A Woman Rice Planter

by Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

When I got to the plantation this morning I found Bonaparte had five hands covering the one and a half acres left uncovered last night, and they took the whole day, and it was abominably done. He was in a very bad humor and would not follow my directions, and give each hand ten rows for him individually to do, so that one could see who was doing good work and who not; but insisted on laying off with stakes a section for each one, saying the rows were too long, and he must keep them together and watch them. "Dem's too striffling for tek dem long row. I 'bleege to keep dem close togeder, so I kin watch dem. Dem's striffling no 'count, good f'r nutting," etc., ad lib. I simply had to leave the field or have a tremendous flare up, so while I could control myself I left; but it was very trying, for this is the richest part of the field, and he had got the hands in such a bad humor that they were positively digging the seed out of the ground instead of covering it. For a few seconds I was on the point of ordering him out of the field, but that meant destroying his prestige and authority for all time, and he has all the barn keys, and I believe is faithful to the trust; he is just mulishly cantankerous sometimes.

I found Gibbie diligently running the mowing machine cutting down the second pea-field, while the hay which was cut down Monday and Tuesday and had two solid nights rain on the piles was dry on top and steaming wet underneath. I stopped the mowing and led Gibbie from cock to cock and made him toss and turn the pea-vine hay while I sent George to do the same to the broom-grass hay. No one seems to have any sense. I told them to keep turning it as it dried and then to begin hauling into the barn and to try to finish getting it in to-morrow. I shall not be able to come down to-morrow, as I have to send for and entertain our rector.

Sunday, October 15.

The blessed day of rest is most welcome. It being the third Sunday in the month, we had our rector. His sermon, an excellent one, on the text "For every idle word," etc., struck the little congregation with dismay. As I came out of church some one said to me: "Do you think Mr. C. has been hearing anything about us that made him preach that sermon?" "No, no," I answered, "I think not, but I feel that it was specially inspired for my benefit." "No, indeed, Mrs. Pennington," another put in, "not for you, but for me." And so there was a group of self-convicted sinners, whose sins of the tongue had been brought home to them. As the rector went into my sitting room he laid the fiery roll on the table, and when he left the room I took it up to get the chapter and verse of the text, so as to look it up, and on the cover I saw written "First preached, August, 1888."

That afternoon a lady came to see me with a solemn, pained aspect, and after the usual inevitable complimentary prelude cleared her throat and began. "It is with much sorrow, Mrs. Pennington, that I state from indisputable authority that during his last monthly visitation our revered rector heard from a lady, who shall be nameless, things concerning some of our most respected families which induced him to give us the extraordinarily clever and appropriate discourse to which we listened this morning." It was very hard for me to wait politely for the end of this well turned sentence, and as soon as I decently could I answered with delight: "I am very glad to be able to tell you, my dear Miss Arethusa, that you are entirely mistaken. That sermon was written and preached first in 1888! It only shows that human nature is much the same at all times and in all places, for you are not the only one who thought its application personal."

The hymn singing to-night was specially hearty and Mr. C. seemed greatly to enjoy listening, which is rare, the measure of enjoyment being generally in proportion to the vigor of one's individual efforts.

October 16.

Yesterday I had planned to go over with Mr. C. This morning he asked me to go and promised to drive me down to see Mrs. S., who is 86, and I have been suddenly seized with a great desire to visit her. I have never seen her since my father took me as a child to visit her. She has lived alone on her plantation for many years, as I do, and though it is only about twenty miles away the getting there, crossing two rivers and then a long drive, is intricate. Last night it seemed easy to cross the rivers with Mr. C., spend the night with Mrs. C. and himself at the All Saints' rectory and go on the next morning, returning here Wednesday evening, but this morning I am discouraged and cannot go. I found Mr. C. unprovided with the medicines we think necessary to have on hand in the country, as he is a new-comer, so I put up phials of quinine, calomel, and soda and it took some time.

Sunday, October 20.

No service in the little church to-day. Sent to ask A. if she would dine with me and drive out in the woods with me afterward. I called Chloe and Patty and Goliah in and read the morning prayer and the beautiful hymns for the twenty-first Sunday after Trinity. I played and had them sing the chants and we had a pleasant little service. I always like to have a scriptural quorum.