A Girl's Life in Virginia before the War Part 4

How monotonous, how dull, prosy, inconvenient, everything seemed after our plunge into modern life!

We told old Virginia about all the enterprise we had seen, and how she was left far behind everybody and everything, urging her to join at once the "march of material progress."

But the Mother of States persisted in sitting contentedly over her old-fashioned wood fire with bra.s.s andirons, and, while thus musing, these words fell slowly and distinctly from her lips:

"They call me 'old fogy,' and tell me I must get out of my old ruts and come into the 'advanced age.' But I don't care about their 'advanced age,' their water-pipes and elevators. Give me the right sort of men and women--G.o.d-loving, G.o.d-serving men and women. Men brave, courteous, true; women sensible, gentle, and retiring.

"Have not my plantation homes furnished warriors, statesmen, and orators, acknowledged great by the world? I make it a rule to 'keep on hand' men equal to emergencies. Had I not Washington, Patrick Henry, Light-Horse Harry Lee, and others, ready for the first Revolution? and if there comes another,--which G.o.d forbid!--have I not plenty more just like them?"

Here she laughed with delight as she called over their names: "Robert Lee, Jackson, Joe Johnstone, Stuart, Early, Floyd, Preston, the Breckinridges, Scott, and others like them, brave and true as steel.

Ha! ha! I know of what stuff to make men! And if my old 'ruts and grooves' produce men like these, should they be abandoned? Can any 'advanced age' produce better?

"Then there are my soldiers of the Cross. Do I not yearly send out a faithful band to be a 'shining light,' and spread the Gospel North, South, East, West, even into foreign lands? Is not the only Christian paper in Athens, Greece, the result of the love and labor of one of my soldiers?[2]

[2] Rev. G. W. Leyburn.

"And can I not send out men of science, as well as warriors, statesmen, and orators? There is Maury on the seas, showing the world what a man of science can do. If my 'old-fogy' system has produced men like these, must it be abandoned?"

Here the old Mother of States settled herself back in her chair, a smile of satisfaction resting on her face, and she ceased to think of _change_.

Telling our mother of all the wonders and pleasures of New York, she said:

"You were so delighted I judge that you would like to sell out everything here and move there!"

"It would be delightful!" we exclaimed.

"But you would miss many pleasures you have in our present home."

"We would have no time to miss anything," said my sister, "in that whirl of excitement! But," she continued, "I believe one might as well try to move the Rocky Mountains to Fifth Avenue as an old Virginian!

They have such a horror of selling out and moving."

"It is not so easy to sell out and move," replied our mother, "when you remember all the negroes we have to take care of and support."

"Yes, the negroes," we said, "are the weight continually pulling us down! Will the time _ever_ come for us to be free of them?"

"They were placed here," replied our mother, "by G.o.d, for us to take care of, and it does not seem that we can change it. When we emanc.i.p.ate them, it does not better their condition. Those left free and with good farms given them by their masters soon sink into poverty and wretchedness, and become a nuisance to the community. We see how miserable are Mr. Randolph's[3] negroes, who with their freedom received from their master a large section of the best land in Prince Edward County. My own grandfather also emanc.i.p.ated a large number, having first had them taught lucrative trades that they might support themselves, and giving them money and land. But they were not prosperous or happy. We have also tried sending them to Liberia. You know my old friend Mrs. L. emanc.i.p.ated all hers and sent them to Liberia; but she told me the other day that she was convinced it had been no kindness to them, for she continually receives letters begging a.s.sistance, and yearly supplies them with clothes and money."

[3] John Randolph of Roanoke.

So it seemed our way was surrounded by walls of circ.u.mstances too thick and solid to be pulled down, and we said no more.

Some weeks after this conversation we had a visit from a friend--Dr.

Bagby--who, having lived in New York, and hearing us express a wish to live there, said:

"What! exchange a home in old Virginia for one on Fifth Avenue? You don't know what you are talking about! It is not even called 'home'

there, but '_house_,' where they turn into bed at midnight, eat stale-bread breakfasts, have brilliant parties--where several hundred people meet who don't care anything about each other. They have no soul life, but shut themselves up in themselves, live for themselves, and never have any social enjoyment like ours."

"But," we said, "could not our friends come to see us there as well as anywhere else?"

"No, indeed!" he answered. "Your hearts would soon be as cold and dead as a marble door-front. You wouldn't want to see anybody, and n.o.body would want to see you."

"You are complimentary, certainly!"

"I know all about it; and"--he continued--"I know you could not find on Fifth Avenue such women as your mother and grandmother, who never think of themselves, but are constantly planning and providing for others, making their homes comfortable and pleasant, and attending to the wants and welfare of so many negroes. And that is what the women all over the South are doing, and what the New York women cannot comprehend. How can anybody know, except ourselves, the personal sacrifices of our women?"

"Well," said my sister, "you need not be so severe and eloquent because we thought we should like to live in New York! If we should sell all we possess, we could never afford to live there. Besides, you know our mother would as soon think of selling her children as her servants."

"But," he replied, "I can't help talking, for I hear our people abused, and called indolent and self-indulgent, when I know they have valor and endurance enough. And I believe so much 'material progress'

leaves no leisure for the highest development of heart and mind. Where the whole energy of a people is applied to making money, the souls of men become dwarfed."

"We do not feel," we said, "like abusing Northern people, in whose thrift and enterprise we found much to admire; and especially the self-reliance of their women, enabling them to take care of themselves and to travel from Maine to the Gulf without escort, while we find it impossible to travel a day's journey without a special protector."

"That is just what I don't like," said he, "to see a woman in a crowd of strangers and needing no 'special protector.'"

"This dependence upon your s.e.x," we replied, "keeps you so vain."

"We should lose our gallantry altogether," said he, "if we found you could get along without us."

CHAPTER VII.

After some months--ceasing to think and speak of New York--our lives glided back into the old channel, where the placid stream of life had many isles of simple pleasures.

In those days we were not whirled over the iron track in a crowded car, with dirty, shrieking children and repulsive-looking people. We were not jammed against rough people, eating ill-smelling things out of ill-looking baskets and satchels, and throwing the remains of pies and sausages over the cushioned seats.

Oh, no! our journeys were performed in venerable carriages, and our lunch was enjoyed by some cool, shady spring where we stopped in a shady forest at mid-day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "LUNCH BY SOME COOL, SHADY SPRING."--_Page 66._]

Our own ancient carriage my sister styled "the old ship of Zion,"

saying it had carried many thousands, and was likely to carry many more. And our driver we called the "Ancient Mariner." He presided on his seat--a lofty perch--in a very high hat and with great dignity.

Having been driving the same carriage for nearly forty years--no driver being thought safe who had not been on the carriage box at least twenty years,--he regarded himself as an oracle, and, in consequence of his years and experience, kept us in much awe,--my sister and myself never daring to ask him to quicken or r.e.t.a.r.d his pace or change the direction of his course, however much we desired it. We will ever remember this thraldom, and how we often wished one of the younger negroes could be allowed to take his place; but my grandmother said "it would wound his feelings, and, besides, be very unsafe" for us.

At every steep hill or bad place in the road it was an established custom to stop the carriage, unfold the high steps, and "let us out,"--as in pictures of the animals coming down out of the ark! This custom had always prevailed in my mother's family, and there was a tradition that my great-grandfather's horses, being habituated to stop for this purpose, refused to pull up certain hills, even when the carriage was empty, until the driver had dismounted and slammed the door, after which they moved off without further hesitation.

This custom of walking at intervals made a pleasant variety, and gave us an opportunity to enjoy fully the beautiful and picturesque scenery through which we were pa.s.sing.

Those were the days of leisure and pleasure for travelers; and when we remember the charming summer jaunts annually made in this way, we almost regret the steam horse, which takes us now to the same places in a few hours.

We had two dear friends, Mary and Alice, who with their old carriages and drivers--the facsimiles of our own--frequently accompanied us in these expeditions; and no generals ever exercised more entire command over their armies than did these three black coachmen over us. I smile now to think of their ever being called our "slaves."

Yet, although they had this domineering spirit, they felt at the same time a certain pride in us, too.

On one occasion, when we were traveling together, our friend Alice concluded to dismount from her carriage and ride a few miles with a gentleman of the party in a buggy. She had not gone far before the alarm was given that the buggy horse was running away, whereupon our black generalissimos instantly stopped the three carriages and anxiously watched the result. Old Uncle Edmund, Alice's coachman, stood up in his seat highly excited, and when his young mistress, with admirable presence of mind, seized the reins and stopped the horse, turning him into a by-road, he shouted at the top of his voice: "Dar, now! I always knowed Miss Alice was a young 'oman of de mos' amiable courage!"--and over this feat he continued to chuckle for the rest of the day.