THE END OF THE EXPERIMENT.
The Nature of our "Protection."--Trade Following the Flag.--A
Fortunate Journey.--Our Last Visit.--Inhumanity of the
Guerrillas.--Driving Negroes into Captivity.--Killing an
Overseer.--Our Final Departure.--Plantations Elsewhere.
We did not look upon the post at Waterproof as a sure protection.
There was no cavalry to make the promised patrol between Waterproof
and the post next below it, or to hunt down any guerrillas that might
come near. A few of the soldiers were mounted on mules and horses
taken from the vicinity, but they were not effective for rapid
movements. It was understood, and semi-officially announced, that the
post was established for the protection of Government plantations. The
commandant assured me he had no orders to that effect. He was placed
there to defend the post, and nothing else. We were welcome to any
protection his presence afforded, but he could not go outside the
limits of the town to make any effort in our behalf.
There was a store at Waterproof which was doing a business of two
thousand dollars daily. Every day the wives, brothers, or sisters of
men known to belong to the marauding bands in the vicinity, would come
to the town and make any purchases they pleased, frequently paying for
them in money which the guerrillas had stolen. A gentleman, who was an
intimate friend of General Thomas, was one of the proprietors of this
store, and a son of that officer was currently reported to hold an
interest in it. After a time the ownership was transferred to a single
cotton speculator, but the trading went on without hinderance. This
speculator told me the guerrilla leader had sent him a verbal promise
that the post should not be disturbed or menaced so long as the store
remained there. Similar scenes were enacted at nearly all the posts
established for the "protection" of leased plantations. Trading stores
were in full operation, and the amount of goods that reached the
Rebels and their friends was enormous.
I have little doubt that this course served to prolong the resistance
to our arms along the Mississippi River. If we had stopped all
commercial intercourse with the inhabitants, we should have removed
the inducement for Rebel troops to remain in our vicinity. As matters
were managed, they kept close to our lines at all the military posts
between Cairo and Baton Rouge, sometimes remaining respectfully quiet,
and at others making occasional raids within a thousand yards of our
pickets.
The absence of cavalry, and there being no prospect that any would
arrive, led us to believe that we could not long remain unmolested. We
were "in for it," however, and continued to plow and plant, trusting
to good fortune in getting safely through. Our misfortune came at
last, and brought our free-labor enterprise to an untimely end.
As I stated in the previous chapter, Colburn and myself made daily
visits to the plantation, remaining there for dinner, and returning
to Waterproof in the afternoon. On Monday, May 2d, we made our usual
visit, and returned to the post. A steamer touched there, on its way
to Natchez, just after our return, and we accepted the invitation of
her captain to go to that place. Our journey to Natchez was purely
from impulse, and without any real or ostensible business to call us
away. It proved, personally, a very fortunate journey.
On Tuesday evening, a neighbor of ours reached Natchez, bringing news
that the guerrillas had visited our plantation on that day. I hastened
to Waterproof by the first boat, and found our worst fears were
realized.
Thirty guerrillas had surrounded our house at the hour we were
ordinarily at dinner. They called our names, and commanded us to come
out and be shot. The house was empty, and as there was no compliance
with the request, a half-dozen of the party, pistols in hand, searched
the building, swearing they would kill us on the spot. Had we been
there, I have no doubt the threat would have been carried out.
Failing to find us, they turned their attention to other matters. They
caught our overseer as he was attempting to escape toward Waterproof.
He was tied upon his horse, and guarded until the party was ready to
move. The teams were plowing in the field at the time the robbers
made their appearance. Some of the negroes unloosed the mules from the
plows, mounted them, and fled to Waterproof. Others, who were slow in
their movements, were captured with the animals. Such of the
negroes as were not captured at once, fled to the woods or concealed
themselves about the buildings.
Many of the negroes on the plantation were personally known to some of
the guerrillas. In most cases these negroes were not disturbed. Others
were gathered in front of the house, where they were drawn up in line
and securely tied. Some of them were compelled to mount the captured
mules and ride between their captors.
Several children were thrown upon the mules, or taken by the
guerrillas on their own horses, where they were firmly held. No
attention was paid to the cries of the children or the pleadings of
their mothers. Some of the latter followed their children, as the
guerrillas had, doubtless, expected. In others, the maternal instinct
was less than the dread of captivity. Among those taken was an infant,
little more than eight months old.
Delaying but a few moments, the captors and the captives moved away.
Nineteen of our negroes were carried off, of whom ten were children
under eleven years of age. Of the nineteen, five managed to make their
escape within a few miles, and returned home during the night. One
woman, sixty-five years old, who had not for a long time been able
to do any work, was among those driven off. She fell exhausted before
walking three miles, and was beaten by the guerrillas until she lay
senseless by the roadside. It was not for several hours that she
recovered sufficiently to return to the plantation and tell the story
of barbarity.
From a plantation adjoining ours, thirty negroes were carried away
at the same time. Of these, a half-dozen escaped and returned.
The balance, joined to the party from our own plantation, formed a
mournful procession. I heard of them at many points, from residents of
the vicinity. These persons would not admit that the guerrillas were
treating the negroes cruelly. Those who escaped had a frightful story
to tell. They had been beaten most barbarously with whips, sticks, and
frequently with the butts of pistols; two or three were left senseless
by the roadside, and one old man had been shot, because he was too
much exhausted to go further. I learned, a few days later, that
the captured negroes were taken to Winnsboro; a small town in the
interior, and there sold to a party of Texas traders.
From our plantation the guerrillas stole twenty-four mules at the time
of their visit, and an equal number from our neighbors. These were
sold to the same party of traders that purchased the negroes, and
there was evidently as little compunction at speculating in the one
"property" as in the other.
Our overseer, Mr. Owen, had been bound upon his horse and taken away.
This I learned from the negroes remaining on the plantation. I made
diligent inquiries of parties who arrived from the direction taken by
the guerrillas, to ascertain, if possible, where he had been carried.
One person assured me, positively, that he saw Mr. Owen, a prisoner,
twenty miles away. Mrs.
Owen and five children were living at Waterproof, and, of course, were
much alarmed on hearing of his capture.
It was on Thursday, two days after the raid, that I visited the
plantation. Our lower plantation had not been disturbed, but many of
the negroes were gone, and all work was suspended. It was of no use
to attempt to prosecute the planting enterprise, and we immediately
prepared to abandon the locality. The remaining negroes were set at
work to shell the corn already gathered. As fast as shelled, it
was taken to Waterproof for shipment to market. The plows were left
rusting in the furrows, where they were standing at the moment the
guerrillas appeared. The heaps of cotton-seed and the implements used
by the planting-gang remained in _statu quo_. The cotton we planted
was growing finely. To leave four hundred acres thus growing, and
giving promise of a fine harvest, was to throw away much labor, but
there was no alternative.
On Saturday, four days after the raid, the corporal of a scouting
party came to our plantation and said the body of a white man had been
found in the woods a short distance away. I rode with him to the spot
he designated. The mystery concerning the fate of our overseer was
cleared up. The man was murdered within a thousand yards of the house.
From the main road leading past our plantation, a path diverged into
the forest. This path was taken by some of the guerrillas in their
retreat. Following it two hundred yards, and then turning a short
distance to the left, I found a small cypress-tree, not more than
thirty feet high. One limb of this tree drooped as it left the trunk,
and then turned upward. The lowest part of the bend of this limb was
not much higher than a tall man's head.
It was just such a tree, and just such a limb, as a party bent on
murder would select for hanging their victim. I thought, and still
think, that the guerrillas turned aside with the design of using the
rope as the instrument of death. Under this tree lay the remains of
our overseer. The body was fast decomposing. A flock of buzzards was
gathered around, and was driven away with difficulty. They had already
begun their work, so that recognition under different circumstances
would not have been easy. The skull was detached from the body, and
lay with the face uppermost. A portion of the scalp adhered to it, on
which a gray lock was visible. A bit of gray beard was clinging to the
chin.
In the centre of the forehead there was a perforation, evidently made
by a pistol-bullet. Death must have been instantaneous, the pistol
doing the work which the murderers doubtless intended to accomplish by
other means. The body had been stripped of all clothing, save a single
under-garment. Within a dozen yards lay a pair of old shoes, and close
by their side a tattered and misshapen hat. The shoes and hat were not
those which our overseer had worn, but were evidently discarded by
the guerrillas when they appropriated the apparel of their victim. I
caused a grave to be dug, and the remains placed in a rude coffin and
buried. If a head-stone had been obtainable, I would have given the
locality a permanent designation. The particulars of the murder we
were never able to ascertain.
Three days later we abandoned the plantation. We paid the negroes
for the work they had done, and discharged them from further service.
Those that lived on the plantation previous to our going there,
generally remained, as the guerrillas had assured them they would
be unmolested if they cultivated no cotton. A few of them went to
Natchez, to live near their "missus." Those whom we had hired from
other localities scattered in various directions. Some went to the
Contraband Home at Davis's Bend, others to the negro quarters at
Natchez, others to plantations near Vidalia, and a few returned to
their former homes. Our "family" of a hundred and sixty persons was
thus broken up.
We removed the widow and children of our overseer to Natchez, and
purchased for them the stock and goodwill of a boarding-house keeper.
We sent a note to the leader of the guerrilla band that manifested
such a desire to "go through" us, and informed him that we could
be found in St. Louis or New York. Before the end of May we passed
Vicksburg on our Journey Due North.
Most of the plantations in the vicinity of Natchez, Vicksburg, and
Milliken's Bend were given up. Probably a dozen lessees were killed,
and the same number carried to Texas. Near Vicksburg, the chivalric
guerrillas captured two lessees, and tortured them most barbarously
before putting them to death. They cut off the ears of one man, and
broke his nose by a blow from a club. Thus mutilated, he was compelled
to walk three or four miles. When he fell, fainting from loss of
blood, he was tied to a tree, and the privilege of shooting him
was sold at auction. They required his companion to witness these
brutalities. Whenever he turned away his eyes, his captors pressed the
point of a saber into his cheek. Finally, they compelled him to take
a spade and dig his own grave. When it was finished, they stripped
him of his clothing, and shot him as he stood by the brink of the
newly-opened trench.
Blanchard and Robinson, two lessees near Natchez, both of them
residents of Boston, were murdered with nearly the same fiendishness
as exhibited in the preceding case. Their fate was for some time
unknown. It was at length ascertained from a negro who was captured at
the same time, but managed to escape. That "slavery makes barbarians"
would seem to be well established by the conduct of these residents of
Louisiana.
In the vicinity of Baton Rouge and New Orleans there were but few
guerrillas, and the plantations generally escaped undisturbed. In all
localities the "army-worm" made its appearance in July and August, and
swept away almost the entire crop. Many plantations that were expected
to yield a thousand bales did not yield a hundred, and some of them
made less than ten. The appearance of this destructive worm was very
sudden. On some plantations, where the cotton was growing finely and
without a trace of blight, the fields, three days later, appeared as
if swept by fire. There was consequently but little cotton made during
the season.
The possibility of producing the great staples of the South by
free labor was fully established. Beyond this there was little
accomplished.
My four months of cotton-planting was an experience I shall
never regret, though I have no desire to renew it under similar
circumstances. Agriculture is generally considered a peaceful pursuit.
To the best of my recollection I found it quite the reverse.
For the benefit of those who desire to know the process of cotton
culture, from the planting season to the picking season, I give the
following extract from an article written by Colonel T. B. Thorpe,
of Louisiana, several years ago. After describing the process of
preparing the ground and planting the seed, Colonel Thorpe says:--
If the weather be favorable, the young plant is discovered making its
way through in six or ten days, and "the scraping" of the crop, as it
is termed, now begins. A light plow is again called into requisition,
which is run along the drill, throwing the _earth away from the
plant;_ then come the laborers with their hoes, who dexterously cut
away the superabundant shoots and the intruding weeds, and leave a
single cotton-plant in little hills, generally two feet apart.
Of all the labors of the field, the dexterity displayed by the negroes
in "scraping cotton" is most calculated to call forth the admiration
of the novice spectator. The hoe is a rude instrument, however well
made and handled; the young cotton-plant is as delicate as vegetation
can be, and springs up in lines of solid masses, composed of hundreds
of plants. The field-hand, however, will single one delicate shoot
from the surrounding multitude, and with his rude hoe he will trim
away the remainder with all the boldness of touch of a master, leaving
the incipient stalk unharmed and alone in its glory; and at nightfall
you can look along the extending rows, and find the plants correct in
line, and of the required distance of separation from each other.
The planter, who can look over his field in early spring, and find his
cotton "cleanly scraped" and his "stand" good, is fortunate; still,
the vicissitudes attending the cultivation of the crop have only
commenced. Many rows, from the operations of the "cut-worm," and from
multitudinous causes unknown, have to be replanted, and an unusually
late frost may destroy all his labors, and compel him to commence
again. But, if no untoward accident occurs, in two weeks after the
"scraping," another hoeing takes place, at which time the plow throws
the furrow _on to the roots_ of the now strengthening plant, and the
increasing heat of the sun also justifying the sinking of the roots
deeper in the earth. The pleasant month of May is now drawing to a
close, and vegetation of all kinds is struggling for precedence in
the fields. Grasses and weeds of every variety, with vines and wild
flowers, luxuriate in the newly-turned sod, and seem to be determined
to choke out of existence the useful and still delicately-grown
cotton.
It is a season of unusual industry on the cotton plantations, and woe
to the planter who is outstripped in his labors, and finds himself
"overtaken by the grass." The plow tears up the surplus vegetation,
and the hoe tops it off in its luxuriance. The race is a hard one, but
industry conquers; and when the third working-over of the crop takes
place, the cotton-plant, so much cherished and favored, begins to
overtop its rivals in the fields--begins to cast _a chilling shade of
superiority_ over its now intimidated groundlings, and commences to
reign supreme.
Through the month of July, the crop is wrought over for the last time;
the plant, heretofore of slow growth, now makes rapid advances toward
perfection. The plow and hoe are still in requisition. The "water
furrows" between the cotton-rows are deepened, leaving the cotton
growing as it were upon à slight ridge; this accomplished, the crop is
prepared for the "rainy season," should it ensue, and so far advanced
that it is, under any circumstances, beyond the control of art. Nature
must now have its sway.
The "cotton bloom," under the matured sun of July, begins to make
its appearance. The announcement of the "first blossom" of the
neighborhood is a matter of general interest; it is the unfailing sign
of the approach of the busy season of fall; it is the evidence that
soon the labor of man will, under a kind Providence, receive its
reward.
It should perhaps here be remarked, that the color of cotton in its
perfection is precisely that of the blossom--a beautiful light,
but warm cream-color. In buying cotton cloth, the "bleached" and
"unbleached" are perceptibly different qualities to the most casual
observer; but the dark hues and harsh look of the "unbleached
domestic" comes from the handling of the artisan and the soot of
machinery. If cotton, pure as it looks in the field, could be wrought
into fabrics, they would have a brilliancy and beauty never yet
accorded to any other material in its natural or artificial state.
There cannot be a doubt but that, in the robes of the ancient royal
Mexicans and Peruvians, this brilliant and natural gloss of cotton was
preserved, and hence the surpassing value it possessed in the eyes of
cavaliers accustomed to the fabrics of the splendid court of Ferdinand
and Isabella.
The cotton-blossom is exceedingly delicate in its organization. It is,
if in perfection, as we have stated, of a beautiful cream-color.
It unfolds in the night, remains in its glory through the morn--at
meridian it has begun to decay. The day following its birth it has
changed to a deep red, and ere the sun goes down, its petals have
fallen to the earth, leaving inclosed in the capacious calyx a
scarcely perceptible germ. This germ, in its incipient and early
stages, is called "a form;" in its more perfected state, "a boll."
The cotton-plant, like the orange, has often on one stalk every
possible growth; and often, on the same limb, may sometimes be seen
the first-opened blossom, and the bolls, from their first development
as "forms," through every size, until they have burst open and
scattered their rich contents to the ripening winds.
The appearance of a well-cultivated cotton-field, if it has escaped
the ravages of insects and the destruction of the elements, is of
singular beauty. Although it may be a mile in extent, still it is as
carefully wrought as is the mold of the limited garden of the coldest
climate. The cotton-leaf is of a delicate green, large and luxuriant;
the stalk indicates rapid growth, yet it has a healthy and firm look.
Viewed from a distance, the perfecting plant has a warm and glowing
expression. The size of the cotton-plant depends upon the accident
of climate and soil. The cotton of Tennessee bears very little
resemblance to the luxuriant growth of Alabama and Georgia; but even
in those favored States the cotton-plant is not everywhere the same,
for in the rich bottom-lands it grows to a commanding size, while in
the more barren regions it is an humble shrub. In the rich alluvium of
the Mississippi the cotton will tower beyond the reach of the tallest
"picker," and a single plant will contain hundreds of perfect "bolls;"
in the neighboring "piney-woods" it lifts its humble head scarcely
above the knee, and is proportionably meager in its produce of fruit.
The growing cotton is particularly liable to accidents, and suffers
immensely in "wet seasons" from the "rust" and "rot." The first
named affects the leaves, giving them a brown and deadened tinge, and
frequently causes them to crumble away. The "rot" attacks the "boll."
It commences by a black spot on the rind, which, increasing, seems to
produce fermentation and decay. Worms find their way to the roots; the
caterpillar eats into the "boll" and destroys the staple. It would be
almost impossible to enumerate all the evils the cotton-plant is heir
to, all of which, however, sink into nothingness compared with the
scourge of the "army-worm."
The moth that indicates the advent of the army-worm has a Quaker-like
simplicity in its light, chocolate-colored body and wings, and, from
its harmless appearance, would never be taken for the destroyer of
vast fields of luxuriant and useful vegetation.
The little, and, at first, scarcely to be perceived caterpillars that
follow the appearance of these moths, can absolutely be seen to grow
and swell beneath your eyes as they crawl from leaf to leaf. Day by
day you can see the vegetation of vast fields becoming thinner and
thinner, while the worm, constantly increasing in size, assumes at
last an unctuous appearance most disgusting to behold. Arrived at
maturity, a few hours only are necessary for these modern locusts
to eat up all living vegetation that comes in their way. Leaving
the localities of their birth, they will move from place to place,
spreading a desolation as consuming as fire in their path.
All efforts to arrest their progress or annihilate them prove
unavailing. They seem to spring out of the ground, and fall from
the clouds; and the more they are tormented and destroyed, the more
perceptible, seemingly, is their power. We once witnessed the
invasion of the army-worm, as it attempted to pass from a desolated
cotton-field to one untouched. Between these fields was a wide ditch,
which had been deepened, to prove a barrier to the onward march of
the worm. Down the perpendicular sides of the trench the caterpillars
rolled in untold millions, until its bottom, for nearly a mile in
extent, was a foot or two deep in a living mass of animal life. To an
immense piece of unhewn timber was attached a yoke of oxen, and, as
this heavy log was drawn through the ditch, it seemed absolutely to
float on a crushed mass of vegetable corruption. The following
day, under the heat of a tropical sun, the stench arising from this
decaying mass was perceptible the country round, giving a strange and
incomprehensible notion of the power and abundance of this destroyer
of the cotton crop.
The change that has been effected by the result of the Rebellion, will
not be confined to the social system alone. With the end of slavery
there will be a destruction of many former applications of labor.
Innovations have already been made, and their number will increase
under the management of enterprising men.
In Louisiana several planters were using a "drill" for depositing the
cotton-seed in the ground. The labor of planting is reduced more than
one-half, and that of "scraping" is much diminished. The saving
of seed is very great--the drill using about a tenth of the amount
required under the old system.
One man is endeavoring to construct a machine that will pick cotton
from the stalks, and is confident he will succeed. Should he do so,
his patent will be of the greatest value. Owners of plantations
have recently offered a present of ten thousand dollars to the first
patentee of a successful machine of this character.