^0^ -^v^ .N^- V ^^ *»«o' v^ <^^ *'•'■-• \ %/ 4lC^"' \'/ .*'^': ' 0^ 'o". "» • °X. ^\^ - - - 4 o .- <^''% '■ ^ ■<$' rv^ o " « ^ V- .^ >- A^ » • • . ^1. 4 O 1^ ^<> <>^ V ^^^ "^^^ *.«o' V °^ *"^- f^ V, 'o.o- -3 ^J^, ^. •^ ,^ s^V -%^ ^^ <^. >, ,0' <;^- -■i o^ •^^ A' ^ ^. >. ^^^^^ A" ^>(vV/ ^^O V> 'i- .0-' .0' ^^-^^^ DOWN SOUTH bf:fork the war. u v^v:5^ I Reprinted from Ohio Archaeological and Historical (Quarterly, Vol. II, No. -1. ,0 /^c /Vr 2^^- DOWN SOUTH BEFORE THE WAR. RECORD OF A RAMBLE TO NEW ORLEANS IN 1858. On the second day of December, 1857, in company with my friend and fellow-stndent, Alexis E. Holcombe, of Ra- venna, Ohio, I started on an unpremeditated journey through Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi and Ivouisiaua. A tolerably complete diary kept during the six months of our sojourn in the South furnishes the material of the fol- lowing narrative : We set out from Lebanon, Ohio, by stage-coach for Cin- cinnati, from which city we went on the steamer Bostona to Maysville, Kentucky. From Maysville we proceeded to Flemingsburg, and thence to Poplar Plains, tarrying a few days in each of the three towns. Continuing our trip to Mount vSterling, which we reached December 23, we put up at the x\sliton House, a very pleasant hotel, where we remained until January 5, 1858. On Christmas day the streets of Mount Sterling were thronged with colored folks, dressed in their Sunday apparel, and bent on pleasure. We were told that it had long been the custom in Kentucky to grant the slaves absolute freedom from duty on Christmas, and, indeed, to allow them large liberty during the'e-itire Holiday week. By ten o'clock on New Year's morning the town was overflowing with a much greater multitude than was seen on Christmas. White and black ; male and female ; men, women, children of all ranks and conditions, in wheeled vehicles, on horseback, on foot, — hundreds came pouring in from every direction. Owner and owned flock- ed from various parts of the county to readjust their property relations for the ensuing year. It was the day set apart for slave-holders to sell, buy, let and hire human chattels. And the slaves were permitted to exercise a limited privilege of choosing uf^^^ ^-"^.mes and masters. Down South Before the War. Some servants were loaned by way of friendly accommo- dation, many were rented or leased at a rate of from $50 to $200 a year. One woman was crying because it had fallen to her lot to serve a mistress whom she feared. " If I could only please her," sobbed the poor girl, " I wouldn't care ; but she won't like me, she won't like me." The greater number of the slaves seemed stupid and in- different to their fate. The natural cheerfulness of the race was exhibited in sharp contrast with the melancholy background which their condition as bond-people afford- ed. At a street corner a hilarious group of Sambos and Cuffeys laughed and danced to the lively thrum of a banjo, played by a grinning minstrel black as ebony. A comical old fellow wearing the picturesque ruin of a silk hat on his gray, w^ooly pate, limped about with gro- tesque antics, informing everybody that he was a " spoilt darkey," and that he would "be of no use to anybody" who might hire him. In the yard of the Court House — temple of blind jus- tice, — a black man was put up at noon-day on the auction block, and was sold to the highest bidder. The crier an- nounced the name and age of the human vendible stand- ing there for public inspection, and vouched that "Jack" was sound in all respects. Perhaps it was mere curiosity, perhaps some irresistible impulse of the abolitionist blood of my father crying in my veins " Man is man, no man is more," that impelled me to walk up to the block, and speak to the dusky brother who was " going, going," and soon would be " gone " for the market price. He told me that he had a wife in Mount Sterling, from whom he did not wish to part. " I don't care who buys me, I ain't afraid of no cruel master ; but I want to stay close to wife and chil'en." The man was sold for $750, a very low price, the by- standers said, and I thought so, too. I was ashamed to look the unfortunate " property " in the face, for he must have felt very cheap under the circumstances. 4 Ohio Archasological and Historical Quarterly, On Christmas Eve, a gang of colored hands from the " Iron Works," came in joyful procession to Mount Ster- ling. Their captain headed the line, improvising and singing in a loud voice, such couplets as: "Oh Lord have mercy on my soul, De hens and chickens I has stole." At the close of each line the whole squad would join in a jubilant chorus, animating to hear. The sooty trou- badors of the " Iron Works," were coming home to spend the holidays, and were abandoning themselves to the pleasure of anticipation. After the week had been spent in idleness, laughter and general jollification, the reluct- ant company returned, in slow procession, and again they sang, but now in a mournful strain. The leader, impro- vising his solo as before, changed its tenor to suit his mood: "Fare ye well, ye white folks all!" The wild, sad chorus came sv/elling from the marching column, as from some melodious instrument : Chorus — " Wo — o — o — o — o — o!" Solo — "And fare ye well, ye niggers, too!" Chorus^" Wo — o — o — o — o — o!" Solo — "I holler dis time, I holler no mo!" Chorus — " Wo — o — o — o — o — o!" Thus went on the strange song and chorus, as the slaves filed back to their labor, tramp, tramp, tramp; and the tones grew fainter in the distance, till at last the dying, "Wo — o — o — o — o — o — o!" was lost in the silence of the winter night. While the dark procession was passing through the street, I noticed one figure drop out of the file, hurry to a small gate and look anxiously into a side yard. A girl flew down to meet him, took his hand, kissed him, and turning towards the house, went back slowly, her apron lifted to her eyes. The man glided to his place in the moving column, and his voice joined the melan- choly refrain. On January 5, we set out on foot, from Mount Sterling Down South Before the War. for Ivcxington. At night -fall we found ourselves by a farm house, and knocked at the door. A bustling old lady, whom we learned was called "Aunt Patsey," very cordially invited us in, saying, " You may be kin folks, Dut the Lord knows who." We told her that we were not kin folks, yet we hoped the Lord had not forgotten us, at which desperate joke she laughed, and made us heartily welcome. The room into which we were received had an old-fashioned, wide fire-place, piled with blazing logs ; a kettle simmered on the crane, and a black-woman was roasting coffee in a skillet on the coals. A not un- pleasant incident connected with our entertainment was, that next morning, when we offered to pay our host, that bluff farmer showed sigits of indignalion, and reminded us ':hat we wei'e in old Kenlacky, where hospitality was given, and not sold. We spent several days in Lexington, the first seat cf culture in the Ohio Valley, known long ago as the Athens of the West. Of course we visited Transylvania University, and historic Ashland, the home of Henry Clay. A thirty-two miles ride in a stage-coach brought us from Lexington to Danville. The scenery along the Kentucky River is magnificent, and to its natural charm the i'.iterest of romantic historical association is added. From one point we looked down upon the solitudes "where once Bocae trod," the forest still retaining its primeval aspect. The stage-driver pointed to a knob, which, tradition says, was the site of the famous back- woodsman's hut. Danville we found so delightful that we lingered there Tor nearly a month, enjoying social and intellectual inter- course with some of the most polite and pleasant people of that cultivated town. Here was to be seen, in its full attractiveness, that typical life and behavior which char- aC'-"Tize the best families of Virginia and Kentucky. High courtesy, chivalrous regard for woman, op2n-hand- ed generosity, a proud sense of personal honor, liberal Ohio Arches ological and Historical Quarterly. reading in the line of general literature, and a readiness to entertain and be entertained by social pleasures, were leading attributes of the men. The reactive influ- ences playing between the town and its educational insti- tutions, gave a vitality and piquancy to local society and relieved it from provincialism. In Danville we enjoyed the privilege of acquaintance with the famous pulpit orator, Robert J. Breckenridge D. D., an uncle of Vice President Breckenridge. About the middle of February we resumed our ram- bling journey, and went, by way of Frankfort, to Louis- ville, where we took the steamer Great Western for Memphis. The voyage down the lower Ohio ; the im- pression made upon the mind by a first view of the wonderful Mississippi, its tumultuous waters at high flood; and the novel experience of living on a floating residence which was itself a curious little world, I will not try to describe. Suffice it to say that, to my excited fancy, the days on board the Great Western were so enchanting that I wrote in my journal, " I wish it were a thousand miles to Memphis." It came to pass, however, on the night of February 21, that our craft was for a time in such peril, that passengers and crew wished themselves anywhere else than where we were. A thick fog enveloped the swollen river, and a dis- mal sleet was falling upon the icy deck. The clock-hand pointed to ten ; many of the passengers had gone to their berths, but a few were toasting their toes at the stove in the gentlemen's cabin. The captain, with some jolly friends, sat at a table playing "seven-up." A sudden, violent ringing of the engine bells startled all listeners, for it was the signal to reverse the wheels and check the boat's mo- tion. At the same moment an officer rushed into the cabin, and delivered the brief message " Captain, here's hell!" The alarming announcement was not comforting to unprepared sinners. In consternation we hurried to the deck, at the captain's heels. A glance through the Down South Before the War. Stygian fog almost made us think that the officer's words were literally true, for, just ahead, glowing in the dark, we saw the red mouths of the furnaces of an up-steam packet. Both boats were under full headway, but ours was going with the greater velocity, borne down by the force of a swift current. Not far away glared several red, warning lights above the wrecks of two steamers that had recently been sunk by a collision such as now threatened the Great Western. But steam rescued our lives. The two vessels came so near together that a man might have stepped from deck to deck. But a miss was as good as a mile. We went back to the cabin and resumed our sins, the captain and his friends continuing their game of " seven up." Before morning we arrived at Memphis. My journal records little of Memphis, save that we stopped at the Commercial House ; that the streets were muddy; and that we each purchased a sword-cane, with what blood-thirsty intention I remember not. Scraping the Memphian mud from our feet we took the train for Panola, a county-seat in northern Mississippi. Accident seated me in the car beside a remarkably curious human creature who told me his name was Sharp, and that he was a school-master. I will picture him, be- ginning the portrait at the top. Professor Sharp's head was round and dirty, with small eyes like painted mar- bles, a frouzy, yellowish tangle of hair, an exceedingly long, skinny neck, and a greasy Panama hat. There was no positive and but faint circumstantial evidence that he wore a shirt ; his coat and pantaloons were made of the same material, homespun cloth, dyed with logwood. The trousers legs terminated some eight inches above his feet, drawers were visible below, and still lower, wrinkled socks descended into a pair of capacious shoes. The function of an overcoat was fulfilled by an old horse- blanket with a hole in the middle, through which the school-master thrust his aforesaid head, after the style of the Indians. ' Ohio Archcsological and Historical Quarterly. Mr. Sharp took oflf his Panama hat, and, setting the crown carefully upon his knees, drew from its depths divers and sundry pieces of folded paper covered with writ- ing — " documents," he said they were — which he studied diligently with silent contortions of mouth, as if spelling amazingly crooked words. Prof. Sharp informed me that he taught " the branches " for ten cents a day, per pupil ; that he also gave lessons in " penmanship and all kinds of painting." I asked where his residence was, and he replied that his present "predestination" was Panola. The region we passed through on the way to Panola was flat and swampy ; covered with a thick forest of scrub-oak and cypress trees, with here and there a bush of dark green holly. There was no public conveyance, and so we were obliged to make our way for a mile on foot, in the boggy woods, amid tangled bushes and over logs, to the village, which we reached at nightfall. We were cordially received by the landlord of a small, newly built inn, bearing the name of Planter's Hotel. Mine host was talkative, and gave us graphic accounts of the principal characters of the neighborhood. Panola boasted a famous hunter, who, returning from the woods one day, with a crestfallen air, swore he would break his gun, and never shoot again. "Why, Bob, what's the matter?" " The matter ! Bad luck ! I saw eight wild turkeys in a flock, and killed only seven !" While we were sitting by the fire listening to the tales of a landlord, a tall, slim, keen-eyed man came in shiver- ing with cold. He had just taken up a runaway slave and lodged him in jail. Telling this with a swagger of triumph, he flung his hat upon a table, saying, " Damn the niggers; I wish they would behave decent." After a night's rest, we started out bright and early on the morning of February 23, intending to walk to Granada, a distance of forty-eight miles. Our course was through interminable forests of scrub-oak and pine, the Down South Before the War, pine becoming more abundant as we proceeded southward. The first plantations we saw were large clearings in the woods, with fields of irregular shape. Every farm had its cotton-press and gin-house, with huge heaps of cotton seed rotting on the ground. The planter's residence was located usually near the center of his land, and not far from it stood the collection of huts in which the negroes were lodged. The vigorous exercise of walking gave us a keen appe- tite, and as mid-day approached we began to cast about for refreshment. We stopped at more than one domicile, but either the inmates did not like our looks, or were lack- ing in hospitality, for they sent us away empty. This was before the era of professional tramps ; therefore, we could hardly have been mistaken for gentlemen of that luxurious class. A woman, suspiciously standing guard at her threshold, when we asked whether she could favor us with a dinner, answered " I reckon not. Our cook is not at home." " But," pleaded my friend Alexis, very politely, " we are very hungry, and we don't want a warm dinner." " Haint got no cold victuals," was the response, and the door was shut in our faces. Trudging on, we came at length to a very primitive shanty in the midst of a dreary waste of pine woods. The skins of small animals were stretched and nailed on the cabin to dry. In desperation I knocked at the rude door of this lodge in the wilderness. A gaunt, big-boned man wearing a hunter's dress opened the door, and said, " Come right in. Take a cheer," he added ; but he must have meant this figuratively, for there was not a chair in the room. Mr. Holcombe sat down upon a three-legged stool, and I upon the foot of a trundle-bed. We made known our peptic condition, and our host, who looked as if he had often been hungry himself, and knew how to sympathize, assured us that our demands should be sup- plied. He vanished, but reappeared in half an hour, say- ing, " Now, gents, walk out and take a bite." We followed V Ohio ArchcBological and Historical Quarterly, him out through the door by which we had entered, and around a duck pond, to the dining-room, a rickety lean-to^ in the rear of the main edifice. This back-room seemed to be the apartment in which the family preferred to live. The floor consisted of the natural earth. There was a rude table, with a bench at one side, on which we took seat. The banquet served by the mistress of the manor comprised two courses, namely, corn-bread with peas, and bacon with peas. Our host and his wife stood by while we ate, and the audience was increased by the appearance of a gawky boy, and two big girls. The bashful maidens were clad with a sparse simplicity that Greek civilization might have envied. The ludicrous scene received a finish- ing touch when, at the heels of the gawky boy and his sisters, a lank dog came in followed by four lean cats and *one inquisitive goose. I should like to relate what further befell us on the mem- orable journey to Granada ; how we stayed all night at a planter's; how, at the village of Oakland, we were hailed by a tipsy crowd, and invited to a wedding by a brother of the bride, a gentleman with long, curled hair and blue spectacles, who said he was a lawyer, and swore that it was his treat, and we must on no account continue our journey without taking something — either "trip-foot, rot-gut, pop-skull or bust-head ; " how, evading these proffered hospitalities, we took passage in a stage-coach, which, after sticking fast for an hour in a mud-hole near a " slue-bridge," finally brought us to the town we had set out to find. Taking rooms in a public house in Granada, we felt that wc were far enough south to stop awhile and enjoy the sensation. The first and necessarily superficial views which we had of life in tli; ; Mississippi town were rather favorable to the " peculiar institution ; " or, at least, were such as to diminish prejudice, and shake confidence in the fairness of books like " Uncle Tom's Cabin." The mov- ing scene presented on the streets of Granada, and on the Down South Before the War, plantations of the vicinity, was painted in the colors of gaiety and contentment. No manifestation of cruelty on the part of masters could be discovered, and the black people appeared to be happy in their enslaved condition. On moonlight evenings a group of merry darkies — laugh- ing men and capering piccaninnies — would gather in the public square, or in front of the hotel, and there to the rude music of a banjo, or an old fiddle, would sing; dance, fall to the ground, and pat " juber," until, quite exhausted by the violence of the hilarious exercise, they w.ould roll away to recover breath. Occasionally champions would engage in a butting contest to see whose wooly crown could batter in the head of a barrel; and sometimes this species of head-work was varied by the contestants but- ting one another after the manner of rams and billy-goats. We had letters of introduction to the family of a wealthy planter whose great mansion and broad cotton- fields were located a few miles from the village. The Negro quarters on this plantation formed quite a village of log-cabins, disposed on both sides of a narrow street. Provided by our host with fine horses, we used to gallop about the plantation, or to town. When the weather was bad the great family coach was brought out, and the colored driver delighted to show his skill, while one or two footmen occupied their proud perch behind. With- in the mansion all was comfort, ease and luxury. The mistress of the house managed her retinue of servants like a queen ; and her daughter, and a niece visiting from Jackson, employed their time in dressing, conversation, and playing on the piano and guitar. We were served at the hotel, chiefly by two attendants, " Richard " and " Paul. " Richard gave me such marked and unremitting personal care that I was at a loss to ac- count for his vigilance until one day it was explained by the following conversation. " Nobody cares for me down here, " complained Rich- ard. Ohio Archcsological and Historical Quarterly. "Down here?" I replied. "What do you mean by that?" " I'se hired out, you see ; I lives away down in Virgin- ia. Da'rs where Massa is. I wish't I was in Virginia, I do." "What is your Master's name?" "It's Judge Venable; a mighty nice man; I thought you might be a kin to him. " "No, Richard; I believe not; I do not live in Virgin- ia. " " He's a mighty nice man, " repeated Richard, in a tone distinctly implying his confidence in all who wore the family name. His appeal was irresistible, so Rich- ard captured me. Paul was a gentleman of less insinuating nature, but every bit as cunning. By virtue of his office as head waiter, he was allowed extra privileges, and by virtue of his audacity, he took liberties not allowed to him. He came frequently to our room with Richard, who appeared to be his intimate friend. Like Hamlet's Yorick, he " was a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy." His familiarity never overstepped the bounds of respect, buk there were times when, suddenly changing his demeanor, he would cast aside the buffoon, and assume an attitude and look almost haughty. At such a time, I was struck with his fine appearance, his lithe, athletic body, his handsome face, and daring eye that had in it something very mysterious, and something threatening. Paul was a good dancer and singer, and could play upon various musical instruments. The most curious of these was one which he called a " song-bow," a simple con- trivance, consisting of a string stretched tight from one end to the other of a long, flexible, narrow board or bow, and which the performer breathed upon in such a way as to cause a musical vibration, while, at the same time, he sang. The song and accompaniment were strangely blended, and the efiect was not unpleasant. Besides Down South Before the War. amusing us with the song-bow, Paul delighted to indulge in what he termed,}" Nigger logic," that is, he would make a ridiculous, impromptu oration, abounding in sonorous words of his own coining. One evening Paul came up, Richard in his wake as usual, and after regaling us with a touch of " Nigger logic," and a tune on the " song-bow," he requested me to write for him, while he dictated a love-letter. " I wants you to know, I'se dead in love with a Kttle, yaller gal down to the Seminary. Here is de very window wher I used to come up and look at her. I'd stan' here till I seed her pass once, and den I'd turn roun', an' go back to work again." " Much relieved, I suppose, Paul ? " " Yah ! Yah ! Yes sah, very much so." Taking up a pen, I t-old Paul to go ahead with his letter, which he did, and I put down his language ver- batim, as follows : " Dear Miss Ann : It gibs me de greatest pleasure to hab dis opportunity to let you know, that I is well, as far as health is concerned." Here Paul came to a full stop, and Richari ventured to suggest the propriety of next " axing of her, how she is." " No," said Paul, " I 'se gwine to tell her a big lie now." " Oh Miss Ann — Got that down? " I answered aflfirma- tively and he continued to dictate : " Tongue cannot compress de love I has for you. You is de darling of my heart, and de apple of my eye. For you, I could weep the alanthus tears that adornates the mighty " At this interesting point, footsteps were heard in the hall, and the landlord's voice called loudly, " Richard ! Richard ! " Richard made a bee-line for the door, and I heard him submissively and innocently inquiring, "Didn't you call, Massa?" Paul popped under the bed, where he remained until Ohio ArchcBological and Historical Quarterly, the coast was clear, when he came forth, and the tender missive was completed. It was duly dispatched by mail, directed to the care of a young lady attending the Sem- inary — a boarding school — in which Miss Ann also resided, not as a student, but as a servant. Within a few days, Paul received a reply, which he immediately brought to me, and which I still retain. Here is a copy of it : Seminary, Mar. 7, 1858. Mr. Paul: I embrace this opportunity of writing to you, as I did not have the chance of talking to you. I wish I could talk to you when I want to, but we cannot. I love to talk to you better than anybody else on Earth, for I love you so well, and I hope you love me as well as I do you, but I fear you do not, do you? If I thought you did not, I would die the death of love, which is the sweetest death to die. But I cannot believe you do not love me, your actions tell me you do, are they false ? I think not, how could one who is so dear to me, be false ? You are not false ; I believe you will in the end, prove true to me. Do not let any one see this, for it is intended for no one's ears but yours. Answer this as soon as you can, for I want to know your feelings on this subject which I have broached. I cannot write any more, it is getting late, so good night, my loved one — I have loved thee long and dearly, I have loved thee most sincerely." This billet d' amour ^ with its alternating ardors and doubts, was written in delicate chirography, evidently by the hand of some sentimental Seminary girl, at the dicta- tion of the dusky lady Ann. The injunction, " do not let any one see this, for it is intended for no one's ears but yours," was irresistibly amusing in its impossible condi- tions. The young lady, who good naturedly penned the sentences for Miss Ann, must have been conscious that some white gentleman would probably read them, and thus her act might be construed as a covert challenge to flirtation on her own account. Therefore it was not without a play of fancy between the lines that a reply Down South Before the War, was written to Miss Ann, such as might entertain, but not offend, some other lady's ears and eyes. It came to light, on or about the 20th of March, 1858, that Paul had been engaged in practices more deep and dangerous than gallant correspondence, or clandestine playing on the " song-bow." A drama of tragic import was going on about us, and this playful black tiger was the principal actor. A number of fugitives had mysteri- ously escaped from the cotton plantations, and fled to the North. Suspicion of complicity attached to Paul. A search of the garret of the hotel disclosed two or three slaves, who had been concealed and fed for several days, with the expectation of gliding away at some favorable opportunity, by night. One of these proved to be the father of Paul's wife. Paul's story, as he told it to me was, that he had himself once been a field-hand, and that he was happily married. He related that his master, attracted by the beauty of the woman, was guilty of rape, and that, enraged beyond forbearance, he, Paul, had re- taliated by endeavoring to kill his master. Boldly ap- proaching the object of his vengeance, in the cotton field, he shot at him, and wounded him in the leg. This at- tempt on his master's life was, according to the laws of Mississippi, punishable with death. In fact, he was con- demned, but, by the intercession of the master, who valued Paul as a good, though dangerous piece of prop- erty, the man was pardoned. The wife and her father were sold to a sugar plantation in southern Mississippi. Paul had been transferred from the plantation to the town, and had proven himself an excellent waiter. But he had secretly cherished plans to aid his colored friends to escape to the North, and then to follow them himself. The discovery of the concealed fugitives caused intense excitement and anger. Paul was taken to a shed in the edge of the village, and there "bucked," as it is called; that is, bound in such a position that he was helpless ; the clothing was then stripped from his back, and he was Ohio ArchcBological and Historical Quarterly. beaten with a raw-hide, to extort from him a full confes- sion. But he would not tell a single thing ; not the name of any one connected with the conspiracy, nor how many had already escaped. His inquisitors now resorted to a more terrible instrument of torture — the " hot paddle," a flat piece of wood with holes bored in it. This horrible "paddle " was used to smite the victim's naked flesh, but even this failed to unseal the brave fellow's lips. The ut- most that could be got from him was, " Master, you may kill me, but I won't tell." At length he was unbound and taken back to the hotel, where, for more than a week, he was confined to his bed by his wounds. Meanwhile, preparations were made for the pursuit and capture of such fugitives as had probably crossed the Yalobusha, and were on the way North. A band of pro- fessional slave-catchers was employed to bring back the lost property. Never can I forget the startling sight which I beheld one forenoon from the window of my room. Four or five desperate-looking men, with knives and pistols in their belts, and riding horses, which, like them- selves, were splashed with mud, came galloping along the street, and stopped in front of the hotel. One of the men put to his lips a whistle or small horn, which he blew, and in response to the blast, came a pack of lean and hungry hounds. To each dog was thrown a piece of raw meat. The men went into the bar-room, took a drink of whisky, and then, remounting the horses, they rode rapidly away, followed by the fugitive-hunting hounds. One afternoon Mr. Holcombe and I were rowing on the Yalobusha River. We brought our skiff" to shore in a little cove, and what was our surprise to see Paul seated upon the bank, with a fishing-rod in his hands. For the first time since his punishment, he was out by permission, for a sort of dismal holiday. "Well, Paul," I said, "they treated you pretty badly, didn't they?" " I'll be even with them some day," was the sullen reply. Down South Before the War, Then, looking up quickly, he added, " Gentlemen, you's been kind to me, and I wants to be kind to you. And now let me tell you, it aint safe for you to be seen a talk- ing to us niggers, specially to me. You'd better look out, anyhow; they is suspicious of you." The same hint came to us from another quarter. However, we made no haste to leave the town, for we had formed many pleasant acquaintances. When we were ready to seek "fresh woods and pastures new," we en- gaged seats in the stage-coach for Goodman, a point seventy-five miles farther south. The coach left Granada at midnight. Paul and Richard were up to see us oflf. The stage ride was tedious, keeping us on the road nearly twenty-four hours, and we reached Goodman, then the northern terminus of the Southern Railroad, late in the night of March 24th. After a short sleep in a tempo- rary shed at the new station, we resumed our journey, taking the cars for Jackson at three in the morning. Our course lay through swampy lands overgrown with trees, many of which were the victims of that melancholy par- asite, the Spanish moss. The train halted at a lonely station, and I was surprised to see the engineer, conduc- tor and passengers jump to the ground, and rush to a half- cleared field, in which logs lay rotting, and deadened trees stood stretching their spectral arms to the sky. I followed the crowd, and soon discovered the cause of the rush. Beside a moldering log lay the body of a murdered man, ghastly, horrible, smeared with clotted blood. Hungry flies were clustering around the gaping wounds. At Jackson we took passage on a freight train for Vicks- burg. I was accommodated with a seat on the top of a load of cotton bales, and as the cars went rumbling along through a fine country, on a delightful spring day, I experienced the keenest sense of pleasure, both from the novelty of my situation, and the conscioasness of having nothing to do but to do nothing and enjoy the Sunny South. After glimpsing Vicksburg, we embarked on the mag- Ohio ArchcBological and Historical Quarterly. nificent steamer Pacific^ whicli bore us to the enchanting city of New Orleans. My journal attests how active and complete was the enjoyment of two young fellows from the North, plunging for the first time into the delights of the metropolis of the South. I will not detail our exper- iences at the famous St. Charles Hotel ; our raptures at theater and opera; our excursions to Ponchartrain ; our strolls along Rue Royal to the French Quarter, with its steep-roofed houses, veranda, and dormer windows, and quaint shops; our loiterings in the renowned market, where brown-eyed children offer to the passer-by, for only a picayune, a tempting handful of dates, prunes, figs or strawberries, and where we resorted daily for a delicious cup of " cafe-au-lait." One reminiscence of the Crescent City, however, I must give with some particularity, for it relates to an experience which few Northern persons have sought, and which no traveler can now repeat anywhere in the world. While coming on the steamer from Vicksburg to New Orleans I formed the acquaintance of a young man, who invited me to call on him when I reached the city, and very cordially offered to show me the " elephant," or any other curiosity that the menagerie contained. The young gentleman's familiarity excited some suspicion as to his character, but he seemed so good-humored that I asked him where he might be found. He wrote on a card his name and address, "No. 71 and 73, Barrone street." '• You'll find me at the oflfice there," said he. " May I ask what your business is?" I inquired. " Oh, I am a clerk in the office," was the evasive reply. " What kind of an office ?" " Why the place where I stay. Come around and you'll see." I kept the card, and, after spending some time in the city, it occurred to me to look up " No. 71 and 73, Barrone street." These numbers were easily found over the door of a large building, on the front of which was painted the Down South Before the War. sign "Virginia Negroes for sale." My steamboat ac- quaintance greeted me at the door with a genial smile, saying, " Now you see what our business is. I thought you might like to know from observation something about the slave trade." He afterwards showed us through several of the princi- pal slave marts of the city. The first one entered was under the control of a coarse-looking man who promptly inquired if we "wanted to buy any Niggers?" Cur courteous guide whispered something to the trader, whereupon the latter, taking a small bell, such as I have often seen in the hands of a Northern school-master, said grufily, " We have but little stock on hand ; the trade has been quite brisk." Here he gave the bell a tap, and immediately, from their stables at the rear of the build- ing, the stock came marching, in two files, the one of men and boys, the other of women and girls. I could not fail to notice that there were also three or four babies in arms. The tallest in each line headed the column, then the next in height, and so on down to the toddlekins at the foot of the class. The files stood ranged along oppo- site walls, as if drawn up for a spelling match. They were dressed in coarse stuflf, an appropriate, simple uni- form being provided for each sex. It happened that while we were staring with natural embarrassment at the docile stock before us, a party of three sugar-planters came in to inspect and purchase a lot of field hands. They walked up and down the rows, making many in- quiries, and examining closely the human chattels they expected to buy. We learned that a good Knight of Labor was worth about $1500. One of the planters picked out a number of slaves, male and female, who, one by one, stepped from the ranks, and stood huddled together in a group. There was much chaffering as to the price of certain children, who, being regarded as incumbrances, mere colts or calves, were thrown in for good measure, and the sale and purchase were f Ohio Archesological and Historical Quarterly^ completed in our presence, and the property duly trans- ferred. There sat, in a show window, where she could be seen by every passer-by on the street, a handsome quadroon girl dressed attractively, and adorned with some ribbons and jewels. She, too, was for sale, as a choice house-ser- vant, at a high price on account of her beauty. As our friend the planter was about to leave the premises he glanced at this girl, and asked what the trader would take for her. Being told, he shook his head, leered at the slave, and said, with an oath, "Too expensive." It was a perfect afternoon in early April, when, thread- ing our way through the throng that swarmed in the sunshine on New Orleans levee, we reached the steam- boat landing, and footed the gang-plank to the deck of that floating palace, the Princess. The great bell rings out a signal for departure. The mighty engines groan, as their pent power heaves against the hot cylinder. The strong machinery strains its iron muscles, the steam hisses, the engine-bells jingle, the huge wheels slowly revolve, scooping the water into foaming ridges, the steamer quivers like a living thing, through all her en- ormous length and breadth. She rounds into the stream. Those clamorous Italian fruit-sellers unfasten their shal- lops from her bow, and toss a shower of oranges on deck as a farewell salute. The Negro dock-hands join in a loud, melodious chorus, and we are fairly on our way up river. We steam by the great Crevasse ; we gaze out on the woody shores, and the planters' mansions of the "Coast." And now to the hurricane deck, and the picturesque pilot-house with its never-resting, ever-anx- ious wheel. The sun goes down. Dusky night settles on the mighty stream, and turns the trees along the shores to phantoms. A soft, voluptuous breeze comes ladened with the scent of orange flowers. Lights gleam from the cottages that seem to glide southward as we pass. The stars come out and spangle aU the sky. Down South Before the War, Whither bound? We hardly know, we scarcely care. Let us stop at Bayo Sara, and see what that is like. The name at least sounds distinguished. We will go ashore at Bayo Sara, or shall it be Port Hudson ? The toss of a penny shall decide. Port Hudson then, let it be ; and we landed there, some fifty miles north of Baton Rouge, to find a dilapidated village. Port Hudson, somehow, made us melancholy; when the Princess steamed away and was lost to sight, we felt deserted and injured. We presently discovered a means of escape from Port Hudson to the inland. There was a railroad running eastward. The track was laid with the old-fashioned, flat rails, over which only one train a day was conducted, consisting of half a dozen freight cars, and one worn-out passenger coach, drawn by an asthmatic and weak-minded locomotive in the last stages of decrepitude. Availing ourselves of this traveling facility, we were lazily carried along, in the ethereal mildness of a dreamy day, toward the village of Clinton, in the heart of East Feliciana Parish, Louisiana. The snail's pace at which the cars crept, might have suggested the humorist's precaution of putting the cow-catcher at the rear of the train, to keep the cattle from walking in. More than once, the engine rested to allow grazing animals leisure to get out of the way gracefully, and without undignified haste. At a charming curve in the road, by good fortune, a truck ran off the track, and while the engineer and brakemen were prying it on again, the passengers took an indolent stroll and gathered Cherokee roses. The slow progress of this most accommodating train, gratified our idle mood, and to my imagination, seemed according to the poetical proprieties of an entrance into the subtropical enjoy- ments of Feliciana Parish. Feliciana ! We actually moved through a paradise of vernal bloom. Standing on the platform of our triumphal car, we gathered a variety of flowers from the overhanging trees, and gadding vines that trailed within reach, as we went along. Ohio Archccological and Historical Quarterly. On our arrival at Clinton, a black dray-man asked where we wished our baggage to go. We had been di- rected to stop at a quiet inn named Our House^ kept by a widow. We were shown to a snug sitting-room, neatly furnished, and hung with lace curtains. On a small center table, we observed a vase, in which were arranged some clusters of wild honey-suckle. In one corner of the room was a sofa, on which lay a guitar, a jaunty hat, and fresh materials for a not yet arranged bouquet. This sentimental property belonged to the widow's daughter, a romantic girl, who surprised both herself and us, by bounding into the door, only to retire in blushing confusion, on discovering two strangers. The last week of April found me at Woodville, Missis- sippi, a pleasant town surrounded by woods of pine and magnolia. I associate with the village a curious interview which I had, in a dismal place, with two colored men. The scene was a grave-yard — the " Nigger burying ground" — a gloomy grove, from the trees of which depended funereal festoons of Spanish moss. An old man — a slave said to be a hundred years old, had rolled from his sleep- ing pallet in the night, and fallen on his face to the floor, and was dead when discovered next morning. Prepara- tion was at once made for his burial, and I chanced upon the spot where his last bed was making. An aged delver was at work with mattock and spade in the grave, which was nearly completed. Basking on the ground, at the pit's edge, lay a young man who seemed to be guarding a dinner basket, and at the same time superintending the work of Uncle Pete, for by that name he addressed the gray-pated old veteran of the spade. As I came near, both saluted me with the usual bows and words of servility. Presently Uncle Pete paused from his digging, and look- ing straight into my eyes, asked, " You is from de Norf, isn't you?" " Yes, I am, but how do you know?" Down South Before the War, ' , " I know'd the minute I saw you," was the unsatisfac- tory answer. " Do you know wha' Canada is?" " Yes, but I don't live there." "Wha' do you live, Massa?" "In Ohio." " I never heard of that. But we all knows of Canada. * Here Uncle Pete glanced at the young man, who was reticent and cautious. For a few minutes nothing was heard but the thud of the mattock in the clay. Then Uncle Pete, casting that implement aside, took his spade ; but instead of going on with his task, he leaned upon the spade-handle, and said, deliberately : " Massa, may I ask you something?" " Ask what you please." " Can you 'splain how it happened, in the fust place, that the white folks got the start of the black folks, so as to make dem de slaves and do all de work?" Here the guard of the dinner basket, with a furtive look of alarm, broke in : " Uncle Pete, it's no use talkin'. It's fo'ordained. It's fo'ordained. The Bible tells you that. The Lord fo'ordained the Nigger to work, and the white man to boss." This theological view of the subject seemed to settle the question, and to crush Uncle Pete. The old man put his hands to his wooly crown and scratched, with a puzzled face. " Dat's so ;" he assented, as if talking to himself. " Dat's so." Then, in a tone of mixed despair and defiance : " But if dat's so, then God's no fair man !" The inflamed condition of the public mind in regard to slavery at the period of our visit to the South, made it somewhat dangerous for us to talk to the colored people, or to let it be known that we were from the North. Readers will remember that the Kansas-Nebraska strug- gle was in progress ; that the Fugitive Slave Law was agitating the country ; that at the very time we set out, in 1857, John Brown was laying his plans to invade Virginia, and that, while we were in Louisiana, he organized the Ohio Arch(Zological and Historical Quarterly. "True Friends of Freedom." Miirat Halstead character- izes the South as " The Torrid Zone of Our Politics," and Southern Mississippi is not far from its equator. More than once, as might have been anticipated, the unaccount- able young fellows who were strolling about, asking queer questions, became the subject of suspicious remark. At a certain small town, in Jefferson Davis's State, we dis- covered a Yankee school-master, who was iust pluming his wings for flight to New England. He had received due warning that if found after thirty days within a hun- dred miles of the school-house in which he was teaching, he would suffer the same fa^e that had befallen several other Northern meddlers with what was not their business. "What fate was that?" I inquired. The school-master smiled a sort of sickly smile, and said, " Get your hat and let us take a walk." He conducted me beyond the out- skirts of the village, to a piece of swampy ground where stood a clump of trees, one of which was large, knotty, gnarly, and well supplied with lateral limbs. " Do you see that tree?" "Yes, it is quite visible." " You wouldn't guess," continued the school-master, " what peculiar fruit that tree sometimes bears. Not long ago, the Vigilance Committee, an organized mob of masked men, hung to those limbs, four men suspected of being abolitionists, and I was brought out to see the dang- ling corpses next day after the execution." "Your patrons are playful," said I. "They are fond of a practical joke." The look of that tree, with its mysterious property of bearing dead-ripe human fruit in a single night, did not suit my fancy. It was altogether too picturesque and tropical. The Torrid Zone of our Politics was evi- dently not favorable to the health of Ohio boys. We be- gan to think of yellow fever, and made preparations to go home and see our mothers. Moreover, my friend, who had been writing intense love letters to his sweet-heart on Down South Before the War. the Western Reserve, capped the epistolary climax by a formal proposal, that was promptly accepted, and there- fore he was absurdly eager to hurry from the State of Mississippi to that of Wedlock. On May 20, 1858, we hailed the steamer P^^J/?^ at Bayo Sara, and took passage for Cairo. Our six months' ramblings in the South were in the last nick of time for observing American slavery. The storm-cloud of Civil War, so long gathering, was ready to burst ; its sheet lightnings were quivering on the political sky, the mutterings of its dread thunder were heard. Ossawatamie Brown sprung the mine of abolition vio- lence at Harper's Ferry, in October, 1859 ; Lincoln was elected President the year after ; then the Confederate States seceded ; Sumter was bombarded ; the Great Re- bellion was precipitated like an avalanche. The children's children of veterans in that struggle, find written in their school-books, the history of Bull Run, the first grand en- counter of the opposed forces, which, after filling a Sab- bath day with blood and havoc, ended with panic, and the inglorious flight of the Union army. The pages of a thousand books, tell of the Union victory at Pittsburg Landing, won at the cost of more lives than had as yet been destroyed by any battle fought on the continent ; of how Farragut's fleet sailed up the Mississippi, past Rebel batteries, dealing out shot and shell, sailed up over booms and amid obstructing rafts and fire-ships, to storm and capture New Orleans ; of Antietam, where five hundred cannons " volleyed and thundered " in sublime chorus ; of the Wilderness, in which blue and gray met hand to hand, stabbing and cutting, until the ground was soaked with the carnage, and the gloomy woods shuddered to hear the groans of dying thousands ; of the long siege and final taking of Vicksburg, the crowning achievement of the Union men in the West ; of the famous battle above the clouds on Lookout Mountain ; and the gallant storming of Missionary Ridge ; of Gettysburg, the cul- OJiio Archccological and Historical Quarterly. minating battle of the war, a tremendous three-days' conflict between the best and largest Northern army and the largest and best army of the Sonth, ending in the defeat of Lee, and the doom of the Confederate cause ; of Sherman's march to the sea, from Chattanooga to Savannah, an invasion lasting from May to December, and that spread terror along its broad swath reaped by the sickles of fire, ruin, and death. It was in the second year of that terrific war that Abra- ham Lincohi " made a solemn vow to God that if General Lee shoidd be driven back from Maryland he would crown the result by the declaration of freedom to the slaves." Lee was driven back ; the Emancipation Proclamation was issued, and, by virtue of its mandates, five millions of slaves became free on New Year's day, 1863. Often while the war was raging, and often since its close, have I recalled the scenes and events of my unpremed- itated tour down South in 1857-8. Many of the very places at which we lingered, idle spectators of picturesque nature, or interested listeners to Southern sentiments, lay in the very path destined to be trodden within a few years by the ruthless footsteps of war. Such places were New Orleans, Port Hudson, Vicksburg, and Granada. Vividly projected on the screen of memory, I often saw Richard and Paul, and wondered what part they might have played in the tragedy of rebellion. Even now I can see as plainly as if it were before my eyes, the pack of baying blood- hounds on the track of fugitives ; I see Uncle Pete lean- ing on his spade in the grave just dug for his brother slave, and questioning the justice of God ; I see the ghastly tree in the Mississippi swamp, lifting towards Heaven its unknown martyrs to the cause of speechless liberty. Moves upon my vision, slow-paced and solemn, the pro- cession of black working men, returning to their enforced tasks at the iron works, chanting their mournful — •♦ Fare ye well, ye white folks all, And fare ye well, ye Niggers, too." Down South Before the War. Behind these I see reluctant files of half-clad laborers, moving at the command of the slave-driver, to labor in the cotton-field or on the sugar plantation. There is the master's mansion, and I hear the sound of laughter within, and the voice of song and the pleasings of the lute. Another scene : Now to the summoning bell, so like a school-bell, so different; in sad imiform march two col- umns ; the one a line of men and boys ; the other a line of women and girls ; march from the slave pen to the slave mart, and stand in helpless ranks to be reviewed by who- soever wishes to trade away cold coin for drops of human blood. " Do you want to buy any Niggers?" The beau- tiful quadroon, exposed for sale in the show-window, lifts her face ; the lustful trader leers, and mutters, " Too ex- pensive !" Too expensive ! Dear country ! Dear flag ! Dear lib- erty ! Too expensive ! So pronounces civilization ; so saith God. Slavery is too expensive for humanity to suffer. Behold another procession, another moving column, another marching line. Tramp, tiamp, tramp. Hush thy lute-playing, oh maiden in the mansion ; drop thy spade, old man, digging a grave. God is juster than man. Tramp, tramp, tramp • The day of deliverance at last. The Freedmen are marshaled under the Union banner, and as they march they sing — ♦'For God hath made this people by the light of battle see That death is on the Nation if the bond do not go free — That by the sword of Freedmen shall the land regenerate be ; And we go marching on. Then watch and pray, dear kindred ! — when ye hear the battle-cry Look for Freedom's Dark Crusaders where the Union banners fly, And to the Lord give glory ! for his kingdom cometh nigh, As we go marching on. Glory, glory, halleluiah !" W. H. Venabi,e. 3477-251 ^9 .0^ c°' / : ^^ i^^ ' o V -ly' ^0--^ '^ V\^ M .>^'V ^. ^ 4- . ^. a'- <^, /■•-Ji 0^ • ^ " ^ . -^m^^ J "K. '^^. '/)r o .\\ \'-<=^. •"^-^.v. <^. '^■^^ii^^ .^^^ '"o ''!^>^/ ^0 .-Jy- '- "V. , V ^ o - <. , 'V ■V . '--^Sl^/ ./■ !?■ -^ .< •^ -- tl^ .^ 0- /^ V ^-n^. ^^^^>»: ^^ -^0 J,^ c. ° * "^ ♦ -"^ :/■»■ % 4EP?7. -p v-^0^- c'' z;,^ ■^cs< -O* 0^ . r 'i^ f -o V^ » « o '^ ^0"