Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
OLD PLANTATION DAYS
[Illustration]
OLD PLANTATION
DAYS
BEING RECOLLECTIONS OF SOUTHERN
LIFE BEFORE THE CIVIL WAR
BY
MRS. N. B. DE SAUSSURE
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1909
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
N. B. DE SAUSSURE
THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The following reminiscences are published at the request of many
friends who, after reading the manuscript, have urged that the
recollections be given more permanent form and a wider circulation.
N. B. DESAUSSURE.
OLD PLANTATION DAYS
Old Plantation Days
MY DEAR GRANDDAUGHTER DOROTHY:
Grandmother is growing to be an old lady, and as you are still too
young to remember all she has told you of her own and your mother's
people, she is going to write down her recollections that you may thus
gain a true knowledge of the old plantation days, now forever gone,
from one whose life was spent amid those scenes.
The South as I knew it has disappeared; the New South has risen from
its ashes, filled with the energetic spirit of a new age. You can only
know the New South, but there is a generation, now passing away, which
holds in loving memory the South as it used to be. Those memories are
a legacy to the new generation from the old, and it behooves the old
to hand them down to the new.
"The days that are no more" come crowding around me, insistent that I
interpret them as I knew them; there are the happy plantation days,
the recollection of which causes my heart to throb again with youthful
pleasure, and near them are the days, the dreadful days, of war and
fire and famine. I shrink as the memory of these draws near.
The spirit of those early days is what I chiefly desire to leave with
you; the bare facts are history, but just as the days come back to my
recollection I will write about them, and necessarily the record will
be fitful memories woven together but imperfectly.
My father, your great-grandfather, was a direct descendant on his
mother's side of Landgrave Smith, first Colonial Governor of South
Carolina, his mother being Landgrave Smith's granddaughter; his
grandfather was Pierre Robert, a Huguenot minister who emigrated to
America, after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, and led the
Huguenot colony to South Carolina.
My father was born in 1791 in the old homestead situated forty miles
up the river from Savannah. He had twelve children, and I was one of
the younger members of his large family. His early life was similar to
the life of any present-day boy, with school days and holidays. During
the holidays he enjoyed the excellent hunting and fishing which our
large plantation afforded and which gave him great skill in those
sports; later in life he brought up his own sons to enjoy them with
him. He used to tell us, to our great entertainment, many incidents of
his childhood days. When a little boy he used to drive through the
country with his grandmother in a coach and four.
After he left South Carolina College he made a trip through the North
on horseback, as this was before the time of railroads. It took him a
month to reach Pennsylvania and New York State, and as it was in the
year of 1812, he happened to ride out of Baltimore as the British rode
in.
We children were always delighted when father told us of his many
adventures, and the strange sights he saw during his travels. One
episode always greatly shocked us, which was that of his seeing men in
the public bakeries in Pennsylvania mixing bread dough with their bare
feet.
After father returned home he married a cousin, Miss Robert. He had
one son by this marriage, at whose birth the young mother died. This
son returning from a Northern college on the first steamboat ever run
between Charleston and New York, was drowned; for the vessel foundered
and was lost off the coast of North Carolina.
Father's second wife was a descendant of the Mays of Virginia, who
were descendants of the Earl of Stafford's younger brother. This lady
was my own dear mother and your great-grandmother.
I must now tell you something about _her_ grandmother, for my mother
inherited much of her wonderful character from this stalwart
Revolutionary character. My great-grandmother's eldest son, at
nineteen, was a captain in the Revolutionary War, and she was left
alone, a widow on her plantation. When the British made a raid on her
home, carrying off everything, she remained undaunted, and, mounting a
horse, rode in hot haste to where the army was stationed, and asked to
see the general in command. Her persistence gained admittance. She
stated her case and the condition in which the British soldiers had
left her home, and pleaded her cause with so much eloquence that the
general ordered the spoils returned to her.
Dearest child, in the intrepid spirit of this ancestor you will find
the keynote to the brave spirit of the women of the South.
This old lady, who was your great-great-great-grandmother, lived to be
a hundred and six years old; her skin was like parchment and very
wrinkled; she died at last from an accident. I have heard my mother
say that she was a remarkable character, never idle, and her mind
perfectly clear until the day of her death. At her advanced age she
knitted socks for my eldest brother, a baby then, thus always finding
something useful to employ her mind and her hands.
Her son, my mother's father, was one of the most generous and
benevolent of men, a pioneer of Methodism in that section of the
country. He had a room in his house called "the minister's room." The
ministers who went from place to place preaching were called circuit
riders. These ministers always stayed at his house, hence "the
minister's room" was very seldom vacant, and some ministers lived with
him always.
Once there was a great scarcity of corn caused by a drought.
Grandfather came to the rescue of the neighborhood. He sent a raft
down to Savannah, which was the nearest town, and had brought back, at
his expense, two thousand bushels of corn. He then sent out word to
the poor of the surrounding country to come to him for what corn they
needed, making each applicant give him a note for what he received.
When he had thus provided for the immediate wants of the people, he
generously tore up the notes; for he had only taken them to prevent
fraud.
You will naturally wish me to tell you something of my mother, your
great-grandmother. She was born on March 25, 1801, and was educated at
the Moravian School in North Carolina, which is still in existence. I
saw a very interesting description of this school in the _Tribune_ of
March, 1904.
Mother was well educated in all branches taught during her girlhood.
Even after she was seventy-five years old she could repeat every rule
of grammar and she always wrote with ease and correctness. This shows
that what was taught in those days was taught with thoroughness, even
if the studies were few and simple compared to the intricate and
manifold ones of the present day. Mother was a woman of remarkable
sweetness of disposition and intelligence, and had great executive
ability, which latter quality was indispensable in the mistress of a
large household of children and servants. She gave unceasing care and
attention to her children, and personally supervised every detail of
their education. Besides these duties, the negroes of the plantation,
their food and clothing, care of their infants and the sick, all came
under her control.
My father and mother inherited most of their negroes, and there was an
attachment existing between master and mistress and their slaves which
one who had never borne such a relation could never understand.
"Uncle Tom's Cabin" has set the standard in the North, and it seems
useless for those who owned and loved the negroes to say there was any
other method used in their management than that of strictest
severity; but let me tell you that in one of my rare visits South to
my own people, the old-time darkies, our former slaves, walked twenty
miles to see "Miss Nancy" and her little daughter, and the latter,
your dear mother, would often be surprised, when taken impulsively in
their big black arms, and hugged and kissed and cried over "for ol'
times' sake."
When I would inquire into their welfare and present condition I heard
but one refrain, "I'd never known what it was to suffer till freedom
came, and we lost our master." Yes, Dorothy dear, a lot of children
unprepared to enjoy the Emancipation Proclamation were suddenly
confronted with life's problems.
I have beside me a letter from a friend, now in South Africa. She says
in part: "I am sure you, too, would have thought much on the many
problems presented by this black people. It is perfectly appalling
when one thinks that they are really human beings! Human beings
without any humanity, and not the slightest suggestion that there is
any vital spark on which to begin work, for apparently they have no
affection for anybody or anything, and it is an insult to a good dog
to compare them to animals."
Such, my dear child, is the African in his native country at the
present day, the twentieth century, and such was the imported African
before he was Christianized and humanized by the people of the South.
In order to show you that I am not prejudiced in favor of the
Southerners' treatment of their slaves I will insert a letter from Dr.
Edward Lathrop, whose daughter was an old schoolmate of mine at Miss
Bonney's in Philadelphia.
JULY 23, 1903.
MY DEAR MRS. DE SAUSSURE:
I will proceed to answer your inquiries. You know I am Southern born
and raised. I am a Georgian, and although never a slaveholder I was
nursed by a negro woman to whom I was most fondly attached, and who, I
believe, loved me as she would her own son. I have had the opportunity
to mingle freely with slaveholders of different characters and
dispositions, and while I regard slavery as such an enormous evil and
am heartily glad that it has been abolished in this country, I am
bound in candor to say that my observation, during all these years of
my residence in Georgia and South Carolina, thoroughly convinced me
that in the majority of cases slaves were more kindly treated and
brought into more intimate and kindly relations to white families than
they are now, though free. This, of course, is not given as an
apology for slavery, but it is a simple statement of facts. I might
refer, for example, to what I witnessed and _felt_, while a guest, on
more than one occasion, in the house of your honored father and
mother. Your father seemed to me to be as watchful of the interests,
both temporal and spiritual, of his slaves as of his own immediate
white family. It was, to my mind, a beautiful illustration of
patriarchal slavery, as it existed in the days of Abraham. Of course
there were exceptions to this treatment of slaves by their owners,
but, as a rule, so far as my observation extended, your father's
methods were universally approved, while the cruel slaveholder was
indignantly condemned and repudiated.
You may remember that I was for three years the associate of Rev. Dr.
Fuller, then pastor of the Baptist Church in Beaufort, S. C.
Beaufort District (now county) was probably the largest slaveholding
district in the State.
Most that I have stated above, as to the kindly treatment of slaves
was emphatically true of Beaufort. The Baptist Church, in addition to
its white membership, embraced about two thousand slaves. These
slaves, as church members, enjoyed equal privileges with the whites.
Dr. Fuller or myself preached to them every Sunday. The Lord's Supper
was administered to them and to the whites impartially and at the same
time. And any grievance that they complained of, among themselves, was
as patiently listened to and adjusted as was the case with the white
members. In a word, all that could be done for them, in their
circumstances, was promptly and cheerfully done. I could add much
more of the same tenor to what I have written, but I will not weary
you with a long discourse.
Affectionately yours,
EDWARD LATHROP.
To this let me add this editorial from the New York _Sun_ of February
1, 1907, bearing on the question.
"UNCLE REMUS ON THE NEGRO
"We see no occasion for the astonishment that has been aroused in this
part of the country by the eloquent and touching tribute to the
negro's virtues by Mr. Joel Chandler Harris, of Georgia. It is by no
means the first time he has spoken to the same effect, nor is he the
only Southerner of his class who has proclaimed similar opinions. It
ought to be perfectly well known to the entire country that the
better class of whites dwell in peace and kindness and good will with
their colored fellow-creatures, and that practically all of the
so-called 'race conflicts' are the product of an ancient hate dating
back far beyond the Civil War and involving, now as always hitherto,
no one of whom either race is at all proud.
"This is a flagrant truth which Northern people have had the
opportunity of assimilating any time during the past forty years. The
emancipation of the slaves, effected in reality after the surrender of
Lee, Johnson and Kirby Smith, made no change in the purely personal
relations between the freedmen and their former masters. Not even the
abominable episode of reconstruction availed to eradicate the
affectionate entente of the classes and turn them against each other
to the evil ends of animosity and vengeance. The old slaveholders
knew that their quondam servants and dependents were innocent of
vicious purpose. The latter understood full well that when in need of
help and sympathy and pitying ministrations the former offered them
their only sure refuge and relief. No actor in this mournful tragedy
has forgotten anything. No political or social transmutation has
changed anything so far as these two are concerned. The quarrels and
the violent and bloody clashes of which so much is made in our
newspapers, whether through honest ignorance or malign intent, are far
outside of the philosophy of any important element of the Southern
population.
"Joel Chandler Harris tells the simple truth when he says that the
negroes of the South are moving onward, accumulating property, making
themselves useful citizens and cementing the hallowed ties of respect
and confidence between the classes which represent the South's
righteousness and civilization. In this section we concern ourselves
too much with the insignificant minority. We accept the testimony of
the 'educated' few on the negro side--educated to little more than a
fruitless smattering of vanity and conceit--and we much too easily
imagine that the Southern 'cracker' stands for the ideas and
illustrates the methods of the whites. No falser or more misleading
hypothesis could be presented. The negro who typifies violence and
barbarism is one in ten thousand. The white man who employs the
shotgun and the torch is quite as unimportant. We shower our
solicitudes on the pestiferous exception and overlook the wholesome
rule.
"Uncle Remus knows what he is talking about--knows it to its deepest
depth."
I think if I were to give you an account of one day as spent by my
mother, it would best present an idea of the arduous duties of an
old-time Southern lady on a plantation. My mother had a magnificent
constitution or she could never have accomplished the amount of work
required of her. I never knew her to have until her latter years a
physician for herself. But for family needs we had colored nurses who,
under a physician, were competent and devoted in sickness.
The day was always begun with family prayers, for my father's
religious principles were his staff in life, and he derived much
strength from them. His devotion to Christ was unusual, and I never
knew him to doubt for an instant that he himself was a child of God.
Having a most affectionate disposition, he loved his wife and children
intensely, and lived in and for them. Fortunately, the love he gave
them was fully returned, and I doubt if there was ever a more devoted
and united family.
At sunset it was a sacred custom of his to go into a room in a wing of
the house, removed from all noise, and kneel in prayer. Every child
and grandchild would follow him to the quiet room, and as we knelt by
his side, he would commend us to God's loving care, and rise from his
knees to kiss each one of us, sons and daughters alike. No matter what
our occupation or pleasures were, we would hasten home that we might
not miss this sunset prayer, for then all differences that had grown
up between us in the day would be healed, and we felt ourselves drawn
into one united family again. My brothers and sisters, old men and
women now, can never speak of that sacred hour without tears.
I will here copy a letter received not long ago from a dear friend,
Miss Morse, for years one of the faculty of Vassar College, that you
may see how our home life affected "strangers within our gates."
MY PRECIOUS FRIEND:
In asking me to give you my recollections of that cultivated
consecrated home where I spent a delightful half year, you have given
me a privilege. I love to recall that period, so unique in my
experience.
Your father had arranged for my journey. A son came from Princeton to
go with me to the steamer, and at Savannah his factor placed me in
your father's boat, going up the river by night, to his plantation
home.
This was my first acquaintance with negroes. At first I was afraid,
being the only white person on board, but as I remembered that it was
your father's plan, I knew it must be safe, and gave myself up to the
enjoyment of the scene. A happier set of beings than the negroes on
board it would be hard to find.
The night was dark, but on deck they gathered in groups about their
bright fires, roasting corn and singing their quaint and wonderfully
sweet plantation songs.
At daybreak we reached your father's landing, where you were waiting
for me in the carriage, and when we drove up to the beautiful home,
there were your parents at the door, ready to give me a truly Southern
welcome.
Breakfast was served, and as your father asked the blessing, he prayed
most earnestly that old Maum Mary might be found that day; every day
the prayer was repeated, till he felt she could not be living, and
then it was changed to a request that they might find her body to give
it burial. She was an old negress, who had lost her mind, and,
fearing she might stray away and get lost, your father had placed her
daughter-in-law, a bright young negress, in the house with her, to
care for her and specially to watch, lest in her mental weakness she
might stray away; what he feared happened, for the daughter-in-law
proved less tender and faithful than the master, and the old woman
escaped.
When all hope of finding her alive was gone, the prayer of the master
was that they might find her body and give it burial, but even this
was not granted him.
It was a revelation to me of the tender care that old patriarch gave
to his slaves, no wonder that they loved him.
You used to ask me, almost daily, to go with you to see some feeble
old woman, who might be lonely and would be looking for you to come
and see her, and I could hardly help shrinking as you would allow
yourself to be gathered into her arms, and the petting would be
mutual.
If a negro was sick, your father would always send him food from his
own table, which was received with great pleasure.
At the time I was there your mother had become too feeble to continue
her daily rounds among the sick and feeble, taking medicine, looking
after bandages on broken limbs, etc., but an older daughter had taken
her place to some extent.
I enjoyed very much the prayer-meeting evenings of the negroes. The
Methodists had one evening and the Baptists another. They always held
them in a building especially made for that purpose, and the singing,
as it came through our open windows, was very sweet. Your father had
to limit the time or they would have continued the services all
night.
On Sunday they attended the same churches as the family, the galleries
being reserved for them. I might have added in telling of their prayer
meeting, that when we were present they always prayed for "Ole Massa
and Missus," and the various members of the family, including the
"young Missus from the North."
The little negro children would leave their play to gather around me
as they saw me walking about the grounds.
As I recall a day in that home, so filled with love and peace, I think
of the morning and evening prayers where the dear old patriarch seemed
to be talking to a friend whom he trusted and loved.
Every morning his horse was brought to the door for him to ride over
the plantation. His daughter Nannie never failed to be there to help
him on with his coat, and at his return to take off his wraps, bring
him his dressing-gown, and cover him as he lay down to rest.
In fact, from morning till night she seemed always to have him in her
thoughts, to anticipate every wish, and give him most devoted
attention. I am sure it must always be a sweet memory to her that she
never overlooked a possible opportunity of adding to his happiness.
Few fathers receive such devoted attention from their children.
Do you remember how I used to enjoy the blaze of the pine knots in the
fireplace in your room at night, and how, as they burned out, you
would say to Susan, your maid, "Now throw on another knot for Miss
Morse?" And do you remember how I used to ride about alone on your
pet horse?
Oh, what a happy winter that was! The whole atmosphere was one of
love--love between parents and children, and love that overflowed till
it seemed to me that every negro on the place must feel the effects of
it. Certainly every sick or aged one received tenderest care.
I remember your mother, in telling me of her heavy duties in caring
for so large a family, mentioned an instance in which she had to go
every day to dress a broken arm of a negro child, because the mother
was too indolent to attend to it.
On Sundays your mother and her daughters used to go around to the
negroes' houses to read the Bible, and teach the children Bible
verses.
I hope that the reading of these memories will recall to you
something of the sweetness of that dear home, consecrated by your
parents' prayers.
Lovingly,
Your "MORSIE."
This has been a long digression from the one day in my mother's life I
promised to depict for you, but those early scenes come into my mind
so fast that the letter from my dear friend telling of them seemed
most appropriately to come into the story just at that point. But to
return--after breakfast it was customary for the head nurse to report
any cases of sickness on the plantation to my mother. Mother's
medicine chest was brought out and together they consulted about the
condition of each patient. If anyone were very ill, a man was sent to
call in a physician who lived several miles away. My mother then
hastened to the negro quarters, and if the invalids could be removed
they were brought to the sick house--a large, long building fitted
with cots--where they could be better cared for.
One of my earliest recollections was to follow mother with my brothers
and sisters, each child carrying a plate filled with food from the
table for the convalescents, and, although at this day contagious
diseases are so carefully avoided, I can remember going fearlessly in
and out of the cabins, carrying dainty dishes to many little ones who
were suffering with what they then called putrid sore throat. It was
really diphtheria, and, strange to say, not one of our family took the
disease, though there were forty cases on the plantation. They were
taken to the pine land, so that the good air might aid their
recovery.
After attending the sick, mother's next duty was to give out the daily
provisions. She made a pretty picture in her quaint gown carrying a
basket of keys on her arm. The Bible verse, "She looketh well to the
ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness," could
well have been written of her. With twenty-five house and garden
servants and the many little children to be looked after, this daily
provisioning took a great deal of time, and thought.
The house servants had their own kitchen and cook. The negro children
were under the care of a woman in a building apart, in fact, it was
like a modern day nursery, where the working mothers could leave their
children in safety. The older children about the place helped in the
care of the little ones. Mothers with babies were only required to do
light work, such as raking leaves, spinning, or sewing, that they
might be ready and in condition to nurse their babies.
I can remember going to this nursery with mother frequently, for she
always wanted to know that the children's food was properly prepared.
They had vegetable soups with corn meal "dodgers" or dumplings, of
which they were very fond. Sometimes corn bread in place of these, and
as much hominy and sweet potatoes as they wanted.
Father had hundreds of cattle, cows, sheep, and hogs. We milked sixty
cows on the plantation, and all the milk which had been set and
skimmed was given to the negroes who came to the dairy to carry it to
their homes in great tubs, and the little ones trotted along carrying
their "piggins," which was the name for their small wooden buckets.
The milk which had turned to clabber, "bonny clabber" as the Scotch
call it, was considered a most delightful dish in our hot climate. It
is so refreshing when cold that you often see me eating it now for
tea.
Mother's vegetable gardens were then visited. These gardens were
noted; they were so unusual in their beautiful arrangement that all
strangers who came to the neighborhood were brought to see them. The
walks were graveled and rolled, and myriads of bright flowers formed
borders for the beds.
The poultry yards required supervision and care and were kept in
perfect order. There were many acres, so-called "runs," planted in rye
and other grains, for the use of the poultry, where they roved at will
with some one to follow and bring them back to the yards at night, to
be locked up. I often used to hear mother say "five hundred chickens,
one hundred geese, one hundred turkeys, and one hundred ducks, were
necessary to be kept on hand for table use."
Another care of hers was to provide clothing for all the negroes, of
whom there were over five hundred. To accomplish this, seamstresses
were at work all the year round; three in the house and five or six in
the negro quarters. These made the men's and women's clothing. All the
cutting was done under mother's supervision; and during the early part
of the war, all the spinning and weaving of cloth, and even of
blankets, was done on the plantation. At one time I remember seeing
two thousand yards of cloth ready to make up into clothes. Fifteen
years after the war, on my visit South, I saw the negro women still
wearing some of the dresses which were woven at that time. The cloth
went by the name of "homespun." I am giving you a rather minute
account, because I want you, my darling, to gain as intimate a
knowledge as possible of that life which has forever passed away.
I remember seeing my mother come into the house from her morning
rounds, tired, but cheered with the consciousness that no duty had
been neglected.
You will wonder how she found any time to give to her children; but we
were busy in school all those hours. We had a schoolhouse on the
plantation where we went after breakfast with our governess. In those
days, as teachers were not paid well for their services, it was
difficult to find refined and cultured people to fill the position.
Knowing this, father paid the highest salaries and thus secured the
best talent there was to be had for us. One of our teachers afterwards
opened a school in Philadelphia, and another held an important
position at Vassar College.
Besides a governess, we also had a music teacher, so we were expected
to devote many hours to practicing music, and thus we were employed
while mother was busy housekeeping.
The governesses were always astonished at the wonderful energy and
ability shown by my mother in managing her household. I have heard
them say that if Northern people could only view a Southern woman's
daily life, how impressed they would be.
As soon as the girls in our family were old enough they were sent
North to school to finish their education, and the boys were sent to
Northern colleges.
I went for a time to a boarding school near Columbia, at the early age
of twelve, and at fifteen went North with my sister, your great-aunt
Catherine Robert. Father objected to my leaving home again, as he
wanted me near him, but mother said education was all important, and
the personal sacrifice had to be made. In my seventeenth year, I again
went North with three brothers and a sister, thus making five of us
studying at Princeton and at Philadelphia.
My parents were left alone, and out of their brood of twelve not one
remained in the home nest, as six elder ones had married, and one
other was dead. Father said he missed us so terribly that he felt as
if he could not live without one of us with him. I returned,
therefore, and remained with my parents until I was married. This long
residence at home will account for my knowledge of everything
concerning the dear father and mother, who were so devoted to their
children.
Right here, speaking of my boarding-school days at Columbia, I must
tell you about my pet deer. It is another digression, dear child, but
I would like you to know about the pet I thought so much of, and who
so dearly loved me.
Our plantation was, and still is, famed for game of all kinds,
particularly deer. For many miles there were hunting grounds, now
owned by Northern men, who have learned how full of game that section
of South Carolina is.
As a child I was especially fond of pets, and knowing this, my friends
often gave me birds, or animals, to which I was very devoted. One day
there came to me in this way a young fawn, which had been caught by
negroes. So young was this gentle little creature that I had to feed
it from a bottle. I spent most of my time with it out of doors, and it
became very much attached to me. My mother was always very particular
about the complexion of her children, as most Southern little girls
are apt to become much freckled by the hot sun. So we were all obliged
to wear sunbonnets, and I can see this little deer now running along
beside me, with the sunbonnet I should have been wearing tied on its
head.
As the fawn grew older it still remained so gentle that it would go
into the house with me and follow me upstairs and lie down by the bed.
As the autumn approached and the evenings grew cold, it would come
into the house and lie down before the open fire just as a dog would
do. Our dogs never disturbed it by day, but we were afraid to trust
them at night, so Willie, for that was my pet's name, was always
locked up in a little house we had for her. When she was three months
old I went to boarding school, and was gone nine months. It nearly
broke my heart to leave Willie, but my father, and in fact, everyone
promised to take good care of her, and let nothing happen to her.
Regularly I heard from her through them until near the time for my
return, when the home letter ceased to speak of her.
I looked forward to my home-coming with great delight, and my first
question when I arrived was concerning Willie. It was then I learned
that she had gone to the swamps and had frequently been seen with
other deer. Occasionally she had revisited her adopted home, so they
told me, coming in and out past the dogs, not seeming to be at all
afraid of them. My father suggested that I should go with him into the
fields where she had been most frequently seen feeding with a number
of deer, and see if we could obtain a glimpse of her.
Mounted on our favorite horses, we started off and rode through the
open country. We had gone but a couple of miles when my father
pointed in the distance to a group of his negroes, who were working in
a field, saying that Willie was likely to be found near them, for he
had seen her, at intervals, feeding with other deer in that vicinity.
He noticed then that she would leave her companions, and approach the
negroes, but would not allow them to touch her. We stopped our horses
and looked around over the lovely country. Suddenly my father
exclaimed, "Look, Nannie, look!" pointing toward the west. Standing
before the setting sun, their graceful forms clearly outlined, were
five or six deer.
We approached cautiously, not wishing to frighten them. At last I
dismounted and as I ventured nearer, I saw the deer lift up their
startled heads, and heard the faint tinkle of Willie's bell; for I had
placed a heavy leather strap with a bell around her neck, to protect
her against the hunters, as no one would knowingly kill a pet deer.
Father cried out to me, "Call her by name, as you used to do." I
called, "Willie, Willie." At the sound of my voice the beautiful
little creature lifted her head and stood still and listened, while
the other deer fled; then evidently impelled by recollection, she
bounded toward me. I wish I could picture the scene to you, Dorothy,
and do justice to it. If anyone has ever seen a deer in full motion,
he could never forget it. She came bounding toward me over the high
furrows, her feet scarcely touching the ground. I ran forward to meet
her, and threw my arms around her neck. The joy she manifested amazed
my father. She rubbed her face all over my face and neck, and tried to
show me in every way her delight in being with me again. I remained
in the field petting her until nearly dark, when my father urged the
necessity of our returning home. I bade her farewell for I had no
thought that she would follow me, but after mounting my horse, she
trotted along by my side just as a dog would do. At the entrance to
our place was a high fence with eleven bars. As my father opened the
gate for me to pass through, he quickly shut it against Willie, saying
he wanted to see what she would do with such a barrier between us.
Nothing daunted she immediately bounded over the fence, which was a
remarkable jump for any animal, and followed us up to the house. When
I dismounted she followed me into the yard, passing fearlessly among
the hunting dogs.
She remained at home with me as long as my vacation lasted, and became
as docile and gentle as she was before, not making any effort to
return to her wild life. After my vacation was over and I returned to
school, she went back to the woods and spent the winter there. In the
spring on my return, I was frequently told by the hunters that they
had seen her with her fawns. She was known throughout the entire
section, and being belled all could avoid shooting her.
One day I was driving to church and saw her on the edge of the deep
woods with her two beautiful fawns. I ordered the driver to stop
quickly, and jumped out of the carriage, running toward her and
calling her by her name. She stood as if she remembered my voice, but
her fawns fled in terror and she went bounding after them. That was
the last time I ever saw her for she died of black tongue. A hunter
found her in the woods, unstrapped her bell and brought it to me, and
I kept it for years, until in the war it was lost with everything
else.
But to return to the plantation life. This life has been written of by
many authors, and "Southern hospitality" is proverbial, so you will
not be surprised at my description of our way of living. English
people who visited us said it was like the English country life. We
kept "open house"; everybody was welcome, and our many horses were at
the disposal of the guest. My father's stables held thirty horses,
many of them work animals, of course, but among them were fine saddle
horses, always ready for the use of our friends.
Often our stables were emptied of their occupants to make room for
"company horses," that is, those brought by our friends when they came
to visit us.
Near our house there was a two-story building built for the
accommodation of gentlemen, strangers. As there were no inns in our
country, and plantations were miles apart, some provision had to be
made for the entertainment of travelers, who were never turned away.
We often had delightful house parties and hunting parties, but our
chief enjoyment was riding through the wild and beautiful country. We
also went on fishing excursions, and on picnics. We thought nothing of
driving ten miles to dine at a neighbor's house.
Gentlemen visiting, brought their valets and dogs for hunting, and
young ladies came with their own maids. It was a delightful
open-hearted, open-handed way of living, my child, but it was brought
to an abrupt end, as you will hear.
Fortunately my mother had a fine housekeeper who relieved her of the
care of the culinary department. This housekeeper was famed as a
cook, and her table is still remembered by everyone who sat around it.
Perhaps it would be interesting just here to explain how we came to
have so competent a person in the house. During my father's early
married life preparations were made to build a church in the
neighborhood, (Robertville) called after the family. A contractor was
engaged from the North to build the church. He brought workmen with
him, and among them was a carpenter belonging to a better class of
Irish than was usually found in such a trade. He brought his wife and
three children with him, and during the summer contracted a violent
fever. Father always thought it his duty to visit all the sick in the
neighborhood; therefore, he saw him frequently, caring for his needs.
When the poor man found that he could not live, he asked my father to
provide for his wife and children, which my father consented to do. He
kept his promise, and after the husband's death, took the three little
ones home with their mother, and made them comfortable in one of the
many outbuildings always found on a Southern plantation. In a few
weeks the mother gave birth to a little girl and died, leaving the
four little orphans in my father's care. Father wished to adopt them
all, but my mother, with her usual good judgment, said she was willing
to have the care of them, but would not consent to adopting them, as
she did not think it well to have children of another nationality
brought up as our sisters and brothers.
Eventually three of these little people were adopted by those who had
no children, and one remained with us. This little girl, Margian Kane,
was sent to school, but when old enough to go into higher studies
refused further schooling, to learn the art of housekeeping from my
mother. She died only two years ago, living to be eighty-four years
old. Our family took care of her until her death. She was devoted to
my father, and always remembered him with gratitude.
I love to linger over those happy, free-from-care days when our
hospitable door, always open, brought so many interesting people among
us, but I must push on to graver matters.
I devoted much of my time to music, especially to the harp which was
my favorite instrument. Although I had several masters in music during
the years I was at home, I often went to Charleston to take extra
lessons. While in Charleston I met your grandfather, Henry William De
Saussure, who was a descendant of the Huguenot family of that name,
and a grandson of Chancellor Henry William De Saussure.
We were married at home in 1859. I have been fortunate in procuring a
copy of the wedding article which appeared in the Charleston paper,
the _Mercury_, 1859, which is still on file in the library there. The
copy is as follows:
"On the 4th inst. at Robertville church, Beaufort District, by the
Rev. J. M. Bostick, Dr. H. W. De Saussure, Jr., to Miss Nannie W.,
daughter of B. R. Bostick, Esq.
For _THE MERCURY_
THE WEDDING BREAKFAST
The Daylight Scene. The Marriage Ceremony.
The Surprise. The Parting.
"The bright stars had not all disappeared on the morning of the 4th
inst., when the sexton of the Robertville church commenced opening
the same. The early hour, the studied neatness of his dress, and his
hurried manner, all indicated that something unusual was about to
occur. He had not yet completed his work, when carriages and buggies
in quick succession were rapidly driven up to the church from various
directions. The sun had just risen in unusual splendor as if more
fully to witness the vows that were appointed to be taken at his
appearing, and the company scarcely collected, when your fortunate
townsman ---- led to the altar Miss ----. By the altar was seated a
young man, who like themselves, had just entered the threshold of
life. His countenance, however, would induce the belief that he was
accustomed to serious reflection. And one from his appearance
pronounced him a minister. He rises, his voice falters not, but
betokens a deep and heartfelt emotion, and how could it be otherwise,
for he is joining in holy wedlock his sister, the playmate of his
childhood hours--the object in later years of his tender solicitude
and prayers. And really did it seem that he would have given worlds to
insure for that couple the happiness he so devoutly implored of
Heaven.
"But the marriage ceremony is ended, congratulations of friends over;
and again start out a number of the happy company with the bride and
groom.
"The village is left but a short distance, when our road gradually
descended into a wood too damp for cultivation, but so fertile as to
grow huge live oak trees, which formed with their boughs, well-nigh a
continuous arch over us, from which, in most beautiful clusters
almost, but not quite in one's reach, hung the wild grapes of our
forest, and as the young and merry people would unsuccessfully snatch
at these beautiful bunches as they rapidly passed, we were reminded of
how swiftly they would pass through life, and at how many pleasures
they would vainly grasp. The fifth mile is accomplished and we are on
the banks of the Savannah. We had hardly time to admire the beautiful
stream, when turning to the right, imagine our surprise at seeing a
beautifully spread table. Curiosity soon carried us to the spot, and
our astonishment was only increased when we saw the preparations that
had been made.
"We soon learned that a lady who had once graced the society of
Washington, and afterwards by her intelligence and accomplished
manners, had delighted the society of Columbia, had sent on fishermen
and cooks, and had spread this repast in honor of the new married
couple, which no one would have dreamed could have been got up at
such a place.
"But the breakfast is over; the dew sparkling in the grass at our
feet; the happy chirp of the birds as they, too, make their morning
meal on the berries and insects around us, together with the mocking
birds seated in the tree above our table and seemingly conscious of
their powers, have come to pay their sweet tribute to the bride, all
constrain us to linger. That sister too, next to the bride in years,
she feels it wrong, but yet she cannot be willing to relinquish her
sister to her newly made brother. Well does she remember, how on
repeated occasions, that soft voice has comforted her, and she cannot
trust herself to say adieu. And little Frank has lifted his blue eyes
to his mother as if to inquire, 'Will that man take away my aunty?'
That look has reached his mother's heart, it is too full to explain;
and she stoops to kiss away the tears from his cheeks. That brother,
he is much her senior in years, he is no stranger to life's conflicts,
see how his heart trembles when he says 'God bless you Nannie.'
"But the iron horse tarries on his way for none, the railroad is to be
reached by such an hour and into the waiting boat step the bride and
groom, the young minister and his mother. Scarcely had the boat left
the shore when the oft-repeated charge is reiterated by that venerable
mother to her children on shore, 'My children, take good care of your
father.'
"It has not been with her one short morning of married life. Forty
years ago she stood at the altar with her husband, and with him has
she shared life's sorrows and joys; and for him with woman's constancy
her heart still beats truest. But adieu, young and happy couple. That
your boat, as it crosses the waters of life, may guide you as smoothly
as it now does across the beautiful waters of the Savannah, is the
sincere wish of V.... August 10, 1859."
Such, my dear Dorothy, is the account of my wedding which took place
so many years ago, and with it ends the first period of my life.
My husband was a physician and as we were obliged, on account of his
profession, to live in a central place, my father built us a lovely
home in Robertville, which we occupied about three months before the
war began. We moved there on December 21, 1860. Your precious mother
was born March 1, 1861.
It was a turbulent time; the feeling ran high between the North and
the South, and we heard rumors of war, but it seemed too far away to
invade our peaceful country.
When your mother was five weeks old we took her to Charleston to show
her to your grandfather's parents--an important visit, as she was the
first grand-baby in the family and they were eager to see her.
It was an all-day journey with a drive of twenty miles to the railway.
We reached Charleston about eight o'clock in the evening. My
father-in-law met us, and after a warm greeting to the little stranger
and ourselves, said, "You are just in time to see the fight at Fort
Sumter, for it begins to-night." I was terrified and begged to be
taken home, but there was no train until morning and, therefore, we
had to remain.
That night I was too frightened to sleep. Toward morning, about four
o'clock, the first gun was fired, and it seemed to me as if it were
in my room. I sprang up, as I suppose everyone else did in the city. I
hurriedly dressed myself and went down to cousin Louis De Saussure's
house, which is still standing on the corner of South and East
Battery.
From its numerous piazzas, which commanded a fine view of the harbor,
we watched every gun fired from the two forts, Moultrie and Sumter.
The house was crowded with excited mothers and wives, who had sons and
husbands in the fight, and every hour added to their distress and
excitement, as reports, which afterwards proved false, were brought to
them of wounded dear ones. It was a day I can never forget.
That night we returned to Grandfather De Saussure's and when morning
came we spent another most anxious day following an anxious night,
but when Fort Sumter took fire and the white flag was raised, our
spirits rose over the Southern victory, to confidence and hope.
We little realized the long years of struggle that were to follow
ending in defeat, and ruined homes and country. Later on I was in
Charleston several times when it was under shot and shell and heard
the explosions of the shells as they shrieked over our houses. Those
were sad and exciting times, the awful memories of which are still
active with me.
After a visit of several weeks, we returned to our home in
Robertville, and my husband continued his practice, but his
restlessness and anxiety to join the army was so great that I ceased
to dissuade him. Physicians were needed at home, but he thought the
older men should serve there, and the younger go to the front. He
joined the Charleston Light Dragoons, and became surgeon of Major
Trenholm's brigade. When this brigade was transferred to Virginia,
he was, on account of his health, detailed to look after the hospitals
on the coast.
But before we left our home, the fort below our country town,
Beaufort, was taken, and the Northern fleet sailed in while the
inhabitants were asleep. This fight at Port Royal was the second
battle of the war.
When the tidings of the invasions of their town was brought to them,
the people, thinking the town would be shelled, fled in their
carriages, many of them not waiting to dress themselves, so great was
their fright. This long procession of carriages and wagons passed
through our village about dusk, the occupants not knowing what to do
or where to go. Every house was thrown open to them and these first
refugees remained in the neighborhood during the war. They were taken
care of, until in turn we had to flee before Sherman's army.
When Dr. De Saussure went into service I returned to my father's home
and lived there until Sherman drove us out. I made many visits to my
husband while he was in camp. I would load a wagon with provisions,
and take my trusted butler, who was a good cook and equal to any
emergency, and so we would arrive on the scene of action.