CHAPTER IX.

_I Leave the South--A Typical British Naval Officer--An Officer of

the Household Troops--Early Newport Life--A Country Dinner--The Way

I got up Picnics--Farmers Throw their Houses Open to Us--A Bride

Receives us in her Bridal Array--My Newport Farm--My Southdowns and

my Turkeys--What an English Lady said of our Little Island--Newport

a place to Take Social Root in._

My English friends bidding me farewell, soon after, I gave up my

Savannah house and made Newport my permanent home, for I spent nine

months of the year there, with a winter trip to the West Indies. I must

not omit to mention here that while passing the winter at Nassau, N. P.,

I made the acquaintance of a most polished, elegant, and courtly man, a

captain in the British Navy, who entertained me as one can only be

entertained on a British man-of-war, giving me Devonshire cream and

every luxury, and all as well served as though it had been ashore.

Meeting him repeatedly at dinner at the house of the Governor of the

Bahamas, he suggested that as it was a most difficult thing to board the

steamship that was to take us to New York, she never crossing the bar,

he would himself, in his own gig, take us out to that vessel when we

left the island.

I had forgotten this kind promise, but on the day fixed for our

departure (it then blowing a gale, one of those terrible “northers” of

the West Indies), I received a note from this gallant captain, telling

me that his boat’s crew had already crossed the bar, boarded our

steamer, and learnt the precise spot where she would lie in the

afternoon when she would take on her passengers. In vain did I protest

against his undertaking this dangerous piece of work. Do it he would;

and taking the tiller himself, we were safely rowed in his gig, twelve

miles, and boarded the vessel.

I afterwards learned that while he was going from his vessel in full

evening dress, with his white gloves carefully buttoned (for he was

called the dandy of the English Navy), he sprang overboard and saved one

of his men from drowning.

On our reaching the deck of the steamer, I was struck with the

obsequiousness of the steamer’s captain to the naval officer, (she was,

by the way, a Cunarder). My friend, the captain, then introduced me to

one of his countrymen, saying to me, simply, “You will find him a nice

fellow.” He turned out to be one of the most distinguished young men in

England, an officer of the Household Troops, a most fascinating man, who

had been to Jamaica to look after his father’s estates there. I

introduced him to my friends in New York, and in return for the

hospitality extended to him then, heard later that he, on receiving

letters of introduction from me, had paid marked attention to the

bearers of the letters. I relate this as an evidence that Englishmen do

reciprocate attentions received in this country.

Newport was now at its best. The most charming people of the country had

formed a select little community there; the society was small, and all

were included in the gaieties and festivities. Those were the days that

made Newport what it was then and is now, the most enjoyable and

luxurious little island in America. The farmers of the island even

seemed to catch the infection, and they were as much interested in the

success of our picnics and country dinners, as we were ourselves. They

threw open their houses to us, and never heeded the invasion, on a

bright sunshiny day, of a party of fifty people, who took possession of

their dining-room, in fact of their whole house, and frolicked in it to

their heart’s content. To be sure, I had often to pacify a farmer when a

liveried groom robbed his hen roost, but as he knew that this

fashionable horde paid their way, he was easily soothed. I always then

remarked that in Newport, at that time, you could have driven a

four-in-hand of camels or giraffes, and the residents of the island

would have smiled and found it quite the thing. The charm of the place

then was the simple way of entertaining; there were no large balls; all

the dancing and dining was done by daylight, and in the country. I did

not hesitate to ask the very _crême de la crême_ of New York society to

lunch and dine at my farm, or to a fishing party on the rocks. My little

farm dinners gained such a reputation that my friends would say to me:

“Now, remember, leave me out of your ceremonious dinners as you choose,

but always include me in those given at your farm, or I’ll never forgive

you.” But to convey any idea of our country parties, one must in detail

give the method of getting them up: Riding on the Avenue on a lovely

summer’s day, I would be stopped by a beautiful woman, in gorgeous

array, looking so fascinating that if she were to ask you to attempt the

impossible, you would at least make the effort. She would open on me as

follows: “My dear friend, we are all dying for a picnic. Can’t you get

one up for us?”

“Why, my dear lady,” I would answer, “you have dinners every day, and

charming dinners too; what more do you want?”

“Oh, they’re not picnics. Any one can give dinners,” she would reply;

“what we want is one of your picnics. Now, my dear friend, do get one

up.”

This was enough to fire me, and set me going. So I reply:

“I will do your bidding. Fix on the day at once, and tell me what is the

best dish your cook makes.”

Out comes my memorandum book, and I write: “Monday, 1 P.M., meet at

Narragansett Avenue, bring _filet de bœuf piqué_,” and with a bow am

off in my little wagon, and dash on, to waylay the next cottager, stop

every carriage known to contain friends, and ask them, one and all, to

join our country party, and assign to each of them the providing of a

certain dish and a bottle of champagne. Meeting young men, I charge them

to take a bottle of champagne, and a pound of grapes, or order from the

confectioner’s a quart of ice cream to be sent to me. My pony is put on

its mettle; I keep going the entire day getting recruits; I engage my

music and servants, and a carpenter to put down a dancing platform, and

the florist to adorn it, and that evening I go over in detail the whole

affair, map it out as a general would a battle, omitting nothing, not

even a salt spoon; see to it that I have men on the road to direct my

party to the farm, and bid the farmer put himself and family, and the

whole farm, in holiday attire.

On one occasion, as my farmer had just taken unto himself a bride, a

young and pretty woman, I found that at mid-day, to receive my guests,

she had dressed herself in bridal array; she was _décolleté_, and seemed

quite prepared to sing the old ballad of “Coming thro’ the rye”; but as

her husband was a stalwart young fellow, and extremely jealous, I

advised the young men in the party to confine their attentions to their

own little circle and let Priscilla, the Puritan, alone.

When I first began giving picnics at my farm, I literally had no stock

of my own. I felt that it would never do to have a gathering of the

brightest and cleverest people in the country at my place with the

pastures empty, neither a cow nor a sheep; so my Yankee wit came to my

assistance. I at once hired an entire flock of Southdown sheep, and two

yoke of cattle, and several cows from the neighboring farm, for half a

day, to be turned into my pasture lots, to give the place an animated

look. I well remember some of my knowing guests, being amateur farmers,

exclaiming:

“Well, it is astonishing! Mc has but fifty acres, and here he is,

keeping a splendid flock of Southdowns, two yoke of cattle, to say

nothing of his cows!”

I would smile and say:

“My friend I am not a fancy farmer, like yourself; I farm for profit.”

At that time, I was out of pocket from three to four thousand dollars a

year by my farm, but must here add, for my justification, that finding

amateur farming an expensive luxury, I looked the matter squarely in the

face, watched carefully the Yankee farmers around me, and satisfied

myself that they knew more about the business than I did, and at once

followed in their footsteps, placed my farm on shares, paying nothing

out for labor, myself paying the running expenses, and dividing the

profits with my farmer. Instead of losing three or four thousand dollars

a year by my farm, it then paid me, and continues to pay me seven to

eight hundred dollars a year clear of all expenses. We sell off of fifty

acres of land, having seventeen additional acres of pasturage, over

three thousand dollars of produce each year. I sell fifty Southdown

lambs during the months of April and May, at the rate of eight to ten

dollars each, to obtain which orders are sent to me in advance, and my

winter turkeys have become as famous as my Southdown lambs. The farm is

now a profit instead of a loss. I bought this place in 1853; if I had

bought the same amount of land south of Newport, instead of north of the

town, it would have been worth a fortune to-day.

To return to our picnic. The anxiety as to what the weather would be,

was always my first annoyance, for of course these country parties hinge

on the weather. After making all your preparations, everything ready for

the start, then to look out of your window in the morning, as I have

often done, and see the rain coming down in torrents, is far from making

you feel cheerful. But, as a rule, I have been most fortunate in my

weather. We would meet at Narragansett Avenue at 1 P.M., and all drive

out together. On reaching the picnic grounds, I had an army of

skirmishers, in the way of servants, thrown out, to take from each

carriage its contribution to the country dinner. The band would strike

up, and off the whole party would fly in the waltz, while I was

directing the icing of the champagne, and arranging the tables; all done

with marvelous celerity. Then came my hour of triumph, when, without

giving the slightest signal (fearing some one might forestall me, and

take off the prize), I would dash in among the dancers, secure our

society queen, and lead with her the way to the banquet. Now began the

fun in good earnest. The clever men of the party would assert their

claims to the best dishes, proud of the efforts of their cook, loud in

their praise of their own game pie, which most probably was brought out

by some third party, too modest to assert and push his claim. Beauty was

there to look upon, and wit to enliven the feast. The wittiest of men

was then in his element, and I only wish I dared quote here his

brilliant sallies. The beauty of the land was also there, and all

feeling that they were on a frolic, they threw hauteur, ceremonial, and

grand company manners aside, and, in place, assumed a spirit of simple

enjoyment. Toasts were given and drunk, then a stroll in pairs, for a

little interchange of sentiment, and then the whole party made for the

dancing platform, and a cotillon of one hour and a half was danced, till

sunset. As at a “Meet,” the arrivals and departures were a feature of

the day. Four-in-hands, tandems, and the swellest of Newport turn-outs

rolled by you. At these entertainments you formed lifetime intimacies

with the most cultivated and charming men and women of this country.

These little parties were then, and are now, the stepping-stones to our

best New York society. People who have been for years in mourning and

thus lost sight of, or who having passed their lives abroad and were

forgotten, were again seen, admired, and liked, and at once brought into

society’s fold. Now, do not for a moment imagine that all were

indiscriminately asked to these little fêtes. On the contrary, if you

were not of the inner circle, and were a new-comer, it took the combined

efforts of all your friends’ backing and pushing to procure an

invitation for you. For years, whole families sat on the stool of

probation, awaiting trial and acceptance, and many were then rejected,

but once received, you were put on an intimate footing with all. To

acquire such intimacy in a great city like New York would have taken you

a lifetime. A fashionable woman of title from England remarked to me

that we were one hundred years behind London, for our best society was

so small, every one in it had an individuality. This, to her, was

charming, “for,” said she, “one could have no such individuality in

London.” It was accorded only to the highest titled people in all

England, while here any one in society would have every movement

chronicled. Your “_personnel_,” she added, “is daily discussed, your

equipage is the subject of talk, as well as your house and household.”

Another Londoner said to me, “This Newport is no place for a man without

fortune.” There is no spot in the world where people are more _en

evidence_. It is worth while to do a thing well there, for you have

people who appreciate your work, and it tells and pays. It is the place

of all others to take social root in.

SOCIETY’S LEADERS.