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4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page iii

Visual Basic® .NET

Codemaster’s Library
Matt Tagliaferri

San Francisco • London

4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page ii
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page i

Visual Basic .NET

Codemaster’s Library
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page ii
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page iii

Visual Basic® .NET

Codemaster’s Library
Matt Tagliaferri

San Francisco • London

4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page iv

Associate Publisher: Richard Mills

Acquisitions and Developmental Editor: Tom Cirtin
Editor: Sarah H. Lemaire
Production Editor: Mae Lum
Technical Editor: Greg Guntle
Electronic Publishing Specialist: Kate Kaminski, Happenstance Type-o-Rama
Proofreaders: David Nash, Laurie O’Connell, Nancy Riddiough
Indexer: Nancy Guenther
Cover Designer: Caryl Gorska, Gorska Design
Cover Photographer: Peter Samuels, Tony Stone

Copyright © 2002 SYBEX Inc., 1151 Marina Village Parkway, Alameda, CA 94501. World rights reserved. No part of this publication may
be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or reproduced in any way, including but not limited to photocopy, photograph, magnetic, or
other record, without the prior agreement and written permission of the publisher.

“.NET Delegates: A C# Bedtime Story” (in Part IX, “.NET Delegates: A C# (and now VB .NET) Bedtime Story”) Copyright © 1995-
2001, Chris Sells. All rights reserved. http://www.sellsbrothers.com

Library of Congress Card Number: 2002100059

ISBN: 0-7821-4103-X

SYBEX and the SYBEX logo are either registered trademarks or trademarks of SYBEX Inc. in the United States and/or other countries.

Screen reproductions produced with FullShot 99. FullShot 99 © 1991-1999 Inbit Incorporated. All rights reserved.
FullShot is a trademark of Inbit Incorporated.

The screenshots from Microsoft® Word and Microsoft® Excel are copyright Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Internet screenshot(s) using Microsoft Internet Explorer 5 reprinted by permission from Microsoft Corporation.

TRADEMARKS: SYBEX has attempted throughout this book to distinguish proprietary trademarks from descriptive terms by following
the style used by the trademark holder wherever possible.

The author and publisher have made their best efforts to prepare this book, and the content is based upon final release software whenever
possible. Portions of the manuscript may be based upon pre-release versions supplied by software manufacturer(s). The author and the pub-
lisher make no representation or warranties of any kind with regard to the completeness or accuracy of the contents herein and accept no
liability of any kind including but not limited to performance, merchantability, fitness for any particular purpose, or any losses or damages
of any kind caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly from this book.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page v

To Sophia, the stinker-doodle

4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page vi

Acknowledgments

his was a difficult book to write, and there were many people who made it possible. First,
T Tom Cirtin at Sybex receives thanks for shaping and focusing the idea of the book into its
final form. The next round of kudos goes to Kylie Johnston, Mae Lum, Sally Engelfried,
and Sarah Lemaire, who took my heap of manuscript and made a book out of it. I also need
to thank Greg Guntle and John Godfrey for going over the thousands of lines of code with a
fine-toothed comb and making sure it worked on more than the two PCs I have available
for .NET testing at the moment.
Finally, I need to thank my ever-tolerant wife Janet, who was forced to stare at my back as I
sat swearing in front of my PC these past few months.
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page vii

Contents at a Glance

Introduction xvi

Part I From VB6 to VB .NET 1

Part II The .NET Framework 39

Part III OOP Techniques 137

Part IV Databases 195

Part V More Framework Topics 235

Part VI Visual Studio 267

Part VII Beyond Visual Basic 283

Part VIII Internet and Distributed Development 301

Part IX .NET Delegates: A C# (and Now VB .NET) Bedtime Story 349

Index 365
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page viii

Contents

Introduction xvi

Part I From VB6 to VB .NET 1

1 Using the New Operators 2
Operator Shortcuts 2
Bitwise Operators 2
Still Missing 3
Using the Operators 3
2 New Tricks in Variable Declaration 5
Integer Type Changes 6
The Dim Statement Behaves Differently 6
No More Variants 7
Initializers 7
Local Scope 7
3 An Array of Usefulness 8
Declaring Arrays 8
Working with Arrays 9
Multi-Dimensional Arrays 10
4 Boxing, Unboxing, and a Bit of ILDASM 12
ILDASM 14
5 Avoiding Redundant Function Calls 17
A Simple Speedup 17
6 Even Speedier—The StringBuilder 19
7 Delving into Docking and Anchoring 20
8 Beyond the Tag Property 23
Along Came Beta 2 24
Using an Inherited Class 26
9 Handling Control Arrays Another Way 29
10 Letting Go of the Windows API 32
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Contents ix

11 Short Circuiting 35
The Potential Inefficiencies of VB 35
The Short Circuit 36

Part II The .NET Framework 39

12 Getting Resourceful 40
Resource Strings 40
Bitmaps, Too 42
13 Reading from a Text File: An Introduction to Streams 42
14 Writing to a Text File: More on Streams 44
15 Reading and Writing to the Registry 45
16 Keeping Regular with Regular Expressions 48
17 Improving File Copies, Moves, and Deletes 50
Using the EnhancedFileOps Class 50
18 Detecting File Changes in a Folder 54
Warning Unsuspecting Users 54
Watching for Files 55
19 Thinking in Threads 56
20 Timing Up Events with Timers 58
21 At Your (Windows) Service 59
22 Actively Researching Active Directory 62
The DirectoryEntry Class 63
The DirectorySearcher Class 65
23 Diving into Collections 68
The NameValueCollection 68
The HashTable 69
The Stack 71
The Queue 71
Creating a Type-Safe Collection 71
A Second Type-Safe Solution 72
Yet Another Type-Safe Solution 73
24 Pass the Collection Plate One More Time 75
StringCollection 75
The ListDictionary 76
Don’t Be So Insensitive 77
25 System Trays in Their Full, Upright Positions 78
What’s on the Menu? 79
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x Contents

26 Seeing the Inner Workings of Your Code 82

27 Writing Code for Your Code 85
Using Attributes for Documentation 88
28 My Code Can See Itself: Reflection 90
Getting Started 90
Filling the Types Treeview 92
Examining a Type 94
29 Programs Writing Programs: The CodeDOM 95
Writing Code from Table Structures 96
30 Discovering the New Diagnostic Classes 99
Sending Output to the Debug Window 99
Switching Debug Output On and Off 100
Setting Different Levels of Debug Output 101
Customizing Trace Output 102
Outputting Trace Data to Text 104
Automatically Removing Debug Code 105
31 Logging Events the Easy Way 105
Writing to an Event Log 106
Reading from an Event Log 106
Monitoring an Event Log for Changes 107
Using a Custom Event Log 107
32 Monitoring Your Application’s Performance 108
Retrieving Performance Counter Instances 111
Querying the Performance Counter 112
33 Middle Management 113
The ManagementObject and ManagementObjectSearcher 113
34 Braving the Basics of GDI+ 115
The Graphics Class 115
Good Penmanship 116
Brushes 117
Graphics Class Methods 117
35 Advanced GDI+: The GraphicsPath and Transform Objects 119
The GraphicsPath 120
Do You Know What the Matrix Is (Neo)? 121
Putting it Together: The SimpleSprite Class 122
Using the SimpleSprite Class 125
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Contents xi

36 Something About Screensavers 126

Screensaver Basics 127
Screen Capture 127
The SaverSprite 128
The ScreenSaver Class 129
37 Having a Dialog with your Users 130
The OpenFileDialog 131
The SaveFileDialog 133
The FontDialog 134
The ColorDialog 135

Part III OOP Techniques 137

38 Embracing Object-Oriented Programming 138
Method 1: Non-OOP 138
Method 2: OOPs Away! 139
39 Encapsulation Fascination 142
WorldEntity Class Details 144
TheWorld Class Details 145
40 Merits of Inheritance 147
41 The Church of Polymorphism 150
42 In Your Face Interfaces 151
Coding to an Interface 152
Creating Your Own Interfaces 154
43 Calculating Elapsed Time 156
44 Reading and Writing INI Files 157
The API Calls 158
Digging into the INI Class 159
45 Adding Controls to the Toolbox 160
Developing the Control 161
Adding the Control to the Toolbox 164
Using the New Control 166
46 Earning Your Inheritance 167
47 Performing a Ping 170
So What to Do? 171
Using the Pinger Class 172
48 A Big Savings: Object Graph Serialization 173
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xii Contents

49 Delegate Some Authority 175

Why? 176
How? 176
Handling the Event 178
50 Taking Out the Trash: The Garbage Collector 179
Deallocating Resources 180
Controlling Garbage Collection 181
51 Saving Your RAM and Using It, Too 182
Using Weak References 183
Controlling Garbage Collection 185
52 Get Off My Property! 185
Properties the “Bad Way” 186
Properties the “Good Way” 189
One More Example 190
53 Got Any Cache I Can Borrow? 191
Using Assemblies in the Global Assembly Cache 192
Viewing the Contents of the Global Assembly Cache 193

Part IV Databases 195

54 Speed Reading: Using the DataReader 196
55 The Missing Link: The DataSet 199
Filling a Treeview 202
Adding and Removing Rows 203
Applying Changes to the Database 203
Filtering, Sorting, and Searching with the DataView 205
56 SQLDataAdapter Command Performance 206
The SqlCommandBuilder 206
Custom Commands 207
Testing the Two Methods 208
57 Tackling Typed DataSet Objects 210
Why Use a Typed DataSet? 210
Creating a Typed DataSet 211
Using the Typed DataSet 212
58 A Legally Binding Form 214
Binding Controls 215
59 Still More Binding 217
60 Complete the (Database) Transaction 220
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Contents xiii

61 Legal (Stored) Procedures 225

62 Kiss My Grids! 228
Data to Display 229
Custom Formatting 230
Using the New Class 232

Part V More Framework Topics 235

63 Creating Owner-Drawn Menus 236
Creating Your Menu 236
Placing Your Menu 238
64 Creating UI Elements at Runtime 240
Creating Buttons on the Fly 240
Creating Menus Dynamically 242
65 Dynamic Object Creation Using RTTI 243
Using RTTI in the Real World 244
Debugging RTTI 248
66 Versioning and the End of DLL Hell 248
What’s a Version? 249
Setting the Version 250
A Version Example 250
Version 2 (Actually, 1.1.0.0) 252
Version Control 254
67 The New Security Model 256
Permissions 256
Declarative Security 258
68 Excel-lent—Talking to Excel 259
69 Word Up—Talking to Word 262

Part VI Visual Studio 267

70 The Visual Studio “HoneyDo” List 268
71 Macro-Economics 269
Recording a Macro 271
Editing a Macro 271
Adding a Macro to the Toolbar 273
72 Adding in Add-ins 273
Coding the Add-in 276
Testing the Add-in 277
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xiv Contents

73 Add-ins and Event Hooks 277

Event Hook on Solution Open 278
Event Hook on Solution Build 279

Part VII Beyond Visual Basic 283

74 Expanding Your Horizons: Mixing Languages 284
Trying It Out 284
Mixing It Up 285
75 The Joy of Console Applications 287
Creating a Console App 287
Producing Input/Output in a Console App 288
76 Getting Entangled in Some Web Development 290
An ASP.NET Primer 291
Creating Page 2 293
77 ASP.NET Reusability 295
A User Control Example 296
Using the User Control 299

Part VIII Internet and Distributed Development 301

78 XML Speed Reading 302
The Class to Know 302
Scanning the XML Document 303
79 Producing XML 305
Database XML 305
Manual XML 307
80 Using XML from SQL Server 308
XSL to the Rescue 309
81 Special Delivery: Sending E-mail 312
82 Message for You, Sir 313
Sending a Message 314
Get the Message (?) 316
83 Application Transactions: A Big COM+ 318
Automatic Transactions 319
Manual Transactions 320
Writing the COM+ Client 321
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Contents xv

84 Remoting Control 322

The Server Class 323
Listen Up! 324
85 Remoting Control Calling 328
86 Web Service Creation 330
Testing, Testing… 331
87 Web Service Usage 332
88 Talking to Microsoft TerraServer 333
Accessing a Web Service 334
Using the Web Service Classes 336
Working with the Graphics 338
89 More Web Services 340
I did? No, UDDI! 341
SalCentral.com 342
Additional Web Service Examples 342
90 Getting Mobile 345

Part IX .NET Delegates: A C# (and Now VB .NET) Bedtime Story 349

91 Type Coupling 350
92 Interfaces 352
93 Delegates 354
94 Static Listeners 357
95 Events 359
96 Harvesting All Results 360
97 Async Notification: Fire & Forget 361
98 Async Notification: Polling 362
99 Async Notification: Delegates 363
Happiness in the Universe 363

Index 365
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page xvi

Introduction

bout 18 months ago, I began reading about the forthcoming version of Visual Basic, and I
A was jazzed about it from the get-go. The early details were sketchy, but I did know that
Microsoft was going to turn Visual Basic into a full object-oriented language. I had experience
in some “full” object-oriented development and was quite impressed with the way that good
OOP design seemed to naturally organize my thoughts (and my code). I was eager to begin
using these design principles in Visual Basic.
Of course, such power was not to come without a price. The new Visual Basic, I would
learn, was not to be backward compatible with VB6. Since all of my current day job develop-
ment was in VB6, upgrading to the new language would not simply be a one-day slam-dunk,
as it was when I moved from Visual Basic 4 to 5 or from VB5 to VB6.

VB .NET in Perspective
Visual Basic .NET is, simply put, quite a large hunk of new functionality to learn for the
experienced Visual Basic developer. While Visual Studio .NET does ship with a VB6-to-
VB .NET project converter, you’ll quickly realize (maybe before even trying it out on one of
your projects) that a strict conversion is probably the wrong solution for all but the most triv-
ial of programs. The reason for this is that the VB .NET is much, much more than a list of
syntactical differences. .NET development presents radically new language features and ways
for programs to communicate with each other. For this reason, .NET applications will most
likely be designed differently from the ground up.
The first major difference that you’ll notice when perusing some VB .NET examples is the
true object-oriented nature of the language. Everything is a class in Visual Basic .NET. Your
application, the forms, all the buttons, labels, and Treeview objects are all instances of true
objects. This gives the language a previously unknown uniformity. It also gives you the power
to create descendant classes of common user interface classes should you need some enhanced
functionality and/or some additional data-storing properties.
The VB .NET object-oriented nature is closely coupled with the .NET Framework. The
.NET Framework is an object-oriented API of sorts. It represents hundreds of classes that
encapsulate functionality found in the Windows operating system or in resources like Mes-
sage Queue or SQL Server. These classes have been logically grouped into hierarchical orga-
nizational units called namespaces, which allow you to include only those namespaces in your
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page xvii

Introduction xvii

program that you require. In truth, one cannot get very far learning about VB .NET without
also learning about the .NET Framework upon which the language is built.
One of the primary features of the .NET Framework that will radically change your pro-
gramming thought process is the concept of garbage collection. The .NET Framework man-
ages the memory of all objects automatically, which makes it nearly impossible to write a
program with old-style “memory leaks” caused by forgetting to free a resource. It also lets
you concentrate on the logic of your procedures instead of matching up every object instanti-
ation with a line of code that frees the object.
You’ll also greatly benefit from structured exception handling, a vast improvement over the
On Error Goto crud you’ve had to endure up to this point. An exception handler wraps a
block of code with one or more lines of code that can handle different types of errors. The
classes of exceptions range from very general to very specific, so you can handle a certain
class of errors one way (like writing a message to the event log) and another class of errors in
a different way (like warning the user about a problem through a message box). Exception
handlers can also be nested, meaning you can take care of problems within an inner block of
code that doesn’t affect outer blocks. Try accomplishing that in VB6 without convoluted
coding!
One of the truly new innovations in the .NET Framework is the concept of XML web
services. XML web services are objects that can be called over a standard HTTP protocol.
The object is serialized and deserialized into an XML format for transport, and then arrives
to your program as a standard .NET Framework object. This method of programming
allows developers to make services available on the Internet for other programmers to use,
either freely or against some type of payment model. The hope is that XML web services will
be the next generation of ActiveX controls, giving third-party developers an excellent way to
add value to developers by creating reusable objects that can be accessed over any Internet
connection.
Of course, this overview only scratches the surface of what makes VB .NET something
that gets you revved up. Microsoft took a step back and rethought the concept of the perfect
development tool, and the .NET platform is the result of that. Even after over a year of play-
ing with the language myself, I’m still learning about new classes in the .NET Framework
and when to use certain new development techniques or technologies.

Who Am I?
I was one of only two sophomores in my high school way back in 1982 who was offered a
computer class after the high school purchased six TRS-80s (“Trash-80s” we called them). I
attended the PC classes in junior and senior year, as well. Those were fun times, because the
4103c00.qxd 2/14/02 9:12 PM Page xviii

xviii Introduction

teachers were pretty much learning to navigate the PC world at the same time we were, and
we all kind of stumbled through those first years together.
Once I got my hands on software development in high school, I didn’t let go. I got my B.S.
in Information Systems at the Ohio State University (s’go Bucks!) and started work shortly
thereafter for an insurance organization. My job there was pretty interesting: All their data
was locked inside this legacy mainframe system (I couldn’t even tell you what system), and
one of their mainframe programmers wrote a custom query tool that extracted the data out
of the mainframe and into PC text files. They hired me out of school to act as a “business
analyst,” which basically meant that I would do ad hoc projects for people in the company
(spitting out mailing labels, summarizing data to back up research projects, and so on). My
programming tool at the time was FoxPro 2 by Fox Software (before Microsoft swallowed
them whole).
When I left the insurance company, I began a job-hopping journey (some my own doing,
some the doing of layoffs and mergers) through several industries, including finance, retail,
commercial software development (an antivirus package), and trucking. The main lesson that
I learned during these sojourns was that, even though I was pretty much doing the same
work (cranking out code) for all of these companies, I wasn’t really happy in any job unless I
personally found the industry interesting. Having had this epiphany, I set out to land a job in
the coolest industry I could think of, which brought me to my current (and, I hope, final)
position at the Cleveland Indians’ front office, where I’ve been happily designing in-house
systems for almost five years.
Not being satisfied with developing software a mere eight hours per day, I also write some
code in my spare time. I became enamored with the PC game industry and found myself
writing level-editing programs for games like Doom and Quake. I also wrote my first two
books for Sybex on constructing levels for games. My Quake level editor, qED, enjoyed
modest success as a shrink-wrapped, retail piece of software. I was doubly excited when I was
offered the chance by Sybex to write a book highlighting some of the power of VB .NET for
people just like myself—experienced Visual Basic programmers who want a crash course to
help tackle the learning curve associated with learning the new language.
If something ever does manage to get me away from my PC, it’s usually my wife and two
little girls or a baseball game.

About the Book and CD-ROM

This book is aimed at the experienced Visual Basic programmer. Having stated this, I don’t
spend any time on a “Hello world” program of any type. I also wanted to stay away from the
other extreme, however: writing a complete, fully functional application of some sort and
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
single pane of glass in the centre. The house-servants were neatly
dressed, but the field-hands wore very coarse and ragged garments.
During the three hours, or more, in which I was in company with the
proprietor, I do not think ten consecutive minutes passed
uninterrupted by some of the slaves requiring his personal direction
or assistance. He was even obliged, three times, to leave the dinner-
table.
“You see,” said he, smiling, as he came in the last time, “a farmer’s
life, in this country, is no sinecure.” Then turning the conversation to
slavery, he observed, in answer to a remark of mine, “I only wish
your philanthropists would contrive some satisfactory plan to relieve
us of it; the trouble and the responsibility of properly taking care of
our negroes, you may judge, from what you see yourself here, is
anything but enviable. But what can we do that is better? Our free
negroes—and I believe it is the same at the North as it is here—are
a miserable set of vagabonds, drunken, vicious, worse off, it is my
honest opinion, than those who are retained in slavery. I am
satisfied, too, that our slaves are better off, as they are, than the
majority of your free labouring classes at the North.”
I expressed my doubts.
“Well, they certainly are better off than the English agricultural
labourers, or, I believe, those of any other Christian country. Free
labour might be more profitable to us: I am inclined to think it would
be. The slaves are excessively careless and wasteful, and, in various
ways—which, without you lived among them, you could hardly be
made to understand—subject us to very annoying losses.
“To make anything by farming, here, a man has got to live a hard
life. You see how constantly I am called upon—and, often, it is about
as bad at night as by day. Last night I did not sleep a wink till near
morning; I am quite worn out with it, and my wife’s health is failing.
But I cannot rid myself of it.”
I asked why he did not employ an overseer.
“Because I do not think it right to trust to such men as we have to
use, if we use any, for overseers.”
“Is the general character of overseers bad?”
“They are the curse of this country, sir; the worst men in the
community. * * * * But lately, I had another sort of fellow offer—a
fellow like a dancing-master, with kid gloves, and wrist-bands turned
up over his coat-sleeves, and all so nice, that I was almost ashamed
to talk to him in my old coat and slouched hat. Half a bushel of
recommendations he had with him, too. Well, he was not the man
for me—not half the gentleman, with all his airs, that Ned here is”—
(a black servant, who was bursting with suppressed laughter, behind
his chair).
“Oh, they are interesting creatures, sir,” he continued, “and, with all
their faults, have many beautiful traits. I can’t help being attached to
them, and I am sure they love us.” In his own case, at least, I did
not doubt; his manner towards them was paternal—familiar and
kind; and they came to him like children who have been given some
task, and constantly are wanting to be encouraged and guided,
simply and confidently. At dinner, he frequently addressed the
servant familiarly, and drew him into our conversation as if he were
a family friend, better informed, on some local and domestic points,
than himself.

I have been visiting a coal-pit: the majority of the mining labourers

are slaves, and uncommonly athletic and fine-looking negroes; but a
considerable number of white hands are also employed, and they
occupy all the responsible posts. The slaves are, some of them,
owned by the mining company; but the most are hired of their
owners, at from $120 to $200 a year, the company boarding and
clothing them. (I understood that it was customary to give them a
certain allowance of money and let them find their own board.)
The white hands are mostly English or Welsh. One of them, with
whom I conversed, told me that he had been here several years; he
had previously lived some years at the North. He got better wages
here than he earned at the North, but he was not contented, and did
not intend to remain. On pressing him for the reason of his
discontent, he said, after some hesitation, he would rather live
where he could be more free; a man had to be too “discreet” here: if
one happened to say anything that gave offence, they thought no
more of drawing a pistol or a knife upon him, than they would of
kicking a dog that was in their way. Not long since, a young English
fellow came to the pit, and was put to work along with a gang of
negroes. One morning, about a week afterwards, twenty or thirty
men called on him, and told him that they would allow him fifteen
minutes to get out of sight, and if they ever saw him in those parts
again they would “give him hell.” They were all armed, and there
was nothing for the young fellow to do but to move “right off.”
“What reason did they give him for it?”
“They did not give him any reason.”
“But what had he done?”
“Why, I believe they thought he had been too free with the niggers;
he wasn’t used to them, you see, sir, and he talked to ’em free like,
and they thought he’d make ’em think too much of themselves.”
He said the slaves were very well fed, and well treated—not worked
over hard. They were employed night and day, in relays.
The coal from these beds is of special value for gas manufacture,
and is shipped, for that purpose, to all the large towns on the
Atlantic sea-board, even to beyond Boston. It is delivered to shipping
at Richmond, at fifteen cents a bushel: about thirty bushels go to a
ton.
Petersburg.—The train was advertised to leave at 3.30 p.m. At that
hour the cars were crowded with passengers, and the engineer,
punctually at the minute, gave notice that he was at his post, by a
long, loud whistle of the locomotive. Five minutes afterwards he
gave us an impatient jerk; ten minutes afterwards we advanced
three rods; twelve minutes afterwards, returned to first position:
continued, “backing and filling,” upon the bridge over the rapids of
the James river, for half an hour. At precisely four o’clock, crossed
the bridge and fairly started for Petersburg.
Ran twenty miles in exactly an hour and thirty minutes, (thirteen
miles an hour; mail train, especially recommended by advertisement
as “fast”). Brakes on three times, for cattle on the track; twenty
minutes spent at way-stations. Flat rail. Locomotive built at
Philadelphia. I am informed that most of those used on the road—
perhaps all those of the slow trains—are made at Petersburg.
At one of the stoppages, smoke was to be seen issuing from the
truck of a car. The conductor, on having his attention called to it,
nodded his head sagely, took a morsel of tobacco, put his hands in
his pocket, looked at the truck as if he would mesmerize it, spat
upon it, and then stept upon the platform and shouted, “All right! Go
ahead!” At the next stoppage, the smoking was furious; conductor
bent himself over it with an evidently strong exercise of his will, but
not succeeding to tranquillize the subject at all, he suddenly
relinquished the attempt, and, deserting Mesmer for Preisnitz,
shouted, “Ho! boy! bring me some water here.” A negro soon
brought a quart of water in a tin vessel.
“Hain’t got no oil, Columbus?”
“No, sir.”
“Hum—go ask Mr. Smith for some: this yer’s a screaking so, I
durstn’t go on. You Scott! get some salt. And look here, some of you
boys, get me some more water. D’ye hear?”
Salt, oil, and water, were crowded into the box, and, after five
minutes’ longer delay, we went on, the truck still smoking, and the
water and oil boiling in the box, until we reached Petersburg. The
heat was the result, I suppose, of a neglect of sufficient or timely
oiling. While waiting, in a carriage, for the driver to get my baggage,
I saw a negro oiling all the trucks of the train; as he proceeded from
one to other, he did not give himself the trouble to elevate the outlet
of his oiler, so that a stream of oil, costing probably a dollar and a
half a gallon, was poured out upon the ground the whole length of
the train.
There were, in the train, two first-class passenger cars, and two
freight cars. The latter were occupied by about forty negroes, most
of them belonging to traders, who were sending them to the cotton
States to be sold. Such kind of evidence of activity in the slave trade
of Virginia is to be seen every day; but particulars and statistics of it
are not to be obtained by a stranger here. Most gentlemen of
character seem to have a special disinclination to converse on the
subject; and it is denied, with feeling, that slaves are often reared,
as is supposed by the Abolitionists, with the intention of selling them
to the traders. It appears to me evident, however, from the manner
in which I hear the traffic spoken of incidentally, that the cash value
of a slave for sale, above the cost of raising it from infancy to the
age at which it commands the highest price, is generally considered
among the surest elements of a planter’s wealth. Such a nigger is
worth such a price, and such another is too old to learn to pick
cotton, and such another will bring so much, when it has grown a
little more, I have frequently heard people say, in the street, or the
public-houses. That a slave woman is commonly esteemed least for
her working qualities, most for those qualities which give value to a
brood-mare is, also, constantly made apparent.[13]
By comparing the average decennial ratio of slave increase in all the
States with the difference in the number of the actual slave-
population of the slave-breeding States, as ascertained by the
Census, it is apparent that the number of slaves exported to the
cotton States is considerably more than twenty thousand a year.[14]
While calling on a gentleman occupying an honourable official
position at Richmond, I noticed upon his table a copy of Professor
Johnson’s Agricultural Tour in the United States. Referring to a
paragraph in it, where some statistics of the value of the slaves
raised and annually exported from Virginia were given, I asked if he
knew how these had been obtained, and whether they were
authentic. “No,” he replied, “I don’t know anything about it; but if
they are anything unfavourable to the institution of slavery, you may
be sure they are false.” This is but an illustration, in extreme, of the
manner in which I find a desire to obtain more correct but definite
information, on the subject of slavery, is usually met, by gentlemen
otherwise of enlarged mind and generous qualities.
A gentleman, who was a member of the “Union Safety Committee”
of New York, during the excitement which attended the discussion of
the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, told me that, as he was passing
through Virginia this winter, a man entered the car in which he was
seated, leading in a negro girl, whose manner and expression of face
indicated dread and grief. Thinking she was a criminal, he asked the
man what she had done.
“Done? Nothing.”
“What are you going to do with her?”
“I’m taking her down to Richmond, to be sold.”
“Does she belong to you?”
“No; she belongs to ——; he raised her.”
“Why does he sell her—has she done anything wrong?”
“Done anything? No: she’s no fault, I reckon.”
“Then, what does he want to sell her for?”
“Sell her for! Why shouldn’t he sell her? He sells one or two every
year; wants the money for ’em, I reckon.”
The irritated tone and severe stare with which this was said, my
friend took as a caution not to pursue his investigation.
A gentleman with whom I was conversing on the subject of the cost
of slave labour, in answer to an inquiry—What proportion of all the
stock of slaves of an old plantation might be reckoned upon to do
full work?—answered, that he owned ninety-six negroes; of these,
only thirty-five were field-hands, the rest being either too young or
too old for hard work. He reckoned his whole force as only equal to
twenty-one strong men, or “prime field-hands.” But this proportion
was somewhat smaller than usual, he added, “because his women
were uncommonly good breeders; he did not suppose there was a
lot of women anywhere that bred faster than his; he never heard of
babies coming so fast as they did on his plantation; it was perfectly
surprising; and every one of them, in his estimation, was worth two
hundred dollars, as negroes were selling now, the moment it drew
breath.”
I asked what he thought might be the usual proportion of workers to
slaves, supported on plantations, throughout the South. On the large
cotton and sugar plantations of the more Southern States, it was
very high, he replied; because their hands were nearly all bought
and picked for work; he supposed, on these, it would be about one-
half; but, on any old plantation, where the stock of slaves had been
an inheritance, and none had been bought or sold, he thought the
working force would rarely be more than one-third, at most, of the
whole number.
This gentleman was out of health, and told me, with frankness, that
such was the trouble and annoyance his negroes occasioned him—
although he had an overseer—and so wearisome did he find the
lonely life he led on his plantation, that he could not remain upon it;
and as he knew everything would go to the dogs if he did not, he
was seriously contemplating to sell out, retaining only his foster-
mother and a body servant. He thought of taking them to Louisiana
and Texas, for sale; but, if he should learn that there was much
probability that Lower California would be made a Slave State, he
supposed it would pay him to wait, as probably, if that should occur,
he could take them there and sell them for twice as much as they
would now bring in New Orleans. He knew very well, he said, that,
as they were, raising corn and tobacco, they were paying nothing at
all like a fair interest on their value.[15]
Some of his best hands he now rented out, to work at a furnace,
and for the best of these he had been offered, for next year, two
hundred dollars. He did not know whether he ought to let them go,
though. They were worked hard, and had too much liberty, and were
acquiring bad habits. They earned money by overwork, and spent it
for whisky, and got a habit of roaming about and taking care of
themselves; because when they were not at work in the furnace,
nobody looked out for them.
I begin to suspect that the great trouble and anxiety of Southern
gentlemen is:—How, without quite destroying the capabilities of the
negro for any work at all, to prevent him from learning to take care
of himself.

Petersburg, Dec. 28th.—It was early on a fine, mild, bright morning,

like the pleasantest we ever have in March, that I alighted from a
train of cars, at a country station. Besides the shanty that stood for a
station-house, there was a small, comfortable farm-house on the
right, and a country store on the left, and around them, perhaps,
fifty acres of clear land, now much flooded with muddy water;—all
framed in by thick pine wood.
A few negro children, staring as fixedly and posed as lifelessly as if
they were really figures “carved in ebony,” stood, lay, and lounged
on the sunny side of the ranks of locomotive-firewood; a white man,
smoking a cigar, looked out of the door of the store, and another,
chewing tobacco, leaned against a gate-post in front of the farm-
house; I advanced to the latter, and asked him if I could hire a horse
in the neighbourhood.
“How d’ye do, sir?” he replied, spitting and bowing with ceremony;
“I have some horses—none on ’em very good ones, though—rather
hard riders; reckon, perhaps, they wouldn’t suit you.”
“Thank you; do you think I could find anything better about here?”
“Colonel Gillin, over here to the store, ’s got a right nice saddle-
horse, if he’ll let you take her. I’ll go over there with you, and see if
he will.... Mornin’, Colonel;—here’s a gentleman that wants to go to
Thomas W.’s: couldn’t you let him have your saddle-horse?”
“How do you do, sir; I suppose you’d come back to-night?”
“That’s my intention; but I might be detained till to-morrow, unless it
would be inconvenient to you to spare your horse.”
“Well, yes, sir, I reckon you can have her;—Tom!—Tom!—Tom! Now,
has that devilish nigger gone again? Tom! Oh, Tom! saddle the filly
for this gentleman.——Have you ever been to Mr. W.’s, sir?”
“No, I have not.”
“It isn’t a very easy place for strangers to go to from here; but I
reckon I can direct you, so you’ll have no difficulty.”
He accordingly began to direct me; but the way appeared so difficult
to find, I asked him to let me make a written memorandum, and,
from this memorandum, I now repeat the directions he gave me.
“You take this road here—you’ll see where it’s most travelled, and it’s
easy enough to keep on it for about a mile; then there’s a fork, and
you take the right; pretty soon, you’ll cross a creek and turn to the
right—the creek’s been up a good deal lately, and there’s some big
trees fallen along there, and if they ha’n’t got them out of the way,
you may have some difficulty in finding where the road is; but you
keep bearing off to the right, where it’s the most open (i.e., the
wood), and you’ll see it again pretty soon. Then you go on, keeping
along in the road—you’ll see where folks have travelled before—for
may be a quarter of a mile, and you’ll find a cross road; you must
take that to the left; pretty soon you’ll pass two cabins; one of ’em’s
old and all fallen in, the other one’s new, and there’s a white man
lives into it: you can’t mistake it. About a hundred yards beyond it,
there’s a fork, and you take the left—it turns square off, and it’s
fenced for a good bit; keep along by the fence, and you can’t miss it.
It’s right straight beyond that till you come to a school-house, there’s
a gate opposite to it, and off there there’s a big house—but I don’t
reckon you’ll see it neither, for the woods. But somewhere, about
three hundred yards beyond the school-house, you’ll find a little road
running off to the left through an old field; you take that, and in less
than half a mile you’ll find a path going square off to the right; you
take that, and keep on it till you pass a little cabin in the woods;
ain’t nobody lives there now: then it turns to the left, and when you
come to a fence and a gate, you’ll see a house there, that’s Mr.
George Rivers’ plantation—it breaks in two, and you take the right,
and when you come to the end of the fence, turn the corner—don’t
keep on, but turn there. Then it’s straight, till you come to the creek
again—there’s a bridge there; don’t go over the bridge, but turn to
the left, and keep along nigh the creek, and pretty soon you’ll see a
meeting-house in the woods; you go to that, and you’ll see a path
bearing off to the right—it looks as if it was going right away from
the creek, but you take it, and pretty soon it’ll bring you to a saw-
mill on the creek, up higher a piece; you just cross the creek there,
and you’ll find some people at the mill, and they’ll put you right
straight on the road to Mr. W.’s.”
“How far is it all, sir?”
“I reckon it’s about two hours’ ride, when the roads are good, to the
saw-mill. Mr. W.’s gate is only a mile or so beyond that, and then
you’ve got another mile, or better, after you get to the gate, but
you’ll see some nigger-quarters—the niggers belong to Mr. W., and I
reckon ther’ll be some of ’em round, and they’ll show you just where
to go.”
After reading over my memorandum, and finding it correct, and
agreeing with him that I should pay two dollars a day for the mare,
we walked out, and found her saddled and waiting for me.
I remarked that she was very good looking.
“Yes, sir; she ain’t a bad filly; out of a mare that came of Lady
Rackett by old Lord-knows-who, the best horse we ever had in this
part of the country: I expect you have heard of him. Oh! she’s
maybe a little playful, but you’ll find her a pleasant riding-horse.”
The filly was just so pleasantly playful, and full of well-bred life, as to
create a joyful, healthy, sympathetic, frolicsome heedlessness in her
rider, and, in two hours, we had lost our way, and I was trying to
work up a dead reckoning.
First, we had picked our way from the store down to the brook,
through a deeply corrugated clay-road; then there was the swamp,
with the fallen trees and thick underwood, beaten down and barked
in the miry parts by waggons making a road for themselves, no
traces of which road could we find in the harder, pebbly ground. At
length, when we came to drier land, and among pine trees, we
discovered a clear way cut through them, and a distinct road before
us again; and this brought us soon to an old clearing, just beginning
to be grown over with pines, in which was the old cabin of rotten
logs, one or two of them falling out of rank on the door side, and the
whole concern having a dangerous lurch to one corner, as if too
much whisky had been drunk in it: then a more recent clearing, with
a fenced field and another cabin, the residence of the white man we
were told of, probably. No white people, however, were to be seen,
but two negroes sat in the mouth of a wigwam, husking maize, and
a couple of hungry hounds came bounding over the zig-zag, gateless
fence, as if they had agreed with each other that they would wait no
longer for the return of their master, but would straightway pull
down the first traveller that passed, and have something to eat
before they were quite famished. They stopped short, however,
when they had got within a good cart-whip’s length of us, and
contented themselves with dolefully youping as long as we
continued in sight. We turned the corner, following some slight
traces of a road, and shortly afterwards met a curious vehicular
establishment, probably belonging to the master of the hounds. It
consisted of an axle-tree and wheels, and a pair of shafts made of
unbarked saplings, in which was harnessed, by attachments of raw
hide and rope, a single small black ox. There was a bit, made of
telegraph wire, in his mouth, by which he was guided, through the
mediation of a pair of much-knotted rope reins, by a white man—a
dignified sovereign, wearing a brimless crown—who sat upon a two-
bushel sack (of meal, I trust, for the hounds’ sake), balanced upon
the axle-tree, and who saluted me with a frank “How are you?” as
we came opposite each other.
Soon after this, we reached a small grove of much older and larger
pines than we had seen before, with long and horizontally stretching
branches, and duller and thinner foliage. In the middle of it was
another log cabin, with a door in one of the gable ends, a stove
pipe, half rusted away, protruding from the other, and, in the middle
of one of the sides, a small square port-hole, closed by a wooden
shutter. This must have been the school-house; but there were no
children then about it, and no appearance of there having been any
lately. Near it was a long string of fence, and a gate and lane, which
gave entrance, probably, to a large plantation, though there was no
cultivated land within sight of the road.
I could remember hardly anything after this, except a continuation of
pine trees, big, little, and medium in size, and hogs, and a black,
crooked, burnt sapling, that we had made believe was a snake
springing at us and had jumped away from, and then we had gone
on at a trot—it must have been some time ago, that—and then I was
paying attentions to Jane (the filly’s name was Jane Gillan), and
finally my thoughts had gone wool-gathering, and we must have
travelled some miles out of our way and—“Never mind,” said Jane,
lifting her head, and turning in the direction we had been going, “I
don’t think it’s any great matter if we are lost; such a fine day—so
long since I’ve been out; if you don’t care, I’d just as lief be lost as
not; let’s go on and see what we shall come to.”
“Very well, my beauty; you know the country better than I do. If
you’ll risk your dinner, I’m quite ready to go anywhere you choose to
take me. It’s quite certain we have not passed any meeting-house,
or creek, or saw-mill, or negro-quarters, and, as we have been two
hours on the road, it’s evident we are not going straight to Mr. W.’s; I
must see what we do pass after this,” and I stood up in the stirrups
as we walked on, to see what the country around us was like.
“Old fields”—a coarse, yellow, sandy soil, bearing scarcely anything
but pine trees and broom-sedge. In some places, for acres, the
pines would not be above five feet high—that was land that had
been in cultivation, used up and “turned out,” not more than six or
eight years before; then there were patches of every age;
sometimes the trees were a hundred feet high. At long intervals,
there were fields in which the pine was just beginning to spring in
beautiful green plumes from the ground, and was yet hardly
noticeable among the dead brown grass and sassafras bushes and
blackberry vines, which nature first sends to hide the nakedness of
the impoverished earth.
Of living creatures, for miles, not one was to be seen (not even a
crow or a snow-bird), except hogs. These—long, lank, bony, snake-
headed, hairy, wild beasts—would come dashing across our path, in
packs of from three to a dozen, with short, hasty grunts, almost
always at a gallop, and looking neither to right nor left, as if they
were in pursuit of a fox, and were quite certain to catch him in the
next hundred yards; or droves of little pigs would rise up suddenly in
the sedge, and scamper off squealing into cover, while their heroic
mothers would turn round and make a stand, looking fiercely at us,
as if they were quite ready to fight if we advanced any further, but
always breaking, as we came near, with a loud boosch!
Once I saw a house, across a large, new old field, but it was far off,
and there was no distinct path leading towards it out of the waggon-
track we were following; so we did not go to it, but continued
walking steadily on through the old fields and pine woods for more
than an hour longer.
We then arrived at a grove of tall oak-trees, in the midst of which
ran a brook, giving motion to a small grist-mill. Back of the mill were
two log cabins, and near these a number of negroes, in holiday
clothes, were standing in groups among the trees. When we stopped
one of them came towards us. He wore a battered old hat, stiffly
starched shirt collar, cutting his ears; a red cravat, and an old black
dress coat, threadbare and a little ragged, but adorned with new
brass buttons. He knew Mr. Thomas W., certainly he did, and he
reckoned I had come about four miles (he did not know but it might
be eight, if I thought so) off the road I had been directed to follow.
But that was of no consequence, because he could show me where
to go by a straight road—a cross cut—from here, that would make it
just as quick for me as if I had gone the way I had intended.
“How far is it from here?” I asked.
“Oh, ’taint far, sar.”
“How far do you think?”
“Well, massa, I spec—I spec—(looking at my horse) I spec, massa,
ef you goes de way, sar, dat I show you, sar, I reckon it’ll take you
——”
“How far is it—how many miles?”
“How many miles, sar? ha! masser, I don ’zactly reckon I ken tell ou
—not ’cisely, sar—how many miles it is, not ’zactly, ’cisely, sar.”
“How is that?—you don’t what?”
“I don’t ’zactly reckon I can give you de drection excise about de
miles, sar.”
“Oh! but how many miles do you think it is; is it two miles?”
“Yes, sar; as de roads is now, I tink it is just about two miles. Dey’s
long ones, dough, I reckon.”
“Long ones? you think it’s more than two miles, don’t you, then?”
“Yes, sar, I reckon it’s four or five miles.”
“Four or five! four or five long ones or short ones, do you mean?”
“I don ’zactly know, sar, wedder dey is short ones or long ones, sar,
but I reckon you find em middlin’ long; I spec you’ll be about two
hours ’fore you be done gone all the way to Mass W.’s.”
He walked on with us a few rods upon a narrow path, until we came
to a crossing of the stream; pointing to where it continued on the
other side, he assured me that it went right straight to Mr. W.’s
plantation. “You juss keep de straight road, massar,” he repeated
several times, “and it’ll take you right dar, sar.”
He had been grinning and bowing, and constantly touching his hat,
or holding it in his hand during our conversation, which I understood
to mean, that he would thank me for a dime. I gave it to him, upon
which he repeated his contortions and his form of direction—“Keep
de straight road.” I rode through the brook, and he called out again
—“You keep dat road right straight, and it’ll take you right straight
dar.” I rode up the bank and entered the oak wood, and still again
heard him enjoining me to “keep dat road right straight.”
Within less than a quarter of a mile there was a fork in the road to
the left, which seemed a good deal more travelled than the straight
one; nevertheless I kept the latter, and was soon well satisfied that I
had done so. It presently led me up a slope out of the oak woods
into a dark evergreen forest; and though it was a mere bridle-path,
it must have existed, I thought, before the trees began to grow, for
it was free of stumps, and smooth and clean as a garden walk, and
the pines grew thickly up, about four feet apart, on each side of it,
their branches meeting, just clear of my head, and making a dense
shade. There was an agreeable, slightly balsamic odour in the air;
the path was covered with a deep, elastic mat of pine leaves, so that
our footstep could hardly be heard; and for a time we greatly
enjoyed going along at a lazy, pacing walk of Jane’s. It was noon-
day, and had been rather warmer than was quite agreeable on the
open road, and I took my hat off, and let the living pine leaves brush
my hair. But, after a while, I felt slightly chilly; and when Jane, at
the same time, gave a little sympathizing caper, I bent my head
down, that the limbs might not hit me, until it nearly rested on her
neck, dropped my hands and pressed my knees tightly against her.
Away we bounded!
A glorious gallop Jane had inherited from her noble grandfather!
Out of the cool dark-green alley, at last, and soon, with a more
cautious step, down a steep, stony declivity, set with deciduous trees
—beech, ash, oak, gum—“gum,” beloved of the “minstrels.” A
brawling shallow brook at the bottom, into which our path
descended, though on the opposite shore was a steep high bank,
faced by an impenetrable brake of bush and brier.
Have we been following a path only leading to a watering-place,
then? I see no continuance of it. Jane does not hesitate at all; but,
as if it was the commonest thing here to take advantage of natures
engineering in this way, walking into the water, turns her head up
stream.
For more than a mile we continued following up the brook, which
was all the time walled in by insurmountable banks, overhung by
large trees. Sometimes it swept strongly through a deep channel,
contracted by boulders; sometimes purled and tinkled over a pebbly
slope; and sometimes stood in broad, silent pools, around the edges
of which remained a skirt of ice, held there by bushes and long
broken water-grasses.
At length came pine woods again. Jane was now for leaving the
brook. I let her have her own way, and she soon found a beaten
track in the woods. It certainly was not the “straight road” we had
been directed to follow; but its course was less crooked than that of
the brook, and after some time it led us out into a more open
country, with young pines and enclosed fields. Eventually we came
to a gate and lane, which we followed till we came to another cross-
lane leading straight to a farm-house.
As soon as we turned into the cross-lane, half a dozen little negro
boys and girls were seen running toward the house, to give alarm.
We passed a stable, with a cattle-pen by its side, opposite which was
a vegetable garden, enclosed with split palings; then across a
running stream of water; then by a small cabin on the right; and a
corn-crib and large pen, with a number of fatting hogs in it, on the
left; then into a large, irregular yard, in the midst of which was the
farm-house, before which were now collected three white children,
six black ones, two negro women, and an old lady wearing
spectacles.
“How dy do, sir?” said the old lady, as we reined up, lifted our hat,
and put our black foot foremost.
“Thank you, madam, quite well; but I have lost my way to Mr.
Thomas W.’s, and will trouble you to tell me how to go from here to
get to his house.”
By this time a black man came cautiously walking in from the field
back of the house, bringing an axe; a woman, who had been
washing clothes in the brook, left her work and came up on the
other side, and two more girls climbed up on to a heap of logs that
had been thrown upon the ground, near the porch, for fuel. The
swine were making a great noise in their pen, as if feeding-time had
come; and a flock of turkeys were gobbling so incessantly and loudly
that I was not heard. The old lady ordered the turkeys to be driven
away, but nobody stirred to do it, and I rode nearer and repeated
my request. No better success. “Can’t you shew away them
turkeys?” she asked again; but nobody “shewed.” A third time I
endeavoured to make myself understood. “Will you please direct me
how to go to Mr. W.’s?”
“No, sir—not here.”
“Excuse me—I asked if you would direct me to Mr. W.’s.”
“If some of you niggers don’t shew them turkeys, I’ll have you all
whipped as soon as your mass John comes home,” exclaimed the old
lady, now quite excited. The man with the axe, without moving
towards them at all, picked up a billet of wood, and threw it at the
biggest cock-turkey, who immediately collapsed; and the whole flock
scattered, chased by the two girls who had been on the log-heap.
“An’t dat Colonel Gillin’s mare, master?” asked the black man,
coming up on my left.
“You want to go to Thomas W.’s?” asked the old lady.
“Yes, madam.”
“It’s a good many years since I have been to Thomas W.’s, and I
reckon I can’t tell you how to go there now.”
“If master’ll go over to Missy Abler’s, I reckon dey ken tell ’em dah,
sar.”
“And how shall I go to Mrs. Abler’s?”
“You want to go to Missy Abler’s; you take dat path right over ’yond
dem bars, dar, by de hog-pen, dat runs along by dat fence into de
woods, and dat’ll take you right straight dar.”
“Is you come from Colonel Gillin’s, massa?” asked the wash-woman.
“Yes.”
“Did you see a black man dar, dey calls Tom, sar?”
“Yes.”
“Tom’s my husband, massa; if you’s gwine back dah, wish you’d tell
um, ef you please, sar, dat I wants to see him partiklar; will ou,
massa?”
“Yes.”
“Tank you, massa.”
I bowed to the old lady, and, in turning to ride off, saw two other
negro boys who had come out of the woods, and were now leaning
over the fence, and staring at us, as if I were a giant and Jane was a
dragoness.
We trotted away, found the path, and in course of a mile had our
choice of at least twenty forks to go “straight to Mrs. Abler’s.” At
length, cleared land again, fences, stubble-fields and a lane, that
took us to a little cabin, which fronted, much to my surprise, upon a
broad and well-travelled road. Over the door of the cabin was a sign,
done in black, upon a hogshead stave, showing that it was a
“Grosery,” which, in Virginia, means the same thing as in Ireland—a
dram-shop.
I hung the bridle over a rack before the door, and walked in. At one
end of the interior was a range of shelves, on which were two
decanters, some dirty tumblers, a box of crackers, a canister, and
several packages in paper; under the shelves a table and a barrel. At
the other end of the room was a fire-place; near this, a chest, and
another range of shelves, on which stood plates and cooking
utensils: between these and the grocery end were a bed and a
spinning-wheel. Near the spinning-wheel sat a tall, bony, sickly,
sullen young woman, nursing a languishing infant. The faculty would
not have discouraged either of them from trying hydropathic
practice. In a corner of the fire-place sat a man, smoking a pipe. He
rose, as I entered, walked across to the grocery-shelves, turned a
chair round at the table, and asked me to take a seat. I excused
myself, and requested him to direct me to Mr. W.’s. He had heard of
such a man living somewhere about there, but he did not know
where. He repeated this, with an oath, when I declined to “take”
anything, and added, that he had not lived here long, and he was
sorry he had ever come here. It was the worst job, for himself, ever
he did, when he came here, though all he wanted was to just get a
living.
I rode on till I came to another house, a very pleasant little house,
with a steep, gabled roof, curving at the bottom, and extending over
a little gallery, which was entered, by steps, from the road; back of it
were stables and negro-cabins, and by its side was a small garden,
and beyond that a peach-orchard. As I approached it, a well-dressed
young man, with an intelligent and pleasant face, came out into the
gallery. I asked him if he could direct me to Mr. W.’s. “Thomas W.’s?”
he inquired.
“Yes, sir.”
“You are not going in the right direction to go to Mr. W.’s. The
shortest way you can take to go there is, to go right back to the
Court House.”
I told him I had just come out of the lane by the grocery on to the
road. “Ah! well, I’ll tell you; you had better turn round, and keep
right straight upon this road till you get to the Court House, and
anybody can tell you, there, how to go.”
“How far is it, sir?”
“To the Court House?—not above a mile.”
“And to Mr. W.’s?”
“To Mr. W.’s, I should think it was as much as ten miles, and long
ones, too.”
I rode to the Court House, which was a plain brick building in the
centre of a small square, around which there were twenty or thirty
houses, two of them being occupied as stores, one as a saddler’s
shop, one had the sign of “Law Office” upon it; one was a jail; two
were occupied by physicians, one other looked as if it might be a
meeting-house or school-house, or the shop of any mechanic
needing much light for his work, and two were “Hotels.” At one of
these we stopped to dine; Jane had “corn and fodder” (they had no
oats or hay in the stable), and I had ham and eggs (they had no
fresh meat in the house). I had several other things, however, that
were very good, besides the company of the landlady, who sat alone
with me, at the table, in a long, dining hall, and was very pretty,
amiable, and talkative.
In a course of apologies, which came in the place of soup, she gave
me the clue to the assemblage of negroes I had seen at the mill. It
was Christmas week; all the servants thought they must go, for at
least one day, to have a frolic, and to-day (as luck would have it,
when I was coming) her cook was off with some others; she did not
suppose they’d be back till to-morrow, and then, likely as not, they’d
be drunk. She did not think this custom, of letting servants go so, at
Christmas, was a good one; niggers were not fit to be let to take
care of themselves, anyhow. It was very bad for them, and she
didn’t think it was right. Providence had put the servants into our
hands to be looked out for, and she didn’t believe it was intended
they should be let to do all sorts of wickedness, even if Christmas
did come but once a year. She wished, for her part, it did not come
but once in ten years.
(The negroes, that were husking maize near the cabin where the
white man lived, were, no doubt, slaves, who had hired themselves
out by the day, during the holiday-week, to earn a little money on
their own account.)
In regard to the size of the dining-hall, and the extent of sheds in
the stable-yard, the landlady told me that though at other times they
very often did not have a single guest in a day, at “Court time” they
always had more than they could comfortably accommodate. I
judged, also, from her manners and the general appearance of the
house, as well as from the charges, that, at such times, the
company might be of a rather respectable character. The appearance
of the other public-house indicated that it expected a less select
patronage.
When I left, my direction was to keep on the main road until I came
to a fork, about four miles distant, then take the left, and keep the
best-travelled road, until I came to a certain house, which was so
described that I should know it, where I was advised to ask further
directions.
The sky was now clouding over; it was growing cold; and we went
on, as fast as we conveniently could, until we reached the fork in the
road. The direction to keep the best-travelled road, was unpleasantly
prominent in my mind; it was near sunset, I reflected, and however
jolly it might be at twelve o’clock at noon, it would be quite another
thing to be knocking about among those fierce hogs in the pine-
forest, if I should be lost, at twelve o’clock at night. Besides, as the
landlady said about her negroes, I did not think it was right to
expose Jane to this danger, unnecessarily. A little beyond the fork,
there was a large, gray, old house, with a grove of tall poplars before
it; a respectable, country-gentleman-of-the-old-school look it had.—
These old Virginians are proverbially hospitable.—It’s rather
impudent; but I hate to go back to the Court House, and I am——I
will ride on, and look it in the face, at any rate.
Zigzag fences up to a large, square yard, growing full of Lombardy
poplar sprouts, from the roots of eight or ten old trees, which were
planted some fifty years ago, I suppose, in a double row, on two
sides of the house. At the further end of this yard, beyond the
house, a gate opened on the road, and out of this was just then
coming a black man.
I inquired of him if there was a house, near by, at which I could get
accommodation for the night. Reckoned his master’d take me in, if
I’d ask him. Where was his master? In the house: I could go right in
here (at a place where a panel of the paling had fallen over) and see
him if I wanted to. I asked him to hold my horse, and went in.
It was a simple two-story house, very much like those built by the
wealthier class of people in New England villages, from fifty to a
hundred years ago, except that the chimneys were carried up
outside the walls. There was a porch at the front door, and a small
wing at one end, in the rear: from this wing to the other end
extended a broad gallery.
A dog had been barking at me after I had dismounted; and just as I
reached the steps of the gallery, a vigorous, middle-aged man, with
a rather sullen and suspicious expression of face, came out without
any coat on, to see what had excited him.
Doubting if he were the master of the house, I told him that I had
come in to inquire if it would be convenient to allow me to spend the
night with them. He asked where I came from, where I was going
to, and various other questions, until I had given him an epitome of
my day’s wanderings and adventures; at the conclusion of which he
walked to the end of the gallery to look at my horse; then, without
giving me any answer, but muttering indistinctly something about
servants, walked into the house, shutting the door behind him!
Well, thought I, this is not overwhelmingly hospitable. What can it
mean?
While I was considering whether he expected me to go without any
further talk—his curiosity being, I judged, satisfied—he came out
again, and said, “Reckon you can stay, sir, if you’ll take what we’ll
give you.” (The good man had been in to consult his wife.) I replied
that I would do so thankfully, and hoped they would not give
themselves any unnecessary trouble, or alter their usual family
arrangements. I was then invited to come in, but I preferred to see
my horse taken care of first. My host called for “Sam,” two or three
times, and then said he reckoned all his “people” had gone off, and
he would attend to my horse himself. I offered to assist him, and we
walked out to the gate, where the negro, not being inclined to wait
for my return, had left Jane fastened to a post. Our host conducted
us to an old square log-cabin which had formerly been used for
curing tobacco, there being no room for Jane, he said, in the stables
proper.
The floor of the tobacco-house was covered with lumber, old
ploughs, scythes and cradles, a part of which had to be removed to
make room for the filly to stand. She was then induced, with some
difficulty, to enter it through a low, square doorway; saddle and
bridle were removed, and she was fastened in a corner by a piece of
old plough-line. We then went to a fodder-stack, and pulled out from
it several small bundles of maize leaves. Additional feed and water
were promised when “some of the niggers” came in; and, after
righting up an old door that had fallen from one hinge, and setting a
rail against it to keep it in its place, we returned to the house.
My host (whom I will call Mr. Newman) observed that his buildings
and fences were a good deal out of order. He had owned the place
but a few years, and had not had time to make much improvement
about the house yet.
Entering the mansion, he took me to a large room on the first floor,
gave me a chair, went out and soon returned (now wearing a coat)
with two negro girls, one bringing wood and the other some flaming
brands. A fire was made with a great deal of trouble, scolding of the
girls, bringing in more brands, and blowing with the mouth. When
the room had been suffocatingly filled with smoke, and at length a
strong bright blaze swept steadily up the chimney, Mr. Newman
again went out with the girls, and I was left alone for nearly an hour,
with one interruption, when he came in and threw some more wood
upon the fire, and said he hoped I would make myself comfortable.
It was a square room, with a door from the hall on one side, and
two windows on each of the other sides. The lower part of the walls
was wainscoted, and the upper part, with the ceiling, plastered and
whitewashed. The fire-place and mantel-piece were somewhat
carved, and were painted black; all the wood-work lead colour. Blue
paper curtains covered the windows; the floor was uncarpeted, and
the only furniture in the room was some strong plain chairs, painted
yellow, and a Connecticut clock, which did not run. The house had
evidently been built for a family of some wealth, and, after having
been deserted by them, had been bought at a bargain by the
present resident, who either had not the capital or the inclination to
furnish and occupy it appropriately.
When my entertainer called again, he merely opened the door and
said, “Come! get something to eat!” I followed him out into the
gallery, and thence through a door at its end into a room in the wing
—a family room, and a very comfortable homely room. A bountifully
spread supper-table stood in the centre, at which was sitting a very
neat, pretty little woman, of as silent habits as her husband, but
neither bashful nor morose. A very nice little girl sat at her right
side, and a peevish, ill-behaved, whining glutton of a boy at her left.
I was requested to be seated adjoining the little girl, and the master
of the house sat opposite me. The fourth side of the table was
unoccupied, though a plate and chair were placed there, as if some
one else had been expected.
The two negro girls waited at table, and a negro boy was in the
room, who, when I asked for a glass of water, was sent to get it. An
old negro woman also frequently came in from the kitchen, with hot
biscuit and corn-cake. There was fried fowl, and fried bacon and
eggs, and cold ham; there were preserved peaches, and preserved
quinces and grapes; there was hot wheaten biscuit, and hot short-
cake, and hot corn-cake, and hot griddle cakes, soaked in butter;
there was coffee, and there was milk, sour or sweet, whichever I
preferred to drink, I really ate more than I wanted, and extolled the
corn-cake and the peach preserve, and asked how they were made;
but I evidently disappointed my pretty hostess, who said she was
afraid there wasn’t anything that suited me,—she feared there
wasn’t anything on the table I could eat; and she was sorry I
couldn’t make out a supper. And this was about all she would say. I
tried to get a conversation started, but could obtain little more than
very laconic answers to my questions.
Except from the little girl at my side, whose confidence I gained by
taking an opportunity, when her mother was engaged with young
Hopeful t’other side the coffee-pot, to give her a great deal of quince
and grape, and by several times pouring molasses very freely on her
cakes and bacon; and finally by feeding Pink out of my hand.
(Hopeful had done this first, and then kicked him away, when he
came round to Martha and me.) She told me her name, and that she
had got a kitten, and that she hated Pink; and that she went to a
Sunday-school at the Court House, and that she was going to go to
an every-day school next winter—she wasn’t big enough to walk so
far now, but she would be then. But Billy said he didn’t mean to go,
because he didn’t like to, though Billy was bigger nor she was, a
heap. She reckoned when Billy saw Wash. Baker going past every
day, and heard how much fun he had every day with the other boys
at the school, he would want to go too, wouldn’t he? etc. etc. When
supper was ended, I set back my chair to the wall, and took her on
my knee; but after she had been told twice not to trouble the
gentleman, and I had testified that she didn’t do it, and after several
mild hints that I would perhaps find it pleasanter in the sitting-room
—(the chairs in the supper-room were the easiest, being country-
made, low, and seated with undressed calf-skin), she was called to,
out of the kitchen, and Mr. Newman said—going to the door and
opening it for me—“Reckon you’d better walk into the sittin’-room,
sir.”
I walked out at this, and said I would go and look at the filly. Mr.
Newman called “Sam” again, and Sam, having at that moment
arrived at the kitchen door, was ordered to go and take care of this
gentleman’s horse. I followed Sam to the tobacco-house, and gave
him to know that he would be properly remembered for any
attentions he could give to Jane. He watered her, and brought her a
large supply of oats in straw, and some maize on the cob; but he
could get no litter, and declared there was no straw on the
plantation, though the next morning I saw a large quantity in a heap
(not a stack), at a little greater distance than he was willing to go for
it, I suppose, at a barn on the opposite side of the road. Having
seen her rubbed clean and apparently well contented with her
quarters and her supper, I bade her good-night, and returned to the
house.
I did not venture again into the supper-room, but went to the
sitting-room, where I found Miss Martha Ann and her kitten; I was
having a good time with her, when her father came in and told her
she was “troubling the gentleman.” I denied it, and he took a seat by
the fire with us, and I soon succeeded in drawing him into a
conversation on farming, and the differences in our methods of work
at the North and those he was accustomed to.
I learned that there were no white labouring men here who hired
themselves out by the month. The poor white people that had to
labour for their living, never would work steadily at any employment.
“They generally followed boating”—hiring as hands on the bateaus
that navigate the small streams and canals, but never for a longer
term at once than a single trip of a boat, whether that might be long
or short. At the end of the trip they were paid by the day. Their
wages were from fifty cents to a dollar, varying with the demand and
individual capacities. They hardly ever worked on farms except in
harvest, when they usually received a dollar a day, sometimes more.
In harvest-time, most of the rural mechanics closed their shops and
hired out to the farmers at a dollar a day, which would indicate that
their ordinary earnings are considerably less than this. At other than
harvest-time, the poor white people, who had no trade, would
sometimes work for the farmers by the job; not often any regular
agricultural labour, but at getting rails or shingles, or clearing land.
He did not know that they were particular about working with
negroes, but no white man would ever do certain kinds of work
(such as taking care of cattle, or getting water or wood to be used in
the house); and if you should ask a white man you had hired, to do
such things, he would get mad and tell you he wasn’t a nigger. Poor
white girls never hired out to do servants’ work, but they would
come and help another white woman about her sewing and quilting,
and take wages for it. But these girls were not very respectable
generally, and it was not agreeable to have them in your house,
though there were some very respectable ladies that would go out
to sew. Farmers depended almost entirely upon their negroes; it was
only when they were hard pushed by their crops, that they ever got
white hands to help them.
Negroes had commanded such high wages lately, to work on
railroads and in tobacco-factories, that farmers were tempted to hire
out too many of their people, and to undertake to do too much work
with those they retained; and thus they were often driven to employ
white men, and to give them very high wages by the day, when they
found themselves getting much behind-hand with their crops. He
had been driven very hard in this way this last season; he had been
so unfortunate as to lose one of his best women, who died in child-
bed just before harvest. The loss of the woman and her child, for the
child had died also, just at that time, came very hard upon him. He
would not have taken a thousand dollars of any man’s money for
them. He had had to hire white men to help him, but they were poor
sticks, and would be half the time drunk, and you never know what
to depend upon with them. One fellow that he had hired, who had
agreed to work for him all through harvest, got him to pay him some
wages in advance (he said it was to buy him some clothes with, so
that he could go to meeting on Sunday, at the Court House), and
went off the next day, right in the middle of harvest, and he had
never seen him since. He had heard of him—he was on a boat—but
he didn’t reckon he should ever get his money again.
Of course, he did not see how white labourers were ever going to
come into competition with negroes here, at all. You never could
depend on white men, and you couldn’t drive them any; they
wouldn’t stand it. Slaves were the only reliable labourers—you could
command them and make them do what was right.
From the manner in which he talked of the white labouring people, it
was evident that, although he placed them in some sort on an
equality with himself, and that in his intercourse with them he
wouldn’t think of asserting for himself any superior dignity, or even
feel himself to be patronizing them in not doing so, yet he, all the
time, recognized them as a distinct and a rather despicable class,
and wanted to have as little to do with them as he conveniently
could.
I have been once or twice told that the poor white people, meaning
those, I suppose, who bring nothing to market to exchange for
money but their labour, although they may own a cabin and a little
furniture, and cultivate land enough to supply themselves with
(maize) bread, are worse off in almost all respects than the slaves.
They are said to be extremely ignorant and immoral, as well as
indolent and unambitious. That their condition is not so unfortunate
by any means as that of negroes, however, is most obvious, since
from among them, men sometimes elevate themselves to positions
and habits of usefulness, and respectability. They are said to
“corrupt” the negroes, and to encourage them to steal, or to work
for them at night and on Sundays, and to pay them with liquor, and
also to constantly associate licentiously with them, They seem,
nevertheless, more than any other portion of the community, to hate
and despise the negroes.
In the midst of our conversation, one of the black girls had come
into the room and stood still with her head dropped forward, staring
at me from under her brows, without saying a word. When she had
waited, in this way, perhaps two minutes, her master turned to her
and asked what she wanted.
“Miss Matty says Marta Ann go to bed now.”
But Martha Ann refused to budge; after being told once or twice by
her father to go with Rose, she came to me and lifted up her hands,
I supposed to kiss me and go, but when I reached down, she took
hold of my shoulders and climbed up on to my knees. Her father
seemed to take no notice of this proceeding, but continued talking
about guano; Rose went to a corner of the fire-place, dropped down
upon the floor, and presently was asleep, leaning her head against
the wall. In about half an hour the other negro girl came to the door,
when Mr. Newman abruptly called out, “Girl! take that child to bed!”
and immediately got up himself and walked out. Rose roused herself,
and lifted Martha Ann out of my arms, and carried her off fast
asleep. Mr. Newman returned holding a small candle, and, without
entering the room, stood at the door and said, “I’ll show you your
bed if you are ready, sir.” As he evidently meant, “I am ready to
show you to bed if you will not refuse to go,” I followed him up
stairs.
Into a large room, again, with six windows, with a fireplace, in which
a few brands were smoking, with some wool spread thinly upon the
floor in a corner; with a dozen small bundles of tobacco leaves; with
a lady’s saddle; with a deep feather-bed, covered with a bright
patch-work quilt, on a maple bedstead, and without a single item of
any other furniture whatever. Mr. Newman asked if I wanted the
candle to undress by; I said yes, if he pleased, and waited a moment
for him to set it down: as he did not do so, I walked towards him,
lifting my hand to take it. “No—I’ll hold it,” said he, and I then
perceived that he had no candlestick, but held the lean little dip in
his hand: I remembered also that no candle had been brought into
the “sitting-room,” and that while we were at supper only one candle
had stood upon the table, which had been immediately extinguished
when we rose, the room being lighted only from the fire.
I very quickly undressed and hung my clothes upon a bedpost: Mr.
Newman looked on in silence until I had got into bed, when, with an
abrupt “Good-night, sir,” he went out and shut the door.
It was not until after I had consulted Sam the next morning that I
ventured to consider that my entertainment might be taken as a
mere business transaction, and not as “genuine planters hospitality,”
though this had become rather a ridiculous view of it, after a
repetition of the supper, in all respects, had been eaten for
breakfast, with equal moroseness on the part of my host and equal
quietness on the part of his kind-looking little wife. I was,
nevertheless, amused at the promptness with which he replied to my
rather hesitating inquiry—what I might pay him for the trouble I had
given him—“I reckon a dollar and a quarter will be right, sir.”

I have described, perhaps with tedious prolixity, what adventures

befell me, and what scenes I passed through in my first day’s
random riding, for the purpose of giving an idea of the uncultivated
and unimproved—rather, sadly worn and misused—condition of
some parts, and I judge, of a very large part, of all Eastern Virginia,
and of the isolated, lonely, and dissociable aspect of the dwelling-
places of a large part of the people. I subsequently rode for three
weeks in Eastern and Central Virginia, the country differing not very
greatly in its characteristics from that here described.
Much the same general characteristics pervade the Slave States,
everywhere, except in certain rich regions, or on the banks of some
rivers, or in the vicinity of some great routes of travel and
transportation, which have occasioned closer settlement or
stimulated public spirit. For hours and hours one has to ride through
the unlimited, continual, all-shadowing, all-embracing forest,
following roads, in the making of which no more labour has been
given than was necessary to remove the timber which would
obstruct the passage of waggons; and even for days and days he
may sometimes travel, and see never two dwellings of mankind
within sight of each other; only, at long distances, often several
miles asunder, these isolated plantation patriarchates. If a traveller
leaves the main road to go any distance, it is not to be imagined