THE GREAT MILL PICNIC.
The rates of ferriage were fixed at twenty-five cents for a team,
fifteen cents for a man on horseback, ten cents for a single animal,
and five cents for a foot-passenger. Two cards, with these rates neatly
printed on them by Ruth in large letters, were tacked up on the
anchorage posts, so that passengers might not have any chance to
dispute with the ferryman, or "superintendent of ferries," as he liked
to be called.
Leaving him in charge of the boat--for he was not yet strong enough for
more active work--and leaving Mr. March at work upon the house, Mr.
Elmer, Mark, Jan, and four colored men, taking the mules with them, set
out bright and early on Tuesday morning for the mill, to begin work on
the dam.
They found the pond empty, and exposing a large surface of black mud
studded with the stumps of old trees, and the stream from the sulphur
spring rippling along merrily in a channel it had cut for itself
through the broken portion of the dam. While two men were set to
digging a new channel for this stream, so as to lead it through the
sluice-way, and leave the place where the work was to be done free from
water, the others began to cut down half a dozen tall pines, and hew
them into squared timbers.
A deep trench was dug along the whole length of the broken part of the
dam for a foundation, and into this was lowered one of the great
squared timbers, forty feet long, that had six mortice-holes cut in its
upper side. Into these holes were set six uprights, each ten feet long,
and on top of these was placed as a stringer, another forty-foot
timber. To this framework was spiked, on the inside, a close sheathing
of plank. Heavy timber braces, the outer ends of which were let into
mud-sills set in trenches dug thirty feet outside the dam, were sunk
into the stringer, and the work of filling in with earth on the inside
was begun. In two weeks the work was finished; the whole dam had been
raised and strengthened, the floodgates were closed, and the pond began
slowly to fill up.
In the mean time the saw-mill machinery had been bought, the frame for
the saw-mill had been cut and raised, and Mr. March, having finished
the repairs on the house, was busy setting up the machinery and putting
it in order.
By the middle of February, or six weeks after the Elmers had landed in
Wakulla, their influence had become very decidedly felt in the
community. With their building, fencing, ploughing, and clearing, they
had given employment to most of the working population of the place,
and had put more money into circulation than had been seen there at any
one time for years. Their house was now as neat and pretty as any in
the county. The ten-acre field in front was ploughed, fenced, and
planted, half in corn and half--no, not with orange-trees, but half was
set out with young cabbage-plants; a homely crop, but one which Mr.
Elmer had been advised would bring in good returns. The ferry was
running regularly and was already much used by travellers from
considerable distances on both sides of the river. The mill was
finished and ready for business, and the millpond, instead of a mud
flat, was a pretty sheet of water, fringed with palms and other
beautiful trees. Above all, Mr. Elmer's health had so improved that he
said he felt like a young man again, and able to do any amount of
outdoor work.
One Sunday morning after all this had been accomplished, Mr. Elmer
announced to the Sunday-school that on the following Wednesday a grand
picnic would be given in a pine grove midway between the Elmer Mill and
the big sulphur spring, that the ferry would be run free all that day,
and that all were cordially invited to come and enjoy themselves. He
also said that the Elmer Mill would be opened for business on that day,
and would grind, free of charge, one bushel of corn for every family in
Wakulla who should bring it with them.
This announcement created such a buzz of excitement that it was well it
had not been made until after the exercises of the morning were over,
for there could certainly have been no more Sunday-school that day.
For the next two days the picnic was the all-absorbing topic of
conversation, and wonderful stories were told and circulated of the
quantities of goodies that were being made in the "Go Bang" kitchen.
Aunt Chloe was frequently interviewed, and begged to tell exactly how
much of these stories might be believed; but the old woman only shook
her gayly turbaned head, and answered,
"You's gwine see, chillun! you's gwine see; only jes' hab pashuns, an'
you's gwine be 'warded by sich a sight ob fixin's as make yo' tink ole
times back come, sho nuff."
At last the eagerly expected morning dawned, and though a thick fog hid
one bank of the river from the other, sounds of active stir and bustle
announced to each community that the other was making ready for the
great event.
By nine o'clock the fog had lifted, and the sun shone out bright and
warm. Before this Jan and the mules had made several trips between the
house and the mill, each time with a heavy wagon load of--something.
Mr. Elmer, Mr. March, and Mark had gone to the mill as soon as
breakfast was over, and had not been seen since.
Aunt Chloe had been bustling about her kitchen "sence de risin' ob de
mo'nin' star," and was, in her own estimation, the most important
person on the place that day. As for Bruce he was wild with excitement,
and dashed at full speed from the house to the mill, and back again,
barking furiously, and trying to tell volumes of, what seemed to him,
important news.
As soon as the fog lifted, the horn on the opposite side of the river
began to blow impatient summonses for the "superintendent of ferries,"
and busy times immediately began for Frank.
What funny loads of black people he brought over! Old gray-headed
uncles, leaning on canes, who told stories of "de good ole times long
befo' de wah"; middle-aged men and women who rejoiced in the present
good times of freedom, and comical little pickaninnies, who looked
forward with eagerness to the good times to come to them within an hour
or so.
And then the teams, the queer home-made carts, most of them drawn by a
single steer or cow hitched into shafts, in which the bushels of corn
were brought; for everybody who could obtain a bushel of corn had taken
Mr. Elmer at his word, and brought it along to be ground free of charge.
One of the men, after seeing his wife and numerous family of children
safely on board the boat, went up to Frank with a beaming face, and
said,
"Misto Frank, I'se bought a ok. Dar he is hitched into dat ar kyart,
an' oh! he do plough splendid!"
The "ok," which poor Joe thought was the proper singular of "oxes," as
he would have called a pair of them, was a meek-looking little
creature, harnessed to an old two-wheeled cart by a perfect tangle of
ropes and chains. He was so small that even Frank, accustomed as he was
to the ways of the country, almost smiled at the idea of its "ploughing
splendid."
He didn't, though; for honest Joe was waiting to hear his purchase
praised, and Frank praised it by saying it was one of the handsomest
oxen of its size he had ever seen. Joe was fully satisfied with this,
and when the boat reached the other side, hurried off to find new
admirers for this first piece of actual property he had ever owned, and
to tell them that "Misto Frank March, who know all about oxes, say dis
yere ok de han'somes' he ebber seed."
Of course the Bevils and Carters came over to the picnic. Grace Bevil,
of whom Ruth had already made a great friend, waited with her at the
house until the last boat-load of people had been ferried across. Then
Frank called them, and after helping them into the canoe and telling
them to sit quiet as 'possums, paddled it up the wild, beautiful river
to the mill.
This was a novel experience to the little Wakulla girl, who had never
in her life before travelled so easily and swiftly. She afterwards told
her mother that, as she looked far down into the clear depths of the
water above which they glided, she thought she knew how angels felt
flying through the air.
By the time they reached the mill more than a hundred persons were
assembled near it, and Mr. Elmer was talking to them from the steps.
They were in time to hear him say,
"The Elmer Mill is now about to be opened for business and set to work.
A bushel of corn belonging to Uncle Silas Brim, the oldest man present,
has been placed in the hopper, and will be the first ground."
Then Mark, who, as president of the Elmer Mill and Ferry Company, was
allowed the honor of so doing, pressed a lever that opened the
floodgates. A stream of water dashed through the race, the great wheel
began to turn, and, as they heard the whir of the machinery, the crowd
cheered again and again. In a little while Uncle Silas Brim's corn was
returned to him in the form of a sack of fine yellow meal. After that
the bushels of corn poured in thick and fast, and for the rest of the
day the Elmer Mill continued its pleasant work of charity.
As the novelty of watching the mill at work wore off, the people began
to stroll towards the grove near the sulphur spring, in which an
odd-looking structure had been erected the day before, and now
attracted much attention. It was a long, low shed, or booth, built of
poles thatched with palm-leaves woven so close that its interior was
completely hidden. Mrs. Elmer, Mrs. Bevil, Mrs. Carter, Ruth, Grace,
and Aunt Chloe were known to be inside, but what they were doing was a
mystery that no one could solve.
"Reckon dey's a-fixin' up sandwitches," said one.
"Yo' g'way, chile! Who ebber heerd ob sich nonsens? 'Tain't no witches
ob no kine; hits somefin' to eat, I tell yo'. I kin smell hit," said an
old aunty, who sniffed the air vigorously as she spoke.
This opinion was strengthened when Aunt Chloe appeared at the entrance
of the booth, before which hung a curtain of white muslin, and in a
loud voice commanded all present to provide themselves "wif palmetter
leafs fo' plateses, an' magnole leafs fo' cupses."
When all had so provided themselves, they were formed, two by two, into
a long procession by several young colored men whom Mr. Elmer had
appointed to act as marshals, the white curtain was drawn aside, and
they were invited to march into the booth. As they did so, a sight
greeted their eyes that caused them to give a sort of suppressed cheer
of delight. The interior was hung and trimmed with great bunches of
sweet-scented swamp azalea, yellow jasmine, and other wild spring
flowers, of which the woods were full. But it was not towards the
flowers that all eyes were turned, nor they that drew forth the
exclamations of delight; it was the table, and what it bore. It reached
from one end of the booth to the other, and was loaded with such a
variety and quantity of good things as none of them had ever seen
before. On freshly-cut palm leaves were heaped huge piles of brown
crullers, and these were flanked by pans of baked beans. Boiled hams
appeared in such quantities that Uncle Silas Brim was heard to say,
"Hit do my ole heart good to see sich a sight ob hog meat."
Every bit of space not otherwise occupied was filled with pies and
cakes. Knives and forks had been provided for everybody, and there were
a few tin cups which were reserved for coffee. As plates were very
scarce, palmetto leaves had to be used instead; and for those who
wished to drink water, the magnolia leaves, bent so that the ends
lapped, made excellent cups.
How they did enjoy that dinner! How savagely the hams were attacked!
How the beans and crullers were appreciated, and how rapidly the pies
and cakes disappeared! How the coffee, with plenty of "sweet'nin'" in
it, was relished. In other words, what a grand feast it was to them.
How much and how quickly they ate on that occasion can still be learned
from any resident of Wakulla; for they talk of "de feed at de openin'
ob dat ar Elmer Mill" to this day.
Mark says it was the opening of about a hundred mills, all provided
with excellent machinery for grinding.
After dinner they sang, and listened to the music of Ruth's organ,
which had been brought from the house for the occasion, and placed at
one end of the booth. Then some one produced a fiddle, and they danced.
Not only a few danced, but all danced--old and young; and those who
stopped to rest patted time on their knees to encourage the others.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, or about "two hour by sun in the
evening," as the Wakulla people say, the last bushel of corn was
ground. What remained uneaten of the dinner was distributed among those
who needed it most, and the picnic was ended. With many bows and
courtesies to their hosts, the happy company began to troop, or squeak
along in their little ungreased carts, towards the ferry, where Frank
was already on hand waiting to set them across the river.