Chronicles of Chicora Wood

by Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

It was too wonderful that this great good luck and mercy should come to us just at this moment, when it would enable mamma to buy things necessary to the beginning of the planting; for she not only had to repair the house at Chicora, but she would have to buy in her own horses and cows and oxen (which last are absolutely necessary to ploughing the rice-lands, as their cloven hoofs do not sink in the boggy land, in which a horse would go down hopelessly); also ploughs and harrows and wagons and carriages, all had to be paid for; so dear, unknown Cousin John had chosen the psychic moment to appear as deus ex machina.

Afterward Cousin John visited mamma at Chicora Wood, and we came to know and love him. He told with the most beautiful simplicity of the long and terrible struggle he had to make a living; like many an Allston he lacked entirely the commercial instinct, and it was much easier for him to spend money than to make it; but he had managed to have a home in Brooklyn, and support his wife and one daughter in very moderate comfort, until this adored only child reached the age of sixteen; then she grew pale and thin, without life, or spirit, or appetite, and terror seized the parents; the doctor called in said: “She must travel; this city air is killing her. Take her away at once to the mountains, and you may save her.” He had prescribed what to him seemed simple, but to the distracted father, who was straining every nerve just to provide daily food, it was utterly out of reach!

John Earl Allston had a very rich uncle, his mother’s brother, but once in the past, being in distress for money, he had written to ask a loan from him, not a large sum, and promising to pay by a certain date, when his income should come next. He not only did not receive the loan, but the refusal was almost insulting, to the effect that he, the uncle, had worked for his money, and he strongly advised his nephew to do the same, and not try to borrow. So Cousin John knew there was no use to apply to him again, and there was no one else; the war was going on, and so my father was not accessible, and he had just to watch his darling fade away and die. Then his wife was so agonized over the misery of seeing death creep nearer and nearer and finally take her lovely child, that her health gave way. The doctor when called made the same prescription: “The only way to save her is to give her change of air and scene.” As before, this was impossible, and she soon was laid beside her child. About a year after Cousin John was left desolate and alone, the uncle died, and he was notified that he had inherited a fortune! It was most terrible to him. All that money, one hundredth part of which could have saved his beloved wife and daughter, to spend on himself alone!

It was truly dust and ashes, and intensified his sorrow. Then, when he found himself getting bitter and unlike himself, he called a halt. “Cousin,” he said, “I made up my mind to spend my time in giving away my money while I was alive, and have at least the enjoyment of making people happy by a little timely present, and you don’t know how their letters have helped me, for I find so many to whom a few thousand dollars are as great a boon and relief as a few hundred would have been to me in my poverty. I did not know how much happiness I was going to get out of it.”

I think this is a good place to stop, for all of us were happy in the thought that my dear mother’s laborious life as the head of a large school was to end so happily, and that she would be able to rest and have time for the reading she so loved, and return to the country life which had become second nature to her, though conditions were so greatly changed, and she would certainly not have to complain of too many servants. I hope I have drawn her portrait and that of my father clearly enough for their children’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren to form some idea of their characters. It is with that hope and desire I have drawn this imperfect sketch, and I will be perfectly repaid for my efforts if I succeed in interesting them in the past.

CHAPTER XXXIII
DADDY ANCRUM’S STORY

I ASKED Daddy Ancrum to come some day and tell me all he could remember about the past, and this morning while I was reading the lessons to Clarinda in the front piazza we saw him coming through the gate, dressed in his Sunday clothes, with a very clean white shirt and a rather battered derby, but worn with such an air that you knew it was superfine and not worn every day. I wish I had a picture of the old man; seems to me he has such a lovely face in his old age; his figure is now bent, but up to a few years ago it was very erect and powerful. Old as he is, he gives me a better day’s work than any of the young ones. This is what he told me:

My mudder and fader was Ancrum and Henny, bought from Mr. Withers after de storm. The creditor come in and we haf fu sell. My ma tell me I ben five year old the March after the big storm. Maussa was a big man, he was just as supple, why maussa stan’ too fine. When he walk in Georgetown every man and woman had to look ’pon hum. When I cum to Georgetown dere was only two full selling stores in town. All was big house for lib in. When dem bring we to town for sell, dem put up all de fambly, my uncle, my aunty, my pa, my ma, and der cousin all together. Ole Mister Ben Allston come up to maussa and trow ’e arm round maussa neck, and he say: “Robert, step forward, the old Indigo Bank ain’t bruk yet.” Den maussa gon up and ’e buy we all; Mr. Waterman want to buy me for mek pilot on de sea, and he offer one tousand dolla, but maussa woodn’ let him have me. Ole maussa used to live in dat little house you got for study house. Maussa used to have all we chillun cum to de house and bring a shell and fill um with molasses, and we chillun ben dat happy and play round and maussa ben in de piazza and drop sleep, and we chillun lauf and say: “Luk a’ buckra de sleep.” De fust chile I min’ ben Clanda Ma Maria. When I tak dat chile fu nurse ober ribber I see maussa been dat supple dat I seen him myself jump across dat kenel. Den he choose me to send me up to Marion to old Uncle Joe, ’bout two miles from Warhee. I ben dey when maussa married and de nex’ yeah, when he gwine to de mounting, him gone trough day for see de place, and when he bring miss and Mas’ Ben just been ole nuff fu miss to travel, and Amy ben a nussing, Maum Milly and Da Jeam’s sister. Uncle Joe send me fu bring de colt out de field and I bring dem up so miss can see dem. Uncle Joe pint to me and he say: “Robert, that’s a smart boy. Please God you must take good care of him.” Den maussa laff and say “Yes.” Dem eat dinner under de wagon shed an de two sarvan, Amy the nuss and Hynes dribe de wagon, de Josey wagon, and maussa dribe de carriage. No, didn’t ben a carriage, ben a baruche, wid de top tun back. Dem gon on after dinner—den I nebber seen miss or maussa till I hear say de place in Marion sell to Mr. Tommy Godbald. Maussa had a hundred head of cattle and Mauma Milly mild 30 head ebery year and send down butter to miss and ebery year Uncle Joe drive from 60 to 100 head o’ hog. Dem had 500 acre of wild land—Oh, my Lawd, if you wanna see plum you must go dey, an’ apple an’ peach an’ walnut an’ eberyting to eat. Bob been a big young man, an Peter and Sampson and David, dem ben an’ outlan’ people Afrikan, one ben Gullah and one ben a Guinea—the Gullah ben a cruel people—and de Fullah ben a cruel people, but Guinea ben a tough workin’ people, an’ Milly ben a Guinea, milk de cow, mak de butta, and bile and scald—and ma Laud, you could pick up hominy off de flo’. Now, after mauss sol’ de place and all de cattle an’ hog, ’e only fech down de pepple and de hoss. When we come down him ben on de beach and he had annoder son name Robert. Him ben a longer jinted boy, him was a pretty boy, an’ I seen him grown till he had on long ap’un. Maussa say when I come hom I mus’n’t stop on de plantation dat night, I must go right over to the sheashore, but de day I come an’ Mary ben jus’ out of him time wid Billy, and him was to go down at dat time back to de beach wid de baby, and dem had to ge’ befo’ ’twas too late in de ebening, kase de baby was so young. My business was to cut marsh fo’ de hoss and pick clam fo’ de duck; dat was at Kerneern an’ I do dat an’ Mary Grice was de cook, te Amy ben de nuss, Uncle Hynes was de coach driver, Moses Barren was de butler, Cæsar was de hosier, Maum Ria was de seamster, an’ Lavina was de fine seamster, and a gal name Cotter—an’ Uncle Jeams Gallant was a fisherman—I met dem dere when I cum fus and Sandy was de house boy, clean knife, rub mahogany, I tell you we had someting to do den. Den Miss Bly habe him sarvant ol’ lady Mary Bly was ’e right hand, Uncle Aleck was de coach driber, ol’ Uncle Stephen Bly ben de butler, but when him come to stay wid miss, him fish principal kase de was no wuck for him in de house. All dem supply cum from Friend-Field. Haklus was de cook, when Miss Bly ben home, but now him had not’ing to do but cut mash for de hoss, Miss Bly had t’ree horse, Hope, Victory, and Active. Jack was de tailor an’ Fannie his wife was Miss Bly seamster, Binna was de house gal, F’ederick was de boy go behind de carriage, open gate an’ ting. You ain’t know dat maussa own nearly all of Georgetown? Dat Pint used to plant in corn and dat place make all ’e own provision. I sell too much grass out o’ dat place. Mauss used to rule de whole shubang—gracious Lord, Miss Bessie, when I study an’ look back and ting—an’ fin’ out—you say you ben so po’ I kyant believe, kase ole maussa ben too rich—I know befoh de death of my ole maussa, he put on de pole boat 50 jimmy john o’ brandy an’ gin an’ rum foh tek up to Cheraw Bridge and put dem in Mr. Coker in sto’, and one boat carry 160 barrel of rice an’ one carry 140 barrel, an’ dem barrel hol’ 9 bushel an’ you ken pack 10 in ’em, not dem little kag you call rice-barrel now.

Maussa see somet’ing in me I didn’ see in myself, an’ he hol’ me bak all ’e cud, den after I ben in de house, an’ den he put me in de field for a while, and den he pint me to plow, an’ den when he put Peter in de field for ditch, an’ den ’e pint me to wait on Mr. Ellis. I wait on ’im about seven years, but one summah maussa wen’ travelling an’ to de No’th, den Mr. Ellis treat me so mean I run ’way an’ lef’ um. I done all ’e wuk an’ cut wood an’ do eberything an’ he pa cum dere sick, an’ when nite cum I hab to brush muskita off ’e pa, an’ I brush de muskita as long as I could keep awake, but I drop ’sleep and den Mr. Ellis cum in and fin’ me ’sleep, and take egvantage o’ me and beat me, an’ den I clean up an’ lef, and I ben in de wood till I hear maussa cum home. Den maussa didn’ keep Mr. Ellis anoder year, an’ after dat I gone in de held an’ after dat he take me fo’ plow-man ober ribber, an’ after dat on de high lan’—an’ den ’e make me captain of a gang in harvest, an’ I was a regular arrand man, I nebber wuck in de field no mo’—jes’ tek cha’ge of flat—carry supply to Waverly ebery week, when maussa was gov’ner, carry down poultry, vegetable, rice, butter to go down to miss in Charlestown, bring back molasses, sugar, rum, eberyt’ing, an’ one time I was to take de house sarvant to put on de boat to tek dem down to de town, dem was to cum on de flat, ’bout middle night, an’ dem nebber cum till day clean, an’ jus’ as dem come in, de boat gone. Nelson, William, and Fibby—Fibby in de house, was ole Daddy Thomas’ daughta, and he ask maussa to buy her, an’ ’e bought her and two chillun, Nancy and Jeams, an’ afterwards she married Leander, the mule tender. Cuffy was drowned swimming de ribber with Buie, an’ Sawney, too, dem had finish’ task soon, an’ so dem start home an’ swim de ribber, an’ Cuffy had a bucket tie’ round ’im neck and ’e fill with water an’ pull ’im down. I stan’ on de bank an’ seen ’im drown. When I get to Squirrel Crick wid de flat and de boat gone, an’ I hab to tek dat flat down to town, and dat tek me till after dinner, an’ I didn’t hab nuffin to eat ’cause I was only spectin’ to go to de mout’ of Squirrel Crick, an’ dat boat gone in to Waverly, tek a load of rice, an’ pass me on de way, an’ he gone into Keith field, an’ tek a load of rice, an’ pass me on de way, and when I get to town I ben mos’ dead, I ben dat hongry, an’ Fibby say to de captain, very polite, “Captain, can’ you gib these men something to eat, dey is mos’ dead.” Den de captain said: “Dinner is done, and there ain’t nutting but plenty of meat”; an’ he gib we plen’y of meat, an’ Fibby put ’e han’ in ’e pocket an ’e tek out a twenty-five cents, an’ give we, an’ he say you can each send a dozen eggs down to Charlestown sometime to me. An’ we gone an’ buy rice.

After de wah come on and de sea all blockage an’ maussa send me in charge o’ 22 han’ to wuck on fortification. In June I was wuckin ober de ribber an’ maussa sen’ foh me, fust de Driver Richard was to tell me, but he didn’t wan’ me to go, and I didn’t wan’ to go, and I gone ober ribber ’gen in m’ task—and Mr. Belflowers sen’ foh me, an’ after maussa cum an’ see me ben a fight foh hoe out m’ corn, den maussa tell me I ken tek dat day fu finish m’ corn, den Paul say we mus’ leave at twelve or we can’ ketch de train.