A Woman Rice Planter

by Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

The hoe they consider purely a feminine implement.

While they were getting the boat one of the hands asked me to give him seed to replant his land. "What is the use if you think the seed is bad?" "We want you fer buy mo' seed. Col. Naples got seed fu' a dollar en forty cent a bushel." I told him I had no money to buy more seed; I was willing to give them more of the same rice which I had if they wished to replant, but that was all I could do.

I got into my little white canoe, which I call the "Whiting," and had Bill, one of the most pessimistic renters, to row me down the river. The tide was high. I was able to step out on the bank without any sticking in the mud, which makes it such a horrid trip when the tide is low. I was greatly relieved at sight of the field. There was plenty of rice in it, as I pointed out to Bill as he walked round the bank behind me. The rice was stunted and growing poorly, and upon inquiry I found that it had been dry during the month I was away. Though not a drop of rain had fallen in that time, it had not been moistened by letting the water into the ditches, as it should have been from time to time. That would have made all the difference in the growth of the rice; but foreman, trunk minder, and hands were all so sure it could never make a crop, being mill-threshed seed, that they have not given it a chance, content to declare loudly that there is no rice in the field.

I am greatly comforted by the sight of it, for there is plenty of rice there to make thirty bushels to the acre should no disaster come to it; and I get into the little "Whiting" with a quieter mind, though still greatly distressed about the hands' rice. The row back is most refreshing, there is such a breeze, but the sun having gone down suddenly, the damp chills me, for I had not thought of taking a wrap, it was so hot when I left the wagon. I give orders to Bonaparte to have the field hoed out at once so that the water can be put on as soon as possible. Then I interview the trunk minder, whose business it is to water the rice, and ask the meaning of this talk of there being no rice in the rented fields. He begins about mill-threshed seed, but I show him the glass dish of rice in which every grain had sprouted and grown vigorously. The sight of this seems to confuse him. Then he mentions that he had got a bushel from me "to plant out to his house een a bottom," and that he never saw a prettier show than that patch of rice. "Then," I say, "you see it is not the seed; you must have left that rice exposed in some way to the hot sun just as it sprouted." "Dat's a truth, my missis; it must be so. I did shift the water and I must ha' left it off too long, an' the sun took effec' on de rice w'en 'e was sproutin'."

The result, however, is the same. In the three fields of rented rice the stand is so poor, they tell me, as scarcely to warrant cultivation further. The hands, to begin with, I am told, carried home to eat much more than half of the rice given them to plant. They always take home a goodly portion on the principle that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; but on this occasion, as it was mill-threshed rice and was not coming anyway, and I was safely away in Washington, they scarcely put any in the ground.

Thoroughly disheartened, I got into the wagon and drove to Peaceville, the little pineland settlement, just as the night fell. The dogs give me a joyful, noisy welcome and Chloe seems overjoyed to see me, while little Imp shows every white tooth in his head and his black face beams with joy. Chloe has a delicious supper for me, to which I do full justice, not having eaten anything since breakfast, at 6:30. The bungalow is very comfortable, though not much for beauty—the servants have moved all my belongings from the plantation while I was away, and I find everything I need except my piano and my books. The piano could not be moved because Jim has had the team in the plough every day. They have done very well, however, for the piazza is filled with blooming plants, and the house looks clean and cool in its fresh white wash. The pineland is noted for its pleasant nights, and I woke refreshed in the morning, but to find I had taken a terrible cold in my homeward progress on the river, I suppose.

Wednesday, June 15.

I drove down to Casa Bianca to-day to see how the rice looked and to give orders for the bringing up of mutton weekly. I have been so entreated to furnish the village with mutton weekly again this summer that I have consented to do it, though it is quite an undertaking to have it brought up the twelve miles regularly and early enough in the morning. Marcus met me with a very solemn face, and when I said in my cheeriest voice, "How is everything, Marcus?" he took off his hat, made a low bow, and said:— "Miss, I have very bad news to-day."