I am going to try to describe to you something of the lives and homes
of your dear grandfather and of your great-grandfather, because I want
you to know something of them, because their mode of life was one of
which scarcely a vestige is left now, and because, finally, I don't
want you to be led into the misconception held by some that Southern
planters and slaveholders were cruel despots, and that the life of the
negro slaves on the plantation was one of misery and sorrow.
Before I enter upon my brief narrative I want you to realize that it
is all strictly true, being based upon my knowledge of facts; very
simple and homely in its details, but with the merit of entire
truthfulness.
Your great-grandfather, Thomas Pollock Devereux, and your grandfather,
John Devereux, were planters upon an unusually large scale in North
Carolina; together they owned eight large plantations and between
fifteen and sixteen hundred negroes. Their lands, situated in the rich
river bottoms of Halifax and Bertie counties, were very fertile, the
sale crops being corn, cotton, and droves of hogs, which were sent to
Southampton county, Virginia, for sale.
The names of your great-grandfather's plantations were Conacanarra,
Feltons, Looking Glass, Montrose, Polenta, and Barrows, besides a
large body of land in the counties of Jones and Hyde. His residence
was at Conacanarra, where the dwelling stood upon a bluff commanding a
fine view of the Roanoke river, and, with the pretty house of the head
overseer, the small church, and other minor buildings, looked like a
small village beneath the great elms and oaks.
Your grandfather's principal plantation, and our winter home, was
Runiroi, in Bertie county. The others were "The Lower Plantation" and
"Over the Swamp." At Runiroi we lived and called ourselves at home,
and of it I have preserved the clearest recollection and the fondest
memories.
From Kehukee bluff, which we usually visited while waiting for the
ferryman on our return journey after the summer's absence, the
plantation could be seen stretching away into the distance, hemmed in
by the flat-topped cypresses. From there we had a view of our distant
dwelling, gleaming white in the sunlight and standing in a green oasis
of trees and grass, all looking wonderfully small amid the expanse of
flat fields around it. Apart as I now am from the restless,
never-ending push of life, when neither men nor women have time for
leisure, when even pleasure and amusement are reduced to a business
calculation as to how much may be squeezed into a given time, I think
it might perhaps calm down some of the nervous restlessness that I
perceive in my dear children and grandchildren if they could, for
once, stand there in the soft November sunshine. The splendor of the
light is veiled in a golden haze, the brown fields bask in the soft
radiance and seem to quiver in the heat, while the ceaseless murmur
of the great river is like a cradle song to a sleepy child; the rattle
of the old ferryman's chain and the drowsy squeak of his long sweeps
seem even to augment the stillness. The trees along the banks appear
to lack the energy to hang out the brilliant reds and purples of
autumn, but tint their leaves with the soft shades of palest yellow,
and these keep dropping and floating away, while the long gray moss
waves dreamily in the stillness.
The house at Runiroi was a comfortable, old, rambling structure, in a
green yard and flower garden, not ugly, but quite innocent of any
pretensions at comeliness. Neither was there, to many, a bit of
picturesque beauty in the flat surroundings; and yet this very
flatness _did_ lend a charm peculiar to itself. My eyes ever found a
delight in its purple distances and in the great, broad-armed trees
marking the graceful curves of the river. The approach from the public
road, which followed the bank of the river, was through the "willow
lane," between deep-cut ditches, which kept the roadway well drained
unless the river overspread its banks, when the lane was often
impassable for days. In the springtime, when the tender green boughs
of the willows were swayed by the breeze, it was a lovely spot, and a
favorite resort of the children.
I was so young a bride, only seventeen, when I was taken to our winter
home, and so inexperienced, that I felt no dread whatever of my new
duties as mistress. The household comforts of my childhood's home had
seemed to come so spontaneously that I never thought of _processes_,
and naturally felt rather nonplussed when brought into contact with
realities. The place had for years been merely a sort of camping-out
place for your great-grandfather, who liked to spend a part of the
winter there; so the house was given over to servants who made him
comfortable, but who took little heed of anything else.
I recollect my antipathy to a certain old press which stood in the
back hall. The upper part was filled with books. In the under
cupboard, Minerva kept pies, gingerbread, plates of butter, etc. The
outside looked very dim and dusty. I could not bear to look at it,
but knew not how to remedy its defects. I know now that it was a
handsome old piece, which a furniture-lover would delight in. However,
my youthful appetite did not scorn Minerva's gingerbread, and, as I
had many lonely hours to get through with as best I could, I would
mount the highest chair that I could find, and ransack the old musty
volumes in search of amusement. The collection consisted chiefly of
antiquated medical works, some tracts, etc., but once, to my delight,
I unearthed two of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels, which were indeed a
treasure trove; one of them was "Gaston de Blondeville," which I
thought beautiful. I have regretted that I did not take care of it,
for I have never seen another copy.
Minerva was a woman of pretty good sense, but of slatternly habits.
She had been so long without a lady to guide her that her original
training was either forgotten or entirely disregarded. Once, when
starting to Conacanarra for Christmas, I charged her to take advantage
of the fine weather to give the passage floors a thorough scrubbing;
they were bare and showed every footprint of black mud from the
outside. When it came time to return, in spite of our pleasant
Christmas week, we were glad to think of our own home and were rather
dismayed when the morning fixed for our departure broke dark and very
cold, with little spits of snow beginning to fall. I was much afraid
that we should be compelled to yield to the hospitable objections to
our going, but at last we succeeded in getting off. We crossed at
Pollock's (your great-grandfather's ferry), so that should the storm
increase we need not leave our comfortable carriage until we should be
at home. It was a lonely drive; the snow fell steadily but so gently
that I enjoyed seeing the earth and the trees, the fences and the few
lonely houses that we passed all draped in white; though we were
warmly wrapped, the anticipation of the crackling fires in our great
old fireplaces was delightful. When we got home, the first sound that
greeted our ears, as we stepped upon the piazza, was a mournful,
long-drawn hymn. Shivering and damp from our walk up the yard, we
opened the door, to see Minerva, with kilted skirts, standing in an
expanse of frozen slush and singing at the top of her voice, while she
sluiced fresh deluges of water from her shuck brush. I was too
disgusted for words, but resolved that this should not occur again. As
soon as I could communicate with the outside world I had the hall
floors covered with oilcloth (then the fashionable covering). Also,
Minerva was displaced, and Phyllis reigned in her stead, but Minerva,
nevertheless, always indulged in the belief that she was indispensable
to our happiness and comfort.
In honor of my advent as mistress, the floors had been freshly
carpeted with very pretty bright carpets, which were in danger of
being utterly ruined by the muddy shoes of the raw plantation
servants, recently brought in to be trained for the house. Although
the soil generally was a soft, sandy loam, I observed in my horseback
rides numbers of round stones scattered about in the fields. They were
curious stones, and looked perfectly accidental and quite out of
place. Their presence excited my interest, and aroused my curiosity
as to their origin, which has never been gratified. They seemed so out
of place in those flat fields! However, I determined to utilize them
and had a number collected and brought into the yard, and with them I
had a pretty paved walk made from the house to the kitchen.
Our house stood upon what was known as the "Second Land," which meant
a slight rise above the wide, low grounds, which were formerly, I
believe, the bed of the sluggish stream now known as the Roanoke. All
along the edge of these Second Lands, just where they joined the low
grounds, there was a bed of beautiful small gravel. I was delighted
when I discovered this and at once interested myself in having a
gravel walk made up to the front of the house, and this was, when
completed, all that I had hoped, and served as a perfect protection
against the offending mud.
There was one evil, though, which I could not guard against, and this
was the clumsy though well-meaning stupidity of a plantation negro.
One afternoon the house became offensive with the odor of burning
wool. I followed up the scent and, after opening several doors, I
finally traced it to the dining-room. It was filled with smoke, and
there, in front of an enormous fire, squatted Abby. In a fit of most
unaccountable industry she had undertaken to clean the brass andirons,
and had drawn them red hot from the fire and placed them upon the
carpet. Of course, four great holes were the result and, as the
carpets had been made in New York, there were no pieces with which the
holes could be mended. As I had already decided her to be too stupid
to be worth the trouble of training, I felt no desire to find fault
with her, so I merely told her to put them back, or rather stood by to
see it done. I did not keep her in the house after that, but do not
suppose that she ever at all realized the mischief that she had done.
One of my amusements was to watch the birds; they were so numerous,
and appeared to be so tame. I set traps for them. This was childish,
but I was very young and often rather at a loss to find something to
do; so I used to take with me my small house boy, "Minor," whom I was
training to be a grand butler; he would carry the trap and, after it
had been set and baited, I would make him guide me to the trees where
the sweetest persimmons grew; there I would while away the morning and
on the next we would find one or more birds fluttering in the trap,
which, to Minor's silent disgust, I would set free.
The squirrels, too, were a pleasure to me in my horseback rides toward
Vine Ridge, especially. Your grandfather and I would pause to watch
them playing hide and seek just like children, scampering round and
round, their pretty gray tails waving, until some noise would send
them out of sight, and the silent forest would seem as if no living
thing were near. It was upon one of these rides that your grandfather
told me how, when he was about twelve years old, and spending his
Christmas holidays at Runiroi with his grandfather, he once said that
he could shoot one hundred squirrels between sunrise and sunset. His
uncle, George Pollock Devereux, happened to hear him and rebuked him
sharply for so idle a boast, and when your dear grandfather manfully
stood his ground, saying that it was not an idle boast, his uncle
called him a vain braggart, which so offended your grandfather that he
told his uncle that he would prove the truth of his assertion. And so,
upon the following morning, he rose early and was at Vine Ridge gun in
hand, ready to make his first shot, as soon as the sun should appear.
The squirrels were very numerous at first, and he made great havoc
among them. Many a mile he tramped that day, scanning with eager eyes
the trees above him, in search of the little gray noses, hidden behind
the branches, and thus it happened that he got many a fall and tumble
among the cypress knees; but what did that matter to his young limbs?
he had only to pick himself up again and tramp on. As the day
advanced, fewer little bright eyes peeped from the tree-tops and his
number was not made up; he was getting tired too, and very hungry, for
he had eaten nothing since his early breakfast. He stumbled wearily
on, however, determined not to fail, for he dreaded his uncle's
triumphant sarcasm should he do so. A few more shots brought his
number to ninety-nine, but where was the one-hundredth to be found?
The sun was sinking to the horizon; he had come out from the swamp and
was tramping homeward; the gun, so light in the morning, now weighed
like lead upon his shoulder. As he looked into every tree for that
hundredth squirrel which could not be found, the sun's disk was
resting upon the horizon when he turned into the willow lane leading
to the house. Just at the entrance there stood a great chestnut oak.
This was his last chance. He paused to take one hopeless look, when,
to his unspeakable joy, he beheld a fox squirrel seated up among the
branches. Now he knew that the fox squirrel was the slyest, as well as
the shyest of all his kind; no creature so expert as he in slipping
out of range; there would be no chance for a second shot, for now only
a rim of the sun was left. With a wildly beating heart he raised his
gun, took time to aim well,--fired,--and down came his hundredth
squirrel. His wager was won; fatigue and hunger all gone, he hastened
gayly home and with pride emptied his bag before his uncle and his
delighted old grandfather, who loved him above everything, and who
finally made him his heir, so that your grandfather was quite
independent of his own father.
When I first became acquainted with the plantation, the sale crop was
taken down to Plymouth in a great old scow, but this was afterward
superseded by the introduction of freight steamers, which took the
produce direct to Norfolk. These steamers proved to be a great comfort
and convenience to us. By them we might receive anything that we
desired from Norfolk, of which the things most enjoyed were packages
of books,--Vickry and Griffiths, booksellers, having standing orders
to send at their discretion what they thought desirable, besides the
special orders for what we wished to see.
The advent of a steamer at the landing would cause much pleasurable
excitement. If anything of special interest was expected, the first
puff of steam from down the river would be eagerly examined through
the spy-glass. Then would follow several days of busy life down at
the different barns from which the corn was to be shipped. Before the
introduction of the corn-sheller, the corn was beaten from the cob by
men wielding great sticks, or flails; others raked the grain into an
immense pile; from this pile it was measured by select hands and put
into bags, which were carried to the steamer lying at the landing. The
men who measured and kept the tally maintained a constant song or
chant, and designated the _tally_, or fifth bushel, by a sort of yell.
The overseer stood by with pencil and book and scored down each tally
by a peculiar mark. The constant stream of men running back and forth,
with bags empty or full, made a very busy scene.
After the corn had been shipped, the boat had steamed down the river,
and the place, lately so full of busy life, had returned to its
accustomed quiet seclusion, the redbirds came to peck up the corn left
upon the ground. I remember how once, upon a cold, gray afternoon, I
put on my wraps and ran down to the Sycamore Barn, on purpose to
watch the shy, beautiful things. Snowflakes were beginning to fall and
whisper about the great bamboo vines; twisted around the trees upon
the river banks, the long gray moss hung motionless and a thick
grayness seemed to shut out the whole world; all about me was
gray,--earth, sky, trees, barn, everything, except the redbirds and
the red berries of a great holly tree under whose shelter I stood,
listening to the whispering snowflakes.
The Sycamore Barn derived its name from a great sycamore tree near
which it stood. This tree was by far the largest that I ever saw; a
wagon with a four-horse team might be on one side, and quite concealed
from any one standing upon the other. When I knew it, it was a ruin,
the great trunk a mere shell, though the two giant forks,--themselves
immense in girth--still had life in them. In one side of the trunk was
an opening, about as large as an ordinary door; through this we used
to enter, and I have danced a quadrille of eight within with perfect
ease.
This tree gave its name to the field in which it grew, which formed
part of the tract known as the Silver Wedge. It was about the Silver
Wedge that an acrimonious lawsuit was carried on during the lives of
your great-great-grandparents, John and Frances Devereux. She was a
Pollock, and the dispute arose through a Mr. Williams, the son or
grandson of a certain Widow Pollock, who had, after the death of her
first husband, Major Pollock, married a Mr. Williams. She may possibly
have dowered in this Silver Wedge tract. At any rate, her Williams
descendants set up a claim to it, although it was in possession of the
real Pollock descendant, Frances Devereux. It was a large body of very
rich land, and intersected the plantation in the form of a wedge,
beginning near the Sycamore Barn, and running up far into the Second
Lands, widening and embracing the dwelling-house and plantation
buildings. I have heard your great-great-grandfather laugh and tell
how Williams once came to the house, and, with a sweeping bow and
great assumption of courtesy, made your great-great-grandmother
welcome to remain in _his_ house. After the suit had been settled,
Williams had occasion to come again to the house, feeling, no doubt,
rather crestfallen. Mrs. Devereux met him at the door and, making him
a sweeping curtsy, quoted his exact words, making him welcome to _her_
house.
One of my pleasant memories is connected with our fishing porch. This
was a porch, or balcony, built upon piles driven into the river upon
one side, and the other resting upon the banks. It was raised some
eight or ten feet above the water and protected by a strong railing or
balustrade and shaded by the overhanging branches of a large and
beautiful hackberry tree. It made an ideal lounging-place, upon a soft
spring afternoon, when all the river banks were a mass of tender
green, and the soft cooing of doves filled the air. We usually took
Minor with us to bait our hooks and assist generally, and often went
home by starlight with a glorious string of fish.
The drawback to the plantations upon the lower Roanoke lay in their
liability to being flooded by the freshets to which the Roanoke was
exposed. These were especially to be dreaded in early spring, when
the snow in the mountains was melting. I have known freshets in March
to inundate the country for miles. At one time there was not a foot of
dry land upon one of the Runiroi plantations. It was upon a mild night
in that month that I sat upon the porch nearly all through the night,
feeling too anxious to sleep, for your grandfather, the overseer, and
every man on the plantation were at the river, working upon the
embankments. The back waters from the swamp had already spread over
everything. This gentle and slow submersion did no great damage, when
there was no growing crop to be injured; the thing to be guarded
against was the breaking of the river dam and the consequent rushing
in of such a flood as would wash the land into enormous holes, or
"breakovers," of several acres in extent in some places, or make great
sand ledges in others, to say nothing of the destruction of fences,
the drowning of stock, etc. On the night that I speak of, the moon was
at its full and glittered upon the water, rippling all around where
dry land should have been. I sat listening anxiously and occasionally
shuddering at a sharp cracking noise, like a pistol shot, and,
following upon it, the rushing of water into some plantation up the
river. Once in the night I heard a noise and, upon my calling to know
who it was, a man replied that they had come up in a canoe to get some
water. I could not help laughing; it struck me that water was rather
too plentiful just then. They worked upon the dam until there was no
more material to work with, water being level with the top on both
sides and only a foot of standing-room at the top, so, having done all
that they could, all hands took to canoes and went to their homes.
That "March freshet" did incalculable damage to the whole region, but
still fine crops were made that season. Your grandfather was
indefatigable while anything could be done, but, having done all that
human energy could, he would resign himself cheerfully to the
inevitable, and his family never were saddened by depression on his
part. This wonderful elasticity was most noticeable at the fearful
period of the surrender and, indeed, through all the succeeding
years, when this power of his, despite all of our losses and
anxieties, made our life one of great happiness.
When, during the winter months, a moderate freshet meant nothing more
serious than the flooding of the low grounds, it was considered rather
a benefit, owing to the rich deposit left upon the land, besides the
advantages gained in floating out lumber from the swamps. This March
freshet caused great pecuniary loss; new dams had to be constructed at
a heavy expense, and many miles of repairing had to be done to those
left standing. The few days before the water had reached its height
were most trying to the nerves (that is, my nerves). I believe my
fears culminated upon the night that I saw the water rippling over our
own doorstep and realized that there was not a foot of dry land
visible for miles; by morning, though, the river was "at a stand," and
by evening little spots of green were showing themselves in the yard
and garden.
The word garden recalls to my memory our pretty garden, a most
beautiful continuation of the smooth green yard, its many alleys
bordered with flowers and flowering shrubs. It was, I own, laid out in
a stiff, old-fashioned manner, very different from the present and far
more picturesque style; still, it was charming,--the profusion of
flowers, fed by that wonderful river loam, exceeded anything that I
have ever seen elsewhere. In the springtime, what with the flowers,
the beautiful butterflies, and the humming-birds, the sunny air would
actually seem to quiver with color and life.
Every plantation had a set of buildings which included generally the
overseer's house, ginhouse, screw, barn, stable, porkhouse,
smokehouse, storehouse, carpenter's shop, blacksmith shop, and
loomhouse, where the material for clothing for each plantation was
woven,--white cloth for the underclothes, and very pretty striped or
checked for outer garments. At Runiroi, the weaver, Scip, was a
first-class workman, and very proud of his work. I often had sets of
very pretty towels woven in a damask pattern of mixed flax and cotton.
The winter clothing was of wool, taken from our own sheep.
The carpenters at Runiroi were Jim, the head carpenter, Austin, and
Bill, who were all good workmen. Frank, "Boat Frank," as he was
called, from having formerly served as captain of the old
flat-bottomed scow which carried the sale crop to Plymouth, was also
in the shop and did beautiful work. I was fond of visiting Jim's shop
and ordering all sorts of wooden ware, pails, piggins, trays, etc.;
these last, dug out of bowl-gum, were so white that they looked like
ivory. Boat Frank was very proud of the smoothness and polish of his
trays. Our children, with their mammy, were fond of visiting "Uncle
Jim's" shop and playing with such tools as he considered safe for them
to handle, while Mammy, seated upon a box by the small fire, would
indulge in long talks about religion or plantation gossip. That shop
was indeed a typical spot; its sides were lined to the eaves with
choice lumber, arranged systematically so that the green was out of
reach, while that which was seasoned was close at hand. Uncle Jim
would have felt disgraced had a piece of work made of unseasoned wood
left his shop. The smoke from the small fire which burned in the
middle of the big shop, upon the dirt floor, escaped in faint blue
wreaths through the roof, leaving behind it a sweet, pungent odor. The
sun streamed in at the wide-open door, while Jim and Frank tinkered
away leisurely upon plough handles and other implements or household
articles.
Uncle Jim was a preacher as well as a carpenter. He was quite superior
to most of his race, both in sense and principle and was highly
thought of by both white and black. Upon two Sundays in each month he
preached in the church and his sermons were quite remarkable, teaching
in his homely way the necessity of honesty and obedience. His
companion in the shop, Boat Frank, was of a more worldly nature, and
wore great golden hoops in his ears and a red woolen cap upon his
head, and resembled an elderly and crafty ape, as he sat chipping away
at his work.
Next came the blacksmith shop, where Bob wielded the great hammer and
grinned with childish delight at seeing the children's enjoyment when
the sparks flew.
After the blacksmith's shop came the loomhouse, where Scip, the
little fat weaver, threw the shuttles and beat up the homespun cloth
from morning till night; there, too, were the warping-bars, the
winding-blades, and the little quilling-wheel, at which a boy or girl
would fill the quills to be in readiness for the shuttles. Scip was an
odd figure, with his short legs, and his woolly hair combed out until
his head looked as big as a bushel.
The dwellings of the negroes were quite a distance from the "Great
House," as that of the master was called, and were built in two or
more long rows with a street between. This was the plan upon every
plantation. Each house had a front and back piazza, and a garden,
which was cultivated or allowed to run wild according to the thrift of
the residents. It generally was stocked with peach and apple trees,
and presented a pretty picture in spring, when the blue smoke from the
houses curled up to the sky amid the pink blossoms, while the drowsy
hum of a spinning-wheel seemed to enhance the quiet of the peaceful
surroundings.
The church at Runiroi was large and comfortably furnished with seats;
colored texts were upon the walls, and the bell, which summoned the
people on Sunday mornings, swung amid the branches of a giant oak.
Both your great-grandfather and grandfather employed a chaplain. At
Runiroi, he officiated only upon alternate Sundays, as the people
liked best to listen to Carpenter Jim. It used to be a pretty sight
upon a Sunday morning to see the people, all dressed in their clean
homespun clothes, trooping to church, laughing and chattering until
they reached the door, when they immediately would assume the deepest
gravity and proceed at once to groan and shake themselves more and
more at every prayer. The singing would often sound very sweet at a
distance, although I must confess that I never sympathized in the
admiration of the negro's voice.
Of course, like all other laboring classes, the negroes had to work,
and of course, as they had not the incentive of poverty, discipline
was necessary. They knew that they would be housed, clothed and well
fed whether they earned these comforts or not; so, in order to insure
diligence, reliable men were chosen from among them as assistants to
the white overseers; these were called "foremen," and were looked up
to with respect by their fellows. Upon every large plantation there
was also a Foreman Plower, his business being to take the lead and see
that the plowing was well done and that the plow horses were not
maltreated. With the settled men this was unnecessary, but it was very
needful with the younger hands. These colored foremen were, in their
turn, subject to the overseers, who, in turn, if not found to be
temperate and reliable, were dismissed. Upon well-ordered plantations
punishments were rare, I may say unknown, except to the half-grown
youths. Negroes, being somewhat lacking in moral sense or fixed
principles, are singularly open to the influence of example; and thus
it was that a few well-ordered elders would give a tone to the whole
plantation, while the evil influences of one ill-disposed character
would be equally pronounced.
The plantations of which I am speaking were singularly remote, being
so surrounded by other large plantations that they were exempt from
all outside and pernicious influences. The one or two country stores
at which the negroes traded might have furnished whiskey, had not
those who kept them stood too much in awe of the planters to incur the
risk of their displeasure. As the town of Halifax could boast of
several little stores, and was the trading post of Feltons,
Conacanara, and Montrose, your great-grandfather, in order to prevent
the evils of promiscuous trading, caused certain coins to be struck
off, of no value except to the one merchant with whom his people were
allowed to trade.
Perhaps you will be surprised to know how important to the country
merchants was the trade of a plantation, so I will explain to you of
what it consisted. Of course, a few of the careless, content with the
abundance provided for them, did not care to accumulate, while others,
naturally thrifty, amassed a good deal from the sale of otter, coon,
mink, and other skins of animals trapped. Then, some owned as many as
thirty beehives. One old woman, known as "Honey Beck," once hauled
thirty or more gallons of honey to Halifax and back again, the whole
distance (twenty-five miles), rather than take a low price for it.
Besides skins, honey, and beeswax, eggs and poultry were always
salable. One of my necessities in housekeeping was a bag of small
change, and, as I never refused to take what was brought to me, my
pantry was often so overstocked with eggs and my coops with ducks and
chickens, that it was a hard matter to know how to consume them.
The beautiful white shad, now so highly prized in our markets, were
then a drug. It was the prettiest sight in the early dawn of a spring
morning to see the fishermen skimming down the broad river with their
dip-nets poised for a catch. My opportunities for seeing them at that
early hour were from my bedroom window, when I happened to be visiting
the family at Conacanara. Our home at Runiroi stood some distance from
the river, but the dwelling at Conacanara was upon a bluff just over
the stream.
Beside the sale crops of cotton and corn, sweet potatoes were raised
in large quantities for the negroes, to which they were allowed to
help themselves without stint, also a summer patch of coarse
vegetables such as they liked.
The regular food furnished consisted of corn meal, bacon or pickled
pork, varied with beef in the autumn, when the beeves were fat, salt
fish with less meat when desired, molasses, dried peas and pumpkins
without stint (I mean the peas and pumpkins). I don't suppose any
laboring class ever lived in such plenty.
A woman with a family of children always had the use of a cow, the
only proviso being that she should look after the calf and see that it
did not suffer, for your grandfather was particular about his ox
teams; they were the finest that I ever saw, and were well
blooded,--Holstein for size and Devon for speed and activity.
Our dairy was very pretty; it was built of immense square logs, with a
paved brick floor, and great broad shelves all around. The roof was
shaded by hackberry trees, and the grass around it was like velvet,
so thick and green. Old Aunt Betty, who was the dairy woman until she
grew too infirm, was the neatest creature imaginable; she wore the
highest of turbans, and her clothes were spotless. She took the
greatest pride in her dairy; for milk vessels she used great
calibashes with wooden covers, and, as they naturally were absorbent,
it was necessary to sun one set while another was in use. She kept
them beautifully, and the milk and butter were delicious.
There was a man upon the plantation called "Shoe Joe," or "Gentleman
Joe." He had, when a young man, been body-servant to his young master
George, your great-grandfather's brother. I never in my life have seen
finer manners than Joe's, so deeply respectful, and so full of
courtesy. Notwithstanding his really fine deportment, Joe's nature was
low and mean, and something that he did so offended his young master
that, to Joe's great disgust, he was remanded back to the plantation
and field work. In consequence of this, he always bore his young
master a grudge, which, of course, he kept to himself. Once, however,
he made some disrespectful speech before old Betty, who was devoted to
her Master George, and this so offended her that she never again spoke
to Joe, nor allowed him to make her shoes, though this last was more
from fear than vindictiveness. For Shoe Joe was suspected of being a
trick negro, and of possessing the power so to trick his work as to
cause the death of any one wearing his products. Nothing was
productive of more evil upon a plantation than was the existence upon
it of a "Trick" or "Goomer" negro; and so insidious was their
influence, and so secret their machinations, that, though suspected,
it was impossible to prove anything, for, although detested by their
fellows, fear kept the latter silent. Nothing would cause such abject
terror as the discovery of an odd-looking bundle, wrapped and wrapped
with strands of horse-hair, secreted beneath the steps, or laid in an
accustomed path. Instantly after such a discovery the person for whom
it was meant would begin to pine away, and, unless some counter spell
were discovered, death would ensue. These occurrences, fortunately,
were rare, but if the thing once took root upon a plantation, it
wrought much evil in various ways. Joe was suspected of these evil
practices, and, though a wonderfully capable man at all kinds of work,
and a most accomplished courtier, was always looked upon with
suspicion. His death was sudden, and the people firmly believed that
he had made a compact with the devil, that the term had expired, and
that Satan had met him in the woods and broken his neck. He was a
tall, finely formed man, as black as ebony, and his movements always
reminded me of a serpent.
Negroes, even in these days of school education, retain many of their
superstitions, though ashamed to own it. One of their beliefs was that
the word _you_ meant the devil's wife, and it was insulting to address
any one by that word. To one another it was always _yinna_. So marked
was this custom that the negroes of that section were known as the
yinna negroes. This word, though, was never used toward their
superiors, who were invariably addressed in the third person. Manuel
was rather a common name among them; there were always two or three
Manuels upon every plantation, and one was always called "Hoodie
Manuel." No one could ever discover what this meant; perhaps they did
not know themselves, though I am rather inclined to think that it was
a superstitious observance, understood, perhaps, only by a select few.
I think it must have had some sort of significance, as it was never
omitted. As soon as one Hoodie Manuel died, another Manuel assumed the
title, though not always the oldest.
It was not required of a woman with a large family to do field work.
Such women had their regular tasks of spinning allotted to them,
sufficiently light to allow ample time to take care of their houses
and children. The younger women (unless delicate) left their children
in a day nursery in charge of an elderly woman who was caretaker.
Usually they preferred field work, as being more lively; but if one
disliked it, she usually soon contrived to be classed among the
spinners.
When, occasionally, I happened to go to any of the houses, often
quite unexpectedly, I can assert truthfully that I never, in a single
instance, saw dirt or squalor in one of them. The floors were clean,
the beds comfortable, with white and wonderfully clean blankets.
Everything, though very homely, with clumsy benches and tables, looked
white and thoroughly clean. I remember hearing your grandfather speak
of once going at breakfast time to a house to visit a sick child. The
man of the house was seated at a small table while his wife served
him. The table was covered with an immaculately clean homespun cloth,
and coffee, in a tin pot shining with scrubbing, either sugar or
molasses, I forget which, a dish of beautifully fried bacon and
hoe-cakes, fresh from the fire, constituted his plain but most
abundant meal.
Separation of families has ever been a favorite plea for the abolition
of slavery, and I admit that in theory it was a plausible argument;
and justice compels me to say that such instances, though rare, were
not unknown. As a rule, however, family ties were respected, and
when, through the settlement of an estate, such separations seemed
impending, they were usually prevented by some agreement between the
parties; for instance, if a negro man had married a woman belonging to
another planter, a compromise was generally effected by the purchase
of one of the parties, regardless of self-interest on the part of the
owners. Thus families were kept together without regard to any
pecuniary loss. Public sentiment was against the severing of family
ties.
Before I close this little sketch I will tell you as well as I can the
outline of plantation work.
With the beginning of a new year, the crop being all housed, the sale
corn being stored in large barns or cribs on the river banks, and the
cotton either being sold or kept for better prices, the plowing,
ditching, and, when the swamps were full, the floating out of timber,
were all carried on with great diligence. At Christmas, when all the
clothing, shoes, and Kilmarnock caps had been given out to the
ditchers, high waterproof boots were distributed. It was the custom
to allow to every man who desired it a bit of land, upon which, in his
spare time, to cultivate a small crop, for which he was paid the
market price. Christmas was the usual day chosen for settling these
accounts, and the broad piazza was full of happy, grinning black faces
gathered around the table at which the master sat, with his
account-book and bags of specie. A deep obeisance and a scrape of the
foot accompanied each payment, and many a giggle was given to the lazy
one whose small payment testified to his indolence. What a contrast
between those happy, sleek, laughing faces and the sullen, careworn,
ill-fed ones of now! In the early springtime, what was known as the
"trash-gang," that is, boys and girls who had never worked, were set
to clearing up fences, knocking down cotton stalks, and burning small
trash piles.
I pause here to say that, the woodlands being a long distance from the
quarters, the supply of fuel was a serious question, and when there
was a threat of snow or increasing cold, every man would be employed
in cutting or hauling a supply of fuel to the houses.
Planting time began with the middle of March. In August the crops were
"laid by." The three days' holiday began with the slaughter of pigs
and beeves, in preparation for the annual dinner upon every
plantation. After holiday came the fodder-pulling, a job hated by all,
especially by overseer and master, as the drenching dews and the hot
sun combined to make much sickness. This work was never begun until
late in the morning, but even after the sun had shone upon the fields,
the people would be drenched in dew to their waists. Next, the
whitening fields told that cotton-picking must begin, and, later on, a
killing frost upon the already browning shucks sent the great wagons
to the fields, where the corn-gatherers, with sharp needles tied to
their wrists, ripped open the tough shucks and let loose the
well-hardened ears of grain. As each field became stripped, stock
would be turned in to feast upon the peas and pumpkins.
With winter came that period of bliss to the soul of Cuffee, namely,
the hog-killing, when even the smallest urchin might revel in grease
and fresh meat.
If eyesight permitted, I might tell you some tales of plantation
doings which might perhaps amuse you, but I have said enough to give
you some idea of the old Southern life. All that I have said is within
bounds, but, after all, I fear I have not been able to give you an
adequate idea of the peacefulness and abundance of life upon a great
plantation.