A Woman Rice Planter

by Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

Spent yesterday in the mill threshing out my rice, most trying to me of all the work, the dust is so terrible; but the mill worked well, and so did the hands—and better than all, the rice turned out well, thirty-five bushels to the acre, and good, heavy rice. So I felt rewarded for the dust and other trials. I was so determined to prevent stealing that I engaged the sheriff's constable to watch on the nights that the rice was stacked in the barnyard; and now that expense is over, and the pile is safe in the second story of the shipping barn. Next I have to thresh out the people's rice from Casa Bianca, which will be up in a day or two; then I will have a little time to have the upland crops seen after before the rice here, at Cherokee, which was planted very late, will be ready to cut.

Front porch—Casa Bianca.

Cherokee, November 4.

Yesterday I had my wages field of rice here cut. It is only eleven acres of very poor rice, which has cost a good deal of money, owing to the freshets. The only thing to be done now was to get it in with as little expense as possible, so I announced yesterday that it must be in the barnyard to-night. Bonaparte looked wise, smiled in a superior way, and said that was impossible—that perhaps by Tuesday it could be got in. I didn't dispute his wisdom or argue with him. I simply went into the field with the hands in the morning, yesterday, and stayed until it was all cut down. I told Bonaparte to put a watchman in the field, and left the choice to him. He said he would put Elihu; so I rested content until about 10 o'clock, when I began to get anxious about it. The best planter in my neighborhood had told me he had never known the stealing of rice so bad from the field. He attributed it to there being so little planted as high up the river on account of the freshet, so that rice is very scarce. This rice had not been good enough to warrant the expense of the constable, but I did not wish to lose the little that was there, so I determined to go over and see for myself. I called a negro boy of about sixteen years whom I had recently taken into my service, and asked him if he was afraid to row me over to the field. He hesitated and I went on: "I want to take some lightwood and a blanket over to Elihu, who is watching, for the night is very cold." At once he said he was not afraid at all, as the moon was bright. When I ran up to my room to get my wraps and my good Chloe found I was going, she said: "Miss Patience, le' me go wid you; I know well how fo' paddle boat, en yo ain't long git dat boy, en yu dun know ef 'e kin manige boat at night." Of course I was delighted to take Chloe; I sent Jake for lightwood, she took the blanket and I the matches. The getting in the boat was the darkest part, but once out on the river it was perfectly lovely—such a glorious night, the air so crisp and exhilarating. As we neared the field Chloe entreated me to be careful when I got out on the bank, for Elihu might take us for thieves and shoot; but I went very fearlessly, for I had a conviction that there was no Elihu there, and so it proved.

I told Jake to kindle a large fire in a sheltered corner of the bank, while Chloe and I walked all the way round the field. I can't describe the weird peace of the scene; and to make it more ghostlike Chloe insisted on speaking in a low whisper, as becoming the time and place, and reminding me that people from the next place might be hiding all around. No sign of any marauder, however, appeared, and I knew the fire on the bank would give the impression that I had installed my friend the constable, so I went back to the house entirely satisfied with the expedition. I charged Jake to say nothing on the subject to any one. Why will one try to exact the impossible? I lost my man, who has been with me fifteen years, this fall, and Jake is the substitute for the present.

To-day I stayed in the field again all day and succeeded in getting the rice tied and put in the flat by sunset. Then I said the flat must be taken up to the barn, but Bonaparte said that could not be done because there was "'gen tide." Of course all the men echoed that it was impossible, but I laughed at the idea, and climbing to the top of the rice, I sat there and told two of the young men to take the poles and push the flat out into the river—having privately asked old Ancrum who had stowed the flat if it was true that a flat could not go against the tide, and having heard from him that it was nonsense. The men pushed the flat out and poled it up the river with the greatest ease, and before dark it was safely staked under the flat house, so that my mind will be at rest about it to-morrow.

November 6.

Threshed out the rice to-day. It made only twenty bushels to the acre, and I hear rice has gone down very much. The hands now are whipping out the seed rice, which is a tedious business, but no planter in this county will use mill-threshed rice for seed. Mr. S., who bought my rice and who travels all over the South buying rice for a mill in North Carolina, told me that everywhere else mill-threshed rice was used, simply putting a little more to the acre. Here it is thought the mill breaks the rice too much, so the seed rice is prepared by each hand taking a single sheaf at a time and whipping it over a log, or a smooth board set up, until all the rice comes off. Then the sheaves are laid on a clay floor and beaten with flails, until nearly every grain has left the straw. After all this trouble of course it brings a good price—$1.75, $1.50 per bushel, $1.25 being the very cheapest to be had.