the departed glories of the south land
my memories would be incomplete were i to fail to include in them a description of plantation life that may be taken as a type of the beautiful homes of the south in that long ago before the civil war. from maryland to louisiana there had reigned, since colonial times, an undisturbed, peaceful, prosperous democracy, based upon an institution beneficial alike to master and servant. it was implanted in the south by the english settlers, approved by the english rulers, and fostered by thrifty merchants of new england, glad to traffic in black men so long as there were black men upon the african coasts who might be had in exchange for a barrel of rum. generations living under these conditions had evolved a domestic discipline in southern homes which was of an ideal order. nothing resembling it had existed in modern times. to paraphrase the nursery rhyme, the planter was in his counting-house counting out his money; his wife was in the parlour eating bread and honey; the man servant was by his master’s side, the maid with her mistress, the meat-cook at his spit and the bread-cook at the marble block where the delicious beaten biscuit were made in plenty. the laundress was in the laundry (chinamen then in china), and in the nursery lived, ever at her post, the sable sentinel of cribs and cradles, the skilful manufacturer of possets and potions. none but a southerner to the manner born can appreciate or imagine the tie that bound us of that old-time south to our dear black mammy, in whose 212capacious lap the little ones confided to her care cuddled in innocent slumber.
fruitful vineyards and gardens furnished our luxuries, and talent and faithful public service were the criterion of social standing. of those bygone days, mr. e. spann hammond[31] recently wrote, “to me it seems as if i had been in two worlds, and two existences, the old and the new, and to those knowing only the latter, the old will appear almost like mythology and romance, so thorough has been the upheaval and obliteration of the methods and surroundings of the past.”
yes! the old glories have passed away, but even those who destroyed them, looking back to that time and that southern civilisation, recognise to-day how enviable were our solidarity as a people, our prosperity and the moral qualities that are characteristic of the south. “i have learned not only to respect, but to love the great qualities which belong to my fellow-citizens of the southern states,” said senator hoar, recently. “their love of home, their chivalrous respect for women, their courage, their delicate sense of honour, their constancy, which can abide by an appearance or a purpose or an interest for their states through adversity, and through prosperity, through years and through generations, are things by which the more mercurial people of the north may take a lesson. and there is another thing,” he added, “the low temptation of money has not found any place in our southern politics.”
senator james h. hammond
of south carolina
213it was my good fortune during the late autumn and winter of 1864 to be invited to take refuge in a spacious and representative plantation home in south carolina, where the conditions that obtained were so typically those of the southern home that i could choose no better example for description, were i to scan here the numberless instances of a similar character, known to me before those unquiet days. “redcliffe,” the home of senator hammond, is still a point of interest to travellers, and a beautiful feature of the landscape in which it is set. it is built upon a high knoll on beech island, south carolina, and is visible to the naked eye at a distance of thirty-five miles. it lies within view of sand hill, where the famous madame le vert spent her declining years, and is pointed out to the visitor by the residents of augusta, georgia, and the smaller towns about, as an object of local admiration and pride. in the decades preceding the war it was owned by governor, afterward senator, james h. hammond, a wealthy man in his own right, whose possessions were greatly increased by his marriage to miss catherine fitzsimmons. miss fitzsimmons was a daughter of one of south carolina’s richest citizens, and brought to governor hammond a splendid dowry. her sister became the wife of colonel wade hampton, who had been on general jackson’s staff at the battle of new orleans, and whose son, general and senator wade hampton, served in the same congress with senator hammond. while in washington, the latter, distinguished alike for his reserve and scholarliness, became known as the “napoleon of the senate.” he was no lover of public life, however, and the senatorial office was literally thrust upon him. especially as the strenuousness in congress increased, his desire deepened to remain among his people and to develop what was, in fact, one of the most productive plantations in south carolina. the estate of “redcliffe” was stocked with the finest of southdowns, with sleek, blooded kine, and horses, and a full flock of angora goats. the prolific “redcliffe” vineyards yielded unusual varieties of grapes, planted and cared for by white labourers. four hundred slaves or more were owned by senator hammond, but these were set to less skill-demanding duties. for the planting of this vineyard, forty acres of land, sub-soiled 214to a depth of three feet, were set apart, and the clear, straw-coloured wine for which the senator’s cellar was famous came from his own wine-presses.
on the plantation was a large grist-mill, from which every human creature in that vast family was fed. it was a big, heavy timbered building, grey even then with age, and run by water. here the corn was crushed between the upper and the nether mill-stones, and so skilful was the miller that each could have his hominy ground as coarse or as fine as his fancy dictated, and all the sweetness of the corn left in it besides. the miller could neither read nor write, but he needed no aid to his memory. for years he had known whose mealbag it was that had the red patch in the corner. he knew each different knot as well as he knew the negros’ faces, and if any of the bags presented had holes in it the miller would surely make its owner wait till the last.
lower down on the same water-course was the sawmill, which had turned out all the lumber used in the building of “redcliffe.” on one occasion it happened that this mill, needing some repairs, a great difficulty was encountered in the adjustment of the mud-sills, upon which the solidity of the whole superstructure depended. the obstacles to be removed were great, and it cost much time and money to overcome them. while mr. hammond was senator, and in the official chamber was grappling with the problem of labour and capital, his experience with the mud-sills was opportunely recalled, and his application of that name to certain of the labouring classes at once added to his reputation for ready wit.
on the “redcliffe” plantation the blacksmith was to be found at his forge, the wheelwright in his shop, and the stock-minder guarding the welfare of his charges. measured by the standard that a man has not lived in vain who makes two blades of grass to grow where but 215one grew before, senator hammond might have been crowned king of agricultural enterprise, for his highest producing corn-lands before he rescued them had been impassible swamp-lands. drained and put under cultivation, their yield was enormous, no less than eighty bushels of corn being the average quantity to the acre. there was scarcely a corner of the old “stake-and-rider fences” in which mr. hammond did not cause to be planted a peach or apple or other fruit tree.
our cousin miss comer, who late in the fifties married the son of senator hammond, and made her home at “redcliffe,” though accustomed to affluent plantation life, was at once impressed by the splendid system that directed the colony of slaves at beech island. each marriage and birth and death that took place among them was registered with great exactness. the senator’s business ability was remarkable. he knew his every possession to the most minute particular. the hammond slaves formed an exclusive colony, which was conducted with all the strictness of a little republic. they were a happy, orderly, cleanly, and care-free lot, and mr. hammond was wont to say that if the doctrine of transmigration of souls was true, he would like to have his soul come back and inhabit one of his “darkies.”
i have said they were an exclusive colony. my pretty little cousin realised this upon her arrival at “glen loula,” a charming residence named for her, and set apart for the young couple by the owner of “redcliffe.”
“the hammond negro, as i have found him,” she wrote, “has a decided personal vanity, and nothing will offend him more than to have you forget his name. for a long time after coming i felt i was not exactly admitted by the different servants as ‘one ob de fambly.’ in fact, it was plain i was on trial, being ‘weighed in the balance!’ how i wished i knew all about diplomacy! 216i never saw a more august appearance than daddy ‘henry,’ an old african, who remembers the slave ship on which he was brought over, his foreign name, and, perhaps, many things which he never tells about. he cleans the silver, polishes the floors and windows and the brasses in the fireplaces, and, besides this, claims the boys’ guns as his by some divine right.
“in order to hasten an expression of their good-will, i thought one day of making a sterling exchange with the aid of some washington finery; and, with a black silk dress to one servant and a morning-robe to another, i have pulled through famously, even with marm jane, the cook, who is supreme in her kitchen. i have heard her turn my husband out. but the silk dress brought me a carte blanche. ‘come on, missy, jes w’en you feels like it!’ is the way she greets me now.
“i cannot help seeing the wise arrangement of every part of this extensive plantation, especially for the negroes. the house of the overseer is in the midst of a grove of live oaks, and in each street are a certain number of cabins, each in the midst of a little garden with space in which to raise chickens. the hospital is well arranged, and there is a separate house where the children, especially the babies, are left to be fed and cared for while their mothers are at work.
“my poor memory for faces would be my undoing but for paul, who always tells me as we come upon any of the negroes, ‘now this is jethro! be sure to call him distinctly.’ i fall in with this righteous deception and it works like a charm. they admire what they think wit, and especially love to memorise some easy little rhyme. every one makes the same atrocious wish to me:
‘god blass you, ma missie. i wishes you joy
an’ every year a gal or a boy.’
“i thought i would die when i heard it first, but i’ve 217gotten over it now. senator hammond gives a barbecue to the slaves every fourth of july and christmas, and the dances of the negroes are very amusing. there is a tall black man, called robin, on this plantation, who has originated a dance which he calls the turkey-buzzard dance. he holds his hands under his coat-tails, which he flirts out as he jumps, first to one side, and then to the other, and looks exactly like the ugly bird he imitates.”
in the uncertain days of the war, huntsville being unapproachable, and we having no fixed abode in the intervals between congressional sessions at richmond, senator clay and i made several enjoyable visits to the sheltered home of mr. hammond, even while battles raged and every heart was burdened with apprehension. the hospitality of the owner of “redcliffe” was well known. it was his custom in those uncertain days, whether guests were known to be coming or not, to send his carriage daily to augusta to meet the afternoon train, and the unexpected or chance arrival who might be seeking a conference or a refuge at “redcliffe”; and once a year, like a great feudal landlord, he gave a fête or grand dinner to all the country people about, at which he always contrived to have some distinguished guest present. senator clay and i had the good fortune to be visiting mr. hammond on such an occasion, when every neighbour, poor or rich, for miles about was present. they made a memorable picture; for the majority were stiff and prim and of the quaint, simple, religious class often to be found in back districts. they seemed ill at ease, if not consciously out of place, in senator hammond’s parlours, filled as those great rooms were with evidences of a cosmopolitan culture, with paintings and statuary, bronze and marble groups.[32]
218in their efforts to entertain their guests, our host and hostess’s ingenuity had been tested to its utmost, when suddenly senator hammond’s eye twinkled, and he turned to senator clay.
“i remember once seeing you dance at our home in washington, mr. clay,” he began, and then proceeded to recall an amusing evening, where, strictly en famille, senator butler, of south carolina, together with secretary and mrs. cobb, senator clay and myself, had dined, finishing up the hours together by singing our favourite ballads. upon my playing a merry tune, secretary cobb, rotund and jolly, suddenly seized my husband, slender and sedate, and together they whirled madly about the room to the music of the piano, and the great amusement of dear old senator butler, who laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks.
when mr. hammond at “redcliffe” proposed that mr. clay repeat his terpsichorean success for the pleasure of the beach islanders there gathered, my husband at first (emulating the distinguished artist wherever he is encountered) demurred. he “could not dance without music,” he said.
“well,” said our host, “mrs. clay can play!”
“but i need a partner!” my husband persisted. at last, however, he yielded to senator hammond’s persuasion and danced an impromptu highland fling, abandoning himself completely to the fun of the moment. as the music went on and his spirit of frolic rose, the faces of some of the spectators around us grew longer and longer, and, i am sure, those good people felt themselves to be a little nearer to the burning pit than they had ever been before. their prim glances at my husband’s capers increased the natural sedateness of our hostess, who, seeing the expressions of alarm, plainly was relieved when at last the terrible bacchanalian outburst was over! i felt sure it would be a difficult task to try to convince my husband’s 219audience that his own religious feelings and convictions were of the deepest and most spiritual quality.
for his black dependents, senator hammond had built several churches; the favourite one, called st. catherine’s (named for mrs. hammond), being nearest the “redcliffe” residence and most frequently visited by the family. once a month a white preacher came, and all the slaves gathered to listen to the monthly sermon. senator hammond’s views for the civilising of the negroes led him to forbid the presence of exciting negro preachers, for the religion of the black man, left to himself, is generally a mixture of hysteria and superstition. the conversion of the negroes under their own spiritual guides was a blood-curdling process in those days, for they screamed to heaven as if the indians with their tomahawks were after them, or danced, twisting their bodies in most remarkable manner.[33] as their emotion increased, as they “got feelin’,” and the moment of conversion approached, as a rule they fell all in a heap, though in thus “coming through” the wenches were altogether likely to fall into the arms of the best-looking young brother who happened to be near. by reason of senator hammond’s wise discipline, such religious excesses were impossible at “redcliffe,” and i can recall no church service at once more thrilling and reverential than that i attended, with senator clay, at quaint st. catherine’s on the “redcliffe” plantation shortly before my husband’s departure for canada.
the negroes, clean, thrifty, strong, all dressed in their best, vied with each other in their deference to mars’ 220paul’s guests, as we entered the church. they listened quietly to the sermon as the service proceeded.
it was a solemn and impressive scene. there was the little company of white people, the flower of centuries of civilisation, among hundreds of blacks, but yesterday in the age of the world, wandering in savagery, now peaceful, contented, respectful and comprehending the worship of god. within a day’s ride, cannon roared, and a hunter, laying his ear to the ground, might have heard the tread of armies, bent upon the blotting out of just such scenes as these. only god might record our thoughts that morning, as the preacher alluded in prayer and sermon to the issues of the times. at the close of the morning, the hymn “there is rest for the weary” was given out, and when the slaves about us had wailed out the lines
“on the other side of jordan
where the tree of life is blooming
there is rest for you!”
my husband, at the signal for prayer, fell upon his knees, relieving his pent-up feelings in tears which he could not restrain. my own commingling emotions were indescribably strange and sad. would abolitionists, i thought, could they look upon that scene, fail to admit the blessings american “slavery” had brought to the savage black men, thus, within a few generations at most, become at home in a condition of civilisation.
there were many fine voices on the plantation at “redcliffe,” and as they followed their leader down the row “chopping out” cotton, or, when later they worked in gangs at picking it, it was their custom, seeming to act from instinct in the matter, to sing. one voice usually began the song, then another would join him, and then another, until dozens of voices blended in weird and melodious harmonies that floated from the distant cotton 221fields to the house of the master, and the music of the unseen choristers, a natural and rhythmic song, was of a kind we shall not hear again in these later practical times. sometimes, one by one, all would drop out of the song, until only the leader’s high voice was heard; then, gradually, they would join in again, and often, when all seemed finished, a challenge would come from some distant gang, and a fuller and freer antiphonal song would be heard, answering from field to field.
when i remember that throng of well-fed, plump and happy coloured people, and compare it with the ragged and destitute communities common among the freedmen of to-day, the contrast is a sad one. “what’s de reason?” asked an old darky of me during reconstruction days, “dat de yankees caint make linsey-wolsey like ole mistis did in de ole time? ’n dose days one par breeches las me mos a year! i could cut trees, roll logs, burn bresh-heaps an’ cut briers an’ i couldn’t wear dem breeches out! now when i buys dis shoddy stuff de yankees done bro’t an’ sets down on de lawg ter eat ma grub, bress gawd! when i gits up, i leaves de seat o’ my breeches on de lawg! i done got down on my knees an’ prayed for god ter send me linsey-wolsey clothes so i won’t have rheumatiz an’ aint none come. where’s dat mule an’ forty acres? when is dey a comin’, dat’s what i wants ter know!”
