In the peculiar internal State-relations which we have been considering,
South Carolina was unique. But in the social and domestic conditions now
to be described, she was a true type and representative of the other
Southern States.
It is an accepted truth that in all lands economic conditions determine
social relations. In the South, the stability of the former insured a
corresponding stability in the latter. To borrow a figure from geology,
there were no “faults” in the stratification of Southern society. Each
stratum rested secure and well-defined upon the one beneath it, with
none of the perplexing sudden “dips” and “out croppings,” common in
other parts of America. In that land of belated nineteenth century
chivalry and feudalism, the long-exploded axiom that it took “three
generations to make a gentleman” still held sway as the law governing
social usage. As is the case with all laws, however, there were
exceptions to this one. Men of force of character and intellectual gifts
stepped over class barriers at one stride, and took their place at once
in the very fore front of the social ranks.
Divisions and subdivisions of society existed, but into these intricate
complexities it is not necessary to enter here. Enough to say that the
“upper-crust” was composed exclusively of the landed proprietors and
professional men. Of trade, this class had a holy horror, although they
recognized “degrees” in infamy; holding with Cicero that, while the
“retail” trader was to be regarded as “unmitigatedly base,” the
“wholesale” trader might be accounted “mitigatedly” so.
Next to this topmost layer came the factors. The factor combined in his
own person the functions of banker, commission merchant, and general
factotum. He sold the planter’s crop, invested his proceeds, negotiated
his loans, and advanced him money when required. Socially, the factor
was the connecting link between the mercantile class and the landed
gentry, to whom, indeed, he was often closely allied by blood. For it
was the Southern custom to pass into a counting-house and thereby
convert into “factors,” such planters’ sons as were considered incapable
of receiving a classical or professional education, and showed no
special aptitude for any particular calling.
Below the factor class were innumerable gradations gradually descending
until, at the bottom of the social scale, were to be found the poor
whites, or “crackers,” as they were contempteously termed. Of this
element nothing need be said, as its influence was _nil_; the Old South
being practically composed of but two classes—its aristocracy and its
negroes.
In those old days the tone of public morals was pure and high. As a
rule, a Southern gentleman’s word was as good as his bond; for any
imputation on his honor he regarded as a disgrace, and disgrace was the
one thing he dared not face. To these people wealth was not the be-all
and the end-all of existence. Not that they underrated its importance or
despised its advantages, but their whole manner of life was a protest
against making wealth the standard by which to gauge the sum of human
achievement, affixing, as it were, a money value to all things in the
heavens above and in the earth beneath.
Again, they were—not obstructionists indeed—but strong conservatives;
holding that change is not necessarily synonymous with improvement, but
that it sometimes means retrogression rather than advance. And holding
this creed, they were not carried away by every vagary which presented
itself, whether masquerading in the guise of social panacea or political
hocus-pocus.
The conditions of Southern life naturally tended to produce and foster
individuality, and perhaps the most marked trait in Southern character
was an almost fierce independence and a hot resentment of any semblance
of control. The Southerner was quick tempered and somewhat over hasty in
taking offence at fancied slights. But there was nothing vindictive or
malevolent in his nature, and, his outburst of temper over, if cool
reflection showed him to have been in the wrong, he did not hesitate
frankly to acknowledge himself in fault, and make ample apology for his
mistaken judgment and hot words. As a class, Southerners undoubtedly
held a very good opinion of themselves; and sometimes, where mental
ballast was lacking, this comfortable consciousness of being at quits
with the world went to the head, and effervesced in silly
superciliousness and irritating condescension. But for the most part,
the people bore themselves with irreproachable courtesy and the quiet
dignity which springs from self-respect. As a race they were a brave,
fearless people, truthful, honest, and generous to a fault.
Besides this common heritage however, the folk of the Carolina coast
possessed certain endowments peculiarly their own—a finished grace of
manner, a keen sense of humor, and a power of quick repartee—their
birthright by virtue of descent from a Huguenot ancestry. This French
element was in truth, a very appreciable quantity in the Carolina
equation, exercising considerable formative influence on character as
well as manners. Unlike the French settlers in other parts of the United
States, the Carolina Huguenots, notwithstanding the inhospitable
reception given them on their arrival in the colony, held their own
manfully in their adopted country; and soon established such friendly
relations with their English neighbors, that in the course of a
generation or so, by intermarriage with these, they had ceased to be a
distinctive class of the population, and were only to be traced by their
French names, which they had bestowed upon half the families in the
lower section of the State.
One trait remains to be mentioned—a trait common to the entire South. I
allude to the ardent patriotism and intense State-love of the people.
This is proved by the records of the Civil War, which show how gladly
substance and life were both devoted to the service of their beloved
country. Even now, a thrill runs through one, at the recollection of the
heroic self-sacrifice and whole-hearted devotion of the united Southern
people to their “Lost Cause.”