourscore and eight years, a beautiful example of woman, wife,
and mother, and is now slowly passing through the valley of the shadow.
This is my greatest pleasure and privilege, and whatever other duty is
hurried over, to this I give full time.
To hold daily converse with one who, after lying three months in hourly
pain, is serene and calm, nay, joyous with gratitude for His many
mercies (which some might need a microscope to discover), is a rare
opportunity of seeing a true follower of the Blessed One, and I come
away always feeling as though I had quenched my thirst at a living
stream, refreshed and strengthened.
On the plantations, too, things look bright. The pea-vine hay is falling
heavy and sweet behind the mowing machine, and what was cut yesterday
has dried nicely and will be raked into windrows this afternoon. The
crab-grass hay is also dry and ready to be stacked again. The cotton is
opening well, and we can make a good picking to-morrow.
As I went into the pea-field, where the women were singing as they
picked, I came upon a spider who was too large to stand upon a silver
dollar. I was most reluctant to kill him, for he was doubtless the
Hitachiyama of his race.
He scorned to run, or even move quickly away, so sure was he that he was
invincible and need fear no foe, and it did seem too unfair to crush out
his little greatness, but the bite of such a spider would mean serious
illness, if not death, and there were all the women, most of them with
bare feet, to run the risk of being stung, so I dealt the fatal blow.
Some of the women picked ninety pounds, and Jean picked forty and Kitty
thirty-six.
October 4.
Job knew what he was talking about when he said: "Man is born to trouble
as the sparks fly upward." I went to Cherokee in quite an excitement
this morning because the cotton-field was snowy yesterday and I expected
to make a big picking, but last night, on a plantation three miles away,
an old woman died and not a creature has come out to work.
Eva is the "Presidence of the Dessiety," her son tells me, to which
Linette belonged, and so, of course, she could not be expected to work
to-day, but the other women have no such eminence nor can they claim
kin nor even friendship: meanwhile should the weather change and a rain
come down, my precious cotton will be ruined.
October 5.
Another brilliant morning, but no hands in the cotton-field but Eva.
She, having accomplished the duties falling on her as "presidence" of
the burial society and pinked out yards and yards of frilling for the
dressing of the coffin and shroud and sat up all last night, did not
feel bound to remain to the funeral, as they had not been friends;
indeed the departed Linette had been the cause of great domestic
infelicity to Eva, so she came and picked her usual thirty-five pounds
alone.
I sent Dab to pick for a short time, and he did very well, picking
eleven pounds in about an hour. Then I went in and picked for about
fifteen minutes myself.
I wanted to find out what the difficulty was. I picked a pound and a
half and found it very easy and interesting, even exciting work, and I
am no wiser than I was before. If I was not afraid of the sun, I would
have gone on all day, or rather until 2 o'clock, for it clouded up after
that, and I came home in a pouring rain, which continues at bedtime.
October 6.
A beautiful bright Sunday after a night of heavy rain. The thought
of the wasting cotton had to be sternly put aside. I had to visit the
wonderful invalid before I could get rid of the nagging thought, "If
only the cotton had been picked!" After that the glorious sunshine and
singing birds had their full value, and the seventh-day peace reigned
within as well as without.
I have a little class in the afternoon on my piazza for a Sunday lesson,
eight little boys and one golden-haired, blue-eyed little girl. At
first, I had some difficulty in getting them to come, for they always
have such a good time playing that it seemed to them a great waste of
the golden hours to come to Sunday-school.
Some of them said they were willing to come and sing hymns, but they did
not want any lesson. However, I found one little fellow who wanted the
lesson, so I told him to invite any one who wanted the lesson to come
with him at 4.30 o'clock the next Sunday afternoon, but no one else.
Punctually at the hour three little boys and one little girl arrived,
while the other boys in the village played up and down before my gate
most ostentatiously, so that little heads could not help turning to see
what was going on, and in the midst of one of the Commandments, I heard
a squeaky little voice, "I wonder what those fellows are laughing at!"
for they had got up a great burst out in the road, quite a stage laugh.
[Illustration: She picked her usual thirty-five pounds alone.]
However, we got through comfortably and went into the sitting-room
to the piano, and I asked each one to choose a hymn which we sang. At
the second hymn one of the boys from the road joined us, but I seemed
unconscious of his presence, and when the singing was over, I invited
the first four into the dining-room and handed them some little sponge
cakes.
The next Sunday there was a full attendance and has been ever since. The
lesson has to be carefully selected, as there are four denominations
represented, so I take the Lambeth platform and teach the Creed, the
Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments. After that I tell them Bible
stories, beginning with the thrilling narration of the Creation and the
Garden of Eden.
When I first told how Eve was tempted to eat the fatal apple, and Adam
too was tempted, and they were driven out from that beautiful spot
to earn their living in the sweat of their brows, the interest was
breathless, and one little fellow asked:—
"Miss Patience, what would have happened if they had never eaten the
apple? Would they have stayed in the garden?"
"Yes," I said with confidence.
"And never had to wear any clothes?"
More faintly I answered "No, I suppose not."
"Well," he said, "the garden would have had to be made much bigger for
all the children that were to come."
"Yes," I said, "I suppose the whole world would have been a garden,"
but I was glad to leave the subject and get on to firmer ground.
However, this Sunday when I asked them to tell me the story, they went
on swimmingly until I asked who ate the apple first. Most chivalrously
they all answered, "Adam."
"No," I said, "I am sorry to say it was Eve."
"Then," piped up the squeaky little voice, "then, Miss Patience, women
are badder than men."
"Oh, no," I exclaimed, "but Eve was beguiled by the serpent, who told
her the fruit would make her wise. The great Creator made man first,
and meant him to be the protector and guide of the woman, and when she
offered him the apple, he should have refused and said, 'Light of my
eyes, we must not eat it. The Great Being who made us and gave us this
beautiful home forbid us to eat of that fruit.' But Adam failed in his
duty and ate the apple, and they were driven out."
My sturdy little brown-eyed thinker, who had been listening with
profound attention, said:—
"Miss Patience, what would have happened if Eve had eat the apple and
Adam hadn't?"
I was completely routed. "I cannot think what would have happened then."
There was a chorus of little voices: "Why, Eve would have been driven
out, and he would have the garden for hisself."
I am quite sure when I was small we never asked such questions. Perhaps
when it was read, as it used to be, in the Bible language, it did not
take such hold on the mind as it does when narrated, but I am so eager
to get their interest and attention that I tell them the stories instead
of reading them, and with such success that nothing but force could keep
them away.
Always have to light the lamp before we finish singing, but no one
will give up his hymn, and as I read over each verse very slowly before
we sing it, and they repeat it after me, it takes a good while. It is
wonderful how quickly they learn the words.
One very small boy, who strayed in for the first time, when I told
him he could choose a hymn asked for "Yankee Doodle," greatly to the
amusement of those who had been coming two months. It is a pleasure to
teach such bright children. At the end I always hand a few chocolates
or some candy.
[Illustration: To-day the hands are "toting" the rice into the flats.]
CASA BIANCA, October 8, 1903.
The harvest has come and with it real harvest weather—crisp, cool,
clear; and the bowed heads of the golden grain glow in the sunshine. The
hurricane which was reported as wandering around last week frightened
me terribly, but after waiting Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday for it to
materialize, I had to cut on Thursday, for the rice was full ripe, and
though we have had some light showers, there has been no serious bad
weather. To-day the hands are "toting" the rice into the flats.
[Illustration: "You see a stack of rice approaching, and you perceive
a pair of legs, or a skirt, as the case may be, peeping from beneath."]
You see a stack of rice approaching, and as it makes its way across
the plank which bridges the big ditch, you perceive a pair of legs
or a skirt, as the case may be, peeping from beneath. Men, women,
and children all carry, what look like immense loads, on their heads,
apparently without effort. This is the gayest week of the year. Thursday
the field was cut down by the hands with small reap-hooks, the long
golden heads being carefully laid on the tall stubble to dry until
the next day, when it was tied into sheaves, which the negroes do very
skilfully with a wisp of the rice itself. Saturday it was stacked in
small cocks to dry through Sunday, and to-day it is being loaded into
the flats, having had every advantage of weather.
If only no rain or wind comes until it is unloaded at Cherokee, fifteen
miles up the river! I have sent for a tug to tow the two flats up on the
flood-tide this evening—just now it is dead low water, and the flats are
aground, which always scares me; for, if by any chance they get on a log
or any inequality, they get badly strained and often leak and ruin the
rice. Flats are one of the heavy expenses on a rice plantation—large,
flat-bottomed boats from twenty to eighty feet long and from ten to
twelve feet wide, propelled in the most primitive way by poles and
steered by one huge oar at the stern. They can be loaded up very high
if the rice is properly stowed.
I have sent to try and get some rice-birds for my dinner. These are
the most delicious little morsels, so small one can easily eat six for
breakfast, and a man makes nothing of a dozen for dinner. We used to
get them in great abundance only a few years ago, but now the rice-bird
industry has become so big a thing we find it very hard to get any at
all. Formerly a planter hired bird minders, furnished powder and shot,
and got several dozen birds from each one; but now the negro men go at
night with blazing torches into the old rice-fields, which are densely
grown up in water-grasses and reeds, the birds are blinded and dazed
by the light, and as the fat little bodies sway about on the slender
growth upon which they rest, they are easily caught, their necks wrung,
and they are thrust into the sack which each man has tied in front of
him. In this way a man sometimes gets a bushel by the time the reddening
dawn brings him home, and he finds waiting for him on the shore buyers
from the nearest town, who are ready to pay thirty cents a dozen for the
birds, so that one or two nights of this sport give as much as a month's
labor. Of course, it is hard to come out to cut rice the next day, so
probably illness is pleaded as an excuse for his absence in the field.
This makes it more and more difficult to get the rice harvested; no one
but one of African descent could spend his nights in the rice-field,
where the air is heavy with the moist malaria, so it is his opportunity.
The shooting of rice-birds has almost gone out, for the bird minders
are so careless. They shoot into the rice and so destroy as much as the
birds, almost; now blank cartridges are almost entirely used to scare
the birds. Going round the field one day with Marcus, I said, with great
relief: "I'm so glad not to see a single bird to-day." He laughed and
said: "Miss, wait till de bird minders shoot." In a few seconds the bird
minders became aware of my approach and up and fired very nearly at the
same time. The birds rose in clouds so that the sun seemed darkened for
a few seconds, and the noise of their wings was deafening. It seemed
tantalizing not to be able to get any to eat. In spite of the tremendous
report of the firing, it did no execution, for the old-fashioned muskets
which are used have an enormous load of very coarse powder, but no shot.
Now, my flats are loaded, and I must start on my twelve-mile drive to
the pine-land. As soon as I can have the flats unloaded I must send them
back for the hands to harvest their rice. I do not pretend to overlook
this. I try to put them on their mettle to do the best possible. Some
respond, but the majority just poke along, doing as little as possible
each day, so as to have longer time to strip the rice from the straw,
and carry it home in bags, so that when it comes to mill, there is not
enough to pay their rent. They know how I hate to take all they bring,
I so like for them to have a nice little pile of their own to ship; it
is very hard for me to believe what the foreman tells me, that they have
been eating this rice for three weeks past.
October 16.
I have threshed the May rice, and it has turned out very well,
considering the hard time it had for two months after it was planted. My
wages field made twenty-five bushels to the acre and the hands nearly
the same, only a little less, but it is good rice and weighs forty-six
pounds to the bushel; and as I hear every one complaining of very light
rice, I am thankful it is so good.
October 17.
I have had an offer of $1.05 for my rice in the rough, and I am going
to take it, though I shall miss the cracked rice and the flour which
we get when the rice is milled, and the rice will have to be bagged and
sewed up, which is a great deal of work; but Mr. S. will pay for it at
my mill, and that will relieve my anxiety about money.
October 18.
A hard day's work, but the sale has been most satisfactory, for as the
standard weight per bushel for rice is forty-five, and my rice weighs
forty-six or forty-seven, I have a good many more dollars than I had
bushels, which is very cheering; and I have had grip and am greatly in
need of cheering. Mr. S. weighed every sack and put down the weights
and then added up the interminable lines of figures. I added them, too,
but was thankful I did not have the responsibility, for they came out
differently each time I went over them.
October 24.
The harvest of my June field (wages) began to-day. Though very weak
and miserable from grip, I drove the twelve miles to Casa Bianca, and
in a lovely white piqué suit went down on the bank. I timed myself to
get there about 12 o'clock, and as I expected I met a procession of
dusky young men and maidens coming out of the field. I greeted them
with pleasant words and compliments on their nice appearance, as they
all reserve their gayest, prettiest clothes for harvest, and I delight
to see them in gay colors, and am careful to pay them the compliment of
putting on something pretty myself, which they greatly appreciate. After
"passing the time of day," as they call the ordinary polite greetings,
I asked each: "How much have you cut?" "A quarter, Miss." "Well, turn
right back and cut another quarter—why, surely, Tom, you are not content
to leave the field with only a quarter cut! It is but a weakling who
would do that!" And so on till I have turned them all back and so saved
the day.
A field of twenty-six acres is hard to manage, and unless you can stir
their pride and enthusiasm they may take a week over it. One tall,
slender girl, a rich, dark brown, and graceful as a deer, whose name is
Pallas, when I ask, "How much?" answers, "Three-quarters, Ma'am, an' I'm
just goin' to get my break'us an' come back an' cut another quarter."
That gives me something to praise, which is always such a pleasure. Then
two more young girls have each cut a half acre, so I shame the men and
urge them not to let themselves be outdone; and in a little while things
are swimming. I break down some of the tops of the canes and make a seat
on the bank, and as from time to time they come down to dip their tin
buckets in the river to drink, I offer them a piece of candy and one or
two biscuits, which I always carry in the very stout leather satchel in
which I keep my time-books, etc.
[Illustration: Pallas.]
Though the sun is fiery, I feel more cheerful than I have for a good
while. The field of rice is fine, Marcus says,—"Miss, I put my flag on
dat fie',"—and insists it will make over forty bushels to the acre.
I don't throw cold water on his enthusiasm, but I know it will not.
However, the rice is tall, and the golden heads are long and thick.
I count a few heads and find 200 grains on one or two, and am almost
carried away with Marcus's hope, but will not allow myself to think how
much it will make. One year this field put in the bank $1080, but I know
it will not do that this year. There is no use to think of it.
I stayed on the bank until sunset to encourage the slow workers to
finish their task. All the work in this section is based on what was the
"task" in slavery times. That it was very moderate is proved by the fact
that the smart, brisk workers can do two or three "tasks" in a day, but
the lazy ones can never be persuaded to do more than one task, though
they may finish it by 11 o'clock. I feel placid to-night, for half the
field is cut down and will dry on the stubble all day to-morrow.
October 26.
Drove down to Casa Bianca as early as I could and found the hands
cutting merrily. As soon as each one had cut a half acre they turned in
and tied that cut on Saturday and stacked it in small cocks.
Again I am cheered and rested by the beauty around me. The sun is
gorgeous, though the autumn haze is all over the wide expanse of level
fields with every hue of green and gold. I get in the small patches
of shade made by the tall canes and feast my eyes and thank the Great
Artist who has made it all so beautiful.
The three flats are in position for loading to-morrow, the wind is still
west, and so I hope the fair weather may last. My supply of candy and
biscuits is much appreciated. I make my own lunch on the biscuits and a
bottle of artesian water, which I always take with me. I would as soon
think of eating snake's eggs as of drinking the river water, so full is
it of animal life, I am sure. I know how it would look under a powerful
microscope.
October 31.
Spent yesterday in the mill threshing out my rice, most trying to me of
all the work, the dust is so terrible; but the mill worked well, and so
did the hands—and better than all, the rice turned out well, thirty-five
bushels to the acre, and good, heavy rice. So I felt rewarded for the
dust and other trials. I was so determined to prevent stealing that I
engaged the sheriff's constable to watch on the nights that the rice
was stacked in the barnyard; and now that expense is over, and the pile
is safe in the second story of the shipping barn. Next I have to thresh
out the people's rice from Casa Bianca, which will be up in a day or
two; then I will have a little time to have the upland crops seen after
before the rice here, at Cherokee, which was planted very late, will be
ready to cut.
[Illustration: Front porch—Casa Bianca.]
CHEROKEE, November 4.
Yesterday I had my wages field of rice here cut. It is only eleven acres
of very poor rice, which has cost a good deal of money, owing to the
freshets. The only thing to be done now was to get it in with as little
expense as possible, so I announced yesterday that it must be in the
barnyard to-night. Bonaparte looked wise, smiled in a superior way,
and said that was impossible—that perhaps by Tuesday it could be got
in. I didn't dispute his wisdom or argue with him. I simply went into
the field with the hands in the morning, yesterday, and stayed until it
was all cut down. I told Bonaparte to put a watchman in the field, and
left the choice to him. He said he would put Elihu; so I rested content
until about 10 o'clock, when I began to get anxious about it. The best
planter in my neighborhood had told me he had never known the stealing
of rice so bad from the field. He attributed it to there being so little
planted as high up the river on account of the freshet, so that rice is
very scarce. This rice had not been good enough to warrant the expense
of the constable, but I did not wish to lose the little that was there,
so I determined to go over and see for myself. I called a negro boy of
about sixteen years whom I had recently taken into my service, and asked
him if he was afraid to row me over to the field. He hesitated and I
went on: "I want to take some lightwood and a blanket over to Elihu,
who is watching, for the night is very cold." At once he said he was not
afraid at all, as the moon was bright. When I ran up to my room to get
my wraps and my good Chloe found I was going, she said: "Miss Patience,
le' me go wid you; I know well how fo' paddle boat, en yo ain't long
git dat boy, en yu dun know ef 'e kin manige boat at night." Of course
I was delighted to take Chloe; I sent Jake for lightwood, she took
the blanket and I the matches. The getting in the boat was the darkest
part, but once out on the river it was perfectly lovely—such a glorious
night, the air so crisp and exhilarating. As we neared the field Chloe
entreated me to be careful when I got out on the bank, for Elihu might
take us for thieves and shoot; but I went very fearlessly, for I had a
conviction that there was no Elihu there, and so it proved.
I told Jake to kindle a large fire in a sheltered corner of the bank,
while Chloe and I walked all the way round the field. I can't describe
the weird peace of the scene; and to make it more ghostlike Chloe
insisted on speaking in a low whisper, as becoming the time and place,
and reminding me that people from the next place might be hiding all
around. No sign of any marauder, however, appeared, and I knew the fire
on the bank would give the impression that I had installed my friend
the constable, so I went back to the house entirely satisfied with the
expedition. I charged Jake to say nothing on the subject to any one. Why
will one try to exact the impossible? I lost my man, who has been with
me fifteen years, this fall, and Jake is the substitute for the present.
To-day I stayed in the field again all day and succeeded in getting
the rice tied and put in the flat by sunset. Then I said the flat must
be taken up to the barn, but Bonaparte said that could not be done
because there was "'gen tide." Of course all the men echoed that it was
impossible, but I laughed at the idea, and climbing to the top of the
rice, I sat there and told two of the young men to take the poles and
push the flat out into the river—having privately asked old Ancrum who
had stowed the flat if it was true that a flat could not go against the
tide, and having heard from him that it was nonsense. The men pushed the
flat out and poled it up the river with the greatest ease, and before
dark it was safely staked under the flat house, so that my mind will be
at rest about it to-morrow.
November 6.
Threshed out the rice to-day. It made only twenty bushels to the acre,
and I hear rice has gone down very much. The hands now are whipping
out the seed rice, which is a tedious business, but no planter in
this county will use mill-threshed rice for seed. Mr. S., who bought
my rice and who travels all over the South buying rice for a mill in
North Carolina, told me that everywhere else mill-threshed rice was
used, simply putting a little more to the acre. Here it is thought the
mill breaks the rice too much, so the seed rice is prepared by each
hand taking a single sheaf at a time and whipping it over a log, or a
smooth board set up, until all the rice comes off. Then the sheaves are
laid on a clay floor and beaten with flails, until nearly every grain
has left the straw. After all this trouble of course it brings a good
price—$1.75, $1.50 per bushel, $1.25 being the very cheapest to be had.
November 7.
The time for paying the taxes will soon be passed, and all the negroes
on the place have asked me to pay their taxes in addition to my own,
so that I must sell some rice. Took samples to our county town; I was
told they were very good rice, but no one wished to buy. I was offered,
however, 82½ cents a bushel for one and 85 cents for the other! I sold
the smaller lot for 82½ and determined to hold the larger part, for I
feel confident rice must go up by February, and I do so want to get $1
a bushel for it, for then I will pay out, but otherwise not, after all
my work.
November 12.
Peaceville has been wrought up to a state of wild excitement. On Sunday
afternoon, when I was expecting my little class, only Kitty and the
Philosopher and Squeaky came, and before I could ask where the others
were they burst out:—
"All the others have gone to hear the lion roar, and to see if they
could get a peep at him."
"A lion? Here?" My tone was suitable to the subject.
"Yes, ma'am; they put up three big tents while we were in church this
morning, right in front of the post-office."
I praised them for coming under such heavy temptations, but they
exclaimed in chorus: "We didn't want to come—mamma made us; we wanted
to hear the lion roar, too." At which I was more pleased than ever, and
was as rapid as possible with the lessons and told no story, though I
thought Daniel in the lions' den might suit the occasion; but I soon saw
that they could listen to nothing under such phenomenal circumstances.
A very feeble Punch and Judy is the greatest show seen here before.
We sang the hymns, I gave each one an apple, and said I would walk down
with them to the tents. A most delightful progress we made, every one
having turned out to see the unwonted sight.
Before we got to my gate the King of the Forest began to roar
tremendously and kept it up, to the awe and delight of the humans and
the dismay of the animals. Cows refused to come up to be milked, but
fled to the swamp, and horses cowered in their stalls.
Every one, even the most sedate, had turned out to look at the tents.
I went with the children until I saw their parents and then returned to
my piazza.
Tuesday.
Yesterday was the grand day. There were two exhibitions, one at 1
o'clock and at 8 P.M. The two stores were shut for the day, and business
suspended while the village gave itself up to dissipation.
I had to go to the plantation, having an appointment with a carpenter
for an important bit of work. It was difficult to get Ruth past the
tents. I took the plan of stopping to talk to every one I met as I
approached the green in front of the post-office, which was so changed
since Saturday, when she saw it last.
Most fortunately the lion did not roar at that time, and we got by
without accident. Though I have seen a great many fine wild beasts, the
excitement in the air gained me, and I was anxious for Chloe to choose
the morning performance as I had to be away then; but Chloe, when I told
her she could go morning or evening, whichever she preferred, said she
would go at night, as she heard that would be the grandest. So I could
not go, for she would never have consented to leave the house and yard
unguarded.
I did not see the show, but I certainly have enjoyed the accounts of it
and have come to the conclusion that the Shelby show might be called a
high-class moral entertainment. The most particular and sedate, not to
say prudish, were not shocked, and the acrobatic feats amazed every one.
Peaceville was a great surprise to them also; they asked for a hotel
or boarding-house; there was none. They wanted to board somewhere, but
no one took boarders. The acrobatic star, who, as Chloe described her,
hung from the top of the tent, dressed in "pink titers," by one foot,
holding up her fifteen-year-old daughter, also beautiful in pink tights,
by the foot, said she did not wish to stay in a tent; she never did;
she wanted to be in a house, and finally some ladies who lived near the
place where the tents were pitched said they had an empty house in their
yard which they would fix for her, and it being Sunday afternoon and no
servants were to be found, the ladies themselves put beds in the house
and made it comfortable for the acrobat ladies, and when these offered
to pay, were quite shocked and surprised and said there was no charge;
they were glad to have been able to make them comfortable.
Chloe and Dab have both given me thrilling accounts of the lady dressed
in pure silver, a very stout lady who took the head of a snake, bigger
round than Dab's body, and stroked it and laid it on her breast: "Her
color was quite change while she did it, en the snake lick out 'e tongue
en you could see the lady trimble an' it was byutiful."
Altogether for many days joy will reign in the memory of these delights.
It was conducted with great dignity, and there was no confusion
or trouble, which seems wonderful, for there were great crowds of
darkies coming from miles around and only about thirty white people
all together. Yet they had the seats arranged on different sides, so
that all were satisfied. The lion was given part of a kid before the
spectators, and then he stopped roaring.
November 18.
Green has returned to work; that is, he milked this morning and hauled
one load of manure to the field. His cousin, Wishy, got his kinfolk to
buy off the negro who was prosecuting him for killing his cow, and the
case was dropped.
Long ago, when I kept Wishy from bleeding to death by patching up his
head, I fear I did not benefit the world.
I find Elihu has gone! Moved bag and baggage to my neighbor's, where he
will have unlimited credit. He owes me $10, which he promised faithfully
to pay, and Jean and Kitty have walked off in my boots beyond the reach
of my small efforts to improve them.
I feel quite sad about it—my heart has always been tender to Elihu; I
have had to help him so often. The last time he went off to make "big
money," as they call it, on some timber work he came back very ill, and
for a month I took him nourishment and medicine daily, in spite of which
his wife and children lived in my potato patch. He was very weak, and
one day he broke out: "Miss, if I ever lef' you 'gen and gone off for
work any ways else, you sen' for the sheriff en tie me. You ben good
to me en ten' me, en den de debil mek me lef' yu fer mek' big money! en
now look a' me! Yu ten' me en yu feed me des de same."
He is an uncommonly rich shade of black, so that his own mother always
referred to him as "dat black nigger." Under constant and proper
supervision he can be very useful, but he cannot make himself work every
day. He must have a compelling hand and head behind him.
He has ten living children and a smart active young woman for his second
wife. When we were planting largely of rice, he made a fine living, as
he rented sixteen acres—he did the ploughing and his family the rest of
the work. He had a splendid yoke of oxen, which he bought from us, and
cows and another fine steer he had raised.
The changes in the conditions in the last few years I do not understand,
but since McKinley's death steadily the negroes have declined in their
responsibility and willingness to work until now their energies are
spent in seeing how little they can do and still appear to work so as
to secure a day's pay.
Elihu used to be a splendid ploughman, but this spring I had him to
plough ten acres for me, breaking it up flush. The earth was barely
scratched, I found afterward, though I paid him by the day instead of
by the acre, fearing he would be tempted to hurry over it if I paid by
the acre.
Forage was very scarce, and as long as he ploughed for me I told him
to give his oxen all they could eat from the hay under the barn which
was blown down. The two-story barn was packed full of hay, some of my
best alfalfa, when the storm struck it. Of course it took some labor to
get the hay out, and poor Elihu, after the mighty effort of ploughing
one-half acre a day, could not make himself get out more than just
enough to keep the oxen alive.
I had urged him from the beginning of the winter to make his children
gather daily a certain quantity of the gray moss with which the oaks
are laden and which cattle eat greedily; that would have kept his cows
and oxen in good condition, but he never did it.
I had two large sacks gathered every day for my cattle; his went hungry.
One by one the cows and young calves died, not being accustomed to range
like the woods cattle.
Some time after he finished ploughing for me he drove his son up to see
a doctor fifteen miles from here in a very bitter spell of weather—drove
the creatures up without feed, and after consulting the doctor turned
right back. One ox dropped and died two miles from home, the other
managed to get back, but lay down about 100 yards from my front gate,
under the trees laden with food which would have saved its life, if
given in time. I used to take the lantern and go out at night to carry
food to it, knowing that if Elihu saw me feeding it he would cease
giving the little care which he expended on it.
It struggled on a week and then died. One month before he had been
offered $60 for the yoke.
At last he had not an animal left. Then he came to me and said he would
like to take service with my neighbor by the month as ploughman, as he
would no longer give him work unless he hired to him by the month. I
was very sorry, for I let him work there all the time when I had no work
for him. He is a splendid boatman, and I always called on him to row me
across the river and did not mind wind or waves with Elihu at the oars.
However, I told him he could do so if he paid $1 a month for his
house—now he has gone, owing me for eight months rent besides his tax.
Several years ago he was double taxed, having neglected to pay at the
right time, and since then I have always paid his tax when I paid my
own.
He owns some land with timber. When I went to pay the tax, I saw two
buildings and twenty-five acres and the tax was $4. I saw Elihu, I
showed him the paper, and asked:—
"Have you any buildings on the land?"
"No, miss, I ent build no house, I ruther stay here, en if I sick you
ten' me."
"But, Elihu, the tax paper calls for two houses."
"Well, miss, ent you know, look like I ought to had house by now!"
"But if you have none, you should not pay tax on one. Now when February
comes, which is the month to make returns, I will make your return
without the house."
"Well, miss, if you tink so, but I hate fer tek off de house."
I deprived him of his air castle, but the tax was reduced to $2.70, I
believe—I must look over the tax receipts to see.
I always pay Bonaparte's and some others, I am so afraid of their
putting off until they are double taxed. I do not see how I am to pay my
own taxes this year; they are nearly $200, and there is nothing coming
in. I have many, many valuable things which I would like to sell, but
I have no gift that way.
[Illustration: Elihu was a splendid boatman.]
After many struggles I made up my mind to accept an offer for my castle
in the air, a mountain top in the Sapphire region of North Carolina,
but the purchaser withdrew; it is so with everything—no one wants to
buy anything. If our valiant, voracious, and vivacious King Stork would
only desist from his activities while a few small creatures were left
it would be a mercy; but I fear when he gets through, there will be none
but sharks, devil-fish, and swordfish left.
November 20, Saturday.
When Green came this morning, I told him I wanted Bonaparte to sow the
oats on the land he has been ploughing this week, and he must harrow
it in to-day, as the season is already late. He seemed shocked and said
the land was quite too rough for him to get through harrowing the acre
and a half to-day.
I in turn was shocked and told him that was absurd and that it must be
done; that I was distressed to hear he had ploughed it so badly as what
he said would indicate; that I would have Dab take Romola and run the
cultivator while he ran the harrow, so as to have the oats thoroughly
covered. I told Dab to get the horse at once and take the cultivator to
the field.
I did a thousand things before following him. I found him in the slough
of despond and I had to fix the harness, etc., for him, and then we
proceeded to the field. I found Dab had not the faintest idea of how to
guide the horse and manage the cultivator, so I told him until he got
accustomed to it I would lead Romola, so that he could devote all his
attention to the cultivator.
The ground was rough to distraction, and with every polite intention
Romola could not help every now and then walking up my skirt, short as
it was, and I was nearly dragged down upon the ground, but I could not
bear to give up, though I was utterly exhausted, for the cultivator was
doing good work.
We had just got through half an acre and I was wondering how I could
retreat with my laurels, when Patty came at a full run to say the "lady
had come." Never was an arrival more welcome. I told Dab he must take
Romola back to the stable and make himself presentable and bring in
dinner as soon as possible.
Made my way to the house as quickly as I could, but I was so tired that
my feet were like lead. S— was very much surprised to find what I had
been doing and proceeded to argue with me, but I only made fun of her
arguments, and we had a very gay dinner.
[Illustration: My little brown maid Patty is a new acquisition and a
great comfort, for she is very bright.]
My little brown maid Patty is a new acquisition and a great comfort, for
she is very bright and intelligent and not too dignified to run, which
is a great blessing.
CHEROKEE, Sunday, November 22.
Drove S— to church in our little pine-land village; she seemed to enjoy
the very simple service. Then I took her over to my summer-house which
is just across the road from the church. She was amused at the roughness
and plainness of the pine-land house as compared to the winter quarters.
Drove her then in to Hasty Point, which is named from Marion's hasty
escape in a small boat from the British officers during the Revolution,
and is a very beautiful point, overlooking the bold Thoroughfare and
Peedee River; then home to a dinner of English ducks. I am very stiff
from my agricultural efforts.
November 24.
Yesterday just as I was getting into the buckboard to drive S— down to
Gregory to take the train Jim arrived. He has come to begin the colts'
education and can only stay a month, as his employer in Gregory gave
him a month's holiday. I am so glad to have him—told him to get all
the harness together and mend things up and see if he could contrive a
harness fit to put on Marietta to break her in the road cart.
S— was so anxious to see Casa Bianca that I thought we could drive in
there on our way to Gregory, eat our lunch there, and still get down in
time for the train, but we failed to do it. She was so delighted with
the place and wanted to see everything in the rambling old house, even
the garret with its ghostly old oil portrait of a whole family in a row
and a broken bust of another member, that we delayed too long. Besides,
the train left at 4:10 instead of 4:45, as it has been doing for some
years. I had to leave S— to spend the night at the hotel, which I hated
to do, but she said she must get off on the 6 A.M. train, and I was
equally obliged to come home, so we parted with mutual regret.
[Illustration: The roughness and plainness of the pine-land house.]
It was late for my long, lonely drive. By the time I got to the ferry
it was dark, and I wondered how I was to manage. I asked the two old
men to lend me their lantern, but they said they could not spare it.
However, about half a mile farther on I stopped at a cottage and asked
for the loan of a lantern, and the owner, a darky, brought out a bright,
well-trimmed lantern and with true courtesy assured me he was happy to
lend it, and I made the drive without accident, truly thankful to get
into my dear home, with its bright fire of live-oak logs, at 8:30 out
of the cold and darkness.
December 8.
To-day Richard Dinny came to say he would undertake to mend the break
in the rice-field bank. As it is about two miles round there in a boat,
I had him paddle me through the canal to Long field trunk, and I walked
from there on the banks. I hurried along because the time was short
before hour for luncheon. I had had the bank hoed just in the middle,
so that a sportsman could go through unseen by the ducks in the field.
Sometimes it was hard for me to get through with my skirt, but the man
found it hard to keep up with me. The break looked very alarming, the
water rushing over, and every tide that goes over will double the work.
Coming back, my hair caught in a brier and I found it impossible to
disentangle it. I had taken off my big hat early in the engagement and
left it on the bank near the boat. After trying desperately to get free
from the brier I asked Richard, who was just behind, if he had a knife.
He said yes.
"Then cut this bramble," I said, holding well up above my head the
brier, which was completely wrapped in my hair.
He got out his knife and took a long time about it, sawing and sawing,
but finally I was released. As soon as I got home I rushed upstairs to
fix my hair for luncheon, for it is curly and was every which way over
my head. As I took it down a lock as thick as my finger came off in
my hand. Richard had taken so long because he was sawing off my hair
instead of the bramble.
December 9.
Yesterday's work at the break was too much for Richard. This morning he
sent word he was called off by important business, so could not come.
December 11.
We are having the most delightful springlike weather. It is a joy to
wake up morning after morning and find the same balmy, mild air. The
effort to keep the house warm in the cold weather got on my nerves very
much, and now I am relaxing and expanding to my own natural condition,
which is rather optimistic—one of peace and good-will to the world
in general, with a firm faith that things must come right in the end,
however difficult and crisscross they may seem.
Went to Casa Bianca to-day. The place is too lovely for words. How
any one who has the money and wants a winter home can hesitate to
give $10,000 for it I do not see. When it is sold, it will break my
heart, but either this place or that must go. This place (Cherokee) has
nearly 900 acres, and the house is in perfect order. Besides, it has an
ever-flowing artesian well 460 feet deep which throws water above the
roof when a smaller pipe is put on,—a reducer, the man who bored the
well called it. There is a grove of live oak of about 50 acres.
I often wonder that it should have fallen to my lot to have two such
beautiful homes. Altogether if I only had a small certain income, I
would not envy the King on his throne.
December 12.
All the sashes up this lovely April morning. I have a man called Jimmie
trimming up a little. The vista my dear mother had cut out years ago
had grown up, and it is a great pleasure to have it open once more. From
the front piazza it opens a view down the river, a beautiful bend, the
shining, glimmering water framed by the dark oak branches.
Finally I have put Joe, Ruben, and George to work on the break. After
lunch went over in the boat to see their work; they had a fine supply
of mud cut, some on the bank and some in the flat. Sent Bonaparte to
take over some long plank for them to use inside of puncheons to hold
the soft mud.
December 13.
Joe, George, and Ruben working on break. They had to be there at
daybreak to catch the low tide. This afternoon I went over in boat to
look at the work, and to my delight it is really done, and I believe
will last, only every day at low water they must put on a little fresh
mud to raise it as it settles.
Oh, this heavenly Indian summer! It is too delightful for words!
Bonaparte had Frankie and Green helping him to clean the chimneys. It
is a troublesome business.
Bonaparte goes up on a ladder to the top of the house. It always
frightens me to see him, for he is an old man, but he minds it less
than the younger ones. He ties a stout cedar bough to a long rope about
midway in the rope, then drops it down the chimney the three stories to
the first floor; there Frankie catches the rope and between them they
pull it backward and forward until the chimney is clean and the hearth
is filled with soot.
Once I tried getting a chimney-sweep, but he wept and pleaded so not
to go up the chimneys again, saying he would suffocate, they were so
long, that I returned to the old and primitive way and will never try
the sweep again. After this one sweeping we keep the chimneys clean by
burning them, when there is a pouring rain, about once a month.
I have always broken my colts myself; no one but myself either rode
or drove Ruth until she was thoroughly broken. Of course Jim's stable
discipline was of the utmost importance, and he always went along, but
he never touched the reins. I did the driving.
This year, however, I had not the spirit to cope with them and have
determined to leave it entirely to him. He is now patching up a harness
so as to drive Marietta in the road cart.
NOTE
It may be wise to explain a peculiarity of our low-country rice
region. From the last week in May until the first week in November
it was considered deadly for an Anglo-Saxon to breathe the night air
on a rice plantation; the fatal high bilious fever of the past was
regarded as a certain consequence, while the African and his descendants
were immune. Hence every rice planter had a summer home either in the
mountains, or on the seashore, or in the belt of pine woods a few miles
from the river, where perfect health was found. In 1845 my father built
a large, airy house surrounded with wide piazzas on Pawley's Island,
and there he spent the summer, with occasional trips north and abroad,
until the war made it unsafe to occupy the island. Then he built a
log house in the pineland village of Peaceville: this large house with
double shingled roof was built by his plantation carpenters with wooden
pins, owing to the blockade there being no nails to be had. After the
war my brother owned this, and my mother in spite of great difficulties
returned to the beach as a summer home. As the crow flies this island
was about three miles east of Cherokee, but for us mortals to reach it,
many miles by land and water had to be traversed—all of our belongings,
servants, horses, cows, furniture, were loaded on to lighters and
propelled seven miles through broad rivers and winding creeks to Waverly
Mills where they were disembarked and travelled four miles by land,
but when we reached this paradise on the Atlantic Ocean we felt repaid
for all the effort. It was here we spent our summers when I began my
rice-planting venture. As my mother reached the limit which David places
for the span of life, she shrank from the long move and bought a house
in Peaceville just opposite the church and here the last beautiful
summers of her life were passed in peaceful serenity.