USA > Virginia > King and Queen County > King and Queen County > King and Queen County, Virginia (history printed in 1908) > Part 20
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do not last forever, thanks to the good Father, and now we must make up for lost time.
And now while I have been talking and talking, the grains we have planted are alive again and shooting up all along the row. Then comes the work of replant- ing and thinning out, when the small plows are put in to "side " the little plants, and every one must then be brushed over with the weeding hoe. Yes, I hear you fellows of the modern cultivator and harrow call out "What a tedious and toilsome waste of time." Perhaps; but the men of that day made the corn, and that was what they were after. And now in the brighter days of May and June the four furrows are to be re- turned to the growing plants, and then the hoe again, to " hill up." Thus the crop is laid by.
HARVEST
We have been so busy with the corn that we had almost forgotten this matter of unfailing interest. It is now toward the second, or maybe the third week in June. The sun is hot and fast getting hotter; and look yonder ! The wheat is ripe, for the stalks are tak- ing on a golden hue, and the heads are full and ripe; for they hang low. It must be reaped, or the precious grain will waste. So here comes old Ben Braxton, his cradle, with blade keenly ground, over his shoulder, followed by Coleman, Ottoway, and Reuben of the younger set, each followed by a boy to sheave the wheat, and by others to stack it. (Reader, did you ever see a " cradle "? A stout oak handle four feet long, two inches thick at the butt end, has set into it at a right angle a steel blade, curving inward slightly, by means of a hook on its shank end, an iron ring, and a wedge. Five or six wooden fingers, curving like the blade, are attached, flanking the blade, and catching the straw when cut. This was the implement of those days, and it was much better than the primitive sickle, though it yields now to the great "harvester.")
Ben, Sr., is a veteran at this business, and knows all its ins and outs. Reaching the field he takes the lead
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row, returns and tackles a second, the rest following. When that is cut through and return made to the start- ing point, all feel need of a breathing spell; so old Ben lifts his cradle from his shoulder, lets the end of the handle fall with a thud upon the ground, pulls his little whet-blade from the ribs, shoves it into the light soil at his feet, and proceeds to whet his blade, his body swaying to and fro, keeping time to the rhythmic music of the whetting. So the work goes on till we have two hours for dinner, and then at it again till by and by the field is reaped, and the wheat comfortably shocked.
A good story is told of a King and Queen farmer who had as a head man a veteran negro named Um- phrey. It was a custom of many years' standing, when the toilsome days of harvest came, to send out each day a jug of whisky from which each might get a sip now and then. This time the master had been fearfully smitten with the temperance fever which was abroad in the land at that time. As the morning work was about to begin, he called up his man and said: " Umphrey, whisky is a dreadful thing,-it kills so many people and ruins so many homes; and therefore I have determined to give you all a barrel of good, cool molasses-water in its place." It is doubtful whether surprise, disappointment, or indignation was most prominent in the old darkey's sensations. He was dumb for a moment, but rallied, and said: " Marster, marster, this here crap is too heavy to be rept on 'lasses ! " Right or wrong, Umphrey got his whisky.
LOG-ROLLING
Preparation for this has been largely made in the leisure days of winter. It must be borne in mind that in that day vast tracts of land which might otherwise have been cultivated were in wood, most of it primitive and heavy. To be rid of this was the problem. So in winter the hands were set to work felling the trees and cutting trunks and limbs into proper lengths; and then rolling them into piles convenient for burning,
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plenty of twigs, stumps and dry wood being shoved into the chinks and crevices. Thus they would stand until the hot sun had thoroughly dried the pile, then the plows were set to turn a few furrows around to prevent the burning of adjacent stubble and grass. Now fire is applied, and all burned to ashes. Thus it was that millions of feet of lumber were ruthlessly destroyed which would now be immense fortunes to the owners. There was a surplus of labor, and many to be fed, and so the forests had to go. Very many would say now, like the boy anent the pie, " Wish I had some !" When the neighbors gathered together and began roll- ing there was singing, shouting and merrymaking, and by and by feasting and drinking, till the work was done,-the lassies doing the cooking and sharing the fun.
THE COTTON GIN
So far as is known to me-indeed I feel assured of it-the father of the writer, John Bagby of Stevens- ville, and Mr. Samuel P. Ryland and Mr. Walker, were the first men to introduce this machine into the county. This was about 1837. It was very common to see upon every respectable plantation a good-sized cotton patch; but the fiber was separated from the seed by hand, and it was a tedious process. A few devel- oped remarkable adeptness at this, and my father was one of the few. After supper, a huge bag of cotton being brought in and spread out before the open fire, my father would spread out his large bandanna hand- kerchief on his lap and proceed to pick, the rest fol- lowing in order. He could do it, but it was my abomi- nation. "Peter Parley," or "Sanford and Merton," suited me much better. I was glad when the gin came, though even then my fingers were kept in training for a time. Now let us see about this famous invention of Whitney. There is a huge box with a capacious mouth at the top to receive the cotton, and an opening in front for the lint, and one smaller in the rear for the seed. Peep inside, and you see a number of fine- tooth saws embracing a wood cylinder set horizontally.
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The spindle end projects outside the box at one end, arranged to receive a leather band,-this is the gin; but how are the saws to be propelled ? By horse power, as we shall see. Come with me and I will show you : As we stand here on the ground, do you see that great wheel under shelter, set horizontally into a large per- pendicular shaft? This shaft sets on an iron gudgeon which works in a socket at the lower end, and the same at the upper end. The wheel has cogs on its upper side; the cogs work into others set on to a spindle, which last at the other end carries a band wheel. Turn to the big shaft again : Heavy poles or scantlings, five or six, are set into it below and extend out some fifteen feet,-these are for the draft horses. Now connect the band wheel of the spindle by means of a leather band with the corresponding spindle of the gin on the floor above, hitch the horses to one or more of the sweeps, and we are ready. The horses turn the big wheel, which in turn gives rapid motion to spindle and band wheel, and that gives redoubled motion to the gin saws. Drop in a bag of cotton, old Ben, as you stand there with veiled face to save nose, mouth, and eyes from the inevitable dust, and in a twinkling you see the light fiber flying out in front, while the seeds drop at your feet. You say, reader, that this is a very heavy, clumsy machine. Yes, but it was a real godsend to the people of that far-away day; for men came from far and near, and paid toll gladly to get a benefit. Many a weary hour have my brother, the Major, and I spent in that old gin room, "vexing our righteous souls." This same horse-power threshed the wheat and oats.
A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE
Next Friday, August 28th, is to be a great day at Bunker's Hill. Queen, one of the younger cooks in training, is to be married to Jim Taylor, who belongs to Mr. Bonivita, the great confectioner of Richmond; and all the country is agog,-the younger lads and lassies are quite excited. Queen has been busy making up and baking her cakes and pies; the pig for roasting is fattening in the pen; the ham, already boiled, is
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large and juicy; the wedding trousseau is about finished, and things are moving nicely. Peggy, the housegirl, generally called "Peg " for short, is to be first of the six bridesmaids, and is to lift the veil as the ceremony ends, for the groom to salute the bride. Parson Sparks is to officiate, and when he retires there is to be a big dance. Thomas Hoomes, the fiddler, and Sam Motley, the banjoist, are putting their strings in tune. Time, you know, does not wait for anybody, and while I am getting ready to tell you about it, the 28th has come, and so have the darkies! From north and south, from east and west, they crowd in by troops and bands.
Now Peg is pretty, winsome, and ambitious; she is especially anxious to be admired. Inasmuch as the best dress she can produce is a little worn and faded, the thought comes to her that one of the gowns of her young mistress-a handsome pearl silk-was just the thing to set off her beauty. What must Peg do but steal softly upstairs while the family is at supper, ex- tract the pearl silk from the wardrobe, and presently don this for the marriage.
Things now go forward as had been planned,-the marriage is finally over, the groom kisses the bride; the grand supper is served, and the preacher departs. This is the signal for the dance. Hoomes calls the partners and the figures, and here they go back and forth, to right, to left, in and out, promenade all. The interest and enthusiasm are great, and increase every moment. Peg is doing her best; she is much sought after. All thought of time is forgotten, everyone is so absorbed. All at once the day breaks, the horn sounds, and consternation reigns supreme. Peg, especially, is thoroughly frightened,-she looks to right, to left, for an exit, and every avenue is blocked. To stay here was certain exposure,-go she must, for the avenger is at hand. There is but one way-the window, so draw- ing back a step or two, she rushed madly head fore- most at the window, carrying glass, sash and all before her, and went flying to the forest, where she stayed several days; but she finally returned, a penitent, and was forgiven.
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THE WORK OF THE NEGRO WOMEN
The year's work is drawing towards its end now, and someone will say, " What of the women all this time ? " Bless your soul, they have found work in plenty. Bear in mind that everybody, saint and sinner, old and young, must be clothed. Yonder is an abundance of wool from the flock, but it needs to be washed, carded, spun, and woven. Then the suits must be cut out, and made up. Moreover, there are a score or two of mouths to be filled three times every day, and the cooking and clean- ing to be provided for; there is bread-making and bed- making to be done-have women nothing to do? Sometimes one of the good old " mammies " has it laid upon her to look after the black pickaninnies while the mothers are at work, doing patchwork or waiting on the sick. Many a time, no doubt, our colored sisters have thought, though they may not have expressed it in language quite so classic:
Man works from sun to sun, But woman's work is never done.
Then too, death, whose icy skeleton shows its horrid white teeth to white and black alike, would often in- vade our rural home, and for a day or two there was engrossment for all. There is a strange and weird at- tractiveness in death. Women are more excitable than men, and on these occasions their lamentations and moanings could hardly have been surpassed by Rachel weeping for her children. In song their voices were rich, mellow, and rhythmic. I remember well how one day, about 1858, when a really powerful meeting was in progress at Mattapony, during recess the colored people gathered outside the west door, and an old brother lined out one of the old chorus hymns. The crowd caught up the strain, and the music seemed to me as near to the seraphic as we ever hear it on earth. The best element of the whites were largely in sympathy with them in all this, bating some extravagances.
If Reuben Smith was graceful in handling the wheat
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cradle, and Warner Hall deft in manipulating the hoe, surely Aunt Isabel was the most exquisite baker of bread, cake, and pies I ever knew. My mother was uniformly good and kind to the negroes, often rising from her bed at night to wait upon the sick. I person- ally knew a gentleman, who hearing that one of his women was sick ten miles away, mounted his horse, rode down, and stayed by her all night and saved her life.
My father bought a frail mulatto named William Ferguson. William was a carpenter, a man of quick intelligence, eager to learn; I used to sit with him by the hour, listening to his sprightly talk and teaching him arithmetic, etc. He could draw a plan, fit every post, sill, and rafter deftly to its place and finish off your house à la mode. I was away at college when William died, and it distressed me a good deal.
HOG-KILLING TIME
Ah, now you make the small boy's eye kindle and his mouth water, for only Christmas itself has greater charms for him. It is now the second week in De- cember,-the atmosphere is crisp, the earth is frozen under our feet, a scum of ice has formed on the water, and it is time to make ready. This important event in the year's operations began to give signs of its coming away back in October, when the slim and crusty pine- rooters and Chesters were brought in from the fields. Then we make a floor of small saplings, and upon this build a pen, say ten by twenty feet. See that you make it strong and high, for the hog you will find very much like one of General Pickett's men captured at Gettys- burg, who, when a fussy Union officer came near the pen, and began to give orders for safeguarding the prisoners, called out, " General, you give orders to have us a plenty to eat, and do it quick, or we won't stay here !" Have a good thick bed of pine-tags in the pen, and set in a large water-trough. Now throw in corn just from the shuck, with beets, or turnips, now and then. This is the process; and now that we have kept it up six or eight weeks our porkers are sleek and fat,-
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they are ready for the shambles. This brings us to the gist of our story.
I heard my father tell old Isaac this morning to bring up a load of dry wood and lightwood and dump it near the hogpen. Then in the evening come Ben and Reuben, who roll up two green logs, swing up between them four large boilers and fill them with water. My brother and I are observant of all this, and lay our plans accordingly. And now to bed (after prayers and supper), till a bright light shines in at the window. This is all we ask,-we quickly don our clothes, and in stocking-feet creep downstairs, and out into the crisp night air and the darkness. Guided partly by instinct and partly by the kindling firelight, we reach our des- tination. The water is boiling now and the porkers must die. The boys jump into the pen, old Ben stands with butcher knife pointed and keen in hand, and as each hog is dragged out he makes one sweeping stroke across its throat, then plunges it deep toward the vitals, and as the blade is withdrawn, out gushes a stream of rich, purple blood. One or two convulsive struggles and the poor brute is dead. Then he is plunged head foremost into boiling water, after which the bristles fall away at the touch. "Cut the tail off, Reuben." And this done, we gash it in slices, rub on a pinch of salt, let it lie on the live coals a few minutes,-it will crisp and curl up, and to a boy's palate is as ambrosia to a king.
We pass by the cutting and curing, for that is com- monplace; but when it comes to sausages, spareribs, and shortbones, we are there and there to stay till the prudent warn us of the nearness of Christmas, and that some space must be kept for what that happy season has in store for us.
CHRISTMAS
And so here we are now at the end of the year, and up against the day for which, to the youth of the land, all other days were made. We have had our fun in hunting old hares, shooting squirrels from the tall trees, the robins in the cedars, and the partridges as they
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hurtle away on the wing. We enjoyed them all, but they were only taken by the way as we looked forward to this glad fruition. And ofttimes, as we have puffed and sweated in the tiresome cornfield, we have cheered our fagged spirits by a thought of Christmas, and now here it is at last. Will the realization be as fair as hope led us to expect ? The day is, as Heaven wills it, fair and frosty. It is ushered in with a sort of jin- gling sound,-not so very musical it must be admitted,- though so intended. The sound of a distant horn, then a bell ringing, then a chorus of a dozen tin horns, then popcrackers, with bursting of bladders, and half a hun- dred voices shout, "Hurrah for Christmas!" Then the children come rushing in pellmell to tell what won- derful things Santa Claus has brought to each, besides the stocking full of nuts and candy,-oblivious that pa and ma knew it before they did. Then after breakfast all hands gather on the porch, where there are piles of dresses, coats, hats, blankets, shoes (for old brother Cook has been here to dress up the leather), and what- nots for every man and woman, boy and girl,-even Peggie, yes, Peggie gets her share too. Here, of course, are the two Bens, Isaac, Davy, Coleman, Osborne, Jim, Carter, Ottoway, Reuben, Warner, Isabel, Agnes, Caroline, dear old Aunt Polly (our mammy), and a host of small fry. Each gets his share, and all, white and colored, are happy. Now a round of sports and frolics, in which colored and white are mingled, and as the clock-hands near the hour of one, carriages and buggies come laden with brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, and cousins galore, and then comes dinner. Taking everything into consideration, the writer has nowhere seen such dinners as those. A large turkey well fatted and well roasted invariably graced the foot of the long table; a ham and cabbage the head; oysters, a roast of beef, ducks, souse, hominy, celery, etc., flanked them on either side; and after a while, when a goodly portion of these have been disposed of, comes the desert,-and whew ! what an exhibit is here. There are pound-cake, sponge-cake, jelly-cake, mince pies, po- tato pies, cherry tarts and lemon, with custard and jelly
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a-plenty; sometimes a plum pudding would be substi- tuted for one of these. Here was a feast for the heathen gods; better, if possible, it is. All hands of us, master as well as the humblest of his slaves, now have a good week's rest, and so the year comes to an end.
SUNDRY DEVELOPMENTS OF CHARACTER
One of our neighbors owned a bright mulatto boy named Thomas,-an active, intelligent, and withal a handsome youngster. Thomas was a houseboy,-reared to run errands, bring in the food, wait on the table, etc. As such he was useful, had he not developed an apparently instinctive propensity to pilfer. As he brought in the hot biscuits he would slip two or three from the plate into his pocket, and so with other viands. One day his master noticed that Thomas's pockets swelled out beyond the usual proportions, when he sprang suddenly up from the table, and with all his strength pressed the steaming hot biscuits against the poor boy's thigh, till he cried out in pain with the burning. It cured him for a time, but he soon returned to his old habits, like the sow that was washed. His master seeing this, called him up one morning, and said, " Thomas, I have warned you again and again about this thing, and I have punished you for it, but you will persist. You must go out this morning with the field hands and work with them." This was the boy's abomi- nation, but he must make the best of it, so out he went. The hours were long, however, and the sun very hot; Thomas shirked and flunked the work whenever he could. One day the master suffered it to get out that business called him from home. So his saddle horse was accoutered for his use, and after a hasty inspection of the field he rode off. This was a ruse to catch Thomas. The master passed out into the highroad, traveled a mile or two, then turned and rode back to the field. Missing the boy from the row with the rest of the men, he inquired of the head man, and learning he had dis- appeared under pretext of wanting a drink of water, he rode to the spring and found Thomas sleeping
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soundly under the shade. Dismounting, he came near, and stooping began fanning the sleeper with his wide- brimmed straw hat. This was refreshing, and Thomas had a splendid nap; but presently, yawning and stretch- ing himself, he opened his eyes, and at sight of his master he wilted visibly.
Notwithstanding all this, Thomas proved incorrig- ible, and the master sold him South.
One of our neighbors was Col. P- , a gentleman of sharp wit and keen observation, large experience, and fine conversational powers. Another was a teacher, Mr. B- , smart and well taught. The two were fond of each other's society, and conversed much to- gether about law, politics, social matters, religion and philosophy. The former had a house-boy named Cor- nelius,-short, lubberly, fat, lazy, and black "as they are made "; but Cornelius, to do him justice, was politic, shrewd, and obsequious. One Sunday afternoon the colonel and the professor were discussing the capacity and characteristics of the negro race, when the colonel asserted that a negro would always do things in the inverse order of what was desired. This precipitated a hot discussion of an hour, the professor affirming that this was abnormal, unnatural, and against all reason,- hence could not be so. "Well," said the colonel, " I will test it, and you will see. In the next room here is a pair of slippers; you go in there, and see that they are arranged in proper order,-the right on the right side as usual. I will call Cornelius to bring them in here, and if he does not invert them I will yield." This was done, the boy came and brought in the slippers-cap in one hand-put them down, and at his master's word went back to his work. In some mysterious way, by some uncommon ratiocination, the slippers were in- verted, the right on the left side, and vice versa.
Again, Peter Lewis was a very good worker, but slow and dull. His master sent him to the upper gate to open an old drain on the right-hand side and release some ponding water. After far more than the necessary time his master went to see about him and found him tugging away, vainly trying to carry
KING AND QUEEN COUNTY, VIRGINIA 273 the water off by digging a deep ditch on the wrong side.
One day when the father was sick, his little son came in saying that he had found quite a pile of corn hid under some litter in the stable. Upon inquiry it was apparent that the 'ostler had taken advantage of the owner's sickness to extract the corn from the crib, and to hide it for his own use. The authorities of the law got word of it, and Jacob was convicted after trial; but the master interceded and the sentence was very light.
GENERAL MUSTER
Monday, June 15th, 1838. To-day I am ten years old. Being at the store this morning, I heard some gentleman talking about the Fourth of July; they said it was to be celebrated at the Courthouse; that it was also General Muster day; that General Braxton was to be there to review the troops; and General Muse is coming over from Essex, and the cavalry is to charge the infantry. They said the whole county would be there and many from outside. My! what a time it will be,-we must beg Pa to let us all go.
Saturday, July 4th. Ma says she will stay to take care of the house, but the rest are all to go,-Pa on his horse, Billy Button; the girls in the carriage, and the boys in the horsecart, which Ottoway is to drive, carrying dinner for us all, and horse feed. It is only six miles, and we soon passed the Mill. When we mounted the hill and came in sight of the Courthouse green, the whole place seemed to be filled with men, horses, wagons, carts, and carriages. Here and there were little tables where men and women sold horse- cakes, cup-cakes, round-cakes, and biscuits. We boys went for these and soon spent all our money. There was great noise and confusion-men and women chat- ting, boys, girls, and negroes rushing about, horses neighing, and soldiers jostling everybody, with now and then an epauletted officer. Presently a shrill voice rang out : " Captain Courtney's company parade here ! parade here!" Then another: " Captain Bland's com-
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pany parade here!" Another: " Captain Lumpkin's company parade here!" and so on to the end. Pres- ently the several companies were brought together and aligned; and Major Saunders, seated on his noble bay, orders: " Regiment ! left face, forward march !" I have heard the raven's croak, the eagle's scream, the steam whistle, but for an ear-splitting sensa- tion I am yet to hear the equal of the fife in the hands of Conway Courtney that day, as an accompani- ment of his brother James's drum. They were in front, and each did his best-for noise they distanced everything. Now, we are in the open field, soldiers in line, the rabble hanging around, the ladies in carriages on the outskirts. Suddenly drum and fife an- nounce the coming of officers,-Col. Boyd appears es- corting two, one on each side, the generals of brigade, each dressed up in burnished uniform, with brass but- tons, sword and epaulettes. The colonel rides to the front, issues orders, and the whole line passes before the great generals for inspection. This done, yet further orders are issued, and the entire line is formed into a hollow square, the field officers enclosed. Up to this time the cavalry have hardly been seen, they are hang- ing around in the bushes and over the hills. All at once a bugle sounds in the distance, and someone cries out: "Here they come!" Like a tornado (not quite so fiercely) they sweep down, and now try their best to break into the square. The unaccustomed horses, less willing than their riders, recoil from the stern faces and threatening canes of that square phalanx. Once more the attempt is tried, but in vain. The regiment is countermarched, and we all dispersed to our homes, tired but pleased. Ah! how little did the youthful and un- mindful spectators of that scene dream of the real con- flicts, the face-to-face and hand-to-hand conflicts, in which they were to bear a part in but little more than two decades from that day !
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