Plantation Sketches | Page 8

one ill-disposed character would
be equally pronounced.
The plantations of which I am speaking were singularly remote, being
so surrounded by other large plantations that they were exempt from all
outside and pernicious influences. The one or two country stores at
which the negroes traded might have furnished whiskey, had not those
who kept them stood too much in awe of the planters to incur the risk
of their displeasure. As the town of Halifax could boast of several little
stores, and was the trading post of Feltons, Conacanara, and Montrose,
your great-grandfather, in order to prevent the evils of promiscuous
trading, caused certain coins to be struck off, of no value except to the
one merchant with whom his people were allowed to trade.
Perhaps you will be surprised to know how important to the country
merchants was the trade of a plantation, so I will explain to you of what

it consisted. Of course, a few of the careless, content with the
abundance provided for them, did not care to accumulate, while others,
naturally thrifty, amassed a good deal from the sale of otter, coon, mink,
and other skins of animals trapped. Then, some owned as many as
thirty beehives. One old woman, known as "Honey Beck," once hauled
thirty or more gallons of honey to Halifax and back again, the whole
distance (twenty-five miles), rather than take a low price for it. Besides
skins, honey, and beeswax, eggs and poultry were always salable. One
of my necessities in housekeeping was a bag of small change, and, as I
never refused to take what was brought to me, my pantry was often so
overstocked with eggs and my coops with ducks and chickens, that it
was a hard matter to know how to consume them.
The beautiful white shad, now so highly prized in our markets, were
then a drug. It was the prettiest sight in the early dawn of a spring
morning to see the fishermen skimming down the broad river with their
dip-nets poised for a catch. My opportunities for seeing them at that
early hour were from my bedroom window, when I happened to be
visiting the family at Conacanara. Our home at Runiroi stood some
distance from the river, but the dwelling at Conacanara was upon a
bluff just over the stream.
Beside the sale crops of cotton and corn, sweet potatoes were raised in
large quantities for the negroes, to which they were allowed to help
themselves without stint, also a summer patch of coarse vegetables
such as they liked.
The regular food furnished consisted of corn meal, bacon or pickled
pork, varied with beef in the autumn, when the beeves were fat, salt
fish with less meat when desired, molasses, dried peas and pumpkins
without stint (I mean the peas and pumpkins). I don't suppose any
laboring class ever lived in such plenty.
A woman with a family of children always had the use of a cow, the
only proviso being that she should look after the calf and see that it did
not suffer, for your grandfather was particular about his ox teams; they
were the finest that I ever saw, and were well blooded,--Holstein for
size and Devon for speed and activity.

Our dairy was very pretty; it was built of immense square logs, with a
paved brick floor, and great broad shelves all around. The roof was
shaded by hackberry trees, and the grass around it was like velvet, so
thick and green. Old Aunt Betty, who was the dairy woman until she
grew too infirm, was the neatest creature imaginable; she wore the
highest of turbans, and her clothes were spotless. She took the greatest
pride in her dairy; for milk vessels she used great calibashes with
wooden covers, and, as they naturally were absorbent, it was necessary
to sun one set while another was in use. She kept them beautifully, and
the milk and butter were delicious.
There was a man upon the plantation called "Shoe Joe," or "Gentleman
Joe." He had, when a young man, been body-servant to his young
master George, your great-grandfather's brother. I never in my life have
seen finer manners than Joe's, so deeply respectful, and so full of
courtesy. Notwithstanding his really fine deportment, Joe's nature was
low and mean, and something that he did so offended his young master
that, to Joe's great disgust, he was remanded back to the plantation and
field work. In consequence of this, he always bore his young master a
grudge, which, of course, he kept to himself. Once, however, he made
some disrespectful speech before old Betty, who was devoted to her
Master George, and this so offended her that she never again spoke to
Joe, nor allowed him to make her shoes, though this last