problem. Annie and I are allowed one large trunk apiece, the gentlemen a
smaller one each, and we a light carpet-sack apiece for toilet articles.
I arrived with six trunks and leave with one! We went over everything
carefully twice, rejecting, trying to off the bonds of custom and get
down to primitive needs. At last we made a judicious selection.
Everything old or worn was left; everything merely ornamental, except
good lace, which was light. Gossamer evening dresses were all left. I
calculated on taking two or three books that would bear the most reading
if we were again shut up where none could be had, and so, of course,
took Shakspere first. Here I was interrupted to go and pay a farewell
visit, and when we returned Max had packed and nailed the cases of books
to be left. Chance thus limited my choice to those that happened to be
in my room--"Paradise Lost," the "Arabian Nights," a volume of
Macaulay's History I was reading, and my prayer-book. To-day the
provisions for the trip were cooked: the last of the flour was made into
large loaves of bread; a ham and several dozen eggs were boiled; the few
chickens that have survived the overflow were fried; the last of the
coffee was parched and ground; and the modicum of the tea was well
corked up. Our friends across the lake added a jar of butter and two of
preserves. H. rode off to X. after dinner to conclude some business
there, and I sat down before a table to tie bundles of things to be
left. The sunset glowed and faded, and the quiet evening came on calm
and starry. I sat by the window till evening deepened into night, and as
the moon rose I still looked a reluctant farewell to the lovely lake and
the grand woods, till the sound of H.'s horse at the gate broke the
spell.
IX
HOMELESS AND SHELTERLESS
_Thursday, July 10._ (---- _Plantation._)--Yesterday about four o'clock
we walked to the lake and embarked. Provisions and utensils were packed
in the lockers, and a large trunk was stowed at each end. The blankets
and cushions were placed against one of them, and Annie and I sat on
them Turkish fashion. Near the center the two smaller trunks made a
place for Reeney. Max and H. were to take turns at the rudder and oars.
The last word was a fervent God-speed from Mr. E., who is left in charge
of all our affairs. We believe him to be a Union man, but have never
spoken of it to him. We were gloomy enough crossing the lake, for it was
evident the heavily laden boat would be difficult to manage. Last night
we stayed at this plantation, and from the window of my room I see the
men unloading the boat to place it on the cart, which a team of oxen
will haul to the river. These hospitable people are kindness itself,
till you mention the war.
_Saturday, July 12._ (_Under a cotton-shed on the bank of the
Mississippi River._)--Thursday was a lovely day, and the sight of the
broad river exhilarating. The negroes launched and reloaded the boat,
and when we had paid them and spoken good-by to them we felt we were
really off. Every one had said that if we kept in the current the boat
would almost go of itself, but in fact the current seemed to throw it
about, and hard pulling was necessary. The heat of the sun was very
severe, and it proved impossible to use an umbrella or any kind of
shade, as it made steering more difficult. Snags and floating timbers
were very troublesome. Twice we hurried up to the bank out of the way of
passing gunboats, but they took no notice of us. When we got thirsty, it
was found that Max had set the jug of water in the shade of a tree and
left it there. We must dip up the river water or go without. When it got
too dark to travel safely we disembarked. Reeney gathered wood, made a
fire and some tea, and we had a good supper. We then divided, H. and I
remaining to watch the boat, Max and Annie on shore. She hung up a
mosquito-bar to the trees and went to bed comfortably. In the boat the
mosquitos were horrible, but I fell asleep and slept till voices on the
bank woke me. Annie was wandering disconsolate round her bed, and when I
asked the trouble, said, "Oh, I can't sleep there! I found a toad and a
lizard in the bed." When dropping off again, H. woke me to say he was
very sick; he thought it was from drinking the river water. With
difficulty I got a trunk opened to find some medicine. While doing so a
gunboat loomed up vast and gloomy, and we gave each other a good fright.
Our voices doubtless reached her, for instantly every one of her lights
disappeared and she ran for a few minutes along the opposite bank. We
momently expected a shell as a feeler.
At dawn next morning we made coffee and a hasty breakfast, fixed up as
well as we could in our sylvan dressing-rooms, and pushed on; for it is
settled that traveling between eleven and two will have to be given up
unless we want to be roasted alive. H. grew worse. He suffered terribly,
and the rest of us as much to see him pulling in such a state of
exhaustion. Max would not trust either of us to steer. About eleven we
reached the landing of a plantation. Max walked up to the house and
returned with the owner, an old gentleman living alone with his slaves.
The housekeeper, a young colored girl, could not be surpassed in her
graceful efforts to make us comfortable and anticipate every want. I was
so anxious about H. that I remember nothing except that the cold
drinking-water taken from a cistern beneath the building, into which
only the winter rains were allowed to fall, was like an elixir. They
offered luscious peaches that, with such water, were nectar and ambrosia
to our parched lips. At night the housekeeper said she was sorry they
had no mosquito-bars ready, and hoped the mosquitos would not be thick,
but they came out in legions. I knew that on sleep that night depended
recovery or illness for H., and all possibility of proceeding next day.
So I sat up fanning away mosquitos that he might sleep, toppling over
now and then on the pillows till roused by his stirring. I contrived to
keep this up till, as the chill before dawn came, they abated and I got
a short sleep. Then, with the aid of cold water, a fresh toilet, and a
good breakfast, I braced up for another day's baking in the boat.
If I had been well and strong as usual, the discomforts of such a
journey would not have seemed so much to me; but I was still weak from
the effects of the fever, and annoyed by a worrying toothache which
there had been no dentist to rid me of in our village.
Having paid and dismissed the boat's watchman, we started and traveled
till eleven to-day, when we stopped at this cotton-shed. When our dais
was spread and lunch laid out in the cool breeze, it seemed a blessed
spot. A good many negroes came offering chickens and milk in exchange
for tobacco, which we had not. We bought some milk with money.
A United States transport just now steamed by, and the men on the guards
cheered and waved to us. We all replied but Annie. Even Max was
surprised into an answering cheer, and I waved my handkerchief with a
very full heart as the dear old flag we had not seen for so long floated
by; but Annie turned her back.
_Sunday, July 13._ (_Under a tree on the east bank of the
Mississippi_)--Late on Saturday evening we reached a plantation whose
owner invited us to spend the night at his house. What a delightful
thing is courtesy! The first tone of our host's welcome indicated the
true gentleman. We never leave the oars with the watchman; Max takes
these, Annie and I each take a band-box, H. takes my carpet-sack, and
Reeney brings up the rear with Annie's. It is a funny procession. Mr.
B.'s family were absent, and as we sat on the gallery talking, it needed
only a few minutes to show this was a "Union man." His home was elegant
and tasteful, but even here there was neither tea nor coffee.
About eleven we stopped here in this shady place. While eating lunch the
negroes again came imploring for tobacco. Soon an invitation came from
the house for us to come and rest. We gratefully accepted, but found
their idea of rest for warm, tired travelers was to sit in the parlor on
stiff chairs while the whole family trooped in, cool and clean in fresh
toilets, to stare and question. We soon returned to the trees; however,
they kindly offered corn-meal pound-cake and beer, which were excellent.
Eight gunboats and one transport have passed us. Getting out of their
way has been troublesome. Our gentlemen's hands are badly blistered.
_Tuesday, July 15._--Sunday night about ten we reached the place where,
according to our map, Steele's Bayou comes nearest to the Mississippi,
and where the landing should be; but when we climbed the steep bank
there was no sign of habitation. Max walked off into the woods on a
search, and was gone so long we feared he had lost his way. He could
find no road. H. suggested shouting, and both began. At last a distant
halloo replied, and by cries the answerer was guided to us. A negro came
forward and said that was the right place, his master kept the landing,
and he would watch the boat for five dollars. He showed the road, and
said his master's house was one mile off and another house two miles. We
mistook, and went to the one two miles off. At one o'clock we reached
Mr. Fetler's, who was pleasant, and said we should have the best he had.
The bed into whose grateful softness I sank was piled with mattresses to
within two or three feet of the ceiling; and, with no step-ladder,
getting in and out was a problem. This morning we noticed the high-water
mark, four feet above the lower floor. Mrs. Fetler said they had lived
up-stairs several weeks.
X
FRIGHTS AND PERILS IN STEELE'S BAYOU
_Wednesday, July 16._ (_Under a tree on the bank of Steele's
Bayou._)--Early this morning our boat was taken out of the Mississippi
and put on Mr. Fetler's ox-cart. After breakfast we followed on foot.
The walk in the woods was so delightful that all were disappointed when
a silvery gleam through the trees showed the bayou sweeping along, full
to the banks, with dense forest trees almost meeting over it. The boat
was launched, calked, and reloaded, and we were off again. Toward noon
the sound of distant cannon began to echo around, probably from
Vicksburg again. About the same time we began to encounter rafts. To get
around them required us to push through brush so thick that we had to
lie down in the boat. The banks were steep and the land on each side a
bog. About one o'clock we reached this clear space with dry shelving
banks, and disembarked to eat lunch. To our surprise a neatly dressed
woman came tripping down the declivity, bringing a basket. She said she
lived above and had seen our boat. Her husband was in the army, and we
were the first white people she had talked to for a long while. She
offered some corn-meal pound-cake and beer, and as she climbed back told
us to "look out for the rapids." H. is putting the boat in order for our
start, and says she is waving good-by from the bluff above.
_Thursday, July 17._ (_On a raft in Steele's Bayou._)--Yesterday we went
on nicely awhile, and at afternoon came to a strange region of rafts,
extending about three miles, on which persons were living. Many saluted
us, saying they had run away from Vicksburg at the first attempt of the
fleet to shell it. On one of these rafts, about twelve feet square,[1]
bagging had been hung up to form three sides of a tent. A bed was in one
corner, and on a low chair, with her provisions in jars and boxes
grouped round her, sat an old woman feeding a lot of chickens.
[Footnote 1: More likely twelve yards.--G.W.C.]
Having moonlight, we had intended to travel till late. But about ten
o'clock, the boat beginning to go with great speed, H., who was
steering, called to Max:
"Don't row so fast; we may run against something."
"I'm hardly pulling at all."
"Then we're in what she called the rapids!"
The stream seemed indeed to slope downward, and in a minute a dark line
was visible ahead. Max tried to turn, but could not, and in a second
more we dashed against this immense raft, only saved from breaking up by
the men's quickness. We got out upon it and ate supper. Then, as the
boat was leaking and the current swinging it against the raft, H. and
Max thought it safer to watch all night, but told us to go to sleep. It
was a strange spot to sleep in--a raft in the middle of a boiling
stream, with a wilderness stretching on either side. The moon made
ghostly shadows, and showed H., sitting still as a ghost, in the stern
of the boat, while mingled with the gurgle of the water round the raft
beneath was the boom of cannon in the air, solemnly breaking the silence
of night. It drizzled now and then, and the mosquitos swarmed over us.
My fan and umbrella had been knocked overboard, so I had no weapon
against them. Fatigue, however, overcomes everything, and I contrived to
sleep.
H. roused us at dawn. Reeney found lightwood enough on the raft to make
a good fire for coffee, which never tasted better. Then all hands
assisted in unloading; a rope was fastened to the boat, Max got in, H.
held the rope on the raft, and, by much pulling and pushing, it was
forced through a narrow passage to the farther side. Here it had to be
calked, and while that was being done we improvised a dressing-room in
the shadow of our big trunks. During the trip I had to keep the time,
therefore properly to secure belt and watch was always an anxious part
of my toilet. The boat is now repacked, and while Annie and Reeney are
washing cups I have scribbled, wishing much that mine were the hand of
an artist.
_Friday morn, July 18._ (_House of Colonel K., on Yazoo River._)--After
leaving the raft yesterday all went well till noon, when we came to a
narrow place where an immense tree lay clear across the stream. It
seemed the insurmountable obstacle at last. We sat despairing what to
do, when a man appeared beside us in a pirogue. So sudden, so silent was
his arrival that we were thrilled with surprise. He said if we had a
hatchet he could help us. His fairy bark floated in among the branches
like a bubble, and he soon chopped a path for us, and was delighted to
get some matches in return. He said the cannon we heard yesterday were
in an engagement with the ram _Arkansas_, which ran out of the Yazoo
that morning. We did not stop for dinner to-day, but ate a hasty lunch
in the boat, after which nothing but a small piece of bread was left.
About two we reached the forks, one of which ran to the Yazoo, the
other to the Old River. Max said the right fork was our road; H. said
the left, that there was an error in Max's map; but Max steered into the
right fork. After pulling about three miles he admitted his mistake and
turned back; but I shall never forget Old River. It was the vision of a
drowned world, an illimitable waste of dead waters, stretching into a
great, silent, desolate forest.
Just as we turned into the right way, down came the rain so hard and
fast we had to stop on the bank. It defied trees or umbrellas, and
nearly took away the breath. The boat began to fill, and all five of us
had to bail as fast as possible for the half-hour the sheet of water was
pouring down. As it abated a cold breeze sprang up that, striking our
clothes, chilled us to the bone. All were shivering and blue--no, I was
green. Before leaving Mr. Fetler's Wednesday morning I had donned a
dark-green calico. I wiped my face with a handkerchief out of my pocket,
and face and hands were all dyed a deep green. When Annie turned round
and looked at me she screamed, and I realized how I looked; but she was
not much better, for of all dejected things wet feathers are the worst,
and the plumes in her hat were painful.
About five we reached Colonel K.'s house, right where Steele's Bayou
empties into the Yazoo. We had both to be fairly dragged out of the
boat, so cramped and weighted were we by wet skirts. The family were
absent, and the house was headquarters for a squad of Confederate
cavalry, which was also absent. The old colored housekeeper received us
kindly, and lighted fires in our rooms to dry the clothing. My trunk
had got cracked on top, and all the clothing to be got at was wet. H.
had dropped his in the river while lifting it out, and his clothes were
wet. A spoonful of brandy apiece was left in the little flask, and I
felt that mine saved me from being ill. Warm blankets and the brandy
revived us, and by supper-time we got into some dry clothes.
Just then the squad of cavalry returned; they were only a dozen, but
they made much uproar, being in great excitement. Some of them were
known to Max and H., who learned from them that a gunboat was coming to
shell them out of this house. Then ensued a clatter such as twelve men
surely never made before--rattling about the halls and galleries in
heavy boots and spurs, feeding horses, calling for supper, clanking
swords, buckling and unbuckling belts and pistols. At last supper was
despatched, and they mounted and were gone like the wind. We had a quiet
supper and a good night's rest in spite of the expected shells, and did
not wake till ten to-day to realize we were not killed. About eleven
breakfast was furnished. Now we are waiting till the rest of our things
are dried to start on our last day of travel by water.
_Sunday, July 20._--A little way down the Yazoo on Friday we ran into
McNutt's Lake, thence into Chickasaw Bayou, and at dark landed at Mrs.
C.'s farm, the nearest neighbors of H.'s uncle. The house was full of
Confederate sick, friends from Vicksburg, and while we ate supper all
present poured out the story of the shelling and all that was to be done
at Vicksburg. Then our stuff was taken from the boat, and we finally
abandoned the stanch little craft that had carried us for over one
hundred and twenty-five miles in a trip occupying nine days. The luggage
in a wagon, and ourselves packed in a buggy, were driven for four or
five miles, over the roughest road I ever traveled, to the farm of Mr.
B., H.'s uncle, where we arrived at midnight and hastened to hide in bed
the utter exhaustion of mind and body. Yesterday we were too tired to
think, or to do anything but eat peaches.
XI
WILD TIMES IN MISSISSIPPI
This morning there was a most painful scene. Annie's father came into
Vicksburg, ten miles from here, and learned of our arrival from Mrs.
C.'s messenger. He sent out a carriage to bring Annie and Max to town
that they might go home with him, and with it came a letter for me from
friends on the Jackson Railroad, written many weeks before. They had
heard that our village home was under water, and invited us to visit
them. The letter had been sent to Annie's people to forward, and thus
had reached us. This decided H., as the place was near New Orleans, to
go there and wait the chance of getting into that city. Max, when he
heard this from H., lost all self-control and cried like a baby. He
stalked about the garden in the most tragic manner, exclaiming:
"Oh! my soul's brother from youth up is a traitor! A traitor to his
country!"
Then H. got angry and said, "Max, don't be a fool."
"Who has done this?" bawled Max. "You felt with the South at first; who
has changed you?"
"Of course I feel _for_ the South now, and nobody has changed me but the
logic of events, though the twenty-negro law has intensified my
opinions. I can't see why I, who have no slaves, must go to fight for
them, while every man who has twenty may stay at home."
I also tried to reason with Max and pour oil on his wound. "Max, what
interest has a man like you, without slaves, in a war for slavery? Even
if you had them, they would not be your best property. That lies in your
country and its resources. Nearly all the world has given up slavery;
why can't the South do the same and end the struggle. It has shown you
what the South needs, and if all went to work with united hands the
South would soon be the greatest country on earth. You have no right to
call H. a traitor; it is we who are the true patriots and lovers of the
South."
This had to come, but it has upset us both. H. is deeply attached to
Max, and I can't bear to see a cloud between them. Max, with Annie and
Reeney, drove off an hour ago, Annie so glad at the prospect of again
seeing her mother that nothing could cloud her day. And so the close
companionship of six months, and of dangers, trials, and pleasures
shared together, is over.
_Oak Ridge, July 26, Saturday._--It was not till Wednesday that H. could
get into Vicksburg, ten miles distant, for a passport, without which we
could not go on the cars. We started Thursday morning. I had to ride
seven miles on a hard-trotting horse to the nearest station. The day was
burning at white heat. When the station was reached my hair was down,
my hat on my neck, and my feelings were indescribable.
On the train one seemed to be right in the stream of war, among
officers, soldiers, sick men and cripples, adieus, tears, laughter,
constant chatter, and, strangest of all, sentinels posted at the locked
car doors demanding passports. There was no train south from Jackson
that day, so we put up at the Bowman House. The excitement was
indescribable. All the world appeared to be traveling through Jackson.
People were besieging the two hotels, offering enormous prices for the
privilege of sleeping anywhere under a roof. There were many refugees
from New Orleans, among them some acquaintances of mine. The peculiar
styles of [women's] dress necessitated by the exigencies of war gave the
crowd a very striking appearance. In single suits I saw sleeves of one
color, the waist of another, the skirt of another; scarlet jackets and
gray skirts; black waists and blue skirts; black skirts and gray waists;
the trimming chiefly gold braid and buttons, to give a military air. The
gray and gold uniforms of the officers, glittering between, made up a
carnival of color. Every moment we saw strange meetings and partings of
people from all over the South. Conditions of time, space, locality, and
estate were all loosened; everybody seemed floating he knew not whither,
but determined to be jolly, and keep up an excitement. At supper we had
tough steak, heavy, dirty-looking bread, Confederate coffee. The coffee
was made of either parched rye or corn-meal, or of sweet potatoes cut in
small cubes and roasted. This was the favorite. When flavored with
"coffee essence," sweetened with sorghum, and tinctured with chalky
milk, it made a curious beverage which, after tasting, I preferred not
to drink. Every one else was drinking it, and an acquaintance said, "Oh,
you'll get bravely over that. I used to be a Jewess about pork, but now
we just kill a hog and eat it, and kill another and do the same. It's
all we have."
Friday morning we took the down train for the station near my friend's
house. At every station we had to go through the examination of passes,
as if in a foreign country.
The conscript camp was at Brookhaven, and every man had been ordered to
report there or to be treated as a deserter. At every station I shivered
mentally, expecting H. to be dragged off. Brookhaven was also the
station for dinner. I choked mine down, feeling the sword hanging over
me by a single hair. At sunset we reached our station. The landlady was
pouring tea when we took our seats, and I expected a treat, but when I
tasted it was sassafras tea, the very odor of which sickens me. There
was a general surprise when I asked to exchange it for a glass of water;
every one was drinking it as if it were nectar. This morning we drove
out here.
My friend's little nest is calm in contrast to the tumult not far off.
Yet the trials of war are here too. Having no matches, they keep fire,
carefully covering it at night, for Mr. G. has no powder, and cannot
flash the gun into combustibles as some do. One day they had to go with
the children to the village, and the servant let the fire go out. When
they returned at nightfall, wet and hungry, there was neither fire nor
food. Mr. G. had to saddle the tired mule and ride three miles for a pan
of coals, and blow them, all the way back, to keep them alight. Crockery
has gradually been broken and tin cups rusted out, and a visitor told me
they had made tumblers out of clear glass bottles by cutting them smooth
with a heated wire, and that they had nothing else to drink from.