Catalpa Plantation, West Feliciana Parish, La. File prepared by Jan McCoy and submitted by Donald W. Johnson ------------------------------------------------------------------ ********************************************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ********************************************** ------------------------------------------------------------------ CATALPA PLANTATION (No Longer standing) Catalpa, a rambling, roomy, comfortable old house in the midst of a fascinating garden, a house in which the old families of the vicinity loved to gather-"there is always such a good time to be had at the Fort's" was the saying by both young and old who enjoyed its hospitalities. Built in the days when the Felicianas were one and the best blood of the country seemingly sent representatives to perpetuate names with val- or, honor and distincting behind them. Such were the builders of Catalpa and this old plantation that holds such pleasant memories for the surviving members of the family and their friends. The Forts came from Carolina and as was customary once having fin- ished their manor, filled it first of all with treasured heirlooms, old family portraits, family silver, crystal and china along with fine mini- atures, painted by noted artists. This home,the center of life on the plantation, was a scene of end- less gaiety. Vivacious daughters, equally as beautiful and charming as their lovely mother, whose own youth had been a constant series of social triumphs, presided at balls, receptions, banquets, hunting parties, etc. In this prosaic age for those unfamiliar with life as led on an ante-bellum plantation, it is hard to visualize the gay and joyous life led by these favored people. Charming ladies and gentlemen still in our midst living in homes filled with much of the artistic treasures remaining from the days of which I write, confirmed in their own reminiscences the glories of the era before the Civil War, which wrecked this land once so prosperous. We know that what they tell us of this passt era is true. Mrs. Thomas Butler, a grande dame of the old regime, who passed away a short time ago at the age of eighty-three, in her reminiscences: CATALPA Catalpa, one of the most beautiful places in West Feliciana parish, was owned by Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Fort, who were married in the early forties and being artisitic in their natures and lovers of the beau- tiful, made it their life work and pleasure to create this lovely and and most attractive home, all accomplished with their own slaves under their direction and guidance. The gardens and grounds comprised about 28 acres ( without plant- ation lands) of level and rolling land, the house, a large old fash- ioned Southern home situted in the center of the grounds. The front entrance through two gateway, about 300 yards apart, opening into two most picturesque winding live oak avenues leading up to the house. These wide gravelled avenues were bordered with large pink lined conch shells, producing a lovely and unusual effect. It is interesting to note that these shells were washed from time to time by the slaves. North and South of the house, as far as the eye could reach, was a perfect landscape of flowers, shrubs of every variety, grass plots and white gravelled walks, intervening, leading through the lawns. A large fish pond attracted the eye on the North, with a fountain in the center, and swans swimming around an island, with small trees and grass was most alluring for picnics and fish-frys, skiffs and boat a means of conveyance. A smaller island, covered with reeds, was the home and nesting place for ducks. Two large pigeon houses, (typical pigeonnaires as was customary flanking either side of the Mansion) overlooking the pond. North and South, supplying a plentiful lot of squabs, and on the level side a long line of Lombardy poplars added to this beautiful View. Fondly recalling the memory of those happy years spent on this lovely old plantation, so rich in pleasant memories to all of this charming family who survive, she continues: I miss those old days- I have heard many a friend say, some of the happiest days was of their lives spent on that old pond. Nearby a way, a fair sized deer park, most interesting to the young people: this park was also frequented by gorgeous colored pea- fowl. It is needless to say this was the most attractive part of the grounds. Now we will turn to the South of the house, through rose bordered creeks we come to the green house, a magnificent structure of glass and of unusual dimensions. At one end grew a large orange tree, bearing fruit; and at the other end a clump of banana trees lovely flowering pot-plants of great variety, and through the entire length of the green-house overhead clustering vines with gorgeous blooms, a feast for humming-birds. A latticed walk extended around the stage,the warm air from the furnace coming up through the open- ings and permeating the atmosphere with warmth and fragrance. Tropi- cal plants, tea, coffee, cinnamons, guava, mandarinss and many other kinds grew around the borders; it was indeed a fascinating bit of fairy-land. Mr. Fort being well versed in floriculture as well as in who saw it. The gent who presided over all this beauty was an in- telligent negro slave. He had charge of all the flowers and decor- ations when entertainments were given and his artistics arrangements elicited admiration and surprise. The writer remembers him so vividly, a pompous old negro with a bald head and roll of white hair surrounding it, standing at the green-house door, ushering in " Company " with great ceremony, show them around and giving as he thought the botanical names of the plants. This had a comic side, of course, but his dignity was such that no sign of amusement was shown. But we cannot tarry too long in this fascinating bit of tropical land, for outside new vistas of beauty await the eye. Far down the lawn spreads a green carpet, I visualize a picture of old Father Time, his scythe, (The old gardener) an old bent slave mowing the grass with ceaselesss and perfect rhythm having a beautiful sword, with blooming flower-beds and foliage of diferent hues. Here and there are cozy nooks with iron chairs and sofas, and in sunny spaces an old fashioned sun-dial. We pause to listen to the singing of birds, riotously happy for they feared neither laden with sweet for the bee-hives-an humble tenant of every old time garden. Here is the "Old South", too beautiful to last. But we cannot dream too long, there is the beautious little summer house, just below festooned with the purple drapery of wisteria vine, a large attractive place, as there were seats around, and ice-cream and fruits were often served there in summer. What added immensely to view was a patch-work garden of animals extending from the side, and truly the flower catalogue must have been rifled to supply this beauty and color. Just above this garden was a long line of brick cement pits for grow- ing pineapple and forcing vegetables. It was said that there were de- ciduous fruits, one can hardly realize it now, pears, peaches, plums, and nectarines with a varity of figs and luscious melons. The writer re- members seeing luscious pears gathered by the cotton baskets. The poultry yards invite our interest, here was variety, the flocks of turkey, tended by "Espy" a little negro girl and herded to pas- tures ever new. The great delight of visiting old Aunt Winnie and Uncle Derry (the old slaves) who raised the ducks and who lived in the little hut just down the slope, where a stream of water ran, ideal for ducks and for children too (so thought these youngster in those days). The old couple always had something for the children from the "big house" - strings of chinquapins, tiny ears of red pop-corn (which seems to have lost out since the Civil War) and bitter fancy gourds, all bringing thrills of delight to the young folks. Again this grande dame of ante-bellum days, who was a little girl when the strom of war broke, recalling her happy childhood and the loyalty of the old-time darkie who realized her what their master's protection meant said: Those were happy days, showing the pliability of the old-time slave, whose great incentive was to please the appreciative Master and Mis- tress. So true the saying-"A good master made good slaves". The owner of this lovely home lived many years to enjoy their beautiful creations, but alas! the cruel war came on and ruin and wreackage followed in its wake. Mr. Fort died about that time: most of the slaves grew panic- stricken and fled; (When they saw how plantation mansion after plant- ataion mansion were burned, and how the slaves were being put into corrals and kept there like cattle by the Union soldiers when they would not turn against their masters. How they were dying of Typhoid fever and other diseases, uncared for after the Union troops had driven them off of the various plantations.) Gateway and fencess were torn down by bands of soldiers, letting in cattle, for horses and all destructive elements, trampling and destroying. The green-house was shattered: neglect and ruin every- where met the eye, where a few months before such beauty and sym- metry reigned. Mrs. Fort with her family of young children passed through the trying vicissitudes of this fearful war, with the courage and bravery displayed by many Southern women, never deserting her home, rearing and and educating her children under great difficulties, and living to a good old age, surrounded by her children and grand-children, who now own Catalpa, and served by a few of the faithful servants who never deserted the family and their old Missus. It is interesting to add that Mrs. Fort, though blind the last years of her life, never lost her artistic tastes and magic touch with flowers as well as music. As the gracious lady who has penned these memories of her childhood sat reading the original manuscript surrounded by so much that recalled the past, one could perceive a slight tremor in her soft modulated voice and see her gentle eyes grow misty. For again she was transported as in a dream to those glorious days of old, and again for a moment became a little girl with sis- ters and playmates on the old plantation feeding the peacocks and swans of dear old Catalpa. Across the hall opposite the room in which Mrs. Butler sat while reading, above the mantel hangs a life-size portrait of a lovely young painted by the celebrated Belgian portrait painter, Amans. It is the por- trait of Mrs. Fort in all her youth and beauty. Continuing her memoirs we read: Now a lingering good-bye to Catalpa of the olden days, it is past and gone like its creator and lives only in the memory of a few who were fortunate enough to enjoy its rare beauty and gracious hospitality. Time brings us to the Catalpa of today, still beautious with its fine. old park of forest trees. Time and seasons multiplying new growths. The pond is still there like an old landmark, shrunken with age, only a few scattered shrubs of camelias, japonicas, that queen of flowers, once firmly rooted in the soil,defies even the element of war. A modern house stands where the old one was burned years ago, and I must add, traces of the old home hospitality and good cheer linger around still. A last farwell to those old days- Far down the flight of time In some dim halls of memory Those bright visions shine And flit like phantom shadows Through dreams of happy mind.