Virginia: The Old Dominion
by
Frank W. Hutchins and Cortelle Hutchins
Part 4 out of 4
breads and pastry, and to bake them "to a turn."
When, in the restoration of Mount Vernon, the kitchen was reached,
recourse was had to Shirley's kitchen. Drawings were made of an unusual
colonial table, of a pair of andirons with hooks for spits to rest on,
and of several other old-time cookery appointments; and, from these
drawings, were constructed the duplicates that are now in the Mount
Vernon kitchen.
It was on our way from the kitchen to the mansion that we came upon
another visitor to Shirley. She was short and round and black and
smiling and "feelin' tol'ble, thank you, ma'am." This, we learned, was
Aunt Patsy. She had "jes heard dat Miss Marion done come home"; and so,
arrayed in her best clothes including a spotless checked apron, she had
come to "de gre't house" to pay her respects to Mrs. Oliver.
Drawn out somewhat for our benefit, she gave her views upon the subject
of matrimony.
"I been married five times," she said. We were not particularly
surprised at that; but were scarcely prepared for the added statement,
"an' I done had two husban's."
However, no one could fail to understand Aunt Patsy's position, and to
heartily agree with her, when she came to explain her marital paradox.
"De way 'tis is dis way," she said. "What I calls a _husban_' is one
dat goes out, he do, an' gethahs up" (here, a sweeping gesture with the
apron, suggestive of lavish ingathering), "gethahs up things an' brings
'em in to me. But what I calls _havin' a man aroun'_ is whar he sets by
de fiah and smokes he pipe, while I goes out an' wuks an' brings things
home, an' he eats what I gives him. An' dat's how come I been married
five times, an' I done had two husban's."
[Illustration: BRICK OVEN IN THE BAKE-ROOM.]
Before the old oak chest was opened for us, that day at Shirley, we
knew that this colonial home was rich in antique silver. Yet, the
family speak of the many pieces as "remnants," because of the still
greater number lost at the time of the war. The plate was sent for
safe-keeping to a man in Richmond who was afterward able to account for
but a small part of it. Evidently, the Hills and the Carters went far
in following the old colonial custom of investing in household silver.
And as an investment the purchase of this ware was largely regarded in
those days; family plate being deemed one of the best forms in which to
hold surplus wealth.
Different periods are represented in the old pieces yet remaining at
Shirley. There are the graceful, classic types of the days of the
Georges; the earlier ornate, rococo forms; and the yet earlier massive
styles of the time of Queen Anne and long before. Among the most
ancient pieces, are heavy tankards that remind one of the long ago,
when such great communal cups went round from merry lip to merry
lip--microbes all unknown. The numerous spoons too speak of the time
when there were no forks to share their labours. Most of the silver
remaining to-day is engraved with the coat of arms of the Carters.
Suggestive of the days when colonial belles were toasted about
Shirley's table, are the old punch bowl and the punch strainer and the
wine coasters; though a more noteworthy object, having the same
associations, is an antique mahogany wine chest with many of the
original cut glass bottles still in its compartments.
[Illustration: SOME NOTEWORTHY PIECES OF OLD SHIRLEY PLATE.]
And looking at Shirley's old silver in Shirley's old dining-room, we
thought of the lavish colonial entertainments in which both had played
their part. What hospitable places were those early planters' homes! As
courts, assemblies, races, funerals, weddings, and festivals took the
people up and down the country, they found few inns; but, instead, at
every great plantation, wide-spreading roofs and ever-open doors. The
spirit of welcome even stood at the gates and laid hands upon the
passing traveller, drawing him up the shady avenues and into the
hospitable homes.
In the days of the colonial Carters (who, through a complicated network
of intermarriages, were cousins to all the rest of Virginia), Shirley
must often have been full to overflowing.
And, along with our thoughts of Shirley's hospitality, came the
recollection of a pretty story that had been told to us one day at
Brandon by Miss Mary Lee, daughter of General Robert E. Lee. It was a
story of one of the merry, old-time gatherings about Charles Carter's
long table in the Shirley dining-room. Among the guests was a dashing
young cavalry officer who had won fame and the rank of general in the
Revolutionary War; and who, in his unsatisfied military ardour, was
contemplating joining the Revolutionary Army of France. But just now,
he was contemplating only his host and his dinner.
Suddenly, he became aware of a flushed and charming maiden in distress.
She had lifted a great cut glass dish filled with strawberries, and it
was more than her little hands could hold. She strove to avert a crash;
and, just in time, the gallant young General caught the appealing look
from the dark eyes and the toppling dish from the trembling hands. But
in saving the bowl and the berries, he lost his heart.
And the maiden was Anne Hill Carter, daughter of the genial host; and
the young General was "Light Horse Harry" Lee. The dreams of further
glory on French battlefields were abandoned; and there was another
feast at Shirley when bridal roses of June were in bloom. The young
people went to live at Stratford, the ancestral home of the Lees; and
there was born their famous son, Robert E. Lee.
As Shirley's old dining-room thus brought to our minds that greatest
Virginian of our day, so it brought to mind the greatest Virginian of
all days; for, even as we looked at silver and thought of love stories,
a life-size portrait of George Washington, by Charles Wilson Peale,
stood looking down upon us from the panelled wall.
[Illustration: PEALE'S PORTRAIT OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.]
It is a noted and invaluable canvas that hangs there at Shirley, and it
is doubtless a good likeness of the Father of our Country; but it is
not just the George Washington that most of us have in our mind's eye.
When the average American thinks of hatchets and cherry trees and
abnormal truthfulness, the face that rises before him is that benign
and fatherly one that he has seen a thousand times in the popular
reproductions of the portrait by Gilbert Stuart. Just as for
generations only the good has been told of George Washington, so has
this handsomest picture (doubtless a trifle flattering) always been the
popular one.
However, in this day, when the ideal George Washington of story is
being ruthlessly brushed aside in the search for the real
flesh-and-blood man, any canvas also that has idealized him is somewhat
in jeopardy.
It is well that the Washington of Sparks and of Irving and of Stuart
should be superseded by the truer Washington of Mitchell and of Ford
and of Peale; but the result will be that, for a while, the country
will scarcely recognize its own father.
Always at Shirley our interest came back to the old colonial hall. Of
course, to get the good of it, one had to set one's eyes so as to throw
out of focus many marks of modernism; but that adjustment would almost
come of itself with a little study of quaint transoms, or of ancient
hatchments, or, above all, of the time-worn stairway.
Why is it that the spirit of the long-ago so clings about an old
stairway? Why should the empty stair seem to remember so much, to
suggest so much, of a life that came to it only in fitful passings and
that left nothing of itself behind?
There were no signs of that long by-gone life upon Shirley's stairway,
save for a dimming of the old rail where countless hands--strong,
feeble, fair--had lightly rested or, more helpless, clung; and save for
that worn trail of the generations that followed up the dull, dark
treads. But even these had much to tell of the passings for nearly two
centuries and a half up and down this household highway: of the
masterful tread of spur-shod boots, the dancing of the belle's
slim-slippered feet, the pompous double steps of bumpy baby shoes, the
gouty stump of old grandsire, and the faithful shamble of the black boy
at his heels.
That day (regretfully our last in this colonial home) not only the
stairway but all of the old house seemed inclined to become
reminiscent. Nautica noticed this in the quiet drawing-room that would
keep bringing up by-gone times, and, she insisted, by-gone people too.
In the great hall, even the Commodore felt the mood of old Shirley and
the presence of a life that all seemed natural enough, but that must
have come a good ways out of the past.
On the staircase, despite the dim light over there (or because of it),
one could even catch sight of a shadowy old-time company.
There were stately figures passing up and down: the old lords of the
wilderness in velvet coats and huge wigs, and ladies of the wilderness
too in rich brocades and laced stomachers. There were many slender and
youthful figures. Charmingly odd and quaint were the merry groups of
girls, catching and swaying upon the shadowy stair; dainty ruffles
peeping through the balusters; laughing faces bending above the dark,
old rail. And fine indeed were the gallants that did them homage; those
young colonials of bright velvets and flowered waistcoats and lace
ruffles and powdered periwigs.
Now, from the stairway the old-time life spread throughout the old-time
home. Shirley was living over again some merry-making of colonial days.
That was the Governor that just passed with the glint of gold lace and
the glint of gold snuff-box; and that, a councillor's lady that rustled
by in stiff silks, her feet in gold-heeled slippers and her powdered
head dressed "Dutch." And quite as fine and quite as quaint were the
ladies that followed in their gay flowered "sacques" looped back from
bright petticoats and point lace aprons.
It was all as London-like as might be: rich velvets and brocades,
wide-hooped skirts and stiff stomachers, laced coats and embroidered
waistcoats, broad tuckers and Mechlin ruffles, high-heeled shoes and
handsome buckles, powdered wigs and powdered puffs, and crescent beauty
patches.
Evidently, by colonial time, twilight was coming on; for now the
fragrant bayberry candles were lighted. There was the faint tinkle of a
harpsichord. Dim figures moved in the stately minuet; their curtsies,
punctiliously in keeping with the last word from London, were "slow and
low."
Little groups gathered about the card tables, where fresh candles and
ivory counters were waiting. Lovers found their way to deep
window-seats; and lovers of yet another sort to brimming glasses and
colonial toasts, and perhaps to wigs awry.
It was the old-time Shirley, the strange, incongruous Shirley that was
a bright bit of English manor life within; and, without, wilderness and
savages and tobacco-fields and Africans. In from the life of the old
messuage, came a touch of the barbaric; weird minor songs that belonged
with the hot throb of the African tom-tom floated in through the deep
windows, and strangely mingled with the thin tinkle of the harpsichord
and the tender strains of an old English ballad.
The green bayberry candles grew dim, and in their fragrant smoke the
old colonials faded away. Our visit at Shirley was over.
Out in the quadrangle, we turned for a last look at the homestead, and
were almost forced to doubt that old colonial scene that we had just
left within. There stood the fine buildings in perfect preservation,
insisting at last as they had insisted at first that this matter of old
age was but a huge mistake--that they had been built but yesterday.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE END OF THE VOYAGE
Before daylight on the following morning Gadabout was awake and astir.
She had resolved to catch the early tide and finish her James River
cruise that day by a final run to the head of navigation at Richmond.
For the last time the clacking windlass was calling the sleeping anchor
from its bed in the river; the Commodore was hanging out the
sailing-lights; and Nautica (who could not find the dividers) was
stepping off the distance to Richmond on the chart with a hairpin.
How dreary a start before dawn sounds to a landsman! The hated early
call; the hasty breakfast with coffee-cup in one hand and time-table in
the other; the dismal drive through dull, sleeping streets; the
cheerless station; the gloomy train-shed with its lines of coaches
wrapped in acrid engine smoke.
But the houseboater knows another way. For him, the early call is the
call of the tide that finds ready response from a lover of the sea.
Does the tide serve before dawn, man of the ship? Then before dawn its
stir is in your blood; your anchor is heaved home; your sailing-lights,
white and green and red, are bravely twinkling; your propellers are
tossing the waters astern; and you are off.
You are off with the flood just in from the sea, or with the ebb that
is seeking the sea; and with it you go along a way where no one has
passed before--an evanescent way that is made of night shades and river
mists. And after a while you come upon a wonderful thing--almost the
solemn wonder of creation, as, from those thinning, shimmering veils,
the world comes slowly forth and takes shape again.
When the real world took shape for Gadabout that morning on the James,
she was some distance above Shirley and the river was a smaller river
than we had seen at any time before. By the chart, we observed that it
was a comparatively narrow stream all the rest of the way to Richmond.
We had now entered upon a portion of the old waterway that Nautica
insisted had been done up in curl-papers. Here, the voyager must sail
around twenty miles of frivolous loops to make five miles of progress.
Upon coming to a group of buildings indicated on the chart and standing
close to the right bank, we knew that Gadabout had navigated the first
of the fussy curls. Around it, we had travelled six miles since leaving
Shirley, and now had the satisfaction of knowing that the old
manor-house itself stood just across from these buildings, less than a
mile away.
On a little farther, we passed a fine plantation home called Curle's
Neck. A long while after that, another large plantation, Meadowville,
came alongside. But the curious thing was that, at the same time,
alongside came Curle's Neck again. We had travelled something over four
miles since leaving it, yet there it stood directly opposite and less
than three quarters of a mile from us.
[Illustration: VARINA.]
Perhaps the river observed that we were getting a little out of
patience; for, almost immediately, it sought to beguile us by bringing
into view one of its show points, a landing on the left bank with a
large brick house near by. The chart told us that this was Varina; and
the guide-books told us a pretty story about how here, in their
honeymoon days, lived John Rolfe and Pocahontas.
Although that honeymoon was almost three centuries gone, and there was
nothing left at Varina to tell of it, yet somehow our thoughts
quickened and Gadabout's engines slowed as we sailed along the romantic
site.
To be sure, to keep up the spirit of romance one has to overlook a good
deal. The fact that John Rolfe had been married before and the report
that Pocahontas had been too, somewhat discouraged sentiment. And then,
was it love, after all, that built the rude little home of that strange
pair somewhere up there on the shore? Or, had Cupid no more to do with
that first international marriage in our history than he has had to do
with many a later one? Can it be that politics and religion drew John
Rolfe to the altar? and that a broken heart led Pocahontas there?
Poor little bride in any event! A forest child--wrapped in her doe-skin
robe, the down of the wild pigeon at her throat, her feet in moccasins,
and her hair crested with an eagle's feather; bravely struggling with
civilization, with a new home, a new language, new customs, and a new
religion.
How many times, when it all bore heavy on her wildwood soul, did she
steal down to this ragged shore, push out in her slender canoe, and
find comfort in the fellowship of this turbulent, untamable river! And
how often did she turn from her home to the wilderness, slipping in
noiseless moccasins back into the narrow, mysterious trails of the red
man, where bended twig and braided rush and scar of bark held messages
for her!
Then came the time when the river and the forest were lost to her. The
princess of the wilderness had become the wonder of a day at the Court
of King James. Almost mockingly comes up the old portrait of her,
painted in London when she had "become very formall and civill after
our English manner." The rigid figure caparisoned in the white woman's
furbelows; the stiff, heavy hat upon the black hair; the set face, and
the sad dark eyes--a dusky woodland creature choked in the ruff of
Queen Bess.
When Varina was left behind, we fell to berating the tortuous river
again. Of course we did not think for a moment that the troublesome
curlicues we were finding had always been there. When the river was the
old, savage Powhatan, we may be sure it never stooped in its dignity of
flow to such frivolity. These kinks were silly artificialities that
came when the noble old barbarian was civilized and named in honour of
a vain and frivolous foreign king.
Now, just ahead of us, was the most foolish frizzle of all. It was a
loop five miles around, and yet with the ends so close together that a
boy could throw a stone across the strip of land between. At a very
early day, sensible folk lost patience and sought, by digging a canal
across the narrow neck, to cut this offensive curl off altogether.
Some Dutchmen among the colonists were the first to try this (and
Dutchmen understand waterway barbering better than anybody else); but
they were unsuccessful. Their efforts seem to have resulted only in
giving the place the name of Dutch Gap. Many years ago, the United
States Government took up the work and, in 1872, the five-mile curl was
effectually cut off by the Dutch Gap Canal.
A good deal of interesting history is associated with this loop of the
James. Here, but four years after the coming of those first colonists,
the town of Henrico or Henricopolis was founded. The place made a
somewhat pretentious beginning and was doubtless intended to supersede
James Towne as the capital of the colony. Steps were taken to establish
a college here. If they had been successful, Harvard College could not
lay claim to one of its present honours, that of being the earliest
college in America. But the Indian massacre of 1622 caused the
abandonment of the college project and of Henricopolis too.
We passed into the canal, which was so short that we were scarcely into
it before we were out again and headed on up the river. The banks of
the stream grew higher and bolder, and we were soon running much of the
time between bluffs with trees hanging over.
On some of the bald cliffs buzzards gathered to sun themselves; and
they lay motionless even as we passed, their wings spread to the full
in the fine sunshine. It was almost the sunshine of summer-time. In its
glow we could scarcely credit our own recollections of some wintry bits
of houseboating; and as to that story in our note-books about our being
ice-bound in Eppes Creek, it was too much to ask ourselves to believe a
word of it.
[Illustration: DUTCH GAP CANAL.]
In colonial times there were a number of fine homes along this part of
the James, but most of them have long since disappeared. Just after
passing Falling Creek we came upon one colonial mansion yet standing.
It belonged in those old times to the Randolphs, and is best known
perhaps as the home of the colonial belle, Mistress Anne Randolph.
Among the beaux of the stirring days just before the Revolution, she
was a reigning toast under the popular name of "Nancy Wilton." The
second Benjamin Harrison of Brandon was among her wooers; and it is to
his courtship that Thomas Jefferson refers when expressing, in one of
his letters, the hope that his old college roommate may have luck at
Wilton. He did have. And we remembered the sweet-faced portrait at
Brandon of "Nancy Wilton" Harrison.
[Illustration: FALLING CREEK.]
Soon, our course was along a narrow channel saw-toothed with jetties on
either hand. The signs of life upon the river told that we were nearing
Richmond. We passed some work-boats, tugs, dredges, and such craft, and
everybody whistled.
Over the top of a rise of land that marked the next bend of the river,
we saw an ugly dark cloud. It had been long since we had seen a cloud
like that; but there is no mistaking the black hat of a city.
So, there was Richmond seated beside the falls in the James--those
water-bars that the river would not let down for any ship to pass;
there was where our journey would end. To be sure, long years ago, the
pale-faces outwitted the old tawny Powhatan by building a canal around
its barriers. Their ships climbed great steps that they called locks;
and, passing around the falls and rapids, went up and on their way far
toward the mountains. But the river knew the ways of the white man, and
kept its water-bars up and waited.
After a while the pale-faces took to a new way of getting themselves
and their belongings over the country; they went rolling about on rails
instead of floating on the water; and before long, they almost forgot
the old waterways. Nature waited a while and then took their abandoned
canals to grow rushes and water-lilies; and she covered the tow-paths
with green and put tangles of undergrowth along; and then she gave it
all to the birds and the frogs and the turtles.
So, it came to pass that river barriers counted once more--that the
barrier across our river counted once more. We did not know whether the
canal ahead of us was wholly abandoned; but we did know that it was so
obstructed as to no longer furnish a way of getting a vessel above the
falls.
The Powhatan was master again; and a little way beyond that next bend
it would bar the progress of Gadabout just as, three centuries earlier,
it had barred the progress of the exploring boats that the first
settlers sent up from James Towne.
Well, it was high time anyway for our journey to end. We had been
several months upon the river--several months in travelling one hundred
miles! One can not always go lazing on, even in a houseboat; even upon
an ancient waterway leading through Colonial-land.
The old river may carry you to the beginning-place of your country; it
may bear you on to the doors of famous colonial homes, full of old-time
charm and traditional courtesy. But if so, then all the more need for
falls and rapids to put a reasonable end to your houseboat voyage.
We came about the bend in the stream and, at sight of the city before
us, were reminded of the keen prevision of its colonial founder. When
Colonel William Byrd, that sagacious exquisite of Westover, came up the
river one day in 1733 to this part of his almost boundless estate, and
laid the foundations of Richmond here in the wilderness beside the
Falls of the James, he foresaw that he was founding a great city. A
"city in the air" he called it, and his dream came true. Its
realization in steeples and spires and chimneys and roof-lines opened
before us now upon the slopes and the summits of the river hills.
Soon we were skirting the city's water front. We passed piers and
factories and many boats. We went from the pure air of the open river
into the tainted breath of the town. Among many odours there came to be
chiefly one--that of tobacco from the great factories.
And that brought to mind a strange fact. In all our journey up the
river, we had not seen a leaf of tobacco nor had we seen a place where
it was grown. Tobacco, upon which civilization along the James had been
built; that had once covered with its broad leaves almost every
cultivated acre along the stream; that had made the greatness of every
plantation home we had visited--and now unknown among the products of
the fertile river banks!
At last Gadabout was at the foot of the falls and rapids. Like those
first exploring colonists we found that here "the water falleth so
rudely, and with such a violence, as not any boat can possibly passe."
[Illustration: THE VOYAGE ENDED. GADABOUT IN WINTER QUARTERS.]
Of course there was a temptation to do with our boat as the colonists
once proposed to do with theirs--take her to pieces and then put her
together again above the falls, and so sail on up the old waterway to
the South Sea and to the Indies. But the exploring spirit of the race
is not what it used to be, and we simply ran Gadabout into a slip
beside the disused canal and stopped. An anchor went plump into the
water, making a wave-circle that spread and spread till it filled the
whole basin--a great round water-period to end our river story.
THE END.
INDEX
Adams
Alexander, Elizabeth
Appomattox River, The
Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities, The
Back River, The
Bacon, Nathaniel
Barney, Mrs. Edward E., owner of Jamestown Island
Berkeley, Lady Frances
Berkeley, Sir William
Berkeley (the estate)
home of elder branch of Harrison family
ancestral home of a signer of the Declaration of Independence,
and of two Presidents of the United States
plantation in 1776
Bermuda Hundred, village founded four years after settlement of James Towne
Brandon
history of
riverward entrance to grounds
the "woods-way" to the mansion
"the quarters"
the landward entrance
type of architecture
characteristic hospitality
interior of mansion
colonial portraits
the old garden
present day family at Brandon
the bedrooms
colonial silver
ancient records
an old court gown
the family burying-ground
the garrison house
Bransford, Mrs. H.W., of the Carter family of Shirley, and one of the
present owners of the plantation, living in the manor-house
Buck, Reverend Richard
Byrd, Evelyn, portrait and romance of
her room at Westover
tomb of
Byrd, Lucy Parke, wife of William Byrd of Westover
Byrd, William, the second, of Westover
portrait at Brandon
about 1726 built present mansion at Westover
death
tomb of
ability of this colonial grandee
founded the city of Richmond
Carter, Anne Hill, of Shirley, wife of "Light Horse Harry" Lee and
mother of General Robert E. Lee
Carter, Charles, portrait at Shirley
Carter, Elizabeth Hill, of Shirley, daughter of the third Edward Hill,
and wife of John Carter of Corotoman
portrait at Shirley
Carter family acquire Corotoman
reach greatest prominence in days of "King" Carter
cousins to all the rest of Virginia
Carter, John, son of "King" Carter of Corotoman, was secretary of the
colony
married Elizabeth Hill of Shirley in 1723
portrait at Shirley
Carter, Robert, of Corotoman on the Rappahannock, one of the wealthiest
and most influential colonials
his possessions
called "King" Carter
portrait at Shirley
Carter, Robert Randolph, of Shirley
Carter, Mrs. Robert Randolph, of Shirley
Carter, Miss Susy
Chickahominy River, The
Chippoak Creek
Chuckatuck Creek
City Point
Claremont
Colonial river trade
Constant, Sarah
Cornick, Reverend John, rector of Westover Church
Corotoman, Carter family acquire
Cotton, Mrs. An.
Court House Creek
Curie's Neck
Cuyler, Randolph
Cuyler, Mrs. Randolph, of Brandon
Dale, Sir Thomas
Dancing Point
Delaware, Lord
ownership of Shirley
Discovery, ship
Douthat family of Weyanoke
Douthat, Fielding Lewis
Douthat, Mrs. Mary Willis Marshall, granddaughter of Chief-Justice
Marshall, and present mistress of Weyanoke
Dutch Gap Canal
Eppes Creek
Eppes family, home at City Point
Faffing Creek
Fleur de Hundred
Ford, Paul Leicester
Fort Powhatan
"Friggett Landing"
Goodspeed, ship
Gordon family of Aberdeenshire
Gordon, William Washington
Grant, U.S., Grant's army crossed the James
Hampton Roads
Harrison, Mrs. Anne, of Berkeley
Harrison, Miss Belle, of Brandon
in court gown of her colonial aunt, Evelyn Byrd
Harrison, Benjamin, the emigrant
Harrison, Benjamin, of Berkeley, treasurer of the colony
Harrison, Major Benjamin, of Berkeley, member of the House of Burgesses
Harrison, Benjamin, of Berkeley, member of the Continental Congress
and signer of the Declaration of Independence
Harrison, Benjamin, of Brandon, member of the Council
Harrison, Colonel Benjamin, of Brandon, portrait by Peale
Harrison, Mrs. Benjamin. See Mistress Anne Randolph of Wilton
Harrison, Benjamin, grandson of William Henry Harrison of Berkeley,
and twenty-third President of the United States
Harrison, George Evelyn, of Brandon
Harrison, Mrs. George Evelyn, present mistress of Brandon
Harrison, Nathaniel, of Brandon
Harrison, William Henry, of Berkeley, ninth President of our country
Harvard College
Harwood, Joseph
Henrico or Henricopolis, founded four years after James Towne
site of proposed college which would have been oldest in America
Henry, Patrick
Herring Creek
Hill family acquire Shirley
Hill, Edward, the second,
built present mansion at Shirley about the middle of the seventeenth
century
his portrait at Shirley
Hill, Mrs. Edward, portrait of, at Shirley
Hollingshorst, Elizabeth Gordon
Hollingshorst, Thomas
Indian massacre of 1622
caused abandonment of Henrico
Irving, Washington
James River, The
width
depth
historical importance
colonial life upon
colonial water life
Grant's army crossed
colonial river trade
sturgeon in
buoy-tender on
narrow and crooked from Shirley to Richmond
site of Richmond on
the Falls of the.
James Towne
settlement of
development, decline, and abandonment of
Captain Edward Ross
the typical village
streets
buildings
"alehouses"
abandonment of
re-settlement
final abandonment
ancient site not lost
unearthing the buried ruins
Jamestown Island
settlement of
appearance
the way across
isthmus
width of
battle upon
church
churchyard
mysterious tomb
Confederate Fort
historic sites
where Pocahontas and John Rolfe were married
coining of "the maids"
beginnings of American self-government
the colonists' first landing-place
the colonists' first fort
the colonists' first village
the story of the "Starving Time"
the "Lone Cypress"
Jefferson, Thomas
Kittewan Creek
Kittewan house
Kneller, Sir Godfrey
Lee, General Robert E.
Lee, Miss Mary
Lee, "Light Horse Harry," married at Shirley
Lee, Mrs. Henry. See Anne Hill Carter of Shirley
Lewis family
Madison, James
Marshall, Chief-Justice John
Marshall, John, son of Chief-Justice Marshall
Marshall, Mary Willis, wife of Chief-Justice Marshall
Martin, Captain John
Meadowville
Merchants' Hope Church
Mitchell, Dr. S. Weir
Mordaunt, Charles
Monroe, James
Newport News
Oliver, Commander James H., U.S.N.
Oliver, Mrs. James H., of the Carter family, and one of the present
owners of Shirley
Opachisco
Opechancanough, Indian chief
Parke, Colonel Daniel
Peale, Charles Wilson
his portrait of Washington at Shirley
Peterborough, Lord
Petersburg, March upon
Piersey, Captain Abraham, ownership of Fleur de Hundred
Pocahontas
marriage to John Rolfe
after marriage lived at Varina
Pope, Alexander
Powell's Creek
Powhatan, Indian chief, not at wedding of Pocahontas
"Pyping Point"
Ramsay, Mrs. C. Sears, present owner of Westover
Ramsay, Elizabeth
Ramsay family at Westover
Randolph, Mistress Anne, of Wilton
pre-Revolutionary belle, married the second Benjamin Harrison of
Brandon
her portrait at Brandon
Richmond, at the Falls of the James
founded by William Byrd of Westover in 1733
Rolfe, John
marriage to Pocahontas
after marriage lived at Varina
Shirley, colonial seat of the Hills and of the Carters
right way to go to
great seventeenth-century American plantation
early owners of
the exterior of the mansion and the ancient messuage
the oldest homestead on the river and one of the oldest in the
country
the present owners
the colonial "great hall"
interior of mansion
ghosts
colonial portraits
kitchen and cook-room
colonial furnishings copied in restoration of the Mt. Vernon kitchen
colonial silverware
romance of "Light Horse Harry" Lee and Anne Hill Carter
Peale's portrait of Washington
old-time Shirley
Silverware, colonial, family silver at Brandon
communion service of Martin's Brandon Church at Brandon
at Shirley
Smith, Captain John
Stratford, the ancestral home of the Lees
Stuart, Gilbert
Thomas, colonial house of
Varina, site of early home of John Rolfe and Pocahontas
Virginia society, type of
War of 1812, fort built in
Washington, George
portrait of, by Peale, at Shirley
Water Supply of James Towne colonists
Westover
became property of the Byrds
present mansion built
its colonial importance, and its successive owners
riverward front
interior of mansion
romantic centre of
present owner and family
landward front, courtyard, and noted entrance gates
garden and sun-dial, and tomb of William Byrd
mysterious subterranean chambers
recent restoration of
old survey of plantation
graveyard
Westover Church
one of earliest churches in the country
Weyanoke
two plantations
houses of
an Indian name
Upper
Lower
present day family at
oldest building at
postoffice at
Williamsburg
Whittaker, Reverend Alexander
Willcox, John V., ownership of Fleur de Hundred
Wilton, home of Mistress Anne Randolph
Windmill Point
first windmill in America
Wowinchopunk
Yeardley, Sir George, tomb of
ownership of Weyanoke
ownership of Fleur de Hundred
built first windmill in America
Yonge, Samuel H.
"SEE AMERICA FIRST" SERIES
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THREE WONDERLANDS OF THE AMERICAN WEST
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By William Copeman Kitchin, Ph.D. $6.00
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By Thomas D. Murphy $6.00
TEXAS, THE MARVELLOUS
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COLORADO: THE QUEEN JEWEL OF THE ROCKIES
By Mae Lacy Baggs $6.00
OREGON, THE PICTURESQUE
By Thomas D. Murphy $6.00
FLORIDA, THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT
By Nevin O. Winter $6.00
SUNSET CANADA (British Columbia and Beyond)
By Archie Bell $6.00
ALASKA, OUR BEAUTIFUL NORTHLAND OF OPPORTUNITY
By Agnes Rush Burr $6.00
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By Frank and Cortelle Hutchins $5.00
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