Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter V, Part 3

Wheeler House, Lawrence County, Alabama (Library of Congress, 1935). Link here.

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter V, part 3. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, 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 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.]

When we got back to Knoxville that Fall, a friend of ours, Colonel Lockett, Commandant of Cadets at the University, told us that the famous General Joe Wheeler of Alabama had written him that he wanted a governess for his children. And would I like it? General Wheeler had been on the staff of Grandmother's brother General Joseph E. Johnston at the beginning of the Civil War [not accurate, but they served together later in the war], being just out of West Point. Uncle Joe was very fond of him. So of course I went to Alabama. They had their own station on the railroad, Wheeler Station. They were a delightful family and I spent a happy Winter with them.

As everyone knows, the General was a cavalry officer, and all the family rode as a matter of course. Each had his or her own saddle horse. The General had two. Mrs. Wheeler's was a magnificent white horse named Sam. He was extremely gentle with women and children, but he wouldn't let a man get on his back. I think the General found out after he'd had him for some time that he'd killed a man or two previously. He was delightfully gaited and had a fast pace as easy as a rocking chair. 

I was amazed at the riding of those children. They were little centaurs. To be sure, they had ridden from babyhood. The youngest, Carrie, was two years old and I often saw them put her on Sam's back and hold her there. There were always one or two horses saddled and hitched at the gate, so anyone could jump on whenever they felt like it. The horses were so glad to get away, that they always broke into a gallop the minute they felt anyone of their back. The family [never] rode any way except at a gallop anyhow. They took me riding of course. I loved horses and loved to ride when I had a chance, which had not been often. Among such superb riders, I was the merest amateur, but I could at least stay on a horse's back.

One day Joe had invited me to ride with him and we were on a dirt road running close beside the railroad track for a considerable distance. Suddenly we heard a train coming. I knew it would frighten our horses, so close to them. So I asked Joe what we should do with the horses. He replied at once "Head them into the fence." As the train roared past right behind them, the horses plunged in terror, but we kept their heads to the fence and in a moment the train was gone, and everything serene again. And Joe was only seven years old! I had no idea what to do, myself. But he knew.

Mrs. Wheeler was a very handsome woman, tall and blonde, large blue eyes, fair hair and the most exquisite complexion I have ever seen -- very fair with lovely color in her cheeks. She used to wear a plae blue house jacket that was very becoming. The General adored her. Her father, Colonel Jones and her brother owned the adjoining plantations and were often at the house, of course. Her brother was twenty years older than she, and they were the only children. So she had always been petted and indulged by both of them. And her husband and children carried on the tradition. I don't suppose that she ever had an ungratified wish in her life.

The General was small and dark, and very quick and active in his movements. Some years later, when the General was in Congress, one of the doorman at the Capitol, a Scotchman, always referred to him as "the little gentleman who aye rins when he walks."

The eldest child, Lucy, always called Birdie, was very competent though just entering her teens. She attended to the housekeeping and carried the keys. The second daughter, Annie, was about twelve. She and I were great chums. Julia was nine and we rather left her out as too young, to her great indignation. Carrie was the lordliest baby I ever saw. She was like a reigning princess. A tall young darkey man named June was Carrie's personal servant, toted her around on his shoulder and waited on her hand and foot all day. She had a nurse, too who dressed her, put her to bed, etc.

It was intensely interesting to hear the General talk about the Civil War. He forgot everything else and was living it over again. It probably meant more to him than to any of the other generals, because he was so young -- the youngest general in the Confederate army. He became a brigadier when still in his twenties.

There was a small schoolhouse in a corner of the grounds where the children and I spent our days. But we had time to ride a great deal. In those days all women rode sidesaddle and wore long riding skirts. In these days of universal cross saddle riding, it seems almost a miracle that women could ride well -- or at all -- in that lopsided manner. But those Wheeler girls! I remember once when Annie and I were out riding, galloping as usual, the surcingle holding Annie's saddle on became unfastened somehow. But she never halted for it, just galloped right on, balancing herself on that loose saddle with the ends of the surcingle flapping on either side, and sitting sideways at that!

She and I thought we'd like to try riding astride, just to see what it was like. Of course, we kept it a dark secret -- it would have shocked everybody. But one night we sallied forth on men's saddles and had a glorious ride. She wore a pair of the General's trousers and I had made myself a pair. Nobody ever knew about it.

The friendship begun then has lasted all our lives to this day. The Wheelers are my earliest and most valued friends since Mia died. She was my very first friend. 
  
[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). 
Uncle Joe = Joseph Eggleston Johnston (1807-1891).

Colonel Lockett = Samuel Henry Lockett (1837-1891). His papers are here.

Joe Wheeler (1836-1906) and Daniella Ellen Jones Wheeler (1841-1896), daughter of Richard Jones (1793-1883). Their children: Lucy Louise "Birdie" Wheeler (1866-1924); Annie Early Wheeler (1868-1955); Ella Wheeler (1869-1871); Julia Knox Hull Wheeler (1870-1959); Joseph Wheeler (1872-1938); Caroline Peyton "Carrie" Wheeler (1877-1953); and Thomas Harrison Wheeler (1881-1898).

For more on Annie Early Wheeler, see Dear Mrs. Wheeler here. Nella apparently made at least one poster featuring her in Red Cross uniform. 

For more on Pond Spring, Hillsboro, Alabama, see this link.

Mia = Euphemia/Mia Alberta Suverkrop (circa 1859-1939).]  

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter V, Part 2

Washington and Lee University in 1879. American Cyclopædia / Wiki Commons

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter V, part 2. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, 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 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.]

That Fall I went to the Campbell's. They had a beautiful estate right on the bank of the James River, only miles from the Natural Bridge. They were the nicest of people, and gave me a lovely corner room with a big fireplace and every [comfort]. I was a little younger than Mamie, my oldest pupil, but I was competent, so that did not matter. The oldest son, Willie, was a student at Washington and Lee University at Lexington. As it was not far away, he often came home for weekends. He was a nice fellow, but a great tease. One could always tell when he had arrived, for in minutes he had all the children crying. He had names for them which they resented. Howard he called Opecancanough. (He was an Indian chief.) Martha was the Sweet Singer of Israel. I've forgotton what he called Granville, the youngest. Mamie he called the Moonfaced Darling Of Us all.

In the Spring, Mamie and I were invited to spend a week with friends of the family in Lexington. That town is certainly a paradise for young girls, with the students of Washington and Lee and the cadets of the Virginia Military Institute. There was a rivalry between them. While we were there the V.M.I. boys, in the dead of night, painted huge stripes around the big Doric pillars of the University. I believe the University got even with them later, after we had gone.

On Sunday, as we sat at early dinner, two cadets came to call. We had reached dessert, and our hostess sent a maid into the parlor with a tray of ice cream and cake. We entered the parlor soon after and the tray was completely empty. We rather wondered how they managed to eat so fast. Later, after they had taken their leave, we happened to go out on the veranda. They were still in sight up the street, and we understood! We saw them pulling the cake out of their sleeves! Cadets were not allowed any pockets in their uniforms, and carried their handkerchiefs in their sleeves.

One of the students invited me to a baseball game, the first I ever saw. And the last. He enthusiastically explained it all to me, but I couldn't make head or tail out of it. I concluded I hadn't enough brains to understand baseball, so I've never gone to another.

That summer I taught at a small public school in Coal Creek, a little mining village near Knoxville. Mother, May and George went with me and we rented a cottage and kept house. The first day of school there was full attendance. Curiosity, I suppose. I was scared to death when I faced them. I imagined I had to open with some sort of prayer. So I announced that to open school we'd all say the Lord's Prayer together. I began, but not a soul joined in. And halfway through stage fright got me, and I clear forgot the rest. I hurriedly wound up with " . . . forever and ever, amen!" However, I doubt if any of them knew the difference.

The village was just a few houses scattered through a gorge in the mountains, and coal mines all around. The owner of the largest one, a bachelor, (considered the great catch of the neighborhood) invited me to visit his mine. It was interesting, but a smutty business. We had to put on overalls. One Sunday he too me buggy riding. The village was much impressed by such elegance.

There was a small branch railroad through the gorge to take the coal away. But there was only one good road to or from Coal Creek, seldom used, so there were no horses thereabouts. He had to get a buggy from the next county, and use a mule out of his mine to pull it. They had mules in the mines, hitched to little carts, to haul the coal from the shafts. As we drove along he [remarked] that the mule hadn't seen daylight for three years. I did appreciate his taking so much trouble, and told him so.

One day a darkey man appeared, bringing from him a huge book, Napoleon's Book of Fate [italics added]. I did not want it, but did not wish to hurt his feelings. So I kept it awhile and then, when he was calling on me, returned it to him, thanking him for lending it to me. The poor fellow did not have savour faire enough to explain, as I made it very conclusive. Then the darkey appeared again with a bushel of large red apples, hard as rocks, with a scrap of paper on which he had written "will keep for six months." I love apples, but I like them ripe and mellow. These were adamant. I don't remember just how we disposed of them. Perhaps Mother cooked them. 

[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. 

The Campbells included Alexander Doak Campbell (1823-1901), James William Campbell (1861-1888), Frank Howard Campbell (1867-1939), Martha Bell Campbell (died 1930), Mary Elizabeth Campbell (1864-1934) and Frances Campbell (1869-1948).

Coal Creek, Tennessee = subsequently part of the Coal Creek War; renamed Rocky Top in 2014. 

Mother = Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
George = George Sydney Binckley (1870-1940).
May = May Binckley (1875-1968).] 

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter V, Part 1

East Tennessee University, Knoxville, 1874. Scribner's (Wiki Commons)

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter V, part 1. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, 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 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.]

I did not return to Martha Washington College. Fate decreed otherwise. Mother had come back to the South, as Father was planning to leave the cold northwest which was so hard on her. Then news came of his sudden death. [after 1878, in Chicago? M.J.B.] [John Milton Binckley died on May 4, 1878, in Lake Michigan, near Milwaukee.] And everything changed. 

It was necessary for Mother to make her living. One of my schoolmates who lived in Tennessee had told me she was not coming back, because her uncle was going to open a new college in her home town, Mossy Creek, the next year. He engaged Mother as his vocal teacher. And I was to earn my board and tuition by teaching a primary class of day pupils. He had engaged several well known professors for his faculty.

When we went there we found it a pleasant place. The table of the Institute was good enough, though we missed the rich food of Abingdon. And the frequency of rice pudding, which I never liked anyhow, gave me a rooted aversion for it which I have never overcome.

I was always a bookish soul, so I loved my studies. The piano teacher, Professor Casimir Falk of Stuttgart, Germany, wanted to teach me violin too, but Mother thought that would work me too hard. The Latin professor, Dr. Adkins, had one Hebrew pupil and I wanted to study that, but Mother put a stop to the Hebrew, too. So I  never got beyond the alphabet. I was now reading Cicero.

I had always been making portrait sketches of people, so I made some of my schoolmates. They liked them, and to my surprise, offered to buy them. I set the modest price of fifty cents apiece. Thus began my career as a portrait painter.

When Commencement came, I won two of the three gold medals they gave: one for Music and one for Natural Sciences. The third was for Mathematics, hence utterly unattainable for me. I also won the silver cup they gave for best English essay. My subject was Myths. And the editor of the local paper asked permission to publish it therein.

That ended my sophomore year. And also ended my college days, for Mother needed my help and it was necessary for me to get a job. I was very young but I could teach. That was the only thing my family considered it proper for me to do. Girls were working in business offices by that time. But Grandmother thought that very advanced -- if not improper. certainly no occupation for a young -- a very young gentlewoman. I read in the papers of girls actually living in pairs in city rooms alone, no relatives with them. I could hardly imagine such daring. 

So I became a governess. In the South governesses were invariably ladies of birth and breeding, and were treated as members of the family. Aunt Charlotte was just then making a little visit to Uncle Ned Dillon, up the James River in Rockbridge County [Virginia]. Some friends of his wanted a governess. So it was arranged for the Fall. Meantime, Grandmother and Aunt Sue, who had lost her husband, went to Knoxville, Tennessee that Spring and we joined them there.

Across the street lived Professor Knabe and his family. He was a musician -- the Knabe piano people -- and we found them very pleasant neighbors. One of the children got whooping cough and it spread through the family. [Even] the Professor got it, never having had it before. We used to laugh behind our curtains when we'd see them come through his gate and be seized with a fit of coughing before he got to the corner. It enraged him, and he'd hold on to the lamp post and whoop and swear and swear and whoop till the paroxysm had passed. 

Then Grandmother took a house on top of the hill opposite the University. We could see across a sort of valley and look right down on the parade ground. We enjoyed watching the battalion drill. The President of the University, Dr. Hume, was from Abingdon so my family knew him.

Our closests friends were the McAdoos. Mrs. McAdoo and Mother were old friends. I think she was from Abingdon, too and related to Dr. Hume. Professor McAdoo was in charge of Belles Lettres at the University. He was a tall, very handsome man [with a] mass of gray hair and a gray beard. There were four lovely young daughters, Carrie, Rosalie, Nona and Laura. We were great friends. [There were] two sons, Floyd and Will. And a son of Mrs. McAdoo by an earlier marriage, Gillie McDonald. 

Floyd was an extremely handsome fellow, very tall with a head like a Greek god. He was studying civil engineering, and on a surveying trip became separated from the rest of the party. Later he was found lying face down in a small stream, drowned. Will went on to a very distinguished future. He built the Hudson River tunnel at New York, and was married in the White House to President Wilson's daughter Eleanor.

One day I went down the hill into the town to do a little shopping. I met a fire engine dashing up. I wondered idly where the fire was. When I got home an hour or two later, I found it had been right across a side street from our house, which stood on a corner. I was awfully disappointed, for I love a fire. Of course I don't want anybody to lose their property [or] get burned, but if it's going to happen anyway I like to be there to see it. 

Grandmother had been sick for several days, staying in bed. That day she was up, sitting by the dining room window looking across the street at the stable of a doctor's house. She saw a little boy come running down the outside steps from the hay loft. Then she saw the darkey maid fly up the steps and carry down his baby sister. Then she saw flames in the hay. A minute later she was across the street with a bucket of water in her hand, and her cook right behind her with a bucket of water in each hand.  The little boy, it seemed, had got hold of some matches and while he and his tiny sister were playing in the hay, some demon prompted him to strike a match. Terrified by the flame flaring up, he had run away. The quick actin of the courageous maid had averted a tragedy.  

[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).

Mossy Creek, about thirty miles from Knoxville and on a rail line, is now Jefferson City (since 1901). The Branner Institute for Young Ladies opened in 1876 at Glenmore Mansion.

Aunt Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell/Michel (1829-1921).
Uncle Ned Dillon = Colonel Edward Dillon (1835-1897), a son of Mary Morris Johnston Dillon Cunningham (1810-1884) and grandson of Charles Johnston (1769-1833) and Elizabeth "Eliza" Prentiss "Betsey" Steptoe Johnston (1783-1820). 

Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940); "lost her husband" = William Meade Taliaferro (1840-1913), who had married Sue on October 16, 1867. He was apparently lost to "nostalgia," shell shock, post traumatic stress, war wounds, alcohol and other comorbidities, eventually committing suicide at the Camp Lee Soldier's Home in Richmond.  

Dr. Hume - Thomas William Humes (1815-1819), president of the University of East Tennessee (renamed University of Tennessee in 1879) and later, a librarian.
Professor McAdoo = William Gibbs McAdoo, Sr. (1820-1894).
Will = William Gibbs McAdoo, Jr. (1863-1941) married Eleanor Randolph Wilson (1889-1967) in 1914.]