I had never been; so I was well pleased with the prospect of visiting
the southern country. To one coming direct from California, overland by
rail, it seems like entering a different world--a world that has been
lying asleep for half a century--when the great "pan-handle" route is
left to one side, and Louisville once passed. Though we know that the
country was not asleep--only held in fetters by the hideous nightmare,
Civil War--I doubt if the general condition of things would have been in
a more advanced state of prosperity if the old order of affairs had
remained unchanged, as the march of improvement seems naturally to lag
in these languid, dreamy-looking southern lands.
The line between the North and the South seems very sharply drawn in
more respects than one. We were scarcely well out of Louisville before
delays and stoppages commenced; and though the country was pleasant
enough to look at in the bright, fall days, it was not necessary to stop
from noon till nightfall in one place, to fully enjoy the pleasure.
Another drawback to this pleasure was the reliance we had placed on the
statement of the railroad agent, who told us it was quite unnecessary to
carry a lunch-basket "on this route." Since we had found a lunch-basket,
if not really cumbersome, at least not at all indispensable, from
Sacramento to Omaha, we saw no reason why we should drag it with us
through a civilized country, and consequently suffered the penalty of
believing what a railroad ticket-agent said. In another section of the
same sleeping-car with us was a party who had been wiser than we, and
had brought loads of provisions with them. No wonder: they were
Southerners, and had learned not to depend on the infallibility of their
peculiar institutions.
The head of the party was a little lady of twenty-five or thirty years,
with pale, colorless face, and perfectly bloodless lips. I should have
gone into all sorts of wild speculations about her--should have fancied
how a sudden, dread fright had chased all the rosy tints from her lips
back to her heart, during some terrible incident of the war; or how the
news, too rashly told, of some near, dear friend stricken down by the
fatal bullet, had curdled the red blood in her veins, and turned it to
ice before it reached her cheeks--had she not been so vigorous and
incessant a scold. Now it was the French waiting-maid to whom she
administered a long, bitter string of cutting rebukes, while the
unfortunate girl was lacing up my lady's boots; next it was her younger
sister--whom she was evidently bringing home from school--whose lips she
made to quiver with her sharp words; and then, for a change, the mulatto
servant was summoned, by the well-scolded waiting-maid, to receive his
portion of the sweets meted out. An ugly thing she was, and so different
from the Southern lady I had met in the hotel at Louisville--one of the
most beautiful women I have ever seen--whose grace nothing could exceed
as she handed me a basket of fruit across the table, when one glance had
told her that I was a stranger and tired out with the heat and travel.
But, in spite of what I have said, I must confess that I accepted the
sandwiches the little scold sent us, for the supper-station was not
reached till eleven o'clock at night. As the conductor promised us
another good, long rest here, the gentlemen left the ladies in the cars,
and returned after some time, followed by a number of negroes, who
carried a variety of provisions and divers cups of coffee. I thought,
of course, that it was luncheon brought from some house established at
the station for that purpose; but was told that the chicken the mulatto
boy was spreading before us had been abstracted from his massa's
hen-yard, and that the eggs the old negro was selling us had not by any
means grown in his garden. Only the coffee, which was sold at
twenty-five cents a cup, was a legitimate speculation on the part of
some white man (I am sure his forefathers were from the State of Maine),
who went shares with the negro peddling it, and charged him a dollar for
every cup that was broken or carried off on the cars, which accounted
for the sable Argus' reluctance to leave our party till we had all
swallowed the black decoction and returned the cups.
We were to take dinner at Holly Springs, some time next day; and it
_was_ "some time" before we got there, sure enough. We had picked up an
early breakfast somewhere on the road, and when the dinner-bell rang at
the hotel as the cars stopped, we did not lose much time in making our
way to the dining-room. The door, however, was locked, and we stood
before it like a drove of sheep, some hundred or two people. Through the
window we could see mine host, in shirt-sleeves and with dirty, matted
beard, leisurely surveying the crowd outside; in the yard, and on the
porch near us, stood some barefooted negroes, with dish-cloth and napkin
in hand, staring with all their might at train and passengers, as though
they were lost in speechless wonder that they should really have come.
In the party with us was a Californian, some six feet high, who, though
a Southerner by birth, had lived too long in California to submit
patiently to the delay and inconvenience caused by the "shiftlessness"
of the people hereabouts.
"Now, you lazy lopers," he called to the darkies, swinging the huge
white-oak stick he carried for a cane, "get inside to your work. And if
that door ain't opened in five seconds from now, I'll break it down with
my stick."
He drew his watch; and, either because of his determined voice, or his
towering figure, the darkies flew into the kitchen, and the landlord
sprang to open the door, while the crowd gave a hearty cheer for the big
Californian.
New Orleans seemed familiar to me; I thought I could remember whole
streets there that I had passed through, as a little child, clinging to
the hand of my father--himself an emigrant, and looking on all the
strange things around him with as much wonder as the two little girls he
was leading through the town. How it came back to me! the slave-market,
and the bright-faced mulatto girl, hardly bigger than myself, who so
begged of my father to buy her and take her home with him, so that she
could play with and wait on us. There was nothing shocking to me, I
regret to say, in seeing this laughing, chattering lot of black humanity
exposed for sale, though my good father doubtlessly turned away with a
groan, when he reflected on what he had left behind him, in the old
fatherland, to come to a country where there were liberty and equal
rights for all. I can fancy now what he must have felt when he spoke to
the little woolly-head, in his sharp, accentuated dialect, which his
admirers called "perfect English," as he passed his hand over her cheek
and looked into her face with his great, kind eyes. He said he had
brought his children to a free country, where they could learn to work
for themselves, and carve out their own fortunes; and where they must
learn to govern themselves, and not govern others.
Day after day, on foot or in carriage, we rambled through the streets,
and I never addressed a single question to the driver or any of the
party, satisfied with what information accidentally fell on my
half-closed ear. I was living over again one of the dreams of my early
days: the dream I had dreamed over again so often, among the snows of
the biting, cold Missouri winter, and on the hot, dusty plains of
Arizona, amid the curses of those famishing with thirst and the groans
of the strong men dying from the fierce stroke of the unrelenting sun.
Passing through the parks and by the marketplaces, I saw again the negro
women, with yellow turbans and white aprons, offering for sale all the
tempting tropical fruits which foreigners so crave, and still dread. And
I thought I saw again the white, untutored hands of my father, as he
laboriously prepared seats for us in the deepest shade of the park, and
dealt out to us the coveted orange and banana. The cool, delicious
fruit, and the picture of flowers and trees in the park; the black,
kindly faces of the negro servants, and the laughing, white-clad
children at play--how often I had seen them again in my dreams on the
desert!
Canal street looked lonely and deserted, as did the stores and shops
lining either side of the broad, aristocratic street. The material for a
gay, fashionable promenade was all there; only the people were wanting
to make it such. True, there were groups occasionally to be seen at the
counters of the shops, but in most such cases a black, shining face
protruded from under the jaunty little bonnet, perched on a mass of
wool, augmented and enlarged by additional sheep's-wool, dyed black. One
of these groups dispersed suddenly one day, vacating the store with all
the signs of the highest, strongest indignation. The tactless
storekeeper, who had not yet quite comprehended the importance and
standing of these useful members of society, had unwittingly offended an
ancient, black dame. She had asked to see some silks, and the shopkeeper
had very innocently remarked, "Here, aunty, is something very nice for
you."
"I wish to deform you, sir," replied Aunt Ebony, bridling, "that my name
is Miss Johnson." With this she seized her parasol and marched out of
the store, followed by her whole retinue, rustling their silks, in
highest dudgeon.
On my way to the ferry, when leaving New Orleans for Texas, I saw
something that roused all the "Southern" feeling in me. Two colored
policemen were bullying a white drayman, near the Custom-house. I must
confess I wanted to jump out, shake them well, take their clubs from
them, and throw them into the Mississippi (the clubs, I mean, not the
precious "niggers"). What my father would have said, could he have seen
it, I don't know; the grass had long grown over his grave, and covered
with pitying mantle the scars that disappointments and a hopeless
struggle to accomplish purposes, aimed all too high, leave on every
heart.
As the cars carried us away from the city, and gave us glimpses of the
calm water, and the villas, and orange-groves beyond, there came to me,
once more,
"The tender grace of a day that is dead."
It was just a soft, balmy day as this, years ago, when we lay all day
long in a bayou, where the water was smooth and clear as a mirror, and
the rich grass came down to the water's edge; and through the grove of
orange and magnolia, the golden sunlight sifted down on the white walls
and slender pillars of the planter's cottage. Stalwart negroes sang
their plaintive melodies as they leisurely pursued their occupation, and
birds, brighter in plumage than our cold, German fatherland could ever
show us, were hovering around the field and fluttering among the growing
cotton.
The graceful villa was still there, and the glassy waters still as
death; but the villa was deserted, and the rose running wild over
magnolia-tree and garden-path; the cotton-field lay waste, and the
negro's cabin was empty, while the shrill cry of the gay-feathered birds
alone broke the silence that had hopelessly settled on the plantation.
Farther on, I saw the cypress-forests and the swamps, and I fancied that
the trees had donned their gray-green shrouds of moss because of the
deep mourning that had come over the land. The numberless little bayous
we crossed were black as night, as though the towering trees and the
tangled greenwood, under which they crawled along, had filled them with
their bitter tears. But the sun shone so brightly overhead, that I shook
off my dark fancies, particularly when my eyes fell on the plump, white
neck and rounded cheeks of the lady in the seat before me. I had noticed
her at the hotel in New Orleans, where I recognized her at once as a
bride, though she had abstained, with singularly good taste, from
wearing any of the articles of dress outwardly marking the character. I
hoped, secretly, that I might become acquainted with her before the
journey ended, for there was something irresistibly charming to me in
her pleasant face and unaffected manner. My wish was soon gratified; for
the very first alligator that came lazily swimming along in the next
bayou so filled her with wonder, that she quickly turned in her seat and
called my attention to it. Soon came another alligator, and another; and
some distance below was a string of huge turtles, ranged, according to
size, on an old log. As something gave way about the engine at this
time, we could make comments on the turtle family at our leisure; and
when the cars moved on again, we felt as though we had known each other
for the last ten years.
I cannot think of a day's travel I have ever enjoyed better than the
ride from New Orleans to Brashear. The dry, dusty roads and withered
vegetation I had left behind me in California, made the trees and green
undergrowth look so much more pleasant to me. The ugly swamp was hidden
by the bright, often poisonous, flowers it produces; and though the
dilapidated houses and ragged people we saw were not a cheerful relief
to the landscape, it was not so gloomy as it would have been under a
lowering sky or on a barren plain.
A steamer of the Morgan line, comfortable and pleasant as ever a steamer
can be, carried us to Galveston--a place I had pictured to myself as
much larger and grander. But the hotel--though my room did happen to
look out on the county jail--was well kept; and some of the streets
looked like gardens, from the oleander-trees lining them on either side.
The trees were in full blossom, and they gave a very pleasant appearance
to the houses, in front of which they stood. Some few of these houses
looked like a piece of fairyland: nothing could have been built in
better taste, nothing could be kept in more perfect order. Too many of
them, however, showed the signs of decay and ruin, that speak to us with
the mute pathos of nerveless despair from almost every object in the
South. We planned a ride on the beach for the next day, which we all
enjoyed, in spite of the somewhat fresh breeze that sprung up. The bride
was anxious to gather up and carry home a lot of "relics"--a wish the
bridegroom endeavored to gratify by hunting up on the strand a dead
crab, a piece of ship-timber, and the wreck of a fisherman's net.
Discovering that the driver was a German, I held converse with him in
his native tongue, which had the pleasing effect of his bringing to
light, from under the sand, a lot of pretty shells, which the delighted
little bride carried home with her.
The following day we started for Houston. Eight o'clock had been
mentioned as the starting hour of the train for that locality, but the
landlord seemed to think we were hurrying unnecessarily when we entered
the carriage at half-past seven. There was no waiting-room at the
starting-point that I could see, and we entered the cars, which stood in
a very quiet part of the town (not that there was the least noise or
bustle in any part of it), and seemed to serve as sitting and
dining-rooms for passengers, who seemed to act generally as if they
expected to stay there for the day. But we left Galveston somewhere
toward noon, and since we were all good-natured people, and had become
pretty well accustomed to the speed of the Southern railroads, we
really, in a measure, enjoyed the trip. The people in the cars--many of
the women with calico sun-bonnets on their heads, and the men in coarse
butternut cloth--reminded me of the Texan emigrants one meets with in
New Mexico and Arizona, where they drag their "weary length" along
through the sandy plains with the same stolid patience the passengers
exhibited here, listlessly counting the heads of cattle that our train
picked up at the different stations on the road. The wide, green plains
looked pleasant enough, but I wanted to stop at the little badly-built
houses, and earnestly advise the inhabitants to plant trees on their
homesteads, as the best means of imparting to them the air of "home,"
which they were all so sadly lacking. The cattle roaming through the
country looked gaunt and comfortless--like the people and their
habitations.
Night crept on apace; and though I have forgotten (if I ever knew) what
the cause of delay happened to be, I know that we did not reach Houston
till some five or six hours later than the train was due. I was
agreeably surprised to find vehicles at the depot, waiting to carry
passengers to the different hotels. Our hotel-carriage was an old
omnibus, with every pane of glass broken out; and the opposition hotel
was represented by a calash, with the top torn off and the dashboard
left out. Still more agreeable was the surprise I met with in the hotel
itself--a large, handsome, well-furnished house, giving evidence in
every department of what it had been in former days. Before the war, the
step of the legislator had resounded in the lofty corridor, and the
planter and statesman had met in the wide halls, bringing with them
life, and wealth, and social enjoyment to the proud little city. Now,
alas! the corridors were cheerless in their desolation, and the grand
parlors looked down coldly on the few people gathered there. The
proprietor had years ago lived in California; and of this he seemed
unreasonably proud, as something that everybody could not accomplish.
His wife was a Southern woman, and had not yet learned to look with
equanimity upon the undeniable fact that her husband was keeping a
hotel. I am sure that she had no reason to deplore the loss of her
husband's wealth and slaves on that account; for both she and her
husband were people who would have been respected in any part of the
world, even if they had _not_ kept hotel.
In the midst of a hot, sultry day, a fierce norther sprang up, chilling
us to the bone, and causing us to change our original intention of
remaining here for some time. The bride, too, and her husband, were
willing to return to a more civilized country at an early day. Together
we went back, and were greeted at the hotel we had stopped in, and by
people on the steamer, as pleasantly as though we were in the habit of
passing that way at least once a month. At New Orleans we parted, the
new husband and wife returning to St. Louis, while I retraced my steps
to Louisville, _en route_ to New York.
In the cars I was soon attracted by the appearance of a lady and
gentleman--evidently brother and sister--accompanied by an elderly negro
woman. The gentleman seemed in great distress of mind, and the lady was
trying to speak comfort to his troubled spirits. The negro woman would
gaze longingly out of the window, shading her eyes with her hand, and
then stealthily draw her apron over her cheeks, as though the heat
annoyed her. But I knew she was crying, and the sobs she tried to
repress would sometimes almost choke the honest old negro. The train
went so slow--so slow; and the gentleman paced nervously up and down,
whenever the cars stopped on the way.
Great sorrow, like great joy, always seeks for sympathy; and in a short
time I knew the agony of the father, who was counting every second that
must pass before he could reach the bedside of his dying child. A
young, strong maiden, she had been sent by the widowed father to a
convent, in the neighborhood of Louisville, there to receive the
excellent training of the sisters of the school. Stricken down suddenly
with some disease, they had immediately informed the father by
telegraph; and he, with his sister, and Phrony, the old nurse of the
girl, had taken the next train that left New Orleans. Both he and his
father had been prominent secessionists, had been wellnigh ruined by the
war, and had hoarded what little they could save from the common wreck,
only for this daughter--and now she was dying. So slowly moved the
train! Hour after hour the brother paced up and down the narrow space in
the cars, while the sister poured into my ears the tale of his hopes and
fears, their wretchedness and their perseverance during the war, and
how, in all they had done and left undone, the best interests of Eugenia
had been consulted and considered. The negro woman had crouched down at
our feet, and was swaying back and forth with the slow motion of the
cars, giving vent to her long pent up grief, and sobbing in bitterness
of heart: "Oh, Miss Anne! Miss Anne! why didn't you let me go with my
chile?"
To make full the cup of misery, we were informed next morning that our
train would stop just where it was till six o'clock in the evening, when
some other train would come along and carry us on. I don't think that
the colonel (the father) did any swearing, but I fear that some of the
Californians who were of our party did more than their share. Going to
the nearest station, he telegraphed the cause of his delay to the
sisters of the convent, and then waited through the intolerably long
day. At nightfall the train moved on, slowly, slowly, creeping into
Louisville at last, in the dull, cold, dismal day. Snow-flakes were
falling in the gray atmosphere, settling for a moment on the ragged,
shivering trees, ere they fluttered, half dissolved, to the muddy
ground. The wind rose in angry gusts now and again, whirling about the
flakes, and trying to rend the murky clouds asunder, as though jealous
of the drizzling fog that attempted to take possession of the earth.
Breathlessly the colonel inquired for dispatches at the hotel. Yes; his
child still lived! A buggy was ready, awaiting them at the door, and the
brother and sister drove off, leaving Phrony to take possession of their
rooms. I can never forget the heart-broken look of Phrony when the buggy
vanished from sight.
"You see," said I, "there was no room in the buggy for you. If they had
waited to engage a carriage, they might have been too late."
"Yes, Miss," said Phrony, absently, and turned away.
Toward the close of the day, when already hooded and cloaked for the
onward journey, I was informed that Eugenia was dead: her father had
received but her parting breath. The dispatch was sent for the
information of those who had shown such sympathy for the grief-stricken
father. I stepped over to the colonel's rooms, where I knew Phrony was.
She was sitting on a little trunk by the fire, with her apron over her
head, and her body bent forward.
"Then you know it, Phrony?" I asked.
"Yes, yes; knowed it all along, Miss. Hadn't never no one to take care
of her but her old mammy! Oh, my chile! my chile! my little chile! And
she's done gone died, without her mammy! Oh, my chile! my chile!"
I tried to speak kindly to her, but my sobs choked me. I looked out of
the window, but there was no light there. The snow was falling to the
ground in dogged, sullen silence, and the wind, as though tired out with
long, useless resistance, only moaned fitfully at times, when clamoring
vainly for admission at the closed windows.
Was it not well with the soul just gone to rest? Was it not better with
her than with us--with me--who must still wander forth again, out into
the snow, and the cold, and the night?
"Oh, my chile! my chile!" sobbed the woman, so black of face, but true
of heart; "if I could only have died, and gone to heaven, and left you
with Massa Harry! Oh, Miss Anne! Miss Anne! what made you take my chile
away from me?"
"It is only for a little while that you will be parted from her,
Phrony," I said.
"Bress de Lord! Yes, I'll soon be with my little chile again. But she's
dead now, and I can't never see her no more. Oh, my chile! my chile!"
I closed the door softly, for I heard the warning cry of the coachman
who was to take us to the outgoing train.
_MY FIRST EXPERIENCE IN NEW MEXICO._
On a warm, pleasant afternoon in the latter part of August, 1866, our
command reached the post to which it had been assigned--Fort Bayard, New
Mexico. Our ambulance was driven to the top of a little hill, where I
had leisure to admire the singular beauty of the surrounding country,
while my husband was superintending the pitching of the tent.