rarely had snow; sometimes a crust upon the ground that was melted into
paste by the noonday sun, but more frequently, so it seems to me, a
foggy, drizzly Christmas, with the fires crackling in saloon and lady's
chamber. And when my grandfather and the ladies and gentlemen, his
guests, came down the curving stairs, there were the broadly smiling
servants drawn up in the wide hall,--all who could gather there,--and the
rest on the lawn outside, to wish "Merry Chris'mas" to "de quality." The
redemptioners in front, headed by Ivie and Jonas Tree, tho' they had long
served their terms, and with them old Harvey and his son; next the house
blacks and the outside liveries, and then the oldest slaves from the
quarters. This line reached the door, which Scipio would throw open at
"de quality's" appearance, disclosing the rest of the field servants, in
bright-coloured gowns, and the little negroes on the green. Then Mr.
Carvel would make them a little speech of thanks and of good-will, and
white-haired Johnson of the senior quarters, who had been with my
great-grandfather, would start the carol in a quaver. How clear and
sweet the melody of those negro voices comes back to me through the
generations! And the picture of the hall, loaded with holly and mistletoe
even to the great arch that spanned it, with the generous bowls of
egg-nog and punch on the mahogany by the wall! And the ladies our
guests, in cap and apron, joining in the swelling hymn; ay, and the men,
too. And then, after the breakfast of sweet ham and venison, and hot
bread and sausage, made under Mrs. Willis, and tea and coffee and
chocolate steaming in the silver, and ale for the gentlemen if they
preferred, came the prayers and more carols in the big drawing-room.
And then music in the big house, or perhaps a ride afield to greet the
neighbours, and fiddling and dancing in the two big quarters, Hank's and
Johnson's, when the tables were cleared after the bountiful feast Mr.
Carvel was wont to give them. There was no stint, my dears,--naught but
good cheer and praising God in sheer happiness at Carvel Hall.
At night there was always a ball, sometimes at Wilmot House, sometimes at
Colonel Lloyd's or Mr. Bordley's, and sometimes at Carvel Hall, for my
grandfather dearly loved the company of the young. He himself would lead
off the minuet,--save when once or twice his Excellency Governor Sharpe
chanced to be present,--and would draw his sword with the young gallants
that the ladies might pass under. And I have seen him join merrily in
the country dances too, to the clapping of hands of the company. That
was before Dolly and I were let upon the floor. We sat with the other
children, our mammies at our sides, in the narrow gallery with the tiny
rail that ran around the ball-room, where the sweet odour of the green
myrtleberry candles mixed with that of the powder and perfume of the
dancers. And when the beauty of the evening was led out, Dolly would
lean over the rail, and pout and smile by turns. The mischievous little
baggage could hardly wait for the conquering years to come.
They came soon enough, alack! The season Dorothy was fourteen, we had a
ball at the Hall the last day of the year. When she was that age she had
near arrived at her growth, and was full as tall as many young ladies of
twenty. I had cantered with her that morning from Wilmot House to Mr.
Lloyd's, and thence to Carvel Hall, where she was to stay to dinner. The
sun was shining warmly, and after young Harvey had taken our horses we
strayed through the house, where the servants were busy decorating, and
out into my grandfather's old English flower garden, and took the seat
by the sundial. I remember that it gave no shadow. We sat silent for
a while, Dorothy toying with old Knipe, lying at our feet, and humming
gayly the burden of a minuet. She had been flighty on the ride, with
scarce a word to say to me, for the prospect of the dance had gone to her
head.