1868
This was a very happy year to me and to mamma. My little sister made her
début, and she was so pretty and so charming that she was greatly
admired and had a great many adorers. This added immensely to my
pleasure in going out, and I think it was a great relief to mamma to
have another very pretty daughter to be proud of. Two or three of the
older girls were allowed to go to parties, too, and they were a charming
lot, abounding in youth and joy. I cannot remember all, but some I was
especially fond of come to me: Rosa Evans, a tiny little thing, as
bright as a steel trap, with very fair skin and brown hair almost
touching the floor, and so thick that it was hard for her to dispose of
it on her small head; she had many serious admirers; she came from
Society Hill, where every one had been so good to us during the war;
Sophie Bonham, a charmingly pretty brunette, as quiet as a mouse, but
none the less having many admirers, Charley and herself being great
friends, he having by a miracle escaped without a broken heart from the
all-conquering Serena; then came Maggie Jordan, who though not nearly so
handsome, looked very like her sister Victoria, who had been one of the
beauties of madame’s school when I was a little girl, and who was blown
up on a steamer on the Mississippi when on her wedding-trip. I can
remember the faces and individualities of others, but their names are
too vague to attempt to record them. All this time I was too happy and
too busy sometimes to be able to sleep! It was the greatest joy to me to
have Jinty going out with me, and to see her so much admired; she had
many charming steadies, and then we had some friends in common; I
remember at this moment one man, older than the majority of our friends,
Bayard Clinch, such a delightful man; he was her admirer but my friend.
Altogether we had a very gay time. My own special friend was working so
hard on the rice-plantation in the country that he did not very often
get to town, and then, though I always knew when I entered a ballroom if
he was there, without seeing him, by a queer little feeling, I always
treated him with great coolness and never gave him more than one dance
in an evening, for there were two kind of people I could not bear to
dance with--the people whom I disliked and those I liked too much, and
he was the only one in the second class. Besides, he had learned to
dance in Germany, and had practised it at Heidelberg, and shot about the
floor in an extraordinary manner, which endangered the equilibrium of
the quiet couples, and that made me furious.
Charley was a beautiful dancer, and very popular, and I am afraid
something of a flirt, with his great, sleepy, hazel eyes, but he was
most sedate as an escort, as solemn as a judge, and the girls minded his
injunctions absolutely in all social matters, which was a great mercy,
for the etiquette in their home towns was by no means as strict as that
dictated by St. Cecilia standards.
Before the school term was over this spring I received an invitation
from Mrs. David Williams, to spend two months with Serena and Mary at
their farm near Staunton, Virginia, which I accepted with delight, and
began the preparation at once for my summer outfit, which would have to
be a little more elaborate than what I prepared for a summer at
Plantersville. When the time came for leaving, my uncle Chancellor
Lesesne took me to the station and put me on the train. He gave me many
directions as to my conduct on the journey, as it was looked upon as a
very hazardous departure from custom for me to make the journey alone;
among other charges that he gave he said: “My dear niece, let nothing
induce you to let a young man speak to you! It would be most improper to
enter into conversation with any man, but the natural questions which
you might have to ask of an official of the road, whom you will
recognize by his uniform.” Then he bade me an affectionate and solemn
farewell, which started me with a lump in my throat. The end of the
eight months of teaching, not to speak of my other activities, always
found me in a shattered condition. Toward the end of the last month the
dropping of a slate startled me into disgraceful tears, which were
almost impossible to stop. I used to be quite touched at the great care
the girls took not to drop a book or even a pencil, and those who had
annoyed me the most by their recklessness in this respect were the most
careful now; this was wonderful, for I was awfully cross and irritable.
After settling myself in my place, and getting out my book and fan and
everything else I could possibly need, Uncle Henry’s words came to my
mind with renewed force. I had insisted that I was not at all afraid,
and would rather travel alone than waste two weeks of my good holiday
and invitation, waiting until a party was going on to Virginia, who said
they would take charge of me. But Uncle Henry had succeeded in making me
feel that I was courting danger, disaster, and insult, and my strained
nerves were delighted to seize and elaborate that theme, so that when we
got to the place where I had to change cars for Staunton (I am not sure,
but I think it was Alexandria), I got out and stood by my trunk (which
had to be rechecked here) in perfect despair; a very nice-looking,
gentlemanly young man came up and said: “Can I do anything for you?”
With the last remnants of composure, I said, “No, thank you,” and
watched him with dismay disappear into the car. At last the conductor
came and stood a second at the door of the car and called: “All ’board!”
I made a dart to the car, saying to myself, “Let the trunk go; I don’t
care,” and got up the steps and into the car, to find not a seat, so I
stood in the middle of the crowded car, with my heavy blue veil down to
conceal the marks of agitation on my face, and my valise in my hand.
Fortunately, the conductor rushed through, and I managed to say: “My
trunk is out there.” In his great haste he looked where I pointed,
rushed to the baggage-car and sent two men, who ran, seized the trunk,
and pitched it aboard just as the train started. The conductor came back
and asked me why under the sun I had not spoken to him before, “that it
was a very near thing, and that if the trunk had been left there, in all
probability it would never have been seen again, as things were pretty
unsettled in these parts.” I was in no condition to enter into
conversation; my throat ached so that when I tried to tell the man that
I had not spoken to him because I had not seen him, he had trouble in
understanding me. The rest of my journey was short, fortunately, and my
hearty reception restored my equanimity, but it was some time before I
had recovered my voice and spirits enough to be able to narrate all my
experiences, to the great amusement of the party. I tell all this
because it is hard to believe that such a state of things could have
ever been possible, when we see the ease and aplomb with which very
young girls move about the world, from end to end literally. But that
was fifty-three years ago, and surely there is no one who would not say
that we have made a wonderful advance in sense.
The home life of this family always remains in my mind as a beautiful
picture, each member doing his or her own part as perfectly as it could
be done. Mr. Williams had shown his foresight and common sense in an
uncommon way, for during the war, when it was by no means necessary, as
they were wealthy, he had insisted that his daughters (who were
attending a school kept by the De Choiseul family and were having a
first-class education) should be taught to cook and to wash, for he said
that to him it seemed likely that they would have much more use for
these domestic arts than for the more ornamental branches; the
combination had been altogether charming. Finding his property all gone,
making it impossible to spend his winters in Florida and the summers in
the mountains at their beautiful place at Flat Rock, he determined to
sell both these delightful homes, not being willing for his family to
live altogether in the enervating climate of Florida, and there was no
chance of making a living at Flat Rock. So he sold them and bought a
farm in Virginia, where they could spend winter and summer in a fine
climate, and where he could cultivate the land and make a living. It had
been almost impossible to bring on their handsome furniture, and it
would have been most unsuitable to this farmhouse, so he had a workshop
in which he manufactured the most delightful rustic chairs and couches
and dressing-tables, which with pretty chintz cushions and curtains made
the interior fascinating and unique. I would like to run on and give a
full description of my perfect visit; but I must hasten to a close; only
one little thing I must tell. Soon after I arrived we were invited to a
dance. As I was sitting up in my room, reading, as I always did in the
morning while the girls went to do their respective duties in the
household--for they would not let me help in the smallest way, saying I
was there for rest and must have it, and after a short struggle I gave
in completely--Serena came in and asked what I was going to wear to the
dance that night; I answered, my barège frock. “Oh, no, wear your white
muslin, please.” I answered truly that it was not fresh enough, as I had
worn it constantly before leaving home and had not had time to have it
done up. Nothing would content her until I took it out for her to look
at; then, to my surprise, she said: “Why, that is quite fresh enough; I
will take it down for Mollie to smooth, and it will do nicely.” Of
course I yielded, as I always did to Serena in the end, but I wondered
over it, for the dress was really dirty. In the afternoon, when I came
up to get ready, there was my frock spread out on the bed, beautifully
done up! I flew down to the kitchen to thank Mollie, but she said: “You
needn’t to thank me, ma’am; shure an’ ’twas Miss Serena as don it; she
washed it, an’ she starched it, and she i’oned it, an’ her just drippin’
with the sweat.” I was overcome; to think of this beauty and belle,
adored and spoiled by so many, doing this in order that her work-weary,
plain little friend should look her best, for the barège was a pretty,
nice new frock, but she did not think as becoming. I think such
friendship is rare. I was to go to Baltimore for a short visit when I
left the farm, and it was decided that I needed another frock; after
discussing the important matter thoroughly Mrs. Williams said she
thought a black silk was what I should have; I quailed at the expense of
such a thing, but she said: “Bessie, you send and buy the silk and I
will make it up.” So I sent and got ten yards of beautiful black silk,
and my wonderful hostess cut, fitted, and made a most stylish
walking-suit, the very joy of my heart. Of course, I helped with the
sewing, but I could never have undertaken so handsome a costume alone. I
left my dear friends with tears; it was leaving peace and joy and love
behind.