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the FLOWERS COUECTI
BRIARFIILLD, Broad Manorial Domain of Jefferson Davis
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Wrti-*en ;
By HELEN GRAY.
CAe Sonny South
i EH IT A PS some da y pilgrim-
apos to ’’Briorflald” will bo
as much tho vogue as they
now .are to Mt. Vernon or
to Jamestown, for here
Jefferson Davis lived the
life of a southern planter,
reveling: in ills magnificent
library, rkllng out over his
boundless cotton fields, be
loved of his slaves, as
those on the place testify
to this day.
In ante-bellum times
TT. ? southern planter lived like an Eng
lish lord, and the old negroes say Brier-
field is “’mighty changed." Then there
was a beautiful flower garden. In which
every variety of rose grew, the pride of
Mrs. Davis, who is a great flower lover.
The Cherokee rose flourished in all its
magnificent splendor. There are beauti
ful clumps of It yet to be seen. The
negro quarters were kept in perfect or
der. Each slave had a certain work to
perform. One went a-tlshing and anoth
er a-hunting. If a deer was killed, some
of it found its way to the quarters. The
hands on the plantation fed on fresh
fish and game like the white folks did.
The vegetable garden was immense and
all the surplus vegetables were sent to
the mess house, where the food of the ne
groes was cooked in a great big oveu
Each negro had the privilege of having
a kitchen and flower garden around his
cabin, and the smart ones always availed
themselves of this privilege. They had
their peach trees and fig trees and raised
“water millions” as many as they pleas
ed. Sweet potatoes were fed them in
abundance. They were never restricted
in the gathering of pecans, which they
would often sell to the white people.
'Ola Uncle Ned," Slave of Hon. Jefferson Davis, Still Living on Brierfield
Plantation.
With all due respect to Booker Wash
ington, who, in his “Up from Slavery,”
condones his mother's stealing chickens
for her children, it was a sorry planta
tion when every industrious negro could
not have his own poultry yard.
Mississippi has been called the home of
princely plantations. Some idea of the
ideal life on these vast estates In a.nte-
bedum days can be had even now. When
one has busked a day or two beneath the
smiling sun of Brierfield, listened to its
mocking birds and gazed over its fields
of fleecy cotton, ho feels somewhat as
did Ulysses and his followers when they
reached the land of the lotus-eaters—
serenely content, blissfully oblivious to
the outer world.
Brierfield plantation lies to the south of
Vicksburg, some twenty miles, on an is
land known as Davis Bend. It fronts a
very beautiful lake called Palmyra lake,
■which Is twenty-five miles in circumfer
ence. one of the many lakes formed by
a Mississippi cut-off. There are four
large plantations on the island. -The
Uovell plantation. whch boasts the
greatest number of acres; "Hurricane,” to
the right of "Brierfield,” formerly the
home of Mr. Joe Davis, and "Ursula,”
the county convict farm, which is con
tiguous on the other side. "Brierfield.”
which is owned by Mrs. Davis and man
aged for her by Mr. Anto-inne Couviilon.
is composed of 2.380 acres, some of it
timber land. It is in a fine state of cul
tivation.
You should see Palmyra lake at sun
set, as I did. The isteamer Elk, captain
ed by a descendant of the famous Verger
family of Mississippi, reached Davis
landing as the sun, a great ball of fire,
was sinking behind the fringe of brown
trees that encircle It. It was high water
time, and the cotton outside the levee ap
peared growing out of the water. In the
center of the lake Is a bit of a.n island,,
near which is a sunken gunboat, sunk by
the federals when they withdrew from"
Hurricane and Brierfield. which were
used by them as hospitals during the
siege of Vicksburg. Many federal sol
diers are buried at Hurricane outside
levee., whirls wvis c-ai'rd by *hcm the c,>;
rail. A few years ago. when work wr s
being done along here, S500 was dug up.
It had probably been bidden in the. belt ,
of some soldier where he was buried.
Brierfield house was built in IS-’e or
l£47. Mr. Davis, who was congress
man. and three times senator from
Mississippi, spent much of liis time in
Washington, but out of every vea.r a
f- w months were spent at Brierfield.
BROAD SCALE EVERYWHERE.
The house Is typical of plantation
homes. A very wide hall runs through
the center, on either side of which are
gioat rooms with very high ceilings,
and doors so tall as to make you won
der. These rooms in return are flank
ed bv other rooms.
In front of the house is a beautiful
grove of live oaks and pecan trees, gar
landed in moss and mistletoes. Some
of the trees on the place were planted
by Mrs. Davis, who has always been
fond of Brierfield. Two pir.e saplings,
which she brought from South Carolina,
nr.w stand, slim and graceful at the
right of the house; and an oak tree at
the left sprang from a little acorn that
the once held in her hand.
Hospitality? You don’t know what it
is until you have been on a Mississippi
plantation. What wonder that there are
no carpets of velvet or curtains of silk.
You. rich friend, would be without yours
were you as generous!
There, are few things more beautiful
than a field of biooming cotton. Just
mount same gentle steed, on a balmy
afternoon, as I did. and ride over Brier-
1 eld plantation, stopping h»-ro and there,
now and then, to converse with a little
group of pickers who are gathering the
fleecy staple into the bags suspended
from their shoulders. All about you is a
sea of cotton. Nothing obstructs the
horizon save the fringe of brown trees
away in the distance. You are fascinated
by the vastness. The warm sun brings
out your good nature; the birds are
singing; your companion, the lovely
daughter of the house, makes the most
unselfish of hostesses, you feel thrice
thankful you are living.
Don i. forget the cotton gin. for you
hardly know the real beauty of cotton
until you have seen it rolling from the
condenser, snowy and beautiful and sej>-
araied from the cotton seed. Your gown,
perhaps, may suffer from the contact
ot too much cotton, but you forget it as
. -'U watch that “nigger” literally bur
inf. h asieH beneath a snowy mas|~ wb'Y, ’
ho carries to the press.
Sometimes when the steam dies down
the gin whistle is heard in the dead of
night, when the old negroes think it is
the spirit of “massa.” They have been
heard to say:
“Dar goes do whistle! Massa Jeff sut-
teniy is worritin’ ’bout something.”
Perhaps, you will be invited to a
“chase” on the convict farm, during your
visit to Brierfield. The day is fair, the
horses ready, the bloodhounds free, the
darky in the tree. He enjoys the fun
as much as you do.
THE OLD GUARD.
When night comes, perhaps, “John
Graham.” guitar in hand, will drop in
and charm the family circle with ’"The
Spanish Fandango” or “Black Annie."
Or, perhaps, “Uncle George Green." wh >
wishes he were a slave again, will hap
pen in to pay his respects. Uncle Georg--
lias a line face, and manners to match.
He was born on Hurricane- plantation
when Brierfield was put up.
“Then 1 had somebody to take k- - r
of me,” he says; •C’now I nave to work
like the mischief. Yes, I wish I were
back in those days. I never had noth
ing to complain of. No better man ever
lived than Massa Jeff."
“Bloodhounds? Were there any. Uncle
George?”
“No. marm; whoever tells that tells a
darned lie.’’
“i.ncie Ned” is another picturesque
character. He once was a slave, of
“Massa Jeff,” and proud he is of it. He
'•■i;i tell you that he feels right smart
lonely sometimes when he think= of all
those gone before. Ho will Tell you.
too. of the time when he got in to a
fight with a yankee soldier, when he
was taken into service., because the
soldier told him they were going to ’ ».ang
Jeff Davis.”
I licit: Ned is feeling right “po’ly” now.
and it rnay not be long before hi? time
will mine to “go where the good mg-
I'-rhaps. some old negro On the place
wiii whisper to you that in war times
’Massa Jeff's” picture was taken out of
the house, placed on a fence and ri-idled
with bullets.
Some of the negroes have right marvel
ous names. Vlbert Sidney Johnson • ado
my fire in the morning. George ” asn-
ington Abraham Lincoln Napoleon Bona
parte works in the plantation store, and
Marina Anne Davis is as neat a. little
pickaninny us you ever saw.
’Brierfield'
Plantation, Home of Hon. Jefferson Davis. Now Ownefl ay
Mrs. Davis.
Chronicles Paul Yclvcrton, Adventurer Y ja i 11 ft
Being TKird o/ a Series of Eight Short Stories, Each Complete, Yet All U* M.J5&.M- V V-w » V A Wr W ^ ^ Jia. A A
Written Around One Character
By DEREK VANE.
THE COST OF A. JEST.
KFORE Paul Yelverton
made his great fortune be
had many curious experi
ences. One of the most
curious occurred in Sou’i.l
Africa.
At the time he possessed
only a comparatively small
sum of money, but Ik- was
known in the mining camp
where he was working as
a lucky man and a man
of judgment and influence.
Hi- was sitting at the door
of 'nls tent late one evening, smoking a
pipe, when his attention was roused by
a peculiar noise close at hand. He lis
tened intently, but he did not stop
smoking.
A crescent moon faintly illuminated the
great brown plain, dotted with tents, and
glittered on the corrugated iron roof of
the New Hush Saloon, which seemed to
have monopolized all the life and laugh
ter of the place. Paul Yelverton’s bril
liant dark eyes were fixed on a certain
spot, though lie bad not turned Ills head,
and. very gradually, the faint impression
grew more distinct, as though it were
coming nearer.
“It's all right, governor," n voice whis
pered. “Don’t shoot.”
“Who are you, and what do you want?”
Yelverton asked In a low rone, and *ne
shining muzzle of his revolver was still
pointed at the creeping figure of a man
who had dragged himself almost to his
feet.
’ I'll explain everything If you’ll let me
come Inside,’’ the hoarse voice answered.
"I - can’t say a. word here, you don’t
know who might be listening. I’ve come
to you first, but there’s be plenty to give
me a welcome.,) . T can put you on to a
good thing.”
“Coni-: in,” Yelverton said curtly, after
a moment, and he motioned the man to
precede him. and then fastened down the
door of his tent, which he occupied alone.
His right hand was in iiis coat pocket,
he could shoot almost as conveniently
that way is any oth r.
“Now where do you eome from?”
“I’ve been working on the other side
or the hills, i kn w it was no use coining
here, where every bit of ground worth
having was already taken up, so I
thought 1 would strike out in a new line
on my own account. I did no good until
this morning, when my luck suddenly
turned. I found gold.
“1 was half crazy with joy and when I
had staked out my claim I lay the rest
of the day woml- ring what it would he
best to do. I saw the stuff was there
thick • nougli to mean a little fortune
to any one who could get at it. 1 Knew
1 couldn’t work the thing by myself—as
1 should have liked—for I have no money
to pay for labor or food, so I came to
the conclusion I must sell. And as you’re
the richest man about here I’ve come to
you.”
“Of course I can say nothing until I
have seen the place,” Yelverton replied.
“I suppose you are quite willing for me
to make a thorough inspection? You
may be honest, or you may not. I know
nothing about you."
“You can come the first thing tomor
row morning, governor, and look about
as much as you like,” the man answer
er; "I shouldn’t be such a fool as to
try any tricks on an old hand like
you ”
Yelverton mad- a careful Inspection of
the claim, and in several places found
parlieh s of gold •■mbedded in the quartz,
which pointed to the probability of rich
ve'iis. All the conditions were favora-
I ;<-; it was the right kind of ground to
find gold in.
“I will give you £500 for your proper
ty.” he said to the ragged miner, who
was smoking calmly. “Not a penny
more; you can take my offer -or leave
It.”
“But it may ho worth thousands.” the
man exclaimed. "The rock looks as it
it were veined wlth gold, and when that
is the case it is better than any alluvial
diggings.”
“I have made my offer and shall abide
by it. I take the risk. If it did not
look promising 1 should not have offered
a« much, and it will take time and money
to find out what tiie place is really
worth.”
“I’m In a tight corner, as you know,
or you shouldn't have it. I am getting
old and I want a little comfort. I'vo
hot to the end of everything, so th«
sooner I get away the better before. J
break down. When can I have the
money.”
"Tomorrow, or today, if you like to
take a check.”
’’No, thank you. No offense .but I
prefer coin of the realm.”
The following morning Y'elverton re
turned with the money, and the claim
having been legally made over to hint
the man rode away, liis dilapidated fig
ure looking curiously out of place astride
the spirited gray horse—the only thing
of value lie possessed.
Yelverton was looking over his new
investment when his eye was caught by
s< mething lying behind a large bowlder
with a piece of white jiaper fluttering on
top. lie did not think it was l her*
yesterday or he would have noticed it.
He jumped down and found that the
brown object concealed in the scrub was
an old gun. A few words were scrawled
or the piece of paper fastened to it:.
"Paul Yelverton, Esq.: A token of
gratitude."
He stood motionless, as though arrest
ed by an unseen hand. Had he been
tricked? That was his first thought. Had
that wretched scarecrow whom he had
rashly despised scored off him and gone
away, laughing in hi? sleeve? It wa? his
gun beyond a doubt. Paul Yelverton's
face grew ominously dark. He was as
safe to play with as a wild beast from
the jungle.
But he could find no explanation,
though he pondered hour after hour,
silent and Immovable as fate, while
the sun rose high in the heavens. He
had examined the gun once, he now
looked at it again more closely. Did it
hold the key to the riddle? It was
old and worn iut, hardly worth taking
away. He would have suspected nothing
if it had not b* < n fo- that message. As
he looked down the barrel his alter-lion
was suddenly arrested by a spark of
something bright and shining. He re
moved :t carefully. It was gold.
He started to his feet and the gun
rolled away. He examined the surface
oi the rock again, and this time—his
mind quickened by suspicion—he noticed
that the signs of gold were all within
rather limited area. He saw the trick
in a flash.
“The scoundrel has blown a small
charge of gold dust into the crevices of
the rock,” Ire cried aiond in his ex
citement. “That would explain every
thing. It is an old trick I had almost for
gotten and 1 should probably not have
remembered it now if it had not been for
that speck sticking to the barrel. Of
course, blown in like that, the gold gets
embedded into the quartz in a natural
way. You were very daring, my friend,
but you were not wise when you indugled
>i ur sense of humor at Paul Yelverton’s
expense.
"I’ll find him—he shall pay for this,
though it takes ail I am worth,” he
added under his breath. But the noisi
est threats from another man would not
have meant as much.
“Though he won’t guess I have found
out hi? trick so soon. Ik*, will not be too
easy in his mind, and, very likely, he’ll
get out of the country for a time. I’ve
not a minute to lose if 1 want to reach
Cape Town before the next mall /oat
leaves for England.’’
And Yelverton put spurs to hts horse,
racing over the great brown plain, scarce
ly pausing to eat or drink.
He learned nothing until he got to tho
railway junction, when one of the ofli-
t ials seemed to remember such a man
as he described boarding the train for
Cape Town. He would get there that
morning.
“And I shall bg there tomorrow, a day
later, and the steamer leaves at noon,”
Yelverton said to himself with compressed
lips. “And there will be inquiries to
r.rikc and various tilings to do.” Never
theless, lie did not falter in liis pur-
p* ise.
The train was a half hour late in ar
riving -and Yelverton found that there
was only time- to drive direct to the
docks. There was not a moment to
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE.
A Series of Humorous Stories by Gelett Burgess and Will Irw in
-MR, young man,” said Cof
fee John. pointing the
stem of his pipe at the lad
in the red sweater, “sec-
in ’ -we’ve all agreed to tes
tify, s’pose yer pereeed to
open the ball. Yon come
in fust, an’ you talk fust.
1 -ain’t no fly cop. but tt
strikes me you're a bit
different from the rest <>f
us, though we’re all differ
ent enough, the L-ord
knows. Yer jacket fits
yer, an’ thet alone is enough to myse
yer conspieus in this 'ere shop. I see
a good many men parss in an art from
be'ind the carnter, but I don't see none
too many o’ the likes o' you. if L ain't
mistook, you’ll !be by wye o’ bein’ wot I
might call a amatoor at this ‘ere sort o'
livin’, -an’ one as would find a joke w’er-
ever 'c went. You’d larff at a bloomin’
corpse, you would. You'll never grow
up, younjg -feliar; I give yer thet stryte,
before yer even open yer marth.”
“Even so!" said the youth. "Then i
shall now proceed to let the procession
of thought -wriggle, the band play and
the bug hop. The suspense, I know, is
something terrible, so 1 -spare your anx
iety.” And with this fanfare he began
to relate.
THE STORY OF THE HARVARD
FRESHMAN.
When 1 received a cordial Invitation
from the dean to leave Harvard the
second time—on that occasion it. was ror
setting off ten alarm clocks at two min
ute intervals in ichaoel—the governor
flew off the handle. My fool kid brother,
that was to side track the tetter from
the faculty, got mixed on his signals
and the telegram that the old man sent
back nearly put the Cambridge office out
of business. He said that I had foozled
m-y last drive, and, although a good
cane is sometimes made out of a crooked
stick, be washed his hands of me and
would 1 please take notice that the re
mittances were herewith discontinued.
i noticed. Alter I’d settled up and
given my tarewel-l dinner to the insti
tute, where they were sorry to lose
m<- because I was playing a cyclone
game on the freshman eleven. I had S98
and twelve hours to leave the college
yard. Thinking it over, it struck me that
the keenest way tor me Jo get my
money’s worth was to go out and take
a suib igraduate course as a hobo, do tho
Wyckoff act. minus the worker and the
prayer meetings. I wasn't going to beg
my meals—'there was where the pride
of the coffins -stuck out—but 1 was will
ing to stand for the rest—dust, rust amt
cinders. As -a dead head tourist, nine
ty-eight bones would feed me and sleep
I swung on a
first lesson in
off mighty sick
m« for auite a space.
South Boston for my
brake:beams and tumble
at Worcester.
It’s a long tale, with hungry Intervals,
until I found niyselif in the. pound, at
Peru, ills., for smashing a fresh brake-
man and running up against the con
stabulary. The police judge of that
hustling little -western center is paid out
of the fines he collects, ft is a strange
coincidence that -When I was searched
I Had £47. £0 on my person, and my inn-
iur vagrancy and assiut-t came to £-10.
l! cents -costs. The judge was a hard-
s-nen deacon.
Next week, after I crawled out .-f tlm
underground Pullman at Louisville 1 was
watching Senator Burke’s racing stabl- s
come In and I was hungry enough i“
digest a sandcar. It being work or
beg. I says, "Here’s where 1 break tin
ethics of my chosen profession and
strike for a job.” There was nothing do
ing until one of the hands mentioned for
a joke that a waiter was wanted for the
dining room where t lie nigger jockeys
ale. Tt is only a matter of sentiment,”
said 1 to myself, “and my Massachu
setts ancestors tit and bled and died to
make freed men out of the sons of Ham.
Here goes for a feed.” I took the place,
collecting a breakfast in advance, and
threw chow for three meals at colored
gentlemen who buried it with their
knives. “if I am the prodigal son."
says I to myself, "these are the swine
aii right.”
There was a black exercise boy in the
bunch who played the prize Berkshire
hcg. He was rather big for a man
about the stables. Superstition held that
he could lick everything of his weight
on earth, and he acted as though lie
was a front-page feature in The Police
Gazette. During the fourth meal he
got gay over my frank, untrammeled way
of passing the soup. By way of repar
tee, I dropped the tray, tucked the
apron and cleared for action.
l-’lrst, I wiped off one end of the table
with him. the way the hired girl han
dles crumbs. Then I hauled him out into
the light of day. so as not to muss the
dining room, and stood him up against
the pump and gave him the Counter
check Quarrelsome. He was long on
life and muscle, but short on science,
and he swung miles wide. After l’d
ducked and countered two attempts, ho
dropped his head all o-f a sudden. I
saw what was coming. I got out of
range and let him butt, and when lie
came into my zone of tire I gave him
the knee good and proper. His face
faded into a gaudy ruin.
The superintendent came down to re
store order, and saw how me-rily I
jousted. He was a bit strie!. but l:e was
a true Peruvian in some ways, and lie
loved :t scrapper. That night I got a
hurry cal; to the office, and walked away
James Wiswell Coffin III. anointed as
sistant rubber. After’ the season was
over at Louisville, we pulled up stakes
and hiked on to Chicago, following the
circuit. When we moved, I was raised
to night watchman—$40 and found.
Nothing happened until close to the end
of the season at Chicago, except that
1 ate regularly. Money was easy in
that part. Whenever I picked up any
of it I looked around for good things
in the betting. Without springing my-
s-if any. I cleaned up a little now and
then, and when the big chance came
I was $200 to the good.
This is the way that Fate laid her
self open, so that 1 could get in one
short-armed pab ere she countered hard,
it was the night before a big race,
really more important to us than the
derby. Every one around the stables
ivas bug house with it. Before I went
out on watch the superintendent—his
name was Tatum, please remember that—
lined nu- up ami told me lie would have
me -arro-ted, electrocuted and crucified
if there was a hair so much as crossed
on either of our entries. We had two
of them. Maduro and Maltese. The
pair sold at 6 to 5. Outside and in it
looked as though the old man hadn’t
had a cup nailed so hard for years.
The trainers were sleeping beside tho
ponies, but I was supposed to lo-ok in
every half hour to see how things were
coming on. At midnight Tatum came
around and repeated his remarks, which
riled me a bit, and Maduro's trainer
said he would turn in for a litt'.e
sleep.
The next call, for heaven knows what
nutty reason. 1 got back to Maduro s
stall a quarter ahead of the hour. There
was about a teaspoonful of light coming
through t he cracks. I got an eye to a
knot hole and saw things happening.
There was Maduro trussed like a rib
roast and trying to jump, and there was
tin- trainer—“Honest Bob,” they used to
call him—poking a lead pencil up her
nose. He said a swear word and began
to feel around in the mare’s nostrils and
pulled out a sponge. He. squeezed It up
tight and stuffed it back and began to
peko again. That was the cue for my
grand entry.
“Got, morning.” 1 said, through the
hole; "you’re sleeping bully. 1 was cut
ting and sarcastic, because I knew what
was uii. The sponge game—stuff it up a
horse’s nose, and he can walk and get
around the same as ever, but when ho
tries to run. he's a grampus.
He was too paralyzed even to chuck
the pencil, lie stood there with his hands
down and his mouth open.
“Oh. hello.” he said, when his wind
blew back. 1 was just doctoring the mare
> t i
1!
nil
i & i evov'
0
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE