At every steep hill or bad place in the road it was an established custom to stop the carriage, unfold the high steps, and "let us out,"—as in pictures of the animals coming down out of the ark! This custom had always prevailed in my mother's family, and there was a tradition that my great-grandfather's horses, being habituated to stop for this purpose, refused to pull up certain hills, even when the carriage was empty, until the driver had dismounted and slammed the door, after which they moved off without further hesitation.
This custom of walking at intervals made a pleasant variety, and gave us an opportunity to enjoy fully the beautiful and picturesque scenery through which we were passing.
Those were the days of leisure and pleasure for travelers; and when we remember the charming summer jaunts annually made in this way, we almost regret the steam horse, which takes us now to the same places in a few hours.
We had two dear friends, Mary and Alice, who with their old carriages and drivers—the facsimiles of our own—frequently accompanied us in these expeditions; and no generals ever exercised more entire command over their armies than did these three black coachmen over us. I smile now to think of their ever being called our "slaves."
Yet, although they had this domineering spirit, they felt at the same time a certain pride in us, too.
On one occasion, when we were traveling together, our friend Alice concluded to dismount from her carriage and ride a few miles with a gentleman of the party in a buggy. She had not gone far before the alarm was given that the buggy horse was running away, whereupon our black generalissimos instantly stopped the three carriages and anxiously watched the result. Old Uncle Edmund, Alice's coachman, stood up in his seat highly excited, and when his young mistress, with admirable presence of mind, seized the reins and stopped the horse, turning him into a by-road, he shouted at the top of his voice: "Dar, now! I always knowed Miss Alice was a young 'oman of de mos' amiable courage!"—and over this feat he continued to chuckle for the rest of the day.
The end of these pleasant journeys always brought us to some old plantation home, where we met a warm welcome not only from the white family, but from the servants who constituted part of the establishment.
One of the most charming places to which we made a yearly visit was Oaklands, a lovely spot embowered in vines and shade-trees.
The attractions of this home and family brought so many visitors every summer, it was necessary to erect cottages about the grounds, although the house itself was quite large. And as the yard was usually filled with persons strolling about, or reading, or playing chess under the trees, it had every appearance, on first approach, of a small watering-place. The mistress of this establishment was a woman of rare attraction, possessing all the gentleness of her sex, with attributes of greatness enough for a hero. Tall and handsome, she looked a queen as she stood on the portico receiving her guests, and, by the first words of greeting, from her warm, true heart, charmed even strangers.
Without the least "variableness or shadow of turning," her excellences were a perfect continuity, and her deeds of charity a blessing to all in need within her reach. No undertaking seemed too great for her, and no details—affecting the comfort of her home, family, friends, or servants—too small for her supervision.