We were surprised to find in an "Ode to the South," by Mr. M. F.
Tupper, the following stanza:
"Yes, it is slander to say you oppressed them:
Does a man squander the prize of his pelf?
Was it not often that he who possessed them
Rather was owned by his servants himself?"
This was true, but that it was known in the outside world we thought
impossible, when all the newspaper and book accounts represented us as
miserable sinners for whom there was no hope here or hereafter, and
called upon all nations, Christian and civilized, to revile,
persecute, and exterminate us. Such representations, however, differed
so widely from the facts around us that when we heard them they failed
to produce a very serious impression, occasioning often only a smile,
with the exclamation: "How little those people know about us!"
We had not the vanity to think that the European nations cared or
thought about us, and if the Americans believed these accounts, they
defamed the memory of one held up by them as a model of Christian
virtue--George Washington, a Virginia slave-owner, whose kindness to
his "people," as he called his slaves, entitled him to as much honor
as did his deeds of prowess.
But to return to the two last lines of the stanza:
"Was it not often that he who possessed them
Rather was owned by his servants himself?"
I am reminded of some who were actually held in such bondage;
especially an old gentleman who, together with his whole plantation,
was literally possessed by his slaves.
This gentleman[10] was a widower, and no lady presided over his house.
[10] William M. Radford, of Greenfield, Botetourt County.
His figure was of medium height and very corpulent. His features were
regular and handsome, his eyes were soft brown, almost black, and his
hair was slightly gray. The expression of his countenance was so full
of goodness and sympathy that a stranger meeting him in the road might
have been convinced at a glance of his kindness and generosity.
He was never very particular about his dress, yet never appeared
shabby.
Although a graduate in law at the university, an ample fortune made it
unnecessary for him to practice his profession. Still his taste for
literature made him a constant reader, and his conversation was
instructive and agreeable.
His house was old and rambling, and--I was going to say his servants
kept the keys, but I remember there were _no keys_ about the
establishment. Even the front door had no lock upon it. Everybody
retired at night in perfect confidence, however, that everything was
secure enough, and it seemed not important to lock the doors.
The negro servants who managed the house were very efficient,
excelling especially in the culinary department, and serving up
dinners which were marvels.
The superabundance on the place enabled them not only to furnish
their master's table with the choicest meats, vegetables, cakes,
pastries, etc., but also to supply themselves bountifully, and to
spread in their own cabins sumptuous feasts, and wedding and party
suppers rich enough for a queen.
To this their master did not object, for he told them "if they would
supply his table always with an abundance of the best bread, meats,
cream, and butter, he cared not what became of the rest."
Upon this principle the plantation was conducted. The well-filled
barns, the stores of bacon, lard, flour, etc., literally belonged to
the negroes, who allowed their master a certain share!
Doubtless they entertained the sentiment of a negro boy who, on being
reproved by his master for having stolen and eaten a turkey, replied:
"Well, massa, you see, you got less turkey, but you got dat much more
niggah!"
While we were once visiting at this plantation, the master of the
house described to us a dairy just completed on a new plan, which for
some weeks had been such a hobby with him that he had actually
purchased a lock for it, saying he would keep the key himself--which
he never did--and have the fresh mutton always put there.
"Come," said he, as he finished describing it, "let us go down and
look at it. Bring me the key," he said to a small African, who soon
brought it, and we proceeded to the dairy.
Turning the key in the door, the old gentleman said: "Now see what a
fine piece of mutton I have here!"
But on entering and looking around, no mutton was to be seen, and
instead thereof were buckets of custard, cream, and blanc-mange. The
old gentleman, greatly disconcerted, called to one of the servants:
"Florinda! Where is my mutton that I had put here this morning?"
[Illustration: "WHERE IS MY MUTTON?"--_Page 98._]
Florinda replied: "Nancy took it out, sah, an' put it in de ole spring
house. She say dat was cool enough place for mutton. An' she gwine
have a big party to-night, an' want her jelly an' custards to keep
cool!"
At this the old gentleman was rapidly becoming provoked, when we
laughed so much at Nancy's "cool" proceeding that his usual good
nature was restored.
On another occasion we were one evening sitting with this gentleman in
his front porch when a poor woman from the neighboring village came in
the yard, and, stopping before the door, said to him:
"Mr. Radford, I came to tell you that my cow you gave me has died."
"What did you say, my good woman?" asked Mr. Radford, who was quite
deaf.
The woman repeated in a louder voice: "The cow you gave me has died.
And she died because I didn't have anything to feed her with."
Turning to us, his countenance full of compassion, he said: "I ought
to have thought about that, and should have sent the food for her
cow." Then, speaking to the woman: "Well, my good woman, I will give
you another cow to-morrow, and send you plenty of provision for her."
And the following day he fulfilled his promise.
Another incident occurs to me, showing the generous heart of this
truly good man. One day on the Virginia and Tennessee train, observing
a gentleman and lady in much trouble, he ventured to inquire of them
the cause, and was informed that they had lost all their money and
their railroad tickets at the last station.
He asked the gentleman where he lived, and on what side he was during
the war.
"I am from Georgia," replied the gentleman, "and was, of course, with
the South."
"Well," said Mr. Radford, pulling from his capacious pocket a large
purse, which he handed the gentleman, "help yourself, sir, and take as
much as will be necessary to carry you home."
The astonished stranger thanked him sincerely, and handed him his
card, saying: "I will return the money as soon as I reach home."
Returned to his own home, and relating the incidents of his trip, Mr.
Radford mentioned this, when one of his nephews laughed and said:
"Well, uncle, we Virginia people are so easily imposed upon! You don't
think that man will ever return your money, do you?"
"My dear," replied his uncle, looking at him reproachfully and sinking
his voice, "I was fully repaid by the change which came over the man's
countenance."
It is due to the Georgian to add that on reaching home he returned the
money with a letter of thanks.
In sight of the hospitable home of Mr. Radford was another, equally
attractive, owned by his brother-in-law, Mr. Bowyer. These places had
the same name, Greenfield, the property having descended to two
sisters, the wives of these gentlemen. They might have been called
twin establishments, as one was almost a facsimile of the other. At
both were found the same hospitality, the same polished floors, the
same style of loaf-bread and velvet rolls, the only difference between
the two being that Mr. Bowyer kept his doors locked at night, observed
more system, and kept his buggies and carriages in better repair.
These gentlemen were also perfectly congenial. Both had graduated in
law, read the same books, were members of the same church, knew the
same people, liked and disliked the same people, held the same
political opinions, enjoyed the same old Scotch songs, repeated the
same old English poetry, smoked the same kind of tobacco, in the same
kind of pipes, abhorred alike intoxicating drinks, and deplored the
increase of bar-rooms and drunkenness in our land.
For forty years they passed together a part of every day or evening,
smoking and talking over the same events and people. It was a picture
to see them at night over a blazing wood fire, their faces bright with
good nature; and a treat to hear all their reminiscences of people and
events long past. With what circumstantiality could they recall old
law cases, and describe old duels, old political animosities and
excitements! What merry laughs they sometimes had!
Everything on one of these plantations seemed to belong equally to the
other. If the ice gave out at one place, the servants went to the
other for it as a matter of course; or if the buggies or carriage were
out of order at Mr. Radford's, which was often the case, the driver
would go over for Mr. Bowyer's without even mentioning the
circumstance, and so with everything. The families lived thus
harmoniously with never the least interruption for forty years.
Now and then the old gentlemen enjoyed a practical joke on each other,
and on one occasion Mr. Radford succeeded so effectually in quizzing
Mr. Bowyer that whenever he thought of it afterward he fell into a
dangerous fit of laughter.
It happened that a man who had married a distant connection of the
Greenfield family concluded to take his wife, children, and servants
to pass the summer there, dividing the time between the two houses.
The manners, character, and political proclivities of this visitor
became so disagreeable to the old gentlemen that they determined he
should not repeat his visit, although they liked his wife. One day Mr.
Bowyer received a letter signed by this objectionable individual--it
had really been written by Mr. Radford--informing Mr. Bowyer that, as
one of the children was sick, and the physician advised country air,
he would be there the following Thursday with his whole family, to
stay some months.
"The impudent fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Bowyer as soon as he read the
letter. "He knows how Radford and myself detest him! Still I am sorry
for his wife. But I will not be dragooned and outgeneraled by that
contemptible fellow. No! I will leave home to-day!"
Going to the back door, he called in a loud voice for his coachman,
and ordered his carriage. "I am going" said he, "to Grove Hill for a
week, and from there to Lexington, with my whole family, and don't
know when I shall be at home again. It is very inconvenient," said he
to his wife, "but I must leave home."
Hurrying up the carriage and the family, they were soon off on their
unexpected trip.
They stayed at Grove Hill, seven miles off, a week, during which time
Mr. Bowyer every morning mounted his horse and rode timidly around the
outskirts of his own plantation, peeping over the hills at his house,
but afraid to venture nearer, feeling assured it was occupied by the
obnoxious visitor. He would not even make inquiries of his negroes
whom he met, as to the state and condition of things in his house.
Concluding to pursue his journey to Lexington, and halfway there, he
met a young nephew of Mr. Radford's who happened to know all about
the quiz, and, immediately suspecting the reason of Mr. Bowyer's exile
from home, inquired where he was going, how long he had been from
home, etc. Soon guessing the truth, and thinking the joke had been
carried far enough, he told the old gentleman he need not travel any
further, for it was all a quiz of his uncle's, and there was no one at
his house. Thereupon Mr. Bowyer, greatly relieved, turned back and
went his way home rejoicing, but "determined to pay Radford," he said,
for such a practical joke, which had exiled him from home and given
him such trouble. This caused many a good laugh whenever it was told
throughout the neighborhood.
The two estates of which I am writing were well named--Greenfield; for
the fields and meadows were of the freshest green, and, with majestic
hills around, the fine cattle and horses grazing upon them, formed a
noble landscape.
This land had descended in the same family since the Indian camp-fires
ceased to burn there, and the same forests were still untouched where
once stood the Indians' wigwams.
In this connection I am reminded of a tradition in the Greenfield
family which showed the heroism of a Virginia boy:
The first white proprietor of this place, the great-grandfather of the
present owners, had also a large estate in Montgomery County, called
Smithfield, where his family lived, and where was a fort for the
protection of the whites when attacked by the Indians.
Once, while the owner was at his Greenfield place, the Indians
surrounded Smithfield, and the white women and children took refuge in
the fort, while the men prepared for battle. They wanted the
proprietor of Smithfield to help them fight and to take command, for
he was a brave man; but they could not spare a man to carry him the
news. So they concluded to send one of his young sons, a lad thirteen
years old, who did not hesitate, but, mounting a fleet horse, set off
after dark and rode all night through dense forests filled with
hostile Indians, reaching Greenfield, a distance of forty miles, next
morning. He soon returned with his father, and the Indians were
repulsed. And I always thought that boy was courageous enough for his
name to live in history.[11]
[11] John Preston, afterward Governor of Virginia.
The Indians afterward told how, the whole day before the fight,
several of their chiefs had been concealed near the Smithfield house
under a large haystack, upon which the white children had been sliding
and playing all day, little suspecting the gleaming tomahawks and
savage men beneath.
From the Greenfield estate in Botetourt and the one adjacent went the
ancestors of the Prestons and Breckinridges, who made these names
distinguished in South Carolina and Kentucky. And on this place are
the graves of the first Breckinridges who arrived in this country.
All who visited at the homesteads just described retained ever after a
recollection of the perfectly cooked meats, bread, etc., seen upon the
tables at both houses, there being at each place five or six negro
cooks who had been taught by their mistresses the highest style of the
culinary art.
During the summer season several of these cooks were hired at the
different watering-places, where they acquired great fame and made
for themselves a considerable sum of money by selling recipes.
A lady of the Greenfield family, who married and went to Georgia, told
me she had often tried to make velvet rolls like those she had been
accustomed to see at her own home, but never succeeded. Her mother and
aunt, who had taught these cooks, having died many years before, she
had to apply to the negroes for information on such subjects, and
they, she said, would never show her the right way to make them.
Finally, while visiting at a house in Georgia, this lady was surprised
to see velvet rolls exactly like those at her home.
"Where did you get the recipe?" she soon asked the lady of the house,
who replied: "I bought it from old Aunt Rose, a colored cook, at the
Virginia Springs, and paid her five dollars."
"One of our own cooks, and my mother's recipe," exclaimed the other,
"and I had to come all the way to Georgia to get it, for Aunt Rose
never would show me exactly how to make them!"