 | XXII. The South-west |  |
22. XXII.
A drive into the country—Pleasant road—Charming villa—Children
at play—Governess—Diversities of society—Education in Louisiana—Visit
to a sugar-house—Description of sugar-making, &c.
—A plantation scene—A planter's grounds—Children—Trumpeter—Pointer—Return
to the city.
This is the last day of my sojourn in the great
emporium of the south-west. To-morrow will find
me threading the majestic sinuosities of the Mississippi,
the prisoner of one of its mammoth steamers,
on my way to the state whose broad fields and undulating
hills are annually whitened with the fleece-like
cotton, and whose majestic forests glitter with
the magnificent and silvery magnolia—where the
men are chivalrous, generous, and social, and the
women so lovely,
They wear on earth will serve in Paradise.”
A gentleman to whom I brought a letter of introduction
called yesterday—a strange thing for men
so honoured to do—and invited me to ride with him
to his plantation, a few miles from the city. He
drove his own phaeton, which was drawn by two
beautiful long-tailed bays. After a drive of a mile
and a half, we cleared the limits of the straggling,
and apparently interminable faubourgs, and, emerging
road, bounded swiftly over its level surface, which
was as smoth as a bowling-green—saving a mud-hole
now and then, where a crevasse had let in upon
it a portion of the Mississippi. An hour's drive, after
clearing the suburbs, past a succession of isolated
villas, encircled by slender columns and airy
galleries, and surrounded by richly foliaged gardens,
whose fences were bursting with the luxuriance
which they could scarcely confine, brought us in
front of a charming residence situated at the head
of a broad, gravelled avenue, bordered by lemon and
orange trees, forming in the heat of summer, by
arching naturally overhead, a cool and shady promenade.
We drew up at the massive gate-way
and alighted. As we entered the avenue, three or
four children were playing at its farther extremity,
with noise enough for Christmas holidays; two of
them were trundling hoops in a race, and a third
sat astride of a non-locomotive wooden horse, waving
a tin sword, and charging at half a dozen young
slaves, who were testifying their bellicose feelings
by dancing and shouting around him with the noisiest
merriment.
“Pa! pa!” shouted the hoop-drivers as they discovered
our approach—“Oh, there's pa!” re-echoed
the pantalette dragoon, dismounting from his dull
steed, and making use of his own chubby legs as the
most speedy way of advancing, “oh, my papa!”
—and, sword and hoops in hand, down they all
came upon the run to meet us, followed helter-skelter
by their ebony troop, who scattered the gravel
over each other, without much diminution
of their speed. They came down upon us altogether
with such momentum, that we were like to be
carried from our feet by this novel charge of infantry
and laid hors du combat, upon the ground. The
playful and affectionate congratulations over between
the noble little fellows and their parent, we
walked toward the house, preceded by our trundlers,
with the young soldier hand-in-hand between us,
followed close behind by the little Africans, whose
round shining eyes glistened wishfully—speaking
as plainly as eyes could speak the strong desire,
with which their half-naked limbs evidently sympathized
by their restless motions, to bound ahead,
contrary to decorum, “wid de young massas!”
Around the semi-circular flight of steps, ascending
to the piazza of the dwelling,—the columns of
which were festooned with the golden jasmine and
luxuriant multiflora,—stood, in large green vases, a
variety of flowers, among which I observed the tiny
flowerets of the diamond myrtle, sparkling like
crystals of snow, scattered upon rich green leaves—
the dark foliaged Arabian jasmine silvered with its
opulently-leaved flowers redolent of the sweetest
perfume,—and the rose-geranium, breathing gales of
fragrance upon the air. From this point the main
avenue branches to the right and left, into narrower,
yet not less beautiful walks, which, lined with ever-green
and flowering shrubs, completely encircled
the cottage. At the head of the flight of steps
which led from this Hesperean spot to the portico,
in her motion as a zephyr, and with a cheek—not
alabaster, indeed, for that is an exotic in the south
—but like a lily, shaded by a rose leaf, and an eye
of the purest hue, melting in its own light. With
an exclamation of delight she sprang into her father's
arms. I was soon seated upon one of the
settees in the piazza,—whose front and sides were
festooned by the folds of a green curtain—in a high
frolic with the trundlers, the dismounted dragoon
and my little winged zephyr. You know my penchant
for children's society. I am seldom happier
than when watching a group of intelligent and
beautiful little ones at play. For those who can in
after life enter con amore, into the sports of children,
tumble with and be tumbled about by them,
it is like living their childhood over again. Every
romp with them is death to a score of gray hairs.
Their games, moreover, present such a contrast to
the rougher contests of bearded children in the game
of life, where money, power, and ambition are the
stake, that it is refreshing to look at them and mingle
with them, even were it only to realize that human
nature yet retains something of its divine original.
The proprietor of the delightful spot which lay
spread out around me—a lake of foliage—fringed
by majestic forest trees, and diversified with labyrinthyne
walks,—had, the preceding summer, consigned
to the tomb the mother of his “beautiful
ones.” They were under the care of a dignified
lady, his sister, and the widow of a gentleman formerly
But like many other northern ladies, whose names
confer honour upon our literature, and whose talents
elevate and enrich our female seminaries of education,
she had independence enough to rise superior
to her widowed indigence; and had prepared to
open a boarding school at the north, when the death
of his wife led her wealthier brother to invite her to
supply a mother's place to his children, to whom
she was now both mother and governess. The
history of this lady is that of hundreds of her country-women.
There are, I am informed, many instances
in the south-west, of New-England's daughters
having sought, with the genuine spirit of independence,
thus to repair their broken fortunes. The
intelligent and very agreeable lady of the late President
H., of Lexington, resides in the capacity of
governess in a distinguished Louisianian family,
not far from the city. Mrs. Thayer, formerly an
admired poet and an interesting writer of fiction, is
at the head of a seminary in an adjoining state.
And in the same, the widow of the late president
of its college is a private instructress in the family
of a planter. And these are instances, to which I
can add many others, in a country where the occupation
of instructing, whether invested in the president
of a college or in the teacher of a country
school, is degraded to a secondary rank. In New-England,
on the contrary, the lady of a living collegiate
president is of the elite, decidedly, if not at the
head, of what is there termed “good society.” Here,
the same lady, whether a visiter for the winter, or
of southern society have laid it down—to the lady
of the planter. The southerners, however, when
they can secure one of our well-educated northern
ladies in their families, know well how to appreciate
their good fortune. Inmates of the family, they are
treated with politeness and kindness; but in the
soirée, dinner party, or levée, the governess is
thrown more into the back-ground than she would
be in a gentleman's family, even in aristocratic
England; and her title to an equality with the gay,
and fashionable, and wealthy circle by whom she
is surrounded, and her challenge to the right of
caste, is less readily admitted. But this illiberal
jealousy is the natural consequence of the crude
state of American society, where the line of demarcation
between its rapidly forming classes is yet so
uncertainly defined, that each individual who is anxious
to be, or even to be thought, of the better file,
has to walk circumspectly, lest he should inadvertently
be found mingling with the canaille. The
more uncertain any individual is of his own true
standing, the more haughtily and suspiciously will
he stand aloof, and measure with his eye every
stranger who advances within the limits of the prescribed
circle.
Education in this state has been and is still very
much neglected. Appropriations have been made
for public schools; but, from the fund established
for the purpose, not much has as yet been effected.
Many of the males, after leaving the city-schools,
or the care of tutors, are sent, if destined for a professional
the Catholic institutions at St. Louis and Bardstown,
and a few of the wealthier young gentlemen
to France. The females are educated, either by
governesses, at the convents, or at northern boarding-schools.
Many of them are sent to Paris when
very young, and there remain until they have completed
their education. The majority of the higher
classes of the French population are brought up
there. This custom of foreign education—like that
in the Atlantic states, under the old regime, when,
to be educated a gentleman, it was considered necessary
for American youth to enter at Eton, and
graduate from Oxford or Cambridge—must have a
very natural tendency to preserve and cherish an
attachment for France, seriously detrimental to genuine
patriotism.—But all this is a digression.
After a kind of bachelor's dinner, in a hall open
on two sides for ventilation, even at this season of
the year—sumptuous enough for Epicurus, and
served by two or three young slaves, who were
drilled to a glance of the eye—crowned by a luxurious
dessert of fruits and sweet-meats, and graced
with wine, not of the chasse-cousin vintage, so common
in New England, but of the pure outre-mer—
we proceeded to the sugar-house or sucrérie, through
a lawn which nearly surrounded the ornamental
grounds about the house, studded here and there
with lofty trees, which the good taste of the original
proprietor of the domain had left standing in their
forest majesty. From this rich green sward, on
which two or three fine saddle-horses were grazing,
but more domestic enclosure, alive with young negroes,
sheep, turkies, hogs, and every variety of domestic
animal that could be attached to a plantation.
From this diversified collection, which afforded a
tolerable idea of the interior of Noah's ark, we entered
the long street of a village of white cottages,
arranged on either side of it with great regularity.
They were all exactly alike, and separated by equal
spaces; and to every one was attached an enclosed
piece of ground, apparently for a vegetable garden;
around the doors decrepit and superannuated negroes
were basking in the evening sun—mothers
were nursing their naked babies, and one or two
old and blind negresses were spinning in their doors.
In the centre of the street, which was a hundred
yards in width, rose to the height of fifty feet a
framed belfry, from whose summit was suspended
a bell, to regulate the hours of labour. At the foot
of this tower, scattered over the grass, lay half a
score of black children, in puris naturalibus, frolicking
or sleeping in the warm sun, under the surveillance
of an old African matron, who sat knitting
upon a camp-stool in the midst of them.
We soon arrived at the boiling-house, which was
an extensive brick building with tower-like chimnies,
numerous flues, and a high, steep roof, reminding
me of a New England distillery. As we entered,
after scaling a barrier of sugar-casks with
which the building was surrounded, the slaves, who
were dressed in coarse trowsers, some with and
others without shirts, were engaged in the several
fatigues some African Orpheus was lightening with
a loud chorus, which was instantly hushed, or rather
modified, on our entrance, to a half-assured whistling.
A white man, with a very unpleasing physiognomy,
carelessly leaned against one of the brick
pillars, who raised his hat very respectfully as we
passed, but did not change his position. This was
the overseer. He held in his hand a short-handled
whip, loaded in the butt, which had a lash four or
five times the length of the staff. Without noticing
us, except when addressed by his employer, he remained
watching the motions of the toiling slaves,
quickening the steps of a loiterer by a word, or
threatening with his whip, those who, tempted by
curiosity, turned to gaze after us, as we walked
through the building.
The process of sugar-making has been so often
described by others, that I can offer nothing new
or interesting upon the subject. But since my
visit to this plantation, I have fallen in with an ultramontane
tourist or sketcher, a fellow-townsman and
successful practitioner of medicine in Louisiana,
who has kindly presented me with the sheet of an
unpublished MS. which I take pleasure in transcribing,
for the very graphic and accurate description
it conveys of this interesting process.
“The season of sugar-making,” says Dr. P. “is
termed, by the planters of the south, the `rolling
season;' and a merry and pleasant time it is too—
for verily, as Paulding says, the making of sugar
and the making of love are two of the sweetest occupations
of sugar I mean—about the middle or last of October,
and continues from three weeks to as many
months, according to the season and other circumstances;
but more especially the force upon the
plantation, and the amount of sugar to be made.
As the season approaches, every thing assumes a
new and more cheerful aspect. The negroes are
more animated, as their winter clothing is distributed,
their little crops are harvested, and their wood
and other comforts secured for that season; which,
to them, if not the freeest, is certainly the gayest
and happiest portion of the year. As soon as the
corn crop and fodder are harvested, every thing is
put in motion for the grinding. The horses and
oxen are increased in number and better groomed;
the carts and other necessary utensils are overhauled
and repaired, and some hundred or thousand
cords of wood are cut and ready piled for the manufacture
of the sugar. The sucrérie, or boiling
house, is swept and garnished—the mill and engine
are polished—the kettles scoured—the coolers
caulked, and the purgerie, or draining-house, cleaned
and put in order, where the casks are arranged
to receive the sugar.
The first labour in anticipation of grinding, is
that of providing plants for the coming year; and
this is done by cutting the cane, and putting it in
matelas, or matressing it, as it is commonly called.
The cane is cut and thrown into parcels in different
parts of the field, in quantities sufficient to plant
several acres, and so arranged that the tops of one
of another. After the quantity required is thus secured,
the whole plantation force, nearly, is employed
in cutting cane, and conveying it to the mill.
The cane is divested of its tops, which are thrown
aside, unless they are needed for plants, which is
often the case, when they are thrown together in
rows, and carefully protected from the inclemencies
of the weather. The stalks are then cut as near as
may be to the ground, and thrown into separate parcels
or rows, to be taken to the mill in carts, and expressed
as soon as possible. The cane is sometimes
bound together in bundles, in the field, which
facilitates its transportation, and saves both time
and trouble. As soon as it is harvested, it is placed
upon a cane-carrier, so called, which conveys it to
the mill, where it is twice expressed between iron
rollers, and made perfectly dry. The juice passes
into vats, or receivers, and the baggasse or cane-trash,
(called in the West Indies migass,) is received into
carts and conveyed to a distance from the sugar-house
to be burnt as soon as may be. Immediately
after the juice is expressed, it is distributed to the
boilers, generally four in succession, ranged in solid
masonry along the sides of the boiling-room, where
it is properly tempered, and its purification and
evaporation are progressively advanced. The French
have commonly five boilers, distinguished by the
fanciful names of grande—propre—flambeau—sirop,
and battérie.
In the first an alkali is generally put to temper
the juice; lime is commonly used, and the quantity
of the sugar-maker. In the last kettle—the teach as
it is termed—the sugar is concentrated to the granulating
point, and then conveyed into coolers, which
hold from two to three hogsheads. After remaining
here for twenty-four hours or more, it is removed to
the purgerie, or draining-house, and placed in hogsheads,
which is technically called potting. Here
it undergoes the process of draining for a few days
or weeks, and is then ready for the market. The
molasses is received beneath in cisterns, and when
they become filled, it is taken out and conveyed into
barrels or hogsheads and shipped. When all the
molasses is removed from the cistern, an inferior
kind of sugar is re-manufactured, which is called
cistern-sugar, and sold at a lower price. When
the grinding has once commenced, there is no cessation
of labour till it is completed. From beginning
to end, a busy and cheerful scene continues.
The negroes
“— Whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week,”
“And make the night joint-labourer with the day.”
the gang is divided into two watches, one taking the
first, and the other the last part of the night; and
notwithstanding this continued labour, the negroes
improve in condition, and appear fat and flourishing.
“They drink freely of cane-juice, and the sickly
among them revive and become robust and healthy.”
holidays, when they are quite at liberty to
dance and frolic as much as they please; and the
cane-song—which is improvised by one of the
gang, the rest all joining in a prolonged and unintelligible
chorus—now breaks night and day upon
the ear, in notes “most musical, most melancholy.”
This over, planting recommences, and the same routine
of labour is continued, with an intermission—
except during the boiling season, as above stated—
upon most, if not all plantations, of twelve hours in
twenty-four, and of one day in seven throughout
the year.
Leaving the sugar-house, after having examined
some of the most interesting parts of the process so
well described by Dr. P., I returned with my polite
entertainer to the house. Lingering for a moment
on the gallery in the rear of the dwelling-house, I
dwelt with pleasure upon the scene which the domain
presented.
The lawn, terminated by a snow-white paling,
and ornamented here and there by a venerable survivor
of the aboriginal forest, was rolled out before
me like a carpet, and dotted with sleek cows, and
fine horses, peacefully grazing, or indolently reclining
upon the thick grass, chewing the cud of
contentment. Beyond the lawn, and extending farther
into the plantation, lay a pasture containing a
great number of horses and cattle, playing together,
reposing, feeding, or standing in social clusters
around a shaded pool. Beyond, the interminable
cane-field, or plantation proper, spread away without
bounded the horizon. On my left, a few hundred
yards from the house, and adjoining the pasture,
stood the stables and other plantation appurtenances,
constituting a village in themselves—for planters
always have a separate building for everything.
To the right stood the humble yet picturesque village
or “quarter” of the slaves, embowered in
trees, beyond which, farther toward the interior of
the plantation, arose the lofty walls and turreted
chimneys of the sugar-house, which, combined with
the bell-tower, presented the appearance of a country
village with its church-tower and the walls of
some public edifice, lifting themselves above the
trees. Some of the sugar-houses are very lofty and
extensive, with noble wings and handsome fronts,
resembling—aside from their lack of windows—college
edifices. I have seen two which bore a striking
resemblance, as seen from the river, to the Insane
Hospital near Boston. It requires almost a fortune
to construct one. The whole scene before me was
extremely animated. Human figures were moving
in all directions over the place. Some labouring in
the distant field, others driving the slow-moving
oxen, with a long, drawling cry—half naked negro
boys shouting and yelling, were galloping horses as
wild as themselves—negresses of all sizes, from
one able to carry a tub to the minikin who could
“tote” but a pint-dipper, laughing and chattering as
they went, were conveying water from a spring to
the wash-house, in vessels adroitly balanced upon
their heads. Slaves sinking under pieces of machinery,
from the boiling-house and negro quarter.
Some were calling to others afar off, and the merry
shouts of the black children at their sports in their
village, reminding me of a school just let out, mingled
with the lowing of cows, the cackling of geese,
the bleating of lambs, the loud and unmusical clamour
of the guinea-hen, agreeably varied by the
barking of dogs, and the roaring of some young
African rebel under maternal castigation.
Passing from this plantation scene through the
airy hall of the dwelling, which opened from piazza
to piazza through the house, to the front gallery,
whose light columns were wreathed with the delicately
leaved Cape-jasmine, rambling woodbine
and honeysuckle, a lovelier and more agreeable
scene met my eye. I stood almost embowered in
the foliage of exotics and native plants, which stood
upon the gallery in handsome vases of marble and
China-ware. The main avenue opened a vista to
the river through a paradise of althea, orange, lemon,
and olive trees, and groves and lawns extended on
both sides of this lovely spot,
“Where Flora's brightest broidery shone,”
The Mississippi—always majestic and lake-like in
its breadth—rolled past her turbid flood, dotted here
and there by a market-lugger, with its black crew
and clumsy sails. By the Levée, on the opposite
shore, lay a brig, taking in a cargo of sugar from
the plantation, whose noble colonnaded mansion ros
an English argosy of great size, with black spars
and hull, was moving under full sail down the middle
of the river. As I was under the necessity of
returning to the city the same evening, I took leave
of the youthful family of my polite host, who clustered
around us as we walked along the avenue to
the gate-way, endeavouring to detain us till the next
morning. The young rogue of a dragoon, who was
now metamorphosed into a trumpeter—what a singular
propensity little chubby boys have for the
weapons and apparel of war!—a most mischievous
little cupidon of but two or three summers' growth,
was very desirous of accompanying us to town, on
seeing us seated in the carriage; but finding that
his eloquent appeals were unheeded, he took a fancy
to a noble pointer, spotted like a leopard, which accompanied
me, and clinging around the neck of the
majestic and docile creature, as we drove from the
gate, said in a half playful, half pettish tone, “Me
ride dis pretty dog-horse, den.” The sensible animal
stood like a statue till the little fellow relaxed his
embrace, when he darted after the carriage, then a
quarter of a mile from the gate, bounding like a stag.
The cries of “Pa, bring me this,” and “Pa, bring
me that,” were soon lost in the distance, and rolling
like the wind over the level road along the banks of
the river, we arrived in the city and alighted at Bishop's
a few minutes after seven.
| XXII. The South-west | |