In the year 1842, our elder brothers entering into business, the boarding-school was given up, and I occupied myself with private pupils. Whilst still engaged in this way I was invited to take charge of a girls’ district school, to be established in the town of Henderson, situated in the western part of Kentucky. The invitation seemed to promise useful remunerative work, so it was accepted.
The region of Kentucky, where I then went, was a tobacco-growing district. I there gained my first practical experience of negro slavery and the crude civilisation of a Western slave State.
This being my first separation from the family, a constant correspondence was kept up with home. Some extracts from these letters will give a curious glimpse of Kentucky rural life fifty years ago.
Henderson: March 5, 1844.
No doubt you’ve reproached me for my silence, after promising to write the second day from my arrival, but we had a very long trip, and it was not till the morning of the fourth day that I set my foot in the mud of Henderson. The ‘Chieftain’ left Cincinnati at two o’clock Wednesday morning, and in seven hours we made twenty miles. All seemed lazy on board the boat. The first night we laid up, on account of the fog; the second we spent at Louisville, the third at Evansville; we had on board a quantity of green wood, and stopped continually to take in fresh supplies. The captain, a fat, red-faced, good-natured fellow, went to sleep, or took matters very easily. As we entered the canal at Louisville he was standing on the hurricane-deck, at the head of the boat, apparently fast asleep; the helmsman steered immediately for the rough stone wall of the canal, and with a tremendous shock smashed in a great deal of the woodwork in the fore part of the boat. The captain gave one jump, wrung his hands, spun round, and went to sleep again. In the morning I went with Mr. S. into Louisville; there I got my watch-key mended (a providential piece of foresight, for ’twould have been impossible here), bought various little things, and saw also the famed Kentucky giant, and bade good-bye to Louisville, having been five hours passing through the canal. One afternoon Mr. S. was playing on his guitar on the side deck, when a great rough-looking boy made his appearance, and addressed me: ‘The ladies sent me to tell you to bring your man into the cabin, that he may sing for them.’ I translated for the man’s benefit, and a good hearty laugh we had. One of Mr. S.’s favourite amusements was to stand on the hurricane-deck with me and joke about my village; every two or three dirty-looking shanties that we passed he would tell me to look out, for he had a presentiment that we were reaching Henderson. I grew almost nervous as we were approaching the situation, for really all the little towns we had passed looked so straggling, dingy, and uninteresting that it appeared to me almost impossible for a decent individual to inhabit them; you may imagine how I felt standing, for the last time, on a bright Saturday morning, with my last friend and remaining piece of civilisation, awaiting my destiny. The clerk approached. ‘Madam, we have reached Henderson;’ the boat turns, I give one glance, three dirty old frame buildings, a steep bank covered with mud, some negroes and dirty white people at the foot, and behold all that I could see of my future home. I looked resolutely down, exclaiming (to my French friend), ‘Laide, vilain, horrible!’ but the boat touched and I was hurried off. Upon my inquiring for Dr. Wilson, a rough-looking man presented his arm, three negroes seized my trunks, to ‘tote them up,’ the steamboat shoved off, and I followed my companion—holding his hand to prevent myself slipping down the bank. In the middle of the mud I stopped to see the last of our friend and civilisation; we waved our handkerchiefs till the boat was out of sight, and then, gulping down my tears and giving a few convulsive laughs, we proceeded on our way through a dirty, little, straggling, country village; we stopped before a small frame house, entered a low, shabbily-furnished room, where a poorly-dressed, sleepy-looking woman was introduced as Mrs. Wilson. I longed to be shown to my bedroom, for my head was in a perfect whirl, but I had to sit down and talk about I know not what. At last I ventured to request permission to go upstairs; the daughter showed me up old, crooked, creaking steps, and opened the bedroom door. How shall I describe it? A little window looking upon the side of a house not two yards from it, the rough board walls daubed with old whitewash, the bed, the furniture, dirty, covered with litter and dust, all gloomy and wretched. My disposition to cry vanished at once, tears froze far below zero; I smiled on my companion, who stood examining me, and asked to have my trunks carried up. This request brought my hostess, who with some confusion told me, ‘This was not to be my home, but that her niece was gone to make some preparations for my reception and would take me there in the evening, she being perfectly aware that I could not live in such a hole.’ The word ‘hole’ revived me; the inhabitants of Henderson were, then, not perfectly blind; they had some little consciousness that there were degrees of decency; there was a small ray of comfort in that little word ‘hole.’ I descended, and soon found that everything proceeded with real Kentucky slowness. Begin to teach on Monday! This was utterly impossible! The idea seemed to them preposterous, the schoolhouse was hardly selected, the windows were broken, the floor and walls filthy, the plaster fallen off, the responsible trustees not appointed, the scholars unnotified of my arrival; no, ’twas impossible, I must wait a week; but the idea of spending an unnecessary week in Henderson was insupportable, so I urged and argued, and persuaded and ran about, till a man was sent to mend the windows, and another to clean the floor, and the Responsibles came to visit me, and promised to collect the scholars, and on Monday I was to begin. Then, to avoid the necessity of having to sit and repeat wearisome inanities, I set out, accompanied by the daughter, to view the so-called city. All looked dreary on a dull winter day—in fact, Henderson is a very small, very uninteresting country place, though, it must be confessed, the view of it from the river is the worst of all. Towards evening I took a look at my schoolhouse; nothing was done but mischief. The old negro had flooded the muddy floor with water and gone away, leaving the floor like the bed of the Nile; ’twas now too late to get the place into order. The people are very pious, nothing could be done Sunday; so, cursing the laziness of a slave society, I resigned myself to fate, and followed my young hostess—a tall, graceful, sleepy-eyed girl—to my new quarters.
A substantial, rough brick house opened its enormous gates to receive me. I entered a small, high-ceilinged bedroom, where I was to make one of four, and then my conductress glided away to bring her mother and two other sisters. The sight of the sisters somewhat consoled me, because I immediately hoped to be able to teach for my board. The mother received me with good-nature, and ever since I’ve been here the whole family have treated me with kindness to the extent of their knowledge, one portion of which is never to leave me alone, and I, who so love a hermit life for a good part of the day, find myself living in public, and almost losing my identity. Well, Sunday, and a refreshing Presbyterian sermon, of an eternity’s duration, I must leave to your imagination. Monday I ran about, and at last seated myself in Dr. Wilson’s parlour, where I received a visit from one of the Responsibles, a fussy, pompous little doctor, who talked grandly, whereupon I talked grandlier, upon which he told me this was an epoch in the history of Henderson. Then in came the other Responsibles, when I spoke and they rejoined, and the little doctor called to order, and after a wonderful quantity of fuss the schoolhouse was pitched upon, put into something like order, and on Tuesday morning I took my seat at the head of fourteen girls, and organised my school.
March 20, 1844.—So far as I can learn I give general satisfaction, but I believe the people are a little afraid of me, particularly when they see me read German (for I often forget myself with Hoffman). I am amused to learn accidentally how I have been talked over in every direction, and my teeth particularly admired in peculiarly Kentucky style. ‘Well, I do declare she’s got a clean mouth, hasn’t she!’—white teeth seeming remarkable where all use tobacco! All the chief people of the place have called on me, which plagues me dreadfully, as I have to return the calls, and find them in the lowest degree uninteresting, with nothing to do but knit, nothing to hear but their own petty affairs. Then they are most unmerciful in the length of visit. If they live in what is called out of town, nothing will satisfy but giving up the afternoon, taking tea, and sleeping. The sleeping I have victoriously fought against, but the rest I have sometimes been betrayed into, and have sat hour after hour striving dreadfully to take an interest in the gossip, swallowing yawns until my eyes watered, and then suddenly awaking out of a long reverie on all of you to the consciousness that everybody is sitting in an awkward silence, and that it is absolutely necessary to say something. The first evening I so spent I was rejoicing at the prospect of escape, for the watches had been pulled out, and it was declared late (half-past eight), when I was taken quite by surprise by seeing the Episcopal clergyman who was present seat himself by the table with a large Bible before him, wipe his spectacles, and give a preparatory hem! I gave an inward groan, sat down again and looked with a long face steadily at the fire, whilst a north-wester was blowing all the time through a crack of the door into my ear. As we knelt down, and I looked round at the funny kneeling figures and up at the walls of a real log cabin, and on one side at the immense wood fire, it all seemed so very odd that I almost began to doubt my own identity.
We have had miserable weather for more than a week. The house, though substantially built of brick, with a deep verandah all round, is dreadfully cold; the two immense brick-paved halls, which cross in the centre, have great doors almost always open. The four rooms occupying the four corners, in one of which we sleep, have chimneys, all of which smoke. Then none of the windows seem to fit, and there are holes in the wall where the plaster has been knocked off, and will be replaced, I suppose, next doomsday. ’Tis pretty much the same in the schoolhouse. There, one very cold day, I drew my feet on the bar of my chair, then I put on my worsted gloves, then drew on my blanket shawl; and, finally, finding a great blowing about my head from everywhere in general, I put on my hood!...
April 4.—The young ladies and gentlemen of Henderson are most contemptible walkers, opening wide their eyes at the idea of two or three miles, and telling doleful tales of blistered feet, wild bulls, and furious dogs, of which latter there is certainly a larger supply than at any place I have ever seen. Every negro has his pet dog, the more savage the better, and all the masters follow their example.
I had a good fright from some of them yesterday, as I was returning from school. I’d no sooner crossed the steps that lead into the lawn than an enormous brindled fellow, with black, devilish face, sprang furiously towards me, followed by two others, barking and showing their horrid jaws. Now, thought I, my time has come! I hesitated whether I should endeavour to tear their mouths open, or jump upon them and crush them, should the worst arrive. I involuntarily thought of A., who has a horror of dogs, and then called out in my blandest tones, ‘Poor fellows; po-or fellows!’ The voice had the desired effect, and instead of having to fight Samson-wise, the gentlemen contented themselves with jumping upon me and knocking my dinner-tray out of my hand. I am in general quite a favourite with the canine race, and have not the slightest fear of them, which the ladies here can hardly believe, as their life is almost a torment to them for fear of dogs and cows; indeed, I would always sooner meet a dozen dogs than one negro, and the only uneasiness I have in taking my long, solitary walks proceeds from this; for of all brutes the human brute is the worst, and I never meet one in a lonely place without feeling a sudden perspiration.