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[Illustration: Charleston is the last stronghold of a unified American
upper class; the last remaining American city in which Madeira and Port
and _noblesse oblige_ are fully and widely understood, and are employed
according to the best traditions]
AMERICAN ADVENTURES
A SECOND TRIP "ABROAD AT HOME" BY
JULIAN STREET
WITH PICTORIAL SIDELIGHTS
BY
WALLACE MORGAN
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1917
Copyright, 1917, by
THE CENTURY CO.
Copyright, 1916, 1917, by
P.F. COLLIER & SON, INC.
_Published, November, 1917_
TO MY AUNT
AND SECOND MOTHER
JULIA ROSS LOW
FOREWORD
Though much has been written of the South, it seems to me that this part
of our country is less understood than any other part. Certainly the
South, itself, feels that this is true. Its relationship to the North
makes me think of nothing so much as that of a pretty, sensitive wife,
to a big, strong, amiable, if somewhat thick-skinned husband. These two
had one great quarrel which nearly resulted in divorce. He thought her
headstrong; she thought him overbearing. The quarrel made her ill; she
has been for some time recovering. But though they have settled their
difficulties and are living again in amity together, and though he,
man-like, has half forgotten that they ever quarreled at all, now that
peace reigns in the house again, _she_ has _not_ forgotten. There still
lingers in her mind the feeling that he never really understood her,
that he never understood her problems and her struggles, and that he
never will. And it seems to me further that, as is usually the case with
wives who consider themselves misunderstood, the fault is partly, but by
no means altogether, hers. He, upon one hand, is inclined to pass the
matter off with a: "There, there! It's all over now. Just be good and
forget it!" while she, in the depths of her heart, retains a little bit
of wistfulness, a little wounded feeling, which causes her to say to
herself: "Thank God our home was not broken up, but--I wish that he
could be a little more considerate, sometimes, in view of all that I
have suffered."
For my part, I am the humble but devoted friend of the family. Having
known him first, having been from boyhood his companion, I may perhaps
have sympathized with him in the beginning. But since I have come to
know her, too, that is no longer so. And I do think I know her--proud,
sensitive, high-strung, generous, captivating beauty that she is!
Moreover, after the fashion of many another "friend of the family," I
have fallen in love with her. Loving her from afar, I send her as a
nosegay these chapters gathered in her own gardens. If some of the
flowers are of a kind for which she does not care, if some have thorns,
even if some are only weeds, I pray her to remember that from what was
growing in her gardens I was forced to make my choice, and to believe
that, whatever the defects of my bouquet, it is meant to be a bunch of
roses.
J.S.
_October 1, 1917._
The Author makes his grateful acknowledgments to the old friends
and the new ones who assisted him upon this journey. And once more
he desires to express his gratitude to the friend and
fellow-traveler whose illustrations are far from being his only
contribution to this volume.
--J.S.
New York, October, 1917.
CONTENTS
THE BORDERLAND
CHAPTER PAGE
I ON JOURNEYS THROUGH THE STATES 3
II A BALTIMORE EVENING 13
III WHERE THE CLIMATES MEET 27
IV TRIUMPHANT DEFEAT 38
V TERRAPIN AND THINGS 44
VI DOUGHOREGAN MANOR AND THE CARROLLS 53
VII A RARE OLD TOWN 69
VIII WE MEET THE HAMPTON GHOST 80
IX ARE WE STANDARDIZED? 89
X HARPER'S FERRY AND JOHN BROWN 97
XI THE VIRGINIAS AND THE WASHINGTONS 105
XII I RIDE A HORSE 117
XIII INTO THE OLD DOMINION 136
XIV CHARLOTTESVILLE AND MONTICELLO 150
XV THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA 159
XVI FOX-HUNTING IN VIRGINIA 169
XVII "A CERTAIN PARTY" 186
XVIII THE LEGACY OF HATE 193
XIX "YOU-ALL" AND OTHER SECTIONAL MISUNDERSTANDINGS 203
XX IDIOMS AND ARISTOCRACY 214
XXI THE CONFEDERATE CAPITAL 222
XXII RANDOM RICHMOND NOTES 233
XXIII JEDGE CRUTCHFIELD'S COT 242
XXIV NORFOLK AND ITS NEIGHBORHOOD 248
XXV COLONEL TAYLOR AND GENERAL LEE 258
THE HEART OF THE SOUTH
XXVI RALEIGH AND JOSEPHUS DANIELS 273
XXVII ITEMS FROM "THE OLD NORTH STATE" 285
XXVIII UNDER ST. MICHAEL'S CHIMES 296
XXIX HISTORY AND ARISTOCRACY 312
XXX POLITICS, A NEWSPAPER AND ST. CECILIA 326
XXXI "GULLA" AND THE BACK COUNTRY 338
XXXII OUT OF THE PAST 349
XXXIII ALIVE ATLANTA 356
XXXIV GEORGIA JOURNALISM 369
XXXV SOME ATLANTA INSTITUTIONS 384
XXXVI A BIT OF RURAL GEORGIA 392
XXXVII A YOUNG METROPOLIS 403
XXXVIII BUSY BIRMINGHAM 417
XXXIX AN ALLEGORY OF ACHIEVEMENT 426
XL THE ROAD TO ARCADY 440
XLI A MISSISSIPPI TOWN 447
XLII OLD TALES AND A NEW GAME 458
XLIII OUT OF THE LONG AGO 467
XLIV THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 474
XLV VICKSBURG OLD AND NEW 482
XLVI SHREDS AND PATCHES 494
XLVII THE BAFFLING MISSISSIPPI 500
XLVIII OLD RIVER DAYS 508
XLIX WHAT MEMPHIS HAS ENDURED 518
L MODERN MEMPHIS 535
FARTHEST SOUTH
LI BEAUTIFUL SAVANNAH 553
LII MISS "JAX" AND SOME FLORIDA GOSSIP 572
LIII PASSIONATE PALM BEACH 579
LIV ASSORTED AND RESORTED FLORIDA 595
LV A DAY IN MONTGOMERY 603
LVI THE CITY OF THE CREOLE 619
LVII HISTORY, THE CREOLE, AND HIS DUELS 629
LVIII FROM ANTIQUES TO PIRATES 648
LIX ANTOINE'S AND MARDI GRAS 663
LX FINALE 675
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
Charleston is the last stronghold of a unified American upper class;
the last remaining American city in which Madeira and Port and
_noblesse oblige_ are fully and widely understood, and are employed
according to the best traditions _Frontispiece_
"Railroad tickets!" said the baggageman with exaggerated patience 8
Can most travellers, I wonder, enjoy as I do a solitary walk, by
night, through the mysterious streets of a strange city? 17
Coming out of my slumber with the curious and unpleasant sense of
being stared at, I found his eyes fixed upon me 24
Mount Vernon Place is the centre of Baltimore 32
If she is shopping for a dinner party, she may order the costly and
aristocratic diamond-back terrapin, sacred in Baltimore as is the
Sacred Cod in Boston 48
Doughoregan Manor--the house was a buff-colored brick 65
I began to realize that there was no one coming 80
Harper's Ferry is an entrancing old town; a drowsy place piled up
beautifully yet carelessly upon terraced roads clinging to steep
hillsides 100
"What's the matter with him?" I asked, stopping 117
When I came down, dressed for riding, my companion was making a
drawing; the four young ladies were with him, none of them in riding
habits 124
Claymont Court is one of the old Washington houses 132
Chatham, the old Fitzhugh house, now the residence of Mark Sullivan 148
Monticello stands on a lofty hilltop, with vistas, between trees of
neighboring valleys, hills, and mountains 157
Like Venice, the University of Virginia should first be seen by
moonlight 168
One party was stationed on the top of an old-time mail-coach,
bearing the significant initials "F.F.V." 180
The Piedmont Hunt Race Meet 189
The Southern negro is the world's peasant supreme 200
The Country Club of Virginia, out to the west of Richmond 216
Judge Crutchfield 228
Negro women squatting upon boxes in old shadowy lofts stem the
tobacco leaves 237
The Judge: "What did he do, Mandy?" 244
Some genuine old-time New York ferryboats help to complete the
illusion that Norfolk is New York 253
"The Southern statesman who serves his section best, serves his
country best" 280
St. Philip's is the more beautiful for the open space before it 300
Opposite St. Philip's, a perfect example of the rude architecture of
an old French village 305
In the doorway and gates of the Smyth house, in Legaré Street, I was
struck with a Venetian suggestion 316
Nor is the Charleston background a mere arras of recollection 320
Charleston has a stronger, deeper-rooted city entity than all the
cities of the Middle West rolled into one 328
The interior is the oldest looking thing in the United States--Goose
Creek Church 344
A reminder of the Chicago River--Atlanta 353
With the whole Metropolitan Orchestra playing dance music all night
long 368
The office buildings are city office buildings, and are sufficiently
numerous to look very much at home 376
The negro roof-garden, Odd Fellows' Building, Atlanta 385
I was never so conscious, as at the time of our visit to the Burge
Plantation, of the superlative soft sweetness of the spring 396
The planters cease their work 400
Birmingham--the thin veil of smoke from far-off iron furnaces
softens the city's serrated outlines 408
Birmingham practices unremittingly the pestilential habit of
"cutting in" at dances 424
Gigantic movements and mutations, Niagara-like noises, great bursts
of flame like falling fragments from the sun 437
A shaggy, unshaven, rawboned man, gray-haired and collarless, sat
near the window 444
Gaze upon the character called Daniel Voorhees Pike! 456
The houses were full of the suggestion of an easy-going home life
and an informal hospitality 465
Her hands looked very white and small against his dark coat 480
As water flows down the hills of Vicksburg to the river, so the
visitor's thoughts flow down to the great spectacular, mischievous,
dominating stream 485
Over the tenement roofs one catches sight of sundry other buildings
of a more self-respecting character 492
Vicksburg negroes 497
On some of the boats negro fish-markets are conducted 504
The old Klein house 512
Citizens go at midday to the square 520
Hanging in the air above the middle of the stream 536
These small parks give Savannah the quality which differentiates it
from all other American cities 556
The Thomas house, in Franklin Square 561
You will see them having tea, and dancing under the palm fronds of
the cocoanut grove 576
Cocktail hour at The Breakers 581
Nowhere is the sand more like a deep warm dust of yellow gold 588
The couples on the platform were "ragging" 600
Harness held together by that especial Providence which watches over
negro mending 613
It was a very jolly fair 616
The mysterious old Absinthe House, founded 1799 620
St. Anthony's Garden 632
Courtyard of the old Orleans Hotel 641
The little lady who sits behind the desk 656
The lights are always lowered at Antoine's when the spectacular Café
Boulot Diabolique is served 664
Passing between the brilliantly illuminated buildings, the Mardi
Gras parades are glorious sights for children from eight to eighty
years of age 672
THE BORDERLAND
O magnet-South! O glistening, perfumed South!
O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil!
O all dear to me!
WALT WHITMAN.
AMERICAN ADVENTURES
CHAPTER I
ON JOURNEYS THROUGH THE STATES
On journeys through the States we start,
... We willing learners of all, teachers of all, lovers of all.
We dwell a while in every city and town ...
--WALT WHITMAN.
Had my companion and I never crossed the continent together, had we
never gone "abroad at home," I might have curbed my impatience at the
beginning of our second voyage. But from the time we returned from our
first journey, after having spent some months in trying, as some one put
it, to "discover America," I felt the gnawings of excited appetite. The
vast sweep of the country continually suggested to me some great
delectable repast: a banquet spread for a hundred million guests; and
having discovered myself unable, in the time first allotted, to devour
more than part of it--a strip across the table, as it were, stretching
from New York on one side to San Francisco on the other--I have hungered
impatiently for more. Indeed, to be quite honest, I should like to try
to eat it all.
Months before our actual departure for the South the day for leaving was
appointed; days before we fixed upon our train; hours before I bought my
ticket. And then, when my trunks had left the house, when my taxicab was
ordered and my faithful battered suitcase stood packed to bulging in the
hall, my companion, the Illustrator, telephoned to say that certain
drawings he must finish before leaving were not done, that he would be
unable to go with me that afternoon, as planned, but must wait until the
midnight train.
Had the first leap been a long one I should have waited for him, but the
distance from New York to the other side of Mason and Dixon's Line is
short, and I knew that he would join me on the threshold of the South
next morning. Therefore I told him I would leave that afternoon as
originally proposed, and gave him, in excuse, every reason I could think
of, save the real one: namely, my impatience. I told him that I wished
to make the initial trip by day to avoid the discomforts of the sleeping
car, that I had engaged hotel accommodations for the night by wire, that
friends were coming down to see me off.
Nor were these arguments without truth. I believe in telling the truth.
The truth is good enough for any one at any time--except, perhaps, when
there is a point to be carried, and even then some vestige of it should,
if convenient, be preserved. Thus, for example, it is quite true that I
prefer the conversation of my fellow travelers, dull though it may be,
to the stertorous sounds they make by night; so, too, if I had not
telegraphed for rooms, it was merely because I had forgotten to--and
that I remedied immediately; while as to the statement that friends were
to see me off, that was absolutely and literally accurate. Friends had,
indeed, signified their purpose to meet me at the station for last
farewells, and had, furthermore, remarked upon the very slight show of
enthusiasm with which I heard the news.
The fact is, I do not like to be seen off. Least of all, do I like to be
seen off by those who are dear to me. If the thing must be done, I
prefer it to be done by strangers--committees from chambers of commerce
and the like, who have no interest in me save the hope that I will live
to write agreeably of their city--of the civic center, the fertilizer
works, and the charming new abattoir. Seeing me off for the most
practical of reasons, such gentlemen are invariably efficient. They
provide an equipage, and there have even been times when, in the final
hurried moments, they have helped me to jam the last things into my
trunks and bags. One of them politely takes my suitcase, another kindly
checks my baggage, and all in order that a third, who is usually the
secretary of the chamber of commerce, may regale me with inspiring
statistics concerning the population of "our city," the seating capacity
of the auditorium, the number of banks, the amount of their clearings,
and the quantity of belt buckles annually manufactured. When the train
is ready we exchange polite expressions of regret at parting:
expressions reminiscent of those little speeches which the King of
England and the Emperor of Germany used to make at parting in the old
days before they found each other out and began dropping high explosives
on each other's roofs.
Such a committee, feeling no emotion (except perhaps relief) at seeing
me depart, may be useful. Not so with friends and loved ones. Useful as
they may be in the great crises of life, they are but disturbing
elements in the small ones. Those who would die for us seldom check our
trunks.
By this I do not mean to imply that either of the two delightful
creatures who came to the Pennsylvania Terminal to bid me good-by would
die for me. That one has lived for me and that both attempt to regulate
my conduct is more than enough. Hardly had I alighted from my taxicab,
hardly had the redcap seized my suitcase, when, with sweet smiles and a
twinkling of daintily shod feet, they came. Fancy their having arrived
ahead of me! Fancy their having come like a pair of angels through the
rain to see me off! Enough to turn a man's head! It did turn mine; and I
noticed that, as they approached, the heads of other men were turning
too.
Flattered to befuddlement, I greeted them and started with them
automatically in the direction of the concourse, forgetting entirely the
driver of my taxicab, who, however, took in the situation and set up a
great shout--whereat I returned hastily and overpaid him.
This accomplished, I rejoined my companions and, with a radiant
dark-haired girl at one elbow and a blonde, equally delectable, at the
other, moved across the concourse.
How gay they were as we strolled along! How amusing were their
prophecies of adventures destined to befall me in the South. Small
wonder that I took no thought of whither I was going.
Presently, having reached the wall at the other side of the great
vaulted chamber, we stopped.
"Which train, boss?" asked the porter who had meekly followed.
Train? I had forgotten about trains. The mention of the subject
distracted my attention for the moment from the _Loreleien_, stirred my
drugged sense of duty, and reminded me that I had trunks to check.
My suggestion that I leave them briefly for this purpose was lightly
brushed aside.
"Oh, no!" they cried. "We shall go with you."
I gave in at once--one always does with them--and inquired of the porter
the location of the baggage room. He looked somewhat fatigued as he
replied:
"It's away back there where we come from, boss."
It was a long walk; in a garden, with no train to catch, it would have
been delightful.
"Got your tickets?" suggested the porter as we passed the row of grilled
windows. He had evidently concluded that I was irresponsible.
As I had them, we continued on our way, and presently achieved the
baggage room, where they stood talking and laughing, telling me of the
morning's shopping expedition--hat-hunting, they called it--in the
rain. I fancy that we might have been there yet had not a baggageman,
perhaps divining that I had become a little bit distrait and that I had
business to transact, rapped smartly on the iron counter with his punch
and demanded:
"Baggage checked?"
Turning, not without reluctance, from a pair of violet eyes and a pair
of the most mysterious gray, I began to fumble in my pockets for the
claim checks.
"How long shall you stay in Baltimore?" asked the girl with the gray
eyes.
"Yes, indeed!" I answered, still searching for the checks.
"That doesn't make sense," remarked the blue-eyed girl as I found the
checks and handed them to the baggageman. "She asked how long you'd stay
in Baltimore, and you said: 'Yes, indeed.'"
"About a week I meant to say."
"Oh, I don't believe a week will be enough," said Gray-eyes.
"We can't stay longer," I declared. "We must keep pushing on. There are
so many places in the South to see."
"My sister has just been there, and she--"
"Where to?" demanded the insistent baggageman.
"Why, Baltimore, of course," I said. Had he paid attention to our
conversation he might have known.
"You were saying," reminded Violet-eyes, "that your sister--?"
"She just came home from there, and says that--"
"Railroad ticket!" said the baggageman with exaggerated patience.
I began again to feel in various pockets.
"She says," continued Gray-eyes, "that she never met more charming
people or had better things to eat. She loves the southern accent too."
I don't know how the tickets got into my upper right vest pocket; I
never carry tickets there; but that is where I found them.
"Do you like it?" asked the other girl of me.
"Like what?"
"Why, the southern accent."
"Any valuation?" the baggageman demanded.
"Yes," I answered them both at once.
"Oh, you _do_?" cried Violet-eyes, incredulously.
"Why, yes; I think--"
"Put down the amount and sign here," the baggageman directed, pushing a
slip toward me and placing a pencil in my hand.
I obeyed. The baggageman took the slip and went off to a little desk. I
judged that he had finished with me for the moment.
"But don't you think," my fair inquisitor continued, "that the southern
girls pile on the accent awfully, because they know it pleases men?"
"Perhaps," I said. "But then, what better reason could they have for
doing so?"
"Listen to that!" she cried to her companion. "Did you ever hear such
egotism?"
"He's nothing but a man," said Gray-eyes scornfully. "I wouldn't be a
man for--"
"A dollar and eighty-five cents," declared the baggageman.
I paid him.
"I wouldn't be a man for anything!" my fair friend finished as we
started to move off.
"I wouldn't have you one," I told her, opening the concourse door.
"_Hay!_" shouted the baggageman. "Here's your ticket and your checks!"
I returned, took them, and put them in my pocket. Again we proceeded
upon our way. I was glad to leave the baggageman.
This time the porter meant to take no chances.
"What train, boss?" he asked.
"The Congressional Limited."
"You got jus' four minutes."
"Goodness!" cried Gray-eyes.
"I thought," said Violet-eyes as we accelerated our pace, "that you
prided yourself on always having time to spare?"
"Usually I do," I answered, "but in this case--"
"What car?" the porter interrupted tactfully.
Again I felt for my tickets. This time they were in my change pocket. I
can't imagine how I came to put them there.
"But in this case--_what_?" The violet eyes looked threatening as their
owner put the question.
"Seat seven, car three," I told the porter firmly as we approached the
gate. Then, turning to my dangerous and lovely cross-examiner: "In this
case I am unfortunate, for there is barely time to say good-by."
There are several reasons why I don't believe in railway station kisses.
Kisses given in public are at best but skimpy little things, suggesting
the swift peck of a robin at a peach, whereas it is truer of kissing
than of many other forms of industry that what is worth doing at all is
worth doing well. Yet I knew that one of these enchantresses expected to
be kissed, and that the other very definitely didn't. Therefore I kissed
them both.
Then I bolted toward the gate.
"Tickets!" demanded the gateman, stopping me.
At last I found them in the inside pocket of my overcoat. I don't know
how they got there. I never carry tickets in that pocket.
As the train began to move I looked at my watch and, discovering it to
be three minutes fast, set it right. That is the sort of train the
Congressional Limited is. A moment later we were roaring through the
blackness of the Hudson River tunnel.
There is something fine in the abruptness of the escape from New York
City by the Pennsylvania Railroad. From the time you enter the station
you are as good as gone. There is no progress between the city's
tenements, with untidy bedding airing in some windows and fat old
slatterns leaning out from others to survey the sordidness and squalor
of the streets below. A swift plunge into darkness, some thundering
moments, and your train glides out upon the wide wastes of the New
Jersey meadows. The city is gone. You are even in another State. Far,
far behind, bathed in glimmering haze which gives them the appearance of
palaces in a mirage, you may see the tops of New York's towering
sky-scrapers, dwarfed yet beautified by distance. Outside the wide car
window the advertising sign-boards pass to the rear in steady parade,
shrieking in strong color of whiskies, tobaccos, pills, chewing gums,
cough drops, flours, hams, hotels, soaps, socks, and shows.