His missionon earth"HIS MISSION ON EARTH SEEMED TO BE KEEPING THE BRIGHTEST SILVER URNS."—Page 78.
"HIS MISSION ON EARTH SEEMED TO BE KEEPING THE BRIGHTEST SILVER URNS."—Page 78.
"HIS MISSION ON EARTH SEEMED TO BE KEEPING THE BRIGHTEST SILVER URNS."—Page 78.
And thus upon the canvas of every oldhome picture come to their accustomed places the forms of dusky friends, who once shared our homes, our firesides, our affections,—and who will share them, as in the past, never more.
Of all the plantation homes we loved and visited, the brightest, sweetest memories cluster around Grove Hill,[7]a grand old place in the midst of scenery lovely and picturesque, to reach which we made a journey across the Blue Ridge—those giant mountains from whose winding roads and lofty heights we had glimpses of exquisite scenery in the valleys below.
Thus winding slowly around these mountain heights and peeping down from our old carriage windows, we beheld nature in its wildest luxuriance. The deep solitude; the glowing sunlight over rock, forest, and glen; the green valleys deep down beneath, diversified by alternate light and shadow,—all together photographed on our hearts pictures never to fade.
Not all the towers, minarets, obelisks, palaces, gem-studded domes of "art and man'sdevice," can reach the soul like one of these sun-tinted pictures in their convex frames of rock and vines!
Arrived at Grove Hill, how enthusiastic the welcome from each member of the family assembled in the front porch to meet us! How joyous the laugh! How deliciously cool the wide halls, the spacious parlor, the dark polished walnut floors! How bright the flowers! How gay the spirits of all assembled!
One was sure of meeting here pleasant people from Virginia, Baltimore, Florida, South Carolina, and Kentucky, with whom the house was filled from May till November.
How delightfully passed the days, the weeks! What merry excursions, fishing-parties, riding-parties to the Indian Spring, the Cave, the Natural Bridge! What pleasant music, and tableaux, and dancing, in the evenings!
For the tableaux we had only to open an old chest in the garret and help ourselves to rich embroidered white and scarlet dresses, with other costumes worn by the grandmother of the family nearly a hundred yearsbefore, when her husband was in public life and she one of the queens of society.
What sprightlyconversazioniin our rooms at night!—young girlswillbecome confidential and eloquent with each other at night, however reserved and quiet during the day.
Late in the night these talks continued, with puns and laughter, until checked by a certain young gentleman, now a minister, who was wont to bring out his flute in the flower-garden under our windows, and give himself up for an hour or more to the most sentimental and touching strains, thus breaking in upon sprightly remarks and repartees, some of which are remembered to this day. A characteristic conversation ran thus:
"Girls!" said one, "would it not be charming if we could all take a trip together to Niagara?"
"Well, why could we not?" was the response.
"Oh!" replied another, "the idea of us poor Virginia girls taking a trip!"
"Indeed," said one of the Grove Hill girls, "it would be impossible. For here are weon this immense estate,—four thousand acres, two large, handsome residences, and three hundred negroes,—regarded as wealthy, and yet, to save our lives, we could not raise money enough for a trip to New York!"
"Nor get a silk-velvet cloak!" said her sister, laughing.
"Yes," replied the other. "Girls! I have been longing and longing for a silk-velvet cloak, but never could get the money to buy one. But last Sunday, at the village church, what should I see but one of the Joneses sweeping in with a long velvet cloak almost touching the floor! And you could set her father's house in our back hall! But, then, she is so fortunate as to own no negroes."
"What a happy girl she must be!" cried a chorus of voices. "No negroes to support! We could go to New York and Niagara, and have velvet cloaks, too, if we only had no negroes to support! But allourmoney goes to provide for them as soon as the crops are sold!"
"Yes," said one of the Grove Hill girls; "here is our large house without an article of modern furniture. The parlor curtainsare one hundred years old, the old-fashioned mirrors and recess tables one hundred years old, and we long in vain for money to buy something new."
"Well!" said one of the sprightliest girls, "we can get up some of our old diamond rings or breastpins which some of us have inherited, and travel on appearances! We have no modern clothes, but the old rings will make us look rich! And a party ofpoor, rich Virginianswill attract the commiseration and consideration of the world when it is known that for generations we have not been able to leave our plantations!"
After these conversations we would fall asleep, and sleep profoundly, until aroused next morning by an army of servants polishing the hall floors, waxing and rubbing them with a long-handled brush weighted by an oven lid. This made the floor like a "sea of glass," and dangerous to walk upon immediately after the polishing process, being especially disastrous to small children, who were continually slipping and falling before breakfast.
The lady[8]presiding over this establishmentpossessed a cultivated mind, bright conversational powers, and gentle temper, with a force of character which enabled her judiciously to direct the affairs of her household, as well as the training and education of her children.
She always employed an accomplished tutor, who added to the attractiveness of her home circle.
She helped the boys with their Latin, and the girls with their compositions. In her quiet way she governed, controlled, suggested everything; so that her presence was required everywhere at once.
While in the parlor entertaining her guests with bright, agreeable conversation, she was sure to be wanted by the cooks (there were six!) to "taste or flavor" something in the kitchen; or by the gardener, to direct the planting of certain seeds or roots,—and so with every department. Even the minister—there was always one living in her house—would call her out to consult over his text and sermon for the next Sunday, saying he could rely upon her judgment and discrimination.
Never thinking of herself, her heart overflowingwith sympathy and interest for others, she entered into the pleasures of the young as well as the sorrows of the old.
If the boys came in from a fox or deer chase, their pleasure was incomplete until it had been described to her and enjoyed with her again.
The flower-vases were never entirely beautiful until her hand had helped to arrange the flowers.
The girls' laces were never perfect until she had gathered and crimped them.
Her sons were never so happy as when holding her hand and caressing her. And the summer twilight found her always in the vine-covered porch, seated by her husband,—a dear, kind old gentleman,—her hand resting in his, while he quietly and happily smoked his pipe after the day's riding over his plantation, interviewing overseers, millers, and blacksmiths, and settling up accounts.
One more reminiscence, and the Grove Hill picture will be done. No Virginia home being complete without some prominent negro character, the picture lacking this would be untrue to nature, and without the finishing touch. And not to have"stepped in" to pay our respects to old Aunt Betsy during a visit to Grove Hill would have been looked upon—as it should be to omit it here—a great breach of civility; for the old woman always received us at her door with a cordial welcome and a hearty shake of the hand.
"Lor' bless de child'en!" she would say. "How dey does grow! Done grown up young ladies! Set down, honey. I mighty glad to see you. An' why didn't your ma[9]come? I would love to see Miss Fanny. She always was so good an' so pretty. Seems to me it aint been no time sence she and Miss Emma"—her own mistress—"use' to play dolls togedder, an' I use' to bake sweet cakes for dem, an' cut dem out wid de pepper-box top for dar doll parties; an' dey loved each other like sisters."
How dey grow"HOW DEY DOES GROW!"—Page 86.
"HOW DEY DOES GROW!"—Page 86.
"HOW DEY DOES GROW!"—Page 86.
"Well, Aunt Betsy," we would ask, "how is your rheumatism now?"
"Lor', honey, I nuver spec's to git over dat. But some days I can hobble out an' feed de chickens; an' I can set at my window an' make the black child'en feed 'em, an' I love to think I'm some 'count to MissEmma. An' Miss Emma's child'en can't do 'thout old 'Mammy Betsy,' for I takes care of all dar pet chickens. Me an' my ole man gittin' mighty ole now; but Miss Emma an' all her child'en so good to us we has pleasure in livin' yet."
At last the shadows began to fall dark and chill upon this once bright and happy home.
Old Aunt Betsy lived to see the four boys—her mistress's brave and noble sons—buckle their armor on and go forth to battle for the home they loved so well,—the youngest still so young that he loved his pet chickens, which were left to "Mammy Betsy's" special care; and when the sad news at length came that this favorite young master was killed, amid all the agony of grief no heart felt the great sorrow more sincerely than hers.
Another and still another of these noble youths fell after deeds of heroic valor, their graves the battlefield, a place of burial fit for men so brave. Only one—the youngest—was brought home to find a resting-place beside the graves of his ancestors.
The old man, their father, his mindshattered by grief, continued day after day, for several years, to sit in the vine-covered porch, gazing wistfully out, imagining sometimes that he saw in the distance the manly forms of his sons, returning home, mounted on their favorite horses, in the gray uniforms worn the day they went off.
Then he, too, followed, where the "din of war, the clash of arms," is heard no more.
To recall these scenes so blinds my eyes with tears that I cannot write of them. Some griefs leave the heart dumb. They have no language and are given no language, because no other heart could understand, nor could they be alleviated if shared.
It will have been observed from these reminiscences that the mistress of a Virginia plantation was more conspicuous, although not more important, than the master. In the house she was the mainspring, and to her came all the hundred or three hundred negroes with their various wants and constant applications for medicine and every conceivable requirement.
Attending to these, with directing her household affairs and entertaining company, occupied busily every moment of her life. While all these devolved upon her, it sometimes seemed to me that the master had nothing to do but ride around his estate on the most delightful horse, receive reports from overseers, see that his pack of hounds was fed, and order "repairs about the mill"—the mill seemed always needing repairs!
This view of the subject, however, being entirely from a feminine standpoint, may havebeen wholly erroneous; for doubtless his mind was burdened with financial matters too weighty to be grasped and comprehended by our sex.
Nevertheless, the mistress held complete sway in her own domain; and that this fact was recognized will be shown by the following incident:
A gentleman, a clever and successful lawyer, one day discovering a negro boy in some mischief about his house, and determining forthwith to chastise him, took him into the yard for that purpose. Breaking a small switch, and in the act of coming down with it upon the boy, he asked: "Do you know, sir, who is master on my place?"
"Yas, sah!" quickly replied the boy. "Miss Charlotte, sah!"
Throwing aside the switch, the gentleman ran into the house, laughed a half hour, and thus ended his only experiment at interfering in his wife's domain.
His wife, "Miss Charlotte," as the negroes called her, was gentle and indulgent to a fault, which made the incident more amusing.
It may appear singular, yet it is true, thatour women, although having sufficient self-possession at home, and accustomed there to command on a large scale, became painfully timid if ever they found themselves in a promiscuous or public assemblage, shrinking from everything like publicity.
Still, these women, to whom a whole plantation looked up for guidance and instruction, could not fail to feel a certain consciousness of superiority, which, although never displayed or asserted in manner, became a part of themselves. They were distinguishable everywhere—for what reason, exactly, I have never been able to find out, for their manners were too quiet to attract attention. Yet a captain on a Mississippi steamboat said to me: "I always know a Virginia lady as soon as she steps on my boat."
"How do you know?" I asked, supposing he would say: "By their plain style of dress and antiquated breastpins."
Said he: "I've been running a boat from Cincinnati to New Orleans for twenty-five years, and often have three hundred passengers from various parts of the world. But if there is a Virginia lady among them, I find it out in half an hour. They takethings quietly, and don't complain. Do you see that English lady over there? Well, she has been complaining all the way up the Mississippi River. Nobody can please her. The cabin-maid and steward are worn out with trying to please her. She says it is because the mosquitoes bit her so badly coming through Louisiana. But we are almost at Cincinnati now, haven't seen a mosquito for a week, and she is still complaining!
"Then," he continued, "the Virginia ladies look as if they could not push about for themselves, and for this reason I always feel like giving them more attention than the other passengers."
"We are inexperienced travelers," I replied.
And these remarks of the captain convinced me—I had thought it before—that Virginia women should never undertake to travel, but content themselves with staying at home. However, such restriction would have been unfair unless they had felt like the Parisian who, when asked why the Parisians never traveled, replied: "Because all the world comes to Paris!"
Indeed, a Virginian had an opportunity for seeing much choice society at home; for our watering-places attracted the best people from other States, who often visited us at our houses.
On the Mississippi boat to which I have alluded it was remarked that the negro servants paid the Southerners more constant and deferential attention than the passengers from the non-slaveholding States, although some of the latter were very agreeable and intelligent, and conversed with the negroes on terms of easy familiarity,—showing, what I had often observed, that the negro respects and admires those who make a "social distinction" more than those who make none.
We were surprised to find in an "Ode to the South," by Mr. M. F. Tupper, the following stanza:
"Yes, it is slander to say you oppressed them:Does a man squander the prize of his pelf?Was it not often that he who possessed themRather was owned by his servants himself?"
"Yes, it is slander to say you oppressed them:Does a man squander the prize of his pelf?Was it not often that he who possessed themRather was owned by his servants himself?"
"Yes, it is slander to say you oppressed them:Does a man squander the prize of his pelf?Was it not often that he who possessed themRather was owned by his servants himself?"
"Yes, it is slander to say you oppressed them:
Does a man squander the prize of his pelf?
Was it not often that he who possessed them
Rather was owned by his servants himself?"
This was true, but that it was known in the outside world we thought impossible, when all the newspaper and book accounts represented us as miserable sinners for whom there was no hope here or hereafter, and called upon all nations, Christian and civilized, to revile, persecute, and exterminate us. Such representations, however, differed so widely from the facts around us that when we heard them they failed to produce a very serious impression, occasioning often only a smile, with the exclamation: "How little those people know about us!"
We had not the vanity to think that the European nations cared or thought about us, and if the Americans believed these accounts, they defamed the memory of one held up by them as a model of Christian virtue—George Washington, a Virginia slave-owner, whose kindness to his "people," as he called his slaves, entitled him to as much honor as did his deeds of prowess.
But to return to the two last lines of the stanza:
"Was it not often that he who possessed themRather was owned by his servants himself?"
"Was it not often that he who possessed themRather was owned by his servants himself?"
"Was it not often that he who possessed themRather was owned by his servants himself?"
"Was it not often that he who possessed them
Rather was owned by his servants himself?"
I am reminded of some who were actually held in such bondage; especially an old gentleman who, together with his whole plantation, was literally possessed by his slaves.
This gentleman[10]was a widower, and no lady presided over his house.
His figure was of medium height and very corpulent. His features were regular and handsome, his eyes were soft brown, almost black, and his hair was slightly gray.The expression of his countenance was so full of goodness and sympathy that a stranger meeting him in the road might have been convinced at a glance of his kindness and generosity.
He was never very particular about his dress, yet never appeared shabby.
Although a graduate in law at the university, an ample fortune made it unnecessary for him to practice his profession. Still his taste for literature made him a constant reader, and his conversation was instructive and agreeable.
His house was old and rambling, and—I was going to say his servants kept the keys, but I remember there wereno keysabout the establishment. Even the front door had no lock upon it. Everybody retired at night in perfect confidence, however, that everything was secure enough, and it seemed not important to lock the doors.
The negro servants who managed the house were very efficient, excelling especially in the culinary department, and serving up dinners which were marvels.
The superabundance on the place enabledthem not only to furnish their master's table with the choicest meats, vegetables, cakes, pastries, etc., but also to supply themselves bountifully, and to spread in their own cabins sumptuous feasts, and wedding and party suppers rich enough for a queen.
To this their master did not object, for he told them "if they would supply his table always with an abundance of the best bread, meats, cream, and butter, he cared not what became of the rest."
Upon this principle the plantation was conducted. The well-filled barns, the stores of bacon, lard, flour, etc., literally belonged to the negroes, who allowed their master a certain share!
Doubtless they entertained the sentiment of a negro boy who, on being reproved by his master for having stolen and eaten a turkey, replied: "Well, massa, you see, you got less turkey, but you got dat much more niggah!"
While we were once visiting at this plantation, the master of the house described to us a dairy just completed on a new plan, which for some weeks had been such a hobby with him that he had actually purchaseda lock for it, saying he would keep the key himself—which he never did—and have the fresh mutton always put there.
"Come," said he, as he finished describing it, "let us go down and look at it. Bring me the key," he said to a small African, who soon brought it, and we proceeded to the dairy.
Turning the key in the door, the old gentleman said: "Now see what a fine piece of mutton I have here!"
But on entering and looking around, no mutton was to be seen, and instead thereof were buckets of custard, cream, and blanc-mange. The old gentleman, greatly disconcerted, called to one of the servants: "Florinda! Where is my mutton that I had put here this morning?"
Where is my mutton"WHERE IS MY MUTTON?"—Page 98.
"WHERE IS MY MUTTON?"—Page 98.
"WHERE IS MY MUTTON?"—Page 98.
Florinda replied: "Nancy took it out, sah, an' put it in de ole spring house. She say dat was cool enough place for mutton. An' she gwine have a big party to-night, an' want her jelly an' custards to keep cool!"
At this the old gentleman was rapidly becoming provoked, when we laughed so much at Nancy's "cool" proceeding that his usual good nature was restored.
On another occasion we were one evening sitting with this gentleman in his front porch when a poor woman from the neighboring village came in the yard, and, stopping before the door, said to him:
"Mr. Radford, I came to tell you that my cow you gave me has died."
"What did you say, my good woman?" asked Mr. Radford, who was quite deaf.
The woman repeated in a louder voice: "The cow you gave me has died. And she died because I didn't have anything to feed her with."
Turning to us, his countenance full of compassion, he said: "I ought to have thought about that, and should have sent the food for her cow." Then, speaking to the woman: "Well, my good woman, I will give you another cow to-morrow, and send you plenty of provision for her." And the following day he fulfilled his promise.
Another incident occurs to me, showing the generous heart of this truly good man. One day on the Virginia and Tennessee train, observing a gentleman and lady in much trouble, he ventured to inquire of them the cause, and was informed that they had lostall their money and their railroad tickets at the last station.
He asked the gentleman where he lived, and on what side he was during the war.
"I am from Georgia," replied the gentleman, "and was, of course, with the South."
"Well," said Mr. Radford, pulling from his capacious pocket a large purse, which he handed the gentleman, "help yourself, sir, and take as much as will be necessary to carry you home."
The astonished stranger thanked him sincerely, and handed him his card, saying: "I will return the money as soon as I reach home."
Returned to his own home, and relating the incidents of his trip, Mr, Radford mentioned this, when one of his nephews laughed and said: "Well, uncle, we Virginia people are so easily imposed upon! You don't think that man will ever return your money, do you?"
"My dear," replied his uncle, looking at him reproachfully and sinking his voice, "I was fully repaid by the change which came over the man's countenance."
It is due to the Georgian to add that on reaching home he returned the money with a letter of thanks.
In sight of the hospitable home of Mr. Radford was another, equally attractive, owned by his brother-in-law, Mr. Bowyer. These places had the same name, Greenfield, the property having descended to two sisters, the wives of these gentlemen. They might have been called twin establishments, as one was almost a facsimile of the other. At both were found the same hospitality, the same polished floors, the same style of loaf-bread and velvet rolls, the only difference between the two being that Mr. Bowyer kept his doors locked at night, observed more system, and kept his buggies and carriages in better repair.
These gentlemen were also perfectly congenial. Both had graduated in law, read the same books, were members of the same church, knew the same people, liked and disliked the same people, held the same political opinions, enjoyed the same old Scotch songs, repeated the same old English poetry, smoked the same kind of tobacco,in the same kind of pipes, abhorred alike intoxicating drinks, and deplored the increase of bar-rooms and drunkenness in our land.
For forty years they passed together a part of every day or evening, smoking and talking over the same events and people. It was a picture to see them at night over a blazing wood fire, their faces bright with good nature; and a treat to hear all their reminiscences of people and events long past. With what circumstantiality could they recall old law cases, and describe old duels, old political animosities and excitements! What merry laughs they sometimes had!
Everything on one of these plantations seemed to belong equally to the other. If the ice gave out at one place, the servants went to the other for it as a matter of course; or if the buggies or carriage were out of order at Mr. Radford's, which was often the case, the driver would go over for Mr. Bowyer's without even mentioning the circumstance, and so with everything. The families lived thus harmoniously with never the least interruption for forty years.
Now and then the old gentlemen enjoyed a practical joke on each other, and on one occasion Mr. Radford succeeded so effectually in quizzing Mr. Bowyer that whenever he thought of it afterward he fell into a dangerous fit of laughter.
It happened that a man who had married a distant connection of the Greenfield family concluded to take his wife, children, and servants to pass the summer there, dividing the time between the two houses. The manners, character, and political proclivities of this visitor became so disagreeable to the old gentlemen that they determined he should not repeat his visit, although they liked his wife. One day Mr. Bowyer received a letter signed by this objectionable individual—it had really been written by Mr. Radford—informing Mr. Bowyer that, as one of the children was sick, and the physician advised country air, he would be there the following Thursday with his whole family, to stay some months.
"The impudent fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Bowyer as soon as he read the letter. "He knows how Radford and myself detest him! Still I am sorry for his wife. But I will notbe dragooned and outgeneraled by that contemptible fellow. No! I will leave home to-day!"
Going to the back door, he called in a loud voice for his coachman, and ordered his carriage. "I am going" said he, "to Grove Hill for a week, and from there to Lexington, with my whole family, and don't know when I shall be at home again. It is very inconvenient," said he to his wife, "but I must leave home."
Hurrying up the carriage and the family, they were soon off on their unexpected trip.
They stayed at Grove Hill, seven miles off, a week, during which time Mr. Bowyer every morning mounted his horse and rode timidly around the outskirts of his own plantation, peeping over the hills at his house, but afraid to venture nearer, feeling assured it was occupied by the obnoxious visitor. He would not even make inquiries of his negroes whom he met, as to the state and condition of things in his house.
Concluding to pursue his journey to Lexington, and halfway there, he met ayoung nephew of Mr. Radford's who happened to know all about the quiz, and, immediately suspecting the reason of Mr. Bowyer's exile from home, inquired where he was going, how long he had been from home, etc. Soon guessing the truth, and thinking the joke had been carried far enough, he told the old gentleman he need not travel any further, for it was all a quiz of his uncle's, and there was no one at his house. Thereupon Mr. Bowyer, greatly relieved, turned back and went his way home rejoicing, but "determined to pay Radford," he said, for such a practical joke, which had exiled him from home and given him such trouble. This caused many a good laugh whenever it was told throughout the neighborhood.
The two estates of which I am writing were well named—Greenfield; for the fields and meadows were of the freshest green, and, with majestic hills around, the fine cattle and horses grazing upon them, formed a noble landscape.
This land had descended in the same family since the Indian camp-fires ceased to burn there, and the same forests were stilluntouched where once stood the Indians' wigwams.
In this connection I am reminded of a tradition in the Greenfield family which showed the heroism of a Virginia boy:
The first white proprietor of this place, the great-grandfather of the present owners, had also a large estate in Montgomery County, called Smithfield, where his family lived, and where was a fort for the protection of the whites when attacked by the Indians.
Once, while the owner was at his Greenfield place, the Indians surrounded Smithfield, and the white women and children took refuge in the fort, while the men prepared for battle. They wanted the proprietor of Smithfield to help them fight and to take command, for he was a brave man; but they could not spare a man to carry him the news. So they concluded to send one of his young sons, a lad thirteen years old, who did not hesitate, but, mounting a fleet horse, set off after dark and rode all night through dense forests filled with hostile Indians, reaching Greenfield, a distance of forty miles, next morning. He soon returned with his father, and the Indians were repulsed. And Ialways thought that boy was courageous enough for his name to live in history.[11]
The Indians afterward told how, the whole day before the fight, several of their chiefs had been concealed near the Smithfield house under a large haystack, upon which the white children had been sliding and playing all day, little suspecting the gleaming tomahawks and savage men beneath.
From the Greenfield estate in Botetourt and the one adjacent went the ancestors of the Prestons and Breckinridges, who made these names distinguished in South Carolina and Kentucky. And on this place are the graves of the first Breckinridges who arrived in this country.
All who visited at the homesteads just described retained ever after a recollection of the perfectly cooked meats, bread, etc., seen upon the tables at both houses, there being at each place five or six negro cooks who had been taught by their mistresses the highest style of the culinary art.
During the summer season several of these cooks were hired at the different watering-places, where they acquired greatfame and made for themselves a considerable sum of money by selling recipes.
A lady of the Greenfield family, who married and went to Georgia, told me she had often tried to make velvet rolls like those she had been accustomed to see at her own home, but never succeeded. Her mother and aunt, who had taught these cooks, having died many years before, she had to apply to the negroes for information on such subjects, and they, she said, would never show her the right way to make them. Finally, while visiting at a house in Georgia, this lady was surprised to see velvet rolls exactly like those at her home.
"Where did you get the recipe?" she soon asked the lady of the house, who replied: "I bought it from old Aunt Rose, a colored cook, at the Virginia Springs, and paid her five dollars."
"One of our own cooks, and my mother's recipe," exclaimed the other, "and I had to come all the way to Georgia to get it, for Aunt Rose never would show me exactly how to make them!"
Not far from Greenfield was a place called Rustic Lodge.[12]
This house, surrounded by a forest of grand old oaks, was not large or handsome. But its inmates were ladies and gentlemen of the old English style.
The grandmother, Mrs. Burwell, about ninety years of age, had in her youth been one of the belles at the Williamsburg court in old colonial days. A daughter of Sir Dudley Digges, and descended from English nobility, she had been accustomed to the best society. Her manners and conversation were dignified and attractive.
Among reminiscences of colonial times she remembered Lord Botetourt, of whom she related interesting incidents.
The son of this old lady, about sixty years of age, and the proprietor of the estate, was a true picture of the old English gentleman.His manners, conversation, thread-cambric shirt-frills, cuffs, and long queue tied with a black ribbon, made the picture complete. His two daughters, young ladies of refinement, had been brought up by their aunt and grandmother to observe strictly all the proprieties of life.
This establishment was proverbial for its order and method, the most systematic rules being in force everywhere. The meals were served punctually at the same instant every day. Old Aunt Nelly always dressed and undressed her mistress at the same hour. The cook's gentle "tapping at the chamber door" called the mistress to an interview with that functionary at the same moment every morning,—an interview which, lasting half an hour, and never being repeated during the day, resulted in the choicest dinners, breakfasts, and suppers.
Exactly at the same hour every morning the old gentleman's horse was saddled, and he entered the neighboring village so promptly as to enable some of the inhabitants to set their clocks by him.
This family had possessed great wealth in eastern Virginia during the colonial government,under which many of its members held high offices.
But impoverished by high living, entertaining company, and a heavy British debt, they had been reduced in their possessions to about fifty negroes, with only money enough to purchase this plantation, upon which they had retired from the gay and charming society of Williamsburg. They carried with them, however, some remains of their former grandeur: old silver, old jewelry, old books, old and well-trained servants, and an old English coach which was the curiosity of all other vehicular curiosities. How the family ever climbed into it, or got out of it, and how the driver ever reached the dizzy height upon which he sat, was the mystery of my childhood.
But, although egg-shaped and suspended in mid-air, this coach had doubtless, in its day, been one of considerable renown, drawn by four horses, with footman, postilion, and driver in English livery.
How sad must have been its reflections on finding itself shorn of these respectable surroundings, and, after the Revolution, drawn by two republican horses, withfootman and driver dressed in republican jeans!
A great-uncle of this family, unlike the coach, never would become republicanized; and his obstinate loyalty to the English crown, with his devotion to everything English, gained for him the title "English Louis," by which name he is spoken of in the family to this day. An old lady told me not long ago that she remembered, when a child, the arrival of "English Louis" at Rustic one night, and his conversation as they sat around the fire,—how he deplored a republican form of government, and the misfortunes which would result from it, saying: "All may go smoothly for about seventy years, when civil war will set in. First it will be about these negro slaves we have around us, and after that it will be something else." And how true "English Louis'" prediction has proven.[13]
Doubtless this gentleman was avoided and proscribed on account of his English proclivities.For at that day the spirit of republicanism and hatred to England ran high; so that an old gentleman—one of our relatives whom I well remember—actually took from his parlor walls his coat-of-arms, which had been brought by his grandfather from England, and, carrying it out in his yard, built a fire, and, collecting his children around it to see it burn, said: "Thus let everything English perish!"
Should I say what I think of this proceeding I would not be considered, perhaps, a true republican patriot.
I must add a few words to my previous mention of Smithfield, in Montgomery County, the county which flows with healing waters.
Smithfield, like Greenfield, is owned by the descendants of the first white family who settled there after the Indians, and its verdant pastures, noble forests, and mountain streams and springs, form a prospect wondrously beautiful.
This splendid estate descended to three brothers of the Preston family, who equally divided it, the eldest keeping the homestead,and the others building attractive homes on their separate plantations.
The old homestead was quite antique in appearance. Inside, the high mantelpieces reaching nearly to the ceiling, which was also high, and the high wainscoting, together with the old furniture, made a picture of the olden time.
When I first visited this place, the old grandmother, then eighty years of age, was living. She, like the old lady at Rustic, had been a belle in eastern Virginia in her youth. When she married the owner of Smithfield sixty years before, she made the bridal jaunt from Norfolk to this place on horseback, two hundred miles. Still exceedingly intelligent and interesting, she entertained us with various incidents of her early life, and wished to hear all the old songs which she had then heard and sung herself.
"When I was married," said she, "and first came to Smithfield, my husband's sisters met me in the porch, and were shocked at my pale and delicate appearance. One of them, whispering to her brother, asked: 'Why did you bring that ghost up here?'And now," continued the old lady, "I have outlived all who were in the house that day, and all my own and my husband's family."
This was certainly an evidence of the health-restoring properties of the water and climate in this region.
The houses of these three brothers were filled with company winter and summer, making within themselves a delightful society. The visitors at one house were equally visitors at the others, and the succession of dinner and evening parties from one to the other made it difficult for a visitor to decide at whose particular house he was staying.
One of these brothers, Colonel Robert Preston, had married a lovely lady from South Carolina, whose perfection of character and disposition endeared her to everyone who knew her. Everybody loved her at sight, and the better she was known the more she was beloved. Her warm heart was ever full of other people's troubles or joys, never thinking of herself. In her house many an invalid was cheered by her tender care, and many a drooping heart revived by her bright Christian spirit. She neveromitted an opportunity of pointing the way to heaven; and although surrounded by all the allurements which gay society and wealth could bring, she did not swerve an instant from the quiet path along which she directed others. In the midst of bright and happy surroundings her thoughts and hopes were constantly centered upon the life above; and her conversation—which was the reflex of her heart—reverted ever to this theme, which she made attractive to old and young.
The eldest of the three brothers was William Ballard Preston, once Secretary of the Navy in the cabinet of President Taylor.
In the region of country just described and in the counties beyond abound the finest mineral springs, one or more being found on every plantation. At one place there were seven different springs, and the servants had a habit of asking the guests and family whether they would have—before breakfast—a glass of White Sulphur, Yellow Sulphur, Black Sulphur, Alleghany, Alum, or Limestone water!
The old Greenbrier White Sulphur Springs was a favorite place of resort for eastern Virginians and South Carolinians at a very early date, when it was accessible only by private conveyances, and all who passed the summer there went in private carriages. In this way certain old Virginia and South Carolina families met every season, and these old people told us that society there was never so good after the railroads and stages brought "all sorts of people, from allsorts of places." This, of course, we knew nothing about from experience, and it sounded rather egotistical in the old people to say so, but that is what they said.
Indeed, these "old folks" talked so much about what "used to be in their day" at the old White Sulphur, that I found it hard to convince myself that I had not been bodily present, seeing with my own eyes certain knee-buckled old gentlemen, with long queues, and certain Virginia and South Carolina belles attired in short-waisted, simple, white cambrics, who passed the summers there. These white cambrics, we were told, had been carried in minute trunks behind the carriages; and were considered, with a few jewels, and a long black or white lace veil thrown over the head and shoulders, a complete outfit for the reigning belles! Another curiosity was that these white cambric dresses—our grandmothers told us—required very little "doing up:" one such having been worn by Mrs. General Washington—so her granddaughter told me—a whole week without requiring washing! It must have been an age of remarkable women and remarkable cambrics! Howlittle they dreamed then of an era when Saratoga trunks would be indispensable to ladies of much smaller means than Virginia and South Carolina belles!
To reach these counties flowing with mineral waters, the families from eastern Virginia and from South Carolina passed through a beautiful region of Virginia known as Piedmont, and those who had kinsfolk or acquaintances there usually stopped to pay them a visit. Consequently the Piedmont Virginians were generally too busy entertaining summer guests to visit the Springs themselves. Indeed, why should they? No more salubrious climate could be found than their own, and no scenery more grand and beautiful. But it was necessary for the tide-water Virginians to leave their homes every summer on account of chills and fevers.
In the lovely Piedmont region, over which the "Peaks of Otter" rear their giant heads, and chains of blue mountains extend as far as eye can reach, were scattered many pleasant and picturesque homes. And in this section my grandfather bought a plantation, when the ancestral estates in the eastern part of the State had been sold to repay theBritish debt, which estates, homesteads, and tombstones with their quaint inscriptions, are described in Bishop Meade's "Old Churches and Families of Virginia."
While the tide-water Virginians were already practicing all the arts and wiles known to the highest English civilization; sending their sons to be educated in England, and receiving therefrom brocaded silks and powdered wigs; and dancing the minuet at the Williamsburg balls with the families of the noblemen sent over to govern the colony,—Piedmont was still a dense forest, the abode of Indians and wild animals.
It was not strange, then, that the Piedmont Virginians never arrived at the opulent manner of living adopted by those on the James and York rivers, who, tradition tells us, went to such excess in high living as to have "hams boiled in champagne," and of whom other amusing and interesting tales have been handed down to us. Although the latter were in advance of the Piedmont Virginians in wealth and social advantages, they were not superior to them in honor, virtue, kindness, or hospitality.
It has been remarked that, "when naturalscenery is picturesque, there is in the human character something to correspond; impressions made on the retina are really made on the soul, and the mind becomes what it contemplates."
The same author continues: "A man is not onlylikewhat he sees, but heiswhat he sees. The noble old Highlander has mountains in his soul, whose towering peaks point heavenward; and lakes in his bosom, whose glassy surfaces reflect the skies; and foaming cataracts in his heart to beautify the mountain side and irrigate the vale; and evergreen firs and mountain pines that show life and verdure even under winter skies!"
"On the other hand," he writes, "the wandering nomad has a desert in his heart; its dead level reflects heat and hate; a sullen, barren plain,—no goodness, no beauty, no dancing wave of joy, no gushing rivulet of love, no verdant hope. And it is an interesting fact that those who live in countries where natural scenery inspires the soul, and where the necessities of life bind to a permanent home, are always patriotic and high-minded; and those who dwell in thedesert are always pusillanimous and groveling!"
If what this author writes be true, and the character of the Piedmont Virginians accords with the scenery around them, how their hearts must be filled with gentleness and charity inspired by the landscape which stretches far and fades in softness against the sky! How must their minds be filled with noble aspirations suggested by the everlasting mountains! How their souls must be filled with thoughts of heaven as they look upon the glorious sunsets bathing the mountains in rose-colored light, with the towering peaks ever pointing heavenward and seeming to say: "Behold the glory of a world beyond!"[14]
Beneath the shadow of the "Peaks" were many happy homes and true hearts, and, among these, memory recalls none more vividly than Otterburn and its inmates.
Otterburn was the residence of a gentleman and his wife who, having no children,devoted themselves to making their home attractive to visitors, in which they succeeded so well that they were rarely without company, for all who went once to see them went again and again.
This gentleman, Benjamin Donald, was a man of high character,—his accomplishments, manner and appearance marking him "rare,"—"one in a century." Above his fellow-men in greatness of soul, he could comprehend nothing mean. His stature was tall and erect; his features bold; his countenance open and impressive; his mind vigorous and cultivated; his bearing dignified, but not haughty; his manners simple and attractive; his conversation so agreeable and enlivening that the dullest company became animated as soon as he came into the room. Truth and lofty character were so unmistakably stamped upon him that a day's acquaintance convinced one he could be trusted forever. Brought up in Scotland, the home of his ancestors, in him were blended the best points of Scotch and Virginia character,—strict integrity and whole-souled generosity and hospitality.
How many days and nights we passed athis house, and in childhood and youth how many hours were we entertained by his bright and instructive conversation! Especially delightful was it to hear his stories of Scotland, which brought vividly before us pictures of its lakes and mountains and castles. How often did we listen to his account of the wedding-tour to Scotland, when he carried his Virginia bride to the old home at Greenock! And how often we laughed about the Scotch children, his nieces and nephews, who, on first seeing his wife, clapped their hands and shouted: "Oh, mother! are you not glad uncle did not marry a black woman?" Hearing he was to marry a Virginian, they expected to see a savage Indian or negro! And some of the family who went to Liverpool to meet them, and were looking through spy-glasses when the vessel arrived, said they were "sure the Virginia lady had not come, because they saw no one among the passengers dressed in a red shawl and gaudy bonnet like an Indian"!
From this we thought that Europeans must be very ignorant of our country and its inhabitants, and we have since learnedthat their children are purposely kept ignorant of facts in regard to America and its people.
Among many other recollections of this dear old friend of Otterburn I shall never forget a dream he told us one night, which so impressed us that, before his death, we asked him to write it out, which he did; and, as the copy is before me in his own handwriting, I will insert it here: