these tragic memories all have as a background our summer home on pawley’s island, which we always spoke of as “the beach,” as though this were the only beach in the world. my next memories are of the little schoolhouse at chicora and our two english governesses—miss wells, who was our first, i do not remember distinctly, but miss ayme, who stayed with us until i went to boarding-school at nine, plays a great part in my pictures of the early days.

my father had a two-roomed cottage about 300 yards from the house, in a sunny spot in the park, near the river. it was a beautiful situation, and each room had a fireplace, where we kept up splendid oakwood fires, and to this charming schoolhouse we went at nine and remained until two, having our lunch sent down to us there, and only returning to the house when the bell sounded for preparation for dinner. in this way we avoided the inevitable interruptions when the neighbors came to visit, for as they came from a dis{124}tance of several miles always, it was quite a prolonged affair, meaning tea and bread-and-butter, handed by nelson on the big silver waiter, and wine, handed by the footman on a smaller silver waiter, and a great deal of talk. if we had been in the house when we were called for, it would have been impossible to refuse to send for us; but the fact that we were at the “schoolhouse,” which could not be seen from the front door or piazza, resulted in our never being summoned.

miss ayme was much before her day in many things, especially in her insistence on physical exercises, so in 1850 she introduced what is now essential in all schools, calisthenics. we exercised with poles and dumb-bells, and my sister, who stooped a little, was made to lie on her back a certain length of time every day on a wide plank, which was inclined at an angle, while miss ayme read aloud to her: the result was seen all her life in a beautiful figure, and erect, graceful bearing. i walked up and down for an allotted time each day, with a backboard, but as i had gone to boarding-school when the time came that i should have had the slanting-board treatment, i never have acquired the beautiful carriage of my sister. miss ayme also believed in telling{125} children many of the truths of nature, which at that time was considered very indiscreet if not immoral. she was a very good teacher and, besides being a good christian, was a lady. she had queer little ways and was a never-ending amusement to our neighbors, who had not the appreciation of the higher standards and the vision of my father and mother. her odd dress and very english speech struck them as her principal characteristics. miss ayme had been a governess in a family of the nobility in england. i have, i am sorry to say, forgotten the name, of which we used to get very tired, for she told many stories about the children, who seemed preternaturally good and were fed, to our minds, very poorly, principally on porridge, which sounded miserable to us. they were eager always for the top of miss ayme’s boiled egg, which at that time in england was skilfully cut off with a knife, and she gave it to each one in turn, which they considered most generous of her.

when my sister was thirteen it was thought best by my parents to send her to boarding-school. there was one in charleston, kept by madame togno, who took only a limited number, where french was the language spoken. this pleased{126} my mother especially, and as the course of study was said to be very good, my sister was sent to charleston in the early autumn. this left me as the only pupil for miss ayme, charley being only six, and as she was an expensive teacher my parents decided to do without her after the new year. i remember how i missed my sister, how terribly lonely i was without her, and how wild with delight i was when she returned in june, having enjoyed her school experiences very much and having improved in health as well as everything else, especially music, to which my father was devoted. so it was decided, as i was eager to go, that i should go too when she returned to madame togno’s select french school. i was only nine, small for my age and very thin and nervous, and when one thinks of it now, it seems to have been an awful risk. but i feel quite sure it was most judicious; the companionship of girls of my own age was very good. the regulated life and study i had had at home were excellent, but i was alone, with no minds of my own age to measure myself with. at school i entered a class of fourteen little girls of my own age, day-scholars, some of them exceptionally well-grounded, bright children; and it did me a world of good to find i had to work hard if i wanted to keep up.{127}

one lovely curly-haired, blue-eyed child that looked like an angel and a kitten combined, and who had been taught by her father like a boy, sara white, kept me always at the greatest strain in the arithmetic, history, and dictation classes. sara was not only the best girl in the class, but the prettiest and the tiniest. her long, golden curls and her preternaturally clean white apron were my greatest envy. she was the dearest little case of enlarged conscience i have ever met. one day in class i saw her crying quietly, the big tears dropping onto her slate, and i whisperingly asked what was the matter. she told me between suppressed sniffs that her mother had forbidden her to go into the yard without her hat; she wanted to cross the yard to wash her slate, but madame had forbidden any girl to go into the closet where the hats were hung until recess! what a plight! i, being always daring, proceeded skilfully to go after a book across the room. i quickly entered the closet and got the hat, and sara made her trip across the yard. dear little strong, pure soul! she has lived a heroic life, at one time nearly supporting her family in new york by her china-painting. still dainty and sweet, with her true blue eyes and golden, snow-touched curly hair, she is one of my dearest friends.{128}

i learned french rapidly, as it was the language required of the boarding-pupils. i quickly picked up enough french words to pass me on and i invented many others, so that i appeared to be speaking french fluently to the older girls, who were painfully following rules and phrase-books. the ingenuity with which i added french-sounding terminals to english words so as to create the impression that i was speaking french was a great amusement to madame, and i became a great favorite with her. i was a tiny child, small and thin, with deep circles under my big eyes, with an uncannily alert mind, but shy and morbid by nature; very nervous and easily thrown into violent paroxysms of weeping by reproof. madame was quick to find out that i responded to praise by redoubled effort, but wilted under disapproval and rebuke, and she kept me near her a great deal, and encouraged me to narrate in my own original french lingo all that i saw and heard, so that i soon got over my homesickness and learned quickly, but was in a fair way to be badly spoiled. the dining-room not being very large, madame had a table made in the shape of a horseshoe. she sat at the middle of the curve on the outside of the table, and i sat just opposite{129} her inside, and my mission was to amuse her as well as every one else at the table, so that i scarcely took time to eat enough to keep me going. the meals were always excellent, as madame prided herself on her table and looked carefully after the selection of food and the cooking.

there were about twenty boarding-pupils, most of them young ladies being “finished off,” in which process madame took much pride. we boasted three beauties, who were always put in the front rank when we went to concerts or to the theatre. victoria jordan looked absolutely like the pictures of the ill-fated marie antoinette, when dressed for a party. she married the year after this and we were all distressed by her sad fate. she and her husband were blown up in a steamer on the mississippi on their wedding-trip. carrie elliot came next, i think, but many thought adèle allston, my sister, was the loveliest. carrie was my first love; she was seven years my senior and was not impatient of my devotion. she married a very charming man, a cousin, who became in time a bishop, greatly admired and beloved—bishop robert elliot, of texas.

my principal trouble was the constant fear of fire. soon after i got to school there was a big{130} fire not far off in the middle of the night, and i was waked by the ringing of the bells and the awful cries of “fire!” i was terrified and, on getting up, the red glare which lit up the whole sky was awful. at that time the fire department was made up of volunteers and the engines were drawn entirely by man-power, an excited mob of black and white pulling on a tremendous loop of rope, running at full speed and yelling “fire!” as they went. one afternoon when there was a fire near the battery, and we were standing on the front step to see if we could get even a glimpse of it, as the engine passed, the impulse was too strong for me. i rushed out and took my place on the rope and ran down the street, pulling and madly yelling with the rest. the other girls who saw it were afraid to tell madame, seeming actually to fear capital punishment, and hoping that i would have the sense to come back, myself. so it was not until madame missed me in the study-hour and inquired where i was that the dreadful truth was revealed. to their great surprise, madame laughed heartily and sent the cook to the fire to bring me back. this was a great joy to the cook, as to visit a fire to them is what an opera-ticket is to us. she found me in the rabble, and, after{131} due delay, when she was supposed to be looking for me, and in which she was really enjoying the rare treat of meeting all her friends and imagining tragedies if there were none to see, we returned home fast friends. she held me tightly by the hand and narrated volubly the difficulty she had in finding me and then in getting me to come, how “she almost had to take me up and tote me”—all of which was pure fiction. i stood a miserable prisoner at the bar, but not at all repentant, only prepared for the worst. madame used her finest sarcasm on me.

“well, mademoiselle, i did not know you had joined the fire-brigade! i am sorry to deprive them of so strong and competent a member; but your parents, in placing you in my care, did not mention that as one of the branches in which i was to have you instructed, and you will now retire to bed without supper and remain there until to-morrow morning. and the next time the fire-bells ring, instead of allowing you to go out on the step to see it, you will be locked up.” so, sorrowfully, i went up to my little bed. but it was very good for me for, of course, i was exhausted; and the cook, whose interest had been aroused in me for the first time, brought me a particularly nice{132} supper. she had to wake me, for i was sound asleep.

after the fire terror, my next trouble was the going to bed. my sister and i occupied a very nice but small room. she slept in a single mahogany four-poster, with a white valance around it, under which during the day my trundle-bed was rolled. i was always sent to bed at eight. the maid went up, lit the gas, and pulled the trundle-bed out and then left, returning in fifteen minutes to put out the gas. she was not of the friendly kind and i always jumped into bed as i heard her coming. the valance of the tall bed hung over a part of my bed, as, if it was pulled out all the way, the door could not open wide, and i always imagined a robber was hid under that valance! my sister did not come till nine, and i lay there in a cold sweat till she came, perfectly certain i heard the man breathing. i always asked her in a whisper in french to look under the bed, and, of course, the man not being there, i recovered and was asleep before she got in bed; but no one can imagine how i suffered from this foolish fright.

my music was another trial this first year. i had the crossest teacher that ever was. i cannot{133} remember her name, for we only called her “mademoiselle,” but she scolded me and cracked my knuckles till i cried, at every lesson. these were my only troubles, however, and i was very happy and dreamed many dreams. it was hard to find a place where one could dream in peace; there were girls everywhere jabbering bad french; but i found a delightful place—under the dining-table! i was a very morbid child with many imaginary sorrows, and it was a great relief to me to write journals and pour out my woes to these safe confidants. every scrap of paper was secured and kept in my pocket, for at that day we had a large, capacious pocket in every frock, so that i had stores of paper, and when the outside world was too hard and unfeeling, i watched my chance when no one was near, and slipped to my quiet retreat under the big horseshoe dining-table, with its white cloth which swept the floor, and wrote and wrote until my griefs were assuaged, then rolled up my treasure and returned to the outer world refreshed. when the manuscript became too bulky i buried it in the garden under the pettis porum bushes. this i kept up for years, and in that way i buried my sorrows.

in the early spring mamma wrote to madame{134} and asked that she would select and buy our spring and summer things, sending her a liberal check for the purpose. this delighted madame, and she bought and had made for us clothes that i could not abide and refused to wear at first. a straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons and a curl of straw around the front is a nightmare to me still. it was just like an old lady’s bonnet in the sixties, and tied under the chin; but, as soon as that was done the bonnet fell back off of my head, and in order to keep it on at all i had to keep my left hand clapped on the back. then the frock was a purple-and-white delaine, stripes of purple flowers on a white ground. this was made with a full waist buttoned at the back, what was called “half high neck,” and had a very full deep frill around it of cotton lace! oh, how i hated it! and when we were dressing for church the first time i was to wear it, i cried and stamped and said i would never wear it, and poor della was in despair, not knowing what madame would do if she heard me.

she said: “look at me, bessie. my dress is just like yours and i am not saying a word.”

i answered: “you never do say a word. if you like it you can wear it, but i’m not going to.{135}”

and so it went on until madame’s voice was heard, calling on us to start for church; and i let my dear, sweet sister button up my hateful frock and tie on the hateful hat and wipe my eyes and nose with a wet cloth, and we flew down the stairs in time to take our place in the procession; for we always went everywhere in twos, a teacher ahead and one behind. madame never went to church herself.

my beloved sister must have had an awful time with me. she never did anything wrong or queer, and this year was called not only the most beautiful but the best girl in the school. i was always causing her anxious moments. one night she found me crying bitterly when she came to bed. she asked me anxiously if i were ill.

“have you earache?”

“no.”

“then what is the matter?”

“oh, della, i’m crying because i don’t love any one.”

“mercy, bessie, you don’t love me?”

“no. if any one else was as good to me as you are, i’d love them just as much!”

“you certainly are a queer child. you mean to say you don’t love mamma?{136}”

“if any one else did all she does for me, i’d care just as much for them.”

i sobbed on and poor della in despair said: “and you don’t love papa?”

“oh, yes, yes,” i cried with the greatest relief; “i do love papa.”

“then for mercy’s sake stop crying and go to sleep.{137}”