Then, he too followed, where the “din of war, the clash of arms” is heard no more.
To recall these scenes so blinds my eyes with tears that I can not write of them. Some griefs leave the heart dumb. They have no language; and are given no language, because no other heart could understand, nor could they if shared, be alleviated.
[CHAPTER IX.]
It will have been observed from these reminiscences that the mistress of a Virginia plantation was more conspicuous—although not more important—than the master. In the house she was the mainspring, and to her came all the hundred, or three hundred negroes with their various wants, and constant applications for medicine and every conceivable requirement.
Attending to these, with directing her household affairs and entertaining company, occupied busily every moment of her life. While all these devolved upon her, it sometimes seemed to me that the master had nothing to do, but ride around his estate—on the most delightful horse—receive reports from overseers, see that his pack of hounds were fed and order “repairs about the mill”—the mill seemed always needing repairs!
This view of the subject, however, being entirely from a feminine standpoint, may have been wholly erroneous; for doubtless his mind was burdened with financial matters too weighty to be grasped and comprehended by our sex.
Nevertheless, the mistress held complete sway in her own domain; and that this fact was recognized will be shown by the following incident:
A gentleman—an intelligent and successful lawyer—one day discovering a negro boy in some mischief about his house, and determining forthwith to chastise him, took him in the yard for that purpose. Breaking a small switch, and in the act of “coming down with it” upon the boy, he asked: “Do you know, sir, who is master on my place?”
“Yes, sir!” quickly replied the boy. “Miss Charlotte, sir!”