University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER II.

Edmund Pendleton, Jr., had—like his great-uncle and
adopted father—much beauty of form and feature, energy of
character, cheerfulness of disposition, and clear intellect to have
made him successful in professional life. But affluence instead
of poverty sat beside his cradle and tended his boyhood, and
when, after the example of his elders, he married at the age of
twenty, he was not forced to exert himself for the support of his
family, but settled down with his young wife to enjoy the comfort
and ease provided for him by his uncle's labors. His first
wife, Jane Byrd Page, died in less than two years, leaving a little
daughter, Elizabeth.

Early and repeated marriage was a Pendleton habit, and the
young widower, before he was twenty-four, took to himself his
second wife, Lucy Nelson. She was a dark-eyed, dark-haired
girl, who to beauty and sweetness added a sprightly mind and
firm though gentle character, which fitted her well for the part
she was to play as mother of a large family and mistress of an
extensive plantation. After a wedded life of nearly fifty years,
Mr. Pendleton used to tell with pride how himself and bride had
been pronounced the handsomest couple in Richmond. Her
beauty and her wealth of hair did not protect Mrs. Pendleton
from the barbarous fashion of the day, which decreed that every
married woman, no matter how young and good-looking, should
cover her head with an ugly mob-cap. Her luxuriant tresses were
cropped short and the beautiful hair hidden under a cap until the
day of her death.

The young couple lived on their estate in Caroline during the
greater part of the year, but spent the winters with Mrs. Pendleton's
mother in Richmond, Mr. Pendleton holding an office connected

with the Legislature, as his father had done before him.
Here, on December 26, 1809, in a house on Grace Street, not far
from the site of St. Paul's Church, William Nelson Pendleton
was born. Several children had died in infancy, but two brothers
and two sisters were living. All of these, as well as three brothers
younger than he, grew to mature age, and five of them reached the
term of threescore years. Hugh Nelson, the eldest son, was nearly
ten years older than William. Two sisters, Mildred and Judith,
followed Hugh in close succession. The next surviving child was
Francis Walker, only one year older than William. Robert, James
Lawrence, and Gurdon Huntingdon were the three who followed
him. The affection between the brothers and sisters was warm
and lasting, but the tie between Walker and William was particularly
strong, notwithstanding a marked dissimilarity between them.
Walker was small of stature, indolent in habit, quiet and peaceable
in disposition, though fond of a joke, and somewhat of a
tease. William, tall and well formed, was full of animal spirits
and activity, always busy at work or at play, noisy, mischievous,
and so pugnacious that he was expected by brothers, cousins, and
school-mates to restrain any show of uppishness in the younger
boys, and to keep them in their place, by the chastisement he was
never slow to administer. Notwithstanding this belligerent tendency,
his bright good humor and universal kindliness made him a
great favorite; and, the fight ended, the combatants were speedily
the best of friends, eagerly planning some joint piece of mischief
or amusement. Walker filled the part of peace-maker, and not
infrequently came in for an undue share of blows from both sides.
On one of the rare occasions when the brothers had engaged in
a battle on their own account, their father came unexpectedly on
the scene, booted and spurred for his daily ride round the plantation.
He held his riding-whip, and laid it so impartially over
the shoulders of both boys that they not only ceased fighting at
once, but ever after refrained from coming to blows.

Country life in Virginia in those days had many distinctive
characteristics. Stores were few and far apart. Everything had
to be raised and manufactured on the plantations, or purchased
at great cost and transported with much trouble. The numbers
of slaves relieved the masters and mistresses from any necessity
for manual labor, but the obligation to provide food, clothing, and

quarters in healthful and sufficient quantity for so many dependants
taxed the thoughtfulness and developed the administrative
faculties of the owners in a wonderful degree. To see that there
was meat, meal, molasses, and fish, cotton, wool, and leather in
needful supply; that the cabins were in good repair, with fuel at
convenient distance for winter use; that the stock and farming
implements were well cared for; the barns and stables in good
order; that the crops were planted and worked diligently and intelligently,
occupied the master's attention and time, even when
he employed an "overseer" to look after the thousand minutiœ of
plantation work. Upon the mistress devolved the duty of seeing
that the food was prepared by competent cooks. She was responsible
not only for the cutting and making of the cotton clothing
for summer and the linsey for winter, but, not infrequently, also
for the spinning the yarn and weaving the cloth for the required
garments. Not an unusual task was it for her to "set up the web,"
by filling the weaver's sley and counting the threads for the cloth.
Day after day the softest white hands plied the heavy scissors
and aided the negro seamstresses with skilful fingers. Every
case of sickness was brought to the mistress's notice. Each one
was duly visited, and medicine and nourishment ordered, and
often administered by herself.

No one can deny that there were evils connected with, and
objections inherent to, the conditions of slavery on the one side
and ownership on the other; but no age nor nation has witnessed
greater comfort of body, contentedness of mind, and attachment
to employers in any laboring class, nor more careful attention to
the wants and regard for the feelings of their dependants than
were exhibited mutually by Virginia ladies and gentlemen and
their slaves. This was peculiarly the case with the house-servants.
Nowhere could be found more devoted nurses, and never
was love more fondly returned than that of the black "mammy"
by her white nursling. Insubordination in the nursery was
promptly repressed, and mammy's authority upheld by father
and mother. Little William's love of mischief tempted him on
one occasion to pull the chair from under his old nurse as she
was in the act of seating herself by the fire with one of his baby
brothers in her arms. But his shouts of laughter at the unexpected
collapse of mammy's dignity were speedily hushed. She

gathered herself up with all haste, placed the uninjured infant in
the lap of a younger maid, and swooping down upon the offender,
bore him, spite of kicks and struggles, to his mother's chamber.
Mrs. Pendleton was too feeble to inflict the deserved punishment,
but turned it over to her husband. He listened to
the tale, reached for a peach switch lying on the tall mantel, and
by a few sharp cuts cured the fun-loving urchin of his propensity
to upset unwary folk so rudely.

Schools were few in the country in those days. The age of
tutors and governesses had scarcely begun. Children of every
degree were taught by their parents in their brief intervals of
leisure. The young Pendletons thus learned to read, write, and
cipher at their mother's knee. More important still were the
principles of truth and honor instilled by their father, and the
religious teaching of their mother's precept and example. Sunday-schools
were little held in the city, not at all in the country.
In the part of Caroline where Mr. Pendleton lived there was no
Episcopal church, and the only religious services were by untaught
Methodist and Baptist preachers. Mrs. Pendleton had
no mind to have her children grow up without regular religious
training, or to let them stray off from the church of their fathers.
The large prayer-book with its clear print was the book oftenest
used to teach the little ones to read. And as soon as a child
could do so with any ease, it was accustomed to read the Psalter
for the day responsively with its mother, while psalms, hymns,
and Bible verses were day by day memorized. In this way
the mind was stored with truths and the tongue habituated to
a purity of language and richness of phraseology unattainable
under the use of "readers" in the schools of a later day.

Mr. Pendleton made no religious profession, but he seconded
the efforts of his wife for the proper instruction of their children.
Family prayers were read by one of the parents, and on every
Sunday morning, in the country, the whole household was assembled
at eleven o'clock, and—as Mrs. Pendleton had been wont
to hear it at her father's house in York—the morning service and
a sermon were read by Mr. Pendleton. Sunday afternoon was
observed by the repeating the church catechism by all the young
people in turn. When a second generation came on, and grandchildren
gathered for the summer at their grandfather's home,

great was the amusement of the girls and boys to hear their
fathers and mothers called on to "say the catechism" by their
venerable grandmother.

The boys might chafe and grow restive under these wholesome
restraints when they wished to join their young neighbors in
pleasure-seeking on Sunday, but a few years added better judgment,
and they saw the wisdom of the parental course. Hugh,
the oldest son, used to tell in later years of his amusement and
amazement, on one of the rare occasions when he managed to
elude his mother's Sunday vigilance, at hearing a neighboring
preacher pray that the Lord would "enlighten those dark corners
of the earth where the foot of man hath never trod and
which thine eye, O Lord, hath never seen."

The burning of the theatre in Richmond, where seventy-two
persons, among them the governor of the State, perished in the
flames, has been often described. Its sad circumstances were
singularly connected with Mr. Pendleton's family, and are, therefore,
given at some length. As usual, they were spending the
winter with Mrs. Nelson, Mrs. Pendleton's mother. A number
of relations had gathered there for the Christmas holidays. On
the evening of the 26th of December, 1811, a party to the theatre
was proposed. Mrs. Pendleton was wearing mourning, and had
begun to entertain religious scruples about theatre-going. She,
therefore, excused herself on the plea of her black dress. Her
husband insisted, and at last persuaded her to go in order to celebrate
their little William's second birthday, and she consented
to chaperon her step-daughter, sister, and cousin.

A crowded audience had gathered to see Placide, a favorite
actor, in a new play. This was over, and the second act of the
after-piece had begun. One of the players was performing near
the foot-lights, when sparks of fire were seen falling around him,
and a voice cried out, "The house is on fire!" A panic ensued
not surpassed by any of the horrors of later years. There was
only one way of exit for the occupants of the pit and boxes. The
latter had to reach it by a narrow passage and down a steep stairway,
which soon became blocked by the hurrying throng.

Mr. Pendleton, with his wife and daughter clinging to his arms,
and the other two ladies holding on behind, was making his way
towards the stairs, when the crowd surged between and separated

them. Mrs. Pendleton was borne onward to the top of the stairs,
and then actually forced upward by the surrounding mass and
carried some distance forward upon the heads of those in front.
Mr. Pendleton finding it impossible to regain his hold of his wife,
ceased trying to reach the steps, and, after many efforts, climbed
with his daughter to a window, from which they jumped and
saved their lives, though the young girl's leg was badly broken.
Great was the mourning at Mrs. Nelson's over the two daughters
and the niece, who were believed to have perished in the fire.
But a merciful Providence spared the young wife and mother to
her family. Mrs. Pendleton lost consciousness in a few moments
when separated from her party, and recollected nothing after
finding herself above the heads of the crowd.

When she came to herself she was sensible of a cool breeze
blowing in her face. She opened her eyes in intense darkness,
and at first supposed herself dead. As memory brought back
the horrors of the fire, she conjectured that she had been buried
alive. This agonizing thought was confirmed by perceiving that
she was lying against a solid wooden surface. Writhing with
terror, she raised her hand to feel the coffin-lid. Reason seemed
to return with motion. The uplifted hand met with no obstruction;
the wind in her face proved she could not be in her grave.
Feeling cautiously, she ascertained that a heavy beam had fallen
so close to her as to be in contact with the whole length of her
back, and, lying upon her skirts, pinned her to the ground. Repeated
and violent efforts enabled her to tear her clothing and
extricate herself from her prostrate position. She then crept over
the charred and smouldering ruins to the point from which the
wind blew. The faint light of the breaking day was seen, and
she found herself in the street, barefooted and half naked. In
the gray dawn she sought her mother's house, and bruised and
half clad as she was, went round a square to avoid a cow in the
direct road. The servant who opened the door to her knock
screamed with fright at seeing, as she thought, her young mistress's
ghost, while husband, mother, and children greeted her
return from death with joy and thanksgiving.

The charred remains of her sister and cousin were identified by
the diamonds lying among them. They rest, with their fellow-victims,
on the spot where they died, and their names are inscribed

on the monument under the portico of the Monumental Church
in Richmond.

A cessation of theatre-going in Virginia followed for many
years, and none of the elder members of the Nelson connection
ever entered one again. This restriction was not rigidly enforced
upon the young ones. When a good comedian appeared in Richmond
eight or nine years later, Walker and William Pendleton
were sent with their brother Hugh to see him. William was soon
in ecstasies of merriment, and his prolonged paroxysms of laughter
not only drew the attention of the audience from the stage,
but excited the risibilities of the actors themselves.