Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

September 3.

It is time for my harvest to begin, but for some reason the rice is ripening very slowly, and I fear the first field at Casa Bianca will not be ready to cut before the 14th of this month. It has never quite recovered from the salt water and is not as fine as last year. At Cherokee one field of rice is very fine, the other not very good; but the corn is of the best, and so are the peas. A splendid crop. In July I took up thirty acres of very well-drained land, enclosed it with an American wire fence, and planted some of it in cow-peas preparatory to planting alfalfa this autumn. The peas are most luxuriant, a solid mass of green about two feet high. They show the benefit of the subsoiling I had done, for I used no fertilizer of any kind on the land. I have gone to great expense to put this land in good condition, for I have great hope of making alfalfa our money crop in the future—poor, dear rice seems to have resigned that position.

September 13.

Mr. and Mrs. S. from Indiana are staying with Mr. L. They came to look into the possibilities of this country for cattle raising, Mr. S. being one of the most successful and best-known breeders of Hereford cattle. He wishes to see as much of the plantations as he can, so I invited them to spend the day with me at Casa Bianca, as it is a good natural pasture. I took down everything with me for a nice luncheon, and they seemed to enjoy the day. Mr. S. said my cattle were in fine condition, and that the grass was very good.

While they amused themselves wandering about the grounds and over the rambling old house I went to see Marcus. He told me he had all the hands he could get minding birds and picking grass out of River Wragg and that he had taken the water off to-day as he hoped to cut it day after to-morrow. After lunch when we went out the look of everything had changed—it had been a perfect morning, with little white clouds flitting about, just making you wonder at the blue of the sky in contrast to their airy whiteness, but now they had heavy dark edges and they rushed heavily and wildly about, and there was something in the air that made one sniff a coming storm. Mr. L., who knew the signs well, asked me to have his carriage got, and left at once, advising me to do the same; but I had some things to attend to before leaving, and so was nearly an hour late. I told Marcus to put the water back on the rice or it would be whipped to pieces by the wind, which was now tremendous.

My twelve-mile drive home in an open wagon was a race with the storm, wildly exciting and exhilarating, in spite of the danger from falling limbs and flying branches. All along the way the cattle were gathered in the middle of the road, and my companion said she had always heard that was a sure sign of an approaching storm; ordinarily they are in the woods and I was greatly surprised at the number. I knew the negroes owned a good deal of cattle, but did not know there were such herds.

The horses were greatly excited and it did not take us long to reach home. Though it had rained all the way it did not pour, and the wind being so high seemed to blow the rain away, and we were very little wet.

The wind increased in violence every hour, and now at 10 o'clock it is a terrific gale. I have been all over the house examining windows and doors to see that the fastenings are secure, and am going to bed, for I am very tired.

September 14.

The storm raged terribly all night; sleep was impossible. The rafters creaked and groaned, the windows rattled, the house shook, the wind roared through the pine trees, while the cracking of limbs sounded like musketry and now and then the loud thud of a falling tree like cannon. These sounds kept the ear and mind on a prolonged strain. In the dawn of the morning I looked out—a gloomy, dark sky, trees down in every direction, not a fence in sight; but no houses down.

Later in the day I went forth to find out how my neighbors had fared, and found every one so thankful to find themselves and their families alive and unhurt that every one was cheerful and bright. Most people sat up all night and all seemed to have had me much on their minds.

"Such a terrible night for you to be alone in the house; we thought of you constantly." I had been thinking with such anxiety about people on the islands and at sea that I did not feel frightened for myself; but I found the servants had been very anxious about me, and Jim had walked round the house several times, but finding all still and no light had gone back to the servants' hall. I hear of many marvellous escapes, houses falling and pinning people down, without a single death and with little injury.

All the planters went out very early to the plantations, carrying axes to cut their way along.

September 15.

I rode to the plantation to-day, as the road is impassable for a vehicle from the village to Cherokee. There the storm played havoc; the immense oak trees are down in every direction; some uprooted, some split into several sections. Just back of the dwelling-house there was a large oak heavily draped with ivy that had been snapped off in falling, narrowly escaping the house. Two other very large oaks to the northeast of the house are down; they evidently broke the force of the wind on the house, which is not injured at all. The earth is strewn with gray moss and small green twigs and leaves, so that it looks like a huge gray and green carpet.

A two-story barn is down at the barn-yard, also another building, and the screw is badly twisted and in a falling condition. The corn, which was so fine, has been torn and tangled, and a great deal is lying on the ground partially buried in the mud, the heavy beating rain having left the fields almost boggy. I sent all hands to gather up the fallen ears; in the barn I had them shucked and spread over the floor to dry. At the point of nearly every ear the corn is sprouting. Of the cow-peas about ten acres are ruined; they were loaded with pods almost ready to pick, and they have been stripped of leaves and fruit and are only bare stems. I have never seen a storm so thorough in its work and so minute in its attention to detail.

I always try to see the grain of comfort in every misfortune, and find it now in the thought of the profit to the land in that heavy mulch of pea-vine leaves and pods; meantime I will not make seed. Fortunately my alfalfa peas were younger and in a sheltered situation, and have not been at all hurt. I had not heard from Casa Bianca until to-night, and the same tale of destruction and desolation comes from there, but there has been no loss of life. I was so afraid some of the negro houses might have fallen and hurt some one, for they are very old. There is not a fence standing, and the demand for nails is great.

September 17.

This morning old Maum Mary came to bring me a present of sweet potatoes, indicating that she was in great need of nails; so I made her a present of some nails and also a piece of money. She and old Tom live on a little farm of their own, where they plant a field of corn, a patch of rice, a patch of cotton, and one of tobacco. They raise three or four hogs every year and have a cow. In addition to these they have a most prolific pear tree and a very large scuppernong grape-vine, and the sale of their fruit brings them in a nice little income.

"Old Maum Mary came to bring me a present of sweet potatoes."

After the interchange of presents had been made and she had eaten the plate of meat and bread and drained the cup of coffee which I brought her, her tongue was loosed, and she said:—

"Yes, my missus, I neber see sech a judgment on de tree! De big pine 'ood is lebel down, en I had to climb for get yuh, but I ain't hab a nail, en de fench bin down, en me tetta, en me little crap o' corn bin dey open, en ef de Lawd didn't bin dat mussiful dat night en confuse de critter mind, all 'ood a gone. Yes, my missus, eberybody fench bin down, but not a cow nor a hog ain't eat nothing. Ain't yer see? De Lawd confuse dem mind to dat; Him is mussiful fer true. Dat night, my missus, de house shake en rock so, tell me en Tom git up en set down by de fiah, en we pray, en we pray, but de fiah cu'dn't burn, kase de rain po' down de chimbly. We de pray, en de house de rock en de shingle de fly, bam dis way, en bam dat way, en Tom cry out en 'e say, 'Yes, my Lawd, we is sinna fo' tru, but spare we dis time,' en den I teck up de disco'se en I say, 'Lawd, I know I is wicked, but gi' me anoder chanst.' En de wahter gone through de house, en de shed blow off, en de wedder-boa'd blow off, en de tree all round de crack en de fall, en, my missus, w'en de mawning come I was susprise w'en I see Tom de day, en me de day, en de house de day, en I hol' up my han' en I cry, 'My Lawd, yer is too mussiful, yo' jes' trow down de boa'd en de shingle, now ef dat bin a man, strong like a you, him 'ood a throw down de hol' house.' Yes, ma'am, I'se tankful to de Lawd," and with a deep courtesy she went to mend her fence.

September 20.

Harvest is going on at Casa Bianca—the much-tried River Wragg field is being loaded into the flats, in spite of its being soaked in salt water in July and swept by the gale last Tuesday. I cannot help hoping it may make something, it looks so pretty and golden as it is being "toted" into the flat. The night of the gale I thought it would be completely destroyed, because it was dry, but a tremendous tide rushed over the banks and topped the rice, thereby saving it from complete destruction. The June rice, however, fifty acres of which was very fine, has been greatly injured by the topping tide, for it seems the water was brackish, and the rice was just in milk. Marcus was bragging about this rice, and my hopes were high, but now he shakes his head and looks solemn.

Some years ago a lady in Saratoga said to me: "The Lord does not seem to have much respect for you rice planters." I answered: "I think Job's friends and acquaintances said the same thing to him."

Certainly it behooves us to imitate that worthy's patient endurance of the calamities which fell so thick upon him for years, and his firm faith in his Maker.

In the Old Testament the promise of worldly prosperity as a reward of obedience to God's law was very distinct, but in the New Testament it is different—sorrow, adversity, tribulation, are mentioned, and the promise is of peace within, of power to be undismayed by seeming disaster, strong in the faith that He doeth all things well.

Several of my friends in the village are ill, and fresh milk is much needed; so I waited till after sunset, when Gibbie had finished milking, to take the fresh milk with me. It was so little that after sending out three little pitchers there was none left for myself. Gibbie is doing his best to dry up the cows; this was the last trial.

In the morning I found Eva had not come out to do the work I had pointed out to her, and I went out to the street, meaning to go to her house and see what was the matter. I found no gate to her large enclosure and could not get in, so went to Gibbie's house to ask the way. It was about 11 o'clock and Gibbie was supposed to be at work. Saw the children and asked for their mother, but they did not seem to understand, but when I repeated my question the little one answered:—

"Pa dey een 'e baid."

I looked through the door and there was Gibbie fast asleep across the bed. I went in and poked him with my parasol, but he did not wake, so I left the house feeling hopeless—how can any work be done with this going on!

As I went through his yard I met his wife carrying a burning coal between two sticks. She had been over to a neighbor's, as she said, "to ketch fiah fo' cook Gibbie bittle." She directed me to her mother-in-law's house through a labyrinth of fences and gates.

I was much interested, for it is just what Stanley describes in "Darkest Africa," a system of passages of stockades, making hasty entrance impossible and so guarding against surprise; any one finding his way through must be seen by the inmates before reaching the innermost barrier. I wound my way through a field of splendid potatoes, then through one of peas, then into a field of splendid corn with peas running to the top of the stalks loaded with pods seven and eight inches long.

I went into the house, where Nobby, Eva's youngest son, a youth of 18, was sitting contemplating a big sheet packed with peas which lay on the floor. I asked where his mother was. He said in the field behind the house. He remained sitting while I went round the house, where grew luxuriant tomato plants loaded with fruit and very tall okra, and on to another fine potato patch, where there were also peas, which Eva was picking.

She was much startled at seeing me. When I asked her why she had not come to work as she promised she hesitated and stammered, then said that the cow broke her fence and she had to stay home to mend it.

"Surely that big idle boy Nobby could mend the fence," I said.

The fence showed no sign of damage, and I knew she had just preferred to stay at home. I spoke severely and told her to come to-morrow and do the work. She has in all about ten acres with her house, and her agreement is to give me one day's work every week as rent, and she cannot make up her mind to do that if she can possibly escape it.

My only consolation was the extreme abundance and comfort of everything and the cleanliness of the houses and the children, but that is a great comfort to me.

I have made myself a beautiful big blue denim apron turned up about twenty inches, so that when I go in the field to get rid of the cockspurs and see the work I need not be idle.

My field of pea-vine hay is beautiful, but it was so badly ploughed that here and there cockspurs were not turned under and they would ruin the whole field. I have paid a woman twice to go through the field and pull out the plants before the fatal little burr was hard. I went through it myself some time ago and found that she had only broken off the heads and left the roots, all there to spring again.

I pulled out quite a number, and to-day called Dab to go into the field with me to pull them. If only I had told him to bring a hoe the day would have been saved. In order to get to the field by the shortest way I had to pass through a low spot in the corn-field which was grown up with weeds dense and as tall as my head. The ox cart had made a track in the midst, where its wheels had mashed the weeds, from the barn-yard. I was about fifty feet in front of Dab, lifting my foot very high at each step and going very slowly, with eyes everywhere, when six feet in front of me I saw a heart curdling sight—a moccasin so enormous that I could not believe my eyes.

He lay with his tail a foot beyond the wheel tracks on one side and his awful head a foot beyond on the other! I called as softly as I could to Dab, who was just opening the gate, "Bring a strong stick quickly to kill this snake!"

Dab called aloud in his most educated tone, which he very seldom uses, "A snake, eh? What kind of a snake? A big snake, eh?"

"Come at once, Dab, with a strong stick!" I said in anything but a conversational tone, but Dab continued to discourse and ejaculate, and before I could get him to take a lath from an old gate near which he stood the monster, who had listened to everything, slowly moved into the thick bushes and was gone.

There I stood, afraid to move one way or the other. I do not remember ever to have been so thoroughly demoralized since I was a child. When Dab came up even the tail was out of sight. I hate to think it, but it almost seemed as if Dab had dallied and waited until he was sure it had gone, for I kept crying, "Come quickly, it is beginning to move! Oh, Dab, come on, it will get away! It is going!" and not until I cried in despair, "Now it is gone!" did he come forward with great boldness, a splendid lightwood stake in his hand with which the snake could easily have been killed while it was in sight. I would not let him pursue it into the high growth.

I sent him back to the house for a hoe, and while he was gone I stood there battling with myself. I could not bear to go on through that tall, dense growth of grass and weeds with this terrible thing somewhere, but I said to myself: "You have never let fear turn you back from an undertaking in your latter life; are you going to turn craven now? If you do you will be miserable; your life is beset by many dangers; once let fear get the upper hand and your composure and peace of mind are gone."

So I argued and reasoned and fought with myself, and by the time Dab came, it was easy to go on. I took the hoe from him and cleaned a space of weeds in the direction the snake had taken, and when I had showed him that I was not afraid to do it and how I wished it done he took the hoe and very gingerly chopped down the growth toward the vegetable garden, for I feared very much that the monster should establish itself in there. I kept behind him, encouraging him on, when he gave a shriek and cried:—

"Der de snake now." No educated tone now. He cried aloud "de snake, de sing."

I tried my best to see the snake, but could not. He is a little taller than I am and could see over the bushes.

"You must kill it, Dab!" I said. "If you do not it may bite you some day when you go to pick tomatoes. If you see it there is no danger; you can chop its head off with that hoe."

With much urging Dab lifted the hoe and struck once, twice, thrice and then called out, "I got'm; 'e daid!"

"Bring it out! Don't leave it in the weeds!" I said.

Dab lifted his hoe tremulously, and there was a small ribbon snake, a foot long and one inch round!

I could not help a burst of merriment over it—and that restored our nerves. Dab continued to declare that the snake had sung, and since, I have felt I was very stupid not to know that the little snake's cry, if snakes ever do cry, was one of terror, and that it was due to the big snake being near, and that if I had only known it was not the monster Dab saw, and if I had not let him waste time on the little snake we might have caught up with the big fellow, who will now remain a permanent terror.

I am going to turn the horses in that field and the cows, and it will be a miracle if none of them meets him, and then my beautiful red setter will always be in danger. However, there was nothing to be done and I went on through the grass to the hay-field, walking very warily ahead with the hoe lifted, while Dab followed in my wake.

We picked nearly a barrelful of cockspur roots from the field. I have had an empty barrel put there to receive them. The peas are bearing well and the grass is very high, and it will make splendid hay, but I will not mow it until I feel sure there is not a single cockspur left.

They are fatal to horses. So strong are their little barbed points that if swallowed they pierce the intestines and kill the animal. There is only one way in which they can be got rid of, and that is by my all-day presence in the field, so for a week I expect to give myself up to it entirely—huge straw hat, blue denim apron, and buckskin gauntlets.

September 21.

This morning I went early to Cherokee and drove through the "street" to get some hands to break in two acres of corn which, being very near the road and convenient to passersby, had better be in the barn. At the well I found a picturesque group of gossiping matrons. After the usual civilities, I told my errand. "Becka, I want you," I said to one, a splendid figure, who stood balancing on her head a large tub of water. She answered: "Miss, I berry sorry; I kyant possible cum, I got de feber right now," and she walked off at a swinging gait. I turned to an equally fine specimen of health and strength and said, "Agnes, you will come?" "Miss, I too sorry, but mi baby got de feber;" the said baby looked as bright and hearty as the mother. All through the street it was the same thing. One elderly woman, quite as a favor, went home and locked her door and came. I had brought my house servants to help and found one or two hands in the barn-yard; but it took much longer than it should have done.

This corn had been stolen in a very clever way. About a month ago I went through the field to mark what I wished kept for seed from the stalks that had more than one fine ear. I found that about every eighth stalk had two ears and some few had three ears; to-day, when gathered, not a single stalk had more than one ear. In spite of this and the damage from the storm, these two acres made seventy-two bushels of shelled corn, which is a comfort.

On the way down I stopped at the post-office. While I waited for my stamps a negro drove up and took from his buggy two large sacks stuffed full of something; each sack held two bushels. To my amazement, when he proceeded to empty the contents on the ground, I found they were rice birds! I tried at once to buy a dozen, but he said they were already sold, and began to count them out to another negro. He had got to 150 dozen when I left and had not got through with one sack. He said he got 35 cents a dozen for them. I have only had rice birds twice this season; yet the fields are swarming with them.

The work of repairing the screw which carries the rice from threshing mill to shipping barn is nearly finished. It has been very expensive, and my crop this year does not warrant the expense. Yet it was dangerous to leave it hanging as it was, and so I was forced either to pull it down, which would have been an expense, or repair it, and I chose the latter course.

Peaceville, September 23.

Went to Casa Bianca to-day, but did not see Nat, though he always assures me that he never leaves the place for an hour. In spite of the rough preparation of the ground the peas I had him plant are splendid.

I went down especially to see the spot I have enclosed in wire, intending to try celery on it. I gave Nat very special directions about preparing the land, but thought it best to see how he would succeed before risking any money in plants. I told him to plough it once north and south very deep—I was willing for him to do only half an acre a day so as to be sure of its being well done—then to harrow it thoroughly and after that to plough it east and west, then to harrow it every day for a week. These seemed to me clear and sensible directions, and I gave him as long as he needed to do the work, not hurrying him.

When I saw the result to-day I was uncertain whether to laugh or to cry; fortunately mirth won the day. I was wearing heavy boots and yet it was difficult walking, so uphill and downdale was it. I am truly thankful I did not go to the expense of buying the plants until I saw the condition of the land. It would be hopeless to expect anything like celery to grow and thrive in such a rough bed; it could never be a success.

It is a great disappointment. Nat is in some ways so faithful and intelligent that I thought I could make him understand how I wanted the soil. He is a fine rice-field hand. He rented ten acres and always made good crops. This is only one acre of very rich black land with a western slope to a little branch; it has been pastured for years.

In the happy days when I lived at Casa Bianca (about a hundred years ago) it was the vegetable garden, and in it we always grew delicious celery; but then the gardener was an expert, one of the wonderful products of the past, Paul Wynns by name. I should like to tell his story some day. Thanks to his fidelity, cleverness, and diligence the family silver was all saved in the very teeth of the all-absorbing Sherman.

It was some years after the war, and he was very old when he looked after our garden, having a boy under him to do the work. He was a Methodist preacher of some distinction and had great power with his own people, which was very fortunate, for in a time of upset and intoxication, when the poor darkeys were rudderless and one heard the boast often, "De bottom rail dey on top now," Paul's good sense and good heart—I may say his wisdom—were a great blessing, and he left his mark behind him. In the time before 1860 he was in charge of everything in this household, a most accomplished house servant.

My predecessor at Casa Bianca was a woman of immense ability and cleverness. She spent much time abroad and was a great friend of the Grand Duke of Weimar, who on one occasion about 1862 said he had always desired an African in his suite. Mrs. P. said at once:—

"I will send you one as a present."

The Grand Duke demurred, but on her return home, though the war was raging, she fulfilled her promise. She asked Paul if he would like his son Tom to be the lad chosen to go, that he would have the best education and live in the midst of luxury. Paul, after mature deliberation, accepted the honor for his son and in spite of war and turmoil Tom was sent.

The Grand Duke was delighted with him and treated him with the greatest favor. He married the daughter of an "honorable Councillor" and lived happy ever afterward. He lost his life in his efforts to render help when a fire broke out in the palace, dying from the effects of overexertion. His monthly letters were the delight of his father. Since Paul's death I have heard nothing of the family.

When I got back to Cherokee at 4 o'clock I found a funeral going on. David's eldest son was buried. I am so sorry; he was always a good boy and had learned the trade of carpenter and was doing good work. It is hard on his parents.

Elihu's little boy was also buried to-day. I am distressed for poor Elihu. He has lost his wife and three little boys since he left Cherokee. If I only had an empty house in repair I would insist on his coming back. They say it was his poor wife who persuaded him to accept the offer of my neighbor.

As I drove home to-day Ruth shied violently and, looking down, I saw a terrible looking black man in the broiling sun in the ditch asleep or ill, I couldn't tell which, but Dab stuttered out: "Drunk, ma'am; nothing but dat." I drove on a little way and then said:—

"Dab, that poor creature will die in that burning sun. Take my umbrella and go back and set it up over him. Don't speak to him, just put the umbrella so as to keep the sun off."

So Dab flew off, but Ruth would not wait, and I had to drive on. I met a nice looking black woman whose parents had belonged to us, and I said:—

"Chaney, I sent my umbrella to put over a man in the ditch there; do fix it right when you pass."

She dropped a deep curtsy and said: "Dat is my husband Jupiter, Miss Patience, en' he's drunk all de time, en' I t'ank yo' kindly for puttin' de hambrellar ober him. Miss Patience, he ain't gi'e me so much as a apurn fo' five years, but he is my lawful married husband an' I bleeged to ten' 'um."

September 29.

Vareen harvest begun, a perfect day, the sun in great glory, with little white clouds flitting hither and thither, doing continual homage to him, and making the sky a thing of beauty. I did not go down to the plantation early, but followed my plan of getting there just in time to turn back the hands who are leaving the field with too little done. Yet they got ahead of me, for they had all left the field and gone home at 11:30 o'clock, having only cut four acres in a field of eleven acres. Of course it was vain to attempt to get them back. I met faithful old Ancrum, whom I had put in charge, and he told me that they had all cut what was counted a task in slavery times, and left the field by 11 o'clock. I was greatly tried, because the risk of leaving the rice in the field all day Sunday is too great, and I wanted to get it into the barn-yard Saturday evening. I explained this to the old man and told him we would have to get a big day's work done to-morrow, as so little had been done to-day, or it would leave a very heavy day's work for Saturday, which they all dislike very much. My father always allowed a very light task for Saturday and required that washing, scouring, raking the yards and burning trash should be done in each household as a preparation for Sunday, when everything should be tidy and clean. They keep up the practice very generally now, and it is rare to find on the "street" a house where active preparations are not being made on Saturday evening, and I encourage it in every way in my power.

The new beater for the threshing mill engine has arrived and is being put up. Last year I lost my engineer, he having been absorbed by a neighboring mill-owner, and I felt much at a loss, but I turned at once to an old "befo' de wah" darkey, who had learned his trade under my father. Every one said old Tinny could not possibly run the mill: he was too old and stupid; but I sent for him and he came promptly, and when I asked if he could run the engine and thresh the crop for me he answered, with great spirit, "Suttinly I kin," as though I had insulted him by the question. He has showed himself a competent engineer, careful and vigilant, though he looks as if he had not intelligence or capacity enough to kindle the fire. His first action was to tell me, after examining the machinery, that I must get a new beater, as he did not consider the one in use safe. When I demurred he said, "Miss, lemme mek you sensible. I kin patch um up en run de ingin ef yo' kyan't possible buy a new one; but it's a resk, en my ole marsta 'ood neber expose none o him peeple to run a ingin wid sech a beater, yo' onderstan', ma'am?" I needed nothing more than that, and wrote at once to beg Capt. L. to come and examine it and, if necessary, to order a new one for me. He took a long time to come, being a very busy man, but when he did come he said Tinny was quite right and a new one was necessary, and now Tinny is engaged in putting in the new beater. It seems almost a miracle to me that he should be able to do it; but it just shows what it is to have been thoroughly trained to a thing in youth. This pygmy of 75, who has not looked at an engine for thirty years, and has just lived under his own vine and fig tree and worked his own little farm, the moment he is called upon, is perfectly at home in the engine room and really more competent than the very intelligent, smart young man I had before, who reads, writes, and speaks correctly and has learned his trade since the war.

In the same way old Ancrum, who is 80 years of age, is the one man I can get to do a really pretty piece of ditching. Auerbach says, "By work we learn fidelity," and I believe the immense number of infidelities, financial, moral, and spiritual, which flood the country come in great measure from the sentiment against labor which has crept over the land with the rise of wealth. There is a sentimentality which is opposed to work and laments over the necessity for it, whereas the man or woman who has never really worked is to be pitied, and will never reach the point of excellence and development that could have been attained, had he or she learned to put out the whole strength, either of mind or body, on something.

September 30.

I got down to the plantation in time to turn back some of the young men who had left the field and were on their way to "the street," having cut a half acre but not tied up the rice they cut yesterday. A few laughing words as to the contrast between their strong looks and feeble deeds made them turn back, and fearing to lose sight of them I offered to take them back to the field in my boat. If I had been in the field all morning I could not have kept them, they would have slipped away from me just as they had done from the foreman; but arriving fresh and cheerful on the scene I can force them back by my will. I got into the field just as they had all finished cutting and were about to leave, and as each one turned to leave, I said: "Now tie up what you cut yesterday and tote it to the flat." It was just touch and go as to whether they would flatly refuse or obey. For one moment they stood wavering; then I said, "Don't delay now, for it is better to have the extra work to-day than on Saturday." That settled it and they flew, and now, at 2 o'clock, the whole of yesterday's cutting is in the flat and every one is gay and happy.

Agnes has just passed me going home. As she was getting into her boat I said, "Finished already? I know you are glad I made you do it." She showed every one of her perfect teeth and said, "Miss, I too tenk yo' for mek me do um; to-morrer I kin finish by 10 o'clock." I brought a basket of beautiful Keiffer pears with me and distribute them from time to time, and they are much enjoyed. This country is the home of the pear; both the Keiffer and Le Conte grow and bear luxuriantly, and the pears reach immense size.

I feel so happy at the success of the day's work that I am going to eat my frugal meal, with its accompaniment of artesian water, with great enjoyment. No one who has not spent days out of doors, with all the pretty sights and sounds which nature so lavishly provides, can know the exhilaration I feel. After trying everything for lunch I have settled on a closely covered dish of rice, which is most satisfying and is very little trouble to eat. If only the field did not smell so terribly! My good Chloe has put up a large supply of rice and broiled ham to-day, so I am able, after I finish, to offer a part to any one who looks dejected or tired. "Would you like some of my dinner, Ancrum? Well, bring your bucket cover." They all carry their "bittle," as they call their lunch, in bright looking tin cans with close fitting covers which make nice plates.

When the rice was all nicely stowed in the flat I got into my boat and came home.

October 1.

A sparkling welcome to October—a perfect day with mercury only 65. I am sitting on Vareen bank watching the "toting"—such active, wonderful figures, I wish I had my kodak. The distance across the field is considerable and to see little Stella, just her feet to her knees visible, so huge is the bundle of rice on her head, coming across the field, stepping over the quarter drains from one boggy spot to another, is wonderful.

The hands have worked, splendidly to-day and my little refreshments have been much appreciated. Fortunately it was just high water at 3 o'clock when the last sheaf was put in the flat and so it could be poled up the river and put safely under the flat-house. I put Elihu in charge of her as watchman until Monday. I hope that, as the rice in the flat will make a comfortable resting-place, he will remain at his post. It was with a light heart I drove back to the pineland, for the clouds were darkening and it was pleasant to know that the rice is under shelter, and the blessed Day of Rest will be free from anxiety.

October 3.

The first day of threshing is always trying. The feed house is packed up to the very roof with the rice from P. D. Wragg, and I want to get it threshed out to allow Vareen to be brought out of the flat and stowed in the feed room. Of course the belts, etc., all have to be adjusted, and it took so long to get in good running order that when they got through threshing the rice in the mill they all declared it was too late to unload the flat. I insisted, however, on their working until sunset, as they had spent many hours idle while the bands were being adjusted. We got nearly all out of the flat, and it will be easy to finish early in the morning and have the flat empty and ready for Cicero, to whom I have promised it to-morrow, to load up his rice at Casa Bianca.

I rode down on my wheel this morning, a most inspiriting ride in the fresh morning air. On my way to the barn-yard I turned aside to see the field I have recently enclosed, and planted in cow-peas preparatory to alfalfa. There is a splendid growth of peas in full bearing, the pods quite green still. It is a beautiful and cheering sight. I opened the gate and went in, for the finest peas are not visible from the gate. What was my dismay to find ten fat, sleek oxen standing up to their bodies in the peas eating rapidly! They all belonged to the negroes on the place. I never saw a more perfect picture of satisfaction. I walked round the fence till I found the place where they had literally torn three panels to pieces—new American fence wire well stretched on fine cedar posts! I cannot understand it, unless they had help. The top wire had been broken just between two staples and that gave the slackness which enabled them to destroy it. I had just to leave them there, for even if I had not been afraid of them, I could not possibly have driven them out alone.

I had to go on to the barn-yard and not say a word about it until I found some one who could be spared from the threshing—there were just enough hands to run the mill—Jim had gone to Gregory for a load of boards. After a while, in a pause of the threshing, I took Marion, who was stowing back straw in the barn, and sent him with my little Imp to drive the cattle out. I gave him a pencil and piece of paper and told him to write down the number of cattle and the names of their owners, saying, "this is a position of trust, Marion." He answered, "Yes, ma'am," most pleasantly. He came back after a while with the names of the owners and the number of cattle very neatly written, but there were eight instead of ten. I asked Imp afterward how many oxen there were and without hesitation he said, "ten"; so I knew Marion had failed in his trust. Later I had the fence repaired as best I could and told all the men they must tie up their cattle for the night. Elihu, who had three splendid oxen in the field, expressed great regret and said, "I ploughed de lan' for dem pea, en day is tu fyne fer cattle 'stroy." He promised faithfully to shut his up.

October 4.

On my way to Cherokee this morning I stopped at the alfalfa field and there in the midst were fourteen head of cattle; only one man had shut up his. Elihu's three oxen were there and his cow and two pretty heifers besides, also a pair belonging to a man who lives on his own farm, two miles off in the woods, and only works here when it pleases him.

I went on quickly and sent Jim to take Imp and drive them out of the field and into my yard, where the owners can come and pay for them before they take them out. I charged 25 cents each for the first offence, and doubled it for the second. It certainly is a great trial after the heavy expense of such a fence to have professional fence breaking oxen tear it to pieces. I thought nothing could hurt it but tools in human hands.

The fields that have been threshed have turned out pitifully and I am in despair. I hear on every side that the price is very low. Nearly all the planters have already announced that they will not plant any rice next year, which no doubt is wise, but what will become of the country with no money crops? For the first time I put a mortgage on the place this year and borrowed $1000. Marshfield at Casa Bianca (25 acres) has often put that much in the bank and sometimes more; so I felt justified in doing it, but now—!

I am trying to cut and cure some pea-vine and crab-grass hay, but it is very uphill work. Every one is so ignorant of hay making and I cannot tell them with authority because I know nothing myself except what common-sense dictates. The putting up and starting of the mowing machine was very difficult, but now it is working fairly well, and the weather is perfect for the purpose. The stacking I cannot get properly done—they are accustomed to pile straw in heaps and they will only pile the hay instead of making a compact stack.

October 11.

Digging potatoes at Cherokee, eight women with hoes; but they make slow progress. I insisted on having Jim open some with the plough, but Bonaparte said the plough covered up too many, and as he has been superintending this work a long time, and has the banking and storing of the potatoes, I thought it the part of wisdom to let him do it in the way which he assured me would secure the greatest number of potatoes for my use.

October 13.

Still digging potatoes, though only one and three-quarter acres were planted, and they are not turning out as well as usual; they generally yield over one hundred bushels to the acre. The hay making goes on pretty well. Jim is getting to run the mower and rake very skilfully, but the man I have stacking the hay is very obstinate. As long as I stand and look at him the stack is packed and properly formed, but as soon as I leave he just tosses the hay lightly on the pole and a rain would ruin it.

October 23.

The potatoes are all in and the hay nearly so. The other evening I was superintending the stacking of the hay when five children came to ask me to let them go in the potato field and "hunt tetta." I let them go, as I always do, for my heart is tender to children and I like to see their delight over the potatoes they find. I was so much interested in getting a perfect stack that I went up the ladder to the top to see if it was well packed, while the wagon went for another load. It was so lovely up there that I sat a long time. The sun was nearing the end of its journey, and the slanting rays glorified the fields with their borders of bright colored leaves, the ruddy brown of the cypress giving its rich tone to the landscape. I saw from my vantage point nearly the whole upland, and in the foreground the children in the potato patch. They all had hoes and it struck me they were digging very regularly in rows and not here and there, as they generally do, and I watched them more closely. In the little time that they had been there the boys had each about a bushel in their bags, and I realized that the women had systematically covered up potatoes in the rows as they dug them. I did not stop the children, but let them go on every afternoon, with the result that they each got about ten bushels of potatoes. Another year I will not employ the women on the place to dig them, but will get hands from outside, for whom the temptation will not be so great to hide the potatoes for their own children to find. I like the children to glean, for their parents are so careless and improvident that very few make a crop of potatoes, though they have every opportunity to do so, and children always love potatoes; but when it comes to having the best ones covered up for them I feel it is time to call a halt. One year I superintended the digging very closely myself, and there was no chance for covering up. The crop turned out finely and I was pleased, but after the potatoes were banked in the barn-yard they were stolen, so that I have since left it entirely to Bonaparte.

October 31.

The harvest of my twenty-five acre field at Casa Bianca began to-day—most beautiful weather and the hands worked very well, cutting down seven and a half acres, so that I hope we will get it all in the flats by Saturday.

November 1.

Another brilliant day and the hands getting on merrily with the work. If this were April rice we would tie up to-day what was cut yesterday, but the June rice straw is so green that one day's sun is not enough to dry it and so the tying will not begin until to-morrow.

November 2.

Seven and a half acres cut again to-day and Monday's cutting tied up and put in little cocks in the field. Though we have only had the few hands living on the place, the work is getting on finely. The sky is somewhat overcast, but I trust it does not mean rain.

November 3.

It began to rain late last evening, and poured all night. I could not sleep for thinking of my rice on the stubble. That which is stacked may not be much hurt, but that lying untied on the stubble will be terribly injured. During all the beautiful weather of the past two weeks I was eager to get the field harvested, but Marcus said it was not quite ripe enough, and when rice is cut underripe the grain is soft and mashes up in the pounding, making a very poor quality of rice; so I was forced to wait.

November 4.

Reports from Casa Bianca are terrible. The gale of east wind we have had forced in the sea water till it swept over the banks, and only the tops of the stacks are to be seen above the water and it is still raining. Marcus had to put a boat in the fields and he paddled down over all the banks to examine the condition of the rice in Marshfield.

November 7.

To-day I moved from the pineland to the plantation (Cherokee). There has been no ice, but we have had three heavy frosts and I think the vegetation sufficiently killed to make it safe.

November 10.

A glorious day after all the rain. I have not written for some days because things are too depressing all around me. When they get very bad I cannot bear to write them down. Saturday I paid out $75, the amount it usually takes to put Marshfield in the barn-yard, and it is still in the field. The turning and drying of the rice have been very expensive. To-day I went down and was much relieved to see it in such good condition. Marcus greeted me with that subtle flattery of which the darkies are masters, a cheerful, respectful, hearty greeting and then, "Miss, de Laud mus' be love yer, ma'am! I neber see sech ting, I was shock wen I see de rice, fu' it ain't damage none tall, yes, ma'am de Laud must sho'ly love yer!" I expressed my gratitude for the great mercy, for indeed it looks wonderfully well. One flat, the Sarah, was loaded to-day. She was to have had eight acres put in, but when they got seven on she began to leak and no more could be put on. I have ordered hands down from Cherokee to bring her up the river by hand, for she is leaking too much to be left loaded until Saturday, when I have ordered the tug to tow the others up.

November 15.

Down at Casa Bianca again, in the field all day, the hands toting rice to 78, my largest flat. She is expected to carry nine acres. It is lovely down on the banks, and my English friend, an artist, who is sketching the field with its picturesque workers, is enthusiastic over the wonderful soft colors and the enchanting haze over all. I will have to borrow a flat, for Sarah is leaking too much to be brought back from Cherokee and 78 and White House cannot carry all the rice.

November 19.

The tug brought the three flats at daylight this morning. I could not get all three unloaded, but the rice from two is safely stowed in the mill and the other will have to take its chances in the flat till Monday. The hands worked well to-day, and were very merry and danced for my artist friend. A man came bringing $2 to buy two wagon loads of rice straw. It is in great demand and it is hard to refuse to sell it when people want it so much. I let this darky have the two loads. I have always given away a great deal but I have to deny myself that pleasure this year, for I have twenty-eight head of cattle, not to speak of the horses, to get through the winter, and the crop is so short.

November 20.

Marshfield turned out 737½ bushels in spite of storm and salt. Now, if I can only get a decent price for it.

November 25.

Drove down to Gregory to sell my rice in the rough, as I have not yet got samples of that I sent to mill in October. Sold it for 42½ cents per bushel, $313.43 for the 737½ bushels! "Alas, poor Yorick."

Cherokee, November 27.

Rode on horseback to Peaceville to-day to get the mail, and brought back a very heavy mail and two books which have been generously sent to the Book Club; and not content with that, saw some very nice salt fish at the store and bought two pounds and brought that home too.

I have given Ruth holiday since moving, and am using Romola. She is a delightful saddle horse so that I have been riding everywhere instead of driving, and I do enjoy it. Romola has a history.

One of my hands some years ago got into trouble and came to me in great distress to borrow quite a large sum of money. I lent it to him and two years passed without his making the least effort to pay it, though he had made good crops and shipped over a hundred bushels of rice of his own to market. So one spring I said to him,

"As you will not pay your debt yourself, you had better make your horse pay it. I will rent her from you and use her until the debt is paid." He seemed very pleased at the idea and brought his mare the next day. I had often felt sorry for her; she struck me as having once been some one's pet and a pleasure horse—a dark chestnut, with a nice air about her. When I asked her name he gave the name of one dear to me which I could not bear to use, so I said: "I will call her Romola, after you." This delighted him, his name being Romulus, pronounced by his friends Ramblus.

I found to my dismay that Romola was too weak to do any work when she first came and I had the pleasure of feeding her for a month before she could be of any use. Romulus had only fed her, and that lightly, when he used her, which might be once a week or once a fortnight; the rest of the time she was turned loose in the woods to hunt her living.

After being well fed and groomed for a while she became quite useful, and at the end of nine months the debt was paid and I returned her to him. He brought her back, however, at once and said:—

"Miss, she look so fine you kin keep um fu' she feed. I ain't got no co'n. I ain't got no pertikler use fur um."

So I kept her through that winter and in the spring he came to say he had received an offer of $45 for her and he was going to sell her. I told him I would give him $50 and so Romola became mine, and she is a delightful creature.

Having known evil days she appreciates her home and is always cheerful. Her gaits are very pleasant, easier than Ruth's, but she is a great jumper, no fence can hold her, she skims over like a bird. When I try to get her near enough to a gate for my short arms to reach the latch there is always a danger of her leaping it.

She comes up to it nicely and stops where a man's long arm could open it with ease, but for me it is hopeless. I ride off and bring her back two or three times with the same result, then she loses patience and prepares to jump.

Green has given me notice that he wishes to leave my service the end of this month, so I must find some one else. He milks the five cows and ploughs a quarter of an acre of oats a day and thinks he is overworked; told Chloe yesterday he was broken down with hard work!

Just at the end of the war, when things were being adjusted after the upheaval of the Emancipation Proclamation, my mother was trying to arrange a contract which would be just to all parties, so that the lands might be worked and the starvation and want which was threatening this region prevented. The intelligent negroes saw the necessity and gave what help they could, acquiescing in the terms of the contract. The inferior element among the negroes was very turbulent and rebellious and it was a very exciting scene.

At my mother's request a United States soldier had been detailed by the commandant in Gregory to be present, witness the contract and keep order. During the turmoil and uproar the soldier said:—

"I should think you'd rather get white help."

From time to time it has recurred to me with renewed humor, and now I think the time has come when I really must try and "get white help."