The negroes made pocket-money by selling their own vegetables, poultry, eggs, etc.,—produced at the master's expense, of course. I often saw my mother take out her purse and pay them liberally for fowls, eggs, melons, sweet potatoes, brooms, shuck mats, and split baskets. The men made small crops of tobacco or potatoes for themselves on any piece of ground they chose to select.
My mother and grandmother were almost always talking over the wants of the negroes,—what medicine should be sent, whom they should visit, who needed new shoes, clothes, or blankets,—the principal object of their lives seeming to be in providing these comforts. The carriage was often ordered for them to ride around to the cabins to distribute light-bread, tea, and other necessaries among the sick. And besides employing the best doctor, my grandmother always saw that they received the best nursing and attention.
In this little plantation world of ours was one being—and only one—who inspired awe in every heart, being a special terror to small children. This was the queen of the kitchen, Aunt Christian, who reigned supreme. She wore the whitest cotton cap with the broadest of ruffles; she was very black and very portly; and her scepter was a good-sized stick, kept to chastise small dogs and children who invaded her territory. Her character, however, having been long established, she had not often occasion to use this weapon, as these enemies kept out of her way.
Her pride was great, "for," said she, "aint I bin—long fo' dis yer little marster whar is was born—bakin' de bes' loaf bread, an' bes' beat biscuit and rice waffles, all de time in my ole marster time? An' I bin manage my own affa'rs, an' I gwine manage my own affa'rs long is I got breff. Kase I 'members 'way back yonder in my mammy time fo' de folks come fum de King's Mill plantation nigh Williamsbu'g. All our black folks done belonks to de Burl fambly uver sence dey come fum Afiky. My granmammy 'member dem times when black folks lan' here stark naked, an' white folks hab to show 'em how to war close. But we all done come fum all dat now, an' I gwine manage my own affa'rs."
She was generally left to manage her "own affa'rs," and, being a pattern of neatness and industry, her fame went abroad from Botetourt even unto the remotest ends of Mecklenburg County.
That this marvelous cooking was all the work of her own hands I am, in later years, inclined to doubt; as she kept several assistants—a boy to chop wood, beat biscuit, scour tables, lift off pots and ovens; one woman to make the pastry, and another to compound cakes and jellies. But her fame was great, her pride lofty, and I would not now pluck one laurel from her wreath.
This honest woman was appreciated by my mother, but we had no affinity for her in consequence of certain traditions on the plantation about her severity to children. Having no children of her own, a favorite orphan house-girl, whenever my mother went from home, was left to her care. This girl—now an elderly woman, and still our faithful and loved servant—says she remembers to this day her joy at my mother's return home, and her release from Aunt Christian. "I nuver will forgit," to use her own words, "how I use to watch for de carriage to bring miss home, an' how I watch up de road an' run clappin' my han's an' hollerin': 'Miss done come! an' I aint gwine stay wid Aunt Chrishun no longer!'"
"I USED TO WATCH FOR DE CARRIAGE"—Page 9.
Smiling faces always welcomed us home, as the carriage passed through the plantation, and on reaching the house we were received by the negroes about the yard with the liveliest demonstrations of pleasure.