Studies in the South

VIII.

I FOUND travel in the South interesting, but not picturesque. This latter quality would not have been entirely absent, perhaps, if I could have studied Southern conditions and tendencies during the worst days of the reconstruction period, and could then have had the opportunity to observe the breaking up of the old order and the development of the new South. What I saw throughout the country impressed me strongly with the conviction that this change from the old to the new order of things was, in some important respects, accomplished at a considerably earlier date than is generally believed in the North. Much that I saw and heard, most of it indeed, had no political significance, no direct bearing — or very little — upon any “ burning questions,” or upon any sectional or partisan interests.

I find in my “ deep-laden note-books ” — to borrow a phrase from a recent work of the most competent observer and reporter who has ever studied the South in extenso — many sketches and incidents, which illustrate no theories, which do not lend themselves readily to any important or impressive generalizations, but which simply reveal the life of the people as I saw it; mostly prosaic and somewhat commonplace, as human life is apt to be, I believe, except in works of fiction.

NEW DIGNITIES.

Many curious traits appear in the character of the negroes under the influence of the new conditions of life, or survive as products of the old order, not yet outgrown. They have sometimes made amusing changes in their names, by way of meeting the requirements of their new estate of freedom, or as a tribute to the dignity with which they now feel themselves invested. Thus Romeo Jones of the old time now signs his name Romey O. Jones ; Pericles Smith writes himself down Perry Clees Smith; and a boy who was always known as Polly’s Jim, having learned to read the New Testament, is now Mr. Apollos James. They still feel great pride in having belonged to rich and important families when they were slaves. One might almost as well give a Southern white man the lie as to accuse a negro of having been the slave of “ down,” down,” or “ common,” white people. “Never had nothin’ to do with po’ white folks ” is the universal asseveration.

Two young negroes in one of the larger Southern cities were quarreling, not long ago, and when passion rose to its highest pitch one of them asserted that the man to whom the other had belonged in infancy was “ only a halfstrainah,” — a half-strainer being a man not of full blood or social rank, an inferior person, a kind of social halfbreed, merely hanging on to the skirts of the true aristocracy. This was a mortal insult, and it was answered by a stab, which was meant to be a death-blow. The wound was a serious one, and things looked very dark for the champion of his former master’s dignity. But the gentleman heard of it, and came from a distant part of the State to assist the negro ; and by employing able counsel, and exerting himself in many ways, succeeded in having the culprit “ let off ” with very moderate punishment.

It is almost impossible to meet with a negro who will admit that he ever belonged to an unkind or cruel master. They nearly always speak of their former owners in most affectionate terms. The virtues of obedience and loyalty seem to be natural to the negroes, and it is easy to see that many of them sadly miss and need the control of somebody stronger than themselves. They may rise to the height of their freedom in the future, but at present it is often an oppression to them. Many of them, however, greatly enjoy doing as they please. They like to spend money, and “ to have things like white folks.” The houses of the prosperous negroes are kept very neat inside. The women are not afraid nor ashamed of work. Sometimes the kitchen is on the second floor, and the labor of carrying all the wood and water up-stairs is cheerfully undergone, in order to maintain the lower room in state as a parlor. Negroes in good circumstances often feel much satisfaction in paying extravagant prices for showy articles, and I suppose they are the most easily cheated people in the world. In many of their houses there is a profusion of pictures and other ornaments on the walls, and the taste of the negro shows already that he is “ a man and a brother.”

TOBACCO TOWNS.

The production and manufacture of tobacco are extending enormously in the regions adapted to this industry, and where they are taken up they tend to exclude most other manufacturing and business enterprises. Just before I visited the South I looked into a cottonmill at Waterville, Maine. Soon afterward, in an important Southern city, which has a much finer water-power than the New England town, and where cotton is grown almost in the suburbs, I observed that the principal dry-goods dealers were selling cotton cloths manufactured in Waterville. The Southern city is almost entirely devoted to the manufacture of tobacco, and in consequence little use is made of its important water-power, while vast quantities of cotton pass through it by rail on the way to the New England mills. Most of the hands employed in the “ tobacco factories ” are negroes, many of them women. So far as I observed and could learn about the matter, only such white persons engage in the work as common laborers in these factories as have “ lost caste ” entirely. I saw a few white women of this class at work among the negroes, in various places. Of course the foremen and overseers are white men

The manufacturers assured me that the tobacco business is not so profitable as formerly, since the reduction of the tax on the manufactured product, as this measure has had the effect of enabling many persons with a small amount of capital to engage in the manufacture, thus placing an inferior article in the market, and bringing prices down by competition. They said also that the introduction and use of improved and costly machinery for the manufacture of tobacco has affected the interests of the laborers injuriously. The appliances necessary for the business are much more expensive than formerly, and the wages of the working people are necessarily much less than in the times of simpler methods and more hand work. All the manufacturers with whom I conversed said that they preferred the old methods, but that it was impossible to return to them; that whenever a new or improved machine was introduced every one must buy it, or he could not successfully compete with those who had it. I think that most of the hands in the factories might save money, but it does not seem probable that many of them do so. Most of them appear goodnatured and cheerful, with little forethought, ambition, or care, or idea of “ an object in life.” Many expend their earnings nearly as fast as these are received during the busy season, and when the factories are closed are soon in a state of destitution, and have to be assisted by the town. In most of the “ tobacco towns ” the people who are improving their condition most rapidly are the Italians, who sell groceries and confectionery. A large proportion of the earnings of the negro laborers goes into their hands. Most of their goods are cheap or of poor quality, but they are sold at an enormous profit. The young colored people eat candies and fruits almost incessantly, whenever they have money. They do not save anything, because they cannot pass a stand or shop where such articles are sold without buying something.

INCIDENTS AND SKETCHES.

Many of the negro schools are maintained under great disadvantages and inconveniences, such as would be regarded as most discouraging by white teachers in a Northern town. Here is an instance : I saw two colored men at work in one room with a school in which the average daily attendance for the winter was one hundred and twenty-six. They had to conduct recitations at the same time in opposite corners of the room. The house was open and very cold. The teachers were obliged to furnish fuel, and to provide desks, brooms, blackboards, and all other appliances at their own expense. The school was free to the pupils, the salaries of the teachers being paid for out of the public school fund. The house in which the school was maintained was owned by some Northern missionary or aid society, and was held by colored trustees, living in the town in which it was situated. They were too poor to repair or improve the building, and the (white) public school officers would not (perhaps could not under the law) appropriate anything for repairs of the house, unless the colored people would surrender their title to the property, which they declined to do. I think it would be well for Northern missionary and freedman’s aid societies to continue their interest in the colored teachers whom they have formerly aided or employed in the Southern States.

It is very interesting to listen to the singing in the colored schools. I several times heard many hundred children singing together the old plantation and revival melodies, and other songs of their race. Some of these are very peculiar and wonderful. One hears everywhere a few rich and powerful voices, and the negro churches in the larger towns have fine choirs. But the old negro music will soon disappear. All the educated negro ministers discourage or forbid the use of it among their people, and the strange, wild songs, whether religious or not, are coming to be regarded as relics and badges of the old conditions of slavery and heathenism, and the young men and women are ashamed to sing them. Some of these pieces should be carefully written out — both words and music — before they are irrecoverably lost. They would always have interest and value as characteristic expressions of the life of an era which has closed, the products of the native genius of a race of people under conditions which can never be repeated.

AT CHURCH.

I was at a “colored church” in the country, one Sunday, in a populous black district. The services were to begin at eleven o’clock. When I arrived, a minute or two before the hour, there were but five or six persons present, but soon afterward others began to come in. All bowed, and said good-morning to me as they entered. In half an hour the minister came, and gave his people a scolding for being late. He said they “ had ought always to come promptly at eleven o’clock.” He at once proceeded to organize a Sunday-school. He spoke with an air of much authority, which was probably wise and necessary under the circumstances. A young man did most of the work, acting under the minister’s directions. He put those who could “ read in the Testament ” in a class by themselves, and formed other classes with a simple catechism as a lesson-book, and others still with a primer. Several negro grandmothers were in the primer classes. Many officers were elected, — superintendent, clerk, treasurer, librarian, and others. The proceedings exhibited a queer mixture of awkwardness and dignity in about equal proportions. One thing was especially commendable : nobody declined to serve, or made any excuses or apologies. There was no indifference or lassitude, but a general air of resolution and purpose. The minister was competent to direct, and the people obeyed.

The Sunday-school closed at half past twelve o’clock, and the devotional services which were to precede the sermon were begun at once. The discourse was about an hour in length, and was a rambling talk, in which the old plantation dialect was used to introduce passages from the text-books prescribed by the church authorities for ministerial study. The people had been coming in all through the services, and by two o’clock, when the sermon ended, there were more than two hundred hearers. There were no white persons present except myself and a gentleman who accompanied me. One of the visitors was asked to “ say something for our encouragement.” He spoke for a few minutes, and when he ended a very old negro, a “ local preacher,” arose, and said he would “ make a few more feeble remarks ; ” but the minister said, “We have had enough.” The old man persisted, but the minister made him sit down, and dismissed the congregation.

I found in many places a commendable spirit of self-help among the negroes of the better class, but there were many who thought that any “ gen’leman from de Norf mout do surnfin’ to help ’um.” When I told them I was not the representative of any missionary or aid association, and could not give them anything, they would say, “ But you ’ll tell ’um ’bout us, boss; an’ if dey gives ye surnfin’ for us hyah at de Owl Crick Ford, you ’ll send it to us, boss, shoah.” “ Oh, yes.” Often, after I had visited the negro cabins in a country town, a procession of lame, blind, and aged negroes would call on me at my hotel. The clerk would turn them out-of-doors, scolding them good-naturedly for their intrusion upon a stranger ; but they usually waited for me about the streets, with their stories of misfortune. “ I’s mighty po’ly, boss,” they would say, “ an’ a little he’p ’ud do me a heap o’ good.”

A STEP UPWARD.

There are important changes among some of the negroes, especially in the towns, in the conditions and methods of family and social life. I was in many negro boarding-houses of the better class. Such houses were always divided by a partition, without doors or windows, or any means of interior communication. A stairway inside led to the upper floors of the women’s part of the house, but the stairway to the men’s apartments was on the outside. A decided public sentiment has been developed in a small class of colored people, in some places (mostly near the towns, I think), in favor of a stricter morality in the relations between the sexes. The new virtue at times assumes great vigor. I happened to visit a colored neighborhood, one day, just as a disturbance reached its climax. A lady near by explained the excitement. Aunt Lucy, a very worthy and very dignified colored woman, had learned that her husband, Uncle Abs’lom, had been engaged in a merry conversation with a young girl who lived just across the next field. The white people near by did not believe that anything wrong was intended. But when Uncle Abs’lom came home to dinner, on the day when his wife heard of his sociability with their young neighbor, he encountered his wrathful consort at the front gate, at the head of their numerous family, all arrayed in her support, and armed with sticks and stones, which they used so effectively upon the astonished old man that he was glad to make his escape, as his denials and explanations were entirely disregarded, He replaced the harness on the old oneeyed white horse, and went back to his work without his dinner. The neighborhood was in a ferment during the afternoon, for this family was the most influential and exemplary in the community. Everybody seemed to feel relieved when, at dusk, the two old people were seen coming up the lane to their home together. Aunt Lucy was leading the horse, and Uncle Abs’lom was carrying the lines in his hand. I did not learn what was the basis of their reconciliation. Such incidents and affairs, so petty to us, help to make up the drama of life for these simple people, and are to them sometimes matters of grave and even tragic concern.

THE FORTUNES OP BLACK DEMOCRATS.

In the black counties ” I often asked the principal negroes, “ Are any of your people democrats ? Do they ever vote the democratic ticket ? ” “ Yes, some-

times, boss ; a few of ’um, boss.” “ Well, how do you like that ? ” “ We don’ like it, boss.” “ But you can’t do anything about it?” “ Can’t do nothin’ ’bout it ? Humph ! ” “ Well, what do you do ? ”

“ Hup ’um, boss.” “ Whip them ! Who whips them? White men?” “ Oh, no. We ’tends to our own affairs.” “ But I thought this was a free country now, and so every man had a right to vote as he pleased.” “ We think our people has no right to vote agin theirselves. If a man’s sich a fool as to vote agin hisself, he ought to be teached to have moah sense.” “ Then why not teach him, argue with him, and explain things to him?” “Humph! Dey don’know nothin’ ’bout argimunce, an’ ’splainin’ things. On’y way to teach a nigger’s wif a whip.” Then often followed what was to me, at first, a most extraordinary and surprising appeal to experience. Again and again, in such conversations, negroes said to me, “ When I was a slave, boss, dat’s ’e way I l’arned to behave myself. Dey hupp’d me, ‘n’ it done me a heap o’ good. ’Pears like I would n’t think o’ nothin’ ’less I’s hupp’d sometimes. Den a man ’ll ’member.” I confess I did not quite know what to say to this, and as I had not gone to the South to instruct anybody, but to hear what all kinds of people would say, I made no reply.

In one of the larger towns I saw an energetic colored man, who, soon after the war, — “ de second yea’ o’ de surrender,” to use his own phrase, — had taken up the business of city expressman. He soon had a good team, and carried trunks and parcels for all the best families. To the astonishment of everybody, he at once became a democrat. The negroes were furious. They determined to “ run him out,” and one after another engaged in the same business, in opposition. But he was a shrewd fellow. He knew the old-style people at a glance, and would always take off his hat to them, and call them “ Mas’r ” and “ Mistis.” When the cars came in, and ladies got out, there he stood, in exactly the old plantation attitude. “ Hyah I is, Mistis,” he would say, “ jes’ a-waitin’ for yo’ trunks.” His rivals had to yield the field, but they despised him as a renegade and a traitor, because he “ voted agin his own people.” One day, as the mayor of the town was escorting a distinguished Northern general about the place, they happened to meet the negro expressman, and the mayor said, “ This fellow ’s a democrat, they say. Here, Jim, explain to the general your political views.” Jim understood, and, turning to the mayor, he replied, “ You knows my political views very well, mas’r. Has niggers got any trunks ? ”

“ WHO WILL DO OUR WORK? ”

In most places in the South evervbody seemed to understand the negro, to know how to manage him as a laborer, and appeared to be hopeful regarding his prospects and their own. But in some regions the people were in a complaining mood respecting the condition of labor. They said the negro would not work; “that is, you can’t depend on him. He stays away for all kinds of excuses and reasons, and for no reason at all. And if you remonstrate he says, ‘ Well, pay me what you owe me. Don’ care ’bout workin’ any moah, now.’ ” The business men said they wanted white labor from the North, — wanted it badly. “ Fifty good Northern girls could at once find employment in the houses of gentlemen in this city.” Some of the gentlemen who talked to me of these subjects appeared to regard the negro population as a kind of incubus upon the life of the State, and a very serious hindrance to its development and prosperity. But this view, or feeling, seemed to me somewhat absurd. I thought the white people of the region might easily find the remedy for such difficulties in their own hands. It must be a queer country if there are not many white girls there — and boys too — who need to work for their living. But in such places the white people did not seem more disposed than the negroes to engage in labor of any kind.

HIGH TRAGEDY.

I happened to reach one of the country towns in the interior of Kentucky on a day when the place was fairly ablaze with excitement. The editors of the two local democratic newspapers were rival candidates for the nomination for the state legislature. They had begun the canvass with some kind of bargain about the use of money and of whisky to influence voters, and, as a leading citizen told me, “up to a few days before, both had had excellent prospects of success. But as they wanned up to the work there were some very serious developments.” One candidate published a card, in which he charged the other with having broken the agreement not to use whisky “as a motive power ” in the campaign. His antagonist replied at great length, giving his own personal and family history and that of his opponent, and afterward proceeding thus: “ I desire to say,

clearly and explicitly, that his course toward me has been the result of delirium tremens, or of the most fiendish and vicious feeling of jealousy and envy. He is a liar and a cowardly puppy. He is not in my way, and is hereafter welcome to do whatever the promptings of a soul which professes to believe there is no God may suggest,” etc.

If I had not seen the extraordinary behavior of the entire population of the town which followed upon this publication, the grotesque and melodramatic absurdity of it would have appeared incredible. Everybody who had any business or occupation dropped it at once. The men and boys swarmed into the streets, and the women looked out of the doors and windows. The leading citizens hurried hither and thither, and held conferences, and received “ overtures from delegations representing ” first one of the belligerents, and then the other, — all with an awful seriousness, a solemn formality of proceeding, as if the fate of empires hung upon every movement. Meantime, the infuriated antagonists, though thirsting for blood, kept away from each other’s presence. At the end of a day of stupendous and exhausting effort on the part of all the principal citizens to avert bloodshed, Mr. Brown’s friends swore out a peace warrant and arrested Mr. Jones, and Mr. Jones’s friends swore out a peace warrant and arrested Mr. Brown. One editor gave bail, and was released under bonds to keep the peace. The other editor refused to give bail, and was put in jail, where he went on editing his paper and appealing to the people for their votes. Everybody said that his “ incarceration,” as he called it, would give him a decided advantage over his opponent.

This was as much like the old South as anything that I saw during my entire journey. There are still many people who enjoy such fooleries, and call them by dignified and solemn names. I could not observe a sign of the perception on the part of any person concerned that the whole affair was ridiculous, but it seemed to Northern eyes mere boyish nonsense. Its silliness would have made it impossible in a Northern community. The young men did not wish to fight, — had no idea of fighting. Both were very glad to be arrested and put under bonds to keep the peace. They enjoyed immensely the excitement which they produced ; their attitudinizing gave them the exquisite sensation of being heroes, and very cheaply, too. They posed because they had an audience, and they had an audience because the community in which they lived was idle and frivolous. If the people of that town were industrious, they would have no time for theatrical stupidities of this kind. More than anything else, it seems to me, such people need to have to work ten hours per day for six days of each week. I doubt there being anything evil or absurd in the South that could endure that regimen.

ENTERTAINMENTS ON THE ROAD.

Going down the Cincinnati Southern Railway from Lexington, Kentucky, to Chattanooga, I was in the rear car of the train, and sat near the rear door of the car. Just as we were leaving a station in a considerable village, I heard a pistol shot, which seemed quite near. I went to the door, and found on the platform a well-dressed, good-looking man, wildly excited in appearance, who was firing his revolver in the direction of the station; but whether he aimed at any person or not I could not determine, as there were many people in sight, all excited, some running after our train, some running away from it. With each discharge of the revolvers — he emptied two — the man gave a wild whoop or yell. At the first crack of the pistol all the passengers in the car sprang to their feet. The women all hurried into the next car forward. The men all put their hands into their hip-pockets, and then went into the next car after the women. As I had nothing in my hippocket, I thought I would stay and see if anything occurred. Presently the man looked in at the door for a while, but as he was then quiet and undemonstrative I grew tired of watching him, and resumed my reading. He rode on the platform past several stations, and then got off. All this time, and a good while afterward, I had the car to myself. The women did not return at all, but by and by some men came back after cloaks and shawls which they had left. They said, “ Such a man ought to be arrested at once, but it might be very dangerous to attempt it.”

A little further down the road we were stopped by the wreck of a freight train on the track before us. A huge rock had fallen in the night from the steep side of a deep cut. At one o’clock in the morning, a freight train, running at full speed, had struck it before any one was aware of the danger. Two or three freight cars were reduced to kindling-wood, and a brakeman, seated on the front of the forward car, was instantly killed. For once the negro proved himself of indisputable utility. A dozen or twenty stalwart black fellows carried all the baggage and express goods of our train over the hill and around the wreck (through a blinding snow-storm) to the train awaiting us on the other side. Soon after we started, the conductor and train hands put a man ok the train. He had been drinking, and as he was pushed from the car he struck at the conductor with a knife, and cut him in the foot. That night, after leaving the train, I rode for an hour in a wagon with a Tennessean, who told me more than fifty times that he had a saw-mill at Helenwood, that he was no sardine, and that he had the money in his breeches to buy the whole team. Then he quarreled with the driver. When he leaned over on me and went to sleep the entertainment began to grow monotonous, and I got out and walked on and left him. I had seen so many drunken men in Kentucky and Tennessee that it began to seem that intoxication was the normal state for the inhabitants of that part of our country.

In these regions of the South the consumption of tobacco exceeded anything that I had before observed connected with the prevalence of this habit. In the best hotels gentlemen sat around the hot stoves, spitting on them incessantly ; and in the cars, and almost everywhere, the explosive sounds of expectoration reminded me of what we called a rattling fire of musketry in the army. The pattering and splashing of tobacco juice on every side made one wish to dodge, but there was no place of safety. The sextons of the churches have much harder work than their brethren in the North, where only the “ roughs,” the lowest and coarsest men, will chew tobacco and spit the juice on the floor, even in a hall which is used for public worship. But gentlemen do this in the churches, in many places in the Southwest, with no attempt at disguise or apology. I attended the Sunday-school at one of the principal churches in Corinth, Mississippi, on a cold winter morning. The school was a large one, and many of the children evidently belonged to the “common people,” or poorer class, while several ladies and gentlemen of “the best families” were among the teachers. So far as I have had opportunity to observe them, Southern children appear to have less intellectual quickness, or precocity, than those of the North ; they are less mature than Northern children of the same age, and more unsophisticated. They seem to have greater suuniness of temper, and in the towns I saw far less of that sharp, hard, old, and vicious look which is so common on the faces of “ street boys ” in Northern towns. In Corinth, as at other places in the South, the children showed more of animal life and spirits than one sees in Sundayschools in most Northern towms ; but there is in the South, almost universally, more reverence for the church as “ the house of God,” and for Sunday as a holy day, than I have ever seen manifested in cultivated Northern communities, and the behavior of the children was nearly always better than is common in Northern Sunday-schools.

In this Corinth Sunday-school there was one gentleman who wore gloves, and was dressed much better than anyone else. He sat near the stove, almost surrounded by the young ladies of the choir and the teachers. He chewed tobacco vigorously during all the introductory exercises, and spat on the floor again and again. I own that it made me so nervously apprehensive lest the young women’s gowns should be injured, or some little girl should fall into the puddle on the floor, that I could not fully keep my mind on the services. By and by I was courteously invited to join a Bible class of ladies and gentlemen, and this man proved to be the teacher. He talked fluently, and was several times appealed to by the superintendent of the school as a person of superior attainments ; but his mustache and beard were in sad need of washing, as was the floor all about him.

MISSISSIPPI CIVILIZATION.

I often saw indications of a somewhat primitive degree of development, like that of frontier communities, in the subjects and character of the conversations and discussions which I heard in the cars and at the hotels. From the Atlantic to the Mississippi, all along my route, much of the talk was of mesmerism, animal magnetism, spiritualism, and of things marvelous, supernatural, and impossible generally ; and all these topics were treated as if they were novel and fresh. “Whoever had anything wonderful to tell of such matters, or who talked confidently of such themes, handling them seriously, as if they were real and important, was sure of unlimited attention. The talk was almost exactly the same as I heard thirty years ago in the log-cabins of the settlers in the forests of the Mississinewa and the “Wabash in Indiana. There was the same dogmatic assertion, the same uncritical acceptance of the most absurd stories, and the same intolerance of all dissent.

After supper, one evening, in the hotel at Corinth, Mississippi, about a dozen men were seated around the stove in the bar-room, while an old man with a bad face repeated the familiar rubbish about the superiority of spiritualism as compared with Christianity, He ridiculed the Christian religion as the product of barbarous times, and the greatest foe to “expansion and progress.” Everybody listened with much interest, and now and then some of the hearers asked questions designed to elicit additional information. This was always forthcoming, and as I could see no reason why the same process should not go on ad infinitum, I was about to go to my room, when something happened to lead the expounder of the “ philosophy of harmony,” as he called it, into personal reminiscences connected with the early, or ante-bellum, history of the town of Corinth. Said he, “ I was in that killing affair here,” — mentioning a date, and giving the names of the other men who were concerned in the fight. “ I handed — a pistol during the opera-

tion. I was indicted, but the matter was compromised.” The talk now became more general, and passed into a sort of entertaining and pleasant review of the various “ killing affairs ” in the history of the town.

One feature of the conversation was very noticeable, and, to me, interesting. The character of the man who “ did the killing” was in each case discussed with much interest, and almost entirely in the way of praise and eulogy. Some one had the temerity to affirm, in regard to a particular murderer, that he was “ inclined to be overbearin’,” that he “ was somethin’ of a bully ; ” whereupon the expounder of the philosophy of harmony assured us, with heat and emphasis, that it was “ only when he was drunk, — never but when he was drunk! He was a perfect gentleman, an’ there never was nothin’ rough about him when he was sober.” Here another old resident of the town volunteered the information that this perfect gentleman “ was never sober for a number o’ years, if he could git whisky ; ” and added that after the murder referred to he never stopped till he drank himself to death. “ Yes,” the spiritualist observed sympathetically, “ I s’pose his conscience troubled him.”

When I first went to my room in the hotel at Corinth, I found there was no key in the door. I asked for one, but the landlord assured me that keys were entirely unnecessary in that part of the country, and that they were not much used in first-class houses or among respectable people. He expatiated with much feeling upon the simple innocence and goodness of the people of Mississippi, and of the inhabitants of Corinth and its neighborhood in particular, till I inquired what security he had (his house being full) that some bad man from Boston would not some time gain admittance, and wrong his guileless and unguarded guests. He assured me that no such serpent ever entered this Mississippi Eden. I had asked for a room with fire and with facilities for writing. These were provided, and I sat down to my work, near the fire-place, with my back to the door. The landlord had spread the story of my unreasonable and surprising demand for a key throughout the house, as I was aware, and every few minutes a man would push the door open and gaze around the room. “ Come in ! ” I shouted, merely looking up from my writing. “ What will you have ? ” Each one muttered something about wanting “ to see a gen’l’man,” but reckoned he’d gone away, and went out. Presently one left the door open, and I let it so remain. Probably every person in the house came and looked in. I wrote till I was tired, and then shut the door and went to bed, and slept soundly till morning. During the day, whenever I was absent from my room, it was plain, when I returned, that somebody had been in it during my absence.

THE BATTLE-FIELD AT PITTSBURG LANDING.

I looked over the battle-field of Pittsburg Landing, or Shiloh, and explored much of the surrounding country. It was an interesting experience, but anything written about the place now must be dull, compared with the description of it, and of the great battle which made it famous, which was read everywhere with such intensity of interest in those days of early spring in 1862. The distance from Corinth, Mississippi, to Pittsburg Landing may be eighteen, twenty, or twenty-two miles, according to the judgment of the Corinthian livery-stable keepers as to what they can make a traveler believe and pay. I wished to make the journey on foot, as I had found that the best method of studying a march or a battle-field; but there was too much water, and I had to take a wagon. I was fortunate in securing an old Illinoisan as driver. He had lived in that region for many years, and had seen much of life there from the point of view of a hard-working, managing, shrewd farmer and trader.

We took dinner the first day with a Tennessee farmer, who lives near the spot where the battle began. It happened that a number of women from the neighborhood — that is, anywhere within ten miles — were visiting the woman of the house on that day. Two or three farmers also called. All were invited to the long table, and we sat down together. We had a busy talk, with rapid questioning and reply on both sides. The women were rather shy and reserved at first, but both men and women soon talked freely and cordially. Two or three of the men had been in the battle on the rebel side, and one of the farmers at the table had been a Union soldier, having settled in the vicinity after the war. They asked at once if I was in this battle, on the Union side. I said no, but that some of my relatives and friends were there, and that I was in the Union army farther East. They all seemed to wish to entertain me, and to make my visit to the place as interesting to me as possible ; and it was plain, as on many other occasions during my journey, that I was treated with all the more cordiality because I had been a Northern soldier. They told me many stories of the fight and of the camp, and what the common soldiers said and thought of everything.

They were of the opinion that their officers — the Southern generals—managed better than ours at the beginning of the fight; and that some of our men were surprised at breakfast, and some in bed. (A Confederate officer in Mississippi, who was in the advance on that first morning of the battle, told me that he distinctly heard the calling of the roll in the companies which formed the Union line just in front of him, and that this was but a moment before the Southern soldiers made their charge.) But the Northern men could fight, they said, even when surprised. All these people still seemed profoundly impressed by the awfulness of the struggle, and the terrific and deadly character of the fighting here. At many places which, they mentioned, they said one could walk all over the ground on dead men, after the wounded had been removed.

MEMORIES OF THE STRUGGLE.

I asked the women how it seemed during the battle. One family lived between the lines. They took shelter under the bluff along the river, and stayed there till the battle was over. Then their house was full of wounded men, and they could not return to it for some time. The others lived farther in the rear, some miles away from the heaviest fighting. They said the sound of the small arms was a continuous roar, like that of an approaching hurricane, kept up through the whole day, and that the cannon made a “ poom, poom-poopoom,” like thunder rolling and clapping all the time. One woman said very seriously, “ If it was n’t wicked to say such things, you could n’t tell it any better than to say it sounded like as if hell was open, over there toward the river.” They thought their officers made a mistake in not pressing the battle that first evening. But the Southern commanders thought that General Grant and General Sherman had a line of heavy batteries all along the river. A Union officer was captured some time in the afternoon, and was carried before General Beauregard, who asked him about these batteries; but he merely said, “ General, you may be assured that General Grant and General Sherman are able commanders; they know their business, and whatever is necessary has been attended to.”

The company at the table thought that perhaps the death of General Albert Sidney Johnston made a great deal of difference. General Beauregard was not a great general, though he did the best he could, and he had never seen the battle-ground before the fight. The engagement ought to have been decided and finished before General Buell’s men had time to get over and help. I thought they had a pretty intelligent idea of matters connected with the battle. They all went on to say that it was all for the best; it was to be so ; it was fated to be so ; it was Providence; but it was very hard for the people at the time. The foragers of the two armies swept the country clean. What one side left the other soon took. The women said, “ It got so we would just as soon see one side as the other. They took everything we had. They had to.” All the men said, “ It was a great blessin’ that the war put an end to slavery. It’s a great deal better for the country for the people to have to work for their own livin’.”

The element of humor or fun came in, as was usual in the talk of Southern people about the war and the relations between the North and the South. One old woman, a grandmother, to whom all deferred, asked me, “ Don’t you think you ought to pay us for our things that was destroyed, and what the soldiers took ? You whipped us, and we was left with nothin’ at all.” “ No,” said I. “ If you had whipped us, the Confederate government would have paid you for all your losses, I suppose. But when we go to war, the defeated side does not get paid.” She smiled, and answered, “ Well, it’s all over now, and no doubt it’s better as it is.”

Proceeding after dinner, we reached Pittsburg Landing at four o’clock, and were welcomed by Captain Doolittle, who had charge of the National Cemetery. Taking a pair of mules, he and I rode about the country till after nightfall, calling on some of the people who lived on the battle-field, and visiting various places of interest. The whole region is covered by a rather open oak forest. The trees, for miles, are torn and splintered by cannon shot. Some still have cannon balls in them, though many have been cut out by relic-hunters. Rifle balls are still picked up everywhere. Walking over the field, and finding a bullet now and then, I picked up the head of an Indian arrow or dart, — a relic, I suppose, of a still earlier battle. The road up the bluff from the river, “ made that night by Buell’s men,” to quote a phrase commonly used by the people of the region, is still a good one, except that it is now overgrown with trees and saplings. I walked up its entire length, finding many old canteens, pieces of belts, shoes, and ammunition boxes. Some of the leather was still tough and flexible. As I went on, seeing more and more of what remains as sign and memorial of the terrible conflict which was fought out on the ground over which I was walking, the reality came back more and more distinctly, and as the eight drew on, all the sounds about me seemed to resemble and suggest those of a battle, or the preparation for it. I seemed to hear again the tramp, tramp, of the soldiers, the noises of embarking and disembarking, the trundling of the guns, the handling of ammunition, the sound of picks and shovels, the movements of the boats, the orders given now and then in suppressed tones ; and, through all the night, the stubborn pounding of the gun-boats, and the whistling of shot and shell, skurrying and screaming through the trees toward the enemy. And ah me ! out there in the dark forest the thousands of wounded men, with their pain, and weariness, and thirst! I found that the sounds of a battle still lingered in my ears, exactly as in the old army days after a fight.

The cemetery is a very attractive and lovely spot. Nearly four thousand Union dead lie there. About two thirds of the graves are marked “ unknown.” Every day the flag of our one country floats high, in sight of all, above them. When I awoke in the morning, and looked out over the thousands of graves, and saw the flag touched by the first rays of the sun, Theodore O’Hara’s fine lines came into my mind : —