Petersburg 1850s
M.E.O. tells about how her parents met and married. She reminisces about her own early life in Petersburg before the war.
When Mr. Orgain took Father as a partner in the firm of Orgain and Orr, this business had their factory back of the lot where Mrs. Seward now lives, at the corner of Washington and Adams Streets. Mr. Orgain was the father of William Allen Orgain, afterwards known as Wm. Allen of Claremont on the James. When Mrs. Orgain's uncle, Mr. William Allen of Claremont on the James, died, his will gave almost the whole of his immense estate to Mrs. Orgain's son, William Allen Orgain, on condition that when he attained his twenty-first year he should be legally named William Allen. But he also said that if Mrs. Orgain ever had another son (whose name should be John Allen) he should share in the estate. But there was no other Orgain son.
Soon after this, Mr. Orgain left Petersburg, to take charge of his son's large James River properties, giving up to Father his business interests in the city, and Father continued the manufacture of tobacco in his own name. All the Wilson debts had been paid. Soon afterwards Father had a factory on Jefferson Street. Then he built the large factory at the corner of Jefferson and Washington Streets, which was at the time said to be the largest and best equipped tobacco factory in the state.
About this time, Uncle Hannon (who had charge of Mr. Peters' estate, his deceased sister having been Mrs. Peters) moved to the frame house (now three houses) across Adams Street on Washington, and Mother spent part of her time at Mr. Hannon's home. I remember Mother's having said that she paid several visits to Claremont when a girl, going with Mrs. Brydon. On one of these visits, but not the funeral occasion, Mother spoke of a dinner party, which they were very anxious to attend, at one of the Brandons' but it could be reached from Claremont only by a very long drive, or easily by crossing a creek, but a very high wind prevented that and it was too late then for the ride.
I do not remember whether Anna Orgain, the eldest child and a friend of Mother's, or her father died first. I have often heard Mother say that the first time she had ever known Father, except to formally bow to him, was when Mrs. Brydon asked her to go to Clarement with her to a funeral. It was a long ride there and back to Petersburg, and in the carriage were Mr. and Mrs. Brydon, Mr. Orr and Miss Peters. Vary soon after that trip, Father commenced visiting at Mr. Hannon's across the street.
After Mr. Orgain's death, Father moved to a factory on Jefferson St., running from Washington St. to Rose Alley. The business was so prosperous that I heard Cousin Lizzie McCavendish say that the year before Father was married he cleared ten thousand dollars in his factory, a much larger sum than it would seem now! Anna Eleonore Dorothea Peters, born January 17, 1817, married James Orr, of Petersburg, Virginia, on November 25th, 1838.
After Father and Mother were married, and on their return from a trip to Boston and New York, they lived on Market Street and I, the eldest living child, was born in the house which is now the property of the YWCA. There are now four houses on what was the yard and garden when we lived there! While the gate was on Market street, the front door was one the south side of the dwelling. While we lived there it was for sale, and Mother liked the house and neighbors, but it was quite a distance from Father's office.
We moved from there to West Hill, which then extended from a little above Lombard (then called Back) St. to the West Hill Warehouse near Franklin St., and from Adams almost to Sycamore, the western line being just back of the courthouse. For several years we lived in the dear old West Hill House, long before East Tabb Street had been cut through from our red gate to Adams Street. It was an ideal home for little children, being really like a country home in the midst of town. Jim and Clayton were both born while we lived at West Hill.
I wonder if many people in Petersburg now can remember that part of Sycamore Street before East Tabb and (a few years before, I think it was) Tabb from Union to Market Street were cut through. As I remember those days, in the early forties, the Mechanics Hall stood at the northwest corner of Sycamore and Tabb Streets. On Sycamore, about opposite the Hall, Mr. James P. Smith had a very large store (I think there were two stores turned into one) and he sold china and glass. High up over the door was an immense wooden pitcher, but it was painted to look like china and for a long time we thought it was china. He was sometimes called "Pitcher Smith" by his intimates to distinguish him from another James P. Smith, both of them fine gentlemen.
Across Tabb Street at Sycamore, there was a wide, old brick pavement, the buildings setting a few feet back on the street and as I remember, it was almost always (unless when it rained) covered with bales of cotton or bags of coffee and of wheat, with a line of country wagons loading or unloading. It was McIlwaine and Dunn's, then McIlwaine and Brownley's store, afterwards McIlwaine and Martin's. Just above was Powell's, afterwards Friend's Hotel. Some distance above there were two brick houses, occupied as dwellings, with Miller's Confectionary Store with residence above. Then, fronting Franklin Street, was our beautiful St Paul's Church, burned, by catching fire from a store on the southward! Its lovely yard and exquisitely cared for shrubbery have never been equaled by any Petersburg church property.
I was not more than five years old when we left West Hill but I remember distinctly our life there. I remember very well my first real grief. Jim was between two and three years old. I was 20 months older and devoted to my little brother. One of my little playmates told me that the Doctor was coming that day to cut something in Jim's throat. She had heard the nurse tell one of the other servants. Then I remember that I had heard them talking about "tonsils." We were playing out in the yard, when we saw dear old Dr. Robinson on his white horse coming in the "Red Gate." I would always run to meet him, but this time I ran away from him. In the broad hall of the old West Hill house, there was a table with leaves that came down almost to the floor, and it was draped in a blue and white cover. I hid under this table and put my fingers in my ears. No one knew where I was but they thought I was off from the house and knew nothing about what was going on! I learned that day the meaning of the word agony, and its memory has never left me!
Father then bought the Franklin-Jefferson-Washington Streets lot and in 1844, he built the residence at Jefferson, Franklin and Washington Streets, and separated from the next lot by a wide alley. On the next lot near the alley was a very old and abandoned building. The Franklin Street home had been finished, and two or three of the servants had been sent up to wash the windows and scrub the floors, as the carpets had come down from New York and were to be laid the next day. It was a cold winter night, and it was thought that "tramps" (though I hardly think that word was in use then but "beggars") had sought refuge in the old factory and had made too hot a fire. The old, old wooden building caught on fire, disastrously for us. The wind was from the west and our new house was burned.
So instead of leaving West Hill, we remained there for some time, perhaps a year longer. The black Italian marble mantlepiece, the windows, shutters, and some of the grates downstairs were saved and as soon as the bricks were cold, the workmen had begun to duplicate the residence. Fortunately there was insurance, but not enough to cover the loss. Father at once duplicated the building, which stands in excellent condition to this day. The timber in the house had been all selected white pine brought from Albany, New York and a duplicate of the first order was now sent to the same firm. The fine condition of the buildings at this day will show the value of the timber, as well as the care which the present owners have taken of the property.
On the southeast corner of the lot was a lovely old garden, planned and laid out by Mr. Walker and modeled after the layout of some of the old-time James River gardens. I only k now that the brightest and happiest days of my happy childhood were spent in that lovely garden. The garden gate, on the southern side of Washington Street was directly opposite the lawn gate of hour house (which home fronted on Franklin Street.) From the corner of Jefferson Street and Washington, and just inside of the northern boundary fence, there were five big trees, three of them big tall oaks but of different species, then a black walnut and a tulip poplar. Near the northwestern end of the lot, but about ten or twelve feet further south was a big pecan tree. It bore nuts but in my day, not many. I remember how diligently we used to search for them and how few we found.
On the eastern (Jefferson Street) side of the garden, there was a row of the finest fig bushes. Uncle Davey, the gardener, would have considered it almost a crime to throw away a piece of matting, even if it was a small piece and very old. He saved every scrap of old matting to put around the wheat straw in which he encased his fig bushes every winter. When he took the covering off late in the spring, on the bare branches we would find tiny little green figs that was our June crop not a very large one, but very welcome, as fruits were not so plentiful in June as they were later on. The real crop of figs ripened in September, and as we in those days never sold any of our garden produce, well you may imagine that Jim and I were popular with our little neighbors! And I am sure that if patience and kindliness and forebearance are virtues, then dear old Uncle Davey was fit to be a prince. Uncle Davey had been one of the assistant gardeners at Claremont, and when Father bought the lovely old Walker Garden, Uncle Davy felt as if he had "come into his own again."
It was while we were living at Franklin Street that a very charming cousin of Father's came from Londonderry and visited us. He was Cousin John Allen Osborne. His mother was a sister of the Allens. His father, Mr. Osborne, when a young man had come to America, stayed some time, then decided that he liked Scotland better, so returned, went into business, and prospered as a shipping merchant. But when his eldest son (JAO) had graduated at the Glasgow University, his father wanted him to come to America, go leisurely over the country to see what location he liked best, then he hoped he would consent to establish a branch of his father's large business in New York, Baltimore, Charleston, or new Orleans, whichever place he preferred. But Cousin John had found a sweetheart in Glasgow, and he finally studied medicine and settled there. Next
