O, bright winged peace! Long did'st thou rest o'er the homes of old
Virginia; while cheerful wood fires blazed on hearthstones in parlor
and cabin, reflecting contented faces with hearts full of "peace and
good will towards men!" No thought entered there of harm to others; no
fear of evil to ourselves. Whatsoever things were honest; whatsoever
things were pure; whatsoever things were gentle; whatsoever things
were of good report, we were accustomed to hear 'round these parlor
firesides; and often would our grandmothers say:
"Children our's is a blessed country! There never will be another war!
The Indians have long ago been driven out, and it has been nearly a
hundred years since the English yoke was broken!"
The history of our country was contained in two pictures: "The last
battle with the Indians" and "The surrender of Lord Cornwallis at
Yorktown."
No enemies within or without our borders, and peace established among
us forever! Such was our belief. And we wondered that men should get
together and talk their dry politics, seeing that General Washington
and Thomas Jefferson--two of our Virginia plantation men--had
established a government to last as long as the earth, and which could
not be improved. Yet they _would_ talk--these politicians--around
our parlor fire, where often our patience was exhausted hearing
discussions, in which we could not take interest, about the "Protective
Tariff;" the "Bankrupt Law;" the "Distribution of Public Lands;" the
"Resolutions of '98;" the "Missouri Compromise," and the "Monroe
Doctrine." These topics seemed to afford them intense pleasure and
satisfaction, for as the "sparks fly upward" the thoughts of men turn
to politics.
Feeling no ill will towards any tribe, people or nation on the globe,
and believing that all felt a friendly regard for us, how could we
believe, when we heard it, that a nation not far off--to whom we had
yearly "carried up" a tithe of all we possessed, and whose coffers
we helped to fill--were subscribing large sums of money to destroy
us? We could not, would not believe it. Yet we were told that this
nation--towards whom we felt no animosity--brought up their children to
believe that they would do God service by reviling and persecuting us.
Nay more--that their ministers of the gospel preached unto them thus:
"Thou shalt carry fire and sword into the land that lieth South of you.
Thou shalt make it a desolate waste. Thou shalt utterly root out and
annihilate the people that they be no more a people. Thou shalt write
books. Thou shalt form societies for the purpose of planning the best
means of attacking secretly and destroying this people. Thou shalt send
emissaries. Thou shalt stir up the nations abroad against them. Thou
shalt prepare weapons of war, and in every way incite their negroes to
rise at night and slay them."
Around our firesides we asked: "Can this be true?"
Alas! alas! it was true; and the first expedition sent against us was
led by a man from the Adirondack Mountains in the North, who in 1859,
with a small band armed with pikes, clubs and guns, attacked one of our
villages at night.[7]
The news of this blanched the cheeks of our maidens, and the children
nestled closer round their mother's knee at evening twilight, for who
could tell what might befall our plantation homes before morning! The
hearts of women and children grew sick and faint. But the hearts of
our men and boys grew brave and strong--and would they have been the
countrymen of Washington had they not thought of war?
About this time we had a visit from two old friends of our family--a
distinguished Southern Senator and the Secretary of War--both
accustomed to swaying multitudes by the power of their eloquence--which
lost none of its force and charm in our little home circle. We listened
with admiration as they discussed the political issues of the day--no
longer a subject uninteresting or unintelligible to us, for every
word was of vital importance. Their theme was, "the best means of
protecting our plantation homes and firesides." Even the smallest
children now comprehended the greatest politicians.
Now came the full flow and tide of Southern eloquence--real,
soul-inspiring eloquence!
Many possessing this gift were in the habit of visiting us at that
time; and all dwelt upon one theme--the secession of Virginia--with
glowing words from hearts full of enthusiasm; all agreeing it was
better for States, as well as individuals, to separate rather than
quarrel or fight.
But there was one--our oldest and best friend--who differed with these
gentlemen; and his eloquence was gentle and effective. Unlike his
friends whose words, earnest and electric, overwhelmed all around, this
gentleman's power was in his composure of manner without vehemence. His
words were well selected without seeming to have been studied; each
sentence was short, but contained a gem, like a solitaire diamond.
For several months this gentleman remained untouched by the fiery
eloquence of his friends--like the Hebrew children in the burning
furnace. Nothing affected him until one day, the President of the
United States demanded by telegraph 50,000 Virginians to join an army
against South Carolina. And then this gentleman felt convinced it was
not the duty of Virginians to join an army against their friends.
About this time we had some very interesting letters from the Hon.
Edward Everett--who had been for several years a friend and agreeable
correspondent--giving us his views on the subject, and very soon after
this all communication between the North and South ceased, except
through the blockade, for four long years.
And then came the long dark days; the days when the sun seemed to shine
no more; when the eyes of wives, mothers and sisters were heavy with
weeping; when men sat up late in the night studying military tactics;
when grief-burdened hearts turned to God in prayer.
The intellectual gladiators who had discoursed eloquently of war around
our fireside, buckled their armor on and went forth to battle.
Band after band of brave-hearted, bright-faced youths from Southern
plantation homes came to bleed and die on Virginia soil; and for four
long years old Virginia was one great camping ground, hospital and
battle field. The roar of cannon and the clash of arms resounded over
the land. The groans of the wounded and dying went up from hillside and
valley. The hearts of women and children were sad and careworn. But
God, to whom they prayed, protected them in our plantation homes--where
no white men or even boys remained--all having gone into the army.
Only the negro slaves stayed with us, and these were encouraged by our
enemies to rise and slay us; but God in His mercy willed otherwise.
Although advised to burn our property and incited by the enemy to
destroy their former owners, these negro slaves remained faithful,
manifesting kindness, and in many instances protecting the white
families and plantations during their masters' absence.
Oh! the long terrible nights helpless women and children passed, in our
plantation homes; the enemy encamped around them; the clash of swords
heard against the doors and windows; the report of guns on the air
which might be sending death to their loved ones.
But why try to describe the horrors of such nights? Who that has not
experienced them can know how we felt? Who can imagine the heart
sickness, when stealing to an upper window at midnight we watched the
fierce flames rising from some neighboring home, expecting our own to
be destroyed by the enemy before daylight in the same way?
Such pictures, dark and fearful, were the only ones familiar to us in
old Virginia those four dreadful years.
At last the end came--the end which seemed to us saddest of all. But
God knoweth best. Though "through fiery trials" He had caused us to
pass, He had not forsaken us. For was not His mercy signally shown in
the failure of the enemy to incite our negro slaves to insurrection
during the war? Through His mercy those who were expected to become
our enemies, remained our friends. And in our own home, surrounded by
the enemy those terrible nights, our only guard was a faithful negro
servant who slept in the house, and went out every hour to see if we
were in immediate danger; while his mother--the kind old nurse--sat all
night in a rocking chair in our room, ready to help us. Had we not then
amidst all our sorrows much to be thankful for?
Among such scenes one of the last pictures photographed on my memory,
was that of a negro boy very ill with typhoid fever in a cabin not
far off, and who became greatly alarmed when a brisk firing commenced
between the contending armies across our house. His first impulse--as
it always had been in trouble--was to fly to his mistress for
protection; and jumping from his bed--his head bandaged with a white
cloth, and looking like one just from the grave--he passed through the
firing as fast as he could, screaming: "O, mistress, take care of me!
Put me in your closet, and hide me from the Yankees!" He fell at the
door exhausted. My mother had him brought in and a bed made for him in
the library. She nursed him carefully, but he died in a day or two from
fright and exhaustion.
Soon after this was the surrender at Appomattox, and negro slavery
ended forever.
All was ruin around us; tobacco factories burned down, sugar and
cotton plantations destroyed. The negroes fled from these desolated
places, crowded together in wretched shanties on the outskirts of
towns and villages, and found themselves, for the first time in their
lives, without enough to eat, and with no class of people particularly
interested about their food, health or comfort. Rations were furnished
them a short time by the United States Government, with promises of
money and land, which were never fulfilled. Impoverished by the war, it
was a relief to us no longer to have the responsibility of supporting
them. This would indeed have been impossible in our starving condition.
Twelve years have passed since they became free, but they have not,
during this time, advanced in intelligence or comfort. Wanting the care
of their owners, they die more frequently; and, it is thought,--by
those who have studied the subject--that abandoned to themselves, they
are returning to the superstitions of their forefathers. A missionary
recently returned from Africa, and witnessing here their religious
rites, says they are the same he saw practiced before the idols in
Africa.
They still have a strange belief in what they call "tricking," and
often the most intelligent, when sick, will say they have been
"tricked," for which they have a regular treatment and "trick doctors"
among themselves. This "tricking" we cannot explain, and only know that
when one negro became angry with another, he would bury in front of his
enemy's cabin door a bottle filled with pieces of snakes, spiders, bits
of tadpole, and other curious substances; and the party expecting to be
"tricked," would hang up an old horse shoe outside of his door to ward
off the "evil spirits."
Since alienated from their former owners they are, as a general thing,
more idle and improvident; and, unfortunately, the tendency of their
political teaching has been to make them antagonistic to the better
class of white people, which renders it difficult for them to be
properly instructed. That such animosity should exist towards those who
could best understand and help them, is to be deplored. For the true
negro character cannot be fully comprehended or described, but by those
who--like ourselves--have always lived with them.
At present their lives are devoted to a religious excitement which
demoralizes them, there seeming to be no connection between their
religion and morals. In one of their Sabbath schools is a teacher, who
although often arrested for stealing, continues to hold a high position
in the church.
Their improvidence has passed into a proverb--many being truly objects
of charity; and whoever would now write a true tale of poverty and
wretchedness, may take for the hero "Old Uncle Tom without a cabin."
For "Uncle Tom" of the olden time in his cabin with a blazing log fire
and plenty of corn bread, and the Uncle Tom of to-day, are pictures of
very different individuals.
And this chapter ends my reminiscences of an era soon to be forgotten,
and which will perish under the heel of modern progress. It is a
faithful memorial. Would that it might rescue from oblivion some of the
characters worthy to be remembered!