The James River Plantation Belt 



On his way to Petersburg from Richmond in 178 1, the Marquis 

 de Chastellux lost his way, but he says, "We had no reason to re- 

 gret our error, as it was only two miles about, and we skirted 

 James River to a charming place called Warwick where a group 

 of handsome houses form a sort of village, and there are some 

 superb ones in the neighborhood; among others, that of Colonel 

 Cary, on the right bank of the river." The town to which the 

 Marquis referred was established in the second year of the reign 

 of George III. At the time of the Revolution it boasted mills, 

 ware and storehouses, rope-walks and a shipbuilding yard. Unfor- 

 tunately, everything was destroyed by the British in 178 1. Up to 

 this time, however, fortune smiled upon the Cary family and bur- 

 nished their rooftree with a golden horn. It was to this James 

 River country seat that Archibald Cary brought his beautiful bride, 

 Mary Randolph, from Curies Neck, across the river. At that time 

 jewels, laces and brocades were brought in their own vessels, to 

 land on the Ampthill shores. There were coaches and fine horses, 

 rare wines to stock the now empty cellar — in short, everything con- 

 nected with this splendid old home was the very finest to be found 

 in Virginia. 



The road which leads from the Petersburg highway to Ampthill 

 is rich in trees and native shrubbery. Dogwood, birch and oak 

 trees shade a narrow, drowsy brook which flows from a spring 

 near by to supply the old mill pond. Scattered throughout — along 

 the roadside and through the woodland — are quantities of Scotch 

 broom, or gorse. This seems to point to some British encamp- 

 ment as, since Revolutionary days, gorse has come down to Amer- 

 icans under the name of "Cornwallis hay." The story goes that 

 the seeds were brought over in the hay used to feed the horses of 

 the British army. One can easily fancy a red-coated trooper, dis- 

 consolate, and wandering beneath the dogwood trees, singing the 

 words of the old Scotch ballad, "Kissin's out of fashion when the 

 broom is out of bloom." 



The entrance road turns sharply onto the lawn which surrounds 



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