Yellow Bread 319 



Without this for a "starter," my great-grandmother Halsey 

 believed no one could make proper buckwheat cakes. She had 

 learned her griddle-cake lore from her grandmother, who sent 

 her husband off to fight the British at Monmouth with a stack 

 of fresh buckwheats buttoned inside his homespun "bounty 

 coat." 



The first English settlers in New Jersey learned about buck- 

 wheat from the Swedes who were settled in the Delaware 

 valley. Soon the dark, slightly sour griddle cakes made of this 

 flour were to the middle colonies what pones and yellow 

 bread were to the South, and johnny cake to Roger Williams' 

 settlers. 



"I can't remember but one morning in my whole life," 

 Great Great-uncle Sam would announce whenever there were 

 new faces at the breakfast table, and choosing the moment 

 when the colored "girl," who bore the name of Missouri 

 Frances Josephine Hazeltine Booker, appeared from the kit- 

 chen with the first stack of smoking cakes, "when I didn't 

 hanker for buckwheat cakes. . . ." 



"Sam," great-grandmother would set the big silver coffee- 

 pot down on its tile with finality. "You're not going to tell 

 that story all over again." 



Her brother would cock an eye at her. 



"Why, Julia Ann, what's the matter with that story? It's 

 true, every word of it. Besides, I don't believe Miss . . ." 

 with an inquiring look at the visitor. "Now, that was a real 

 interesting thing that happened to me. You'd like to hear 

 about it, wouldn't you?" 



Outmaneuvered at her own table, Julia Ann would sigh and 

 take up the coffee-pot again. Uncle Sam went on, happily. 



"When I was a young feller my brother Schuyler and I used 

 to go up to Sullivan County every so often to buy horses. They 

 raised good ones up that way. Of course there weren't any 

 steam cars in those days. We drove. Three days it took from 

 where we lived outside of Morris town. Nights, we put up at 

 farmhouses. There was one house I always liked going to. Nice, 



