Portsmouth--Railway journey through the forest--The great Dismal
Swamp--American newspapers--Cattle on the line--Negro labour--On
through the Pine Forest--The Confederate flag--Goldsborough;
popular excitement--Weldon--Wilmington--The Vigilance Committee.
_Monday, April 15._--Up at dawn. Crossed by ferry to Portsmouth,
and arrived at railway station, which was at no place in
particular, in a street down which the rails were laid. Mr.
Robinson, the superintendent, gave me permission to take a seat in
the engine car, to which I mounted accordingly, was duly introduced
to, and shook hands with the engineer and the stoker, and took my
seat next the boiler. Can any solid reason be given why we should
not have those engine sheds or cars in England? They consist of a
light frame placed on the connection of the engine with the tender,
and projecting so as to include the end of the boiler and the
stoke-hole. They protect the engineer from rain, storm, sun, or
dust. Windows at each side afford a clear view in all directions,
and the engineer can step out on the engine itself by the doors on
the front part of the shed. There is just room for four persons to
sit uncomfortably, the persons next the boiler being continually
in dread of roasting their legs at the furnace, and those next the
tender being in danger of getting logs of wood from it shaken
down on their feet. Nevertheless I rarely enjoyed anything more
than that trip. It is true one’s enjoyment was marred by want of
breakfast, for I could not manage the cake of dough and the cup of
bitter, sour, greasy nastiness, called coffee, which were presented
to me in lieu of that meal this morning.
But the novelty of the scene through which I passed atoned for the
small privation. I do not speak of the ragged streets and lines
of sheds through which the train passed, with the great bell of
the engine tolling as if it were threatening death to the early
pigs, cocks, hens, and negroes and dogs which walked between the
rails--the latter, by-the-bye, were always the first to leave--the
negroes generally divided with the pigs the honour of making the
nearest stand to the train--nor do I speak of the miserable suburbs
of wooden shanties, nor of the expanse of inundated lands outside
the town. Passing all these, we settled down at last to our work:
the stoker fired up, the engine rattled along over the rugged lane
between the trees which now began to sweep around us from the
horizon, where they rose like the bank of a river or the shores
of a sea, and presently we plunged into the gloom of the primæval
forest, struggling as it were, with the last wave of the deluge.
The railroad, leaving the land, boldly leaped into the air, and
was carried on frailest cobweb-seeming tracery of wood far above
black waters, from which rose a thick growth and upshooting of
black stems of dead trees, mingled with the trunks and branches of
others still living, throwing out a most luxuriant vegetation. The
trestle-work over which the train was borne, judged by the eye, was
of the slightest possible construction. Sometimes one series of
trestles was placed above another, so that the cars ran on a level
with the tops of the trees; and, looking down, we could see before
the train passed the inky surface of the waters, broken into rings
and agitated, round the beams of wood. The trees were draped with
long creepers and shrouds of Spanish moss, which fell from branch
to branch, smothering the leaves in their clammy embrace, or waving
in pendulous folds in the air. Cypress, live oak, the dogwood,
and pine struggled for life with the water, and about their stems
floated balks of timber, waifs and strays carried from the rafts
by flood or the forgotten spoils of the lumberer. On these lay
tortoises, turtles, and enormous frogs, which lifted their heads
with a lazy curiosity when the train rushed by, or flopped into the
water as if the sight and noise were too much for their nerves.
Once a dark body of greater size plashed into the current which
marked the course of a river. “There’s many allygaitors come up
here at times,” said the engineer, in reply to my question; “but I
don’t take much account of them.”
When the trestle-work ceased, the line was continued through the
same description of scenery, generally in the midst of water, on
high embankments which were continually cut by black rapid streams,
crossed by bridges on trestles of great span. The strange tract
we are passing through is the “Dismal Swamp,” a name which must
have but imperfectly expressed its horrors before the railway had
traversed its outskirts, and the canal, which is constructed in its
midst, left traces of the presence of man in that remnant of the
world’s exit from the flood. In the centre of this vast desolation
there is a large loch, called “Lake Drummond,” in the jungle and
brakes around which the runaway slaves of the plantations long
harboured, and once or twice assembled bands of depredators, which
were hunted down, broken up, and destroyed like wild beasts.
Mr. Robinson, a young man some twenty-seven years of age, was
an excellent representative of the young American--full of
intelligence, well-read, a little romantic in spite of his
practical habits and dealing with matters of fact, much attached
to the literature, if not to the people, of the old country; and
so far satisfied that English engineers knew something of their
business, as to be anxious to show that American engineers were not
behind them. He asked me about Washington politics with as much
interest as if he had never read a newspaper. I made a remark to
that effect. “Oh, sir, we can’t believe,” exclaimed he, “a word we
read in our papers. They tell a story one day, to contradict it
the next. We never know when to trust them, and that’s one reason,
I believe, you find us all so anxious to ask questions and get
information from gentlemen we meet travelling.” Of the future he
spoke with apprehension; “but,” said he, “I am here representing
the interests of a large number of Northern shareholders, and I
will do my best for them. If it comes to blows after this, they
will lose all, and I must stand by my own friends down South,
though I don’t belong to it.”
So we rattle on, till the scene, at first so attractive, becomes
dreary and monotonous, and I tire of looking out for larger turtles
or more alligators. The silence of these woods is oppressive. There
is no sign of life where the train passes through the water,
except among the amphibious creatures. After a time, however,
when we draw out of the swamp and get into a dry patch, wild,
ragged-looking cattle may be seen staring at us through the trees,
or tearing across the rail, and herds of porkers, nearly in the
wild-boar stage, scuttle over the open. Then the engineer opens the
valve; the sonorous roar of the engine echoes through the woods,
and now and then there is a little excitement caused by a race
between a pig and the engine, and piggy is occasionally whipped off
his legs by the cow-lifter, and hoisted volatile into the ditch
at one side. When a herd of cattle, however, get on the line and
show fight, the matter is serious. The steam horn is sounded, the
bell rung, and steam is eased off, and every means used to escape
collision; for the railway company is obliged, to pay the owner for
whatever animals the trains kill, and a cow’s body on one of these
poor rails is an impediment sufficient to throw the engine off, and
“send us to immortal smash.”
It was long before we saw any workmen or guards on the line; but
at one place I got out to look at a shanty of one of the road
watchmen. It was a building of logs, some 20ft. long by 12ft.
broad, made in the rudest manner, with an earthen roof, and mud
stuffed and plastered between the logs to keep out the rain.
Although the day was exceedingly hot, there were two logs blazing
on the hearth, over which was suspended a pot of potatoes. The air
inside was stifling, and the black beams of the roof glistened with
a clammy sweat from smoke and unwholesome vapours. There was not an
article of furniture, except a big deal chest and a small stool,
in the place; a mug and a tea-cup stood on a rude shelf nailed
to the wall. The owner of this establishment, a stout negro, was
busily engaged with others in “wooding up” the engine from the pile
of cut timber by the roadside. The necessity of stopping caused by
the rapid consumption is one of the _désagréments_ of wood fuel.
The wood is cut down and stacked on platforms, at certain intervals
along the line; and the quantity used is checked off against the
company at the rate of so much per chord. The negro was one of many
slaves let out to the company. White men would not do the work, or
were too expensive; but the overseers and gangsmen were whites.
“How can they bear that fire in the hut?” “Well. If you went into
it in the very hottest day in summer, you would find the niggers
sitting close up to blazing pine logs, and they sleep at night, or
by day when they’ve fed to the full, in the same way.” My friend,
nevertheless, did not seem to understand that any country could get
on without negro labourers.
By degrees we got beyond the swamps, and came upon patches of
cleared land--that is, the forest had been cut down, and the only
traces left of it were the stumps, some four or five feet high,
“snagging” up above the ground; or the trees had been girdled
round, so as to kill them, and the black trunks and stiff arms
gave an air of meagre melancholy and desertion to the place, which
was quite opposite to their real condition. Here it was that the
normal forest and swamp had been subjugated by man. Presently we
came in sight of a flag fluttering from a lofty pine, which had
been stripped of its branches, throwing broad bars of red and white
to the air, with a blue square in the upper quarter containing
seven stars. “That’s our flag,”--said the engineer, who was a
quiet man, much given to turning steam cocks, examining gauges,
wiping his hands in fluffy impromptu handkerchiefs, and smoking
tobacco--“That’s our flag! And long may it wave--o’er the land of
the free and the home of the ber-rave!” As we passed, a small crowd
of men, women, and children, of all colours, in front of a group
of poor broken-down shanties or log huts, cheered--to speak more
correctly--whooped and yelled vehemently. The cry was returned by
the passengers in the train. “We’re all the right sort hereabouts,”
said the engineer. “Hurrah for Jeff Davis!” The right sort were
not particularly flourishing in outward aspect, at all events. The
women, pale-faced, were tawdry and ragged; the men, yellow, seedy
looking. For the first time in the States, I noticed barefooted
people.
Now began another phase of scenery--an interminable pine forest,
far as the eye could reach, shutting out the light on each side
by a wooden wall. From this forest came the strongest odour of
turpentine; presently black streaks of smoke floated out of
the wood, and here and there we passed cleared spaces, where
in rude-looking furnaces and factories people more squalid
and miserable looking than before were preparing pitch, tar,
turpentine, resin, and other naval stores, for which this part of
North Carolina is famous. The stems of the trees around are marked
by white scars, where the tappings for the turpentine take place,
and many dead trunks testified how the process ended.
Again, over another log village, a Confederate flag floated in
the air; and the people ran out, negroes and all, and cheered as
before. The new flag is not so glaring and gaudy as the Stars and
Stripes; but, at a distance, when the folds hang together, there
is a considerable resemblance in the general effect of the two. If
ever there is a real _sentiment du drapeau_ got up in the South, it
will be difficult indeed for the North to restore the Union. These
pieces of coloured bunting seem to twine themselves through heart
and brain.
The stations along the roadside now gradually grew in proportion,
and instead of a small sentry-box beside a wood pile, there were
three or four wooden houses, a platform, a booking office, an
“exchange” or drinking room, and general stores, like the shops
of assorted articles in an Irish town. Around these still grew
the eternal forest, or patches of cleared land dotted with black
stumps. These stations have very grand names, and the stores are
dignified by high-sounding titles; nor are “billiard saloons” and
“restaurants” wanting. We generally found a group of people waiting
at each; and it really was most astonishing to see well-dressed,
respectable-looking men and women emerge out of the “dismal swamp,”
and out of the depths of the forest, with silk parasols and
crinoline, bandboxes and portmanteaux, in the most civilised style.
There were always some negroes, male and female, in attendance
on the voyagers, handling the baggage or the babies, and looking
comfortable enough, but not happy. The only evidence of the good
spirits and happiness of these people which I saw was on the part
of a number of men who were going off from a plantation for the
fishing on the coast. They and their wives and sisters, arrayed in
their best--which means their brightest, colours--were grinning
from ear to ear as they bade good-bye. The negro likes the mild
excitement of sea fishing, and in pursuit of it he feels for the
moment free.
At Goldsborough, which is the first place of importance on the
line, the wave of the secession tide struck us in full career. The
station, the hotels, the street through which the rail ran was
filled with an excited mob, all carrying arms, with signs here and
there of a desire to get up some kind of uniform--flushed faces,
wild eyes, screaming mouths, hurrahing for “Jeff Davis” and “the
Southern Confederacy,” so that the yells overpowered the discordant
bands which were busy with “Dixie’s Land.” Here was the true
revolutionary furor in full sway. The men hectored, swore, cheered,
and slapped each other on the backs; the women, in their best,
waved handkerchiefs and flung down garlands from the windows. All
was noise, dust, and patriotism.
It was a strange sight and a wonderful event at which we were
assisting. These men were a levy of the people of North Carolina
called out by the Governor of the State for the purpose of seizing
upon forts Caswell and Macon, belonging to the Federal Government,
and left unprotected and undefended. The enthusiasm of the
“citizens” was unbounded, nor was it quite free from a taint of
alcohol. Many of the Volunteers had flint firelocks, only a few had
rifles. All kinds of head-dress were visible, and caps, belts and
pouches of infinite variety. A man in a large wide-awake, with a
cock’s feather in it, a blue frock-coat, with a red sash and a pair
of cotton trowsers thrust into his boots, came out of Griswold’s
hotel with a sword under his arm, and an article, which might have
been a napkin of long service, in one hand. He waved the article
enthusiastically, swaying to and fro on his legs, and ejaculating
“H’ra for Jeff Dav’s--H’ra for S’thern E’r’rights!” and tottered
over to the carriage through the crowd amid the violent vibration
of all the ladies’ handkerchiefs in the balcony. Just as he got
into the train, a man in uniform dashed after him, and caught him
by the elbow, exclaiming, “Them’s not the cars, General! The cars
this way, General!” The military dignitary, however, felt that if
he permitted such liberties in the hour of victory he was degraded
for ever, so, screwing up his lips and looking grave and grand, he
proceeded as follows: “Sergeant, you go be ----. I say these are my
cars! They’re _all_ my cars! I’ll send them where I please--to ----
if I like, sir. They shall go where I please--to New York, sir, or
New Orleans, sir! And ---- sir, I’ll arrest you.” This famous idea
distracted the General’s attention from his project of entering the
train, and muttering, “I’ll arrest you,” he tacked backwards and
forwards to the hotel again.
As the train started on its journey, there was renewed yelling,
which split the ear--a savage cry many notes higher than the most
ringing cheer. At the wayside inn, where we dined--_pièce de
résistance_ being pig--the attendants, comely, well-dressed, clean
negresses were slaves--“worth a thousand dollars each.” I am not
favourably impressed by either the food or the mode of living, or
the manners of the company. One man made very coarse jokes about
“Abe Lincoln” and “negro wenches,” which nothing but extreme party
passion and bad taste could tolerate. Several of the passengers
had been clerks in Government offices at Washington, and had been
dismissed because they would not take the oath of allegiance. They
were hurrying off full of zeal and patriotism to tender their
services to the Montgomery Government.
* * * * *
I had been the object of many attentions and civilities from
gentlemen in the train during my journey. One of them, who told me
he was a municipal dignitary of Weldon, having exhausted all the
inducements that he could think of to induce me to spend some time
there, at last, in desperation, said he would be happy to show
me “the antiquities of the place.” Weldon is a recent uprising
in wood and log houses from the swamps, and it would puzzle the
archæologists of the world to find anything antique about it.
At nightfall the train stopped at Wilmington, and I was shot out on
a platform under a shed, to do the best I could. In a long, lofty,
and comfortless room, like a barn, which abutted on the platform,
there was a table covered with a dirty cloth, on which lay little
dishes of pickles, fish, meat, and potatoes, at which were seated
some of our fellow-passengers. The equality of all men is painfully
illustrated when your neighbour at table eats with his knife, dips
the end of it into the salt, and disregards the object and end of
napkins. But it is carried to a more disagreeable extent when it
is held to mean that any man who comes to an inn has a right to
share your bed. I asked for a room, but I was told that there were
so many people moving about just now that it was not possible to
give me one to myself; but at last I made a bargain for exclusive
possession. When the next train came in, however, the woman very
coolly inquired whether I had any objection to allow a passenger
to divide my bed, and seemed very much displeased at my refusal;
and I perceived three big-bearded men snoring asleep in one bed
in the next room to me as I passed through the passage to the
dining-room.
The ‘artist’ Moses, who had gone with my letter to the post,
returned, after a long absence, pale and agitated. He said he had
been pounced upon by the Vigilance Committee, who were rather
drunk, and very inquisitive. They were haunting the precincts of
the Post-office and the railway station, to detect Lincolnites and
Abolitionists, and were obliged to keep themselves wide awake by
frequent visits to the adjacent bars, and he had with difficulty
dissuaded them from paying me a visit. They cross-examined him
respecting my opinion of secession, and desired to have an audience
with me in order to give me any information which might be
required. I cannot say what reply was given to their questioning;
but I certainly refused to have any interview with the Vigilance
Committee of Wilmington, and was glad they did not disturb me.
Rest, however, there was little or none. I might have as well slept
on the platform of the railway station outside. Trains coming
in and going out shook the room and the bed on which I lay, and
engines snorted, puffed, roared, whistled, and rang bells close to
my keyhole.