A COURTEOUS INVITATION.
"Where are you riding to?" was the question asked by my new
acquaintance, as we once more entered upon the pike.
"To New Orleans."
"Not on horseback?"
"On horseback."
"Why, it is a thousand miles. It will take you at least a month. You
could get there by boat in a week."
"I know it."
"Oh! you have some object then in going by the road? Perhaps
commercial?"
My fellow-traveler's eye rested for a moment on my valise, but
evidently unsatisfied. It did not look much like the pack of a peddler.
"No," I said, in answer to his interrogatory. "Unfortunately for me, I
am not able to offer such a substantial excuse for my journey."
"Well," he rejoined, "I know it's common enough to travel on horseback
across to Memphis, when the water is low in the Cumberland, and there
may not be a boat; but to ride all the way to New Orleans--that's a
different affair. Do you really mean it?"
"I do."
"Excuse me for appearing inquisitive. It's a privilege we Western
people assume to ourselves. I only asked because it seems so odd for
any one to undertake such a tedious journey."
"You are perfectly welcome to know my reason for undertaking it. I have
made the up-journey from New Orleans to Nashville by boat, and for all
I have learnt by it, I might as well have been stopping at the "St.
Charles Hotel," at one end, or the "Nashville Inn" at the other. My
object is to see something of the interior of your country; and this is
not to be accomplished on board a noisy steamboat."
"Ah! Now I perceive. No doubt you are right. As a stranger to our
country--"
"How can you tell that?" I asked, abruptly interrupting him.
"Oh! that is easily told," was the prompt reply. "For instance, the odd
article strapped on the crupper of your saddle."
"Ah! The valise."
"Valise you call it? Here we only use the saddle-bags."
"I know it. I prefer the valise, as you see. I acknowledge your
saddle-bags may be more convenient; but they are also more heating to
the horse, and for that reason I incline to stick to my valise."
"Ha! I perceive you are a true traveler; and since you say you are
journeying only to see the country, you can not be much pressed for
time. I have made you acquainted with the inside of a Tennessee prison.
I hope you will permit me to introduce you to something not quite so
gloomy--a Tennessee cotton plantation. Perhaps you have not yet visited
one?"
"It is very kind of you," I replied, more than ever impressed with the
courtesy of my new acquaintance. "In truth, I have never seen a cotton
plantation in my life."
"Well, if you will place yourself under my guidance, I shall be most
happy to show you mine, or my father's I should rather call it. It
is not one of the largest, nor do we have cotton plantations in
such perfection as you will see them further south--in Alabama and
Mississippi. We are here on the northern edge of the cotton-growing
climate, and the plants sometimes suffer from the frosts. Ours,
however, will enable you to form some idea of one of the chief sources
of Tennessee wealth; and I shall have much pleasure in taking you over
it."
I accepted the invitation. It was, indeed, furnishing me with an
opportunity I had intended seeking; for although, further south, I
had made some acquaintance with sugar and tobacco plantations, I was
yet ignorant of the mode by which the great commercial staple of the
Southern States is produced and prepared for the market.
I could not help repeating my thanks for such kindness shown to a
stranger--as I expressed it.
"Well, sir," was the reply, accompanied by a significant smile, "I
have been, perhaps, taking an unfair advantage of you. You are not
altogether such a stranger to me, though I only know you through
another."
"Another! Who?"
"If I am not mistaken, you made the up-river voyage about a month ago,
in the steamer Sultana?"
"I did."
"Do you remember one of your fellow-passengers--a young lady, by name
Miss Woodley?"
It is not likely I should have forgotten Miss Woodley, nor would
any other who had ever seen her--to say nothing of having voyaged
nearly a thousand miles in the same boat with her. She had come on
board at a landing below Vicksburg on the Mississippi--a brother
having brought her to the landing. Thence she had traveled alone
to Nashville--changing boats, as I had myself, at the mouth of
the Cumberland river. But if alone, she was not neglected. Both
on the Sultana and the smaller steamer, she had been the cynosure
of many an eye, and the theme of many a sigh. Half a score of her
fellow-passengers thought the journey too short; and I decline to say
that I was not one of the number.
I had been honored with an introduction given me by the captain of
the Sultana; but the beautiful Cornelia Woodley was so surrounded by
admirers that I had found but slight opportunity of cultivating her
acquaintance.
On leaving the boat at Nashville, I had bidden adieu, with but faint
hopes of ever seeing her again. Her home was fifty miles from the
capital of Tennessee. She had communicated this much, but of course
without extending an invitation.
With this explanation the reader will not be surprised that the name
of Miss Woodley, pronounced by my new acquaintance, caused me to turn
round in my saddle, and regard him with renewed interest.
"Certainly," I said, "I traveled on the same boat with Miss Woodley."
"I thought so," was the prompt rejoinder. "I could tell it was you from
the description she gave me. I saw you as you rode out of town, and
made haste to follow."
This kind of talk required explanation. In what relationship did my new
acquaintance stand to my fair fellow-voyager? Was the young planter
only a neighbor, whose intimacy had procured him the information
detailed? I did not relish the conjecture of his being her lover. He
was too good-looking to make the thought palatable. I preferred the
fancy that he might be a brother. Before I could ask, I had the answer
indirectly.
"I'm so glad you're going our way. I'm sure my _sister_ will be most
happy to see you."
"Oh! You are the brother of Miss Woodley then?"
"One of them. There are two of us. I am the youngest of the lot. Henry,
who is the oldest, don't live with us here. He has a plantation in
Mississippi, below Vicksburg. That's where my sister has been. She
spends her winters with him, and only comes to Tennessee for the summer
months."
I felt secretly glad that the summer months had not yet quite passed
away.
We rode on; from this time calling each other by name, and conversing
as if we had been old acquaintances. More than ever did I long to
become initiated into the economy of a cotton plantation.