"Owing to these causes the planters kept on raising tobacco with hardly sufficient intermission to provide sustenance, though often, by reason of the excessive quantity raised, scarcely anything could be got for it. Tobacco is not now considered peculiarly and excessively exhaustive; in a judicious rotation, especially as a preparation for wheat, it is an admirable fallow crop, and, under a scientific system of agriculture, it is grown with no continued detriment to the soil. But in Virginia it was grown without interruption or alternation, and the plantations rapidly deteriorated in fertility. As they did so, the crops grew smaller in proportion to the labor expended upon them; yet, from the continued importation of laborers, the total crops of the colony increased annually, and the market value fell proportionately to the better supply.
"With smaller return for labor and lower prices, the planters soon found themselves bankrupt, instead of nabobs. How could they help themselves? Only by forcing the merchants to pay them higher prices. But how to do that, when every planter had his crop pledged in advance, and was obliged to hurry it off at any price he could get for it, in order to pay for his food, and drink, and clothing, and to keep his head above water at credit for the following year. The crop supplied more tobacco than was needed, but no one man would cease to plant it, or lessen his crop for the general good. Then it was agreed all men must be made to do so, and the colonial legislature was called upon to make them.
"Acts were accordingly passed to prevent any planter from cultivating more than a certain number of plants to each hand he employed in labor, and prescribing the number of leaves which might be permitted to ripen upon each plant permitted to be grown. An inspection of all tobacco, after it had been prepared for market, was decreed, and the inspectors were bound by oath, after having rejected all of inferior quality, to divide the good into two equal parts, and then to burn and destroy one of them. Thus, it was expected the quantity of tobacco offered for sale would be so small that merchants would be glad to pay better prices for it, and the planters would be relieved of their embarrassment."
Mrs. M. P. Handy gives the following interesting sketch, entitled "On the Tobacco Plantation":—
"Burning the Patch."
"Riding through Southside, Virginia, any warm, bright winter's day after Christmas, the stranger may be startled to see a dense column of smoke rising from the forest beyond. He anxiously inquires of the first person he meets—probably a negro—if the woods are on fire. Cuffee shows his white teeth in a grin that is half amusement, half contempt, as he answers: 'No, sar, deys jis burnin' a plant-patch.' For this is the first step in tobacco-culture.
"A sunny, sheltered spot on the southern slope of a hill is selected, one protected from northern winds by the surrounding forest, but open to the sun in front, and here the hot-bed for the reception of the seed is prepared. All growth is felled within the area needed, large dead logs are dragged and heaped on the ground as for a holocaust, the whole ignited, and the fire kept up until nothing is left of the immense wood-heap but circles of the smoldering ashes. These are afterward carefully plowed in; the soil, fertilized still further, if need be, is harrowed and prepared as though for a garden-bed, and the small brown seed sown, from which is to spring the most widely-used of man's useless luxuries. Later, when the spring fairly opens, and the young plants in this primitive hot-bed are large and strong enough to bear transplanting, the Virginian draws them, as the New Englander does his cabbages, and plants them in like manner, in hills from two to four feet apart each way. Lucky is he whose plant-bed has escaped the fly, the first enemy of the precious weed. Its attacks are made upon it in the first stage of its existence, and are more fatal, because less easily prevented, than those of the tobacco-worm, that scourge, par excellence, of the tobacco crop. Farmers often lose their entire stock of plants, and are forced to send miles to beg or buy of a more fortunate planter. Freshly-cleared land—'new ground,' as the negroes call it—makes the best tobacco-field, and on this and the rich lowlands throughout Southside is raised the staple known through the world as James River tobacco.
"On this crop the planter lavishes his choicest fertilizers; for the ranker the growth, the longer and larger the leaf, the greater is the value thereof, though the manufacturers complain bitterly of the free use of guano, which, they say, destroys the resinous gum on which the value of the leaf depends. Once set, the young plant must contend, not only with the ordinary risk of transplanting, but the cut-worm is now to be dreaded. Working underground, it severs the stem just above the root, and the first intimation of its presence is the prone and drooping plant. For this there is no remedy, except to plant and replant, until the tobacco itself kills the worm. In one instance, which came under our observation, a single field was replanted six times before the planter succeeded in getting 'a good stand,' as they call it on the plantations; but this was an extreme case.