Confining these reminiscences strictly to plantation life, no mention has been made of the families we knew and visited in some of our cities, whose kindness to their slaves was unmistakable, and who owning only a small number could better afford to indulge them.
At one of these houses, this indulgence was such that the white family were very much under the control of their servants.
The owner of this house—an eminent lawyer—was a man of taste and learning, whose legal ability attracted many admirers, and whose refinement, culture and generous nature won enthusiastic friends.
Although considered the owner of his house, it was a mistake—if ownership means the right to govern one’s own property—for beyond his law papers, library and the privilege of paying all the bills, this gentleman had no “rights” there whatever; his house, kitchen and premises being under the entire command of “Aunt Fanny,” the cook—a huge mulatto woman whose word was law, and whose voice thundered abuse if any dared to disobey her.
The master, mistress, family and visitors all stood in awe of “Aunt Fanny,” and yet could not do without her, for she made such unapproachable light bread, and conducted the affairs of the place with such distinguished ability.
Her own house was in the yard, and had been built especially for her convenience. Her furniture was polished mahogany, and she kept most delicious preserves, pickles and sweet meats of her own manufacture with which to regale her friends and favorites. As we came under that head, we were often treated to these when we went in to see her after her day’s work was over, or on Sundays.
Although she “raved and stormed” considerably—which she told us she “was obliged to do,honey, to keep things straight”—she had the tenderest regard for her master and mistress, and often said: “If it warnt forme, they’d have nuthin’ in the world, and things here would go to destruction.”
So Aunt Fanny “kept up this family,” as she said, for many years, and many amusing incidents might be related of her.
On one occasion, her master after a long and excited political contest was elected to the Legislature. Before all the precincts had been heard from—believing himself defeated—he retired to rest, and being naturally feeble, was quite worn out. But at midnight a greatcry arose at his gate, where a multitude assembled, screaming and hurrahing. At first he was uncertain whether they were friends to congratulate him on his victory, or the opposite party to hang him—as they had threatened—for voting an appropriation to the Danville railroad. It soon appeared they had come to congratulate him, when great excitement prevailed, loud cheers and cries for a speech. The doors were opened and the crowed rushed in. The hero soon appeared and delivered one of his graceful and satisfactory speeches.
Still the crowd remained cheering and “storming” about the house, until Aunt Fanny, who had made her appearance in full dress, considering the excitement had been kept up long enough, and that the master’s health was too delicate for any further demonstration, determined to disperse them. Rising to her full height, waving her hand and speaking majestically she said: “Gentlemen! Mars Charles is a feeble pusson, and it is time for him to take his res’. He’s been kep’ ’wake long enough now, and it’s time for me to close up dese doors!”
With this the crowd dispersed and “Aunt Fanny” remained mistress of the situation, declaring that, “ef she hadn’t come forward and ’spersed dat crowd, Mars Charles would have been a dead man befo’ mornin’!”
“Aunt Fanny” kept herself liberally supplied with pocket money—one of her chief sources of revenue being soap, which she made in large quantities and sold at high prices; especially what she called her “butter soap,” which was in great demand, and which was made from all the butter which she did not consider fresh enough for the delicate appetites of her mistress and master. She appropriated one of the largest basement rooms, had it shelved and filled it with soap. In order to carry on business so extensively huge logs were kept blazing on the kitchen hearth under the soap pot day and night. During the war, wood becoming scarce and expensive, “Mars Charles” found it drained his purse to keep the kitchen fire supplied.
Thinking the matter over one day in his library, and concluding it would greatly lessen his expenses if Aunt Fanny could be prevailed upon to discontinue her soap trade, he sent for her, and said,very mildly: “Fanny, I have a proposition to make you.”
“What is it, Mars Charles?”
“Well Fanny, as my expenses are very heavy now, if you will give up your soap boiling for this year, I will agree to pay you fifty dollars.”
With arms akimbo, and looking at him with astonishment, but firmness in her eye, she replied: “Couldn’t possibly do it, Mars Charles. Becausesoap, sir,soap’smymain-tain-ance!”
With this she strided majestically out of the room. “Mars Charles” said no more but continued paying fabulous sums for wood, while “Aunt Fanny” continued boiling her soap.
This woman not only ordered, but kept all the family supplies, her mistress having no disposition to keep the keys or in any way interfere with her.
But at last her giant strength gave way, and she sickened and died. Having no children she left her property to one of her fellow servants.
Several days before her death, we were sitting with her mistress and master in a room overlooking her house. Her room was crowded with negroes who had come to perform their religious rites around the death bed. Joining hands they performed a savage dance, shouting wildly around her bed. This was horrible to hear and see, especially as in this family every effort had been made to instruct their negro dependents in the truths of religion; and one member of the family, who spent the greater part of her life in prayer, had for years prayed for “Aunt Fanny,” and tried to instruct her in the true faith. But although an intelligent woman, she seemed to cling to the superstitions of her race.
After the savage dance and rites were over, and while we sat talking about it, a gentleman—the friend and minister of the family—came in. We described to him what we had just witnessed, and he deplored it bitterly with us, saying he had read and prayed with “Aunt Fanny” and tried to make her see the truth in Jesus. He then marked some passages in the Bible, and asked me to go and read them to her. I went, and said to her: “Aunt Fanny, here are some verses Mr. Mitchell has marked for me to read to you, and he hopes you will pray to the Savior as he taught you.” Then said I, “we are afraid the noise and dancing have made you worse.”
Speaking feebly, she replied: “Honey, that kind of religion suits us black folks better than your kind. What suits Mars Charles’ mind, don’t suit mine.”
And thus died the most intelligent of her race—one who had been surrounded by pious persons who had been praying for her, and endeavoring to instruct her. She had also enjoyed through life not only the comforts, but many of the luxuries of earth—and when she died, her mistress and master lost a sincere friend.
This chapter will show how “Virginia beat-biscuit” procured for a man a home and friends in Paris.
One morning in the spring of 18— a singular looking man presented himself at our house. He was short of stature, and enveloped in furs although the weather was not cold. Everything about him was gold which could be gold, and so we called him “the gold-tipped-man.” He called for my mother, and when she went in the parlor said to her:
“Madam I have been stopping several weeks at the hotel in the town of L——, where I met a boy—Robert—who tells me he belongs to you. As I want such a servant, and he is anxious to travel, I come, at his request, to ask if you will let me buy him and take him to Europe. I will pay any price.”
“I could not think of it,” she replied. “I have determined never to sell one of my servants.”
“But,” continued the man, “he is anxious to go, and has sent me to beg you.”
“It is impossible,” said she, “for he is a great favorite with us, and the only child his mother has.”
Finding her determined, the man took his leave, and went back to the town, twenty-five miles off; but returned next day accompanied by Robert, who entreated his mother and mistress to let him go.
Said my mother to him: “Would you leave your mother and go with a stranger to a foreign land?”
“Yes, madam. I love my mother, and you and all your family—you have always been so good to me—but I want to travel, and this gentleman says he will give me plenty of money and be very kind to me.”
Still she refused. But the boy’s mother, finally yielding to his entreaty, consented, and persuaded her mistress, saying, “if he is willing to leave me, and so anxious to go I will give him up.”
Knowing how distressed we all would be at parting with him, he went off without coming to say “good bye,” and wrote his mother from New York what day he would sail with his new master for Europe.
At first his mother received from him presents and letters, telling her he was very much delighted, and “had as much money as he knew what to do with.” But after a few months he ceased to write, and we could hear nothing from him.
At length, when eighteen months had elapsed, one day we were astonished to see him return home, dressed in the best Parisian style. We were rejoiced to see him again, and his own joy at getting back cannot be described. He ran over the yard and house examining everything, and said: “Mistress, I have seen many fine places in Europe, but none to me as pretty as this, and I have seen no lady equal to you. And I have had no water to drink as good as this—and I have dreamed about every chair and table in this house, and wondered if I would ever get back here again.”
He then gave us a sketch of his life since the “gold-tipped” man had become his master. Arrived in Paris, his master and himself took lodgings at the Hotel de Ville. A teacher was employed to come every day and instruct Robert in French. His master kept him well supplied with money, never giving him less than fifty dollars at a time. His duties were light, and he had ample time to study and amuse himself.
After enjoying such elegant ease for eight or nine months, he waked one morning and found himself deserted and penniless! His master had absconded in the night, leaving no vestige of himself except a gold dressing case and a few toilette articles of gold, which were seized by the proprietor of the hotel in payment of his bill.
Poor Robert, without money and without a friend in this great city, knew not where to turn. In vain he wished himself back in his old home.
“If I could only find some Virginian to whom I could appeal,” said he to himself. And suddenly it occurred to him that the American Minister, Mr. Mason, was a Virginian. When he remembered this his heart was cheered, and he lost no time in finding Mr. Mason’s house.
Presenting himself before the American Minister, he related hisstory, which was not at first believed. “For,” said Mr. Mason, “there are so many impostors in Paris, it is impossible to believe you.”
Robert protested he had been a slave in Virginia—had been deserted by his owner in Paris, and begged Mr. Mason to keep him at his house, and take care of him.
Then Mr. M. asked many questions about people and places in Virginia, all which were accurately answered. Finally, he said: “I knew well the Virginia gentleman who was, you say, your master. What was the color of his hair?” This was also satisfactorily answered, and Robert began to hope he was believed, when Mr. Mason continued:
“Now there is one thing, which if you can do, will convince me you came from Virginia. Go in my kitchen and make me some old Virginia beat-biscuit, and I will believe everything you have said!”
“I think I can do that, sir,” said Robert, and going in the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves and set to work.
This was a desperate moment, for he had never made a biscuit in his life, although he had often watched the proceeding as “Black Mammy,” the cook at home, used to beat, roll and manipulate the dough on her biscuit box.
“If I only could make them look like her’s!” thought he, as he beat, and rolled, and worked and finally stuck the dough all over with a fork. Then cutting them out, and putting them to bake, he watched them with nervous anxiety until they resembled those he had often placed on the table at home.
Astonished and delighted with his success, he carried them to the American Minister, who exclaimed: “Now Iknowyou came from old Virginia!”
Robert was immediately installed in Mr. M.’s house, where he remained a faithful attendant until Mr. Mason’s death, when he returned with the family to America.
Arriving at New York he thought it impossible to get along by himself, and determined to find his master. For this purpose he employed a policeman, and together they succeeded in recovering “the lost master”—this being a singular instance of a “slave in pursuit of his fugitive master.”
The “gold-tipped” man expressed much pleasure at his servant’s fidelity, and handing him a large sum of money desired him to return to Paris, pay his bill, bring back his gold dressing box and toilette articles, and, as a reward for his fidelity, take as much money as he wished and travel over the continent.
Robert obeyed these commands, returned to Paris, paid the bills, traveled over the chief places in Europe and then came again to New York. Here he was appalled to learn that his master had been arrested for forgery, and imprisoned in Philadelphia. It was ascertained that the forger was an Englishman and connected with an underground forging establishment in Paris. Finding himself about to be detected in Paris he fled to New York, and other forgeries having been discovered in Philadelphia, he had been arrested.
Robert lost no time in reporting himself at the prison, and was grieved to find his master in such a place.
Determining to do what he could to relieve the man who had been a good friend to him, he went to a Philadelphia lawyer, and said to him: “Sir, the man who is in prison, bought me in Virginia, and has been a kind master to me; I have no money, but if you will do your best to have him acquitted, I will return to the South, sell myself and send you the money.”
“It is a bargain,” replied the lawyer. “Send me the money, and I will save your master from the penitentiary.”
Robert returned to Baltimore, sold himself to a Jew in that city, and sent the money to the lawyer in Philadelphia. After this he was bought by a distinguished Southern Senator—afterwards a General in the Southern army—with whom he remained, and to whom he rendered valuable services during the war.
Other instances were known of negroes who preferred being sold into slavery rather than take care of themselves. There were some in our immediate neighborhood, who finding themselves emancipated by their master’s will, begged the owners of neighboring plantations to buy them, saying they preferred having “white people to take care of them.” On the “Wheatly” plantation—not far from us—there is still living an old negro who sold himself in this way, and cannot be persuadednowto accept his freedom. After the war, when all the negroes were freed by the Federal Government, and our people too much impoverished longer to clothe and feed them, this old man refused to leave the plantation, but clung to his cabin, although his wife and family moved off and begged him to accompany them.
“No,” said he, “I nuver will leave this plantation, and go off to starve with free niggers.”
Not even when his wife was very sick and dying could he be persuaded to go off and stay one night with her. He had long been too old to work, but his former owners indulged him by giving him his cabin, and taking care of him through all the poverty which has fallen upon our land since the war.
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 theywouldtalk—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 bestmeans 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; theclash 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!
The scenes connected with the late war will recall to the mind of every Southern man and woman the name of Robert E. Lee—a name which will be loved and revered as long as home or fireside remains in old Virginia—and which sets the crowning glory on the list of illustrious men from plantation homes. Admiration and enthusiasm naturally belong to victory; but the man must be rare indeed, who in defeat, like General Lee, received the applause of his countrymen.
It was not alone his valor, his handsome appearance, his commanding presence, his perfect manner, which won the admiration of his fellow-men. There was something above and beyond all these—his true Christian character. Trust in God ennobled his everyword and action. Among the grandest of human conquerors was he, for early enlisting as a soldier of the cross—to fight against the world, the flesh and the devil—he fought the “good fight” and the victor’s crown awaited him in the “kingdom not made with hands.”
Trust in God kept him calm in victory as in defeat. When I remember General Lee during the war, in his family circle at Richmond—then at the height of his renown—his manner, voice and conversation were the same as when, a year after the surrender, he came to make my mother a visit from his Lexington home.
His circumstances and surroundings were now changed—no longer the stars and epaulets adorned his manly form; but dressed in a simple suit of pure white linen, he looked a king, and adversity had wrought no change in his character, manner, or conversation.
To reach our house he made a journey—on his old war horse, “Traveler”—forty miles across the mountains, describing which, on the night of his arrival, he said:
“To-day an incident occurred which gratified me more than anything that has happened for a long time. As I was riding over the most desolate mountain region, where not even a cabin could be seen, I was surprised to find, on a sudden turn in the road, two little girls playing on a large rock. They were very poorly clad, and after looking a moment at me, began to run away. ‘Children,’ said I, ‘don’t run away. If you could knowwhoI am, you would know that I am the last man in the world for anybody to run from now.’
“‘But we do know you,’ they replied.
“‘You never saw me before,’ I said, ‘for I never passed along here.’
“‘But we do know you,’ they said, ‘And we’ve got your picture up yonder in the house, and you are General Lee! And we ain’t dressed clean enough to see you.’
“With this they scampered off to a poor log hut on the mountain side.”
It was gratifying to him to find that even in this lonely mountain hut the children had been taught to know and revere him.
He told us, too, of a man he met the same day in a dense forest who recognized him, and throwing up his hat in the air, said: “General,pleaselet me cheer you,” and fell to cheering with all his lungs!
My last recollections of General Lee, when making a visit of several weeks at his house, the year before his death—although not coming properly under the head of “plantation reminiscences”—may not be inappropriate here.
It has been said that a man is never a “hero to his valet;” but this could not have been said of General Lee, for those most intimately connected with him could not fail to see continually in his bearing and character something above the ordinary level, something of the hero.
At the time of my visit the commencement exercises of the College, of which he was President, were going on. His duties were necessarily onerous. Sitting up late at night with the board of visitors,and attending to every detail with his conscientious particularity, there was little time for him to rest. Yet every morning of that busy week he was ready, with his prayer-book under his arm, when the church bell called its members to sun-rise service.
It is pleasant to recall all he said at the breakfast, dinner and tea table, where in his hospitality he always insisted upon bringing all who chanced to be at his house at those hours—on business or on social call.[8]
This habit kept his table filled with guests, who received from him elegant courtesy.
Only once did I hear him speak regretfully of the past. It was one night when sitting by him on the porch in the moonlight, he said to me, his thoughts turning to his early childhood:
“It was not my mother’s wish that I should receive a military education, and I ought to have taken her advice, for,” he said very sadly, “my education did not fit me for this civil life.”
In this no one could agree with him, for it seemed to all that he adorned and satisfactorily filled every position in life, civil or military.
There was something in his manner which naturally pleased every one without his making an effort; at the same time a dignity and reserve which commanded respect and precluded anything like undue familiarity. All desirable qualities seemed united in him to render him popular.
It was wonderful to observe—in the evenings when his parlors were overflowing with people young and old, from every conceivable place—how by a word, a smile, a shake of the hand he managed to giveallpleasure and satisfaction, each going away charmed with him.
The applause of men excited in him no vanity; for those around soon learned that the slightest allusion or compliment, in his presence, to his valor or renown, instead of pleasing, rather offended him. Without vanity, he was equally without selfishness.
One day, observing several quaint articles of furniture about his house, and asking Mrs. Lee where they came from, she told me that an old lady in New York city—of whom neither herself nor the General had ever before heard—concluded to break up housekeeping. Having no family and not wishing to sell or remove her furniture to a boarding house, she determined to give it to “thegreatest living man,” and that man was General Lee.
She wrote a letter asking his acceptance of the present, requesting that, if his house was already furnished and he had no room, he would use the articles about his College.
The boxes arrived. But—such was his reluctance at receiving gifts—weeks passed and he neither had them opened or brought to his house from the express office.
Finally, as their house was quite bare of furniture, Mrs. Lee begged him to allow her to have them opened, and he consented.
First there was among the contents a beautiful carpet large enough for two rooms, at which she was delighted, as they had none. But the General, seeing it, quickly said: “That is the very thing for the floor of the new chapel! It must be put there.”
Next were two sofas and a set of chairs. “The very things we want,” again exclaimed the General, “for the platform of the new chapel!”
Then they unpacked a side-board. “This will dovery well,” said the General, “to be placed in the basement of the chapel to hold the College papers!”
And so with everything the old lady sent, only keeping for his own house the articles which could not be possibly used for the College or chapel—a quaint work-table, an ornamental clock and some old fashioned preserve dishes—although his own house was then bare enough, and the old lady had particularly requested that only those articles which they did not need should go to the College.
The recollection of this visit, although reviving many pleasant hours, is very sad, for it was the last time I saw the dear, kind face of Mrs. Lee; of whom the General once said when one of us, alluding to him, used the word “hero:” “My dear,Mrs.Lee is the hero. For although deprived of the use of her limbs, by suffering, and unable for ten years to walk I have never heard her murmur or utter one complaint.”
And the General spoke truly, Mrs. Lee was a heroine. With gentleness, kindness and true feminine delicacy, she had strength of mind and character a man might have envied. Her mind well stored and cultivated made her interesting in conversation; and a simple cordiality of manner made her beloved by all who met her.
During this last visit she loved to tell about her early days at Arlington—her own and her ancestors’ plantation home—and in one of these conversations gave me such a beautiful sketch of her mother—Mrs. Custis—that I wish her every word could be remembered that I might write it here.
Mrs. Custis was a woman of saintly piety, her devotion to good works having long been a theme with all in that part of Virginia. She had only one child—Mrs. Lee—and possessed a very large fortune. In early life she felt that God had given her a special mission, which was to take care of and teach the three hundred negroes she had inherited.
“Believing this,” said Mrs. Lee to me, “my mother devoted the best years of her life to teaching these negroes, for which purpose she had a school house built in the yard, and gave her life up to this work; and I think it an evidence of the ingratitude of their race, that although I have long been afflicted, only one of those negroes has written to enquire after me, or offered to nurse me.”
These last years of Mrs. Lee’s life were passed in much suffering, being unable to move any part of her body except her hands and head. Yet her time was devoted to working for her church. Her fingers were always busy with fancy work, painting or drawing—she was quite an accomplished artist—which were sold for the purpose of repairing and beautifying the church in sight of her window,and as much an object of zeal and affection with her, as the chapel was with the General.
Indeed the whole family entered into the General’s enthusiasm about this chapel—just then completed—especially his daughter Agnes, with whom I often went there, little thinking it was so soon to be her place of burial.
In a few short years all three—General Lee, his wife and daughter—were laid here to rest, and this chapel they had loved so well became their tomb.
All plantation reminiscences resemble a certain patch-work, made when we were children, of bright pieces joined with black squares. The black squares were not pretty, but if left out, the character of the quilt was lost. And so with the black faces, if left out of our home pictures of the past, the character of the picture is destroyed.
What I have written is a simple record of facts in my experience without an imaginary scene or character; intended for the descendants of those who owned slaves in the South, and who may in future wish to know something of the high-toned character and virtues of their ancestors.
The pictures are strictly true, and should it be thought by any that the brightest have alone been selected, I can only say, I knew no others.
It would not be possible for any country to be entirely exempt from crime and wickedness; and here, too, these existed; for prisons, penitentiaries and courts of justice were, as elsewhere, important; but it is a sincere belief that the majority of Southern people were true and good. And that they have accomplished more than any other nation towards civilizing and elevating the negro race, may be shown from the following paragraph in a late magazine:
“From a very early date the French had their establishment on the Western coast of Africa. In 1364 their ships visited that portion of the world. But with all this long intercourse with the white man the natives have profited little.Five centurieshave not civilized them, so as to be able to build up institutions of their own. Yet the French have always succeeded better than the English with the negro and Indian element.”
Civilization and education are slow; for, says a modern writer:
“After the death of Roman intellectual activity, the seventh and eighth centuries were justly called dark. If Christianity was to be one of the factors in producing the present splendid enlightenment, she had no time to lose, and she lost no time. She was the only power at that day that could begin the work of enlightenment. And starting at the very bottom, she wrought fornine hundred yearsalone. The materials she had to work upon, were stubborn and unmalleable.For one must be somewhat civilized to have a taste for knowledge at all; and one must know something to be civilized at all.She had to carry on the double work of civilizing and educating. Her progress was necessarily slow at first.But after some centuriesit began to increase in arithmetical progression until the sixteenth century.”
Then our ancestors performed a great work—the work allotted them by God, civilizing and elevating an inferior race in the scale of intelligence and comfort. That this race may continue to improve, and finally be the means of carrying the gospel into their native Africa, should be the prayer of every earnest Christian.
Never again will the negro race find a people so kind and true to them as the Southerners have been. For, said a gentleman the other day, who lives in New York, “In the Northern cities white labor is preferred, and the negroes are to be found on the outskirts, poor, wretched and friendless.”
There is much in our lives not intended for us to comprehend or explain; but believing that nothing happens by chance, and that our forefathers have done their duty in the “place it had pleased God to call them,” let us cherish their memory, and remember that the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.