A Woman Rice Planter

by Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

On the road this morning I met Wishy, who made many civil inquiries about my health. Five years ago one morning I was waked earlier than usual by a request from Wishy's mother, Annette, for something to stop bleeding. He had been badly cut by a negro, who struck him on the head with a lightwood bar. Wishy had laughed at his special flame, who had gone to church the Sunday before with a long white veil on her hat and he was enraged. I sent witch-hazel and the simple remedies which I always keep for such calls. About eleven o'clock another request came, this time to lend my wagon and horses to carry Wishy to town fourteen miles away, as his head was still bleeding. I was shocked to hear that he was still losing blood and told them the drive might be fatal under the circumstances; I would go out and see what could be done.

Hastily getting together all the remedies I could think of, my niece and I drove to Annette's house, which was crowded with eager friends gazing at the unhappy Wishy, who sat in the middle of the room, leaning forward over a tub, a man on each side supporting him, while the blood literally spouted from his head,—not a steady flow but in jets. It was an awful sight. I had a bed made on the floor near the door and had him lifted to it, well propped up with pillows, so that he was in a sitting posture. At that time we had no doctor nearer than the town, except a man who had come from a neighboring state under a cloud of mystery. As soon as I heard of Wishy's condition I had sent for him, but the boy returned, saying he was not able to read my note, so there was nothing but to do what I could or to let Wishy die.

A request from Wishy's mother, Annette, for something to stop bleeding.

I got Frank, who was very intelligent, to help me. I dipped absorbent cotton in brandy and then into powdered alum, and put it into the hole in the top of Wishy's head; it seemed a gulf! I put in more and more, having Frank hold his hands closely around the top of the head; but still the blood flowed. Then I sprinkled the powdered alum over all thickly until there was only one little round hole just in the middle; I made a little ball of cotton and alum and pressed it down into the hole with my finger and it was done. I gave him the milk I had carried, had the house cleared of people, and left, ordering that when the doctor came, I should be sent for.

A day passed, and when I sent milk, the message came back that the doctor had been there, looked at him, and gone away. I began to feel very unhappy over the heterogeneous contents of Wishy's head, but if I had not stopped the flow in some way, he would have been dead certainly—his pulse was just a flutter. I tried not to worry over it. The third day a runner came to say: "De docta' cum." With all speed I had Prue put in the buckboard and drove out. I had never seen the doctor and was surprised to find a fine-looking man in possession of the cabin. He called for a razor, said he could do nothing until he shaved Wishy's head. There was confusion among the numerous darkies who crowded round the house. At last it was agreed that Uncle Jack had the only razor in the street (as they call the negro quarters) that could cut. While a woman went for the razor, the doctor told Annette he must have hot water, and she proceeded to put a tomato can full of water on the fire; but he peremptorily ordered a large pot carefully washed, filled with water, and put on the fire. When the razor came, it was too dull to be of any use until the doctor had sharpened it, and then he shaved all of the woolly head.

I watched the man's proceedings with a growing feeling of shame. I had gone there to keep my eye on him, to prevent any roughness or carelessness to the patient, and he could not have been gentler or more interested and careful if he had been treating the Prince of Wales himself. It was a long business; with an endless stream of hot water from a fountain-syringe he removed from the hollow depths of Wishy's skull all the wonderful packing with which I had filled it, and I went away satisfied.

Day after day for three weeks he came and dressed the wound, until Wishy's head was restored to its normal state. Then he sent a bill for $20, which Wishy begged me to pay, and he would gradually return the money to me as he worked. Of course, I paid it, and, sad to say, not one dollar has ever been returned to me. Wishy married the next winter, and moved to a neighboring plantation. He has never even sent me a string of herring, though he has had a net for two years and caught great quantities which he sold readily at a cent apiece.

During the run of herring in the spring they crowd up the little streams in the most extraordinary way, just piling on top of each other in their haste to reach the very source of the stream, apparently. I suppose one little leader must wave its little tail and cry "excelsior" to the others. At a small bridge over a shallow creek near here a barrelful has been taken with a dip-net in an afternoon. But it takes a meditative, not to say an idle person, to watch for the special day and hour when the herring are seized by the impulse to ascend that particular stream.