Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]
Aunt Sue was ten years older [seven years younger] than Mother, and one of the gayest souls I have ever known, bubbling over with high spirits all the time. Her favorite expressions were "Thunderation Broomsticks" and "Jerusalem Artichokes." Mother was more dignified, but had a keen sense of humor.
We all liked the same brand of jokes. Aunt Sue told me that a few years ago there had been excessive rains one season. The convent was on the outskirts of town, and a stream flowed across the street where it stood. Owing to the rains this stream rose and flooded the convent, the young men of the town thought it a great lark (graceless scamps they were) to swim in and rescue the nuns, who were cloistered nuns, and not supposed to ever set eyes on a man except the Father Confessor, who as I remember him, was not much to look at.
Mother went back to the West [Chicago? or Milwaukee? -- M.J.B.] that Spring [1877? -- M.J.B.], taking George and May with her. As I was to go to Martha Washington College again in the fall, Grandmother wanted me to stay with her. So I did. We met some charming musical people that summer, who were named Hahr, and lived in Petersburg. They had entertained Old Bull when he had been in this country and said he was delightful. The pronounced his name to rhyme with dull.
Up in the foothills lived Polly Dinkins and her tribe. A strange group of creatures in human form, but with the reputation of being lower than the beasts of the field. They were said to live without laws or religion. Heathen. But missionaries found them inaccessible. Now and then Polly and one or two others would come down to the town with bundles of what they called light'ood. This was fat pine, full of resin, excellent for lighting fires. They sold it and the bought their simple supplies. I saw them once, women in sunbonnets and slinky calico dresses.
I remember a story I heard of the early days in Abingdon, when there [were] a few hostile Indians still about. One of the solid citizens of the town had become very bald earlier than he liked, so wore a wig. One day he had occasion to go into some adjoining woods, and went farther than he intended. Suddenly an Indian leaped out of the bushes at him, brandishing his tomahawk, and seized him by the hair. It came off in his hand, of course. Evidently the Indian had never heard of wigs. He stood there, transfixed, gazing at the wig in his hand, and exclaiming "Lie! Lie!" Meanwhile the gentleman escaped.
I [have] never been back to Abingdon since those days. But I still remember Orvelline, Grandmother's washerwoman. She was a nice, pleasant darkey, quite good looking, dark brown in color with the usual woolly hair. Her husband was white, a red headed Irishman from the old country. Their children were the funniest looking pickaninnies I ever saw. They were mullatoes, with blue eyes and red wool on their heads!
[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the full artist's signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.
Grandmother = Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Mother = Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940).
George = George Sydney Binckley (1870-1940).
May = May Binckley (1875-1968).
There are two Mary Dinkins' listed in the 1870 Federal census for Abingdon, one born in 1834 ("no occupation") and one born in 1857.
There is an Orvilline Brody (1848-1917) listed in the 1870 Federal census for Washington County, Virginia, married to Thomas Brody (1840-1924) with two children, listed as "mulatto."]
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