“What shall be done with them?—On the 28th inst., Capt. O. W. Gregor, of the privateer Calhoun, brought to the station of this district about ten negro sailors, claiming to be free, found on board of the brigs Panama, John Adams, and Mermaid.“The Recorder sent word to the Marshal of the Confederate States that said negroes were at his disposition. The Marshal refused to receive them or have anything to do with them, whereupon the Recorder gave the following decision:“‘Though I have no authority to act in this case, I think it is my duty as a magistrate and good citizen to take upon myself, in this critical moment, the responsibility of keeping the prisoners in custody, firmly believing it would not only be bad policy, but a dangerous one, to let them loose upon the community.’“The following despatch was sent by the Recorder to the Hon. J. P. Benjamin:
“What shall be done with them?—On the 28th inst., Capt. O. W. Gregor, of the privateer Calhoun, brought to the station of this district about ten negro sailors, claiming to be free, found on board of the brigs Panama, John Adams, and Mermaid.
“The Recorder sent word to the Marshal of the Confederate States that said negroes were at his disposition. The Marshal refused to receive them or have anything to do with them, whereupon the Recorder gave the following decision:
“‘Though I have no authority to act in this case, I think it is my duty as a magistrate and good citizen to take upon myself, in this critical moment, the responsibility of keeping the prisoners in custody, firmly believing it would not only be bad policy, but a dangerous one, to let them loose upon the community.’
“The following despatch was sent by the Recorder to the Hon. J. P. Benjamin:
“‘NEWORLEANS, May 23.“‘To J. P. BENJAMIN, Richmond—Sir:Ten free negroes, taken by a privateer from on board three vessels returning to Boston, from a whaling voyage, have been delivered to me. The Marshal refuses to take charge of them. What shall I do with them?‘Respectfully, A. BLACHE,‘Recorder, Second District.’”
“‘NEWORLEANS, May 23.
“‘To J. P. BENJAMIN, Richmond—Sir:Ten free negroes, taken by a privateer from on board three vessels returning to Boston, from a whaling voyage, have been delivered to me. The Marshal refuses to take charge of them. What shall I do with them?
‘Respectfully, A. BLACHE,
‘Recorder, Second District.’”
The monthly statement I enclose of the condition of the New Orleans banks on the 25th inst., must be regarded as a more satisfactory exhibit to their depositors and shareholders, though of no greater benefit to the commercial community in this its hour of need than the tempting show of a pastrycook’s window to the famished street poor. These institutions show assets estimated at $54,000,000, of which $20,000,000 are in specie and sterling exchange, to meet $25,000,000 of liabilities, or more than two for one. But, with this apparent amplitude of resources, the New Orleans banks are at a deadlock, affording no discounts and buying no exchange—the latter usually their greatest source of profit in a mart which ships so largely of cotton, sugar, and flour, and the commercial movement of which for not over nine months of the year is the second in magnitude among the cities of the old Union.
As an instance of the caution of their proceedings, I have only to state that a gentleman of wealth and the highest respectability, who needed a day or two since some money for the expenses of an unexpected journey, was compelled, in order to borrow of these banks the sum of $1,500, tohypothecate, as security for his bill at 60 days, $10,000 of bonds of the Confederate States, and for which a month ago he paid par in coin—a circumstance which reflects more credit upon the prudence of the banks than upon the security pledged for this loan.
MOVEMENTS OF THE BANKS, MAY 25, 1861.
NATCHEZ, Miss., June 14.
ONthe morning of the 3d of June, I left New Orleans in one of the steamers proceeding up the Mississippi, along that fertile but uninteresting region of reclaimed swamp lands called “the Coast,” which extends along both banks for one hundred and twenty miles above the city. It is so called from the name given to it, “La Cote,” by the early French settlers. Here is the favored land—alas! it is a fever-land too—of sugar-cane and Indian corn. To those who have very magnificent conceptions of the Mississippi, founded on mere arithmetical computations of leagues, or vague geographical data, it may be astonishing, but it is nevertheless true, the Mississippi is artificial for many hundreds of miles. Nature has, of course, poured out the waters, but man has made the banks. By a vast system of raised embankments, called levees, the river is constrained to abstain from overflowing the swamps, now drained and green with wealth-producing crops. At the present moment the surface of the river is several feet higher than the land at each side, and the steamer moves on a level with the upper stories, or even the roofs of the houses, reminding one of such scenery as could be witnessed in the old days of treckshuyt in Holland. The river is not broader than the Thames at Gravesend, and is quite as richly colored. But then it is one hundred and eighty feet deep, and for hundreds of miles it has not less than one hundred feet of water. Thus deeplyhas it scooped out the rich clay and marl in its course, but as it flows out to join the sea it throws down the vast precipitates which render the bars so shifting and difficult, and bring the mighty river to such a poor exit. A few miles above the wharves and large levees of the city the country really appears to be a sea of light green, with shores of forest in the distance, about two miles away from the bank. This forest is the uncleared land, extending for a considerable way back, which each planter hopes to take into culture one day or other, and which he now uses to provide timber for his farm. Near the banks are houses of wood, with porticoes, pillars, verandahs, and sun-shades, generally painted white and green. There is a great uniformity of style, but the idea aimed at seems to be that of the old French chateau, with the addition of a colonnade round the ground story. These dwellings are generally in the midst of small gardens, rich in semi-tropical vegetation, with glorious magnolias, now in full bloom, rising in their midst, and groves of live-oak interspersed. The levee is as hard and dry as the bank of a canal. Here and there it is propped up by wooden revelments. Between it and the uniform line of palings which guards the river face of the plantations there is a carriage-road. In the enclosure near each residence there is a row of small wooden huts, whitewashed, in which live the negroes attached to the service of the family. Outside the negroes who labor in the fields are quartered in similar constructions, which are like the small single huts, called “Maltese,” which were plentiful in the Crimea. They are rarely furnished with windows; a wooden slide or a grated space admits such light and air as they want. One of the most striking features of the landscape is its utter want of life. There were a few horsemen exercising in a field, some gigs and buggies along the levee roads, and little groups at the numerous landing-places, generally containing a few children in tom-fool costumes, as Zouaves, Chasseurs, or some sort of infantry, but the slaves who were there had come down to look after luggage or their masters. There were no merry, laughing, chattering gatherings of black faces and white teeth, such as we hear about. Indeed, the negroes are not allowed hereabouts to stir out of their respective plantations, or to go along the road without passes from their owners. The steamer J. L. Cotten, which was not the less popular, perhaps, because she had the words “Low pressure” conspicuous on her paddle-boxes, carrieda fair load of passengers, most of whom were members of Creole families living on the coast. The proper meaning of the word “Creole” is very different from that which we attach to it. It signifies a person of Spanish or French descent born in Louisiana or in the Southern and tropical countries. The great majority of the planters here are French Creoles, and it is said they are kinder and better masters than Americans or Scotch, the latter being considered the most severe. Intelligent on most subjects, they are resolute in the belief that England must take their cotton or perish. Even the keenest of their financiers, Mr. Forstall, an Irish Creole, who is representative of the house of Baring, seems inclined to this faith, though he is prepared with many ingenious propositions, which would rejoice Mr. Gladstone’s inmost heart, to raise money for the Southern Confederacy, and make them rich exceedingly. One thing has rather puzzled him. M. Baroche, who is in New Orleans, either as a looker-on or as an accreditedemployéof his father or of the French Government, suggested to him that it would not be possible for all the disposable mercantile marine of England and France together to carry the cotton crop, which hitherto gave employment to a great number of American vessels, now tabooed by the South, and the calculations seem to bear out the truth of the remark. Be that as it may, Mr. Forstall is quite prepared to show that the South can raise a prodigious revenue by a small direct taxation, for which the machinery already exists in every parish of the State, and that the North must be prodigiously damaged in the struggle, if not ruined outright. One great source of strength in the South is its readiness—at least, its professed alacrity—to yield anything that it is asked. There is unbounded confidence in Mr. Jefferson Davis. Wherever I go, the same question is asked: “Well, Sir, what do you think of our President? Does he not strike you as being a very able man?” In finance he is trusted as much as in war. When he sent orders to the New Orleans Banks, some time ago, to suspend specie payment, he exercised a power which could not be justified by any reading of the Southern Constitution. All men applauded. The President of the United States is far from receiving any such support or confidence, and it need not be said any act of his of the same nature as that of Mr. Davis would have created an immense outcry against him. But the South has all the unanimity of a conspiracy, and itsunanimity is not greater than its confidence. One is rather tired of endless questions, “Who can conquer such men?” But the question should be, “Can the North conquer us?” Of the fustian about dying in their tracks and fighting till every man, woman and child is exterminated, there is a great deal too much, but they really believe that the fate which Poland could not avert, to which France as well as the nations she overran bowed the head, can never reach them. With their faithful negroes to raise their corn, sugar and cotton while they are at the wars, and England and France to take the latter and pay them for it, they believe they can meet the American world in arms. A glorious future opens before them. Illimitable fields tilled by multitudinous negroes open on their vision, and prostrate at the base of the mountain of cotton from which they rule the kings of the earth, the empires of Europe shall lie, with all their gold, their manufactures, and their industry, crying out, “Pray give us more cotton! All we ask is more!” But here is the boat stopping opposite Mr. Roman’s—Ex-Governor of the State of Louisiana, and Ex-Commissioner from the Confederate Government at Montgomery to the Government of the United States at Washington. Not very long ago he could boast of a very handsome garden—the French Creoles love gardens—Americans and English do not much affect them; when the Mississippi was low one fine day, levee and all slid down the bank into the maw of the river, and were carried off. This is what is called the “caving in” of a bank; when the levee is broken through at high water it is said that a “crevasse” has taken place. The Governor, as he is called—once a captain always a captain—has still a handsome garden, however, though his house has been brought unpleasantly near the river. His mansion and the out-offices stand in the shade of magnolias, green oaks, and other Southern trees. To the last Governor Roman was a Unionist, but when his State went he followed her, and now he is a Secessionist for life and for death, not extravagant in his hopes, but calm and resolute, and fully persuaded that in the end the South must win. As he does not raise any cotton, the consequences for him will be extremely serious should sugar be greatly depreciated; but the consumption of that article in America is very large, and, though the markets in the North and West are cut off, it is hoped, as no imported sugar can find its way into the States, that the South will consume all its ownproduce at a fair rate. The Governor is a very good type of the race, which is giving way a little before the encroachments of the Anglo-Saxons, and he possesses all the ease, candid manner, and suavity of the old French gentleman—of that school in which there are now few masters or scholars. He invited me to visit the negro quarters. “Go where you like, do what you please, ask any questions. There is nothing we desire to conceal.” As we passed the house, two or three young women flitted past in snow-white dresses with pink sashes, and no doubtful crinolines, but their head-dresses were noten règle—handkerchiefs of a gay color. They were slaves going off to a dance at the sugar-house; but they were in-door servants, and therefore better off in the way of clothes than their fellow slaves who labor in the field. On approaching a high paling at the rear of the house the scraping of fiddles was audible. It was Sunday, and Mr. Roman informed me that he gave his negroes leave to have a dance on that day. The planters who are not Catholics rarely give any such indulgence to their slaves, though they do not always make them work on that day, and sometimes let them enjoy themselves on the Saturday afternoon. Entering a wicket gate, a quadrangular enclosure, lined with negro huts, lay before us. The bare ground was covered with litter of various kinds, amid which pigs and poultry were pasturing. Dogs, puppies, and curs of low degree scampered about on all sides; and deep in a pond, swinking in the sun, stood some thirty or forty mules, enjoying their day of rest. The huts of the negroes, belonging to the personal service of the house, were separated from the negroes engaged in field labor by a close wooden paling; but there was no difference in the shape and size of their dwellings, which consisted generally of one large room, divided by a partition occasionally into two bed-rooms. Outside the whitewash gave them a cleanly appearance; inside they were dingy and squalid—no glass in the windows, swarms of flies, some clothes hanging on nails in the boards, dressers with broken crockery, a bedstead of rough carpentry; a fireplace in which, hot as was the day, a log lay in embers; a couple of tin cooking utensils; in the obscure, the occupant, male or female, awkward and shy before strangers, and silent till spoken to. Of course there were no books, for the slaves do not read. They all seemed respectful to their master. We saw very old men and very old women, who were the canker-worms of the estate, andwere dozing away into eternity mindful only of hominy, and pig, and molasses. Two negro fiddlers were working their bows with energy in front of one of the huts, and a crowd of little children were listening to the music, and a few grown-up persons of color—some of them from the adjoining plantations. The children are generally dressed in a little sack of coarse calico, which answers all reasonable purposes, even if it be not very clean. It might be an interesting subject of inquiry to the natural philosophers who follow crinology to determine why it is that the hair of the infant negro, or of the child up to six or seven years of age, is generally a fine red russet, or even gamboge color, and gradually darkens into dull ebon. These little bodies were mostly large-stomached, well fed, and not less happy than free-born children, although much more valuable—for once they get over juvenile dangers, and advance towards nine or ten years of age, they rise in value to £100 or more, even in times when the market is low and money is scarce. The women were not very well-favored, except one yellow girl, whose child was quite white, with fair hair and light eyes; and the men were disguised in such strangely cut clothes, their hats and shoes and coats were so wonderfully made, that one could not tell what they were like. On all faces there was a gravity which must be the index to serene contentment and perfect comfort, for those who ought to know best declare they are the happiest race in the world. It struck me more and more, as I examined the expression of the faces of the slaves all over the South, that deep dejection is the prevailing, if not universal, characteristic of the race. Let a physiognomist go and see. Here there were abundant evidences that they were well treated, for they had good clothing of its kind, good food, and a master who wittingly could do them no injustice, as he is, I am sure, incapable of it. Still, they all looked exceedingly sad, and even the old woman who boasted that she had held her old master in her arms when he was an infant, did not look cheerful, as the nurse at home would have done, at the sight of her ancient charge. The precincts of the huts were not clean, and the enclosure was full of weeds, in which poultry—the perquisites of the slaves—were in full possession. The negroes rear domestic birds of all kinds, and sell eggs and poultry to their masters. The money they spend in purchasing tobacco, molasses, clothes and flour—whiskey, their great delight, they must not have. Some seventy oreighty hands were quartered in this part of the estate. The silence which reigned in the huts as soon as the fiddlers had gone off to the sugar-house was profound. Before leaving the quarter I was taken to the hospital, which was in charge of an old negress. The naked rooms contained several flock beds on rough stands, and five patients, three of whom were women. They sat listlessly on the beds, looking out into space; no books to amuse them, no conversation—nothing but their own dull thoughts, if they had any. They were suffering from pneumonia and swellings of the glands of the neck; one man had fever. Their medical attendant visits them regularly, and each plantation has a practitioner, who is engaged by the term for his services. Negroes have now only a nominal value in the market—that the price of a good field hand is as high as ever, but there is no one to buy him at present, and no money to pay for him, and the trade of the slave-dealers is very bad. The menageries of the “Virginia negroes constantly on sale. Money advanced on all descriptions of property,” &c., must be full—their pockets empty. This question of price is introduced incidentally in reference to the treatment of negroes. It has often been said to me that no one will ill-use a creature worth £300 or £400, but that is not a universal rule. Much depends on temper, and many a hunting-field could show that if value be a guarantee for good usage, the slave is more fortunate than his fellow chattel, the horse. If the growth of sugar-cane, cotton and corn, be the great end of man’s mission on earth, and if all masters were like Governor Roman, Slavery might be defended as a natural and innocuous institution. Sugar and cotton are, assuredly, two great agencies in this latter world. The older got on well enough without them.
The scraping of the fiddles attracted us to the sugar-house, a large brick building with a factory-looking chimney, where the juice of the cane is expressed, boiled, granulated, and prepared for the refiner. In a space of the floor unoccupied by machinery some fifteen women and as many men were assembled, and four couples were dancing a kind of Irish jig to the music of the negro musicians—a double shuffle and thumping ecstasy, with loose elbows, pendulous paws, and angulated knees, heads thrown back, and backs arched inwards—a glazed eye, intense solemnity of mien, worthy of the minuet inDon Giovanni. At this time of year there is no work done in the sugar-house, but whenthe crushing and boiling are going on the labor is intense, and all the hands work in gangs night and day; and, if the heat of the fires be superadded to the temperature in September, it may be conceded that nothing but “involuntary servitude” could go through the toil and suffering required to produce sugar for us. This is not the place for an account of the processes and machinery used in the manufacture, which is a scientific operation, greatly improved by recent discoveries and apparatus.
In the afternoon the Governor’s son came in from the company which he commands. He has been camping out with them to accustom them to the duties of actual war, and he told me that all his men were most zealous and exceedingly proficient. They are all of the best families around,—planters, large and small, their sons and relatives, and a few of the Creole population, who are engaged as hoopers and stavemakers. One of the latter had just stained his hands with blood. He had reason to believe a culpable intimacy existed between his wife and his foreman. A circumstance occurred which appeared to confirm his worst suspicions. He took out his fire-lock, and, meeting the man, he shot him without uttering a word, and then delivered himself up to the authorities. It is probable his punishment will be exceedingly light, as divorce suits and actions for damages are not in favor in this part of the world. Although the people are Roman Catholics, it is by no means unusual to permit relations within the degree of consanguinity forbidden by the Church to intermarry, and the elastic nature of the rules which are laid down by the priesthood in that respect would greatly astonish the orthodox in Ireland or Bavaria. The whole of the planters and their dependents along “the coast” are in arms. There is but one sentiment, as far as I can see, among them, and that is, “We will never submit to the North.” In the evening, several officers of M. Alfred Roman’s company and neighbors came in, and out under the shade of the trees, in the twilight, illuminated by the flashing fireflies, politics were discussed—all on one side, of course, with general conversation of a more agreeable character. The customary language of the Creoles is French, and several newspapers in French are published in the districts around us; but they speak English fluently.
Next morning, early, the Governor was in the saddle and took me round to see his plantation. We rode throughalleys formed by the tall stalks of the maze out to the wide, unbroken fields—hedgeless, unwalled, where the green cane was just learning to wave its long shoots in the wind. Along the margin in the distance there is an unbroken boundary of forest extending all along the swamp lands, and two miles in depth. From the river to the forest there is about one mile and a half or more of land of the very highest quality—unfathomable, and producing from one to one and a half hogshead an acre. Away in the midst of the crops were white-looking masses, reminding me of the sepoys and sowars as seen in Indian fields in the morning sun on many a march. As we rode towards them we overtook a cart with a large cask, a number of tin vessels, a bucket of molasses, a pail of milk, and a tub full of hominy or boiled Indian corn. The cask contained water for the use of the negroes, and the other vessel held the materials for their breakfast, in addition to which they generally have each a dried fish. The food looked ample and wholesome, such as any laboring man would be well content with every day. There were three gangs at work in the fields. One of them with twenty mules and plows, was engaged in running through the furrows between the canes, cutting up the weeds and clearing away the grass, which is the enemy of the growing shoot. The mules are of a fine, large, good-tempered kind, and understand their work almost as well as the drivers, who are usually the more intelligent hand on the plantation. The overseer, a sharp-looking Creole, on a lanky pony, whip in hand, superintended their labors, and, after a few directions and a salutation to the governor, rode off to another part of the farm. The negroes when spoken to saluted us and came forward to shake hands—a civility which must not be refused. With the exception of crying to their mules, however, they kept silence when at work. Another gang consisted of forty men, who were hoeing out the grass in Indian corn—easy work enough. The third gang was of thirty-six or thirty-seven women, who were engaged in hoeing out cane. Their clothing seemed heavy for the climate, their shoes ponderous and ill-made, so as to wear away the feet of their thick stockings. Coarse straw hats and bright cotton handkerchiefs protected their heads from the sun. The silence which I have already alluded to prevailed among these gangs also—not a sound could be heard but the blows of the hoe on the heavy clods. In the rear of each gang stooda black overseer, with a heavy-thonged whip over his shoulder. If “Alcibiadev” or “Pompée” were called out, he came with outstretched hand to ask “how do you do,” and then returned to his labor; but the ladies were coy, and scarcely looked up from under their flappingchapeaux de pailleat their visitors. Those who are mothers leave their children in the charge of certain old women, unfit for anything else, and “suckers,” as they are called, are permitted to go home to give their infants the breast at appointed periods in the day. I returned homemulta mecum revolens. After breakfast, in spite of a very fine sun, which was not unworthy of a January noon in Cawnpore, we drove forth to visit some planter friends of M. Roman, a few miles down the river. The levee road is dusty, but the gardens, white railings, and neat houses of the planters looked fresh and clean enough. There is a great difference in the appearance of the slaves’ quarters. Some are neat, others are dilapidated and mean. As a general rule, it might be said that the goodness of the cottages was in proportion to the frontage of each plantation towards the river, which is a fair index to the size of the estate wherever the river bank is straight. The lines of the estate are drawn perpendicularly to the banks, so that the convexity or concavity of the bends determines the frontage of the plantation.
The absence of human beings in the fields and on the roads was remarkable. The gangs at work were hidden in the deep corn, and not a soul met us on the road for many miles except one planter in his gig. At one place we visited a very handsome garden, laid out with hot-houses and conservatories, ponds full of magnificent Victoria Regia in flower, orange trees, and many other tropical plants, native and foreign, date and other palms. The proprietor owns an extensive sugar refinery. We visited his factory and mills, but the heat from the boilers, which seemed too much even for all but naked negroes who were at work, did not tempt us to make a very long sojourn inside. The ebony faces and polished black backs of the slaves were streaming with perspiration as they toiled over boiler, vat and centrifugal driers. The good refiner was not gaining much at present, for sugar has been falling rapidly in New Orleans, and the three hundred thousand barrels produced annually in the South will fall short in the yield of profit, which, on an average, may be taken at £11 a hogshead,without counting the molasses for the planter. All the planters hereabouts have sown an unusual quantity of Indian Corn, so as to have food for the negroes if the war lasts, without any distress from inland or sea blockade. The absurdity of supposing that blockade can injure them in the way of supply is a favorite theme to descant upon. They may find out, however, that it is no contemptible means of warfare. At night, after our return, a large bonfire was lighted on the bank to attract the steamer to call for my luggage, which she was to leave at a point on the opposite shore, fourteen miles higher up, and I perceived that there are regular patrols and watchmen at night who look after levees and the negroes; a number of dogs are also loosed, but I am assured by a gentleman, who has written me a long letter on the subject from Montgomery, that these dogs do not tear the negroes; they are taught merely to catch and mumble them, to treat them as a retriever well broken uses a wild duck. Next day I left the hospitable house of Governor Roman, full of regard for his personal character and of wishes for his happiness and prosperity, but assuredly in no degree satisfied that even with his care and kindness even the “domestic institution” can be rendered tolerable or defensible, if it be once conceded that the negro is a human being with a soul—or with the feelings of a man. On those points there are ingenious hypotheses and subtle argumentations in print “down South,” which do much to comfort the consciences of the anthropoproprietors. The negro skull won’t hold as many ounces as that of the white man’s. Can there be a more potent proof that the white man has a right to sell and to own a creature who carries a smaller charge of snipe dust in his head? He is plantigrade and curved as to the tibia! Cogent demonstration that he was made expressly to work for the arch-footed, straight-tibia’d Caucasian. He has arete mucosumand a colored pigment. Surely he cannot have a soul of the same color as that of an Italian or a Spaniard, far less of a flaxen-haired Saxon! See these peculiarities in the frontal sinus—in sinciput or occiput! Can you doubt that the being with a head of that nature was made only to till, hoe, and dig for another race? Besides the Bible says that he is a son of Ham, and prophecy must be carried out in the rice swamps, sugar canes, and maize-fields of the Southern Confederation. It’s flat blasphemy to set yourself against it.Our Saviour sanctions Slavery because he does not say a word against it, and it’s very likely that St. Paul was a slave-owner. Had cotton and sugar been known, he might have been a planter! Besides, the negro is civilized by being carried away from Africa and set to work, instead of idling in native inutility. What hope is there of Christianizing the African races except by the agency of the apostles from New Orleans, Mobile, or Charleston, who sing the sweet songs of Zion with such vehemence, and clamor so fervently for baptism in the waters of the “Jawdam?” If these high, physical, metaphysical, moral and religious reasonings do not satisfy you, and you venture to be unconvinced and to say so, then I advise you not to come within reach of a mass meeting of our citizens, who may be able to find a rope and a tree in the neighborhood.
As we jog along in an easy-rolling carriage drawn by a pair of stout horses, a number of white people met us coming from the Catholic chapel of the parish, where they had been attending a service for the repose of the soul of a lady much beloved in the neighborhood. The black people are supposed to have very happy souls, or to be as utterly lost as Mr. Shandy’s homuncule was under certain circumstances, for I have failed to find that any such services are ever considered necessary in their case, although they may have been very good—or where it would be most desirable—very bad Catholics. My good young friend, clever, amiable, accomplished, who had a dark cloud of sorrow weighing down his young life, that softened him to almost feminine tenderness, saw none of these things. He talked of foreign travel in days gone by—of Paris and poetry, of England and London hotels, of the greatCarême, and of poor Alexis Soyer, of pictures, of politics—de omne scibili. The storm gathered overhead, and the rain fell in torrents—the Mississippi flowed lifelessly by—not a boat on its broad surface. The road passed by plantations smaller and poorer than I have yet seen belonging to small planters, with only some ten or twelve slaves, all told. The houses were poor and ragged. At last we reached Governor Manning’s place, and drove to the overseer’s—a large, heavy-eyed old man, who asked us into his house from out of the rain till the boat was ready—and the river did not look inviting—full of drift trees, swirls, and mighty eddies. In the plain room in which we sat there was a volume of Spurgeon’s Sermons and Baxter’s works. “This rain will do good to our corn,” said the overseer. “The niggers has had sceerce nothin’ to do leetly, asthey ’eve clearied out the fields pretty well.” We drove down to a poor shed on the levee called the Ferry-house, attended by one stout, young slave who was to row me over. Two flat-bottomed skiffs lay on the bank. The negro groped under the shed, and pulled out a piece of wood like a large spatula, some four feet long, and a small, round pole a little longer. “What are those?” quoth I, “Dem’s oars, Massa,” was my sable ferryman’s brisk reply. “I’m very sure they are not; if they were spliced they might make an oar between them.” “Golly, and dat’s the trute, Massa.” “There, go and get oars, will you?” While he was hunting about we entered the shed for shelter from the rain. We found “a solitary woman sitting” smoking a pipe by the ashes on the hearth, blear-eyed, low-browed, and morose—young as she was. She never said a word nor moved as we came in, sat and smoked, and looked through her gummy eyes at chickens about the size of sparrows, and at a cat no larger than a rat, which ran about on the dirty floor. A little girl some four years of age, not over-dressed—indeed, half-naked, “not to put too fine a point upon it”—crawled out from under the bed, where she had hid on our approach. As she seemed incapable of appreciating the uses of a small piece of silver presented to her—having no precise ideas on coinage or toffy—her parent took the obolus in charge with unmistakable decision; but, still, she would not stir a step to aid our Charon, who now insisted on the “key ov de oar-house.” The little thing sidled off and hunted it out from the top of the bedstead, and I was not sorry to quit the company of the silent woman in black. Charon pushed his skiff into the water—there was a good deal of rain in it—in shape a snuffer-dish, some ten feet long and a foot deep. I got in and the conscious waters immediately began vigorously spurting through the cotton wadding wherewith the craft was caulked. Had we gone out into the stream we should have had a swim for it, and they do say that the Mississippi is the most dangerous river for that healthful exercise in the known world. “Why, deuce take you” (I said at least that, in my wrath), “don’t you see that the boat is leaky?" “See it now for true, Massa. Nobody able to tell dat till Massa get in, tho’.” Another skiff proved to be stanch. I bade good-bye to my friend, and sat down in my boat, which was soon forced up along the stream close to the bank, in order to get a good start across to the other side. The view, from my lonely position, was curious, but not at all picturesque. Thelandscape had disappeared at once. The world was bounded on both sides by a high bank, and was constituted by a broad river—just as if one were sailing down an open sewer of enormous length and breadth. Above the bank rose, however, the tops of tall trees and the chimneys of sugar-houses. A row of a quarter of an hour brought us to the levee on the other side. I ascended the bank and directly in front of me, across the road, appeared a carriage gateway, and wickets of wood, painted white, in a line of park palings of the same material, which extended up and down the road as far as the eye could follow, and guarded wide-spread fields of maize and sugar-cane. An avenue of trees, with branches close set, drooping and overarching a walk paved with red brick, led to the house, the porch of which was just visible at the extremity of the lawn, with clustering flowers, rose, jessamine, and creepers clinging to the pillars supporting the verandah. The proprietor, who had espied my approach, issued forth with a section of sable attendants in his rear, and gave me a hearty welcome. The house was larger and better than the residences even of the richest planters, though it was in need of some little repair, and had been built perhaps fifty years ago, but it had belonged to a wealthy family, who lived in the good old Irish fashion, and who built well, ate well, drank well, and—finally, paid very well. The view from the Belvedere was one of the most striking of its kind in the world. If an English agriculturist could see 6,000 acres of the finest land in one field, unbroken by hedge or boundary, and covered with the most magnificent crops of tasselling Indian corn and sprouting sugar-cane, as level as a billiard table, he would surely doubt his senses. But here is literally such a sight. Six thousand acres, better tilled than the finest patch in all the Lothians, green as Meath pastures, which can be cultivated for a hundred years to come without requiring manure, of depth practically unlimited, and yielding an average profit on what is sold off it of at least £20 an acre at the old prices and usual yield of sugar. Rising up in the midst of the verdure are the white lines of the negro cottages and the plantation offices and sugar-houses, which look like large public edifices in the distance. And who is the lord of all this fair domain? The proprietor of Houmas and Orange-grove is a man, a self-made one, who has attained his apogee on the bright side of half a century, after twenty-five years of successful business.
When my eyes “uncurtained the early morning” I might have imagined myself in the magic garden of Cherry and Fair Star, so incessant and multifarious were the carols of the birds, which were the only happy colored people I saw in my Southern tour, notwithstanding the assurances of the many ingenious and candid gentlemen who attempted to prove to me that the palm of terrestrial felicity must be awarded to their negroes. As I stepped through my window upon the verandah, a sharp chirp called my attention to a mocking-bird perched upon a rose-bush beneath, whom my presence seemed to annoy to such a degree that I retreated behind my curtain, whence I observed her flight to a nest cunningly hid in a creeping rose trailed around a neighboring column of the house, where she imparted a breakfast of spiders and grasshoppers to her gaping and clamorous offspring. While I was admiring the motherly grace of this melodious flycatcher, a servant brought coffee, and announced that the horses were ready, and that I might have a three-hours’ ride before breakfast. At Houmasles jours se suivent et se ressemblent, and an epitome of the first will serve as a type for all, with the exception of such variations in the kitchen and cellar produce as the ingenuity and exhaustless hospitality of my host were never tired of framing.
If I regretted the absence of our English agriculturist when I beheld the 6,000 acres of cane and 1,600 of maize unfolded from the Belvedere the day previous, I longed for his presence still more, when I saw those evidences of luxuriant fertility attained without the aid of phosphates or guano. The rich Mississippi bottoms need no manure, a rotation of maize with cane affords them the necessary recuperative action. The cane of last year’s plant is left in stubble, and renews its growth this spring under the title ofratoons. When the maize is in tassel, cow-peas are dropped between the rows, and when the lordly stalk, of which I measured many twelve and even fifteen feet in height—bearing three and sometimes four ears—is topped to admit the ripening sun, the pea vine twines itself around the trunk, with a profusion of leaf and tendril that supplies the planter with the most desirable fodder for his mules in “rolling time,” which is their season of trial. Besides this, the corn blades are culled and cured. These are the best meals of the Southern race-horse, and constitute nutritious hay without dust. The cow-pea is said to strengthen the system of the earth for the digestion of a new crop of sugar-cane. A sufficient quantity of thecane of last season is reserved from the mill and laid in pits, where the ends of the stalk are carefully closed with earth until spring. After the ground has been ploughed into ridges these canes are laid in the endless tumuli, and not long after their interment a fresh sprout springs at each joint of these interminable flutes.
As we ride through the wagon roads, of which there are not less than thirty miles in this confederation of four plantations, held together by the purse and the life of our host, the unwavering exactitude of the rows of cane, which run without deviation at right angles with the river down to the cane-brake, two miles off, proves that the negro would be a formidable rival in a plowing match. The cane has been “laid by”—that is, it requires no more labor—and will “lap,” or close up, though the rows are seven feet apart. It feathers like a palm top; a stalk which was cut measured six feet, although from the ridges it was but waist high. On dissecting it near the root, we find five nascent joints, not a quarter of an inch apart. In a few weeks more these will shoot up like a spy-glass pulled out to its focus.
There are four lordly sugar-houses, as the grinding mills and boiling and crystalizing buildings are called, and near each is to be found the negro village, or “quarter,” of that section of the plantation. A wide avenue, generally lined with trees, runs through these hamlets, which consist of twenty or thirty white cottages, single storied and divided into four rooms. They are whitewashed, and at no great distance might be mistaken for New England villages, with a town-hall which often serves in the latter for a “meeting-house,” with, occasionally, a row of stores on the ground floor.
The people, or “hands,” are in the field, and the only inhabitants of the settlements are scores of “picaninnies,” who seem a jolly congregation, under the care of crones, who here, as in an Indian village, act as nurses to the rising generation destined from their births to the limits of a social Procrustean bed. The increase of property on the estate is about 5 per cent. per annum by the birth of children.
We ride an hour before coming upon any “hands” at work in the fields. There is an air of fertile desolation that prevails in no other cultivated land. The regularity of the cane, its garden-like freedom from grass or weeds, and thead unguemfinish and evenness of the furrows would seem the work of nocturnal fairies, did we not realize the system of “gang-labor” exemplified in a field we at lengthreach, where some thirty men and women were giving with the hoe the last polish to the earth around the cane, which would not be molested again until gathered for the autumnal banquet of the rolling-mills.
Small drains and larger ditches occur at almost every step. All these flow into a channel, some fifteen feet wide, which runs between the plantations and the uncleared forest, and carries off the water to a “bayou” still more remote. There are twenty miles of deep ditching before the plantation, exclusive of the canal, and as this is the contract work of “Irish navvies,” the sigh with which our host alluded to this heavy item in plantation expenses, was expressive. The work is too severe for African thews, and experience has shown it a bad economy to overtask the slave. The sugar-planter lives in apprehension of four enemies. These are the river when rising, drought, too much or unseasonable rain, and frost. The last calls into play all his energies, and tasks his utmost composure. In Louisiana the cane never ripens as it does in Cuba, and they begin to grind as early in October as the amount of juices will permit. The question of a crop is one of early or late frost. With two months’ exemption they rely, in a fair season, upon a hogshead of 1,200 pounds to the acre, and if they can run their mills until January, the increase is more than proportionate, each of its latter days in the earth adding saccharine virtue to the cane.
At an average of a hogshead to the acre, each working hand is good for seven hogsheads a year, which, at last year’s prices, 8 cents per pound for ordinary qualities, would be a yield of £140 per annum for each full field hand.
Two hogsheads to the acre are not unfrequently, and even three have been, produced upon rich lands in a good season. Estimating the sugar at 70 per cent., and the refuse,bagasse, at 30 per cent., the latter would give us two tuns and a quarter to the acre, which open one’s eyes to the tireless activity of nature in this semi-tropical region.
From the records of Houmas I find that, in 1857, the year of its purchase at about £300,000, it yielded a gross of $304,000, say £63,000, upon the investment.
In the rear of this great plantation there are 18,000 additional acres of cane-brake which are being slowly reclaimed, like the fields now rejoicing in crops, as fast as the furnace of the sugar-house calls for fuel. Were it desirable to accelerate the preparation of this reserve for planting, itmight be put in tolerable order in three years at a cost of £15 per acre. We extended our ride into this jungle on the borders of which, in the unfinished clearing, I saw plantations of “negro corn,” the sable cultivators of which seem to have disregarded the symmetry practised in the fields of their master, who allows them from Saturday noon until Monday’s cockcrow for the care of their private interests, and in addition to this, whatever hours in the week they can economize by the brisk fulfilment of their allotted tasks. Some of these patches are sown broadcast, and the corn has sprung up like Zouavetirailleursin their most fantastic vagaries, rather than like the steady regimental drill of the cane and maize we have been traversing.
Corn, chickens, and eggs, are from time immemorial the perquisites of the negro, who has the monopoly of the two last named articles in all well ordered Louisiana plantations. Indeed, the white man cannot compete with them in raising poultry, and our host was evidently delighted when one of his negroes, who had brought a dozen Muscovy ducks to the mansion, refused to sell them to him except for cash. “But Louis, won’t you trust me? Am I not good for three dollars?" “Good enough, Massa; but dis nigger want de money to buy flour and coffee for him young family. Folks at Donaldsonville will trust Massa—won’t trust nigger.” The money was paid, and, as the negro left us, his master observed, with a sly, humorous twinkle, “That fellow sold forty dollars worth of corn last year, and all of them feed their chickens with my corn, and sell their own.”
There are three overseers at Houmas, one of whom superintends the whole plantation, and likewise looks after another estate of 8,000 acres, some twelve miles down the river, which our host added to his possession two years since, at a cost of £150,000. In any part of the world, and in any calling, Mr. S—— (I do not know if he would like to see his name in print) would be considered an able man. Mr. S. attends to most of the practice requiring immediate attention. We visited one of those hospitals, and found half a dozen patients ill of fever, rheumatism, and indigestion, and apparently well cared for by a couple of stout nurses. The truckle bedsteads were garnished with mosquito bars, and I was told that the hospital is a favorite resort, which its inmates leave with reluctance. The pharmaceutical department was largely supplied with a variety of medicines, quinine and preparations of sulphites of iron. “Poor drugs,” said Mr. S., “are a poor economy.”
I have mentioned engineering as one of the requisites of a competent overseer. To explain this I must observe that Houmas is esteemed very high land, and that in its cultivated breadth there is only a fall of eight feet to carry off its surplus water. In the plantation of Governor Manning, which adjoins it, an expensive steam draining machine is employed to relieve his fields of this encumbrance, which is effected by the revolutions of a fan-wheel some twenty feet in diameter, which laps up the water from a narrow trough into which all the drainage flows, and tosses it into an adjoining bayou.
On Governor Manning’s plantation we saw the process of clearing the primitive forest, of which 150 acres were sown in corn and cotton beneath the tall girdled trees that awaited the axe, while an equal breadth on the other side of a broad and deep canal was reluctantly yielding its tufted and fibrous soil, from which the jungle had just been removed, to the ploughs of some fifty negroes, drawn by two mules each. Another season of lustration by maize or cotton, and the rank soil will be ready for the cane.
The cultivation of sugar differs from that of cotton in requiring a much larger outlay of capital. There is little required for the latter besides negroes and land, which may be bought on credit, and a year’s clothing and provisions. There is a gambling spice in the chances of a season which may bring wealth or ruin—a bale to the acre, which may produce 7d.per pound. In a fair year the cotton planter reckons upon ten or twelve bales to the hand, in which case the annual yield of a negro varies from £90 to £120. His enemies are drought, excessive rains, the ball worm, and the army worm; his best friend “a long picking season.”
There is more steadiness in the price of sugar, and a greater certainty of an average crop. But the cost of a sugar-house, with its mill, boilers, vacuum pans, centrifugal and drying apparatus, cannot be less than £10,000, and the consumption of fuel—thousands of cords of which are cut by the “hands”—is enormous. There were cases of large fortunes earned by planting sugar with large beginnings, but these had chiefly occurred among early settlers, who had obtained their lands for a song. A Creole, who recently died at the age of fifty-five, in the neighborhood, and who began with only a few thousand dollars, had amassed more than $1,000,000 in twenty-five years, and two of his sons—skilful planters—were likely to die each richer than his father.
This year the prospects of sugar are dreary enough, at least while the civil war lasts, and my host, with a certainty of 6,500 hogsheads upon his various plantations, has none of a market. In this respect cotton has the advantage of keeping longer than sugar. At last year’s prices, and with the United States protective tariff of 20 per cent to shield him from foreign competition, his crop would have yielded him over £100,000. But all the sweet teeth of the Confederate States army can hardly “make a hole” in the 450,000 hogsheads which this year is expected to yield in Louisiana and Texas. Under the new tariff of the Seceding States the loss of protection to Louisiana alone may be stated, within bounds, at $8,000,000 per annum—which is making the planters pay pretty dear for their Secession whistle.
When I arrived at Houmas there was the greatest anxiety for rain, and over the vast, level plateau every cloud was scanned with avidity. Now, a shower seemed bearing right down upon us, when it would break, like a flying soap-bubble, and scatter its treasures short of the parched fields in which we felt interested. The wind shifted and hopes were raised that the next thunder-cloud would prove less illusory. But no! “Kenner” has got it all. On the fifth day, however, the hearts of all the planters and their parched fields were gladdened by half a day of general and generous rain, beneath which our host’s cane fairly reeled and reveled. It was now safe for the season, and so was the corn. But “one man’s meat is another’s poison,” and we heard more than one “Jeremiad” from those whose fields had not been placed in the condition which enabled those of our friend to carry off a potation of twelve hours of tropical rain with the ease of an alderman or a Lord Chancellor made happier or wiser by his three bottles of port.
What is termedhaciendain Cuba,ranchoin Mexico, and “plantation” elsewhere, is styled “habitation” by the Creoles of Louisiana, whose ancestors began more than a century ago to reclaim its jungles.
At last “venit summa dies et inetuctabile tempus.” I had seen as much as might be of the best phase of the great institution—less than I could desire of a most exemplary, kind-hearted, clear-headed, honest man. In the calm of a glorious summer evening, arrayed in all the splendor of scenery that belongs to dramas in Cloudland, where mountains of snow, peopled by “gorgons, and hydras, andchimæras dire,” rise from seas of fire that bear black barks, freighted with thunder, before the breeze of battle, we crossed the Father of Waters, waving an adieu to the good friend who stood on the shore, and turning our back to the home we had left behind us.
It was dark when the boat reached Donaldsonville, on the opposite “coast.” I should not be surprised to hear that the founder of this remarkable city, which once contained the archives of the State, now transferred to Baton Rouge, was a North Briton. There is a simplicity and economy in the plan of the place not unfavorable to that view, but the motives which induced the Donaldson to found his Rome on the west of Bayou La Fourche from Mississippi must be a secret to all time. Much must the worthy Scot have been perplexed by his neighbors, a long-reaching colony of Spanish Creoles, who toil not and spin nothing but fishing-nets, and who live better than Solomon, and are probably as well dressed,minusthe barbaric pearl and gold of the Hebrew potentate. Take the odd little, retiring, modest houses which grow in the hollows of Scarborough, add to them the least imposing mansions in the natural town of Folkestone, cast them broadsown over the surface of the Essex marshes, plant a few trees in front of them, then open a few “Café billiards” of the camp sort along the main street, and you have done a very good Donaldsonville. A policeman welcomes us on landing, and does the honors of the market, which has a beggarly account of empty benches, the Texan bull done into beef, and a coffee-shop. The policeman is a tall, lean, west country man; his story is simple, and he has it to tell. He was one of Dan Rice’s company—a traveling Astley. He came to Donaldsonville, saw, and was conquered by one of the Spanish beauties, married her, became tavern keeper, failed, learned French, and was now constable of the parish. There was, however, a weight on his mind. He had studied the matter profoundly, but he was not near the bottom. How did the friends, relatives, and tribe of his wife live? No one could say. They reared chickens, and they caught fish; when there was a pressure on the planters, they turned out to work for 6s.6d.a day, but those were rare occasions. The policeman had become quite gray with excogitating the matter, and he had “nary notion of how they did it.” Donaldsonville has done one fine thing. It has furnished two companies of soldiers—all Irishmen—to the wars, and a third is in the course offormation. Not much hedging, ditching, or hard work these times for Paddy? The blacksmith, a huge tower of muscle, claims exemption on the ground that “the divil a bit of him comes from Oireland; he nivir hird av it, barrin’ from the buks he rid,” and is doing his best to remain behind, but popular opinion is against him. As the steamer would not be up till toward dawn, or later, it was a relief to saunter through Donaldsonville to see society, which consisted of several gentlemen and various Jews playing games unknown to Hoyle, in oaken bar-rooms flanked by billiard tables. My good friend the doctor, whom I had met at Houmas, who had crossed the river to see patients suffering from an attack of Euchre, took us round to a little club, where I was introduced to a number of gentlemen, who expressed great pleasure at seeing me, shook hands violently, and walked away; and finally we melted off into a cloud of mosquitoes by the river bank, in a box prepared for them, which was called a bedroom. These rooms were built in wood on the stage close to the river. “Why can’t I have one of these rooms?" asked I, pointing to a larger mosquito-box. “It’s engaged by ladies.” “How do you know?” “Parceque elles ont envoyes leur butin.” It was delicious to meet the French “plunder” for baggage—an old phrase so nicely rendered in the mouth of the Mississippi boatman. Having passed a night of extreme discomfiture with the winged demons of the box, I was aroused toward dawn by the booming of the steam drum of the boat, dipped my head in water among drowned mosquitoes, and went forth upon the landing. The policeman had just arrived. His eagle eye lighted on a large flat, on the stern of which was inscribed, “Pork, corn, butter, beef,” &c. Several spry citizens were also on the platform. After salutations and compliments, policeman speaks: “When didshecome in?” (meaning flat). First Citizen—“In the night, I guess.” Second Citizen—“There’s a lot of whiskey aboard, too.” Policeman (with pleased surprise)—“You never mean it?” First Citizen—“Yes, Sir; one hundred and twenty gallons!” Policeman (inspired by a bright aspiration of patriotism)—“It’s a West country boat; whydon’tthe citizens seize it? And whiskey rising from 17 cents to 35 cents a gallon!" Citizens murmur approval, and I feel the whiskey part of the cargo is not safe. “Yes, Sir,” says Citizen Three, “they seize all our property at Cairey (Cairo), and I’m for making an example of this cargo.” Further reasonsfor the seizure of the article were adduced, and it is probable they were as strong as the whiskey, which has, no doubt, been drunk long ago on the very purest principles. In course of conversation with the Committee of Taste which had assembled, it was revealed to me that there was a strict watch kept over those boats which are freighted with whiskey forbidden to the slaves, and with principles, when they come from the West country, equally objectionable. “Did you hear, Sir, of the chap over at Duncan Kenner’s as was caught the other day?" “No, Sir, what was it?” “Well, Sir, he was a man that came here and went over among the niggers at Kenner’s to buy their chickens from them. He was took up, and they found he’d a lot of money about him.” “Well, of course, he had money to buy the chickens.” “Yes, Sir, but it looked suspic-ious. He was a West country fellow, tew, and he might have meant tamperin’ with ’em. Lucky he was not taken in the arternoon.” “Why so?” “Because if the citizens had been drunk they’d have hung him on the spot.” The Acadia was now alongside, and in the early morning Donaldsonville receded rapidly into trees and clouds. To bed, and make amends for mosquito visits. On awaking, find that I am in the same place I started from; at least, the river looks just the same. It is difficult to believe that we have been going eleven miles an hour against the turbid river, which is of the same appearance as it was below, the same banks, bends, driftwood and trees.
Beyond the levees there were occasionally large clearings and plantations of corn and cane, of which the former predominated. The houses of the planters were not so large or so good as those on the lower banks. Large timber rafts, navigated by a couple of men, who stood in the shade of a couple of upright boards, were encountered at long intervals. The river was otherwise dead. White egrets and blue herons rose from the marshes where the banks had been bored through by crayfish, or crevasses had been formed by the waters. The fields were not much more lively, but at every landing the whites who came down were in some sort of uniform, and a few negroes were in attendance to take in or deliver goods. There were two blacks on board in irons—captured runaways—and very miserable they looked at the thought of being restored to the bosom of the patriarchal family from which they had, no doubt, so prodigally eloped. I feared the fatted calf-skinwould not be applied to their backs. The river is about half a mile wide here and is upward of one hundred feet deep. The planters’ houses in groves of pecan and magnolias, with verandah and belvedere, became more frequent as the steamer approached Baton Rouge, already visible in the distance over a high bank or bluff on the right-hand side.
Before noon the steamer hauled alongside a stationary hulk, which once “walked the waters” by the aid of machinery, but which was now used as a floating hotel, depot, and storehouse—three hundred and fifteen feet long, and fully thirty feet on the upper deck above the level of the river. Here were my quarters till the boat for Natchez should arrive. The proprietor was somewhat excited on my arrival because my servants was away. “Where have you been, you ——?” “Away to buy de newspaper, Massa.” “For who, you ——?” “Me buy ’em for no one, Massa; me sell ’um agin, Massa.” “See now, you ——, if ever you goes aboard to meddle with newspapers, I’m —— but I’ll kill you, mind that!" Baton Rouge is the capital of the State of Louisiana, and the State House is a quaint and very new example of bad taste. The Deaf and Dumb Asylum near it is in a much better style. It was my intention to visit the State Prison and Penitentiary, but the day was too hot, and the distance too great, and so I dined at the oddest little Creole restaurant, with the funniest old hostess and the strangest company in the world. On returning to the boat hotel, Mr. Conrad, one of the citizens of the place, and Mr. W. Avery, a Judge of the Court, were good enough to call to invite me to visit them, but I was obliged to decline. The old gentlemen were both members of the Home Guard, and drilled assiduously every evening. Of the one thousand three hundred voters at Baton Rouge, more than seven hundred and fifty are already off to the wars, and another company is being formed to follow them. Mr. Conrad has three sons in the field already. The waiter who served our drinks in the bar wore a uniform, and his musket lay in the corner among the brandy bottles. At night a patriotic meeting of citizen soldiery took place in the bow, in which song and whiskey had much to do, so that sleep was difficult; but at seven o’clock on Wednesday morning the Mary T. came alongside, and soon afterward bore me on to Natchez through scenery which became wilder and less cultivated as she got upward. Ofthe one thousand five hundred steamers on the river not a tithe are now in employment, and the owners are in a bad way. It was late at night when the steamer arrived at Natchez, and next morning early I took shelter in another engineless steamer, which was thought to be an hotel by its owners. Old negress on board, however, said, “There was nothing for breakfast; go to Curry’s on shore. Walk up hill to Curry’s—a bar-room, a waiter and flies.” “Can I have any breakfast?” “No, Sir-ree; it’s over half an hour ago.” “Nothing to eat at all?” “No, Sir.” “Can I get something anywhere else?” “I guess not.” It had been my belief that a man with money in his pocket could not starve in any countrysoi-disantcivilized life. Exceptions prove rules, but they are disagreeable things. I chewed the cud of fancyfaute de mieux, and became the centre of attraction to citizens, from whose conversation I learned that this was “Jeff. Davis’s fast day.” Observed one, “It quite puts me in mind of Sunday: all the stores closed.” Said another, “We’ll soon have Sunday every day, then, for I ’spect it won’t be worth while for most shops to keep open any longer.” Natchez, a place of much trade and cotton export in the season, is now as dull—let us say as Harwich without a regatta. But it is ultra-Secessionist,nil obstante. My hunger was assuaged by a friend who drove me up to his comfortable mansion through a country not unlike the wooded parts of Sussex, abounding in fine trees, and in the only lawns and park-like fields I have yet seen in America. In the evening, after dinner, my host drove me over to visit a small encampment under a wealthy planter, who has raised, equipped, and armed his company at his own expense.
We were obliged to get out at a narrow lane and walk toward the encampment on foot; a sentry stopped us, and we observed that there was a semblance of military method in the camp. The captain was walking up and down in the verandah of the poor, deserted hut for which he had abandoned his splendid home.A Book of Tactics(Hardee’s)—which is, in part, a translation of the FrenchManual—lay on the table. Our friend was full of fight, and said he would give all he had in the world to the cause. But the day before, and a party of horse, composed of sixty gentlemen in the district, with from £20,000 to £50,000 each, had started for the war in Virginia. Everything to be seen or heard testifies to the great zeal and resolution with whichthe South have entered upon the quarrel. But they hold the power of the United States and the loyalty of the North to the Union at far too cheap a rate. Next day was passed in a delightful drive through cotton fields, Indian corn, and undulating woodlands, amid which were some charming residences. I crossed the river at Natchez, and saw one fine plantation in which the corn, however, was by no means so fine as I have often seen. The cotton looks well, and some had already burst into flower—bloom, as it is called—which had turned to a flagrant pink, and seemed saucily conscious that its boll would play an important part in the world. In this part of Mississippi the Secessionist feeling was not so overpowering at first as it has been since the majority declared itself, but the expression of feeling is now all one way. The rage of Southern sentiment is to me inexplicable, making every allowance for Southern exaggeration. It is sudden, hot, and apparently causeless as summer lightning. From every place I touched at along the Mississippi, a large proportion of the population has gone forth to fight, or is preparing to do so. The whispers which rise through the storm are few and feeble. Some there are who sigh for the peace and happiness they have seen in England. But they cannot seek those things; they must look after their property. Each man maddens his neighbor by desperate resolves, and threats, and vows. Their faith is in Jefferson Davis’s strength, and in the necessities and weakness of France and England. The inhabitants of the tracts which lie on the banks of the Mississippi, and on the inland regions hereabout, ought to be, in the natural order of things, a people almost nomadic, living by the chase and by a sparse agriculture, in the freedom which tempted their ancestors to leave Europe. But the Old World has been working for them. All its trials have been theirs; the fruits of its experience, its labors, its research, its discoveries, are theirs. Steam has enabled them to turn their rivers into highways, to open primeval forests to the light of day and to man. All these, however, would have availed them little had not the demands of manufacture abroad, and the increasing luxury and population of the North and West at home, enabled them to find in these swamps and uplands sources of wealth richer and more certain than all the gold mines of the world. But there must be gnomes to work those mines. Slavery was an institution ready to their hands. In its development there lay every material meansfor securing the prosperity which Manchester opened to them, and in supplying their own countrymen with sugar. The small, struggling, deeply mortgaged proprietors of swamp and forest set their negroes to work to raise levees, to cut down trees, to plant and sow. As the negro became valuable by his produce, the Irish emigrant took his place in the severer labors of the plantation, and ditched and dug, and cut into the waste land. Cotton at ten cents a pound gave a nugget in every boll. Land could be had for a few dollars an acre. Negroes were cheap in proportion. Men who made a few thousand dollars, invested them in more negroes and more land, and borrowed as much again for the same purpose. They waxed fat and rich—there seemed no bounds to their fortune. But threatening voices came from the North—the echoes of the sentiments of the civilized world repenting of its evil pierced their ears, and they found their feet were of clay, and that they were nodding to their fall in the midst of their power. Ruin inevitable awaited them if they did not shut out these sounds and stop the fatal utterances. The issue is to them one of life and death. Whoever raises it hereafter, if it be not decided now, must expect to meet the deadly animosity which is displayed toward the North. The success of the South—if it can succeed—must lead to complications and results in other parts of the world for which neither it nor Europe is now prepared. Of one thing there can be no doubt—a Slave State cannot long exist without a slave-trade. The poor whites who will have won the fight will demand their share of the spoils. The land is abundant, and all that is wanted to give them fortunes is a supply of slaves. They will have them in spite of their masters, unless a stronger power prevents the accomplishment of their wishes.