Great Aunt Dixie would have been 44 and Mammy was probably between 62 and 66.
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Southern
planters wondered at how educated men and women of the North, former
slaveholders and slave traders themselves, could believe that they would
willingly injure black men and women under their care, or allow them to
be beaten. The sheer cruelty of New England’s slave trade and its
infamous middle passage could never be surpassed by the plantations of
the Old South.
Bernhard Thuersam, Chairman
North Carolina War Between the States Sesquicentennial Commission
"Unsurpassed Valor, Courage and Devotion to Liberty"
"The Official Website of the North Carolina WBTS Sesquicentennial"
Aristocrats of the Old South
“It
is true the aristocrat of the Old South did not go into his blacksmith
shop to shoe his horse nor his wife into the kitchen to cook, or to the
wash tub to wash, but it was not because they were ashamed or scorned to
do it, but because there was no need for them to do these things.
History
has greatly maligned the old aristocrat of the South. He was not
“haughty,” he was not “purse proud,” and he did not consider himself “of
finer clay” than any one else, as history has unfairly represented him.
Aristocracy
was then gauged by manners and morals, and not by the size of the bank
account, as I fear is too much the case today. Far more time was spent
in cultivating the graces and charms of life than in amassing fortunes.
They realized that “Manners are of more importance than money and laws”
– for manners give form and color to our lives. They felt, as Tennyson
said, “Manners are the fruit of lofty natures and noble minds.”
It will take us a long time to undo the falsehoods of history about the civilization of the Old South.
Who
was the head of the plantation? Why, “ole Miss,”. . . Her life was a
long life of devotion – devotion to her God, devotion to her church . . .
devotion to her husband, to her children, to her kinfolks, to her
neighbors and friends and to her servants. She could not be idle for she
must ever be busy.
“Ole
Marster” could delegate many of his duties to the overseer, while he
entertained his guests. He would rise early in the morning, eat his
breakfast . . . Broiled chicken, stuffed sausage, spareribs, broiled ham
and eggs, egg bread, corn muffins, hot rolls, beaten biscuits, batter
cakes or waffles with melted butter, syrup or honey, and the half not
told.
Then,
after smoking his Havana cigar, he would mount his saddle and ride over
the plantation to see if the orders given the day before had been fully
carried out. Then give the next day’s orders, ride to a neighboring
plantation and return in time for an early dinner. Dinner was always
midday on the old plantation. If it were summer . . . [he would] lie
down on the wide verandah . . . while he took his noon-day
nap. If it were winter, he would go into his library, and, before a
large, open fireplace with whole logs of wood, he would discourse upon
the topics of the day with visitors.
There
was no subject with which “Ole Marster” was not at home – whether
politics, philosophy, religion, literature, poetry or art. “Ole
Marster’s” sons for generations had been well-educated and had a perfect
familiarity with the classics – they could read Greek and Latin better
than some of us can read English today. The best magazines of the day
were upon his library table, and the latest books upon his library
shelves.
Time
[on the plantation] was measured to Christmas, and three weeks before
Christmas Day the wagons would go to the nearest city or town to lay in
the Christmas supplies. Every Negro man had to have a complete outfit,
from hat to shoes; every Negro woman had to have the same from head
handkerchief to shoes; each Negro child every article of clothing
needed.; and warm shawls, and soft shoes, or some special gifts had to
be bought for the old Negroes too feeble to work.
How
happy all were, white and black, as the cry of “Christmas Gif” rang
from one end to the other of the plantation, beginning early in the
morning at the Big House and reaching every Negro cabin – Christmas can
never be the same again.”
(The
Civilization of the Old South, Mildred Lewis Rutherford; North Carolina
Booklet, Vol. XVII, No. 3, January 1918, pp. 142-147)
