Easter Sunday, May 1.
A beautiful, bright Easter. All nature seems to rejoice with man in this
great day of triumph over death.
Our little chapel, Prince Frederick's Pee Dee, is beautifully wreathed
with wild flowers and vines, the work of three young girls, sisters,
who, having but three days' holiday from their school teaching, devoted
one of them to this thank offering and labor of love. We are all touched
and softened by this act of devotion, and the blessing of the day seems
upon every one.
[Illustration: Prince Frederick's Pee Dee.]
May 2.
Had a terrible shock to-day. I took M. to see the alfalfa field, and
there was not a leaf of anything in the five acres! Those two nights of
ice must have caught the alfalfa in its one tender stage, for all the
books say that after it is six inches high it will stand any amount of
cold. I am stunned, it is such an unexpected blow.
Having been desperately busy, and knowing that my fence was perfectly
secure, I have not been to look at the alfalfa since the seventeenth,
when it was fine, and now all the money I have spent on it might as well
have been thrown away, so far as any hope of return goes—I fenced in
that field of thirty acres with American fence wire, forty inches high,
and two strands of barbed wire on top, hoping gradually to get it all
in alfalfa by planting five acres every year. I have five acres of fine
oats in it now, but that brings in no money, only feeds my horses.
I had to go for a long walk alone to steady myself, so as not to break
down entirely.
CHEROKEE, May 3.
The hands from Casa Bianca came this morning to get seed rice. I was
just starting to drive M. to the train, but as it is very important to
get the rice planted as soon as possible I had to delay the departure
until to-morrow, for it was too late when I had finished measuring out
the rice to drive to Gregory in time for the 4: 30 train.
May 4.
Drove M. to the R. R. yesterday. I was afraid to take Willing, knowing
his weakness for the dispensary; so drove her in the buckboard. On the
way I took her into Woodstock, my brother's place, that she might see
its beauty, and then when we reached Gregory I took her to see the old
church, Prince George Winyah, and its churchyard, where my parents rest.
The church was built of brick imported from the old country, and it
is one of the oldest in the land. The churchyard is beautiful with its
moss hung oaks and cedars, and one feels that it is truly God's acre.
We lingered there so long that there was a risk of missing the train,
which would have been most inconvenient to both guest and hostess. By
driving rapidly, however, we reached the station in time.
As it was too late for me to take the long drive home alone I went
into Woodstock and spent the night with my brother. This morning after
breakfast I drove to Casa Bianca, which is halfway between Woodstock and
Cherokee. There I had a good many things to see after, and it was late
afternoon before I got through and finally started for home.
[Illustration: Prince George Winyah.]
I had been so much engrossed with my work trying to establish a better
state of feeling between the hands and Nat that I had not noticed that
the clouds had gathered heavily and that everything indicated a storm.
When I felt the gusts of wind which tore at the umbrella so fiercely
that I had to put it down in spite of a drizzling rain, and saw the
forked lightning which shot incessantly from the clouds, and thought
of the eight miles of lonely road ahead of me, I realized that I would
have to bring forward all my faith and philosophy for the next hour.
From being by nature a great coward I had become very courageous, and I
have often caught myself saying there were only two things in the world
I was afraid of, a cow and a drunken man, and I could not help calling
this to mind now and wondering how I would stand the present ordeal.
Romola, who is generally very quiet, snorted and showed every sign of
fear, but I did not give her time to give way to her feelings, but used
the whip freely, a thing I very rarely do, to make her understand that
she must travel. She responded nobly and we sped along.
The clouds made it much darker than it should have been, for the sun had
only just gone down. I have never seen such vivid lightning nor heard
such claps of thunder, and at each Romola darted out of the road as
though the thick bushes could protect her. Not a human being was to be
seen the whole way, and when I got to the avenue gate, which was shut, I
had, of course, to get out to open it, and I felt sure Romola would fly
home and leave me; but I did her an injustice. She waited, with every
sign of impatience, long enough for me with great speed to get in, and
then dashed on until we got to the darkest spot in the avenue, where
the live oaks lap together overhead. A fearful flash of lightning came,
followed instantly by a terrific peal of thunder, and she stopped short.
I felt sure she had been struck, and she seemed to share the impression,
but in a moment she went on and we were soon at home.
I was so excited that I was in a perfect gale of spirits, which quite
upset my good Chloe, who had worked herself up to a wretched state
of anxiety about me, miserable that I was out in that terrible storm
alone; and she was hurt and disapproving of my attitude, especially as
the first thing I did was to insist that Gerty and herself should take
in my best rug, which had been hung on the piazza to air. Their terror
had been so great that they had left it out in the rain—such a panic
had seized them that they were very reluctant to venture out on the
piazza. They had the house shut up without a breath of air, that being
their idea of safety. Of course, I was drenched and had to change all my
things, and after two hours I sent word to Willing that he might safely
feed the mare, I having told him to rub her perfectly dry, but not to
feed her till I sent him word. What was my dismay to find he had not
rubbed her at all—said he was afraid to stay in the stable, so he had
turned her loose in the stable yard and gone into the kitchen, leaving
her exposed to the pouring rain! Of course she will be foundered, for
she was very hot.
Sunday, May 8.
Drove Ruth to church and met some one just from Gregory on the way, who
told me a most terrible thing. Mrs. R., one of the loveliest women in
our community, was struck by lightning during the storm last evening.
She had always had a great terror of lightning, though in every other
respect she was a fearless woman, so that her family always gathered
round her during a storm and tried as much as possible to shut out the
sight and sound. On this occasion her husband and daughter were sitting
one on each side of her on an old-fashioned mahogany sofa, she with her
handkerchief thrown over her face. When the fatal flash came the husband
and daughter were thrown forward to the floor and were stunned; as soon
as they recovered consciousness they turned to reassure the mother as to
their not being seriously hurt. She was still sitting straight up on the
sofa with the handkerchief over her face; they lifted the handkerchief
as they received no answer and found life extinct. It was a translation
really for her, as she probably felt nothing; there was only one small
spot at the back of the neck. She was a woman rarely gifted, with beauty
of face and form, as well as of soul; she was one upon whom every one
rested who came in contact with her; she gave of her strength to all who
needed it, for her supply was unlimited, coming direct from the great
source of all power. I wonder if terror of lightning was a premonition
which had been with, her always from her childhood? Her death is a great
loss to our county, and to her family a calamity indeed.
May 9.
Very busy arranging things so that I can leave for my annual visit to
Washington. It is harder than ever, for Jim not being here to leave
in charge of the horses I feel very anxious. However, I have done my
best and will leave to-morrow. The incubator is in full swing and Chloe
and Gerty have learned how to manage the heat between them. The chicks
are due to hatch on the 14th, and I have left most accurate written
directions for each day which Gerty is to read aloud to Chloe as the day
comes, for toward the end the heat must be raised. The first family of
sixty-seven are growing apace; only one has died and that was smothered
by the others before I found out that I must put them under the hover
every night or they will cluster about the thermometer and climb on top
of each other until the ones underneath are smothered if help does not
come. It is the funniest thing to see their devotion to the thermometer.
They peck it off of the nail on which it hangs, so that as soon as I
learned to know the proper heat for the brooder by touching the metal
cylinder under the hover, I took the thermometer out entirely, and
as soon as it was gone they went under the hover of their own accord.
They seemed to feel that the mercury was a living presence, I suppose,
because it moved up and down in the tube.
I am leaving Willing to run one cultivator, with Mollie and Gibbie to
run the other with a fine ox I have just bought. I heard that Gibbie
had made his plans to "go to town" to work, leaving his young wife and
child, and I racked my brain for something that would interest him at
home and divert his thoughts from that plan; for if once a young negro
leaves his wife and children to go away to work he is very apt to stay
away permanently, and I should be sorry for Gibbie to do that. One day I
called him and said: "Gibbie, I wish to try an experiment and put you in
charge of it, and I am going away for a month. You know, in this country
no one ever thinks of ploughing a single ox; they can't do anything
without a yoke of oxen; but in the up country it is not so. On my way to
the mountains I see from the car windows people running their ploughs
with a single ox. Now I want you to take entire charge of Paul—no one
else is to use him—and I want you to put him in the cultivator and run
it through the corn day by day until you finish that, and then through
the cotton, and then start through the corn again; but be careful of
Paul and do not let him get galled, and feed him well."
Gibbie was as proud as though he had been made Viceroy of India and his
plan of deserting vanished.
May 26.
Washington. Spent the afternoon at the Agricultural Department, where
I met with much courtesy as well as information. I went specially to
inquire as to the practicability of the cultivation of the orris root
on our rice field lands. The orris of commerce is the root of the iris,
which grows luxuriantly in our low country. In the latter part of March
and during the month of April every swampy low spot, as one drives along
the road, is beautiful with the dark purple or blue and the light purple
and the white iris, or flag. My desire was to find out if these species
of iris had the perfumed root, for if they have we could cultivate it
in the rice fields with great success.
The impression at the department is that orris can be grown only on high
ground, as in Italy, where it is principally grown, it is planted in a
semi-mountainous region. This is a great disappointment. They told me of
a farm in Louisa, Va., where the orris is being cultivated for market.
I would like very much to visit that farm and see for myself, but my
time is limited, as I have promised to attend the annual meeting of the
South Carolina branch of the Women's Auxiliary at Orangeburg, May 31.
One must have plenty of patience to attempt the cultivation of orris,
for the root should not be dug until it is two years old, and then it
has to be kept two years before its perfume develops.
Another thing I had much at heart was to take some lessons in
photography and to buy a good camera. I could do so much more if I
could illustrate things with good photographs of the odd and picturesque
things I so constantly see; but, alas, I am going away without having
made any progress in this direction, time and other things lacking.
June 6.
Peaceville. At home once more and the great big white rooms of the
pineland bungalow are very restful and pleasant. That is the one luxury
we enjoy to the fullest in the South—space. My rooms here are immense,
each with four windows and three doors, very high ceilings and a broad
piazza around the whole.
I received a riotous welcome from the dogs and a very hearty one from
Chloe, Gerty, and the Imp, but Chloe seemed downcast and unlike herself,
and I knew there was some bad news, which she would not bring out until
I had had my dinner. While I was away I had several letters from Chloe,
in one of which she announced with great joy that sixty-three fine
healthy chicks had hatched from the 'cubator. So when I had finished the
simple but delicious meal which she had prepared for me I asked her to
go out with me and show me the chickens. Then she poured out her woes.
The night before she moved from the plantation some one had climbed
the six-foot fence and stolen twenty-five of the precious last-hatched
chicks. She said when she found it out the next morning she sat down
and cried, she had been so proud to have hatched them out and they were
doing so well and growing so fast. I sympathized with her. Of course it
was a great blow to me, but she was in such deep distress over it that
I had to act the part of consoler, though I was the victim.
She went on to say: "En I do' kno' who carry de news out say I cry 'bout
de chicken, but I s'pose 'twas dat wicket boy Rab, fu' ebeybody I meet
say 'Eh, eh! I yere say yu cry 'bout chicken, I'se shock to yere sech
a ting! A pusson cry fu' loss 'e mudder or some of 'e fambly, but cry
fu' chicken! No; en wusser wen 'tain't yo' chicken.'" This taunt and
ridicule seemed to have sunk deep and to rankle still. She went on to
say that the person who took the chickens must have been well known to
the dogs, as they made no outcry, and moreover that Rab had not slept
at home that night, saying he had stayed with Willing, which all looks
very bad for both of these boys. I will not attempt to investigate, for
it would be perfectly useless.
[Illustration: "Eh, eh, I yere say yu cry 'bout chicken."]
It is a principle firmly maintained that one negro will not give
testimony against another unless he has a quarrel with him, and then
he will say anything necessary to convict him of any crime, so that
investigation with a view to justice is a farce. I do not doubt that
these two are guilty, for Willing has encouraged Rab to return to
his old habit of stealing all the eggs. Bonaparte found a spot in the
pasture, with cans and many egg-shells and remains of fire, where they
had a regular picnic place. When he asked Rab about it, he said Willing
and he cooked there every day eggs, potatoes, anything else they wanted.
I had brought Rab a beautiful outfit from Washington, besides the ever
desired mouth organ, and, after a consultation with Chloe, I determined
to give them to him, as she said he had been moderately good while I was
gone and slept out only that one night; and there was no proof against
him, and if they did take the chickens of course the older boy was very
much more to blame. I would not on any account accuse them of such a
thing unless I was perfectly certain, for I think that is the way to
make people dishonest. I would not appear to think it possible that any
one about the yard could know anything about it. I only reproached Rab
with having been absent that night, as he might have caught the thief.
June 20.
Drove into Cherokee this morning on my way to Casa Bianca and found
Ruth with a beautiful filly colt. I am so pleased. Ruth is very proud
and brought the colt right up to me and the little thing licked my hand
and let me stroke its head. I went on in fine spirits after admiring
my new possession. So many things go wrong that I am unduly elated when
something pleasant comes.
Casa Bianca looked perfectly beautiful. The place is so lovely that
it always does me good to go there, though this time I had dreaded it
very much. The negroes continue to fight against Nat, and there is very
little rice planted, and they will not work that little properly. Nat
seems to do his best, which I'm sure is a mercy.
[Illustration: The Summer Kitchen at Cherokee.]
Stopped on my way back and told Willing to get all the milk he could
to-morrow and put it in demijohns ready for me to take out with me. We
are to have a little sale of ice-cream in aid of our auxiliary.
June 21.
Arose at 6 and hurried through breakfast to go early to the plantation
and get through my work there and bring the milk for the auxiliary. To
my great disappointment found Willing had less milk than usual. I went
with him to the field and made him milk the cows over, and found they
had an abundance and he had only half milked; he was sulky about it,
but I insisted and got three quarts more, then turned the calves in and
showed Willing how much they were getting. I hurried back to send it
to the ladies. I had undertaken to furnish the 200 pounds of ice and to
make a churn of cream myself. Such a time as I had freezing it! I never
had done it before, as long ago I read all the directions to Jim, who
always did it. I supposed Chloe knew how, but she had forgotten, if she
ever knew, and I spent nearly two hours down on my knees working with
the thing. Like everything else, it is easy if you know how, but this
was terrific. However, it was finished in time.
[Illustration: The Winter Kitchen at Cherokee.]
In the little hamlet of Peaceville truly the simple life, now so much
vaunted and preached, is lived. A community of gentle folk, about
sixteen households, most of the families were wealthy in the time
prior to 1860, and all well born. Now theirs is a life of privation
and labor, and borne without murmur or repining, and they are gentle
folk emphatically. With the mercury for weeks over 90, and sometimes
98, there is but one family who can indulge in the luxury of ice. Until
this summer I have always got 200 pounds a week, but things are changed
by the failure of rice and I have given it up, as by the time I get it
from the nearest town, eighteen miles away, the 200 pounds cost $1.50.
Every one is much excited over the sale, and early in the afternoon they
gather at the little schoolhouse, across the road from my gate, which
had been selected for the event. The five ice-cream churns are grouped
under a tree and two or three tables placed around, while the benches
from the schoolhouse are placed about as seats. Two ladies down on their
knees serve out the cream to the excited string of children, who bring
their nickels clasped tightly in their hand. Two other ladies have a
large dish pan and towels and keep a constant supply of fresh saucers
and spoons, while one with a little basket receives the nickels.
[Illustration: The string of excited children.]
The five-cent saucers are very big, but I call to mind how rarely these
children ever taste ice-cream and what self-denial on the part of the
mother each nickel represents, and so our results are not as large as
they might be. My churn is pure cream as that is the only kind I can
make, but it is not nearly so popular as the others which are made of
custard with different flavorings. Finally, after a period of great
activity I hear "All gone but the Newport vanilla" (that is mine) and
the answer comes, "Well, if there is nothing else I will take that," and
everything is gone and the benches are put back in the schoolhouse and
the tables are carried home, and we have made $8 for our auxiliary, not
much, but it represents a good deal of labor and self sacrifice on the
part of the women who have given their material and their time, for all
the things are contributed by different members and so we have no bills
to pay. This will go to a cot in the hospital at Shanghai in memory of
Bishop Howe and for a Bible woman in Japan. A mite truly, but God grant
it may be blessed.
June 22.
Rose at 5, skimmed and set the churn. It is very hot, and having no ice
there is no chance of good butter except by handling it very early. When
I went to the plantation, I found that my two English side-saddles had
been left on a rack in the piazza where I had them moved this spring
from the stuffy harness room, but I didn't mean them to stay there
always; it is scarcely safe now that I have moved to the village and
there is no one in the yard; so this afternoon I called Gibbie to bring
them into the house. He brought the first and placed it on the rack,
and I covered it with a large white cloth and he went for the other.
As he came with it I heard a strange rumbling noise. "What is that?" I
asked. Gibbie is quite deaf and answered that he heard nothing. I went
on: "It is either a steamboat on the river or an approaching tornado."
Still Gibbie heard nothing, but as he was about to put down the saddle
I became aware that the noise came from it. "Take it back quickly to
the piazza, Gibbie, and put it down gently." I followed, and as he set
it down out from the inside crawled a bumblebee, and then another and
another. The bees had excavated the padding and built inside of the
saddle, leaving only the small hole which they had bored visible. The
saddle might have been put on a horse's back and girthed on before the
bees stirred, and what a circus there would have been.
Nothing would induce Gibbie to touch it again. He fled down the piazza
steps, and the saddle remains upside down on a stand. I do not know how
to get rid of the things. The sting of the bumblebee is said to be more
severe than that of the honey-bee. If I pour hot water down the hole, as
I first thought of doing, the saddle will be ruined, and I do not know
how else to reach them. Certainly strange things happen to me!
When I reached Peaceville at three o'clock the mercury in the coolest
spot on the piazza marked 96, and I was so thirsty. Alas the artesian
water brought and kept in a demijohn is lukewarm and there is no use
pretending that it is refreshing. The well water is cool, but it has a
taste which makes me prefer the tepid contents of the demijohn. I have
made great efforts to cool it; sewed it up in cloth and swung it from
a nail in the piazza—all in vain. From contrast to my expectations, I
suppose, it seems hotter than ever, so I gulp down the clear liquid,
saying to myself, "you are obeying one of the first laws of health in
not drinking cold water—only fools fill their digestive organs with icy
fluid."
PEACEVILLE, July 18.
Rose at 5 o'clock and had breakfast before 6 o'clock, so as to make an
early start to drive to Gregory to attend the farmers' meeting and hear
the lectures by the agricultural experts. The heat is so great that the
early morning or late afternoon is the only time to travel.
I got through the eighteen mile drive very quickly it seemed to me, for
it had looked interminable to my mind's eye when I started, and had an
hour in town before the meeting.
The hall was quite full and I was very glad when D. came forward and
met me and ushered me in. It was quite a tribute to him that so many of
the most primitive farmers came. They looked quite lost until he met
them at the door and found seats for them with a delightful courtesy
and interest.
I saw many that I knew rarely left the deep recesses of the pine forest,
and it was quite touching to see the attention with which they listened.
Near me were two I knew well, quite young lads, whose life had been
spent in a struggle with the soil, beginning as small boys; Colonel Ben
and Solomon.
I had handed the former to the Bishop to be christened. His father had
selected as his name "Colonel Ben." Fortunately I asked the Bishop about
it before the service began, and he answered, "He cannot be christened
Colonel Ben. They can call him by that name, but the title must be left
off in the service."
When I repeated this to the mother she was very stolid and said, "Par,
he named him Colonel Ben, en he wishes him baptized the same."
I understood it entirely. They named him after the man who had done most
for them in their lives. He had been a Colonel in the Confederate army,
and after the war became a clergyman of the Episcopal Church, and their
desire was to name the baby after the Colonel and not after the priest.
Poor Colonel Ben has had a hard, limited life, but has worked faithfully
tilling the soil on his father's large farm. The unwonted excitement of
a visit to the county-seat to hear a man tell him how to do what he'd
been doing all his life was most astounding. As they tiptoed behind D.
into the rather dark room filled with people I think it would have taken
little to make them turn and run to the shelter of the woods.
However, they settled down and after furtive looks around devoted
themselves to trying to make out what the speaker was saying. For a long
time it seemed to me they were getting nothing. It was all a confused
talk to them, and then he said something which roused them to interest:
"And now I will tell you how to get the greatest amount of good from
your barn-yard manure," and he proceeded to urge them to haul it on to
the fields as fast as it accumulated.
Both Colonel Ben and Solomon leaned further and further forward in their
desire not to lose one of the precious words of wisdom. It was lucky
that the two seats in front of them were vacant, for the long arms were
far over the seat, while the eager faces tried to bring the huge hearing
members nearer to the speaker. I felt quite delighted that they had
found something available, something they could carry home.
It is hard for an educated speaker to realize how his fluent speech
slips off the rustic brain like water flowing over a rock. They cannot
absorb it; it is all over before they have caught on.
After it was all over I met Colonel Ben, Solomon, and their father
wandering along the street. I stopped and spoke, asked them if they were
going to the banquet which had been prepared for the audience.
No, they reckoned they'd be gittin' on home.
But I urged them, saying I felt sure R. L. A. expected them and would
be looking for them.
"Wall, he's the one got me en the boys into this trouble; he wouldn't
take no, we jest had to cum, en hare we is."
I started them on the way to the hall and hope they got there and
enjoyed the substantial lunch provided. No doubt these meetings do an
immense deal of good if as in this instance the local director is a man
of enthusiasm and able to throw it into the work and take an interest
in all the individual farmers who are so cut off from the interests of
the rest of the world.
They think that to scratch over many acres of land, guiltless of manure
or help of any kind, with a yoke of oxen and then to have all the
family from the oldest to the youngest turn out and plant the corn by
hand, disturbing it as little as possible by work until it is ready to
harvest, is to be a farmer, and they are satisfied. In the spring R. L.
A. was trying to persuade one of these very satisfied old men to plant
a few acres under the direction of the Department. He turned on him.
"Look a' yere, young man," he said, "I bin fa'ming long before y'u ever
wus thought of, en I want y'u to onderstan' I don't believe in deep
ploughin', I don't."
R. L. A. used all his blandishments until the old man promised to plant
two acres by his directions, beginning with deep ploughing. He told me
that when he went back some months later the old man said:—
"Youngster, I don't know what's the reason, but I kyan't get any of
my corn to grow but them two akers o' yourn—the dry drought is just
a-burning up the rest o' my corn." And still later when the steady rains
set in and he went that way the old man clapped him on the back and said
with much embellishment of action:—
"Well, you've got me; the rain's done finished the rest of the corn, but
them akers of yourn jest keep on a-growin' en a-growin', en I jest tell
you now next year I plants jest about half o' what I bin a-plantin' en
I ploughs it all deep en does jest es you tells me to do."
That was a wonderful triumph for the young director, and he tells me
there are many such cases.
July 21.
Having land prepared for turnips, which are a very important winter crop
for us. The corn and cotton both look very well, also the potatoes, and
the little amount of rice planted is fine. The agricultural society of
the State has offered a prize of $100 for the best results in hay from
five acres of alfalfa during 1906, and I have determined to enter the
contest. I know I cannot get the prize, but trying for it will make me
more careful in planting and preparing the land. They give very exact
directions and insist on a great deal of fertilizer being used—that is,
what seems to me a great deal, and I never would spend all that money
unless I were in a way forced to it by entering the contest. I am now
reading everything I can find on the subject of alfalfa, and there is
a great deal to be found.
Wrote to George T. Moore for inoculating material for alfalfa. I am so
delighted that he is back in the Department of Agriculture, so that I
can write to him. I have been miserable over what I considered the great
injustice to him, and am so thankful that amends have been made and he
has been reinstated.
I am so happy to-day over a check received from a liberal paymaster that
I am quite stupid. I had sent off the last money I had in the bank for
fertilizer for the alfalfa, and was feeling anxious, and now I am so
relieved.