ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO
The household at Oaklands presented a singular admixture of diverse
elements working together harmoniously, and blending into a home life
that was thrifty, stirring, and, at the same time, genial and refined.
In Hiram Gilcrest, notwithstanding a certain air of Puritanical
bigotry, there was a strong leaven of integrity and sound sense which
won him much respect from his neighbors. Seeing him in the midst of his
family, one thought him like a tall, vigorous New England fir-tree,
standing sentinel over a garden of blooming children, and protecting
and sheltering the delicate, listless wife who seemed like a frail
hothouse flower which, too late in life, had been transplanted from the
artificial warmth of a greenhouse into an outdoor garden.
The sons, reared in the new and hardy soil of Kentucky, were like
sturdy young shrubs. Betsy, in her youthful bloom and piquancy, was the
type of the fragrant, spicy garden pink; and no one could look at Abby
Patterson without thinking of a June rose.
During the winter Abner Dudley was often at Oaklands. The
undemonstrative yet hearty interest of Hiram Gilcrest, the serene
cordiality of Miss Abby, and the boisterous greeting of the children
made the young Virginian feel himself a welcome guest. But, whether he
discussed affairs of church or school, state or nation with his host,
or listened to Mrs. Gilcrest's somewhat languid conversation, or
parried the sparkling quips and gay repartees of Betsy, he carried away
from these visits very little realizing sense of anything save the
presence and personality of Abby Patterson, whose serene gentleness and
blooming beauty had power to stir within him "all impulse of soul and
of sense."
Another frequent visitor at Oaklands was James Anson Drane, the young
lawyer and land agent of Lexington. In him Dudley at first feared a
formidable rival; but it soon became apparent that Betsy Gilcrest, not
Abby Patterson, was the magnet which drew the young lawyer to Oaklands.
Hiram Gilcrest and Drane's father had been close friends. For this
reason James was ever a welcome guest; and he ingratiated himself into
still greater favor with Major Gilcrest by agreeing with him on all
points, whenever religion or politics was the topic of discussion.
Abner Dudley distrusted this easy acquiescence, and had a suspicion
that the views which Drane expressed so glibly were not his true
sentiments--a suspicion which Betsy Gilcrest appeared to share, as
testified by the scornful toss of her head, the contemptuous smile that
flitted across her lips, and the sarcastic light that flashed in her
eyes whenever the bland and brilliant young lawyer fluently argued in
favor of federalism and Calvinism.
No distinctions of rank and culture disturbed the homogeneous character
of society at Cane Ridge. Friendships were warm and constant; and just
as these men and women had toiled and struggled together in the first
days of settlement, so now they and their children lived, worked, and
enjoyed their simple pleasures in cordial harmony. Although staunch
Presbyterians in doctrine, these people did not, as a rule, oppose
dancing. Mason Rogers was the fiddler of the neighborhood, and as much
esteemed in that capacity as in that of song-leader at church; and even
Deacon Gilcrest, notwithstanding the Puritanical stiffness of his
mental joints upon questions of creed, relaxed considerably upon
matters of social pastimes; nor did he assume superiority over his
neighbors on account of his greater wealth and education. On the
contrary, he encouraged his niece and daughter to mingle in all the
social functions of the community. Hence, the young schoolmaster was
likewise a frequenter of these gatherings--drawn thither by the hope of
seeing Abby Patterson, who, although she did not participate in any of
the more boisterous games, was frequently present as an onlooker; and
while the crowd of merry young people were romping through
"Rise-up-thimbler," "Shoot-the-buffalo," or "Skip-to-me, -Lou," Abner
had the opportunity he coveted, a quiet chat with Abby in some retired
corner of the room.
One form of merry-making which was in high favor among the women of
that day was the quilting-bee. These quilters of the long ago must have
been accomplished needlewomen, as evidenced by the heirlooms in
"diamond," "rose," "basket," and other quaint designs which have
descended to us from our great-grandmothers.
One Saturday in November there was a quilting-bee and a corn-shucking
at farmer Trabue's. Early in the afternoon the matrons and maids of
Cane Ridge--each with thimble, needles and scissors in a long reticule
dangling from her waist--congregated in Mrs. Trabue's big upper room,
where the quilt, already "swung," was awaiting them.
To Polly Hinkson, who was considered highly accomplished in such
matters, was accorded the honor of marking the quilt into the pattern
previously decided upon, an elaborate and intricate design known as
"bird-at-the-window." The marking done, women and girls seated
themselves around the quilt, and began to work, taking care to make the
stitches short and even, and to keep strictly to the chalk line
defining the pattern.
With an accompaniment of laughter, jest, good-natured gossip and
innocent rivalry, the work went merrily forward all afternoon until the
evening shadows began to gather in the upper room. Then the nearly
finished quilt was rolled upon its frames; and the older women repaired
to the kitchen to assist the hostess and her dusky handmaidens in
supper preparations, while the girls doffed aprons and reticules,
smoothed out Sunday merinoes or bombazines, and readjusted combs and
fillets, to be ready for the evening gayeties; for by this time the
beaux were arriving.
In the kitchen, with its smoke-begrimed walls and its blackened
rafters, from which dangled sides of meat, bunches of herbs, and
strings of pepper, the supper was spread. Keeping guard at one end of
the long table was the roast pig, brown, crisp and juicy, stuffed with
sage dressing; around its neck a garland of sausage, in its mouth a
turnip. At the other end of the table, facing the pig, was a turkey
replete with gravy and rich stuffing, and garnished with parsley. Down
each side of the board stretched a long line of edibles--sparerib,
potatoes, cabbage, beans and hominy, pitchers of milk and of cider;
within this double line, another of pies, white loaf bread, corn pone,
flakey biscuit, pickles, honey and apple-butter. In the center of the
board rested the masterpiece of culinary art, the tall "stack cake"
shaped like a pyramid, and at its apex a wreath of myrtle. Ranged
around this pyramid stood glasses of foaming, yellow "float."
Immediately after supper the entire company assembled in the barn for
the shucking bout. Several scaffolds had been erected at suitable
intervals in the barn, their tops covered with dirt and rocks on which
were big billets of blazing hickory to furnish light for the workers.
The corn was apportioned as equally as possible, and then at a given
signal a lively contest began.
"You don't seem to be trying for the championship," laughingly remarked
Abby Patterson to Abner Dudley that evening as they sat side by side in
the long line of busy shuckers. "See how William Hinkson, Jed White and
John Smith are working; and look how swiftly Thomas Miles is reducing
his heap. I do believe he will win the contest."
"He may, for all of me," was Abner's smiling rejoinder; "I'm well
content to be among the laggards, so long as you are sitting near me.
Besides, the prize is not one I should dare claim."
"Is there a prize?" asked Abby. "I did not know that; this is the first
shucking party I ever attended. What is the prize to be?"
"A kiss from any girl the winner may choose from among the shuckers, I
believe," Dudley answered demurely.
"Oh!" murmured Abby, blushing warmly. "I now understand."
"The girl of my choice," Abner added with a meaning glance at his
companion, and with a decided emphasis upon "my," "is far too refined
and womanly to permit my taking such a reward. Hence, I do not aspire
to be a champion shucker, nor a fortunate finder of red ears of corn."
"It is rather difficult, is it not, Betty," he continued presently,
with a humorous twinkle in his eyes, as Miss Gilcrest came across to
where he and her cousin were seated, "to find the logical connection
between the championship as the fastest corn-shucker, and the privilege
of kissing the girl of one's choice?"
"The custom isn't founded upon logic, but solely upon the consent of
the parties," was Betsy's ready rejoinder; "and who but a pair of old
sobersides like you and Cousin Abby would sit here discoursing on
'logical connections,' while all this fun is going on? 'Logical
connection,' indeed!" she exclaimed merrily, with a saucy toss of her
curls.
"At any rate, those hilarious folks over yonder certainly appear to
care but little as to whence the custom originated or upon what
principle, logical or otherwise, it is perpetuated," Dudley added,
nodding towards the center of the barn, where a number of noisy boys
and girls were circling around Thomas Miles, who had just won the
championship, and was now claiming his reward from the lips of the
blushing, screaming, struggling, but by no means displeased, Mary Hitt.
"It is wonderful, isn't it," Abner continued, as Betsy danced away,
"how Betty always contrives to evade taking part in those detestable
kissing games, and yet maintains her popularity with all those boys and
girls? She's a rare combination--self-willed and impetuous, yet
big-hearted and lovable--and how pretty she is growing!"
"Pretty!" Abby exclaimed warmly. "She is more than pretty, she is
lovely; and there is a certain force and dignity about her, too, that
contrasts curiously with her piquant wit and coquettish ways. It would
be a bold man indeed who would attempt a familiarity with her."
Returning home after school one February afternoon, schoolmaster and
pupils found an unusual stir and commotion agitating the Rogers domain,
news having arrived that the neighbors would gather there that night
for a dance.
Soon after six o'clock, a loud hail from the stile block proclaimed the
first arrivals, a big sledload of merry folks. Others followed quickly,
until in half an hour the spacious family room was overflowing with
life and laughter and excited chatter. Hoods and wraps were quickly
thrown aside, rumpled dresses smoothed out, loosened ribbons
readjusted, refractory ringlets reduced to order, and presently the
sitting-room was deserted, and the entire company had assembled in the
loom-room across the yard, where the dance was to be held.
"Why do you wound me and slander yourself by such language?" Abner
Dudley asked, gloomily, in answer to Miss Patterson's request that he
leave her quietly in her corner, and choose some fairer, fresher,
merrier partner for the first dance. "I shall not dance at all unless
you favor me," he stoutly asserted.
"In that case, I suppose I must yield," Abby answered good-naturedly;
"I should hate to mar your pleasure of the first Kentucky dance you
ever attended," and she rose smilingly and took his arm.
A proud and happy man was Abner as they crossed the room to take their
places among the eager groups who were standing about impatiently
waiting while Mason Rogers fitted a new string to his fiddle.
"'Fairer than Rachel at the palmy well,
Fairer than Ruth amid the fields of corn,
Fair as the angel that said "hail," she seemed!'"
quoted Abner, bending his head to look into the face of the girl beside
him--the grandiloquence of the quotation and the blunt directness of
the flattery atoned for by the earnest sincerity of his voice and
glance.
Abby was indeed a fair and gracious vision as she stood there, straight
and lissome as a young palm-tree. The somber plainness of her winter
gown of dark merino and the soft, clinging texture of her muslin tucker
accentuated the delicate fairness of skin, the dainty perfection of
feature, and the exquisite beauty of the white throat. Her quiet,
rather pensive face was just now unusually animated, and the faint
sea-shell tint of her cheek was deepened into a glowing crimson.
"This homely scene is a contrast to that Assembly ball, isn't it?"
Dudley said presently; "and how different my position now from that of
the forlorn youth who that night stood afar off, gazing with useless
longing at the brilliant scene within the ballroom! Little did I then
dream that to-night in far-off Kentucky I should be leading the reel
with the peerless belle of that assembly."
"There stands the 'peerless belle' of this assembly," returned Miss
Patterson, looking across to Betsy Gilcrest, the center of a group of
boys and girls. "Dear little girl!" continued Abby; "she appears in her
airiest, sauciest mood to-night, and is clearly bent on enjoying life
to its fullest extent. No one holds her head so prettily as Betty; no
one laughs and chatters with such innocent gayety. Is she not
bewitching?"
A momentary look of vexation flitted across the young man's face. "What
is Betsy's witchery to me, and why does Abby always try to divert my
attention when I would give our conversation a personal meaning?" he
thought gloomily. "Of course," he admitted, glancing at Betsy with
reluctant admiration, "she is bright and winning, and extremely
attractive, at least to the youths of this community; but she is not
the rose, and I----"
"Ah! It is easy to see what is the attraction here for that bepowdered,
beruffled, fashionable swain, as well as for the Cane Ridge youths,"
Miss Patterson interrupted, as James Anson Drane presented himself
before Betsy, and bowed over her hand with a courtly grace befitting a
far more brilliant scene than this country dance in the old loom-room.
"Do you think she favors him?" asked Dudley, anxiously, a momentary
fierce pang of dislike or distrust or envy shivering through him as he
looked at the debonair young lawyer.
"At any rate," laughed Abby, "there can be no doubt of his intentions.
As for her," she continued, looking earnestly at Abner, "I have in mind
a far more suitable lover, who will, I hope, some day win that heart of
gold."
"Who is this fortunate one destined to 'win that heart of gold'?"
Dudley carelessly inquired, feeling but little interest just then in
any topic save that which concerned himself and the girl at his side.
"Do I know him?"
"Only slightly, I believe," Miss Patterson replied, looking down with a
demure smile; "not nearly so well as I hope you will some day."
Abner flushed warmly, and his pulse leaped high with hope; for he
interpreted the words to refer to a closer relationship between Abby
and himself. "Of course," he thought jubilantly, "I shall become well
acquainted with Betsy's prospective husband, when Abby shall have
accepted me."
"Whoever he may be," said Abner, heartily, "since he has your approval,
I wish him Godspeed with Betty; for," he added in a lower key, and
frowning slightly, as he looked at Mr. Drane, "I can not, for the life
of me, cordially like or trust yonder fine gentleman. But what about
this other lover for Betty?"
"At present," Abby answered with a meaning which Abner was far from
construing correctly, "he thinks his affections are centered in a far
less worthy object; and he is blind to his heart's best interests."
"Let us hope that this blind Romeo may soon be restored to sight,"
laughed Abner; "or else, that dear little Juliet yonder will be carried
off by some clearer-visioned wooer. But see, Mr. Rogers has at last
restrung that fiddle and tuned it to his notion; so now for our dance!"
No stately minuet or mincing cotillion was the order of the evening.
Instead, the "countre dance," the "gauntlet," the "four-handed
reel"--old-time, energetic country dancing--shook the rafters overhead,
and made the puncheon floor vibrate. Such jigging, such "cutting the
pigeon wing," such swinging corners! No languid, lazy gliding, but
hearty motion--up and down, round and round, faster and faster, as the
twinkling bow sawed across the strings to the tune of "Coon Dog," "Roxy
Ann," "Billy Batters," or "Niggah in the Cawnfield."
Rousing music it was--"enough," as Rube and Tom declared, "to mek even
a one-legged fellah git up an' hump hisse'f."
Mason Rogers at one end of the room, his eyes beaming, his face
shining, made the fiddle hum and sing. Interspersed with his music came
energetic promptings, "Balance all!" "Swing yer pardnahs!" "Ladies,
chain!" "Gals to the centah, an' boys all around!" Sometimes he
admonished some laggard or blunderer, "Hurry, thah, Sammy!" "Bill, to
the left!" his feet the while tapping the floor, and his body swaying
rhythmically as his right arm swung the bow and the fingers of his left
hand twinkled over the strings. A further incentive to merriment was
the excited admiration of the negroes gathered outside at doors and
windows--not only the darkeys of the Rogers household, but many from
neighboring domains as well--heads bobbing, eyes rolling, teeth
glistening, as their feet beat time on the frozen ground. Sometimes a
dusky swain caught some dusky maid around the waist and swung her
merrily; and all promised themselves "jes' sech a dance in the big
cabin, nex' Sat'day night, with Marse Bushrod Hinkson's Jake fur
fiddler."