January 1.
The new year ought to fill one with bright anticipations and hopes, but
somehow I am so weighed down by realities, in the shape of bills and
accounts which should be paid and for which I see no wherewithal, that
my horizon seems dark and cloud-capped. I try to keep myself hard at
work, as that is the only way to get rid of anxiety.
I am having wool washed to make a mattress, as I need a nice single
mattress, and the only way to get it at this moment is to make it. Chloe
and Patty are to wash it to-morrow.
January 2.
Drove Marietta this morning for the second time. Jim always walked
behind driving with long reins, while Gibbie led her as far as the
front gate, so I followed his example and drove from behind until we
got into the public road, when I got in. She fought a little, but went
beautifully when once we were started.
I wanted to go to the post-office in Peaceville but did not wish to stop
there, as we did that the last time, and with a colt it is so important
not to let it form a habit of stopping at any one place. So I drove all
the way up the village to the last house, and turning there came back
to the post-office. Alack and alas! it was closed. If only I had stopped
on the way up I would have got my mail, and I was hoping for a valuable
letter. While I stopped talking, asking if it would not be possible to
have the office opened for a moment, one of my dear Sunday-school boys
galloped by on horseback, followed by his black dog.
Marietta just made up her mind to get rid of all impediments and
pursue them, especially the dog. She reared, she plunged, she bucked,
she whirled, she stood so long on her hind legs pawing the air that
I thought she must fall back on me. Gibbie, however, held on to her
manfully, although nearly lifted from the ground. Mr. R. was so excited
that he jumped the high paling fence to come to my assistance, but there
was nothing he could do. However, I was glad of his suggestion, made in
his deliberate way: "I would turn her head the other way," which advice
I gladly followed and drove rapidly up the village for the second time
and on in that direction until she was somewhat quiet and then turned
homeward, trusting Fred and his black dog had gone a long distance and
would not return until I was safely at home.
One dangerous spot after another was passed and I began to breathe more
freely when, as I reached the Clay gully, I saw in the distance the
galloping horse and frisking black dog approaching. My heart was in
my mouth, but I make it a rule never to call out in an alarmed tone,
as a horse is so sensitive to the driver's feelings. I had taken her
around a little side cut she was unaccustomed to so that she was so busy
examining every root and stump that she did not see the approaching
party. To my great relief Fred saw us, and with wonderful presence of
mind called his dog, which had nearly reached us, and rode rapidly off
in another direction. I was very thankful, and greatly pleased at the
boy's prompt thought and action.
Got home without further trouble and did not give poor little Marietta
the reward she was expecting—two quarts of oats. Gibbie was indignant
at this and proceeded to argue with me, but I was firm and told him
Marietta would understand perfectly.
January 6.
Have had the great privilege and pleasure of having our Bishop as
my guest, on his pastoral visit to our struggling little parish. The
Bishop's visit is always a season of uplift and thankfulness.
January 7.
Drove Marietta to-day, and though she was nervous at first and it was
hard for me to get in the road cart, she soon quieted down and went
eight miles without any excitement, so that I had the pleasure of giving
her the two quarts of oats mixed with soda and hot water which is the
reward of merit.
Friday, January 8.
This morning I told Gibbie that we would drive down the road, as we have
been up so often, because the bridge a short distance below has been
undergoing repairs. Marietta went very quietly until we got out of the
gate and turned her head down the road and I got in—then she wheeled
sharp around and reared until I thought she must fall back—she plunged,
she squatted until she broke up the harness entirely. Gibbie lost his
nerve and instead of holding her by the bit, as he did the last time she
fought, he held the end of a six foot halter, so that he had no power
over her and was in danger of being pawed.
I held on to the reins, fortunately. She turned herself around in the
shafts, having broken girth and crupper, until she faced me, and as
I kept my tight grip on the reins she was nearly choked. Purposely I
pulled tighter and tighter, and when she found herself entirely tied up
in the harness and choking she was quiet and stood without moving while
Gibbie and Bonaparte took off the remnants of the harness. Fortunately
the head-stall and reins were strong and held. I found there was no
hope of putting her back in the cart, as it would take days to patch up
the harness, so I told Gibbie I would drive her down the road without
any vehicle, he leading and I holding the reins behind. We had a great
deal of trouble to get her started down the road, but she went after
a while quietly enough until we came to the bridge, where she made a
tremendous fight. When I was worn out with her wheeling and fighting
I gave the lines to Gibbie and told him to stand perfectly still, not
make any effort to get her over, but if she started to go, to follow
her. Then I went across and stood a short distance from the bridge and
willed her to come over, putting all my strength into the will. She put
one foot slowly forward and then the other, apparently with the greatest
reluctance, but once started she came straight to me, and then I took
the lines and drove her three miles. She was just as quiet and docile
as though she had never fought. She walked so rapidly, however, dragging
me along at a most unusual pace for me, that I was completely exhausted
when we got home.
January 8.
Started on mattress about 10 o'clock and worked steadily until I
finished it at midnight. I made the tick on the machine just after
breakfast and then had Bonaparte make me a frame just the size of the
spring I wanted the mattress to fit. This was not finished until 10
and I was very much afraid I would not be able to finish, but I did
by working, with only half an hour for dinner. I get so interested in
anything I am doing, it does not matter what it is, for the moment, it
is the most engrossing occupation in the world. The wool was beautifully
washed, which made it pleasant.
When it came to sticking a needle a foot long through the mattress and
tying with twine I had to get Jim's willing and efficient help, but that
was not until after 9 to-night. I am so exhilarated by the success of
my work that I am neither tired nor sleepy and have to make myself stop
working and go to bed, when I hope to sleep serenely "clothed in the
light of high duties done."
January 9.
Sewed nearly all day, which is a rare treat to me. The wood we are using
burns out so fast, that I have been urging the men to cut enough logs
from the live oaks (which I have at last got sawed down), to give each
fireplace a back log; that makes such a difference in the permanence and
heat of the fire. Joe Keit said the wood was too hard, might as well try
to cut iron, and that it would take all day to cut one log, making it
very dear wood. I was provoked, but never having sawed any wood at all,
I did not know whether what he said was true or not—that always worries
me—so I put down my sewing and got the big saw about 4½ feet long with
one handle, which is comfortable to grasp, and went out to the four
splendid live oaks which were killed in the storm, whether by lightning
or otherwise I don't know, but they have stood there in melancholy naked
grandeur ever since, till this winter I bought a fine cross-cut saw, and
had Jim and Joe Keit to saw them down. It was long and laborious, but
they had become a menace to the cattle, as the limbs rotted and fell.
I selected a limb of suitable height for me to work on and began very
awkwardly to saw. The cattle seeing so unusual a sight gathered round
me, and Equinox, the bull, feeling sure I must be fixing food for them,
came nearer and nearer in his investigations, so that I was forced to
an ignominious retreat, before I had made much progress on my "iron"
limb. I was not going to give it up, however. I went into the next lot
where there was an even more indestructible oak tree, which various men
at various times had refused to tackle, and began afresh with the saw.
I was pleased to find myself already a little handier and worked with
great satisfaction. I remembered Dickens' "'tis dogged does it" and my
spirits rose as I got the knack of drawing back the big saw. Jim, who
was engaged in cutting limbs from a green live oak, which is much less
tough, and which I disapprove of entirely, some distance off, came and
expressed great anxiety lest I overexert myself and said, "Let me finish
it, Miss Patience, you'll be here till dark," but I proudly declined,
and to his and my amazement I had the back log off in half an hour.
"Now," I said, "if I who have never handled a saw before in my life, can
cut that log, seven inches in diameter, which has been here since the
storm of '93, and rings like metal when you strike it, in half an hour,
you and Joe Keit should be able to cut those logs of the same size from
those oaks which are rotting a little, in ten minutes, and by giving a
day to it, the house will be supplied with back logs for two months at
least."
January 10.
I ventured to church in spite of rain which did not amount to much. A
little stiff and painful from my prowess with saw yesterday, but would
not for worlds acknowledge it to any one. Had my iron log brought in
and set up in the piazza, and shall put a geranium on it as a pedestal.
I am so proud of it I cannot think of burning it up.
I hear that Gibbie has moved off of the place, has left without paying
his rent. He came on the 16th, and paid one dollar on his rent for
October, the rent being $1.25 a month, and he says he gets one dollar
a day for his work. He assured me that it was impossible for him to pay
more until some mythical time when he would be paid off and pay the rest
to date. Now he has slipped away without paying at all. I have written
to see if I can get it from his employer. Now comes his brother David to
tell me he is going—he pays me $2.25 which leaves $6.50 still due me.
I made him give me his note payable by April first for that. I do not
doubt April first was a most suitable date and that it will be a proper
celebration of the day as April fool. Chloe's indignation is great for
she knows how often I have helped them in sickness and how patiently I
have waited on them. She burst out, "De good yu do, de t'enks yu git,
how yu help dem po' mudder tru' she long sickness an' tribulation! but
w'at better kin you 'spec f'um run-way nigger fam'bly?"
[Illustration: Chloe began: "W'en I bin a small gal."]
I seemed surprised at this and said, "What do you mean, Chloe?" "Miss
Pashuns, you don' know dem kum frum run-way nigger fam'bly?"
"No," I answered, "I never heard of such a thing."
"Well, den, I'll tell you. W'en I bin a small gal, bin a min' chill'un
ne[4] street, my grandpa Moses bin one o' ole Maussa fo'man—him had one
gang o' twenty man, en Daddy Sam, Bonapaa't pa, had de oder gang, en
dem uster bery proud o' dem gang, en dem gang used to run race fo' wuk.
Well, my grandpa had Gibbie grandpa een him gang—'e name was Able, but
Able neber love wuk—soon as de springtime cum en dem biggin fo' staat
for plant crap, Able n'used to run way; ebery year de same t'ing—en dat
used to mek de gang mad, kase dem had for du him wuk. You onderstan',
Miss Patience, dem had to share him task between dem, fu' extry. One
time Able bin gone six mont'—de 'hole summa' en Maussa bin a fret, say
somet'ing mus' be happen to Able, 'kase him always did cum home befo'
col' wedder en now de wuk all dun, en de tetta dun dig een, en we de
fix fu' winta! One day de chill'un bin a play in de street en Able gal
com on contac' wid anoda' gal, en dem bigin fu' sass one nudda. De oda
gal say, 'I'se betta'n yu any way. I'se got Pa, en yu ain' got no Pa.'
Den Able gal mek answa, 'I _is_ got Pa.' De oda gal say, 'How cum nobody
see yu Pa? No, yu ain't got no Pa.' 'I is got Pa, I tell yu.' 'W'ey yu
Pa? ef yu got um.' 'My Pa dey up loft een a barrel.' De oder gal tell
him pa dat night, en him gone straight en tell my grandpa, en de nex'
mo'nin dem tell Mr. Flowers en him tek my grandpa Moses en gone to Able
house, en dem gone up een de loft, en dey tru'es you born, was Able
cumfutable een a big rice barrel! You know dem was big barrel dat time
fu' hol' six hund'ed pound. W'en dem tek Able to Maussa him say, 'Well
boy, I'm sorry you kyant mek up yu min' to wuk for me, you'se de only
run-way I'se eber had, an' if you don' want to stay en wuk fu' me, I'll
hav' to sell you I suppose.' Now, Miss Pashuns, yu see Gibbie cum f'um
run-way stock, en all o' dem is triflin' no-count people."
Poor Gibbie, I didn't know his ancestral weaknesses, but I recognize
the type—quitters all—start with a flourish, but soon leave the track.
His mother came of better stock, she was a faithful worker; it is the
father, whose name I always spell "Pshaw" because it describes him, who
transmits the blood Chloe so scorns. I always have had a weak spot for
Gibbie, and now I am more than ever conscious of it. Who of us rises
above his inherited weaknesses? Not all, certainly.
Monday.
After all the agitation of Gibbie's disappearance by night, he has
returned and entreated me to forgive him, and greatly to Chloe's disgust
I have done so and he is back in the stable and I am thankful to have
him there.
Tuesday.
As it is impossible for me to stand driving Marietta on foot, I had
Gibbie lead her, sitting behind the buckboard, in which I drove her
mother. It is absolutely important that she should go out on the public
road every day and get accustomed to the sights—to-day I tried the
experiment. She went well until I took up the whip, and then she drew
back and Gibbie had to get off. I drove on slowly, and fortunately it
happened, for just before I reached the bridge I met a white-covered
wagon—those country wagons, which, seen so often in the mountains, are
rare here, and Ruth was very much frightened by it and would not pass.
If a young man who was sitting by the driver had not got out and led
her past I do not know what would have happened. I drove on over the
bridge and then back to find what had become of Gibbie and Marietta. I
found them still fighting, but after a little patting and talking to,
Marietta allowed him to sit on the buckboard and lead her. I went about
eight miles, and I hope after this I will have no trouble.
January 11.
Drove Ruth again with Gibbie sitting on back of buckboard leading
Marietta. She fought a little about turning down the road, but went
ten miles after that at a good rapid pace and gave no trouble, so that
I was greatly surprised this evening when Gibbie asked for a few words
and said: "I do' wan' to hab' no'tin' mo' fur do wid de colt. I weary
wid 'um, en I do' wan' you for call me no mo'. I discouridge 'bout 'um."
I laughed at him about it, but I found he was in earnest and that there
was something I did not understand. I said, "You know the colt does not
like Dab, and she likes and knows you. When I got Jim to handle her for
the month he was here, I would have liked him to take Dab with him to
drive Marietta, but he said Dab was not quick enough, and she did not
know him—she knows you because you feed her. Now, are you willing for me
to go out with only Dab to help me with her?" He only mumbled something
about being "discouridge," and I let him go.
January 12.
It is a perfect spring day; it is hard to believe we have two months of
winter yet. Of course I could not give up taking Marietta out because
of Gibbie's whim, so I ordered the buckboard with Ruth, and Marietta
with halter to lead behind as usual, and seeing by his stolid, sulky
expression that Gibbie had not changed his mind I called Dab to lead
Marietta. We got off better than I had expected, Gibbie looking on
with a Mephisto expression. Things went very well until we had gone
about half a mile, when an old mammy with a shining tin bucket in her
hand came out of a side road. She made me a deep curtsy and went on, I
supposed, when I heard her exclaim, "My lawd, 'e git 'way," and looking
back I saw Marietta flying down the road, with the long halter twisting
about and Dab in hot pursuit. What was I to do? Ruth will not stand. I
got out and took the halter and laboriously sought a tree which would
suit by the roadside and tied her. Then I flew down the road, calling to
Dab to come back and not pursue the colt. At last he heard, and I sent
him to stand by Ruth and I walked rapidly after Marietta. She was out
of sight, but at last I came to the place where she was grazing by the
road. When she first saw me she moved off, but I stood still and called
her to me with many blandishments and promises, and she came quietly up
to me, let me take the halter and lead her back to where the buckboard
waited.
I charged Dab not to let it happen again, and we drove on without
further adventure. I told Dab he need not mention his great carelessness
to any one; that I was too much ashamed of it to wish it known. I hope
Gibbie will never know, as we came home all serene, having been to Miss
Penelope's and made many necessary purchases.
January 13.
When I went to the stable this morning Gibbie had already taken Marietta
and led her down the road with the blind bridle on! I was greatly
surprised and amused. He had thought to scare me, thinking I would
not be willing to take the colt out without him, but having failed in
that he has returned to his allegiance to her. Jim put a bridle on her
without blinkers, and it has made her very difficult to manage. I have
not been able to use a whip at all. I cannot lift my hand to my head
without her jumping, so that I am perfectly delighted that Gibbie put
the other bridle on her. I do hope I can soon have the harness, which
has gone to be mended, so that I can drive her again.
January 18.
Went to Casa Bianca, where things are in a bad way—the hands positively
refuse to come out to work when called by Nat. There is no one I can
think of whom I could make foreman. Nat works faithfully himself and
keeps his accounts straight, and if the hands will not accept him they
will have to go. From the time Marcus left they have done nothing. They
planted five acres of rice-land apiece, but did not work it at all, so
that they did not pay their rent, and I know they would do worse this
year. It has proved a splendid crop year, and they could get $1.15 a
bushel for their rice, but they have none, because they were too lazy
to work it. They grumbled and jawed about "not takkin' orders from de
young man I put in charge," and when I asked point-blank if they refused
to take orders from my foreman they answered that they did, and I told
them to leave.
These men will go to my neighbors, who will be glad to have them, and
I trust they will improve and get back to the point they had reached
when Marcus left. It seems a pity to have such beautiful lands as I have
there, lie idle for want of hands.
I told Nat to do the best he could with the few left and to exact a shad
a week from the fishermen who are now spreading their nets in the river
just in front of the house.
January 23.
Got into road cart at the front door and drove Marietta down the avenue
for the first time. She went well; it was very hot and she was in a
great heat when we got home. Went down the road to the log school-house,
and no well-broken horse could have done better. With joy I gave her
her two quarts of oats mixed with hot water and soda; this has nearly
cured the lampas from which she was suffering. Waited dinner till 4:30
o'clock, expecting Mr. G., but he did not come.
January 25.
The hands all pulling corn-stalks; Gibbie hauling manure to corn-fields.
I did not stop him to drive Marietta until 1 o'clock. She behaved very
badly at the turn of the road going to Peaceville; she wheeled suddenly
and reared at nothing that I could see. Gibbie held on to his seat. He
said, "'E smell goat, I smell um meself." I think she was provoked at
not getting out sooner—we generally go just after breakfast. Went on
to Peaceville and made a visit, but she was very ticklish all the time
and on the way home she tried to run twice. As we got nearer home she
quieted down, and I knew she was thinking of the oats, but I did not
give it to her, for she understands perfectly. To-night I finished the
first volume of the "Life of George Eliot," by J. W. Cross, which Mr. G.
lent me. My sympathy with her is great. A grand woman in mind and heart.
Such a misfortune she should have fallen under the Bray influence.
January 26.
A most exquisite sky at 6 A.M. and a wonderful sunrise. Thank God for
all His beauty!
Drove Marietta down and took lunch at Mrs. H.'s. She went beautifully.
Stood quietly the hour I was there, scarcely moving, and was as gay as
possible at the end of the sixteen-mile drive, and I gave her her reward
with delight.
February 2.
Have had the pleasure of a friend staying with me, and my diary is blank
in consequence. While my friend was here I could not drive Marietta and
very much feared that the week's idleness would make her unwilling to
go quietly this morning, but she did remarkably well. We just escaped
terrible danger in the shape of a party of boys driving a team of goats.
I saw them in the distance and was wondering what I should do, when
they turned off into another road. Coming home for the first time she
had to come behind a buggy, which passed me while I was stopping at the
post-office. She did not mind it at all. It was a great satisfaction
to me, as the occupant of the buggy was one of my dear neighbors who
had predicted terrible things if I undertook to break the colt, and had
said, "My dear Mrs. Pennington, at your age you ought to have more sense
than to do such a foolish thing."
CHEROKEE, February 18.
Drove Marietta this morning and she behaved like a fiend. With all my
heart I thank the good Father for his great mercy to me.
She started off pretty well, though I felt a subtle something unusual
about her.
In a woman it would be called "nerves." About a mile up the road she
had settled into the long, swinging trot, when through the pine woods
running toward us I saw two little darkies in startlingly red frocks
and startlingly white pinafores. This only was needed to upset her. She
jumped, she pitched, she went from side to side of the road, but she
did not get away from me, and after a little fight she quieted down, and
I called the two little girls, who stood dismayed near the road, to me
and talked to them, as that is always the most quieting thing to her.
She seems to listen eagerly, as if trying to understand. After a few
seconds we went on, very gingerly at first, but soon she resumed her
beautiful level trot, head up, nostrils distended, and speed gradually
increasing as we went on. It was delightful, and with a sigh of relief
I shook dull care from me and gave myself up to the enjoyment of the
moment—the perfect day, the battle won, and the beautiful, sleek bay
creature, whose every pulse and thought I seemed to feel. Suddenly I
saw fifty feet ahead at the opening of the Hasty Point avenue, where
the grass stood high, two black heads rise above the brown, waving
sedge a second and as suddenly disappear. Just as I saw them Marietta
did. She stopped short, almost throwing me on to her back. Then, quick
as lightning, wheeled and bolted, putting the left wheel into the deep
ditch, throwing me so far out on that side, that my ear felt the wind
of the wheel, and was spattered with mud though not cut. Luckily I had
a firm grip on the rein with my right hand, and having learned to ride
by balance, I did not go out, and my whole weight going on that rein,
pulled the left wheel out of the ditch as she ran, but it was a near
thing, and God's great mercy. She ran half a mile before I could pull
her down, then I turned and drove her back, finding Gibbie on the way.
He was thrown off when she wheeled, and of course could never catch
up. I drove her ten miles and then up the avenue, where she had been
frightened. The two boys (16 and 18), who had caused the trouble, came
up to me and begged my pardon. I spoke severely to them, for some years
ago I remember they scared the mail man's horse in the same way, and
so could not plead ignorance. He, being a man of action, shot at them,
frightening them terribly, and yet they have done exactly the same thing
again, though a man who passed them in a buggy, warned them that I was
coming with the colt.
February 20.
It rained yesterday, so that I could not drive Marietta, as I wanted
to do, but I took her out immediately after breakfast this morning. I
could not go as far as I wanted because about four miles down the road I
found all the woods on fire, so I turned before she got too frightened.
She was very good, so I gave her both oats and potatoes when we got
home. To-morrow is our rector's Sunday and he is to stay with me. I will
have to use both buckboards. I had Bonaparte put a new seat to the old
one, and it looked so badly that I could not resist painting it when I
got back from driving Marietta, thinking I would have time if I worked
rapidly to get through before Mr. G. arrived. I was so absorbed that
I did not hear the noise of the rowboat coming, and so he found me in
my big apron hard at work. I was sorry to be caught, but the job was
finished and looked very fine—at least to my eyes.
Sunday, February 21.
A very pleasant service. Mr. G. was to go on to the mission service for
the pineland people in the woods about nine miles away, so he lunched
in Peaceville and I returned home. As soon as I got in the gate Chloe
called out "Good news," and I found to my delight that A. had run down
from his legislative duties to make me a little visit. Such a pleasure!
February 23.
Got up at 3:30 to have coffee and toast for A. to go out ducking. If you
do not go early there is no use to go ducking at all. We had lunch at
twelve, and then I drove him to Gregory to take the afternoon train. He
got twelve English ducks, which looked very imposing as he got on the
train.
February 26.
One of the road cart wheels is dangerous, so I had Romola put in and
took my side-saddle along, and drove up to a man about six miles away
and left the cart to be mended. Dab swung on the little shelf behind
and saddled Romola for me, then walked home while I rode around by
Peaceville for the mail. It was a long fatiguing day, but beautiful, the
only drawback being that Don, my splendid red setter, came upon a swarm
of little pigs about three days old and killed one of the tiny things,
and the old woman to whom they belonged was much distressed. I gave her
what I had in my purse, but it was not much, and that pig meant such
immense hopes! I felt for her—oh, the pitiful little realities on which
we build such towering hopes!
March 1.
I took the whole household down to Casa Bianca to-day—Chloe, Patty, and
Dab—for I was giving a luncheon. It was a charming day and the place
looked fascinating to me, and every one said the same thing. I took out
and used all my beautiful china, which I rarely do, because it is such a
critical business to get it all washed up and put away before leaving.
That is why I took Chloe; that, and the hope of getting a shad fresh
from the river and having it planked. One of the guests was from the
North and I wanted her to taste it fresh from the water, but alas! Nat
was so occupied getting himself dressed in a stiffly starched shirt and
other unusual adornments that he did not get the shad. I was greatly
disappointed, but we went after lunch down to the river in front of the
house and saw some caught, and we each carried one home with us.
March 3.
Have not been able to drive Marietta, because the road cart had gone to
be mended, but to-day sent Dab up to get it. Have had a great deal to
worry me. I had a letter from the matron to tell me that my poor, dear
little darky Rab is ill of typhoid pneumonia. She says he calls for me
all the time, and asked her every day if she had written, so she had
to write. Last week I sold a steer to a man for $13. He declared he
had the money or I would not have sold the steer. To-day he arrived,
bringing $4, with voluminous promises of the rest in a month's time—it
will probably be six months before I see the rest of the money if ever,
and now I want to send money for Rab's illness.
[Illustration: I took Chloe to Casa Bianca to serve luncheon.]
March 5.
I sewed until 11:30 and then Gibbie brought the colt. It was a perfect
day and a joy to be going out with Marietta again. She threatened
trouble at the gate, but Gibbie ran to her head and I gave her one or
two sharp cuts with the whip and she went on, rather sulkily however,
so I had Gibbie walk ahead as far as the bridge, but did not see until
I was just up to the bridge a huge flat with a house on it, a great
smoke coming out of a pipe on top, half under the bridge. I called to
the man angrily to come out and speak. Marietta seemed squatting with
a view to some desperate action, and there was nothing I could do. I
could not force her over the bridge in a state of fright—it would have
been most unwise—it would have been equally unwise to turn around even
if I could have done it, so I appeared to have forgotten her and told
the man it was against the law to tie his flat under the bridge in that
way, that it was enough to frighten any horse, and that was actionable,
and besides that it was very bad for the bridge, which was a great
expense to the county, so that he could be indicted on two counts. I
was delighted with my fluency and at its effect on the man, but kept
my eye on Marietta, who was on the point of wheeling but was too much
interested to carry out her intention. The darky was most apologetic
and polite and explained that it was not by his desire he was a fixture
under the bridge, but that he had stuck there as he tried to get
through.
"Worse and worse," I said, "as the tide rises you will carry off the
bridge entirely!"
He did not know that I was talking really for the galleries, which meant
the colt, though I felt provoked with the man for trying to get under
the bridge with a flat too broad and a two-story house, you might say,
on top—my own bridge over the same creek had been carried off in that
way two or three years ago, and I found it would cost $200, too much,
to have it put back, so that my sheep and cattle are entirely cut off
from 300 acres of woods pasture, and that is a great loss to me; still
I know too well the futility of words under such circumstances and it
was merely to make time for Marietta to take in the unusual sight—the
man explained that he hoped the tide would not rise any more and that
when it began to fall he would try to back out and not undertake to get
through again. I asked if there was any one else in the flat. He said
yes. "Tell them to come out and let me see them and hear their names."
So a man and a boy came out and stood on top of the house in the smoke
and I lectured them as to the great blessing of having sense and using
it. By this time Marietta was so deeply interested that she relaxed
entirely and at once I shook the reins and told her to go over, which
she did as quietly as possible, which I think was wonderful. I don't
believe any power would have taken either of the other horses over, but
Marietta is so reasonable. I took a long drive and by the time I came
back the flat had gone.
March 7.
Had another letter from matron of Jenkin's establishment saying Rab is
better but very weak and always calling for "Miss Pashun," and I have
made up my mind as soon as I think he is strong enough to go down and
bring him home. I have for a long time been suffering from a tooth, but
felt it a great extravagance to make a trip simply to go to the dentist,
but now that I must bring Rab home I will combine the two. I have been
very worried about money and very miserable.
March 9.
Took the party down to Casa Bianca for the day, which we all enjoyed.
Just as we got to the gate in the very narrow lane bordered with
rose-bushes on each side, which takes the place of avenue at Casa
Bianca, met a very large white-covered country wagon with four horses
driven by two white men. The horses were terrified and it was very hard
to get by without breaking up things.
I asked the men what they were doing in there, as it was strictly
private property, and not on the way anywhere. The men were surly and
refused to answer, and when I asked what they had in the wagon they
still refused to answer and were disposed to be rude.
I have been much tried by having the plants in my once beautiful garden
carried away and I feared this was a depredation. I stepped out of the
buckboard, in which I was driving behind the wagon with the wise men,
and walking to the great covered wagon parted the flaps and looked in.
This seemed to enrage the man who appeared the owner, and we had quite
a scene.
I was completely satisfied by my inspection, and when I explained
my motive for wishing to know the contents the huge, florid wagoner
seemed quite ashamed of himself for not having given a civil answer
to my question as to what had taken them so far off the public highway
and into my private grounds. He now vouchsafed the answer that he had
gone in to buy a shad, and with many apologies on his part and much
admiration of the beauty of the place we parted.
My wise men were most enthusiastic over the garden, where the camellias
were in full bloom, though the azaleas were not yet out—Mr. Poinsett
planted this garden somewhere between 1830 and 1835, was a scientific
gardener and brought many rare plants from Mexico, among others the
gorgeous Flor de la Noche Buena, which has borne in this country the
name Poinsettia in his honor. There is very little left of the original
garden, only the camellia bushes which have grown into trees and the
Olea fragrans, Magnolia purpuria, and Pyrus Japonica. The cloth of gold,
Lamarque and other roses which grew rampantly, rejoicing in congenial
soil, have been carried off from time to time by visitors, and the hedge
of azaleas has been almost destroyed in the same way.
Nat is watchman there, but of course he cannot prevent such things; he
can only remonstrate. Thus far he has been able to protect the house.
I was quite touched by the interest of Mr. S. He was much impressed by
the books, prints, etc., which have been shut for thirty years in the
house and of course moth and rust have corrupted and done their work.
As he looked over them he got quite excited and said:—
"Mrs. Pennington, say the word and I will send to Gregory and get
boxes—this young man can go at once for them—and I will pack all these
things for you and ship them to the north and sell them for you to the
best advantage."
When I demurred he added: "It shan't cost you a cent; it will be a
pleasure to me to attend to it. These things interest me and I cannot
bear to see them perish. They are valuable and could bring you in a good
sum."
I said: "I am much touched at your kindness, Mr. S., and thank you very
much for your offer. I think you greatly exaggerate the value of these
things. I sent on some of the most valuable this year to New York and
got a pitiable result in money. I knew those things to have a value of
about $600 at the least and I got $100.
"You would take all the trouble and expense of packing and transporting
these things and when you went to dispose of them you would find nobody
wanted to give anything for them, and the greater part would be treated
as rubbish. You would be embarrassed by your effort to do a kindness.
"No, let them stay where they are, where they have a right to be, and
where if they are rubbish, they are at least rubbish dear to my heart."
It was hard to make him accept a refusal of his kind offer. It is not
the first time that offer has been made to me. I greatly appreciate the
kindness which prompts such active interest, but I cannot accept it.
I cannot place my dear old possessions in such a position. Let them
grow old comfortably unexposed to comment and criticism and above
all appraisement. I do not defend my position—it is unreasoning and I
suppose unreasonable; but unfortunately I am made that way. Mr. S., who
is a practical and very kindly soul, was quite distressed at his failure
to convince me. The commercial instinct is lacking in me altogether, I
fear.
CHEROKEE, Sunday.
It was a great effort to go to church this morning, but I went and was
rewarded. I enjoyed the service, and the short sermon was beautiful,
on the 22d chapter of Genesis—Abraham's call to sacrifice his son, his
only son, Isaac. It seems Isaac means laughter. Abraham in his great
joy at this unexpected and belated blessing called the child Laughter.
That makes the story more wonderful.
GREGORY, Monday.
By to-day's mail I got a letter to say that Rab had been sitting up a
week and for two days had been out of the house, so I suddenly made up
my mind, ordered the buckboard, and told Bonaparte to prepare to go with
me and drove down.
I had two delays on the road, one of about ten minutes at the ferry,
and as I had left very late I missed the train by three minutes. I had
driven six miles in a pouring rain. As it was bright when I left, and my
buggy umbrella is faded and torn I had left that good friend at home,
so I had to take the rain protected only by a small umbrella. And then
to come to a hotel where there was no fire or means of warming!
However, these are occasions for showing one's philosophy, and I have
not fretted at all, but amused myself imagining what it would be to live
in a hotel, or hostelry of any sort, permanently. The thought made my
strenuous, and sometimes a little hard, life seem ideal in spite of its
limitations.
CHEROKEE, March 19.
Returned from Carrollton last night and was most pleasantly entertained
at Woodstock. Brought poor, thin, shaky little Rab up as far as Gregory,
having written to Jim to meet him at the train and take him to his house
for the night.
The child seemed overjoyed to be coming home. Dab brought the buckboard
and pair to Woodstock, without any catastrophe, at 10 o'clock. I drove
into Gregory to Jim's house to pick up Rab.
I found him still beaming in a very feeble black way, and still grasping
the coverless shoe box with which he had appeared at the station. Jim's
wife said she had been glad to have him spend the night there, and her
mother, who belonged to one of our most trusted families in the far
past, came out and gave me a very beautiful blessing, which went to my
heart, and at the same time made me laugh, as she began:—
"Po' little man! will ondertak t'ing too big fur um! But de Lawd'll
bless um all de same," and so on indefinitely.
When we reached Cherokee the mystery of the shoe box was revealed. With
trembling fingers Rab unrolled a gorgeous cup and saucer, rose adorned
and with a heavy gilt band, which he presented most awkwardly to Chloe,
and after some fumbling in the newspapers of the box produced a mint
candy basket filled with broken bits of candy which he poked into Dab's
hands. The effect was dramatic.
Chloe had not pretended to be glad of Rab's return, and her greeting
had been cool, to say the least. Now she was so surprised as to be quite
overcome. Dab had said to his confidants that as soon as I brought Rab
home he would leave, for he knew he could not keep good with Rab here.
The candy had a most pleasing effect upon him, so poor little Rab had
a cordial home-coming at last.
When I went to the orphanage to see him and the arrangements were made
for him to meet me the next day at the train his look of tremulous joy
at the prospect of going "home" was very pathetic to me, for I knew I
was the only creature who would greet him with pleasure there. I took
out a quarter from my very empty purse and said:—
"Wouldn't you like to buy a present to take to Chloe and Dab?"
He answered with delight that he would. When he met me at the station
with the very respectable and pleasant matron, his well-worn valise
beside him very much stuffed out and the shoe box covered with newspaper
tightly held in his hand, I supposed that was his lunch, but at Lane's
when I asked him if he had any lunch he answered no, and I gave him some
of mine. I wondered over the contents of the very unhandy package, but
did not inquire about it.
I was greatly pleased at the success of his offerings and I think he
chose very well.
CHEROKEE, March 20.
Wrote furiously for the mail, and by the time it came at 11 had ready
letters containing checks to pay off all my debts, which is an immense
comfort, though accomplished by the sale of things very dear to me. I
am thankful now that is over.
I wanted to drive the colt, but felt too weak and worthless, not to say
confused and discouraged, to attempt it.
March 21.
Drove Marietta to Peaceville and then in to Miss Penelope's, making
about ten miles. She wanted to fight twice, but when I spoke to her and
said "Mind your oats" she steadied herself and went beautifully, and I
had the pleasure of giving her a generous portion of oats.
Gibbie gets out fifteen ears of corn for her at a feed, but I fear
me she never gets more than five. The product of the patch behind his
house planted in corn is unlimited. He is still selling corn weekly,
ostensibly from it.
Bought fishing tackle, lines and hooks from Miss Penelope this morning
and hired old Tiny to come and fix up the lines and go out fishing with
Rab, hoping for a fish now and then to eat, and that it would prove a
most peaceful, healthful way for Rab to pass his time, until he gets
stronger.
March 22.
Went out to street to visit Gibbie and see if he was really ill or not.
Found him sitting by the fire. I don't know whether there is anything
the matter or not. Went to see Elihu's little daughter Juno, who is in
a very bad way, so weak and emaciated that it is painful to see her.
March 23.
Ransom came to-day for money due him for making the chimney for the
house I had fixed for poor Elihu to move the remnant of his family back
home. I can ill afford it, but I thought the march of death might be
impeded by their coming back where they were born, and besides I can
help them by sending things to the ailing ones.
Ransom talked a great deal. I sympathized with him in the death of his
grandchildren, Estelle's children. They seem to have developed a new
disease which has puzzled the doctors—some acute condition of the eyes,
inflammation producing blindness and eventually death. We have had for
some years a clever graduate of Johns Hopkins in this region who is
making a study of malarial diseases. He went North three months ago, and
one of the negroes telling me of an illness when they had to do without
the doctor, there being none within fourteen miles, said with an air of
intimate understanding:—
"We doctor gone fu' lam fu' scrape eye. 'E say him don' kno' nuff 'bout
dat, say him neber larn fu' scrape eye yet."
Ransom talked on, giving me the news of the colored world and the crops,
etc. It consumes much time, but I try to lend a willing ear. Finally he
said:—
"Miss Pashuns, I got a great tenks to gi'e you. You don' me a great
good. Maybe you don' fu'git, but I 'member. You kno' dat time I bin
een sitch big distruss? I los' me wife, I los' me ox, I los' me cow, en
I come to you fu' help, en you mek answer en say: 'Ransom,' says you,
'I ain't got no money to gi'e you, but I kin p'int you to help. Wot's
happen to you is happen befo' to anoder puson. Now you go home en tek
yo' Bible down en look fu' de book o' Job, en you mek a prayer to de
Almighty to open yo' mind fu' onderstan', en you read de book o' Job en
study ober him.'
"Dat was yo' discose to me, en I gon right home en I tek down me Bible,
en I fin' de Book o' Job; en, Miss Pashuns, I was dat 'stonish! Dey was
all me feelin's, en all me suffering, en eben all me wud, rite dey; en
I read, en I read tell de kumfut kum to me. En, Miss Pashuns, ma'am, my
min' bekum quiet en happy en I neber is fret sence. So dat wus a presunt
yu mek me dat time abuv gol', kase 'e kyant loss."
I was greatly amazed and touched, and I said:—
"Well, Ransom, you have returned the gift to me, and I thank you, for
I have been terribly worried and harassed in mind and spirit, and you
have brought to my mind where I can find help. I will turn to the Book
of Job myself to-day."
Having begun on a real discourse, Ransom was not willing to stop. He
went on:—
"Anoder t'ing I wants to tell you, Miss Pashuns. Las' Sunday week five
o' we mens, all mauss nigger [negroes once owned by the same person; it
is a bond of fellowship], meet in de road, en Joseph say:—
"'I wants to tell unna ob a wision I had. Las' nite I wake wid a big
light een de rum, en I rub me eye en I look, en dey I see ole Miss; 'e
stan' en 'e look on me—'e look nyung, 'mos' like a gal, but you cud tell
rite off 'twas ole Miss, kase 'e had de full look o' she een 'e eye, en
'e dress was all w'ite en shine same like lightnin'; 'e wus too butiful.
I look en I was dumb; 'e neber say not'ing, 'e jes' look at me so kynd
en den 'e fade 'way. Now I wan' to kno' wha' dat signify. 'Tis a tokin
fu' sartain, but wha' does 'e signify?'
"En I mek answer een dese wud: 'My bruder, 'e is a tokin f'r good
sho'ly. Ole Miss is een Heben es sho' es you bawn.' En 'e say, 'Yo t'ink
so? Yo' t'ink ole Miss is een Heben?'
[Illustration: "I read tell de kumfut kum to me."]
"En I mek answer en says, 'Ef ole Miss ain't een Heben, den no mortal
man or 'oman ain't dere. Now, Joseph, you kyas yo' mind back, en
recomember how ole Miss fight wid we all fu' teach we, f'um de time him
married ole Maussa—en dem was nyung den, en 'twas my pa dem bin teach
den—ebry libing Sunday ole Miss hab ebery chile on de whole plantation
en teech dem. Fust 'e teech "Our Fader praise," den de Ten Kummanment,
den de "I belieb" praise, den w'en we kno' all dat, sose we kin say
um widout stop, den 'e teech de wud o' de blessed Sabior, chapter at a
time, till all we chillum w'at cudn't read, we hab we head chock full
o' Scriptur.
"'Now w'en we dun say we Katakism den up kum Maum Mary wid de big cake
een de wheelbarrer, en ole Miss kut um 'eself, en gib eech chile a big
slice. I neber tas' sech cake sence, 'e had su much aig, en su much
sugar, en su much short'nin' 'e mek me mout' water now, w'en I t'ink
pun um.
"'Now, Joseph, I ax you if ole Miss ent mek she title clear to him
manshun een de sky? 'E cud a bin a sleep, or 'e cud a bin a dribe
out een de open karrige fu', wisit she fren', or 'e cud a bin a eat
cake sheself, but no, Sunday afta' Sunday, kump'ny or no kump'ny, fo'
o'clock Sunday ebning yu'le fin' ole Miss een de church Maussa build
een de abenue, wid f'um fifty to one hund'rd chillum de wrastle wid dem
ondirstand'in'.
"'I kin read now, but my breder, all de fulness o' my min' kum f'um dem
Bible wud dat I got. I don't need no spectacle, I don't need no light,
I kin jes' pore out de Scriptur to eny po' sinna I meets needin' um.'"
I cannot give any idea of the balm these simple words brought to my
bruised and wounded spirit. I thanked Ransom with all my heart for his
beautiful, earnest testimony to my dear mother's unwavering devotion to
her duty as she saw it, from the time she came to the plantation as a
bride of nineteen.
Before going Ransom wished me many blessings, and wound up by saying,
"Miss Pashuns, I hope you is conwert?"
Quite alarmed, I asked him what he meant.
"I mean I hope you's got religion, ma'am."
"Oh, Ransom, I hope so."
"Well, ma'am, I'm glad to hear it, en I hope 'tis true."
He did not seem to feel quite satisfied about it, which was a great
shock. I know, measured by the standard he had in mind, I fall very
short. I must fly to Job at once.
[Illustration: "Up kum Maum Mary wid de big cake een de wheelbarrer."]
CHEROKEE, March 24.
I have had the great pleasure of a short visit from my friend M. T. She
had only a few days of rest from her work in the East Side Settlement
House, and to my refreshment and delight she came to me. I love to hear
of all the wonderful work done there.
On Thursday I had a most surprising letter from an unknown friend
in New York, saying she had become interested in the children of my
Sunday-schools and asking if she might send some little Easter presents
for them. It was so unexpected and so delightful! I had no thought of
being able to get anything for the children.
I wrote her at once, giving a list of the children of the three
distinct classes in which I am interested. There is the class of little
gentlefolk in the hamlet of Peaceville whom I teach in summer first,
then the larger class at St. Peter's Mission Church out in the pine
woods. These are the children of the white workers in turpentine.
Finally there are the little darkies on the plantation whom I teach in
winter, when I can get them. Their own churches, Methodist and Baptist,
are very jealous and discourage their coming.
I wrote Miss W. that I sent them all, so that she could choose the
class to which she would send presents, and told her how to address the
package.
It rained heavily in the afternoon. Gibbie did not come, so I had to
milk. I was perfectly delighted, because I got more milk from Winnie
than either Gibbie or Dab has been getting. When I was in the mountains
one summer I took regular lessons in milking, for the mountain folk
milk beautifully, whereas the negroes are generally poor milkers. They
never can take all the milk, and if you do not keep the calf to take the
balance when the milking is over, the cow will go dry in a very short
time. Leave a pint to-day and to-morrow there is that much less, and
so on, a pint less every day. The cow is soon only fit to turn out to
pasture.
You cannot teach what you do not yourself understand, so I took milking
lessons, and as a teacher have been rather a success, but have been
generally greatly mortified at the results of my efforts at milking
myself. Hence my pride when Chloe said the milk was much more than
usual. Chloe cannot milk, she draws the line there, and Bonaparte is
still working on the pineland house four miles away, and does not come
to the yard at all.
After taking the milk to the house I went to the barn-yard and fed the
oxen. Gibbie had taken them out of the plough and turned them out in the
rain with nothing to eat and had gone home. I gave them a good supper
and then went home, changed my wet clothes, and had my tea and toast and
then a delightful evening reading "The Power of Silence." A wonderful
book, to my mind.
[Illustration: Gibbie and the oxen.]
March 25.
Good Friday. B. and her dear little party arrived safely at 1 o'clock.
It had poured all night and part of the morning, so I was anxious about
them. The children are lovely, the baby like a sweet flower with her
heaven touched blue eyes. Unfortunately their trunks went astray in some
way and Dab returned with the wagon empty, except for the baby carriage.
Easter Sunday, March 27.
A beautiful day and charming service. The collection was for missions
and our delight was great at finding it was a little over $12. It will
pay up our apportionment. I drove our rector to church in Peaceville
and then let him have the buckboard and Ruth to go on to St. Peter's,
while I came home with my dear little neighbor, who dined with me.
A number of little darkies came to Sunday-school and sang very nicely.
Lizette came for the first time. She is about 14, very tall and gawky,
but with a good face. She knows not a word of the catechism, while
Goliah and the other little ones say their Creed, the Ten Commandments,
and that most comprehensive duty to God and duty to one's neighbor,
glibly. The Easter hymn which they have been learning for a month,
"Christ the Lord is Risen To-day," went beautifully. They left with
great speed after receiving a double portion of candy in honor of
Easter.
After they had gone, I went out to enjoy the exquisite afternoon, with
its rosy golden light, and there at the foot of the steps was a huge
snake. I looked for a long pole and killed it after a fight. While I was
finding the stick it had got under the house, which made it harder to
kill it. It did not seem quite dead and the puppy wanted to play with
it, so I went into the yard and got the axe and chopped off its head,
and as Prince, who has no country sense, still wanted to get the head, I
buried it quite deep, all of which somewhat interfered with my enjoyment
of the peace and beauty of the Easter gloaming. It makes one think, when
these terrible discords come into the harmonies of a perfect day, must
the trail of the serpent creep into everything?
Am I yielding to the temptation of getting too much amusement out of my
dusky little scholars? Do I not agonize over them sufficiently? That
may well be. It seems so hopeless to reach below the surface, so hard
to influence the spirit, the life, by this hour's teaching once a week.
Still I must do what I can; I cannot see them follow their blind leaders
without making an effort to help them.
It does not come to them as it does to the heathen, who have never heard
of God, as something new, a revelation. They hear great professions of
religion and calls upon the Lord, and yet there is the daily example of
deceit, faithless work, the snatching up of any and everything that can
be stolen unseen. To be discovered is the only sin; you may lie, break
any of the Commandments, only don't let it be found out. This going on
daily, hourly, yearly, who but the Holy Spirit can contend against it? I
constantly tell them that when they have all these good words stored in
their minds, or rather their memories, and at their command, they have
only to call them up, when Satan attacks them, to be able to defeat him.
Even our blessed Saviour when tempted by the Evil One did not answer
in his own words, but in the words of Scripture. "It is written," was
the preface to his reply. I often feel that this is the greatest thing
we can do for children, to store their minds with these powerful words,
which will come to them in their hour of trial, as weapons against the
deadly spiritual foe.
Sunday, April 3.
To-day I had the joy of distributing at St. Peter's-in-the-woods the
pretty Easter eggs Miss W. had sent for the children. It was a joy to
see the usually phlegmatic faces light up at the sight of the lovely
things in the familiar form of an egg.
I asked the very pretty young mother who tries to keep the Sunday-school
going all the time, though as she says she "has mighty little knolidge
herself," to tell me the name of the best scholar. She answered very
demurely: "It wouldn't do for me to tell you, Miss Patience; the best
plan is for you to listen to the lesson an' then you can tell yourself."
When the lesson was said I found her little boy of 6 was far ahead of
the others in saying his lesson and that was why she could not tell
me. The next best was a boy of 14 who was, she said, the most punctual
of all in attendance, coming a number of miles on foot in all kinds of
weather, but he had no one at home to help him with the lesson.
"So, in reason," she said, "he couldn't know it as good as my little
boy, fur I teaches him; but Joe does his best, en he aims to learn."
So I decided to give the rabbit about five inches high to him, and said:
"Mrs. M. tells me you are so punctual in coming, Joe, that I am going
to give you the largest one of the pretty things, which a kind friend
away off in New York, has sent as an Easter offering."
To see the heavy, patient looking face suddenly light up and then fairly
beam, when the rabbit was put into his hands, was too delightful. I did
not look at him too hard, it was such a revelation of fourteen years of
limitation and privation unconsciously borne.
I passed on and gave each child a most beautiful egg. They were all
filled with little sugar eggs of different delicious flavorings.
To the children of the cities these things are all well known, but
to these little pine wood children of nature they were heaven sent
mysteries. When I had finished the distribution the big boy Joe came to
me and said:—
"Hear, Mrs. Pashuns, my rabbit rattles!"
"Yes," I said, "he is full of little eggs."
"Will I have to break him to get at them? Fur I'd ruther not get um than
to break him."
When I showed him how to take the head off, his content was complete.
Got home just before dark, tired and very hungry after the eighteen-mile
drive and the two services, but having thoroughly enjoyed the day. It
was very pleasant that it was our rector's day with us, so that I drove
him out to the church and back instead of taking the drive alone.
CHEROKEE, April 4.
I am worrying as to how I am going to get seed rice. Some hands want to
plant a field of rice, and it seems to me I ought not to be behind them
in faith. If they are willing to risk their work, I ought to be willing
to risk the seed rice. But the question is where to get it.
The great destruction of rice by the floods last summer has made seed
rice very scarce and very high, and of course no one will be willing to
sell it except for cash. However, I have promised to try and get it for
the hands who want to plant Vareen.
[Illustration: In the field—sowing.]
While we were sitting at breakfast this morning Chloe came to the door
and mysteriously beckoned to me. I rose at once and went out knowing
something had happened by her tragic expression. When we were out of
hearing from the dining room she said:—
"Miss Pashuns, Rab is shot 'eself."
"Good heavens, Chloe! Where is he?"
"Right to de pantry do'."
I flew out and there was Rab moaning piteously with the blood streaming
from his left hand. It was no time to ask questions. I called for a
basin of hot water and sent to my room for a roll of absorbent cotton
and a bottle of turpentine and washed the wound, which was all burned
with powder.
The missile, a jagged piece of lead, had gone straight through the hand,
making a very ugly, ragged wound. How it got through the muscles, veins,
and bones between the second and third finger without touching any of
them is a wonder. The bleeding was not excessive. I packed the hole with
cotton saturated with turpentine, both top and bottom, getting it as
far into the wound as I could.
Poor little Rab behaved very well, did not scream, only the tears
rolled down his very black face. After it was bound up securely, my
niece fortunately having a roll of bandages with her, I asked him how
it happened. He said he was playing with the plantation musket, trying
to get out a piece of lead that was in it. He had the palm of his hand
over the muzzle when he moved the trigger, with this result.
I did not scold him; what was the use? All my efforts to give him
healthy and satisfying amusement and occupation in the boat have been
in vain. He will not go with old Tinny, nor to fish at all unless Dab
leaves his work to go with him. He is too weak to do any work, and there
is nothing that he can be persuaded to do but play with some firearm.
Dab has done wonderfully well, for the house, of which I am generally
the sole occupant, is now quite full, and Dab has the dining room work,
which he does beautifully. He has confided to Chloe his disappointment
about Rab. I have been terribly disappointed myself, but tried not to
write about it, indeed I have tried to ignore it altogether. The child
has been ill and got somewhat spoiled, as all sick people do who have
any kind of good nursing, and then he is so weak and miserable now. Two
days ago Dab rushed into the kitchen in great excitement and said: "An'
Chloe, Rab is de very debil self! Not de debil son, nor him brudder,
but him very self."
Chloe was delighted to sympathize on so congenial a subject and went on:—
"Rab los' all the manners he carry frum here, an' he ain't brought
nutting back."
Poor little Rab during his five weeks' illness has got spoiled, and with
his physical weakness, his temper gets the better of him more and more,
that is all.
April 5.
A dear little cousin arrived this morning to make a long-deferred visit.
I found Rab's hand looking so ugly and swollen when I went to dress it
that I determined to send him to Dr. G. in Gregory, for I am sure it
needs a doctor's care. The hospital has been closed for lack of funds
to carry it on, but I wrote to the doctor, who I know will do his best
for the child. I wrote also to Jim asking him to keep him at his house,
and I will pay him.
While I was writing the buckboard was being got and I drove Ruth as hard
as possible to catch the mail man. I knew he had left Peaceville by that
time and I had to calculate where I could strike him on the road. This I
succeeded in doing, and put Rab in his charge, to be taken to the doctor
at the hospital where he lives, though it is closed to patients.
It was all very fatiguing and exciting, and my heart was very sore for
the poor little piece of black humanity, who has such terrible things
to contend against within. I am so glad I was able to send him down at
once. It has all broken in somewhat on my enjoyment of my guests, but
I hope now the unusual excitements are over.
April 6.
This morning when I came downstairs I was surprised to see the table
not prepared for breakfast, as Dab usually has finished all his dining
room work by the time I get down. Chloe said she had sent Patty out to
knock on the door of his house twice to wake him. She had knocked hard
but he would not come out.
I walked out to the house to see if he was ill, opened the door, and
he was not there. His valise which he always kept packed was gone, also
the fine red blanket, which I bought back for him when he sold it last
winter, was gone.
Though I had so often told him when he wanted to go just to tell me, and
I would write a paper stating his capabilities and good qualities, so
that he could get a good place, he had slipped away in the night! I was
quite knocked down by this. The excitement about Rab had taken a good
deal out of me, and now I was dismayed.
The house is full, and though Patty is a good little girl and specially
eager to wait on table, she knows very little and my whole time during
a meal has to be given to seeing that she does not lose her head, and
do something very unusual, to say the least, but I now called her and
told her she must take charge of the dining room, in addition to her
other work.
She showed all her white teeth and expressed delight at that. I showed
her exactly how to lay the breakfast table and what dishes to use, and
then went up to my room to compose myself before the family came down.
Gibbie having determined to take a rest, as he very often does, had
announced himself sick and Dab had been taking care of the horses as
well as the cows. Fortunately Gibbie came out this morning, but when he
came for the stable key I found that Dab had carried it off with him,
also the poultry house key. They were tied together. I told Gibbie the
keys were not in their usual place, and asked if he could manage to get
in the stable without breaking the lock.
[Illustration: How to lay the breakfast table.]
He answered that was very easy, and proceeded to roll the wagon with the
rack up to the stable door, climbed into the loft with ease, and thence
down the ladder into the stable, where he unbarred the back door. I was
a most interested spectator, for now I understand how the horses are
ridden at night, when the door is locked and the key hanging on its hook
in the pantry. I did not tell Gibbie that Dab had the keys; I preferred
to let him think I had mislaid them.
By the mail at 11 o'clock came a postal addressed to me with the keys
attached. I am truly glad Dab had the decency to send them.
April 7.
A long and humble letter from Dab making his apologies as best he could
for his very bad conduct and thanking me for all I had done for him and
saying he had no fault to find with me, that he knew if he had come to
tell me he would never have gone, intimating that it was with members
of his own race he found it hard to get on; said he saw Rab every day
and his hand was getting better. He wound up by begging me to give him
a recommendation.
Meantime Patty is covering herself with honors and we are getting on
very well.
My strawberries are fine, we are picking four quarts every day. Green
peas are also bearing well. It is a great thing to have them now while
the house is full. We had the first strawberries on April 11.
Rained hard all night, but cleared beautifully this morning; such a
blessing to the young corn the rain was. L. wanted to see Casa Bianca,
so we drove down there and had a delightful day. We got back in nice
time, but Gibbie had gone home, so I had to take out the horses and then
go down to the barn-yard to get out feed, as Bonaparte is still working
on the house at Peaceville. I miss Dab terribly; he was so quick and
always so ready to do everything.
L. went with me to get out the feed. She has lived in a city always, and
it must all seem very strange to her. We counted out eighty-four ears of
corn into the sack, and then the problem of getting it moved came up.
It was still raining, and the horses were eagerly following us, almost
walking over us.
L. kept them off with the lantern, while I attempted to drag the corn
along. Just then Gibbie strolled up, to my great relief.
April 8.
Drove L. to Gregory to take train. She has kindly offered to take
charge of Rab on his journey. I went to ask Dr. G. if Rab's hand was
in condition for him to go. He said it was, that it had healed very
rapidly, being perfectly healthy, and no longer needed to be dressed
daily.
I think it wise to send Rab back to the institution of the worthy
Jenkins. I dare not leave him at home with Chloe when I go away, as I
must do in ten days to be absent a month, for there is no telling what
he might do. As Chloe expresses it, he "discounts her altogether,"
and this craze he has for firearms makes her afraid to keep him. Under
Jenkins's charge he will be well cared for, and at the same time kept
out of mischief and made to behave.
I wrote to Jim yesterday to have Rab ready, as I would call for him
this afternoon, and as I drove up Hattie came out with Rab's valise,
and he followed with his arm in a sling, but looking much better. We
drove rapidly to the train, just in time to get the tickets and get L.
and her protégé on the train, before it was off.
I asked Rab as we drove down if he had seen Dab. He said he had very
often, that he had got a place as butler, where he was getting $5 a
week. I asked where it was, and after the train left, I drove to the
house and asked to see Dab.
I told him I could not give him the recommendation I had expected to
give him, because he had run away and left me as he had done; that I
only wanted to see him to tell him to keep the place he had, and not to
run from place to place. He seemed much moved, and so was I. I sat in
the buckboard, and he stood by the hind wheel, so that I had to turn to
look at him.
I gave him a little lecture, telling him that I had carried out my
promise to his dying mother as far as I could, having taken much trouble
with him, as well as being put to a good deal of expense, because of
that promise, and that now he had taken the matter out of my hands by
leaving me. All I demanded of him was that he should lead a respectable
life and be industrious, honest, and upright, and I would be satisfied.
When I turned to look at him the tears were rolling down his cheeks and
he thanked me and said he would try.
I started on my lonely drive of fourteen miles about 6 o'clock.
My thoughts were ample company, for I have much to plan out.
All winter I have been looking forward with great pleasure to a visit
from a charming English friend who stayed with me once a few years ago.
She has made a trip around the world with her maid and physician and
was coming here on her way from San Francisco to New York, but after
a visit in Mexico, for some reason the physician thought it would be
unwise for her to come to this remote plantation, so far from railroad,
telegraph, and I suppose he thought from civilization. Mrs. R. wrote to
tell me of her disappointment at this and to ask me to make her a visit
in New York instead, and begging me to bring Chloe with me. This royally
generous invitation I have accepted, and my mind is much occupied as
how to arrange for the care of everything in the absence of two such
important people as Chloe and myself.