USA > Alabama > Dallas County > Cahaba > Memories of old Cahaba > Part 4
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At the large protracted meetings, held once or twice a year at these numerous country churches, were to be found represented much of the wealth, beauty, and refinement of the county, and strangers were always impressed with the general prosperity that everywhere seemed to prevail. The scene was a bright and happy one : the young men, driving handsome equipages or riding spirited, well-caparisoned horses; the young ladies mounted on steeds trained especially for their own use or, dressed in the height of the style, reclined in the large family carriage attended by a colored maid; the kind, old-fashioned, motherly ladies, with
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their large turkey-tail fans and cordial, old-time greet- ing. And the dinners! The most appetizing meats, the most delicious pastries and cakes, brought in large hamper baskets, spread on improvised tables. and served between the morning and evening sermons under the shade of the trees, are memories on which we all love to dwell, and which brighten the lives of many who have now passed their three score years and ten.
The Providence Church community responded nobly to the call for volunteers in the Confederate service. In the roll call of the Cahaba Rifles alone are to be found the names of two of the Ellis family, three or four of the Hatcher family, two from the Swann family, and three from the Mosely family, not to mention others who volunteered in other commands. After Capt. C. C. Pegues was appointed colonel of the Fifth Alabama Regiment, Dr. E. B. Mosely was elected captain of the Cahaba Rifles, and commanded that company until the war ended.
Still farther west from Orrville was the Pegues, the Irby, and the Ellerbee neighborhood, near the edge of the county ; while seven miles back from Portland. on the Alabama River, was the Boykin settlement. composed of the Boykin, the James, the Oliver, and the Reeves families-all of whom were wealthy, cul- tured, and refined people, who attended all the social functions in Cahaba and entertained royally at their country homes. Especially during "court week" was Dallas County represented by her most influential citi- zens. and nowhere could there have been found a higher class of representative men than those who
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assembled in Cahaba at that time from these sur- rounding country precincts.
Two and a half miles from Cahaba, on the Orrville road, on a high elevation overlooking the town, was the old Beene place, at one time the home of Mrs. Wil- liam Beene, one of the most beautiful and gifted wom- en of her day. Mr. Beene was a first cousin of Wil- liam L. Yancey and a nephew of Judge William E. Bird, of Cahaba. Back of the Beene place was Mt. Nebo, the country residence of Judge Campbell, a picturesque and romantic spot in a large pine grove. Farther out, on the Orrville road, was the long, high Saltmarsh hill, on the top of which was located an- other spacious country house, surrounded by wealth and luxury, with its numerous slaves and an exten- sive, well-improved plantation, the home of Dr. Salt- marsh, a wealthy, public-spirited gentleman of North- ern birth who married a Miss Beck, sister of the late Col. Thomas R. Beck, of Camden, Ala., and a niece of Hon. William R. King. Beyond the Saltmarsh place was the large two-story Mitchell house, standing in a magnificent grove of forest trees. Beyond the Mitchell place was the home of Mrs. Peter Mathews, now known as the Chambliss place. This was an ideal spot, overlooking the high bluffs of the Alabama River, and also surrounded by a handsome grove of old trees. The beautiful residence was fitted up with all the luxury that heart could wish or mind desire- handsome furniture, rare books, beautiful paintings. and a stable filled with fine horses and elegant car- riages. Here was the lifetime home of the stately and accomplished Mattie Mathews, one of the lovely girls of Dallas County in the early sixties, and who
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afterwards became the wife of Major N. Chambliss. from Tennessee. Still farther out, on the White Bluff road, were the homes of Judge Le Noir, Judge Griffin, and Gilbert Johnson, all beautifully improved places. Down in the south bend of the Alabama River were the large plantations of the Molett family, with their hundreds of slaves, many of whom were native-born Africans and could speak only the African lingo.
Skirting the Cahaba River in a westerly direction, for a short distance is the Marion and Cahaba road. A mile and a half out on this road, just beyond Clear Creek, was the old Haralson place, where Judge John Haralson, now of the Supreme Court of Alabama, was born. After crossing Clear Creek, there is a gradual rise in the surface of the country for two miles or more until we reach the old Frank Saunders residence, which is located on one of the high plateaus of the Cahaba River, with the plantation lying in front of the house and extending back into the valleys on the river. Following this road, we come to the old Basin Spring, with its romantic glades, redolent in spring- time with the refreshing perfume of the bay flower, yellow jasmine, and wild honeysuckle. Here were given many of the barbecues and picnics of ante-bel- lum days, when the wealth and beauty of Cahaba and the surrounding country were in full attendance. Be- yond Basin Spring was another one of Dr. Saltmarsh's large plantations, with its long lane of three miles bordered on each side by a tall rail fence and shaded occasionally by peach trees, which in springtime pre- sented a pretty picture-the brilliant pink blossoms, the green, waving corn, and the happy, contented faces of the negroes working and singing in the fields. At
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the end of Saltmarsh lane was the Muckel place, afterwards the plantation home of A. H. Jackson, a young lawyer of Cahaba, who married Miss Jennie Gill, a daughter of Dr. T. W. Gill. The house stood in the midst of a grove of large, majestic beech trees. On the east side was. and is now, one of the loveliest landscapes ever presented to the eye of man, a sublime picture that would inspire the artist at the rising or at the setting of the sun: the Cahaba hills, with the river winding like a belt of silver in and around its green, fertile valleys, while far in the hazy dis- tance are the forests on or beyond the Alabama River. Above the Muckel place, and lying immediately on the Cahaba and Marion road, was the farm of Thomas Carr. Adjoining the Carr place were the plantation and residence of Mrs. Elizabeth Taylor, which for- merly belonged to her brother William Gill, a lawyer and one of the earliest settlers of Cahaba. Beyond the Taylor place was the plantation of Mr. William Cur- tis, the father of Mrs. Eliza Babcock and Mrs. Dr. Ulmer, of Cahaba, and one of the oldest residents of the town.
A mile from the Curtis place was Walnut Grove, the residence of Dr. T. W. Gill, the honored grand- father of the writer, surrounded by a plantation of two thousand acres. Here, too, was a large, handsome house built in the old colonial style, a home with every- thing to make life happy, contented, and comfortable. Smokehouses, storehouses, and corncribs filled to over- flowing, well-trained servants to obey one's slightest wish. Sideboards groaning beneath the weight of handsome silver and beautiful china, horses to ride and drive at pleasure, large pastures with blooded
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stock grazing on luxuriant clover and blue grass. equal to any in Tennessee or Kentucky. Another typical Southern home, where wealth and plenty abounded. and which presented a fine illustration of Southern life during the last years of the South's pros- perity.
Into these country homes visitors would come in crowds, and they were expected to remain as long as they felt inclined. Everything was done to contrib- ute to their pleasure and amusement, and each person was made to feel that he or she conferred an honor in accepting the extended hospitality. Gentlemen would arrive on horseback and the ladies in carriages, not open or covered buggies or one-horse vehicles, but closed family carriages, such as were used by the English nobility at their country seats, drawn by well- trained carriage horses or large. fine mules kept ex- pressly for that purpose, covered with harness mount- ed in silver plate, a negro driver in the coachman's box, the ladies' waiting maid beside him, and a negro boy occupying the little seat behind as footman. Serv- ants waited to open the large entrance gate and take charge of the horses; and, after a cordial welcome. the guests were made to feel unconstrained and al- lowed to seek their own way of entertaining themselves.
The gentlemen were shown the growing crops on the plantation by their host, or taken out to hunt, armed with the finest guns, or with the hounds on a fox chase.
The rest of the time was devoted to the ladies, who, with their small, jeweled hands, soft and white, and tastefully dressed in the fashion of the day-wide. flowing robes, large hoops, thread lace scarfs, hand- some jewelry of camco or coral-and smooth, beau-
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tifully braided hair (which it required a full hour for a maid to arrange). spent the morning hours of sum- mer in reading, conversation, or fine needlework. Aft- er the midday nap, the afternoons were passed in visit- ing. riding, or driving ; and the evening was given up to music and dancing until exhausted with the mere pleasure of living, one sought rest and slumber in the sensuous delight of linen sheets, lavender scented, or in winter found unspeakable comfort in the soft. downy feather beds of the high. old-fashioned, canopy top bedsteads, to sink to sleep in the golden glow of the hickory logs, and awaken in the morning with a maid standing at the bedside with a cup of fragrant coffee. There was no hurry; no special labor was pressing. None were in haste to leave. The climate, the great abundance, the warm-hearted hospitality, made existence in any of these homes an unceasing de- light. It was the "charmed land of the lotus-eaters," where life seemed one long, sweet dream of pleasure.
Back on the Cahaba River was the home of J. B. Gill, another comfortable country place, surrounded by fertile lands. West of Dr. T. W. Gill's place, near the Marion and Orrville road, were the handsomely improved place of Nathan Jackson and the home of Mr. Robert G. Craig, surrounded by their large plan- tations and numerous negroes. Adjoining these places was the plantation of Rees D. Gayle, another valuable estate, with its two hundred slaves and rich, fertile lands. In all the South there could not have been found a more beautiful and prosperous and self-sustaining country than was here-plantations in splendid con- dition, droves of fat horses and mules, herds of cat- tle, flocks of sheep, goats, and droves of hogs; the
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slaves happy and contented, with a magnificent pros- pect of fine crops ; vast fields of waving corn, luxu- riant oats, and wheat and rice heavy in sheath ; cotton green and growing, all worked out ready to lay by until harvest time; corncribs full of last year's corn ; thousands of pounds of fat bacon and hams, hickory- flavored, bags* of molasses hanging from the rafters, and sacks of flour fresh from the mill, filling the smokehouses and the rooms, and hundreds of yards of homemade cloth spun and woven for clothing for the field hands and house servants; but alas! in May the surrender came, and ruin followed. The negroes, elated with freedom, abandoned their homes, left their houses. their household goods and clothing-all but what they wore-and flocked to the Yankee camp to become pen- sioners of the government and spend their time in idle- ness. while the plantations grew up in weeds ; plows lay idle where they had been abandoned in the fields, and stock were left to graze in the pastures. On my father's plantation alone, eight hundred hogs were turned out to go wild in the swamp because there was no one to feed and care for them.
The question now arose how to get the growing crops harvested. My father concluded he would go to Selma and offer his negroes one-half of the crop to return home and gather it. As he rode into the camp, the first person he spied was an old woman named Pat- ty, one of his slaves inherited from his mother, and the one of all others who expressed the greatest devotion
*Barrels were scarce and hard to get during the war, and on my father's plantations bags made of heavy cotton cloth were used to hold the molasses.
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to her "young master," as she called him. For years half bent with rheumatism, Patty had not known work, and went hobbling around on a stick; but lo! freedom had worked a marvelous change-now, with head erect, she was stepping around as agile and spry as a young girl that had never known an ache or pain. Her master called to her: "Come here, Patty; I want to speak to you." She turned, saw who it was, and' flounced off, exclaiming : "Lord a massie, chile, I ain't got time to fool with you now." This was a novel ex- perience to my father-the first time in his life a negro had ever refused to come at his bidding-and to be an- swered in this offhand manner. especially by one of his old slaves. was too much to be borne. He con- cluded to make no further overtures, and returned home, gave the crop to the Confederate soldiers, who reaped a rich harvest in the fall, thus enabling many of them to make a new start in life. But a sad and fear- ful change has swept over this beautiful country, and though
The harvest moon shines with the same old splendor. Our lands lie barren and bare ; And the cheerful song of the old-time slave No longer resounds on the air.
No longer the ring of the ax is heard Nor the corn-song over the hill ; The banjo is silent, the dance is done. Its music forever is still.
The sound of the horn is heard no more. Nor the neigh of the hunter's steed ;
Nor the yelp of the fox, nor the bay of the hounds, Resounding over the mead.
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The planter has gone. with his lordly grace ; His home is in alien hands ;
His children are ruined, dead, or lost. Or struggling in foreign lands.
His house is left deserted and lone- All, all liave gone away ; And its falling roof and crumbling walls Are fast falling to decay.
The door stands open, gaping wide. Creaking on one hinge ;
And the ghosts of former wealth and pride Are all who now come in.
Save here and there, some lone old home, Heir to a sadder fate,
With rough, rude negroes, former slaves. Inhabiting its rooms of state.
Not a mark is left of the former glory- Of this land in its beauty and pride ; Not a soul is left to tell the story ; They have all passed away and died.
Nine or ten miles from Cahaba, a mile or more off from the Cahaba and Marion road, was Prosperity Church, known as "The Seceder Church," in charge of the Rev. John Young. In the surrounding country were the Johnsons, the Chestnuts, the Spears, and Capt. Robert Moore's plantation. Five miles distant was Harrel's Crossroads, another country settlement of the Harrels, the Forts, the Craigs, the Chisholms, Voltzes, and Capt. John Moore's family-all planters in affluent circumstances, with comfortable homes, where a belated traveler ever found a sweet night's rest, and where friends and relatives always received
5
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a cordial and sincere welcome from those good. old- time people, whom it was always a pleasure to visit. These communities did the greater part of their buy- ing and selling in Cahaba, and also contributed a number of volunteers to the Cahaba Rifles-brave, valiant young men, several of whom yielded their lives on the field of battle. The women, too, did a noble part in the cause of the Confederacy : with their own hands they spun and wove the finest of jeans and made it into clothes for the soldiers. It was a labor of love that they would not intrust to their servants, many of whom were skilled in the art of weaving ; and the finest and most beautiful cloth made during the war was to be seen in this community.
Across the Alabama River from Cahaba were other planters-representative men-also with beautiful and luxurious homes, large plantations, and numberless slaves. There resided Col. Thomas M. Mathews, Col. Robert Hatcher, the Saffolds, the Milhouses, the Davises. the Pickenses, the Minters. the Calhouns. the Wades, the Winnamores, the Vassers, the Smiths, Judge Harris, and Josiah Walker, and Dr. Rees, with his deer park and beautiful grounds surrounding his residence. There, too, was the Cornegay place, the old home of William R. King, Ex-Vice President of the United States, surrounded by a heavy grove of chest- nut trees. which he highly prized. In the family burial ground, near the house, was the marble vault, where his remains rested until a few years ago, when they were removed to Selma.
In the bend of the Alabama River. just above Caha- ba, was another beautiful place, the home of Mrs. Sa- rah Blackwell, which was always the scene of social
THE FERRY ACROSS THE CAHABA RIVER AT THE POINT.
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mirth and attraction. On the Cahaba road, leading to Selma. about two or two and a half miles from town, was the McCurdy plantation, the home of Mr. Mc- Curdy and his daughter, now Mrs. Dr. Henry, of Montgomery ; and in the same vicinity was the resi- dence of Col. William Saunders. whose lovely daugli- ters were also among the most admired girls of Dallas County. Five miles from Cahaba, on the Selma road, was the beautiful Kirk Harrison place, with its fine race track, which afterwards became the property of Judge John Hunter, where he kept a number of fine race horses. While many of the last-named persons were not actual citizens of Cahaba, these wealthy planters contributed greatly to the general prosperity and added much to the social life of the place.
Two large ferries on the Alabama and Cahaba Riv- ers furnished the means of transportation across these streams for the numerous visitors, travelers, and teams of wagons to and from the town.
There was a constant exchange of courtesies be- tween the Cahabans and the old county families, and visits frequently extended themselves into days, weeks, and months. As before stated there was practically 110 end to the hospitality, and it would have been regarded a great breech of etiquette in extending an invita- tion to limit the stay of a guest or specify a time for the visit to end as is now customary.
In 1859, when the railroad was first built from Ca- haba to Marion, Cahaba was in a flourishing condi- tion; but the war came on, business was paralyzed, and the town ceased to build up and improve, although it still continued to be a place of importance. An
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army post and one of the largest Federal prisons in the South were located there in 1863 or 1864, and a num- ber of refugees also sought an asylum within the town, some investing in town property; but in 1865, just before the surrender, another flood came, the post was abandoned, and, when the war ended, Cahaba began to realize that the clouds of adversity were falling fast upon her. Spartanlike, she bore her misfortune bravely and cheerfully and tried to stem the tide that had turned against her. but the effort was vain ; and in 1866 her death knell was sounded when, by a vote of the people of the county, the courthouse was removed to Selma, and she, for the first time withi- in her existence, ceased to be the county seat of Dallas County. It was a cruel blow from which the grand old place never recovered.
Many of the prominent citizens followed the court- house to Selma; many others moved to more distant localities. A few new families came in to fill their places, and for a time Cahaba hoped at least to regain her old-time importance as a commercial center, but the hope was illusive, and in the seventies, for the third time within the memory of man, the town be- came a deserted village. The scenes of 1826 were re- peated. The doors of the business houses were all closed and locked, the stately homes were abandoned and deserted. Flowers again bloomed untended in the lovely yards and grass covered the principal streets. An air of loneliness and desolation impossible to describe encompassed the place. Where wealth and fashion a few short years before held unlimited sway, ruin and desolation now danced in high carni-
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val, and one could but exclaim: "Time! Time! how inscrutable are thy changes !"
In reviewing the history of Calaba, it seemed a most fatuous blindness on the part of those early commissioners appointed to locate the capital that they did not select one of the many majestic bluffs, with their broad plateaus, bordering the Alabama River farther south, for a site of the town ; but
"When self the waving balance shakes. It's rarely right adjusted."
And it has been whispered that some of these com- missioners were land speculators, or in the hands of land speculators, and self-interest was the motive that prompted the unfortunate selection of the place. Be that as it may ; but certain it is that, had the town been built on a more solid foundation, it might to-day be one of the principal cities, if not the capital, of the State.
But those beautiful scenes are no more. All those noble, grand old people have passed away, and their like will never be seen again, because the conditions and surroundings that produced them are no longer a part of the South. They are gone never to return, and Cahaba, like Rome, must ever remain a Niobe of the nation, a mother bereft of her children, to whom our hearts still cling with living enthusiasm in memory of her departed glory. Though long years have passed and the ruin is now perfect and complete, the site of the old town is still a lovely spot, where the pure, limpid waters gush unceasingly from the artesian wells ; where the flowers planted long years ago still bloom in perennial spring in the old-time yards; where
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the mocking bird still sings in springtime, and the Cherokee roses, full with blossoms, shed their snowy petals along the deserted streets; where the sweet breath of the china blossom is wafted by the night breeze ; where the stars still shine in all their brilliant beauty, and the moon rises in its old-time splendor infolding the ruined town in its soft, mellow light and lovingly shadows the graves of the dead who, when living, were among the most refined, cultivated, and intellectual people that ever adorned the State of Ala- bama.
Memoirs of Old Cahaba.
MEMOIRS OF OLD CAHABA.
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PART I.
By the side of the river, we sat down and wept. And sighed for the days that are gone ; And told the story, o'er and o'er.
Of the glory of the dear old town.
Each scene was recalled of youth's golden hours. Each friend we used to know Was with us again, from the silent land. The land of long ago.
And again we heard the song of the birds. With the ripple of the waters' flow : The memories of years. forever lost, Swept over our hearts once more.
Those old-time homes, with open doors, Those streets by large trees shaded, The rich perfume of flowers rare. From memory have never faded.
The sweet, clear notes of the academy bell Come stealing through the air ; The joyous songs of children bright Who are happily playing there ;
And the ringing sound of the church bells old, In their steeples all so high. And those good old people who worshiped there- Their memory can never die.
The merry sound of the violin. The voices of girls and boys,
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Come floating back from the dust of years Full of youth's bright joys.
The rattle of wheels we hear on the street. Fine coaches, of the à la mode.
Come dashing by, as in days of yore, For a spin on the old plank road.
Large stores are open, their wealth displayed In jewels, fine silks, and laces, Imported from far-distant lands, Or brought from nearer places.
Huge wagons crowd the streets so old, With cotton bales piled high ;
And negro drivers, worth their weight in gold, Pass again before the eye.
Princely planters, from their country seats. Ride fine hunting steeds to town, On business and on pleasure bent. Until the night rolls round. .
We hear the distant whistle sound- The St. Nicholas comes in sight ; With sweet music from her calliope, We see her land at night.
Once more we see the lightwood torch And hear the deck hands' song,
As they gayly grapple the cotton hooks And pull. the bales along,
That roll and tumble down the hill From the warehouse, old and gray, That holds ten thousand fleecy bales To be sent so far away.
And a gay and brilliant party From the Dallas Hall Hotel ;
MEMORIES OF OLD CAHABA.
Wealthy planters, from the country, With their daughters, each a belle.
Now crowd upon the steamer's deck. Accompanied by their beaux- Young men of wealth and fashion, Whose life's all couleur de rose.
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