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-student, Alexis E. Holcombe, of Ra-
venna, Ohio, I started on an
unpremeditated journey
through Kentucky, Tennessee,
Mississippi and Louisiana.
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 Sterling, which we
reached December 23,
we put up at the Ashton 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 entire 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 new homes and masters.
488
Down South Before the War. 489
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, wooly 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
490
Ohio Archaeological 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 swelling from
the marching
column, as from some melodious
instrument:
Chorus -" Wo - o - o - o - o - o!"
Solo -
"And fare ye well, ye niggers, tool"
Chorus-" Wo - o - o - o - o -
o!"
Solo--
"I holler dis time, I holler no mo!"
Chorus - Wo - 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-0!" 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. 491
for Lexington. 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,
but 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 signs of
indignation, and reminded us
that we were in old Kentucky, where
hospitality was
given, and not sold.
We spent several days in Lexington, the
first seat of
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 interest of romantic historical
association is added.
From one point we looked down upon the
solitudes
"where once Boche 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
for 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-
acterize the best families of Virginia
and Kentucky.
High courtesy, chivalrous regard for
woman, open-hand-
ed generosity, a proud sense of personal
honor, liberal
492
Ohio Archaeological 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. 493
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.
494 Ohio Archaeological and Historical Quarterly.
Mr. Sharp took off 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. 495
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
496
Ohio Archaeological 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 we were far enough south to stop
awhile and enjoy
the sensation. The first and necessarily superficial views
which we had of life in this 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. 497
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 would 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-
Vol. II-32
498
Ohio Archaeological and Historial 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, but
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 effect was not
unpleasant. Besides
Down South Before the War. 499
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 little, 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 told 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 Richard 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 affirma-
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
500 Ohio Archaeological 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. 501
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
502 Ohio
Archaeological 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. 503
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 off.
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 consciousness of
having nothing to
do but to do nothing and enjoy the Sunny
South.
After glimpsing Vicksburg, we embarked
on the mag-
504
Ohio Archaeological and Historical Quarterly.
nificent steamer Pacific, which
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 office
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. 505
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
gruffly, "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 stuff, 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
506
Ohio Archaeological 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 all the sky.
Down South Before the War. 507
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.
508 Ohio
Archaeological 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
510 Ohio
Archaeological and Historical Quarterly.
"True Friends of Freedom."
Murat 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
just 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 fate 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. 511
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
Pacific 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-
512 Ohio Archaeological
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 South,
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 Lincoln "made a solemn vow to
God that if General
Lee should 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. 513
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
uniform 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, tramp,
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. VENABLE
Vol. II-33