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MRS. ISABEL BARNWELL,
SCHOOL TEACHER.
(Florida)
We had an appointment at 2:30, and as I
rang the bell I peered through the latched screen door and saw Mrs.
Barnwell at the writing desk in the plain, but comfortably furnished
living room. It is unusual for any door to be locked in the bungalow, and
as she welcomed me, after unlatching the door, I said:
"Afraid somebody will carry you off?"
"Oh, no. I learned not to be afraid years ago. It's just that the wind is
blowing rather strong today, and the screen stood half open all the time,
so I latched it.
"Well, it has been a long time since you were here, and I have thought of
so many things about the old place." (She referred to her old family home,
a Spanish grant in Nassau County, the deed for which has been in the hands
of her family since 1792).
She seated herself in a comfortable position on the wicker lounge,
arranging the cushions about her back and shoulders, with her left leg
half on the lounge. Mrs. Barnwell is a cripple. An accident to her left
knee resulted in a stiff joint, so that the limb does not bend when she
sits down. This corner is her favorite resting place when she reads or
gives an interview.
"You take the old black rocker, so you can write, and we'll have a good
old time," she said, laughing.
"Why all the new cushions?"
"I had an old feather-bed -- my folks don't like feathers to sleep on,
they would rather have inner-springs - so I took the feathers, got some
red sprangled cretonne and made new cushions all 'round. See in the dining
room?"
Sure enough, all the rockers, and there were three of them in front of the
wide fire-place, had fat feather cushions in both the seats and backs. The
family has grown smaller by one in the past year, a beloved son, Woodward,
a Government aviation instructor, having lost his life in a glider
accident on Fernandina Beach in May, 1937. The dining table is shoved
against the wall. Three places are indicated - for mother, daughter (a
stenographer in public work at the Windsor Hotel), and the
daughter-in-law, Belle, who makes her home here since being widowed.
"Yes, Belle is with us now, and we are glad to have her, it is not so
lonesome. She is a receptionist - what a new-fangled name for office work!
- in Dr. Spencer's private hospital. The Government pays her Woodward's
pension of $10.00 a month, and she makes $15.00 a week at the doctor's. Of
course, she cannot contribute much to me, but we manage.
I remarked how well Mrs. Barnwell was looking, her eyes bright, and
lighting up so readily.
"Yes, I have much to be thankful for. (No one has ever heard her complain
about her stiff knee, although when she goes out she has to lean heavily
on a cane). My health is good for one of my age, and I feel fine. My son
in California just sent me a bottle of a thousand yeast pills and I have
been taking them for a month or so. They sure do pep you up. Vitamines -
everybody had gone vitamin-crazy, you know. My son said they helped him,
too, he is an old man now, fifty-five."
I concealed a smile by sneezing, and she went on:
"Can you drive a car?"
I came near strangling at this remark, as I told her, I was very sorry;
that I had never had the ambition to own or drive an automobile, hence had
never learned to operate one.
"I cannot understand how I have reached the age I have and not learned. An
automobile is a handy thing. I had the opportunity to buy one at a bargain
- you know Woodward left me a little insurance. It's a V-8, right out here
in the garage in good condition, and if you could drive it, we'd go over
to New Hope (name of her plantation in Nassau County) right now. It's
early, and we would have plenty of time. My girls do not drive, although
they are learning, but are afraid in heavy traffic or on long journeys, so
when we do go out in it, I have to run all over the neighborhood to ferret
out a driver."
I explained I wanted some information about her early experiences as a
school-teacher, as a comparison with present-day educational matters.
"My mother and her people, the Gunbys, were educated in St. Marys,
Georgia. There wasn't any Fernandina then - that section was only a
plantation, belonging to Don Domingo Fernandez. Later Mr. Fernandez set
aside a portion of land for a town. It was laid out and called
'Fernandina' for his family. (Stephen Fernandez married my mother's
sister, Eliza Gunby. They had four childred - all dead now). Mother went
to school to Mr. Church, in St Marys. "Aunt Eliza died and Uncle Stephen
gave his children to my father and mother to raise, and there were eleven
of us.
"Mother was the best speller in Mr. Church's school. She and my father
were married November 8, 1830, in St. Marys. They came to Fernandina to
live. When the children began to be of an age that they needed instruction
other than my mother could give, a Miss Matilda Seton, daughter of an
early settler of Old Town, was secured as our teacher.
"My father built a house of logs - two rooms - near the 'big house', as it
was called, and this was our family school house.
"When the boys became larger, my father thought best to place them under a
man teacher. So he wrote Lord and Taylor, in New York City, with whom he
did a great deal of business, to secure a tutor for his sons. In course of
time, they sent down a Mr. Lincoln, a cousin of Abraham Lincoln. He staid
until along in the late 1850's, becoming homesick, he returned to New
York. Then father hired a Mr. Boise. He staid a little over two years, but
when it seemed war was imminent, he, too, returned to New York, where he
expected to join the troops. He was my first teacher.
"When Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Boise were teaching us children, some of the
neighbors' boys came to school also: Col. Cooper's son, Walter Coachman,
General Finngan's boy, the sons of the Ogilvie's (the family kept the
drawbridge at Amelia River).
"When my brother, James, was sufficiently advanced through instruction
from Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Boise, he went to Harvard. My brother, John, went
to College in Schenectady, N. Y., my sister, Tudy, (Mrs. Bacon), went to a
girls' school at Milledgeville, Georgia; my sister, Mary, went to Athens,
Georgia to a college there, and my sister, Florence, attended Troy Female
Seminary in Troy, New York. Miss Frances Willard was then the Principal.
She later became famous in the Women's Christian Temperance Union. She was
a brilliant woman, and her school was considered the finest girls' school
in the United States. There is no doubt she was in advance of her time,
and later became a model as an example of women's rights. My sister was a
graduate of this school.
"When the war came on, John was at school in Schecnectady, Florence in
Troy, Mary, (Dr. Daniel's wife) and Tudy (Mrs. Bacon) were married.
"John and Florence were terribly alarmed, as lines were closed and thy
were fearful of getting back to Fernandina safely, and it was necessary
for them to make arrangements for their return hurriedly. They got in
touch some way with Mr. Lincoln, their early teacher, and he provided a
way through the west, a long tedious route, by which they finally reached
home in safety.
"When matters became unsettled in Fernandina, with Federal gunboats in the
harbor, my father took us and all the slaves to middle Florida, Hamilton
County, near White Springs, where we lived in plenty and unmolested all
during the terrible period.
"I just remember, Col. Cooper's son was named John; the Coachman boy was
young Walter, Gen. Finegan's son was Ford, and the Ogilvie's son Dave.
"A funny incident about Dave, which gave him a nickname he always bore,
was when Mr. Boise asked him one day to write a composition. He asked,
"About what?" Mr. Boise said, 'About something you know about. Don't try
to write about something away off that you have never seen.' Well Dave,
who was about fifteen, brought in his essay on the 'Cow.' He told all he
could think of, and wound up with - 'One of Daddy's cows is on the lift.'
Mr. Boise ask him what he meant, and he answered, 'She's down and can't
get up, even if she would.' Everybody laughed, and after that Dave was
dubbed 'Woudn't if he could, and couldn't if he would.'
"All of those boys boarded with us, and we also took care of the teacher.
The boys came from across the river, some as far away as twenty miles, so
they stayed with us until each week end.
"As my father had his eleven children, the Fernandez' four children, and
the four extra boys, and the tutor, it made a school of nearly twenty. I
was young, just learning my ABC's. I still have four picture cards given
me as 'Reward of Merit' for good scholarship and deportment.
"As I said, in April, 1861, we refugeed
to Hamilton County. My sister, Florence, taught us. She was a most
wonderful young woman - well educated, good looking, poised, intelligent
and accomplished. As there were no schools in Hamilton County during that
period and she felt sorry for other youngsters in that section, she
persuaded father to let her have one of the negro houses which she had
cleaned up, white-washed and made into a very presentable schoolroom.
"My brother, John O'Neill, was a Colonel in the Confederate Army; James
acted as a Commissariat; Isador was in the artillery and took part in the
Battle of Olustee, and my brother, Dunbar, was with the Army of Virginia,
Lee's troops in Virginia. Dr. R.P. Daniel, who married my first cousin,
Evelyn Fernandez, and Dr. Henry Bacon, my sister Tudy's husband, were also
with the Confederate troops. Their children were with us and had to be
educated, so eventually, sister Florence had quite a school, 32 pupils in
all.
"One of the girls, a Miss Mary Mosely, came from quite a distance away,
and she boarded at my father's house. She had a piano, and brought it
along, too, so that Florence could give her music lessons, for which
service those who wished could have the privilege of also practicing on
the piano. You see, we had a lovely grand piano in the old home at
Fernandina, but we had to flee for our lives, gathering what few personal
belongings we could, father and the slaves taking care of the farming
machinery, and sad to say, when we returned after the War, not a piece of
furniture was in the house - piano and all were gone. So we were glad to
have Miss Mosely's piano in our new home. Music was a delight to all of
us, and we four sisters used to sing a great deal. My older sister, Mary,
had a voice like Galli Curci. It was wonderful to hear her in solos.
"We kept up with the music of the times, having quite a stock of sheet
music on hand, all of which had been sent from the Music Department of
Lord & Taylor's in New York.
"My mother took particular care of our music, as it was expensive, and
when she had sufficient quantities to make a bound volume, this was
shipped to New York to the same firm, and returned to us, so that it would
be better taken care of. I have several of those old volumes now, one
composed entirely of Jenny Lind's repertoire when she made her
long-remembered American appearance.
"But to get back to school; Florence would gather the children in the
neighborhood each morning and bring them in for the day, returning them to
their homes at night. She kept this up for the four-year period of the
War, and not a cent was charged any of the parents.
"Yes, we had the old blue-back speller, and she taught us to read and
write well, and of course, we had spelling and arithmetic. When we got
older, we also learned algebra, chemistry, and she taught the girls music
and French. She tried to teach me Latin, but it didn't 'take' for some
reason, but I learned to speak French readily. We had philosophy, and all
the higher branches, as we reached the age to learn such studies. We did
not have any blackboards, but each pupil had a big slate on which we wrote
with slate-pencils. These seem to have gone out in the last few years,
being classed as 'unsanitary' and children nowadays write altogether with
pencils and pens.
"After the war, when we returned to Fernandina, my sister, Mrs. Bacon and
my sister, Florence O'Neill, opened a school for young ladies in General
Finegan's old home, and taught quite successfully for one year. Then
Bishop Young, the Episcopal Bishop of this Diocese, realizing the
possibilities of a well established girls' school in this section, came to
Fernandina and equipped this same old house, the Finegan home, as a select
boarding-school for young ladies. It was right where the school house is
today, on the very same site.
"I was about fourteen then. My sister went to Beaufort, S. C. after she
married a cousin of my future husband - B. W. Barnwell - and I went with
her and studied two years at Beaufort. They had three children, all of
whom are living in New York City.
"Later she and Mr. Barnwell moved to Abbeville, S. C., and then to
Suwannee, Tennessee, where she still taught - coaching the young men at
the Suwannee University. She educated three boys, by getting them
scholarships there. One was my son, James O'Neill Barnwell, who now lives
in Beverly Hills, California.
"She also educated her own children at Suwannee. When she and Mrs. Bacon
had the girls' school in Fernandina, it was full of young ladies of other
families, who were glad to avail themselves of high class tuition.
"Did we ever try to teach the Negroes on the plantation? Yes, we did. If
they were interested, we taught them to read, write and spell, but it had
to be done surreptitiously. I do not know whether there was a State law,
or if it was just not considered the proper thing to do, but it is a fact,
we taught them on the sly, for fear of being criticized.
"Mr. Barnwell, in South Carolina, used to teach his Negroes when he had
any who would study.
"The young people of that time were raised under strict discipline. I
remember one day John Cooper, and his sister, son and daughter of General
Cooper, now grown, came over on horseback. They were dressed in riding
clothes, blouse and knickerbockers, and were lounging on the steps of the
wide porch, when my father who had been riding around the plantation on
his favorite mount - 'Adelaide' - rode up, and saw them. He said 'How is
this? John, you and your sister mount your horses, go home and get
properly dressed, and when you come back we will be very happy to see you,
and have you stay to dinner.'
"This is quite a contrast to the way in which young people get away with
manners and deportment now, running around in bathing suits, shorts, and
what-not, all half naked, and nobody to object by a word, to our
heathenish dressing!
"I forgot to say that when my father settled in the early days at St.
Marys with his mother and two sisters, Mrs. Shaw, who was the daughter of
Nathaniel Greene, lived at 'Dungeness' twelve miles from Fernandina, an
old plantation, the land having been granted to General Green for
distinguished service in the Revolutionary war. Mrs. Shaw had a nephew,
James Nightingale, who was not inclined to study. She came to St. Marys
and begged my grandmother to let her have my father, Henry O'Neill, as a
companion to young Nightingale, thinking it might cause him to take more
interest in his studies. She had a tutor brought from England, and my
father studied under him at 'Dungeness' for eight years, so he was well
educated, and he saw that all of his children had a good education. The
school-house was at 'Dungeness' for several years after the war, so was
our old school-room at New Hope. But they are all gone now.
"Bishop Young's Seminary at Fernandina prospered. He had the very best
teachers he could secure - one was a Miss Fuller, and another, a Miss
Stoney. He also asked my sister, Florence, to become a member of his
staff, but she married shortly afterwards and went to live in Beaufort, S.
C. It was more of a finishing school, although he took a select class of
younger girls, intermediates.
"This was about 1870. The school became well known, with a splendid
reputation for scholarship and high class objectives in learning and
Christian influence. The school was located, as I said before, on old
Center Street, now Atlantic Avenue. On the same site now is a public
school.
"When my husband and I moved back to Fernandina from Savannah in 1888,
after my mother's death, a Mrs. Ellis came to me and said we could get a
public school at O'Neill, the Railroad Station named for our family, if I
would agree to teach. So a man came from Tallahassee, connected with the
department of Education, and conducted a sort of institute for a month. I
qualified, and was granted a certificate to teach the school. In the
course of the seven years I taught here, the school grew in attendance so
that it had to be enlarged twice - new rooms being added on to the
original room in the form of a 'T'. Some children walked four miles twice
a day to attend. Everybody brought lunch from home. There were no fancy
lunch baskets, thermos jugs, or waxed paper. Just plain bread and meat,
with cookies, and sometimes cake and pie. No, we had no hot drinks. I
always carried a jug of water from New Hope, as it is the best water in
the world. We did not have a 10 a.m. recess - just the hour for lunch. And
in the afternoon, we left as soon as I could finish my twenty classes -
you see I had all grades primer to the advanced, and it was generally
about three o'clock when the last class was over. It was most interesting
work, and I was known as 'the great teacher of Nassau County.'
"I wanted my son, Woodward, to be well educated, so when he was far enough
advanced, I taught him and two young ladies, Miss Church and Miss Davis,
advanced studies like Philosophy, English History, French, and other of
the higher branches. The girls, Carrie Church and Bessie Davis, had only
one book between them in the physiology class, studying together. One day
Carrie said: "Do you believe all the lies in 'that book?' and Bessie
answered: 'Shucks! 'Course I do.' So I was surprised one day when Carrie
Church said: 'Mrs. Barnwell, there is a training class for nurses in
Jacksonville. Do you think I could qualify?' I told her to put in most of
her time on Physiology. She did, and later became one of the first nurses
in the old St. Luke's Hospital. She married a Mr. Dodge and I never heard
of her after she left Jacksonville.
"The county superintendent of schools was Mr. L. L. Owens, and he used to
come and give the examinations. They were oral, as written examinations
did not come in until several years later.
"I remember one time Mr. Owens said, 'If you keep up an average of 80%
attendance, we will give you two months extra. I would go two or three
miles out of my way on rainy mornings to pick up the children and get them
to school, so as to maintain the required average. The school-house was 50
yards from the station. I would leave home about 8:15 a. m. with Woodward,
in a one-seated buggy, and my horse - 'Lady', would trot me to the
school-house in seven minutes. She was high spirited, and so happy, it
seemed to me, in getting me to school on time, that sometimes she would
jump straight up! One time she ran away - but that's another story.
"On leaving the schoolhouse after a hard day's work, I would go back to
the old plantation and do another day's work in the latter afternoon and
evening - cooking supper, getting ready for the next day, and on Saturday
I would go to town with butter, eggs, vegetables, etc., to sell.
"After the war, my father hired hands to work the fields - paying the
Negro men 60 cents per day and the women, 50¢. For twelve years he
cultivated truck, selling quantities of vegetables - carrots, cabbage,
tomatoes, sweet potatoes, white potatoes, green corn, cucumbers. The land
would grow anything, it was [so?] fertile.
"We had a large packing house near the wharf on Amelia Island where the
vegetables were stored. A freighter called once a week, and the truck was
loaded onto two flats (flatboats) and swung alongside the ship where they
were unloaded into the hold.
"Did I have any trouble disciplining pupils? Well, yes, I had one
experience I will never forget. As a rule the children were anxious to
learn and were very tractable, but there was a Holiness family moved into
that section, they were styled 'Jumpers' a fanatical sect - and the father
said so much learning was dangerous and sinful. One of his sons tried to
choke me one day, and in our struggle pulled out a handful of my hair, but
I finally conquered him, and told him he could not come back, or I would
expel him. It did not matter much, however, as there was only one more
week of school. Some of the country people did not care much for an
education. The children would say - 'my father and mother do not know how
to read and write, and they make a good living.'
"I used to talk to my pupils about the value of and education and would
tell them - 'If you write a letter and it is properly written and the
words spelled correctly, people will say - 'that is an educated person.'
And 'If you can figure, you can make yourself valuable in business,' and
similar talks.
"Not long ago I met a man now living in Atlanta who went to my school at
O'Neill Station, and he said: 'Mrs. Barnwell, if I had only heeded all the
talks you gave me, I would have been a great man.'
"What salary did I receive? At first, $20.00 per month, which after four
years was increased to [$45.00?]. I furnished my own horse and buggy and
drove the 3and one-half miles to O'Neill."
February 6, 1939.
Mrs. Isabel Barnwell, (85)
2116 Pearl Place,
Jacksonville,
Florida.
(Correct name)
(Early School-teacher
Nassau County).
Rose Shepherd - writer.
Text from: Library of
Congress, Manuscript Division, WPA Federal Writers' Project Collection
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