Mary Mitchell Remembers Shepherdstown & Copenhagen (1850s)

by Jim Surkamp on June 14, 2011 11410 words

(Preserved by her daughter, the late Miss Nina Mitchell, of Shepherdstown, as “Memories.”)

About Mary Bedinger Mitchell:

Mary Bedinger Mitchell was born in 1850 into a colorful, creative, generous, often eccentric family that populated Jefferson County and Flushing, New York, blending Southern ways and New York money. The “Mitchell” is as in “Mitchell Field” which was the predecessor airfield to today’s LaGuardia Airport. Her father, Henry, was a congressmen and the first American ambassador to Denmark. His sister and Mitchell’s aunt, Henrietta Bedinger Lee, married Robert E, Lee’s first cousin, Edmund Jennings Lee, and lived at Leeland in Shepherdstown. Mitchell’s sister, Caroline “Danske” Dandridge, became a well-known historian, garden-author and poet who lived ‘till her death in Shepherdstown in 1912. Mary Mitchell is known for her essay “A Woman’s Recollections of Antietam” that appeared in “The Century” Magazine in 1888 and is cited by historians as one of the best accounts of civilian travail during the Civil War.

The succeeding generation – Danske’s daughter, Serena K. Dandridge, lived for many years with the daughter of Mary Bedinger Mitchell,

Miss Nina Mitchell, at the home Mitchell’s brave mother refurbished just before the Civil War began. (It is privately-owned and called The Grove or Rosebrake, located due south from the junior high on Route 480). These two spinsters – one habitually wearing jodphurs and herding sheep, and the other, wearing gauzy gowns, speaking several languages and forgetful of dinner commitments – were the inspiration of a movie in the 1946 called “The Young Widow,” starring Jane Russell. Their quirky charms, relentless generosity and civic-mindedness in all possible forms have made them a true local legend.

About “Memories”:

Mary B. Mitchell relies on a keen sense of manners and daily life in the 1850s not only in Virginia but Copenhagen and the countryside there. She, between 8-11 years old, observed with interest how the laundry was cleaned and ironed, discovered the joys of “beer soup.” She remembers, upon returning to America, that her family’s “Christmas Tree” was the only one known of in either Flushing, New York or Shepherdstown. Theirs may well have been the first, having picked up the custom in Denmark where her father was this country’s first ambassador. The practice had been spreading in Europe since Queen Victoria had one in recent years, but the idea had barely reached American shores yet.

One also notices how families with either wealth or position intermarried fervently – more than once – to preserve the hegemony. She tells of pre-Civil War, serial tragedies and misfortune, and the bravery they spawned.

It is ill-advised to conjecture from such a distance in time, but studying authoritative accounts written on the mores of the King of Denmark at the time the Bedingers were there, and given Caroline Bedinger was a “very practicing” Episcopalian, one may conjecture on all the reasons – spoken and unspoken – for which she returned to America several years prior to her husband’s with their three children.


“Henry Bedinger was a member of the House of Representatives, was in Washington in 1840 and met there Caroline, eldest daughter of Hon. John W. Lawrence of Flushing, Long Island.

“Mr. Bedinger was a very lovable and popular man with certain qualities that caused him to live long in the affectionate memories of those who met him even casually, but he had never been able to make any money for himself and as what he should have inherited had been lost before it reached him, and as he was moreover past his youth and already a widower with two children, it is not surprising that

“Mr. Lawrence felt that he could wish his young daughter, not yet twenty, a better match. What opposition he made, however, was presently withdrawn and my father and mother were married at Willow Bank in the Fall of 1847.

“They had no children until 1850 when on the 3rd of August, in an upper room at Bedford, in the middle of a roaring thunderstorm, I came screaming into the world.

“My brother Henry (The Reverend Henry Bedinger) was born at Willow Bank on the 21st of July 1853, and my sister,

“Caroline Dane, always called ‘Danske,’ was born in Copenhagen November 19th, 1854. The two children of my father by his first marriage with Margaret Rust, daughter of “General” George Rust of Loudon County, Va., were George Rust, born July 9th 1840 and Virginia, born January 22nd 1842. These two children were mainly brought up by their Rust grandparents and, inherited a comfortable fortune from their mother, but this fortune, being largely in slaves, was lost during the war. After leaving school Virginia made her home with my mother.

“George would have done so had he lived, but he went from the University into the army and was killed at Gettysburg. We were all devotedly fond of him, upon whom, more than upon any other one of us, my father’s mantle of popularity seemed to have fallen. Wherever he went he made friends.

“Having lost his re-election to Congress my father lived at Bedford doing what he could in the practice of law until the spring of 1853 when President Pierce appointed him Charge d’Affaires to Denmark and he went out immediately.

“My mother waited at Willow Bank where in July Henry was born, and in the early Autumn, I believe about the last of September, she followed to Copenhagen of course taking her two children with her. I was only three years old but I suppose the novelty of the voyage made
me open to impressions, for my very first recollection is of hanging tightly to the hand of kind old Captain Fitch as he took me to see some cows in the hold. With cows in the pastures at Bedford I was no doubt very familiar, but a cow on a ship seemed as much out of place as I felt myself.

“These were not the days of ocean racers and when we reached Hamburg after a voyage of twenty-one days we were not considered to have had an extraordinarily hard time. I do not really remember anything about our arrival at Hamburg, or our journey thence to Denmark.

“My memory takes a hop from the ship and the cow to the house in Copenhagen where we lived for three years, spending our summers however at a country villa about three Danish miles from the city. Of these places, of the public gardens, the Ramparts and the streets through which my nurse led me in our daily walks, of the fields and the grounds belonging to the palace of Sorgenfrae adjoining our country place of Albertina’s Lust, my recollections so far as they go are very clear and precise and I believe that if I were now set down in St. Anna’s Platz I could find my way to the old nursery, or in the country could cross the bridge to the queen’s bleaching ground at Luneby . . . so distinctly do all these places seem to rise in my mind.

“Copenhagen as I remember it, was a cheerful, clean little city, with wide streets, comparatively low houses, plenty of squares and breathing spaces and a general air of roominess and comfort. The houses in Princess Street where we lived – in the third house from the corner of St. Anna’s Platz – were very much such as one finds in German towns today, built around courtyards and occupied in several flats and stages.

“We lived . . . on the second floor – that is, we had one family below us and one above. Americans are now very familiar with ‘flats’ in all our cities, though most of those are certainly as different as possible from anything European, but in 1854 our friends, even in New York, thought it interesting to know that carriages used to drive through the street door and stop at the staircase to let Madame alight, who after ascending one flight would then ring at her own front door on the landing and, having been admitted to her ‘house,’ would find all, from drawing room to kitchen, upon one level.

“I remember that our maids in the laundry always used box-irons, in appearance very much like our ordinary smoothing irons, but consisting as the name implies of a hollow box with a slide at the broad and fastening by a catch.

“Two soap stones of the same shape as the box belonged to each iron and these were alternately heated red hot in the kitchen stove, slipped into the case, and the slide fastened to keep them in – one stone in use while the other was left heating.

“I can also remember going frequently with our maids to the attic which we divided into three portions, each stage keeping the key to one portion. Here each household hung out its weekly wash I believe – at least we hung out ours and I think the Danes do not follow the Swedish custom of laundering clothes once in six months . . .

“Our house was large, enclosing two courts, the far side of the inner court being formed by the stables. My mother’s housekeeper, Miss Smitzer, and the butler, Thomas, took entire charge of the establishment doing the marketing, general providing, etc. for a certain fixed sum, and if they cheated her themselves, my mother used to say, she was sure they would – no one else cheat her of so much. This was very different from Virginia housekeeping and strange indeed to any American ideas of the fifties, but it seems a matter of course now and it was the only course open to my mother who could not speak Danish – the court language was French – and who was obliged to keep up her position as wife of the American representative.

“Miss Smitzer was very kind to me and I used to take great pleasure in being with her in the kitchen – like all children who always find housework fascinating until they are obliged to do it. When we gave a dinner, however, Miss Smitzer was very busy and I was shut out. I remember several Danish dishes of her concoction which were unlike American ones. There was a certain sweet soup of a light purple color, served with barley and raisins that we children liked. I never knew what it was made of.

“Every morning before we joined our parents at breakfast we had served in our day nursery a beer soup (Called “Øllebrød”-ED) of which we grew very fond and which the Danes considered the best possible thing for children. After we came home my mother tried to make both these soups for us but with no success. The beer soup especially was an utter failure because there was no beer to be had like the mild Danish. (“Mackeson beer”-ED)

“There were other dishes that were strange to us. ‘Bonny clabber’ or cloppered milk served with light cream in a great soup plate at evening parties. My mother said she never went out to any kind of entertainment where this was omitted – if anything was served at all – and it amused her to see the king’s relatives, princes of the blood, with their napkins

NOTE: Mary Randolph, who wrote: “The Virginia Housewife Or, Methodical Cook,” the first regional cookbook from Virginia, includes the following recipe for “Bonny Clabber:”

“A Necessary Refreshment at all Parties. 2 qts. Milk; 1 stick cinnamon; 4 oz. almonds; 1-2 tbs. rose water; Sugar:

“Boil two quarts of milk with a stick of cinnamon and let it stand to be quite cold, first taking out the cinnamon; blanch four ounces of the best sweet almonds, pound them in a marble mortar with a little rose-water; mix them well with the milk, sweeten it to your taste, and let it boil a few minutes only, lest the almonds should be oily; strain it through a very fine sieve till quite smooth, and free from the almonds, serve it up either cold or lukewarm, in glasses with handles.”

More on “Clabber”-ED

“But what I liked best of all was the common black bread, hard and sour and made of coarse rye but very much to my childish taste. I soon learned to know where it was kept and would trot to the cupboard to get it, much to the amusement of the maids who called it peasant bread and thought a little lady should eat something finer.

“In those days peasant costumes were generally worn and our nurses were very picturesque in bodice, apron and cup. The costumes both of men and women made the streets bright with color. When the snow came in the winter there were countless sleighs gaily decked out passing and re-passing along St. Anna’s Platz.

“At Christmas everybody had a Christmas tree. This was an entire novelty to us then and when my mother returned, she dressed the first tree our friends either in Flushing or Virginia had ever seen. Now every body is familiar with the custom which has so often degenerated into a perfunctory exhibition for Sunday Schools and charities. I do not know why it is that so many beautiful and touching observances when transplanted to this country lose grace and significance if they do not actually become tawdry and vulgar. I should be sorry to seem to imply that there was anything essentially vulgar in the American mind but it is certain that customs adopted as fashions wither in our hands. We push the form to its extreme but the spirit dies.

“The winter days (in Denmark) of course are very short. The sun would scarcely rise above the houses and it would be dark by three o’clock. The Danes are Lutherans and not strict in the observances of Sunday. My mother, brought up in the straitest Evangelical school, was shocked to see the people only going to church in the morning and amusing themselves all the afternoon, the men playing cards and the

“women sitting at the windows working the endless “worsted work,” cross-stitch on canvas, then so much in vogue.

“My mother had been taught to consider cards a worldly amusement not fit for ‘professing Christians’ and she was therefore much annoyed when our English clergyman who used to like to come often to see my father would insist upon having the curtains drawn and lamps lighted long before dark, obliging my mother to take her embroidery into another room to utilize the remaining daylight. What hurt and provoked her was to think that a minister of the gospel would stoop to what she called hypocrisy and I believe she would have been glad to forbid him the house.

“But another, more welcome visitor of my father’s, though he played cards by any light, and was fond as well of my father’s own beloved game of chess was Hans Christian Anderson. I grieve to say I do not at all remember “the great magician whose stories were afterward read to pieces in our house. Probably I was, like a good little girl sound asleep when he made his visits and I only knew of him what my mother told me and what everyone else knows – that he was excessively homely and excessively sensitive and shrinking but very kindhearted and most genial and pleasant when at ease . . . .

“There was no Queen of Denmark. The King had married a milliner of Copenhagen whom the country refused to raise to the throne. There was in consequence no Court, properly so called. The ladies of the Royal family, of the nobility, and of the diplomatic corps refusing to recognize the King’s wife, he received only the gentleman at the palace and all his entertainments were dinners, hunting parties, card suppers and the like for men alone. I believe my mother was never formally presented to the

“King and saw him only two or three times, as it were by accident. But the other Royal personages – the King’s uncles and cousins – entertained a good deal – as if to make up for his deficiency – but always in a very quiet and unostentatious way. The Royal Circle of Denmark was not rich, nor given to display. It was at these entertainments that the bonny clabber figured as a first course. Our Virginia cousins who never quite approved of our fondness for this homely dish would have stared to see it handed about on huge silver waiters carried by footmen be-laced and powdered . . . .

“My mother then did not go to Court, but my father went there a great deal . . . . The King had taken a great fancy to him and as royal favor always makes friends my father had no lack.

“But all his life wherever he went he was popular. He arrived in Denmark as Charge d’Affaires, but while he was there the post was raised and he became Minister Plenipotentiary, whether with a larger salary or not I cannot say . . . . My father was very elated by his success in that matter (abolition of the Sound Dues at Helsingor-ED) . . . He was warmly thanked by the King who testified his appreciation farther by presenting him with a very handsome silver tankard, or vase. (The King was then widely acknowledged as a heavy drinker-ED) But my father, whose ideas on such subjects were more stringent than some now obtaining, returned the gift saying that as the servant of the United States his scruples would not permit him to accept it . . . . And his own country never took any notice of his achievement whatever. By the time he returned the affair was two or three years old (1858) and the statesmen in Washington, if they remembered the existence of such a place as Helsingor . . . were absorbed in that tempest of party strife that grew fiercer and fiercer until it burst into civil war. This was a keen disappointment to my father who felt that he had deserved better treatment . . . .

“But my mother’s health was poor. She had never been very strong and it was thought the climate did not agree with her. Danske was born in November, 1854 and my mother did not regain her strength very well.

“I think it must have been in the summer ’53 that we spent some weeks on the Isle of Moen, probably with the hope of helping her. My recollections of that island is like a lovely picture. It seems a chalk cliff at the foot of which breaks the sea upon a shining white beach covered with wonderful shells and fossils. Above the cliff a stretch of greensward and noble trees like a gentlemen’s park with views of the sea in all directions giving you the impression of hanging between them and the sky.

“I remember being called out with this beautiful wood by moonlight to listen to the nightingale – could anything be more bewitching? But the air failed to help my mother and in 1855 it was decided that she should take us children back to the United States. Possibly there were other reasons for this decision. My father owed some few debts in Virginia that he was very anxious to pay off and he had nothing but his salary. It was thought that if my mother were not with him and he could live in bachelor quarters that he could save something, especially as there was no court so I have explained. Then, too, I believe the house we lived in was sold and we should have been obliged to move. I remember going with my father and mother to look at several other apartments, but none seemed satisfactory. All our family have always hated debt and both my father and mother were restive and uncomfortable under the burden . . . .

“We came back to New York after a three-week’s passage as usual in the fall of 1856 and went to Willow Bank (in Flushing-ED). But we did not stay there long. . . . She (mother-ED) preferred to be independent and went to live in a very small, mean-looking house on Locust Street with one colored woman as general servant beside the children’s nurse . . .

“I still remember Mary Gleason with much affection. She was fond of us and very good and faithful and followed my mother two years afterwards to Virginia where in her turn she became homesick – but this is anticipating. Meanwhile my mother lived in the poor little house in Locust Street (when we moved out my grandfather’s gardener Leroy occupied it for a number of years) and economized closely upon the small allowance her father made her.

“It could not have been gay. We children all had measles and whooping cough and, I have no doubt, made my mother’s life as hard as children usually do. For myself when the worst of the measles etc. were over I was very well content. Children think nothing of appearances and we had the essential comforts. My mother’s younger sisters, Belle and Fannie, who although they were my aunts were at the same time very near my age and always my playmates, had been obliging enough to have mumps and whooping cough at the same time, so that we were not debarred from each other’s society.

“As soon as my morning lessons were said to my mother she used to help me put on my cloak and hood and let me run down to Willow Bank to spend the day with Fannie and Belle playing with paper dolls, or improvising a circus with the swing and carpenter’s horse in the garret. It was jollier companionship and more fun than my nursery in Copenhagen, or even the little class, not unlike a rudimentary kindergarten, that I had attended at the Ryans’. I also found old Susan’s griddle cakes very acceptable, though she herself was a sorry exchange for my beloved Miss Smitzer. But it was one thing for me and quite another for my mother. I never heard her complain. It was never hinted to us children that we had lost any privilege or opportunity.

“On the contrary, we were continually told by everybody with whom we talked at all, how much better it was to be in America than in any other country under the sun and we fully and heartily agreed. But looking back now I can see other things.

“My mother went to some evening entertainment or other in Flushing and came up to kiss me before going. I jumped up in bed to look at her,

“delighted to see again the dress of dark maroon velvet I had seen her wear in Denmark. It was really very becoming and handsome

with a deep ‘bertha’ or cape of “honiton lace and worn with fluffy marabout feathers in her hair. I cried out to her that she looked lovely and wouldn’t she always wear that dress. But she never wore it again. Poor lady, her life lay away from balls and gayety. . . .

NOTE: The Bedingers soon longed for Virginia.-ED

“. . .It is probable she was very glad to spend part of her time with my father’s sister in Virginia.

“My aunt Henrietta Lee was then living at Bedford, my birthplace, which my uncle Lee bought from my father when Leeland was burned – I believe in ’55.

“We went down and spent the summer and I have every reason to believe that my mother felt much more at home there than in Flushing. She had always liked the place and the people who were good to her and idolized my father and so far from denying any legitimate consideration were more apt to exaggerate it to the verge of the ridiculous.

“I can best describe Bedford a little later on when I come to our life in Shepherdstown and will only say about this visit to Virginia that on our way down we stopped at Rockland in Loudoun County where my aunt Lily was living.

“She was Mrs. Armistead T. M. Rust having married the brother of my father’s first wife, Margaret Rust. When my father came to Flushing to marry my mother he brought his brother-in-law Armistead Rust with him. Mr. Rust fell immediately in love with my mother’s sister, Lily, (Eliza Southgate Lawrence-ED) the next in age and considered a great beauty. After some little time they were married – and my sole recollection of my aunt is one that remains to me from the visit to Rockland. I recall a somewhat tall and stately woman with a face that did not seem to me pretty because it was cold and repellent. I believe she was not happy, but upon that it is not necessary to speak. She died in the spring following our visit (1858-ED), leaving three children, Lawrence, Fred, and Becky. I also remember seeing on this visit to Rockland, Mrs. George Rust (Maria Clagett Marlow Rust)-ED), whom I was also taught to call “Grandma Rust.” She was a rather severe old lady, thin, erect, wearing a very stiff, white cape . . . .

“On the whole I have a rather restrained and uncomfortable impression of our stay at Rockland although my cousin, Lawrence and I had a good time catching fireflies . . . .

“That summer my brother, George, and my sister, Virginia, spent their holidays with us but they found Flushing very dull. Nobody came to see them or asked them anywhere and with their Southern notions this seemed to them inexplicable and unpardonable. I do not know how to account for it myself, except upon the theory of my mother’s retiring disposition
and the dampening effect of the little house. Our moving perhaps was too recent to work a reformation. But I do know that Virginia especially could never afterwards hear of Flushing with anything like patience. . . .”

“Meanwhile my father had now been nearly two years in Denmark alone. He was just as popular as ever and had his hands full of business and pleasure. He was much with the King and had plenty of invitations to all sorts of entertainments. He had been shooting in Norway and had sent home several fine stuffed trophies – eagles, hawks, etc. – though the best of his collection and a quantity of household stuff besides was burned at sea on the ‘Austria.’ Best of all he had managed to save some money and felt himself able to pay his debts. It would seem as if his wisest course would have been to send for his family and continue in the enjoyment of his good fortune. He had been sent out by President Pierce,

“but had the equal confidence of Mr. Buchanan and had in fact everything his own way. But he either did not know when he was well off or there were reasons at work of which neither his letters nor my mother’s account have ever given any hint. Perhaps she was unwilling to go back. Certainly he was extremely homesick.

“All his letters cry for home, his river, his mountains, his dear people. Perhaps I cannot do better than copy here some verses he wrote in Denmark and sent to the ‘Shepherdstown Register.’

“Denmark, June 26th, 1855.

‘To My Good Old Friend, Mr. John Boroff, of Shepherdstown, Jefferson County, Virginia

‘By the Exile Not of Erin’

‘I am walking on a Sandy Shore, hard by a Sounding Sea,
And, to save me, John, I cannot tell why I should think of thee.
And yet, throughout this lengthened day, thy friendly face will come
To fill my soul with memories of happier hours and Home.

‘Go where I will, do what I may, I cannot fail to hear
The roaring of thy furnace and thy hammer ringing clear.
What art thou forging now, John, that echoes such as those
Should cross the broad Atlantic from the thunder of thy blows?

‘Does the coulter of the ploughman demand thy glowing fire,
Or do thy sturdy strokes descend upon the wagon’s tire?
Art thou forming for the woodman’s axe an edge of perfect proof?
Or striking from the solid strong shoes for horse’s hoof?

‘I know not and I cannot guess, but this I say to thee,
I would give a very pretty gift could I be there to see.
For I must confess the honest truth my mind has run away
As limber legged Bill Russel did from you one sunny day.

‘My mind has run away, John, and all that I can do
Cannot coax it to come back again from Shepherdstown and you.”
It is playing with those marbles, it is spinning that same top
That often in your absence, John, I’ve spun within your shop.

‘It is wrestling with your prentice boy and tripping up his heels,
And shouting with a merry shout to find how cheap he feels.
It is moulding bullets at your forge, and yet with watchful eyes
Lest your too sudden entrance should take it by surprise.

‘And when, with ears all wide awake, it hears your heavy stride
Although the door is much too near, the window opens wide,
And with a bound away it goes, still leaving you to guess
What evil spirit could have left your tools in such a mess.

‘But now with might and main it flies; for hark! the drum and fife
Proclaim that “The Artillery” are out in thorough life!
The fife by good old “Doctor” Sheetz, the drum by Joseph Smith
Oh, John, my mind will not come back for it is marching with

‘That noble little company and pressing up so near
That the gallant Colonel Harper says, “Stand back, my little sir.”
And with his white plume waving and with his sword so bright
He seems to my bewildered eyes a vision of delight.

‘Now, this is of a Saturday, no fear of Pedagogue,
Though I dog him, he is fast asleep, oppressed with fruits of grog!
But soon the sacred Sabbath morn from out the Eastern Bowers
Comes smiling o’er the silent town perfumed with summer flowers

‘And now the tone of those sweet bells falls on my willing ear,
And plainly and more plainly the pleasant chimes I hear.
Oh, gentle winds, still waft along, wherever I may be
The sound of those sweet Sabbath bells, so exquisite to me.

‘Since those delightful days, old friend, I’ve wandered far and wide,
And many a devious path of life my weary feet have tread.
I’ve dined with King and Lords and Knights and bowed before a Queen,
But never in my whole career one mortal have I seen
Whose lot through life I would prefer to that which yours has been.

‘Ah honest, earnest citizen with health and courage strong,
Still batt’ling with the batt’ling world but doing no man wrong,
With cheerful labour earning bread, and doing all he can
To prove “God’s noblest work” on earth to be an honest man.

‘Farewell! The vision fades away; Night’s solemn wing comes down
And on the silent, sullen sky I see the Tempest’s frown.
The troubled winds go moaning by, as if in real dread
Of the Hurricane’s remorseless lash which threatens them o’erhead.
But every wave that sweeps my feet says plainly to my ear,
“Perform thy duty like thy friend, and thou hast naught to fear.” ‘

“If his thoughts turned so longingly homewards while his wife
and children were still with him, it is not likely that they lost any
of intensity after he was left alone. At all events he soon began to
beg to be recalled but President Buchanan did not immediately comply.
He seems to have thought that he had the right man in the right place
and wished to keep him there.

“But my father was bent upon returning and finally came home about I think the middle of September 1858. Late one night when we were all in bed there was a ringing of the door bell, a knocking on the door. I jumped up in my mother’s bed where I was sleeping to see her hurrying on a wrapper, to hear Virginia hurrying about in her room and trying to find a light, while

“my brother (step-brother from previous marriage-ED) George had already opened the front door and was vigorously shaking some body by the hand and saying over and over, ‘How do you do, sir? How are you sir? I’m very glad to see you. How do you do, sir?’

“It was the first time father and son had met for more than six years, and the schoolboy of twelve had had time to become the collegian of eighteen. . . Very soon after this we all left Flushing. My sister went to The Priory near Pelham, a boarding school taught by the Bolton sisters. George went to the University of Virginia and my father took my mother and her children to Shepherdstown. He was nearly crazy with joy at getting home and the people were delighted to see him. Such a welcome as he received must have done his heart good proving that the dear state to which he had turned so fondly during his days of absence had all the while remembered him as fondly. People came from far and near to see and talk with him and there were entertainments and merrymakings. I like to think that for those few weeks at least my father and mother were both really happy. What my father’s plans or expectations for the future may have been I do not know. Of course he had to look about him for a means to support his family.

“We took rooms in Shepherdstown in Mrs. Line’s house on the corner opposite ‘Entler’s Hotel’ where we took our meals. It was to be only a temporary arrangement until something better could be found.

“We children enjoyed running across the street to dinner, but my mother certainly did not. It was now growing colder. The 1st of November was at hand and the Fall elections. My father was not a candidate for any office nor did he actually take part in the work, but he was such a popular speaker that he was always being urged to speak at this meeting or that, and he never liked to refuse.

“I remember being allowed to get out of bed one cold evening and to stand wrapped in a shawl at a front window whence I could see a monster bonfire burning in the street. Of course it was some official demonstration, or other, and the crowd was large and enthusiastic.

“As I watched I saw my father’s figure pass between us and the vivid blaze and heard him greeted with cheer upon cheer. Then I was sent back to bed. The next day I could not see my father, he was not well and was to be kept quiet. He had made a speech that night in the teeth of a keen wind, and he had caught cold. Typhoid pneumonia was developed and in a few days he was dead.

“Sad days followed full of gloom and depression. I was taken to the funeral by my Uncle Lee and when we came to the grave I was lifted upon a stone wall and stood there holding fast my uncle’s hand, while the coffin was lowered beneath the frozen clods.

“The day was cold and gray. I had never seen so many people together before. There seemed no end to the carriages or the crowds on foot. But I had never in my short life felt so miserable, too forlorn even to cry.

“My father was buried in the old Bedinger burying ground just beyond Bedford garden and the house in which he was born. From the orchard close by the apple trees that he had climbed as a boy thrust out their gnarled branches above his grave. The mountains that he loved were in full view and his own dear Potomac rolled a mile away.

“There are of course many objections to private burying grounds and when Shepherdstown opened a cemetery some ten years later we were glad to move all the family tombs within its precincts.

Bedford where the Bedinger burying ground was, before relocation tot Elmwood and the Old Episcopal burying ground

“Still looking towards the eternal mountains, my father’s grave lies on the eastern slope of the cemetery hill, with the graves of his father and mother, sister and brother, the last tokens of a vanished household, surrounding him. It is still familiar ground, well known to him as boy and man. Yet there was something peculiarly touching and appropriate in allowing one whose affections were so strong to be first laid under his own walls in the home for which he had so longed across the sea.

“We broke up our temporary lodgings in the town and went out to Bedford where we spent the winter of ’58-’59 with my

“Uncle Lee and his wife, Aunt Henrietta, my father’s sister. In the spring, acting upon the Lee’s advice, my mother bought

“Poplar Grove, a farm of sixty acres adjoining Bedford. The two houses stood upon opposite hills with one broad sloping field, a marsh, and stream of water lying between. Bedford vanished in fire and smoke but The Grove still stands, though much altered.

“My mother immediately began to build an addition to the small four-roomed structure with ‘back building’ that she bought with the farm. Her resources were limited and she built modestly, but her intention was to enlarge the house sufficiently to make it a home for George and Virginia as well as for her own children. All servants in

“that region then were slaves and as my mother owned none she hired, by the year, a negro man and two women. . . . In April 1859 we moved formally in, managing to stow ourselves away somehow in the little house and not waiting for the addition – which was lucky, if we meant to live there at all, since the house, as my mother planned it, never was completed. Certainly my mother had courage.

“When I think how she dared to do this with her delicate health and her scanty means, I am lost in amazement. I have said before that Bedford belonged to my father as he inherited it from his mother. That, but little else.

“My grandfather Bedinger died possessed of a very comfortable property that ought to have kept all his children in easy circumstances, but my grandmother encumbered with the care of a family and being nothing of a business woman entrusted her affairs to a man who cheated her at will. There were large tracts of land in Kentucky – among them the site of the city of Covington – of value even then and yearly increasing. But my grandmother’s agent persuaded her that they were worthless, got from her power of attorney and sold all at a sacrifice – on her part. It was always believed that the greater part of their price stuck to the hands through which it was supposed to pass. . . But there was enough to last her day and she accepted all in good faith while the old, easy, open-handed hospitable life so often described went on from year to year.

“The children grew up, married off and died and to my father, almost the youngest of the family, came the awakening from a dream of plenty to a daily struggle. He found himself plunged in difficulties through a series of blunders for which he was not responsible. . . While he was in Denmark Leeland was burned, the house taking fire from a defective flue, and Mr. Lee being thus made homeless offered to buy from my father his place, Bedford, to which – it being her old home – my aunt was much attached. My father therefore sold his birthplace, the old homestead, to his sister and her husband, and with the money thus received and the little he had been able to save in Denmark his debts were paid and my mother after his death found herself left with a small sum – just enough to buy Poplar Grove which was then in market at a low figure.

“Her father and mother did not approve of this. They wanted her to come to Flushing and bring up her children there. But she was not inclined to make the experiment. Probably she remembered the little house in Locust Street, and the sniffy callers had warned her what she might expect.

“She said and I think very justly that her small means were enough to allow her to live comfortably in Shepherdstown but shabbily in Flushing, that by buying this farm and working it she could keep a home for her children among their father’s people, could educate and bring them up far better than by dooming them to the obscurity that their want of means would make inevitable anywhere near New York.

“I often wonder what would have happened if my father had been content to remain in Denmark and to keep us with him. He was, as has been abundantly apparent, most passionately attached to Virginia and to have gone counter to his beloved State would have almost broken his heart.

“Yet although I have really no reasons to offer for thinking so I have always felt that it was at least very doubtful if he would have ever renounced his allegiance to the United States. He died before there was any serious talk of secession, but, so far as I know, he always most
loyally upheld the Union. Yet when I think of the similar position of my Uncle Lee and others, and remember how completely their feeling altered after the war was actually begun and Virginia was as they thought invaded, how bitter they became, how entirely they saw with different eyes and heard with different ears, I feel that nothing can be certainly said said about my father. Perhaps it was a mercy that he was spared a choice that must have seemed like dragging him asunder.

“From the first day of taking possession of our own house and the beginning of building the addition, we children had a beautiful time, first exploring and then appropriating in childhood’s own happy fashion the fields with their rock brakes, springs, and marshes full of all manner of wild treasures, the farm yard, like a little village, with it numerous buildings, the charming orchard, the dear old garden full of every sort of fascinating old-fashioned herb and flower, and last but by no means least

“the grove of really magnificent oaks and tulip poplars from which the place had been named. The land rolled away westward from the house, most picturesquely gray limestone rocks cropped out here and there, gray stone walls surrounded it, and the great forest trees studded the grassy slopes and crowned the hilltops with grandeur.

“To the east beyond the garden fence, the land again fell away and rose and fell in undulating slopes until, like the waves of some green congealed sea, they rolled to the feet of the mountains. In one grand semicircle the Blue Ridge swept around us,

“a great wall on the eastern horizon growing lower and fainter as it ran to north and south, showing the gorge of Harpers Ferry only nine miles from us and leading the eye entirely across Maryland to the last peak hazily visible in Pennsylvania. We were not a mile from the Potomac but on account of its steep banks the river itself was not visible. The eye skipped over it to the graceful outlines of the Maryland hills about Antietam and Sharpsburg, little thought of then but if [we] got up early in the morning, as I used to delight to do to see the sunrise,

“we could trace the whole course of the winding stream by the white mists rolling, shining and beautiful in the early light. And from our orchard hill in winter when the leaves were fallen from the nearer woods we could see the dark indigo line of the Cumberland mountains across the breadth of the valley – a wide outlook of free air. Who shall say how much they have to do in moulding thought?!

“Shepherdstown has been always picturesque. Even now the cement mill and the railroad have not been able to spoil it entirely. Forty years ago when the nearest railroad was five miles of hilly road away from us, the town was quaintly old-fashioned and retired.

“A lumbering stagecoach brought the mails – and passengers if there were any – once a day from Kearneysville and drew up before a red brick tavern whose sign,

“The Rising Sun,” might have, and probably had been swinging in its iron frame since the last century. Infrequent parcels were also forwarded by ‘Adams Express’ through the same medium.

“But the town’s merchants and most of the people who could buy in bulk received their goods through the Cumberland Canal. This followed the course of the river on the Northern bank and merchandise was either ferried over on flat-bottomed scows or hauled in wagons across the

“substantial bridge that the town regarded with just pride. It was not beautiful perhaps but it was well-built and often as the upper portion was destroyed by fire during the war and by flood of the river – the stone piers have stood all shocks and make rebuilding a comparatively easy thing. Shepherdstown lay directly upon the main thoroughfare from Stanton and the valley towns, through Hagerstown to Harrisburg, and one long turnpike road ran the whole distance. [Along] this road much traffic passed for people had not then begun to think of railroads as the only means of transportation.

“Especially I remember enormous droves of cattle passing from the upper valley to the Pennsylvania markets. They were guarded and driven by men on horseback and blocked the road for miles, stopping all vehicles sometimes for hours at a time. It was disagreeable sometimes, even dangerous, to meet them and as they crowded through the town they filled the street with bellowing and confusion, driving all the loungers from the sidewalks to take refuge in the houses.

“The shops of Shepherdstown were better stocked in those days because there was much more money in the neighborhood and local custom was not enticed away to larger towns and cities. It was something of a journey even to Baltimore and when the merchants made it twice a year they had at least the comfort of being reasonably sure of customers at home. But even the ‘society’ got its frocks abroad as society always will. . . . The town was thriving. There was a

“very interesting primitive manufactory of the glazed ‘crocks’ or earthen pots so much in use. It was carried on by an old man in an old house and had quite a medieval flavor . . . Another equally interesting industry was the making of long brushes out of peacock feathers. These were swung by Negroes (replacing a “term of the period”-ED) over all the dining tables in town to keep off flies. No housekeeper would be without one. Everybody who could . . . must have two attendants for the table, one to pass the dishes and one to keep the fly brush sweeping back and forth.

“The town sat up on top of the cliffs but thrust one long arm in the shape of a very steep street down a rocky gorge to the river.

“Through this [gorge] Morgan’s Run came foaming and rippling, not at all exhausted by the tanyard and

“other works further back but furnishing power for several mills and factories in the ravine.

“Here we ground our flour and sawed our planks and made a very good warm flannel and coarse gray cloth so famous afterwards. It was all water power; there were no smoking chimneys to blacken the sweet air and the mills climbed about the sides of the steep ravine in most irregular fashion, making quaint pictures with their primitive contrivances for getting at the water.

“A favorite walk was along the cliffs, at first above them, then by a ‘cornice’ road halfway down their face a mile or more below the town. We were never tired of the fine views and the quantities of wild flowers we found here. Another walk of great beauty was to cross the bridge and walk up the river on the towpath of the canal which followed the course of the winding stream.

“Outside of the old white church the sun lay warm upon the grass. The grass rippled over headstones as old as the church and once as white, but now gray with the lichens of many a long year. A row of shapely locust trees led to the churchyard gate, their feathery leaves lightly traced upon the blue sky and their clustered blossoms making the warm air sweet.

“The church door might be open and the low drone of voices coming from within – too early for service, it was only the Sunday School in possession. For in those far-off days of my youth we had no Sunday school room, no chapel, no elaborate collection of ecclesiastical buildings. We were a little country parish, high upon the Virginia hills, and one modest structure served our needs.

“Outside and in, the church was very plain but full of reminiscences and respectability. Of the names upon its tablets some had figured in the French and Indian Wars; in the big box pew that filled the northeast corner General Washington, it was said, had worshipped.

“That remarkable man, among his other duties, found time, it seemed, to attend all the churches and sleep in half the inns of the whole thirteen colonies. But whether he ever faced the queer old pulpit at Shepherdstown or not, it is certain that some of his colleagues and many of his contemporaries looked to it for weekly admonition and refreshment and I cannot imagine that it ever failed them. Such an old-world atmosphere hung about the place as impressed even my childish mind into a sort of awed realization of the changing procession that had passed through the old white door, under the organ loft, up the one wide aisle with its pavement of red brick and into the high-backed pews that grid-ironed across to either white washed wall.

“When the sermon was long I used to occupy myself in trying to reconstruct that long procession. In at the door came the Revolutionary dames – my own Spartan great grandmother among them, she who had sent her sons one by one, even her sixteen-year-old Benjamin, to fight for her country. These were stately dames, their powdered hair drawn upward into astonishing towers and crowned with curious concoctions of lace and flowers. They wore hoops, short petticoats, high heels, Marie Antoinette shoes; their cavaliers, also in powdered hair, tied back from thoughtful, high-bred, beardless faces, wore long frock coats, smalls, and buckled shoes.

“A whitewashed paling enclosed the yard and sweet briar and honeysuckle grew in fragrant jungles between the old gray headstones. A row of locust trees held their white blossoms against the sky and bluebirds and woodpeckers glanced in and out of the foliage. But all the grace and embellishment were nature’s own. The church was severely plain. There was no porch, only a broad stone step. There was no vestibule. The heavy oak door opened directly under the organ loft into the bare interior. A flight of narrow stairs ran up at one side, unenclosed. Opposite each other the two rows of high, pointed, narrow windows with little crisscross panes of greenish glass fulfilled austerely their one purpose of giving light. They lent themselves [to] no earnest scheme of beauty or adornment except indeed in hot weather when the lower halves stood open and showed the glowing green and blue without.

“The pews were most uncompromisingly high, straight, narrow and uncomfortable, stretching like a grim gridiron to the wall on either side of the one single aisle. This aisle, however, was very broad and gave an agreeable air of space. It was paved with red brick in a zigzag pattern, a little uneven, sunken in places, yet preserving an air of distinction, of sobriety and reminiscence that I should try in vain to describe or justify. It was when you trod this aisle that you remembered that heroes of the Revolution had done the same before you, that some of the leaning headstones outside the walls bore names once spoken in the French and Indian Wars.

Shepherdstown May Day 1850
“So remote was Shepherdstown from the movement of the great world that some old customs and traditions lingered there long after they had fallen into disuse elsewhere.

“Our ‘May Parties’ were as much a part of spring as the apple blossoms. They were always held in the open air though I remember one year when persistent bad weather compelled the girls to make use of a large room in the town, one often used for public parties – a room that before the town hall was built was the only available place for any gathering not suitable to a church.

“These May Parties may have had a German origin since Shepherdstown was originally called Mecklenburg, and largely settled by Germans from Pennsylvania. They followed a ell-defined tradition which does not seem to have been English since there was no Maypole and no hanging wreaths upon the doors. Some time in advance a Queen was chosen (I have forgotten by what process but she was always one of the prettiest girls in the neighborhood), also a Flora and two especial Maids of Honor. The other girls were also Maids of Honor to the number of a dozen or more, I believe, but were deemed less important. Somebody was then petitioned to write original poems for each girl, those for the Flora and the Queen being naturally the longest, and it was thought desirable to have them quite new each year.

“My cousin Edwin Lee had quite a knack at these poems and was in great favor accordingly. They were learned by heart and much practiced to ensure graceful delivery. A pleasant place was then chosen as if for any picnic. Our own grove was a favorite; so was Morgan’s Spring just beyond Lemen’s Grove on the river. Here in the open air a throne was erected between two trees if possible or always with an eye to picturesque grouping and effect. It was canopied with hangings or covered with green boughs and flowers. On the important afternoon all the girls dressed in white wearing wreaths and carrying baskets of flowers marched out in procession by twos arranged according to height, the smallest first and the Queen with her two special attendants on either hand walking last. The Queen alone wore no wreath, but her crown (which they tried always to have of the choicest blossoms and different from the others) – [one year it was lilies of the valley] – was carried by her attendant. The maids arranged themselves with regular evolutions and much solemnity in two lines forming a lane to the throne. Up this lane Flora advanced, strewing flowers profusely and repeating the verses written for her. Arrived at the foot of the throne she turned and made a long metrical speech to the Queen who finally advanced between her two supporters.

“These then delivered their poems in turn, the Queen knelt on the throne steps and the crowner put the crown upon her head when she was seated with much ceremony upon the throne. Immediately rising, she made her speech – the poem of the day to which the others were merely introductions. Then reseating herself she was greeted by every girl in turn. Advancing in couples, beginning with the tiny little tots at the end of the line who could only pipe out:

‘Happy, Happy, Happy day (or Mary or Ida) is the Queen of May.’
Each repeated her verses and laid her offering of flowers upon the throne steps and had to make two bows or curtsies which she well knew were being criticized by many eyes. When all had paid tribute [the] Queen again arose and thanked them in a shorter piece, descended the throne steps and headed the procession to the especial table set under the trees and reserved for her and her suite. The spectators picnicked about in more informal fashion as they pleased. The committee in charge was not burdened with their entertainment beyond providing the spectacle. Now everybody took this little performance very seriously.

“To be chosen Queen was a valued tribute to a girl and gave her a certain position for a whole year. Her demeanor was quite openly compared with her predecessors and every girl in the procession knew that her walk, appearance and manner of making her speech and presenting her flowers were keenly criticized.

“I might be almost justified in saying that I began to live in the summer of 1860. It is true that I was then already ten years old and had passed quite an eventful life for so young a person.

“But one day in August of that year as we sat at dinner in the north room at Willow Bank

“I heard my grandfather say that the Union was about to be destroyed. There was to be no American Union in future. His tone was very gloomy.

“My grandmother began to cry. My own mother’s gentle face looked flushed and distressed and

“through my childish heart there shot such a pang of bewildered dismay as I could never describe. No United States? No world, no life, no anything. As soon might the sun’s light be withdrawn. I remember how I looked around the familiar room for comfort. The dessert was on the table – big melons that my grandfather was fond of raising in such perfection and that were certainly much appreciated by us youngsters. But that day my slice went untasted and in truth I have never been able to see a watermelon cut at table without thinking of the extreme pain of that moment, although, as children will, I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Nevertheless, the end of the world and the Union not coming immediately, the end of September saw us back in our old home in Virginia studying our lessons in the old schoolroom

“and playing games under the old oaks of the grove as if neither wars nor the rumors of wars had any existence.”

NOTE: Her cap is velvet like her mother’s cloak.- ED

Main References:

Brown, Howell S. “Map of Jefferson County, Virginia From Actual Surveys With Farm Limits, 1852.” Magazine of the Jefferson County Historical Society Vol. XLV. (1979): pp. 1-7. Print.

Brown, S. Howell. (1852). “Map of Jefferson County, Virginia from actual survey with the farm limits.” United States. The Library of Congress: American Memory. “Maps Collection.” 27 Oct. 2009 Web. 10 Sept. 2010.

Mitchell, Mary B. (@1890s). “Memories.” Ed. Ms Nina Mitchell. Shepherd University Library. Unpublished. Print.

Mitchell, Mary B. (1888). “A Woman’s Recollections of Antietam.”(Under pseudonym “Mary Blunt”) Battles and Leaders. Vol. 2. Robert Underwood Johnson, Clarence Clough Buel (Ed.). New York, NY: Century Co. PP. 686-694. Print.

Mitchell, Mary B. (1888). “A Woman’s Recollections of Antietam.”(Under pseudonym “Mary Blunt”). Internet Archives: Digital Library of Free Books, Movies, Music, and Wayback Machine. 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 27 Sept. 2010.

Randolph, Mary. (1838). “The Virginia Housewife, Or, Methodical Cook.”
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“Inventory of the Bedinger and Dandridge Family Papers, 1752-2000 .” Duke University Perkins Library. 10 Dec. 2005 Web. 3 June 2011.

Surkamp, Jim “Danske Dandridge 1854-1912).” West Virginia University Libraries. 8 Feb. 2001. Web. 30 March 2001.


Surkamp, Jim (1997). “Shepherdstown May Day 1850.” (Video) Retrieved 10 May 2011 from:

Surkamp, Jim (1997). “Thomas Shepherd Mill.” (Video) Retrieved 10 May 2011 from:

Flickr Sets:

mbmlead.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

“violetwithgun.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“violetwithgun.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

missnina003.jpg – The Goldsborough Collection

“Henry Bedinger With Beard.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Henry Bedinger With Beard.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

“John Watson Lawrence.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“John Watson Lawrence.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

bedforddraw.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection from the Goldsborough Family
bedford.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

“Mary Bedinger Mitchell Young.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Mary Bedinger Mitchell Young.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

“Henry Bedinger Infant 1850s.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Henry Bedinger Infant 1850s.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

“Danske Dandridge Young.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Danske Dandridge Young.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

“George Bedinger Rust.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“George Bedinger Rust.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

“Denmark.” Map. ‘World’ 29 May 2000 Web. 5 June 2011.

copenhagendet.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection as a derivative work

boxirons.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

“Making Beer Soup.” Motley Fool – UK Discussion Boards. Start date unavailable Web. 3 June 2011.

Randolph, Mary. (1838). “The Virginia Housewife, Or, Methodical Cook.”
Baltimore, MD: Plaskitt, Fite. Print

Randolph, Mary. (1838). “The Virginia Housewife Or, Methodical Cook.” Free eBooks by Project Gutenberg. 29 Sept. 2007. Web. 8 Jan. 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

File:Rugbrød Rye-bread.JPG
Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

cardswork.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection, as a derivative work

Mary.Bedinger.Ribbons.jpg –
“Mary.Bedinger.Ribbons.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Mary.Bedinger.Ribbons.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

File:Frederik VII af August Schiøtt.jpg
Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Frederick VIII’s Palace in Amalienborg
Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

henryb.jpeg – Jim Surkamp Collection

“Caroline Bedinger.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Caroline Bedinger.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, New York, NY: Harper and Bros. Volume 12, Issue: 68, (Jan., 1856). P. 176. Print.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine.
7 May 2008. Web. 29 May. 2011.

atsea.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

“Caroline Bedinger in Dress.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Caroline Bedinger in Dress.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

honitonlace.jpg 10 May 2000. Web. 4 June 2011.

Courtesy The Goldsborough Family

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

missedmountains.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

shepherdsgermst.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, New York, NY: Harper and Bros. Volume 10, Issue: 57, (Feb., 1855). P. 289. Print.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine,

“George Bedinger Rust.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“George Bedinger Rust.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

linehouse001.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

entler907.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection
nightfire.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

“Mary Bedinger Mitchell Young.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Mary Bedinger Mitchell Young.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

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bedforddraw.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection from the Goldsborough Family

hbedstone.JPG – Jim Surkamp Collection
gravehill.JPG – Jim Surkamp Collection

srbstone.JPG – Jim Surkamp Collection
hbleestone.JPG – Jim Surkamp Collection

ejlee.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection courtesy of the Goldsborough Family

rosebrakegrovesite.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, New York, NY: Harper and Bros. Volume 10, Issue: 55, (Dec., 1854). P. 7. Print.

Strother, David H. (Dec., 1854). “Virginia Illustrated.” Harpers Magazine. 7 May 2008. Web. 29 May. 2011.

danbedinger.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection from the Goldsborough Family

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, New York, NY: Harper and Bros. Volume 13, Issue: 75, (Aug., 1856). P. 321. Print.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine.
7 May 2008. Web. 29 May. 2011.

“Grove.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Grove.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

blueridge.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection

blueridgeeast.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection as a derivative work

Jim Surkamp Collection (detail from photo in Brady Collection, Library of Congress)

“Civil War Glass Negatives and Related Prints.” United States. ‘The Library of Congress: American Memory.’ Maps Collection. 27 Oct. 2009 Web 10 Sept. 2010.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, New York, NY: Harper and Bros. Volume 12, Issue: 68, (Jan., 1856). P. 159. Print.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine.
7 May 2008. Web. 29 May. 2011.

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Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine.
7 May 2008. Web. 29 May. 2011.


“Photo Gallery.” Chesapeake & Ohio Canal, National Historic Park. 16 Aug. 2001 Web. 4 June 2011.

Jim Surkamp Collection (detail from Brown, Howell S. “Map of Jefferson County, Virginia From Actual Surveys With Farm Limits, 1852.” Magazine of the Jefferson County Historical Society Vol. XLV. (1979): pp. 1-7. Print.

Brown, S. Howell. (1852). “Map of Jefferson County, Virginia from actual survey with the farm limits.” United States. The Library of Congress: American Memory. “Maps Collection.” 27 Oct. 2009 Web. 10 Sept. 2010.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, New York, NY: Harper and Bros. Volume 10, Issue: 57, (Feb., 1855). pp. 289-310. Print.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine,

weis2.JPG – Jim Surkamp Collection
townrun.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection
gearsmill.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection
millwheel.jpg – Jim Surkamp Collection
episgrave2.JPG – Jim Surkamp Collection
epischurch.JPG – Jim Surkamp Collection
episgrave.JPG – Jim Surkamp Collection

Wikipedia English. Latest update 27 Oct. 2009. Web. 20 May 2011.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, New York, NY: Harper and Bros. Volume 11, Issue: 63, (Aug., 1855). P. 296. Print.

Strother, David H., “Virginia Illustrated.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine.
7 May 2008. Web. 29 May. 2011.

“Mary Bowne Lawrence.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Mary Bowne Lawrence.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

“Big Trees Rosebrake.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Big Trees Rosebrake Young.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.

“Mary Bedinger Mitchell Later.” Photo. The Dandridge Collection. Duke University, Perkins Collection.

“Mary Bedinger Mitchell Later.” Photo. ‘Danske Dandridge 1854-1914.’ 1999. Web. 10 May 2011.