Mary Louisa Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899): Part V

Surrey*

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899), Part V. Additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.

 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original documents, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

Bedroom candles were lighted, goodnights said, & all scattered to . . . rooms that had, to be sure, only rag carpet rugs on bare floors, but the beds were plump and piled high with blankets, and a glorious fire sparkled & roared up the chimney.

A darkey girl who had been curled up asleep in the chimney corner for hours, would wake with a yawn or grin to serve you. If the water in the ewer was nearly ice, she would produce from some nook the black kettle and trivet, shovel on to a corner of the hearth a glowing mass of coals, and soon a warm footbath would be ready, and she more than ready to give it.

Probably another peice [piece] of ebony would roll herself out from her pallet under the bed and beg "Law Miss Lou -- lem'me com yer har." If several girls were together in one room, they generally made a raid on the pantry on the way up stairs, and curled together on the hearth rug, would spin out the endless gossip of girlhood to the accompaniment of haircombing, pickles and poundcake.

No one ever troubled about hygiene or microbobes and the balls and parties to be talked over were few and far between, but as far as I can remember they had no ore indigestion than the microbe-haunted youth of this 20th century, and seemed to get as much pleasure out of their mild "milk and water" amusements as this same youth does from his mad rush after pleasure.

My first remembrances of Abingdon as I have said, but they are few, and not very clear. Behind the cottage was a large green yard divided fro the front by palings. past kitchen, smokehouse, and servant's houses a lane led back to a pasture where Blackie, the carriage horse, spent most of his time. 

Father's animals were always petted, and Blackie was the most responsive. To get into the yard was his treat, where a piece of bread and caresses were always on hand for him (sugar was much too dear for even Blackie) and it was while galloping down that lane one afternoon in high spirits that he saw baby Willie come toddling to meet him, & then stop still right in the narrow gate. There was no room to pass -- he could'nt [couldn't] stop himself, so the poor beast just gathered his feet up in one wild jump over the child's head, and as soon as he could stop turned to see if harm was done. Mother saw it, and said the horse trembled with the shock and fear.

He was a large, well bred animal, quite powerful enough to take us all down to Alabama one fall for father's health. The carriage was what we now call a surrey, only more heavily built, as all vehicles had to be in anti-railroad days when travelling was done by stage, horseback, or private carriage, and the roads were poor, to put it mildly. 

It was considered fortunate if your destination could be reached by public highway, as such roads were kept in some order, and on their windings were regular stopping places where man and beast could find shelter at night. I hardly think the road we travelled could have been a public one, for I dimly remember having to stay at night in rough cabins, and it must have been a long wearisome way, even to such good travellers as my parents were.

Willie was not old enough to  understand much, but as we rolled along, day after day through "forests primeval," many a story must have been told me of nature and her wondrous ways, her plants and small beasts, for the trip has always been a delicious, if hazy, memory. 

Especially I remember like a dream the passing through a broad belt of the long-leafed pine which then lay on the edge of northern Alabama. Even a child's mind can take in the wierd [weird] charm of a pine forest. A green twilight [as] far as the eye reaches -- crowded with tall tapering tree stems -- no undergrowth breaks the sender lines soaring up into a distant spread of plumy tops that shut out the blue sky. 

A faint breath of resinous perfume is in the still air. Sunlight filters through now and then in shining drops. A brown carpet of pine needles lies so thick and soft there is not sound of wheel or hoof as you dreamily roll along, no sound but that exquisite, strange musical sighing note that murmurs forever through the swaying, far up, branches. A land of dreams -- shut in -- no outer world -- utter solitude -- and no sound but that mysterious swaying hint of elusive music.

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Mother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Father = Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866).
Willie = William Manning Mitchell/Michel (October 1, 1839-1908).
The described trip to Alabama probably occurred between 1842 and 1844.
*Link here.]